Bethyl and The Winter Night Rider

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Even a roundneck like O'Toole can't make it pay--in fact, if you want to know, I make more than he does! But even so--And for the apprentices, such as you'll be, Miss Merriday, I have simply splendid teachers, with practical lessons in voice and eurythmics, and the chance to appear in my plays with famous actors.

So I'm compelled to charge each student actor two hundred and seventy-five dollars for the ten-week season, and fifteen dollars a week for room and board--really below cost. Do you think you could dig up all that fabulous wealth--four hundred and twenty-five dollars? The senior Merridays and Charley looked small and rustic in the stretches of the Assembly Hall stage, gazing distrustfully at a red-headed co-ed in shorts who was moving scenery.

Bethel flew up to them, her dress three-quarters buttoned, her hair uncombed. But honestly, I'll pay it all back, as soon as I get a job--'. Her father fretted, 'Well, finances are pretty tight, just now, and I had hoped you'd begin bringing in a little before long.

And I guess I don't understand girls now. When I was young, girls were glad to stay home and marry some nice fellow, but now seems like they all want to go off some place and be actresses or fly to Australia. No, I don't understand it but--Yes. We'll fix it somehow. My girl's going to have her chance!

For years, Bethel was to be at a disadvantage when young actresses explained that they had the most interesting excuses for every lapse, because their parents and brothers had been so unimaginative, unsympathetic and generally so American. As she went to bed, she exulted that she was a real employed actress now; that in just a month she would be at the Point Grampion school. But there was something irascible lurking behind the bland joy, and she dared to drag it out:.

All those two days at home, June 15th and 16th, , before she went off to the summer theatre at Grampion, she earnestly enacted the role of a girl saying good-bye to childhood and to every loved spot that her infancy knew: the cement garage, the pergola on which the Concord grapevines were always rather dry, the basement playroom with the tracks of the electric railroad which she had inherited from Ben. She felt, and quite guiltily, that she ought to be devoting herself to worrying about the dispossessed Jews in Germany and Poland, the share croppers in Oklahoma; and, if not doing anything about them--for obviously she never would do anything about them--at least showing herself a right-thinking liberal by hourly agonizing, 'Oh, isn't there something I can do?

She felt guilty because none of her life had been conspicuously devoted to 'doing things for other people'. That was Professor Miss Bickling's war cry and nursery ditty: 'The greatest joy and privilege in life is doing things for other people. She was equally dissatisfied with her examination of the status, to date, of the Heart of Bethel Merriday. She wasn't quite sure that she had one. Certainly, if the test was, as she often read, lying awake longing for the smiles and caresses of some particular young man, she had no heart, as yet.

She liked the laughter of the young men and their hard handshakes, but she wanted to jeer when she heard Alva Prindle or Gale Amory yearn that some curly-headed, pipe-flourishing young male was 'just wonderful'. Alva had given up her claim to Hollywood. Already a little stringy at twenty-three, she was devoted to the hope that one A. Alexander Brown, a fat insurance agent with the optimism characteristic of all insurance agents, would marry her and provide a mink coat and a set of etched cocktail glasses. Not toward Alva, not toward her father and mother and brother, did Bethel feel guilty, but toward that shaggy house dog, Charley Hatch, who had been compelled by family deficits to give up his dreams of osteopathy for a job in the sales department of the Flamolio Percolator Corporation.

Americans making love have always sat on porches, except for those who were too poor or too rich. In the house was electricity; Mr. Merriday was reading about the tear-gas bombing of strikers in the aeroplane industry, and Ben drawing television diagrams; but Bethel and Charley sat on a porch in New England and, despite all announcements that the whole world has changed since , no one could have told them from their grandparents.

Maybe I'm the bloodless kind of girl that can't ever devote herself to any man. But I've got to go on. Honestly, please believe me, I do envy the girls that can settle down to a nice little home, but for me--prob'ly I'm crazy--it doesn't seem good enough. In the world outside, they'll use you and then throw you away like a worn glove. She studied Charley. His soft hair was babyish and pathetic, yet his large, solid head seemed fatherly and protective.

