  “... It isn’t a very pretty story,” Katherine Nelson was saying. It was a little after ten the following morning. Members of the cast, Oscar Stalkey, Craig Claiborne, Peter Grey, and Pam Mundy were all sitting on stage. They had reported, expecting a rehearsal, but had been met instead by the producer who told them that Katherine Nelson had an announcement to make. Peggy, who had slipped out of the theater the night before without being seen, was curled up in a chair on the side of the stage, waiting breathlessly for what she knew was coming. “You see,” Katherine Nelson went on with a curious half-smile, “Tom Agate and I were married.” She waited patiently for the buzz of excitement to die down. “As a matter of fact,” she added, “we still are. But we’ve been separated for many years now. And I’m afraid it’s been my fault.” “Now wait a minute,” Tom interrupted, reaching out for her hand. He was sitting beside her, looking younger and fresher than Peggy had ever seen him. “It’s no good your taking all the blame.” He turned to his fellow cast members and began speaking in a low tone. “When Katherine and I were married,” he said, “we were very young—Katherine was only sixteen—very much in love and very happy. The whole world seemed to be made especially for us. I was doing well as a star in vaudeville and the future looked good. “Eventually,” he went on, “we had a little girl. She went wherever we did. You’ve all read stories about how, in the days of vaudeville, people used to play one-night stands across the country. Well, it’s perfectly true. That’s exactly what we did. And we took our little girl—Kathy, we called her—everywhere we went.” He paused, cleared his throat and went on: “I guess Kathy wasn’t too strong, and that kind of life was bad for her. In any event, she died when she was two years old.” He said this last quickly, as if he didn’t want to dwell on it. “We were both pretty upset,” he said, staring fixedly at the row of darkened footlights in front of him, “and I suppose we both lost our heads.” “That’s not quite true.” Katherine Nelson took up the story. “What really happened was that I blamed Tom for Kathy’s death. Oh, I know it was foolish of me. But I felt there had to be some reason for her going like that. I couldn’t bear to think that it just happened. And so I talked myself into believing that it was all Tom’s fault.” The actress took a deep breath. “We parted. Tom kept on in vaudeville and I—well, I went home to my father. But when he died, the theater was the only thing I knew, so I started to act. It had been ten years. I hadn’t kept in touch with anyone. No one remembered me. Vaudeville was dying, so I tried serious acting. You know the rest.” “I went ahead doing the same things I’d always done,” Tom explained. “I kept thinking Katherine would come back to me and I wanted to be in a position to take care of her. Vaudeville was on the way out, so I tried the movies and radio. As long as I had the hope that Katherine might need me, I kept working. “Then fifteen years after she left me, she suddenly was a star herself. I left the theater then—but not for long. The servicemen needed me during World War II. After the war, nobody needed me—until Peggy said she did. And I saw that Katherine did too.” Katherine Nelson shook her head. “I’d lost track of Tom completely. I never expected to see him again. Then, when he showed up in this cast, all the old memories—the old hatred and pain—came back. At first, I couldn’t face even seeing him. I still blamed him, you see, and I refused to forget.” She straightened her shoulders and looked for a long minute at all of them. “I’m afraid I was pretty unpleasant. I thought to myself, I must get rid of that man! And so I tried every way I knew how to force Oscar Stalkey to fire him. When that didn’t work, I tried to shame Tom into going away of his own accord.” She turned to him with a questioning glance. “I still don’t know how you found the courage to stick it out. I was so cruel.” Tom smiled gently. “I knew you were miserable,” he told her. “Wrapped up in the same kind of misery that I had created for myself. I wanted to show you a way out. I thought that if I stayed you’d see that all this unhappiness was of your own making.” “And I did see it,” Katherine Nelson said. “I saw it a hundred times every day, but each time I shut my eyes deliberately. It wasn’t until I met a little boy who had come to see Tom—a little boy who told me what Tom meant to him—that I finally realized what I had done to myself—and all of you. I want to say to every one of you, I’m sorry. And if it’s not too late, I’d like to start rehearsals today, really working together.” There was a silence. Finally, Oscar Stalkey stood up. “Last night,” he said, “Tom Agate and Katherine Nelson came to see me. We had quite a talk. Among other things, we discussed what’s wrong with the way we’re doing Innocent Laughter. The main point we agreed upon is this. We’ve been putting too much emphasis on the part of the