Puzzle in a Pear Tree

Chapter 1 "No, no, no," Rupert Winston cried, silencing the piano and vaulting up onto the stage with all the spry grace of a much younger man. Rupert tugged at his turtleneck, a habit he had when not particularly pleased. Which, in Cora Felton's humble opinion, was almost all the time. In the few rehearsals she'd had, Cora had come to detest the "innovative and gifted" director, as the Bakerhaven Gazette had termed him, who had left the "stifling constraints of the Broadway stage" in order to "ply his craft in the liberating atmosphere of an enlightened village." Although no linguist, Cora Felton didn't have to be hit over the head with a condescending remark to recognize one. Rupert Winston had Cora's back up before she'd even met him. Being tapped to appear in Rupert's Christmas pageant was the last thing in the world Cora Felton wanted. Had she been able to think of any polite way to get out of it, Cora would have done so. Had she known what rehearsals would be like, an impolite way would have sufficed. "Miss Felton." Rupert Winston extracted his hand from his black turtleneck, entwined his long, slender fingers together, and rolled his steel-gray eyes to the heavens, as if invoking the deities to witness his tribulations in dealing with mere mortals, and inferior ones at that. "You are a milkmaid. A hearty, robust milkmaid, fresh from the fields, sunny and bright and imbued with a lust for life. If you are to sing the solo line, I have to hear the solo line. You cannot mumble it into your sleeve." Cora Felton set down her wooden milking stool, fixed the director with an evil eye. Rupert Winston was, in Cora's humble opinion, one of those marginally famous men who affected rudeness as a sign of genius. The good citizens of Bakerhaven might be taken in, but not Cora. Particularly since Rupert invariably singled her out for abuse. Cora, who appeared in breakfast cereal commercials as the Puzzle Lady, suspected this was largely because she was on TV and he wasn't. Cora was sorely tempted to remind Rupert that she hadn't got a sleeve, this wasn't the dress rehearsal, and her milkmaid costume had yet to be sewn. She stifled the impulse and glanced around the stage, where the seven other maids a-milking stood holding their stools. "You're absolutely right, Rupert," she said sweetly. "I'm totally wrong for this part. I'm sure any of the other milkmaids could do better. I understand completely why you'd wish to replace me." Rupert Winston looked shocked. "Miss Felton. Did I say any such thing? Of course not. You're perfect for the part. It's just a question of pulling a performance out of you." Cora bit back a groan. Were there any way to agree with this fool and get on with it, Cora would have done so, but she knew from experience Rupert loved to pontificate. Under the guise of giving direction, he could run through his entire Broadway resume at the drop of a hat. Already, she could see the other actors emerging from the wings to listen. They soon filled the stage. The piece was The Twelve Days of Christmas, complete with pipers piping, drummers drumming, and so on. Cora could barely calculate how many actors were in the show, let alone the odds of all of them ever doing it right. "I'm not perfect for the part," she protested. "I'm dead wrong for the part. I'm way too old. Just like the rest of your milkmaids--no offense, ladies--but your maids a-milking should be rosy-cheeked country girls in fetching peasant blouses." "You're saying you can't work without your costume?" "No, I'm saying someone else should be wearing it. It's just bad casting." Cora pointed stage left, where her niece, Sherry Carter, stood in a cluster of nine attractive young women. "Look at your ladies dancing. They're all young and prettHall, Parnell is the author of 'Puzzle in a Pear Tree' with ISBN 9780553802429 and ISBN 0553802429.