Was she a fool to leave this eternal kindness?


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None of them could drive her down to Grampion that day--Friday, June 17th--and she went by train, which was, for one of the Modern Merridays, like travelling by oxcart. It was the most beautiful, most elaborate make-up box, with every cosmetic she had ever heard of: two kinds of rouge, evening and daytime lipstick, skin freshener, powder, mascara, nail polish in two shades, 'Dawn Delight' and 'Faint Memory', 'nourishing cream' and the humble cold cream. She cried over it. Not for three weeks did she discover that the only things that were of the smallest use to her were the cold cream and the empty tin box.

Grampion centre was a picture-book village. Red-fronted chain stores and crimson gasoline pumps had enterprisingly tried to improve its quiet quality out of existence, but Grampion was all gambrel roofs and elm trees and white steeples and white cottages with small-paned windows, and the quickening smell of salt marshes. The only conveyance at the station was a sedan, at least ten years old.

The driver, a young man with a yellow sweater and a blue denim shirt, thrilled her by clucking and not laughing at her, either , 'You one of the actresses, miss? Jump in. You'll have a good time this summer. They drove through marshes, grey-green and still, crossed a tidal creek, and came to a mile-long bay, with sun-clipped waves. Twoscore sailboats were at anchor. On one of them, three handsome burnt youngsters, in white ducks, white jerseys and white boating hats, were getting up sail, and they waved at her hopefully.

Then the sedan skirted a private estate with bayberry hedges and came abruptly into the Nutmeg Theatre grounds, which occupied a quarter of the square-shaped Point Grampion and had Long Island Sound to south and westward. Born in the hill-circled city, going to a college on the Housatonic River, Bethel little knew the sea. She looked across the Sound some ten or twelve miles to the blurred shore of Long Island, near Greenport. Fishing schooners were slanting northward, the lofty sail of a yacht leaned perilously, and through the middle distance slipped a freighter from foreign lands.

The flickering stretch of the Sound was to her bluer and more fluid and ever-changing than the blue sky above her own hills. She felt superstitiously glad. The Sound was a tributary of open ocean, and she was a tributary of the great theatre. Actresses, she assured herself, if God is good to them, come down at last to the sea and to a ship which will bear them to the lights and cheering in far-off lands. The grounds had a sand beach on one side, which promised bathing, and rocks on the other, for loafing in the sun.

The flat top of the low bluff was a whole village in itself: the actual theatre building, which had been a church; a one-room building as office; the house of the old-time pastor-farmer, where splendidly lived the director, Mr. Valentine, and most of the seven permanent members of the stock company--all professional actors--and such lordly 'guest stars' as might adorn the casts from week to week; a shop for painting and carpentry; the School of the Theatre--the old pastor's barn, with a small stage and rows of doubtful chairs inserted; and at last, on the sea edge, with tennis courts beside it, Bethel's new home, the dormitory and dining quarters for the apprentices.

She was too excited to be critical; otherwise she might have noticed that the dormitory was shakily knocked together of second-hand boards and painted with pigment guaranteed to peel immediately. The windows were narrow and low, their mosquito netting of cotton. But to Bethel it was the Temple of the Muses, all cool marble and bright gold. It's wonderful to be here,' she crowed, and her friend drove off, leaving her alone in the Temple. She ventured into the hallway, which was also the living-room, of the apprentices' dormitory. With a scratched upright piano, a long, bare table, a cushionless window seat and a litter of third-hand chairs, rockers and wicker and canvas deck-chairs, the room was a charity home.

But Bethel was pleased. She was a worker in the theatre and an insider, not one of the luxurious 'carriage trade' who came in limousines and demanded upholstered seats but were never she innocently believed welcomed in the holy places backstage. The room was still, there was no one on the uncarpeted stairs; the only stir was from an outboard motor on the Sound. Through a door at the back resentfully emerged a lean man, in overalls, with a stained white moustache.