mother. Actually, the center of action lies with the older woman, the grandmother.” He paused and clasped his hands behind his back. “I asked Katherine if she would play that part and her answer was yes. That means we’ll have to get a replacement for the mother, but that shouldn’t be too difficult. “Meanwhile, there’s another thing. Marcy Hubbard has left the cast.” He grinned at them cheerfully. “All in all, I think you’ll admit it was quite a night. She asked to be relieved of her contract because she said she had a very attractive offer from Hollywood. I was more than happy to do what she asked because filling in for Marcy was no trouble at all.” He turned to Peggy with a smile. “Peggy,” he announced, “you’ll be playing the part of the young daughter in Innocent Laughter.” There were telegrams from her family, from May and Amy and Randy. There were flowers from Oscar Stalkey and Peter, and a large bottle of perfume from Craig Claiborne. And then, there was the audience. Standing in the wings amid the bustling confusion of stagehands and electricians, Peggy could hear them file into the theater. Muffled sounds of conversation and an occasional laugh filtered through the heavy curtain. “Five minutes,” came Mr. Fox’s insistent voice. “Curtain in five minutes.” He hurried away on some mysterious errand. Peggy leaned her head against the backstage wall. She was tired but exhilarated. The past ten days had been the most wonderful of her life. Even the confusion and the discomfort of the trip to Baltimore had been fun. This was the theater as she had always dreamed it, and she was about to step on stage in the most important role of her life. “Places everyone, please. Clear the stage.” Mr. Fox’s voice was quiet, but it carried a ring of authority. “Places for the first act.” He paused briefly beside Peggy. “You okay?” he asked. “Everything all right?” Peggy nodded. “Good.” Mr. Fox grunted. “I hope you break a leg,” he said and disappeared. Peggy smiled to herself. She hadn’t heard that for quite a while. In the theater it was considered a bad omen to wish an actor good luck, and so, instead, you told him you hoped something awful would happen to him. Out in front there was an excited buzz as the house lights flickered their warning. Then, suddenly, out of the darkness beside her, a voice spoke softly. “Hello, Peggy.” It was Katherine Nelson. Peggy turned and smiled. “Hello, Miss Nelson.” She saw Tom standing beside his wife. “We don’t have much time,” the actress said to Peggy. “But before we go on, I want to tell you how much we appreciate everything you did. Tom and I know that you were the one who really brought us back together.” “I’m sure you didn’t know what you were doing,” Tom said. “But that’s the way it turned out.” “I’m glad,” Peggy said simply. “I’m glad for you both.” “There’s another thing I have to thank you for,” Katherine Nelson said. “Somehow tonight—with Tom—I feel that I’m about to start my career all over again.” She paused and shook her head. “No, that’s not quite it. It’s that I’m about to begin a new phase—a new life for myself....” “And for me,” Tom said softly. Before Peggy could answer, Mr. Fox was back. “Curtain going up,” he whispered urgently. “Quiet, please!” Katherine Nelson detached herself from the shadows, straightened her skirt, and stepped up for her entrance. She turned and looked at Peggy and Tom, gave them a quick wink, and pushed open the door. The applause in the theater thundered out when the audience recognized her. Peggy hardly remembered the first act. Her lines came automatically and she was too excited to know whether it was going well or badly. By the second act, that feeling had passed and she was beginning to wonder. Her big scene—the one with Tom—was coming up, and as she took her position behind the familiar door, she had the same sensation of nervous fear she had had the day she first tried out for Craig Claiborne. The lights dimmed and Peggy knew it was time. With a trembling hand she pushed open the door and looked out over the semi-darkened stage. A lone figure was slumped in the chair by the fireplace. Peggy tip-toed into the room, went over to the window, looked out and sighed. “‘Why did you come in so quietly?’” Tom said. “‘You’re as furtive as a lady burglar tonight. What’s wrong?’” “‘Oh!’” Peggy gasped. “‘I didn’t know anybody was here.’” “‘I’ll go if you like,’” came Tom’s reply. Peggy moved over to him. “‘Oh, no! Please don’t! There’s—there’s something I want to talk to you about....’” Suddenly all the nervousness, the worry, vanished. It was all right. Peggy could feel it and, even more important, she knew the audience could feel it too. Completely poised, she sat down on the little footstool beside Tom and stared into his face. He was smiling at her. It was a good smile—strong, yet gentle. Peggy met his gaze and smiled back. This was the moment she had always known would come. She was glad it had come with Tom Agate. Endpapers Back cover
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