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THE WOODEN POLE SNAPPED in two, sending Ronald tumbling off the gazebo. He tripped and staggered down the stage, finally coming to rest against Mrs. Borman’s CD player, nudging it to the very edge of the stage.
The gazebo creaked and groaned. Then something snapped. Samantha watched in horrified fascination as another post gave way and the pointed roof slid until it hung sideways off the remains of the structure. As Ronald clambered to his feet and stepped backwards to stare at the collapsing gazebo, one of his feet connected with the music player. With a loud crash, it hit the hall floor and broke into three pieces. The lid popped open and the CD playing inside slowly spun to a stop. There was a moment of stunned silence.
Ronald uttered a word that would only deepen the trouble he was already in, then added, “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
Mrs. Borman let out a strangled moan and began to turn purple again, but when she spoke, it was in a dangerously soft voice.
“Does anyone have a music player? Another music player” — she gave Ronald a dark look and he swallowed hard — “that we could use for the rest of the rehearsal?”
A few hands went up. Mrs. Borman pointed at Samantha, who was standing nearest to her. “Go and fetch it.”
Samantha ran off to the dormitory and returned as quickly as she could with the boombox she’d received for her birthday. Up on the stage, the backstage crew was clearing away the wreckage of the gazebo. Cindy Atkins and Kitty Bennington had made Mrs. Borman a cup of tea and were now standing at her side, murmuring soothing encouragements, while Ronald, still mumbling apologies, was attempting to give the director the broken bits of her CD player.
“Young man,” Mrs. Borman said icily, “I suggest you remain out of my sight for the rest of this evening!”
“Here, Mrs. Borman,” Samantha said, handing over her music player.
“Call that no-name brand, cheap piece of plastic a music system?” Kitty sneered.
“Don’t be catty, Kitty,” Dan said as he handed a stray piece of timber to the crew onstage.
“Yes, Kitty,” said Cindy, unexpectedly. Then she continued, “We must be kind to those less fortunate than ourselves. We can’t all afford to get decent stuff and it’s not nice to mock the poor.”
By now, both Kitty and Cindy were giggling.
Samantha tried not to let their jibes get to her, but she felt crestfallen as Mrs. Borman hit play. The music did sound thin and tinny and, even at full volume, was not very loud. Cindy and Kitty made a great show of complaining to Mrs. Borman that they could not hear the music.
“I’ll bring my CD player to the next rehearsal, if you like, Mrs. Borman,” said Cindy. “It’s a proper music system — a Bose. And it’s got much better sound and power.”
“Thank you, my dear, that will be a great help.”
At that moment, the hall door burst open and along with a gust of cold wind, two little girls came into the hall.
“Hello, my dear Savannah,” Mrs. Borman said, as the smaller of the two ran up to her and hugged her around the waist. “Everyone, this is Savannah, my granddaughter. She will be playing the role of Gretl von Trapp. And this little girl,” she said, pulling the other child forwards, “will be playing the role of Marta von Trapp.”
“It’s Cassie!” Jessie said in astonishment. “Since when is she in this?”
“Mr. Matteson, perhaps you’d be so kind as to put our newest cast members through their paces,” Mrs. Borman said.
Mr. Matteson stepped up to the two little girls, crouched down in front of them and said in a friendly voice, “Hello Gretl. Hello Marta.”
“My name is Cassandra.”
“I’ll take care to remember that,” Mr. Matteson said solemnly and led them onto the stage.
Samantha watched, amused but impressed, as Cassandra played her part with great panache. She tossed her dark curls, smiled enchantingly and stole every scene in which she had lines by speaking with a charming lisp.
“She’s great,” Nomusa whispered to Jessie.
“Yeah. Who knew?”
Savannah Borman, on the other hand, delighted nobody but her grandmother. She whined and pulled faces and kept interrupting the rehearsal by calling for her “gransy”. Her favourite expression seemed to be, “Don’t wanna!”
None of this disconcerted Mrs. Borman, who clapped her hands in thrilled delight every time her granddaughter said a line.
“Such spirit! Such fire!” she exclaimed when Savannah threw a spectacular tantrum. “Don’t you think she’s perfectly wonderful?” she demanded of Mr. Matteson.
“She sure is something, alright.”
“Let’s rehearse the scene between Captain von Trapp and his children,” said Mrs. Borman.
Jessie moved to the middle of the stage, while Samantha and Nomusa went into the wings from where they could watch the scene while chatting to Dan, who was connecting some speakers.
“Where is our elusive Captain?” asked Mrs. Borman. “Where is James Steadman?”