I'm the caretaker. And janitor. I'm responsible for keeping the floors clean and the windows washed and chasing the small boys off. Folks also think I'm a Quaint Local Character. I let 'em think so. It's worth money to me. I even let 'em think I used to be a fisherman here, when this place was a decent churchyard and a fish wharf and not no theayter, with a lot of you young women chasing around and flirting and not enough clothes to dress a pussycat in.

I never was. I hate fish. I used to be a janitor in the State Capitol, in Hartford. Well, what d' you want? Yes, I guess you might's well see Roscoe, as Andy Deacon ain't come yet. Andrew Deacon. He makes out he's just one of the actors, but it's him puts up most of the money for Roscoe to blow in. He went to college and everything. Long about twenty-eight, Andy is. Acts on the stage regular--God knows why, rich fellow like him--his dad was J.

Goddard Deacon; run the big gun factory up in Worcester. Nice-spoken fellow, Andy is, too--like a Hartford man. But you better see Roscoe. So long. Johnny Meddock vanished. He who often remarked that he 'hated theayters and hated their guts' was the most theatrical object in the place.


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He was Punch and Judy and Policeman and Devil all in one. Bethel, having decided that he was either very hateful or lovable, went searching for the high priest, Roscoe Valentine. Valentine, in sandals, lilac trousers, a dark blue shirt, a voluminous white tie and English eyeglasses, was at his desk in his small cabinlike office, simultaneously writing an advertisement for The Petrified Forest which, on June 27th, would open the season, dictating a letter to an agent in New York complaining because he had not received another script, scratching his left calf with his right foot and planning a lecture on 'Relaxation, the Secret of Acting'.

He looked up at Bethel blankly. He was irritated, and demanded, 'Are you one of the apprentices? But even Mr. Jerry O'Toole can sometimes be right. Well, you go and report to Cynthia Aleshire, my scene designer. She'll put you to work. And begin to learn right now, my pigeon, that if you're serious about your stage career, you've got to do everything you can around here--learn everything about the theatre--everything. The girl secretary, outside, patted the dismayed Bethel amiably. His bite is worse than his bark. But he does know something about acting and producing.

I hope he does! My name is Marian Croy. I've been teaching school for six years, out in Nebraska--I organized a town dramatic club. I've saved up enough money to take one year off, for a shot at this place and then Broadway. God knows why I want to act! I always say it's because I like to read Maeterlinck aloud I hope you don't think he's too sentimental, too!

If I don't make a go of it, I'll go back and marry Oscar Heyden--he's a nice man, but he looks just the way his name sounds. Am I babbling, Bethel? But busy! Roscoe found out I knew shorthand, so he put me to work. That's how you learn to act here--doing everything that Roscoe would have to pay to have done--scrubbing floors or addressing envelopes to theatre subscribers or driving up town to buy cigarettes. I do hope you don't know pedicuring, or Roscoe'll probably have you doing his sweet, pink, plump toes.

Good luck, dear. Cynthia was a trim, tall, Greek-coin lady of thirty-five. Bethel did not believe that she would ever know Cynthia, but she instantly felt herself one with the apprentices, sprawled inside the work shed and in front of it, repainting last year's scenery a flat grey. They were a joyful crew: two girls in shorts and jerseys; three young men in overalls, or sweaters and grey flannels.

There was the plump, jolly, hither-eyed Toni Titmus, who had just finished freshman year in the University of Wisconsin, but who at the moment thought that she preferred playing English duchesses to playing basketball. Pete Chew, a round, stupid, wistful rich young man who had taken to the drama only after having been dropped by Amherst, Rollins College, and the Schenectady Flying School.

Walter Rolf, slim, competent, decent, twenty-three or -four and a track runner. It was Walter Rolf's misfortune that, however much you tried to avoid the word 'clean' in describing him, you were sure, in the end, to pigeonhole him as a Clean Young American. Like Marian Croy, Harry had come to the theatre late; unlike her, he was that most portentous of bores, the yearner who knows that he is much more artistic than he is.

