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As the night grew more electric with the energies in the great theatre, the stagehands quickly and quietly moved seemingly invisible behind the curtains of the stage adding the final touches to the set for the first act. More than a few were fresh from the theatre of the grand island, she, herself, was from, and she had managed to gain the opportunity as an understudy thanks to her mother. Young Lydia Wentworth had finally made it to the New World, although she would have said it was more of a Chaotic World than anything else. The New World had been divided amongst itself even before Lydia had arrived, but it seemed like a new era had begun in the last few months.
"Come on Lydie," the lovely Miss Keene said in the English accent and sisterly tone she had always used to help soothe the nerves of the young would-be actress. "The curtain call is in 4 minutes. Find your place and don't worry, I managed to arrive so you are off the hook."
"I wouldn't have minded, though 'tis a night of extra nerves," Lydia replied, allowing the older woman to lead her to her place backstage to watch the show. "Is it true? Will he be here?"
"Hush, child," Miss Keene chuckled as she shooed her onward. "I try not to keep tabs on those who would attend, love. The nerves are always high when about to perform, why stir them up to fainting if one doesn't have to."
Lydia knew she was fibbing, especially since she had memorized the script in preparations for the 'just in case' instance she would need to take the stage, as an understudy does. She was still in the gown for the role she was saved from playing, and she had planned on changing into her own gown before the show started if only her friend had gotten there before the curtain was to rise. The house lights were extinguished and the stage lights grew brighter, readying the pull of the string.
Lydia could hear the crowd's laughter and chatter draw closed as the director walked to the stage centre to introduce the show that had been produced by the very woman Lydia had been the understudy. Lydia looked through the small opening of the cables and pullies, trying to spy out into the crowd for the mystery guest that was to attend that night. The theatre seemed as though it was veiled with an ebony curtain itself, with the lights of the stage making it difficult to see anything more than shadows.
The show began which gave Lydia a moment to escape the play she had spent weeks watching and though she enjoyed it very much, the crowd being sold out had made the air almost unbreathable. Slowly side stepping her way back towards the exit of the building to find the cooler outside air, she had run into one of the stagehands who had seemed to hold a grudge against her.
"You know you are only a pet to her, don't you Lydie," Stanley Crawford snidely smirked, using the nickname Miss Keene had given her. Sauntering over to her by the open door he pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette and match before pushing past her to where she had been going. "You're not even old enough to play that role. You're a pitty project."
"What is your problem, Stan," she shot back, now heated thanks to the jerk before her. "I have done absolutely nothing to earn your disdain!"
"You've done plenty," he seethed back after he had struck the match on his shoe to light his cigarette. "My sister, who is the age of Florence Trenchard, and a far better actress than you could ever hope to become, was cast aside so you could assume the role of understudy!
"Seriously? This is what it is about? Your sister?" Lydia placed a hand on the bridge of her nose, squeezing a tiny bit to ease the throb that was beginning to grow into a headache. "I had nothing to do with any kind of dec--"
"Fucking lies and you know it!" He interrupted angrily, closing the distance between them. "You got in good with the director, didn't you?!" He reached for her then, pushing her against the stage door. "You are one of them English performers, aren't you? You like to show your... Talents behind closed doors, don't you?"
Lydia gasped and kneed the lunatic in the groan before she pushed him away with all of her strength. In a frenzied panic, she pulled on the door, swinging it open in search of one of the men she could trust. She managed to hold her tongue, though the tears were already streaming down her cheeks, more than a few having already found purchase on the bodice of her gown. She stopped in her tracks when a loud shot rang out and the shrieks of the audience sounded like a peal of thunder to the ears. Pure chaos rang out as they began to run off in different directions, desperately trying to escape the theatre.
A loud thump onto the stage caught her attention for a moment, drawing her gaze away from the darkness that rang out in terrified screams. Lydia could barely see through the tears that were still flowing like a waterfall. Her eyelids acting like a damn to keep back a flood had blurred her vision, though she could see the form of a man, who had just fallen from a balcony, clearly injuring himself in the jump. Lydia stood frozen in fear, thinking that it had been Stanley who had fired the shot, until she heard someone in the crowd shriek out 'that he had been assassinated.'
As soon as Lydia had heard those very words, the last thing she had seen before the world had faded to black, had been the man who had fallen had lept up onto an injured leg, rush out of the door she had just run through to escape her predator.
