Her gown was of Grecian cut and sleeveless. Her hair was piled high on her head and held in place with gold cords. The gauzy white dress clung to her curves and her feet were bare save for a single gold ring on her toe.
Bran’s focus flew like an arrow to that saucy gold ring. He was not the only one who was stunned by her beauty. Beside him, Mars released his breath with a low, “Dear God.”
And Bran was reminded of how it had been all those years ago. Whenever Kate took the stage, it was as if she was the only one of importance upon it. She was Circe, the enchantress, because no man, once laying eyes on her, could turn away. What Bran remembered was that her eyes seemed to shine with an ethereal light when she was on the stage, as if she was exactly where she was supposed to be in life.
Today, it was still true. Her beauty was undiminished by her age and her presence alone commanded attention.
The crowd had gone silent, as if holding their breaths to hear what this stunning creature had to share. Kate raised her arm, preparing to introduce herself—
The mood was suddenly broken by a woman’s shout, “Doxy.”
Something was thrown at the stage. The aim was poor and the throw weak. The item hit the edge of the stage front and bounced right at Winderton—who caught a moldy turnip.
Before Bran could pull his brain from the vision of Kate as Juno to what was happening, several turnips were launched from different areas of the crowd, the areas where the Matrons of Maidenshop had been sitting.
Some hit their target. Kate gave a soft cry as one bounced off her hip. She ducked another. “Tart,” came a cry. “Bitch,” yelled another.
And there was laughter. Husbands, gentlemen, farmers, yeomen, stable hands—they all thought it was great fun.
Aesop and the crow came running out. However, before they could get there, Winderton jumped up on the stage like Kate’s savior.
“Stop it,” he commanded. “Stop now.” His young voice rang with authority through the air.
There was a pause in the throwing—until a turnip hit him right in the chest. Christopher fell back, his hat falling off his head. People were shocked and yet there was nervous laughter—
Another turnip was thrown.
“This is out of hand,” Mars muttered, surging forward but Bran was already ahead of him.
“You grab the man who threw that turnip at Winderton. I’ll take care of Kate.”
However, just as he was ready to jump up on the stage, Kate stepped forward. She had helped Winderton to his feet and pushed him toward the safety of the tent, but she had not run herself.
Instead, shoulders back, she faced the crowd, bravely warning with her hands for her actors and even Bran to stay back.
Lifting her chin, she began, “The quality of mercy is notstrain’d, Itdroppeth—”
A turnip hit her shoulder.
There was laughter. She did not back down. If anything, she stood straighter, making herself a perfect target, and continued, her voice strong and carrying, “Itdroppethas the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath; it is twice blest; itblessethhim that gives, and him that takes.”
A turnip missed her. It hit the stage and rolled.
Kate gave it no mind.
In fact, it was as if she had gone into a different world. One could almost imagine a light from heaven shining upon her.
Her actors gathered at the back of the stage, watching as if they were witnessing something rare and wonderful... as did the crowd.
Kate continued Portia’s speech fromThe Merchant of Venice.
She was regal, mesmerizing.
Her expression had turned serene.“That, in the course of justice, none of us should see salvation: we do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy.”
The turnip missiles had stopped.
Everyone, even the children, listened and Bran knew that it wasn’t just her performance, but also her incredible courage that held them spellbound.