Harry was forty; and at home, in Hannibal, Missouri, he was a bookkeeper. He was also an actor, in the Y. Drama Guild; a poet, in the Southwestern Christian Advocate; and a dramatist, in nothing perceptible. The gang had concluded that Harry had come to Grampion to find someone who would listen to his play plots. He would stop swimming to discuss his psyche, and he wrote poetry to all the girl students. It was pretty good poetry, too--by Richard Lovelace. But that made two more young actors than she had ever worked with before, and she was content, though later she was to calculate that her estimate may have been too high, by two.

They all knew so very much about the theatre. As they painted and glued and hammered, and constructed the lunch counter for The Petrified Forest, they gave final verdicts:. I wouldn't of played Claire's role that way at all. I'd of made her more awkward. You know. He made the canon so darn heartless.

I felt he was showing off, all the while. Too much technique. Now if I'd had that role, I'd of shown how deeply he felt everything underneath. Of course Sir Cedric is nothing but an Englishman. How could he play an Irishman? Of course, I'm not Irish, either, but still. I like a play that's got some social significance.

Maybe if I'd been running their schedule, I'd of stood for The Sea Gull, but these French plays--Whatever you may think about the Russians, you certainly got to admit they got art! The practically senile Harry Mihick aged forty had greeted her. Listening to their wisdom, peeping in awe at Toni Titmus as she perkily revealed that she had once been introduced to Jo Mielziner, the scene designer, at Sardi's, Bethel felt that she was again a freshman.

How many more times would she find that she had graduated only into new freshmanhood? Freshman as a baby, freshman in her first year in grammar school, freshman in high school, freshman in college, freshman in a summer theatre, freshman on the professional stage--perhaps freshman in marriage and freshman as a star--would it end only with death and her awakening to freshmanhood in heaven? By the end of an hour's painting she was becoming one of them and was saying some pretty profound things about gag lines.

She had discovered that if she endured their idiocies without laughing, they would stand for hers. The sea wind ran across the rough wild grass, touching her hair; and she was really painting a stencil on real scenery; and she was in a world where she could talk about the theatre from eight a. Bethel's dormitory room, a double room which she was to share with Iris Pentire of the stock company, was as utilitarian as a boxcar. It had two cots, two straight chairs, two tilted bureaus, with blisters in the paint, and a row of hooks.

But to Bethel, washing up for dinner on her first evening in Grampion, it was enchantment, for on the wall was a last season's poster:. This was no bedroom, but the anteroom to glory! Here her friend Iris Pentire and she would be queens of the stage, along with Ethel Barrymore. Cynthia Aleshire, the scene designer, said that Iris, who would arrive to-morrow, was a phenomenon: slim, lovely, only twenty, but already a professional actress and one of the seven Equity-member professionals of the Nutmeg permanent stock company at Grampion.

Iris had, reported Cynthia, been a chorus girl, a photographer's model, played stock in Baltimore, and toured in a minor part in Teacher Mustn't Slap. In fact, at only twenty, Iris had as much grilling stage experience as, a generation before, she would have had at the age of six. But as the youngest of the professional stock company, at minimum salary, Iris was to live not in the Bostonian luxury of The House but with the submarginal citizens of the dormitory. She stripped off her sweater and slacks, sang in the shower, and in the pride of blue skirt and clean white sweater she ran down to dinner.

There were sixteen student-apprentices at Grampion. They were unpaid, and classed as amateurs, but each of them was permitted by Equity to appear in three plays during the summer. Higher in the hierarchy were the permanent stock company, with Mr. Andrew Deacon and Miss Mahala Vale as leads, and other visiting professional actors and 'guest stars' who appeared in one or two out of the schedule of ten plays presented during the summer of To-night eleven out of the sixteen apprentices had come, and were being dramatic over veal loaf, cottage-fried potatoes, coleslaw, stuffed peppers, and huckleberry pie about a table which was made of two retired barn doors resting on saw horses.

