Page 57 of Twelve Days and Twelfth Night

Breath seared its way into Maggie’s lungs. Was he going to be sick?

An appalled hush sucked the air from the theater.

Maggie couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. What had she done?

Now those five hundred pairs of eyes turned on her. Grandpa stared at her, aghast. So did Mr. Anderson.

What on earth had she done?

Prescott had wanted Maggie to realize she was wrong—but not like this. Never like this.

Maggie stumbled backward, bumped into his chest.

His hands rose to brace her—but stopped.

She spun to him. Her face . . . dissolved. She brushed past him and ran backstage.

The mumbles in the audience turned to rumbles.

“Press.” Albert tugged Prescott’s sleeve. “You’ve got to do something.”

What could he do? All he knew was he couldn’t leave the audience with a foul taste in their mouths, couldn’t let the cast’s hard work fall to pieces.

Praying for the right words, Prescott raised one hand to quiet the audience. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid that when show people are in the room, you have to expect the dramatic.”

A great quieting and relaxing settled in.

“That isn’t how we want to close this evening,” he said. “We came together tonight to bring you Christmas cheer. For those of you who celebrate Christmas, this is a season to rejoice over the birth of our Lord and the wonders of his love. For those who don’t celebrate, it’s still a season of joy and wonder and love. Would you please join me in singing ‘Joy to the World’? A cappella,” he told the startled band director.

Prescott waved his hand like a choir director and launched into the carol. Deep, rough voices of men billowed through the theater.

Ria strode down the aisle, waving at him.

“Albert, can you lead?” Prescott whispered to him, and Albert nodded and took over.

Prescott met Ria at the corner of the stage.

With her dark eyes piercing, she stuck a piece of paper in his hand. “Frank and Maggie were supposed to dismiss the men to the buses.”

They were both gone.

“Read that from the stage.” Ria pointed to the paper. “One bus at a time. I’ll direct them out from the lobby.”

“I can do that. Thanks, Ria.”

Prescott returned to finish the third verse, then he stepped to the edge of the stage. “Thank you, everyone. Good night and Merry Christmas.”

The cast bowed, and the curtain lowered behind him.

“Please listen for your bus to be dismissed. If you arrived on bus one, please head to the lobby. Follow Mrs. Fernandez.” He gestured to Ria, who waved from the back door. “Everyone else, please remain seated.”

In the front row, Mr. Curtis pushed himself to standing and hobbled to the stage. “Prescott!”

“Yes?” He squatted down.

The older man’s brown eyes pierced even more than Ria’s. “Go after Maggie.”

Prescott suppressed a grimace.