had never broken although now, as an adult, Miranda realized the elderly lady had doubtless needed to stifle a laugh or two over Miranda’s serious attempt to resolve her dilemma—the desire to perform versus anachronisms and reality. Virginia had quietly steered the young Miranda into a solution that helped set Miranda’s career in theater in motion.
“This is a fantasy play, Miranda. It is not historically accurate. After all, I do not think the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag tribe sat down to a turkey dinner with stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry jelly and pumpkin pie with whipped cream.”
Miranda had giggled. “Bet they would’ve liked that more than eels and gooseberries! My teacher said that’s what they probably ate. Icky!”
Before she and Virginia could continue the conversation, one of Miranda’s friends had called out, urging Miranda to try a cupcake. Miranda had again curtsied with the grace of a budding ballerina, then thanked Miss Virginia and run to join her friends.
Miranda opened her eyes and continued to read the journal.
As they were leaving I asked if I could take a picture. Miranda and the twins all posed for me in their costumes. Amber and Jillian went outside, but Miranda stopped and again carefully set her bag on the floor. She hugged me.
“Will you come to my Thanksgiving play, Miss Virginia?”
“I will. But only if you come back and perhaps show me a preview of your wonderful dance.”
Miranda beamed at me. Her young blue eyes sparkled. “I’ll do more than that. I promise to come and visit and show you my dances from my studio, too. And sing if you’ll play the piano. I’m taking lessons but I’m not very good. My teacher says my talent is in my feet and voice, not my hands.”
Miranda couldn’t stop herself. She glanced up at Russ even though her eyes were now moist. She’d kept that promise to Virginia—to come entertain her neighbor throughout her own childhood. High school had slowed down the visits but Miranda had still dropped by to sing or dance or ask Virginia to run lines with her. During Miranda’s years in college the visits became far fewer and once Miranda moved to New York, they’d stopped completely. Miranda’s failure to make it home and see the woman who’d been like a mother must have hurt. No wonder Virginia had made Russ her family.
Russ was still staring at her but his expression seemed to have softened slightly. He appeared puzzled.
Miranda squared her shoulders. She rose and handed the journal back to Russ. She didn’t know how to sign but she figured this was an easy phrase. She tapped her watch.
“Time to go.”
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