Bethyl and The Winter Night Rider eBook: Phillip Thierjung: avijihybihyl.ga: Kindle Store

Pete Chew, the rich and roundly young, of whom it was already obvious that his best role in the theatre world would be donating scholarships to the hat-check girls in night clubs, had wondrously changed from overalls by Abercrombie, Fitch to chequed grey trousers, black and white shoes, and a sweater from the Isle of Uist. But why Uist? He had been buzzing about Toni Titmus at the workshop; now, as Bethel ventured into the dining-room, Pete looked brightly at her, approached her with a festive waddle, seized her arm and cheered, 'Uncle Pete'll sit beside you, pretty-pretty, and save you from the sharks.

Bethel listened doubtfully. But Cynthia Aleshire was talking about things called 'functionalism' and 'formalism' in stage settings, and how you can play Macbeth all up and down and under a staircase. The sea, filling the windows, was softening into apricot over toward the horizon; and now Bethel met Fletcher Hewitt. Fletcher Hewitt, though he could not have been over thirty, was the traditional Yankee; Uncle Sam without his whiskers; tall, thin, rusty-haired, speaking with calc'lation.

His father had been a Rhode Island carpenter, his mother an ambitious New Jersey school teacher, caught in matrimony on an innocent summer vacation. At eighteen, with his widowed mother, Fletcher had gone direct to Broadway. He was a good stage manager. He had nursed twoscore plays in New York and on the road. In the Nutmeg Players it was his job not only to watch entrances and off-stage noises and curtains and all the other housekeeping and kitchenwork of the arts, but to carry on direction when Mr.

Valentine was sick after one of his nauseas of temperament, and to keep Cynthia from making the scenery so functional that it wouldn't function. But still to arrive were the real divinities: Andrew Deacon, Mahala Vale, the young leading woman, and Iris Pentire, who would be Bethel's own true twin. The rocks looking on the Sound were their drawing-room after dinner, and the twilit moment was complete as they lounged there--Bethel, Fletcher, Walter, Toni Titmus; tired actors tired from scraping scenery , carelessly disposed in rest but pretty careful about their attitudes of carelessness; the indolence of a knee, the angle of a face resting on a hand.

Toni screamed, 'I've got to go up and write the loving parents. I wonder do we get any dancing lessons this summer? Oh, to be a Bernhardt, now that my stage career is here, and me not in the doghouse--not yet. See you soon. Good night. For instance, a nice chap like Rolf--I'll bet anything he's got an uncle who's head of some factory and would give him a job, but Walter will gamble on earning fifty dollars a week twenty weeks a year, as an actor.

Or an old bird like me--I'm thirty and I didn't have a job all last winter and I have to support my mother and prob'ly I could make two hundred a week in Hollywood, but I'd rather get sixty as assistant stage manager of a road show. Thousands of youngsters ready to starve if they can just have a chance on the stage, and no more permanent winter stock companies to train them, and so few touring companies--and that's the fault of the provincial audiences; they'd get the shows if they wanted 'em enough, if they knew their business as audiences as well as we know our jobs on the stage.

So we flock to these theatrical Boy Scout camps--and we're making 'em into good theatres, too! Probably eighty-five summer theatres in the country solid enough to last through the season--probably two thousand kids, mostly from comfortable homes, that are willing to scrub floors and usher and shift scenery, with the thermometer a hundred backstage, to get a chance to act. If the theatre's dead, we're going to revive it--we're reviving it right now! Well, I've got to go and have a fight with our electrician.

She was alone on the rocks when the oversize faun, Pete Chew, found her and crouched by her and automatically seized her hand. You stick by Uncle Pete, pretty-pretty. There's a lot of places where you can go dancing, and take a drink, but I'm liberal; I never insist on a girl taking a drink, unless she wants to. If we can maybe get hold of another fellow when the rest get here--I thought Walter Rolf would be a good sport, but he's a stuffed shirt--but if we can round up some live wire, him and Toni and you and I can have one swell summer. And swimming. That kind of junk is all right in college, but we're artists--we can do anything we like and get away with it.

