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BIRDSEYE VIEW OF PREVIOUS SCENE: The focus of the reporter’s assignment shifts from a human interest story about the famous comedian, Miss Fanny Barnwarmer, to the unfolding tragic story of her life-partner, Juniper Albright.
CHARACTERS:
Fanny Barnwarmer: Eighty-five-year-old woman with plenty of spark and sizzle still in her. Has been performing at the Tavern for forty-four years.
Juniper Albright: Seventy-six-year-old woman who was Fanny’s former companion from their first years at Brady City.
Reporter: Mid-thirties. Works for the New York Times, on assignment in Brady, Texas to write a human-interest story on the famous Fanny Barnwarmer.
Voice (OFFSTAGE LEFT): Male, age indeterminate.
SETTING: Front porch of Fanny Barnwarmer’s home. Rocking chair, DOWNSTAGE RIGHT, facing kitchen chair CENTER, and front steps behind, descending to street level with a flowerbed to the side. OFFSTAGE LEFT are street sounds of traffic: of vintage 1929 cars, some horse whinnying, etc., that continue as a kind of white-noise background throughout the scene. UPSTAGE LEFT, is like a separate SET placed at an angle to the main stage with indistinct, smoky walls (conveying a sense of unreality). A very plain cot faces DOWNSTAGE. This section is always in shadow when downstage is in full light—and vice-versa
PLACE/TIME: Brady Texas, Aug. 9, 1929
AT RISE: FANNY sits in a rocking chair facing the REPORTER. She is wearing a flowered housedress and he is wearing a suit with the tie loosened at the neck and askew, a hat on the floor beside him. JUNIPER, in shadow, curled up on the cot, facing the two. OFFSTAGE LEFT is the fairly constant, but faint, sound of 1929 street traffic, which is the unsonorous blend of vehicles with backfire, the whinnying response of horses, and creaking of wagon wheels.
REPORTER:
It's hard to imagine ... a five-year-old child … forced to watch something so chilling—so violent. Still, her age must've spared her true understanding.
(Musing)
It could’ve been like a play, couldn’t it? And at the end, the actors take their bow ….
FANNY:
All ’ceptin’ her dead daddy hangin' there.
[Both silently stare into the space between them for a long spell]
REPORTER:
Man—kind … how those two words separate and grate against each other.
(Blinking, looking up)
“Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind …. And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls—it tolls for thee.”
(Tapping his pencil tip on the tablet, then looking sadly at FANNY)
So, the gang leaves Juniper and her mother there on the porch and they ... what? Take off?
FANNY:
With Juniper’s mama unconscious.
REPORTER:
I’m trying to piece it all together.
FANNY:
Don’ reckon it can be done, least not by the likes of us.
REPORTER:
But can you stop wondering, just the same, Miss Barnwarmer? Can you? I can’t stop wondering. Dying like that doesn’t happen without sound. The last spasms. The limb creaking against the unaccustomed weight. The death gurgle.
FANNY:
But she was five years old. D’you think it's like she's watchin' one o’ them new-fangled talkies? ’Sides, she didn’t know what dyin’ was. To her, it coulda been like her daddy’s legs doin’ a jig an’ him jes a’ singin’ the last few scraps of a song.
REPORTER:
Did you ever ask her, Miss Barnwarmer?
FANNY:
People ’round here call me Fanny.
REPORTER:
Thank you, Miss Fanny … but—but did you? Did Miss Juniper ever tell you what she remembered of that moment?
FANNY:
We talked about it. One time. She don’ remember—nothin’.
REPORTER:
(Flipping back a few pages on his tablet)
But Miss—Miss Fan—I’m sorry, I can’t do it … Miss Barnwarmer … but the horse! The horse … did little Juniper remember the horse?
FANNY:
She don’ remember nothin’.
REPORTER:
But … I’m sorry, but you described it to me as an old gray
(Referring to notes)
plow horse.
FANNY:
(Stirring)
Yep.
REPORTER:
Well?
(Waiting)
Well … someone—someone had to know that it was old. And Gray. And a plow horse.
