If I’d only stayed in Massachusetts. I had been a teacher in Father’s school. It was a job I loved and missed more than I thought I would.
“Will you consider it?” Bess asked.
This would probably become another regret, but how could I say no? At least for today? After tonight, I wasn’t sure if there would even be a hotel and restaurant.
“I’ll stay for as long as I can,” I promised. “And I’ll see to Johnnie—” I paused, realizing I was going to promise to take care of him after she was gone, but she didn’t know she would die tonight.
A strange, sick feeling overcame me. In all my own worries and concerns, I hadn’t thought much about Bess Kendal’s death. She was in her final hours, and she had no idea.
Sometimes I hated having the knowledge of a time-crosser.
4
August 30, 1929
Hollywood, California
It took longer than it should have to get to Bennett Studios the next morning. My parents were eager to be there by seven, their usual arrival time, but I was too distracted.
“What’s the matter with you today?” Vicky asked as we finally got into our Dodge Sedan to make the fifteen-minute drive from our house in the Westmoreland Place neighborhood to our studio on Sunset Boulevard. “You’ve been agitated all morning.”
It wasn’t easy being twenty-four and moving back home with my sister. IfLittle Womenwas the success we hoped, Vicky and I could move into our own apartments again.
Papa was already seated behind the wheel as Mama slipped into the passenger side and turned to look at us in the back seat. She was a beautiful woman, always stylish and aware of Hollywood trends. She’d even set a few herself over the years, though the lack of money had prevented her from adding to her wardrobe recently. She looked pretty in a pleated skirt with a matching jacket. Her graying blond hair was worn a little longer, but it was waved and glossy, and she looked beautiful.
“Is something wrong?” Mama asked me as Papa backed out of our driveway.
“I stayed awake in 1849 until I saw the sunrise, but there was no sign of fire—and Bess stayed in her bedroom all night. She didn’t leave with Cole.” I had sat on the pallet next to Hazel as she slept for hours in the dark kitchen, waiting and watching, but nothing had happened. All I’d heard was the ruckus from the nearby saloons and gambling halls.
Mama frowned. “Were you expecting a fire?”
“Yes, the one that Bess Kendal was supposed to die in.”
Papa put the car into drive and began moving up Westmoreland Place Road. It was already hot, and I rolled down the window to let in a bit of fresh air. Westmoreland Place had been a lovely neighborhood to grow up in, though the fashionable sect in Hollywood had moved toward Wilshire Boulevard and Beverly Hills. Our house was spacious and comfortable, but it wasn’t glamorous or remarkable—just a Craftsman bungalow with ivy growing up the side and a large front lawn.
“She was supposed to die?” Mama frowned.
“I told you about it,” I said, a little impatient, though she had a lot on her mind and I couldn’t fault her for not remembering every detail I told her.
She lifted her shoulder and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I watched the passing houses, many resembling ours. “I don’t know what happened, but perhaps I got my information wrong.”
“I want to get right to work when we arrive at the studio.” Papa changed the subject, troubled with his own concerns. “We have so much to get done today. I hope you don’t have any other plans.”
“What plans would I have?” Vicky mumbled as she sighed and put her chin in her hand.
“I hope Grace doesn’t have trouble finding the studio.” Mama opened her purse and rummaged through it. “I’m excited to have her and the girls on set.”
In Mama’s other path in the 1600s, she gave birth to identical twin girls, Grace and Hope, who were also time-crossers. They were born to a different time-crossing mother in 1888. Hope stayed in the 1600s, but Grace chose to remain in the 1900s. Now she lived in Washington, DC, with her husband, Brigadier General Lucas Voland. Their two daughters, Lydia and Kathryn, were fifteen and fourteen. Lydia dreamed of being an actress and had done several plays, one that we had attended last year. When Papa decided to castLittle Women, he knew he wouldn’t have enough money to attract young, professional actresses, so he took a chance and asked if Lydia would come to California to be in her first film and play Amy March, Jo’s youngest sister.
They would arrive sometime today and stay with us until the filming ended.
The traffic was heavy at the intersection where Sunset and Hollywood Boulevards crossed. Bennett Studios was on the corner and took up several city blocks. The tan stucco buildings had been built over the course of the past twenty years as Papa increased the size of his productions and staff. The largest of the buildings, Soundstage 1, was four stories tall and filled one entire block.BENNETTSTUDIOSwas painted in bold white letters on the roof, but the paint had begun to fade and chip over the years. The other buildings housed smaller stages, production offices, editing rooms, dressing rooms, costume and prop storage rooms, and the makeup and wardrobe department.
“I want everyone on stage by nine,” Papa said, pulling into his parking space next to the executive office building. “Not a minute later. I’m making a few last-minute changes to the script, and then I’ll meet you on Stage 1.”
Two automobiles were already in the lot—the overnight and daytime guards’. They usually drank a cup of coffee together before they changed shifts. Papa had let the others go, needing to cut costs.
