“That’s not quite true.” Katherine Nelson took up the story. “What really happened was that I blamed Tom for Kathy’s death. Oh, I know it was foolish of me. But I felt there had to be some reason for her going like that. I couldn’t bear to think that it just happened. And so I talked myself into believing that it was all Tom’s fault.” The actress took a deep breath. “We parted. Tom kept on in vaudeville and I—well, I went home to my father. But when he died, the theater was the only thing I knew, so I started to act. It had been ten years. I hadn’t kept in touch with anyone. No one remembered me. Vaudeville was dying, so I tried serious acting. You know the rest.”
“I went ahead doing the same things I’d always done,” Tom explained. “I kept thinking Katherine would come back to me and I wanted to be in a position to take care of her. Vaudeville was on the way out, so I tried the movies and radio. As long as I had the hope that Katherine might need me, I kept working.
“Then fifteen years after she left me, she suddenly was a star herself. I left the theater then—but not for long. The servicemen needed me during World War II. After the war, nobody needed me—until Peggy said she did. And I saw that Katherine did too.”
Katherine Nelson shook her head. “I’d lost track of Tom completely. I never expected to see him again. Then, when he showed up in this cast, all the old memories—the old hatred and pain—came back. At first, I couldn’t face even seeing him. I still blamed him, you see, and I refused to forget.”
She straightened her shoulders and looked for a long minute at all of them. “I’m afraid I was pretty unpleasant. I thought to myself, I must get rid of that man! And so I tried every way I knew how to force Oscar Stalkey to fire him. When that didn’t work, I tried to shame Tom into going away of his own accord.” She turned to him with a questioning glance. “I still don’t know how you found the courage to stick it out. I was so cruel.”
Tom smiled gently. “I knew you were miserable,” he told her. “Wrapped up in the same kind of misery that I had created for myself. I wanted to show you a way out. I thought that if I stayed you’d see that all this unhappiness was of your own making.”
“And I did see it,” Katherine Nelson said. “I saw it a hundred times every day, but each time I shut my eyes deliberately. It wasn’t until I met a little boy who had come to see Tom—a little boy who told me what Tom meant to him—that I finally realized what I had done to myself—and all of you. I want to say to every one of you, I’m sorry. And if it’s not too late, I’d like to start rehearsals today, really working together.”
There was a silence. Finally, Oscar Stalkey stood up. “Last night,” he said, “Tom Agate and Katherine Nelson came to see me. We had quite a talk. Among other things, we discussed what’s wrong with the way we’re doing Innocent Laughter. The main point we agreed upon is this. We’ve been putting too much emphasis on the part of the mother. Actually, the center of action lies with the older woman, the grandmother.” He paused and clasped his hands behind his back. “I asked Katherine if she would play that part and her answer was yes. That means we’ll have to get a replacement for the mother, but that shouldn’t be too difficult.
“Meanwhile, there’s another thing. Marcy Hubbard has left the cast.” He grinned at them cheerfully. “All in all, I think you’ll admit it was quite a night. She asked to be relieved of her contract because she said she had a very attractive offer from Hollywood. I was more than happy to do what she asked because filling in for Marcy was no trouble at all.” He turned to Peggy with a smile. “Peggy,” he announced, “you’ll be playing the part of the young daughter in Innocent Laughter.”
There were telegrams from her family, from May and Amy and Randy. There were flowers from Oscar Stalkey and Peter, and a large bottle of perfume from Craig Claiborne. And then, there was the audience. Standing in the wings amid the bustling confusion of stagehands and electricians, Peggy could hear them file into the theater. Muffled sounds of conversation and an occasional laugh filtered through the heavy curtain.