(As with sudden revelation)
Oh, but Mrs. Albright had to see the horse before she fainted away? That must have been it.
FANNY:
Don’t rightly know ’bout that.
REPORTER:
(Staring at her long enough for both faces to show discomfort)
Of course … Of course, it’s not important. I guess it’s just the reporter in me. You know, curiosity and all. I just can’t keep from wondering about these details.
[From the still-in-shadow area JUNIPER rises from the cot and stands silhouetted beside it, her hands palmed one upon the other, over her heart]
FANNY:
(With a noisy exhale)
It was my horse, young man.
REPORTER:
Your—Your—
(Shaking his head vigorously)
No. Nooooo.
(Getting to his feet and crossing to the edge of the porch, slapping his tablet against his palm. He leans against the balustrade and stares at FANNY)
But you were just a child, yourself—just a child.
FANNY:
Well, not ’xactly. I was two months shy o’ ten years older’n Juniper.
REPORTER:
Oh! I see! That made you fourteen. Just a moment …
(Writes on his tablet)
So … so fourteen. But—but still, Miss Barnwarmer ... surely you weren’t …
(Looking away from her)
FANNY:
I warn’t there, if’n that’s what y'alls strainin' over. An’ no, that don’ mean the gang stole Daisy-Lou from me. If you come back over’n sit yerself down I’ll patch in all yer wonderin’ ’bout.
REPORTER:
(Pushing off the balustrade, and returning)
It’ll take a lot of patching to make this cloth whole, Miss Barnwarmer.
FANNY:
Don’ know ’bout no cloth, but get yer pencil’n tablet an’ get writin’.
REPORTER:
Wonderful! Now if you’ll start with—
FANNY:
What say I do the story’in’ an’ you jes write.
REPORTER:
(Grinning)
Yes Ma’am.
FANNY:
My Daddy, Caleb Barnwarmer, was an upstandin’ man o’ the community, one o’ the deacons of our Methodist church. Strict, but kind, with us kids an’ with Mama. A farmer. Neighborly. Right to he’p mend another neighbor’s fence or he’p a neighbor butcher his hogs in the season. An’ when the smallpox came, papa’d be right to keep a neighbor’s animals fed an’ crops tended durin’ their grievin’ over a dyin’ child.
(Stopping until the REPORTER looks up from his tablet)
See … him ’n Mama's there when Juniper’s brothers and sister got the pox ’n mama took in Juniper to keep her from gettin’ it while the Albrights lost an’ grieved one after t’other.
REPORTER:
Ummm, So—s-so Juniper was kind of raised—at least for a while—by your family.
FANNY:
Fer a spell. Fer about a month. Jes bein’ neighbors.
REPORTER:
Neighbors ….
FANNY:
At first, Juniper had my room to herself—on account o’ the smallpox—an’ so we din’t see her much. Mama tended to her … a’wearin’ a bandana over her mouth ’n nose, ’n such. An’ then after ’bout two weeks—seein’ Juniper din’t have the pox—I started sharin’ my room with her. But we din’t have anythin' to talk about … her bein’ young an’ all. She’s only three at that time, an’ I’s bein' twelve. Then after the fun’ral Juniper goes back to her Mama an’ Daddy's.
REPORTER:
So you were neighbors to the Albrights ….
FANNY:
Half mile from 'em, 'crost the field. See, Mama’d takin’ a likin’ to Elizabeth. At first, she’d go over’n visit, ’n they’d swap recipes ’n talk women stuff, ’bout motherin’ an’ all.
VOICE (From Street):
Miss Fanny … Miss Fanny …
FANNY:
(Craning her neck to look around the Reporter)
Howdy, Willie …. How’s Miss Gretchen?
VOICE:
Mama’s fair t’ middlin’, Miss Fanny. Say—you gonna mention Mr. Handly’s rottin’ broccoli crop?
FANNY:
It’s in the papers, is it?
VOICE:
Don’ know. Rightly should be. Come four o’clock wit the west wind jes right, the smell can bow ya over. Anyways, Mama tol’ me to ask ya.
