One Perfect Rose Read Online Free Page A

the pit here.
    Stephen was waiting in line to buy his ticket when he saw two elderly ladies, clearly sisters. Their clothing was shabby but almost painfully clean. The smaller one said briskly, “’Twould be fun and no denying, but we simply can’t afford two shillings.”
    Her sister, tall and sweet faced, said wistfully, “I know, Fanny, I know. ’Tis better to eat than watch a play. But Romeo and Juliet was ever so lovely that time five years ago when the hens were laying well and we had a bit of money to spare.”
    â€œNo use thinking about it.” Clearly the leader, Fanny took her sister’s arm and started to lead her away. “Let’s go home and have a nice cup of raspberry leaf tea.”
    It was Stephen’s turn to buy a ticket. On impulse he handed the seller three shillings and received three disks. Then he circled around and made his way through the crowd to the elderly sisters. Bowing politely, he said, “Excuse me, ladies, but could you do a service for a stranger?”
    Fanny surveyed him skeptically. “Are you in need of directions?”
    He shook his head. “I was to meet two friends here to see the play, but I’ve just learned that they will be unable to come. Would you take these?” He held out two disks.
    The tall sister’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Fanny.”
    Her sister said gruffly, “Can’t you return them?”
    â€œThe chap selling the tickets looks like a stubborn sort to me,” Stephen said earnestly. “I’d rather not get into an argument with him.”
    As Fanny debated the morality of accepting his offer, her gaze went from Stephen to her sister’s hopeful face. Understanding flickered in her eyes. “Thank you, sir. You are most kind.” She put out her hand. Though she might not accept charity for herself, she would not deny her sister the pleasure of the play.
    â€œIt is you who are kind, ma’am.” He handed over the tokens, then bowed and moved away, feeling a warm glow. Each year he gave literally thousands of pounds to the local parish and charities for everything from supporting military widows to establishing schools for the children of laborers. But those things were done from a distance; he didn’t even write the bank drafts himself. Spending two shillings from his pocket to give a treat to a pair of elderly ladies brought him more satisfaction than all of the money he had given away in the past. Perhaps he should become more involved with the results of his philanthropy.
    His pleasure dimmed when he recalled that there was not much time to change his habits. Still, there were a few months ahead of him. He resolved to spend part of that time making sure that his charitable bequests would achieve the best results. He might visit some widows and schools, not to receive gratitude for doing what was his duty, but to appreciate the humanity of those he helped.
    The doors swung open, propelled by a lively boy of ten or eleven from inside the barn. “Ladies and gentlemen, step inside,” the cockney ticket seller shouted. “ The Tempest is about to begin!”
    The approaching storm produced a timely rumble of thunder. Amid general laughter, the crowd moved into the barn, each receiving a playbill in return for handing over a disk. A pungent atmosphere gave evidence that cows were usually stabled within. Crude wooden benches were set in rows facing the improvised stage, which ran across the far end of the building. Light came from narrow clerestory windows and a half-dozen footlights that separated the audience from the actors.
    The barn filled quickly, the elderly sisters managing to secure scats in the first row. Since there were not enough benches for everyone, Stephen took a position by the right wall. Not only was there a cool draft, but he would be able to leave quietly if the play was unwatchable.
    Gradually the audience settled down, buoyant with anticipation.