"Come on Lydie," the lovely Miss Keene said in the English accent and sisterly tone she had always used to help soothe the nerves of the young would-be actress. "The curtain call is in 4 minutes. Find your place and don't worry, I managed to arrive so you are off the hook."
"I wouldn't have minded, though 'tis a night of extra nerves," Lydia replied, allowing the older woman to lead her to her place backstage to watch the show. "Is it true? Will he be here?"
"Hush, child," Miss Keene chuckled as she shooed her onward. "I try not to keep tabs on those who would attend, love. The nerves are always high when about to perform, why stir them up to fainting if one doesn't have to."
Lydia knew she was fibbing, especially since she had memorized the script in preparations for the 'just in case' instance she would need to take the stage, as an understudy does. She was still in the gown for the role she was saved from playing, and she had planned on changing into her own gown before the show started if only her friend had gotten there before the curtain was to rise. The house lights were extinguished and the stage lights grew brighter, readying the pull of the string.
Lydia could hear the crowd's laughter and chatter draw closed as the director walked to the stage centre to introduce the show that had been produced by the very woman Lydia had been the understudy. Lydia looked through the small opening of the cables and pullies, trying to spy out into the crowd for the mystery guest that was to attend that night. The theatre seemed as though it was veiled with an ebony curtain itself, with the lights of the stage making it difficult to see anything more than shadows.
The show began which gave Lydia a moment to escape the play she had spent weeks watching and though she enjoyed it very much, the crowd being sold out had made the air almost unbreathable. Slowly side stepping her way back towards the exit of the building to find the cooler outside air, she had run into one of the stagehands who had seemed to hold a grudge against her.
"You know you are only a pet to her, don't you Lydie," Stanley Crawford snidely smirked, using the nickname Miss Keene had given her. Sauntering over to her by the open door he pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette and match before pushing past her to where she had been going. "You're not even old enough to play that role. You're a pitty project."
"What is your problem, Stan," she shot back, now heated thanks to the jerk before her. "I have done absolutely nothing to earn your disdain!"
"You've done plenty," he seethed back after he had struck the match on his shoe to light his cigarette. "My sister, who is the age of Florence Trenchard, and a far better actress than you could ever hope to become, was cast aside so you could assume the role of understudy!
"Seriously? This is what it is about? Your sister?" Lydia placed a hand on the bridge of her nose, squeezing a tiny bit to ease the throb that was beginning to grow into a headache. "I had nothing to do with any kind of dec--"
"Fucking lies and you know it!" He interrupted angrily, closing the distance between them. "You got in good with the director, didn't you?!" He reached for her then, pushing her against the stage door. "You are one of them English performers, aren't you? You like to show your... Talents behind closed doors, don't you?"
Lydia gasped and kneed the lunatic in the groan before she pushed him away with all of her strength. In a frenzied panic, she pulled on the door, swinging it open in search of one of the men she could trust. She managed to hold her tongue, though the tears were already streaming down her cheeks, more than a few having already found purchase on the bodice of her gown. She stopped in her tracks when a loud shot rang out and the shrieks of the audience sounded like a peal of thunder to the ears. Pure chaos rang out as they began to run off in different directions, desperately trying to escape the theatre.
A loud thump onto the stage caught her attention for a moment, drawing her gaze away from the darkness that rang out in terrified screams. Lydia could barely see through the tears that were still flowing like a waterfall. Her eyelids acting like a damn to keep back a flood had blurred her vision, though she could see the form of a man, who had just fallen from a balcony, clearly injuring himself in the jump. Lydia stood frozen in fear, thinking that it had been Stanley who had fired the shot, until she heard someone in the crowd shriek out 'that he had been assassinated.'
As soon as Lydia had heard those very words, the last thing she had seen before the world had faded to black, had been the man who had fallen had lept up onto an injured leg, rush out of the door she had just run through to escape her predator.
This is a fictional, yet somewhat factual tale of the Assassination of Abraham Lincoln, the 16th President of the United States. The main character is a fictional one, as well as Stanley, but Miss Laura Keene had been a very real person who was an actress and producer in the very show Ab had attended. I tried to keep it relatively vague. A moment in American history that has raised a bit of controversy, but it is still a part of history, nonetheless, regardless of one's opinion. Thank you for reading. 