FANNY:
Tell Miss Gretchen it’s high time to start bakin' one o' her famous pies. ’Spect Mr. Handly’s goin’ through some tough times with Mrs. Handly dyin’ atop o' two years o' drought. Kinda takes the spit ’n vinegar outa ya, Willie.
VOICE:
’Spect it does. I’ll tell Mama.
FANNY:
Tell her a sprig o' mint under her nose does wonders.
VOICE:
Ha! I’ll sure tell her. An’ Sir … sorry to interrupt ya.
REPORTER:
(Smiling, turning in his chair, and raising an arm, he turns back to FANNY)
I can see where you get your material, Miss Barnwarmer.
FANNY:
Not that. Cain’t use that. Poor Mr. Handley lost his wife to the grippe jes after the spring plantin’ an’ it took all the spunk outten the poor man. He jes lets his crop go to seed— ’n rot in the summer sun. Those kinda things don’ deserve no funnin’.
REPORTER:
I can understand that.
(Beat)
Miss Barnwarmer?
FANNY:
Young man?
REPORTER:
You said at first …
(referring to his notes)
… at first, your mama used to go over and visit Mrs. Albright and they shared recipes and women talk about raising youngins.
(Beat)
Why only at first, Miss Barnwarmer?
FANNY:
Daddy … wouldn’t cotton to it. They visited in secret, while Daddy’s in the fields. Till he caught wind of it. It was the times, young man. You warn’t there. Elizabeth was a nigra. Even with all her fine clothes an’ the jew’ry Mr. Albright gived her—she’s still a nigra.
REPORTER:
Did you go with your mama to visit Elizabeth?
FANNY:
No! Daddy’d a-whipped me good!
REPORTER:
Let me stop you there, Miss Barnwarmer. You see, something’s got me stymied. It’s like there’s something missing. Mr. Albright, being white and your daddy being white—being a good man—being Christian … did they visit? Were they friends? Did your daddy invite the Albrights to church?
FANNY:
No, young man … That’s where it gets a mite muddied. Daddy was a deacon. Mr. Albright was livin’ with a nigra. Livin’ in sin at that—them not bein’ married.
(Beat)
Still ’n all …
(Falling silent)
REPORTER:
Still and all?
FANNY:
A mite muddied like I says. See … back in—let’s see—in eighteen an’ fifty-one, they’s a blizzard hit Chicago. Wipes out near all Daddy’s cattle … an’ hogs an’ untold number o’ chickens. An’ the roof on our barn ’n part o’ our house was caved in. All the fences was down. I’s no more than one then. Anyhow, I’s told how Mr. Albright comes over to be neighborly. He ends up givin’ Daddy money for the lumber to fix our roofs an’ a dozen heffers to replace the cattle … an’ the hogs ’n the chickens—all on a handshake.
REPORTER:
But in the interest of understanding, the cost would have been merely a pittance to Mr. Albright.
FANNY:
Sir … I reckon as how Mr. Albright knowed Daddy’n Mama lived off the land. No matter how hard Daddy tried, he couldn’t o' paid it back. Mr. Albright knowed that. It was jes bein’ neighborly. He jes used paper ’n coin to barter with. Daddy used bacon ’n ham, chickens dressed out ’n baskets o’ eggs. Tha’s all.
REPORTER:
It must have been hard on your daddy knowing he would always be indebted to Mr. Albright.
(Looking back at his earlier notes in silence, then up to FANNY)
Miss. Barnwarmer ….
FANNY:
Son … I’d be beholden if you’d try real hard to call me Fanny.
REPORTER:
I will try ... Miss Fanny .… And it's only fair you call me Robert. Robert Holmdahl.
(After a long pause, he takes a deep breath, and releases it slowly through fluted lips)
Miss Fanny … I can’t go any further without asking you something.
FANNY:
I know.
[With FANNY’S acknowledgment, JUNIPER takes her first halting step toward FANNY and the REPORTER, then stops. She is still silhouetted and in shadow.]
REPORTER:
It was your daddy, wasn’t it, Miss Fanny? Your daddy was the neighbor who knocked on Mr. Albright’s door, wasn’t it? And then he walked away when the door opened and the gang was waiting.
END OF SCENE THREE
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