promise you, I was not.’
‘No, no, Mama,’ Clover said. ‘We know that.’
‘A good wife to Julius, a better wife than many.’ She fell silent again, and in a little while East and Verrall took their leave, recalling that orchestra rehearsal would come early next morning.
Bella and Clover walked Mama up to their chamber, finding Aurora already asleep there in the alcove bed. They helped Mama undress, and put her to bed. Bella crawled in beside her to keep her warm. She smoothed Mama’s hair with a gentle hand, watching the brown curls spring back, silver threads amongst the brown. Perhaps the man who wrote that song had been patting his mother’s hair, soothing her after some sad trial.
In the darkened room she listened to Clover moving about, tidying their things and putting on her own nightdress, linens rustling as she climbed in with Aurora in the alcove bed; then silence fell complete. This was a cozy room. Winnipeg was the best city they’d been so far. If only their act went well tomorrow, Bella thought. She squeezed her eyes tight shut and begged the world, the universe, and the Almighty to let them make a great thing of it here, to find success.
Still Mrs. Mayhew
In the morning darkness, Aurora and Mama debated which numbers, in what order, and what the girls should wear. On the ‘something glad/something sad’ principle that even the dreadful Cherry Sisters obeyed, they would begin with Buffalo Gals, a rampageous starter that would do nicely to cover latecomers and grab the attention of the house; then the fragrant Last Rose of Summer; and end with Danny Boy. Clover took Bella through the harmony again, correcting her impatiently, while Mama ran the iron through Aurora’s hair—and then the cab was at the door.
Their dressing room was shared with the two DeWolf showgirls, massive placid beauties who stood still and revolved on platforms; their ponies (smaller girls, who danced) made friendly greetings. The room was well mirrored, only two flights up; the hanging-space allotted for their costumes was if anything too much. Mama set out their things while they ran down for orchestra call. No hitches, in this smooth-running theatre. The fly-ropes ran like clockwork, the stage was clean as a whistle. The vast house, seating nearly two thousand, was a palace of white and cream and gilt. It was the most opulent theatre they’d yet played, so Aurora was interested to notice how soon it became like every other theatre: ordinary, home. Under their leader, Bert Pike, the orchestra boys were a cheerful bunch, famous for a long-continuing double-pinochle game. Even the backstage was warm, important in frigid January, and biscuits and tea were served behind the curtain before the matinee, a ceremony they hadn’t seen since the Empress.
Walker strolled about the stage himself, and bowed kindly to Mama. ‘Any word of Mayhew, by the by?’ he asked Aurora.
She looked up at him. ‘Would it matter, sir?’
‘Ha! Not to me, my dear,’ he said. ‘But it might to you.’
‘My understanding is that he has gone south, and will not be entering the Dominion again,’ she said, remaining very cool.
‘He mentioned an interest in Spokane,’ Walker continued, not pressing exactly.
‘I believe he did. But his affairs were considerably disordered after the ruin of the Muse, and I am not certain—’ She broke off, and then laughed. ‘To be candid, Mr. Walker, he found himself embarrassed before his creditors, and I doubt we’ll ever hear from him again.’
He took her elbow and said, ‘Well, well—you do right by the Walker, and I’ll do right by you, Miss Avery.’
‘Still Mrs. Mayhew, still,’ Mama corrected him. ‘Divorce being repugnant, and also, without Mr. Mayhew’s assistance, impossible.’
‘I intended only to use your daughter’s professional name, which I trust she has retained,’ Walker said smoothly.
Mrs. Walker had come down to greet the artistes as well, handsomely turned out in a brown walking dress with red velvet reverses; Walker introduced her to the girls and Mama.
‘No need, I’ve known Flora these twenty years, my dear,’ she said, extending her hand. ‘I’m Hattie Anderson that was,’ she said. ‘I remember you from the Hey-Go-Mad Girls—you were the loveliest thing I’d ever seen, all pale blue and cream lace.’
Mama pinked with the pleasure of being remembered, and although unable to repay the compliment, thanked Mrs. Walker with a nostalgic and flourishing curtsy.
Black-and-White Puzzle
The street in front of the theatre was crowded with carriages and cars by evening. Dressed for the first number, Clover wrapped herself in