“Yeah, where is he?” Samantha craned her neck to peer into the wings on the opposite side of the stage.
“James?” Dan said, tightening a tiny screw at the back of a speaker. “He’ll probably be wherever Chelsea is.”
“With Chelsea? Why?”
“I think he likes her buns.”
Samantha peered around the edge of the curtain. Sure enough, James was sitting and chatting animatedly to Chelsea. He glanced up only when the small boy who had been sent to fetch him tapped him on the shoulder. Samantha and Nomusa exchanged a long, worried glance. Then they looked over at Jessie, who was helping Cassandra tie one of her shoelaces.
“Oh, dear,” Samantha murmured.
“Yes,” Dan said, following her gaze. “It’s not going to be pretty.”
“Hurry up, Captain,” Mrs. Borman urged as James strolled up to the stage. “From the top of the scene, if you please.”
While James and the actors playing his children rehearsed their scene, Samantha watched anxiously from the wings. Jessie’s longing gaze never wavered from James’s face. She was looking at him so intently that she missed her cue.
“Whose line is it?” Mrs. Borman demanded, her voice beginning to rise with irritation again. Ronald de Vries, who had crept back onto the stage, looked momentarily worried, but all eyes turned to Jessie, who was still staring dreamy-eyed at James.
Bongiwe Letseka and Megan Macarthur looked at each other and giggled.
“It’s Jessie Delaney’s line, ma’am,” Cindy said.
“Miss Delaney!” Mrs. Borman thumped her palms down loudly on the stage, startling Jessie out of her reverie. “How is it possible that you still don’t know your lines?”
“I do know them, ma’am, I just forgot to say them.”
“How is it possible that your little sister, at her first rehearsal — her first mark you — has already memorised her lines and cues, while you have yet to learn yours?”
“She only has two lines!” Jessie said, outraged at this injustice.
“The fact remains that she knows hers and you do not! She also seems more capable of staying in character. I cannot fathom why you keep staring at the Captain in that lovesick, longing way. You are Louisa von Trapp. And he,” she cried, pointing at James, “is your father, not your boyfriend!”
“Yeah, Jessie,” said Cindy. “You shouldn’t be staring at your ‘father’ in that way — people might get the wrong idea!”
There was a moment of silence, and then everyone burst into laughter, giving in to the hysteria which had been threatening all night. Bongiwe doubled over with the force of her giggles, while Cindy and Kitty clung to each other, sniggering loudly. Ronald, not understanding the cause of the mirth but delighted that for once he was not the butt of the joke, joined in. The sound of his deep guffaws punctuated with snorts set the rest of the cast off and soon the only ones not laughing were Samantha, Nomusa and Dan in the wings. And, of course, Jessie and Mrs. Borman. Jessie’s face flamed red in humiliation, but Mrs. Borman’s turned purple.
“Amateurs!” she bellowed, pouring scorn on the word.
The laughing slowed as people turned to stare at her. She made an impressive sight — her bosom was heaving, her eyes boggling, and her hands were clenched in tight fists.
“I am beset by cretins and surrounded by Philistines! I! I who have worked with the top professionals, with the most esteemed thespians.”
Ronald’s brow wrinkled at this.
“Was ever a director expected to perform miracles with such a bumbling troupe of incompetents?”
“Steady on,” Mr. Matteson said softly. “Perhaps we should call a break?”
“A break? A break?” Mrs. Borman’s voice was rising to a hysterical pitch now. “Indeed, I shall take a break. I am no longer willing to work my fingers to the bone to perform the impossible for the ungrateful. I quit!”
She paused for a beat, perhaps expecting a storm of protests, then gathered up her script and score, lifted her chin high into the air and stormed impressively out of the hall, slamming the door with a loud bang behind her.
Matron McKenzie startled awake. “Oh, are we finished for tonight, then?”
Mr. Matteson clapped his hands twice to get everyone’s attention. His face wore a strangely satisfied expression and, when he spoke, it was in a calm, business-like voice. “Right, everyone back to their places for the start of this scene, please, and we’ll take it from the top.”
Still a little dazed, the cast moved into their positions and began the scene which, to Samantha’s astonishment, flowed more smoothly than it ever had before.
For the next three weeks, Mr. Matteson competently led a series of calm and efficient rehearsals in which the production made a great deal of progress. By the end of term, when Mrs. Borman deigned to return to directing — with the air of doing everyone a great favour — the production looked more like a musical and less like a farce. Even Ronald had learned his lines, though he studiously avoided touching the newly rebuilt gazebo with even so much as a fingertip.