“Oh, Beckie, I’d be ever so grateful,” Ollie said, clapping her hands together. Then she sighed dramatically. “I’m so dreadfully busy learning dance steps for the Follies. Stage life is leaving me utterly exhausted!”
Flora rolled her eyes. “Such problems! Can’t someone from your own theater get the milk for you?”
“Sadly, there’s really no one at the Amsterdam I can ask,” Ollie said. “I haven’t made many friends yet among the Ziegfeld Girls. It’s…it’s very competitive. I’ve got my first big role in the new show, and there’s a lot riding on my performance. If the show’s a success, the sky’s the limit for me. If it’s not…” Ollie straightened her shoulders. “Well, I just won’t think about that. I’ve come too far to go back to waiting on customers in a shop.”
Ollie sighed again. “I could use some help—just until the new show opens on Friday. Is that too much to ask?”
“I suppose not,” Flora managed.
“Well, it’s settled then!” Ollie drank her milk, licked her rosebud lips, and set the glass on the countertop. “I’ll let the doorman know to expect Beckie at lunch. As Flora well knows, our doorman, Mr. Teller, is a tough nut to crack,” she said. “He has a difficult job. He’s always turning away men who claim to be madly in love with one of us Ziegfeld Girls. I swear, they come around like bees to honey!”
“I’m sure they do,” Flora said, her tone sour.
Rebecca’s thoughts bounced to Mr. O’Hara. She had wondered why Ollie had been so cool toward him, but now she supposed that with so many people wanting your attention, it might be hard to show your appreciation for everyone—even if they recited poetry for you.
Ollie suddenly squinted at Rebecca, breaking her train of thought. “Hey,” she said, “you look so much like my sister that I think you could pass in and out quite easily!” She patted her tiny green purse. “I’m able to pay, of course—sis. See you tomorrow then?” Her smile was like a warm hug, inviting Rebecca into her world.
Then with a swish of gauzy fabric, Ollie was gone.
Flora snorted. “She thinks the world revolves around her.”
Mr. O’Hara stepped into the barn. It was clear to Rebecca that he had been waiting outside, hoping for another glimpse of Ollie. “Flora,” he said, “you’re jealous. I’ll admit, that ethereal creature takes me breath away.”
Ana’s brow wrinkled. “What’s ethereal?” she asked.
Flora shrugged. “Beats me. Our dear Mr. O’Hara is always spouting fancy words and poetry. I think he makes half of it up!” She smiled a teasing smile, as if they shared a private joke.
Mr. O’Hara closed his eyes and grinned. “Ah, ethereal…means she’s so entirely perfect, so delicate, that she’s barely of this world.”
“You’ve lost your mind, Mr. O’Hara,” Flora said. “I knew Ollie before she was famous. We worked at the same department store. Just a regular gal. In fact, if I hadn’t told her about that ‘prettiest shopgirl’ contest, she wouldn’t be where she is today.”
“On that, we disagree,” Mr. O’Hara said. “Heaven sent, she is.”
Rebecca couldn’t help nodding. To her, Ollie really was heavenly, and it didn’t seem right that Flora, and the performers who shared the stage with Ollie, couldn’t see that. Still, Rebecca knew from her brief time on the film set with Max and Lily that actors could be fiercely competitive. Everyone wanted to reach the top—and there were only a few spotlight roles. How awful to work in a place where no one would be happy for your success! Rebecca suddenly felt protective toward Ollie.
“I can’t wait until our lunch break tomorrow—” she started.
Irritation flared in Flora’s eyes. “Girls, you work for me, but Mr. Hammerstein is the one who pays you. You must clear this with him first—after you’ve put in a full day’s work.”
The girls nodded, surprised at Flora’s sudden crossness, and left the barn to continue their work.
As she swept, Rebecca’s broom felt as light as a feather. With any luck, by this time tomorrow, she would see where Ollie and the Ziegfeld Girls performed. If only Mr. Hammerstein would agree!
chapter 3
A Strange Request
THAT AFTERNOON, REBECCA put all her energy into playing the part of a perfectly happy farm girl. As she raked the chicken yard, a small orchestra onstage was practicing “The Little Ford Rambled Right Along.” The song had honking noises that made Rebecca giggle, and as she hoed between rows of beans, squash, and peppers, she couldn’t help singing along. At the end of each row, she took a twirl, pretending to dance with a partner. When the song ended, she stopped and fanned herself. That part wasn’t an act—being a farm girl was hard work. Even so, Rebecca thought, if it gave her the chance to deepen a friendship with Olivia Berry and see the famous Ziegfeld Follies behind the scenes, it would all be worth it.
When Flora gave the girls another chore inside the barn, Rebecca sighed with relief. It would be cooler out of the sun. “Parents won’t bring their children to watch me milk the cows if the stalls aren’t clean,” Flora said. “Every day, you must shovel them out, put lime on the wet spots, and fill the stalls with clean straw.”
“Lime?” Ana asked. “Like lemon? This is strange custom.”
Flora’s laugh was musical. “Not that kind of lime,” she said. “Here, I’ll show you.”
She removed the top of a wooden barrel and filled a metal scoop with white powder. “This is lime. It gets rid of that nose-pinching smell.”
Ana lowered her gaze to the floor. “I didn’t know this word has more than one meaning.”
Flora put her fingers under Ana’s chin and lifted it until their eyes met. “Don’t be embarrassed. You speak two languages. I only know English. Besides, your accent is adorable!”
Ana’s pink cheeks deepened in color, and as she smiled back at Flora, Rebecca suddenly felt outside the circle of a new friendship. Usually, she was quicker to make friends than shy Ana. But as she shoveled manure into a waiting wheelbarrow, she told herself it really shouldn’t bother her. If Mr. Hammerstein gave his permission, she was going to make friends with an up-and-coming Ziegfeld Girl!
When the wheelbarrow was full, the girls took turns pushing it along one of the winding paths toward the manure pile. Along the way, they passed a young man and woman rowing a small boat around the pond, and three young women working in a garden just beyond a group of small stone cottages. Along with woven floppy hats, the women wore blue overalls and white blouses. One of them looked up and waved enthusiastically at Rebecca and Ana as if they were lifelong friends. The girls waved back.
“The same costumes,” Ana whispered.
“It really is like playing a part onstage,” Rebecca said, wiping stinging sweat from her eyes. The thought made her feel a little better, and the good feeling stayed with her even as they struggled to empty the wheelbarrow into the manure pile.
On their return to the barn, customers were just beginning to arrive. Ladies in pastel dresses stepped off the elevator and opened their parasols. Their children looked freshly scrubbed, their cheeks pink and their clothes spotless.
Rebecca glanced down at her overalls and at Ana’s, both now spotted with muck. She held her head high and forced a look of contentment as they pushed the empty wheelbarrow to the barn.
Flora met them at the open door. “Oh, you two are so much more helpful than the other farm girls. They think they’re just part of the scenery. They forget that they actually need to work. Thank you, girls! You