Don't you know that? You come from a woman's college, don't you? And the backwoods? How do you expect to be a high-class actress and act in plays about Long Island society if you don't hustle up and see the world? I got my own car. A Lincoln! I'm not so much on the charm and social stuff, though my family is one of the best in Bronxville.

I'm more you might say a comedian. I did Falstaff in prep school--the Ypsilanti Military Academy. I had a row with a crank in the dramatic club at Amherst, so I never got into that--oh yes, I'm an Amherst man, I went there till I got sick of the place, so darn provincial-- but I'm a good comedian. And I'm thinking about doing a lot with the financial backing of plays. I can be the biggest influence on Broadway! That's why I want all this training this summer. You'll see me one of the hottest producers in town some day. What I could do for a girl! I'd plan for her and make her the biggest actress in America!

That little tramp? She thinks she knows everything. I told her I was just interested in her artistically, and she laughed at me. She claims she was a walk-on in Our Town, and so she's a professional, is she! And when I asked her if she liked presents, she says she only likes jewellery! Nothing doing! No, no--but you and me would get along wonderfully.

Pat Campbell and Clark Gable and everybody--and she said I was very sensitive. Come on! And I certainly hate to see as lovely a kid as you wasted on a lot of amateur hams here. Maybe you think it's kind of sudden, but I swear, I'm falling in love with you.

Do you like me? In Sladesbury. Oh, the handsomest, wildest, gayest boy--Charlemagne Hatch. I told him I wouldn't be good for him. I warned him. But oh, why, why, why did he--'. I was always telephoning him when he wasn't there! Why did he do it? He was sensitive, too, the way you are. And just when I thought he and I were going to be so happy he--I can't stand it! No, no, I don't believe you are. Well, I--gotta be getting along. I'll be seein' you! Bethel heard him shouting under Toni's window.

I need one! She smiled, even as she sat among the ruins hearing her mother say, 'Bethel Merriday, I'm sur -prised! But in the darkness she remembered Fletcher Hewitt's sermon about the children's crusade of the summer theatre. She thought of the hundreds of other young people who were this moment dreaming of the theatre, by the sea, in the cool hills, in the rustling woods, under the stars--boys and girls from factories and colleges and farms, from disapproving New England mansions and flats in the East Side ghetto, exhibitionists and sound workers, Communists and Tories and plain bored at home--an army of Gay Contemptibles.

How absurd must once have seemed the butcher's son from Stratford, piping on his penny whistle as he trudged to London, under the stars. On Saturday, her second day at Grampion, Bethel could not see what the tasks which Roscoe Valentine and Fletcher Hewitt and Cynthia Aleshire gave her had to do with acting. She helped the coloured maid set the table in the dormitory.

She answered the telephone in the box office for an hour. She sewed at heavy red curtains for the courtroom scene in Night of January 16th till her fingers trembled. She stitched and hung a new chintz curtain in the star's dressing-room, to honour their greatest guest star, the famous Nile Sanderac she ranked almost with Ina Claire in playing elegant young married women , who would be coming in a week now, to enact Candida.

Bethel's most theatrical duty was to drive the old Ford station wagon into Grampion Centre and borrow, for the Petrified Forest set, a cash register and a couple of round tables from Mr. Valentine did not 'believe' in buying such accessories or in renting them. It was a serious matter of principle. He loved a nickel with the same spirited and devoted passion that he devoted to God and Bernard Shaw. Roscoe almost screamed: 'Don't take any nonsense from him!

You tell him I say he gets half his customers from my theatre, and he won't need this stuff--second-hand junk; I know; I've used 'em before! Don't let him bluff you! I suspect I'll be coming here a lot this summer, with my bunch. You're the kind that can't be fooled. Summer 'fore last, they took all my Coca-Cola posters and brought 'em back torn.

But last summer, one time I was away, damn' if Valentine didn't send some of the kids in here to "borrow" four ham sandwiches! So what do I get stung for this time? Just some tables and a cash register? Does there have to be money in the cash register? Because I suppose if Valentine wanted it, I'd have to give it to him, or else these codfish-eating Yankees here would say I didn't have any public spirit. She returned to the theatre, at noon, to find newly arrived four members of the permanent stock company: Tudor Blackwall, the second juvenile, sleek and doe-eyed and just faintly effeminate; Clara Ribbons and George Keezer incomprehensibly but always known as Doc Keezer , who were both middle-aged veterans technically classed as 'wise old troupers'; and, at last, the baby of the stock company, Iris Pentire, who was to be Bethel's own twin.

That other twenty-year-old, Toni, the plump and pretty, had been unhesitatingly friendly, but Iris, moving silkily about the room she was to share with Bethel, putting away salmon-coloured silk pyjamas and maribou-edged silver bed jacket and scarlet pumps with gold heels high as obelisks, cautiously smiling and musically murmuring, 'Thank you for letting me come in with you', was hidden with cloudy veils.

She was a Mystery. The most nearly convincing stories about Iris that Bethel was ever to hear were that she was the daughter of an Irish nobleman, reared in a nunnery, still piously virginal and viewing her stage career as a means of portraying the austere beauties of virtue; and that she was shanty Irish, from Wheeling, West Virginia, and had had only twelve words, headed by 'Okay', in her vocabulary until, at the age of sixteen, she had become the sweetheart of Clum Weslick, the distinguished director, who had provided her with tutors and chiropodists.

Slender, fragile, with hair not golden but colour of sunset gold reflected on a silver box, sweet eyes, and mouth that appeared sweet unless you saw it twisted in anger; silent, defenceless and slim as the child Elsie Krall; silent and sweet and never quite saying what she meant; silent and soft-moving; that was Iris Pentire; and one moment Bethel thought she was a statuette of gold and ivory, a charm to wonder at; and the next, a voodoo priestess.

Saturday noon, a young man who looked like a research scientist, and who may actually have been so but was now employed as one of the Deacon chauffeurs, flashed into the theatre grounds and left Mr. Deacon's arrival as male lead in the Nutmeg company. It seemed that Mr. Deacon's mother would be driving him down from Newport in a day or two. But even their youthful American cocksureness was shaken now. I bet if he chased Juliet in that buggy, he'd get her,' said Toni Titmus, in a tone of vesper prayer.

Bethel wondered if Roscoe Valentine overmuch loved his partner, for, looking at the car, Roscoe muttered--even to her, the outsider, the raw recruit, 'Huh! Andy doesn't hide his wealth much, does he--our theatrical playboy! But the fact is, all the money is his mother's, not his at all--and does the dear old dowager let him know it! Mahala Vale descended from the dusty local train like a leading woman determined to be pleasant, and with a high handshake she caroled, 'It was so sweet of you to meet me, Miss Merriday'.

Mahala could not have been over twenty-five or -six, but she looked like a young woman who knew her job; carrying herself with authority, on the tall side, wide-browed, chestnut-haired, the true goddess; beautiful in a standard way where Iris was pretty in an exciting, perplexing way, and Bethel was either insignificant, or as tantalizing as music. How very exciting! Shall I sit up beside you? It smells of fish, doesn't it! Bethel was hereafter to hear her say a great many things in her 'cello voice, and never to know whether Mahala meant any of them, or what she was thinking, or whether she was thinking at all.

If Iris Pentire was openly mysterious, Mahala Vale was mysteriously open; if Iris bewildered the frank heart of Bethel by her silence, Mahala baffled her by easy and indecipherable chatter. All sixteen of the apprentices and most of the stock company had arrived by Saturday evening, and they sat all over the rocks by the shore, as vocal as a flock of blackbirds. Bethel again felt like a freshman--like a freshbird. She was an approachable fledgeling, but a lone one, never quite willing to belong completely to the rule of any bevy.

I am a family guy There is nothing more important than family and friends. I appreciate sharing moments with family and friends together, playing cards, or swimming in the lake Sitting around a firepit under the stars The Bethel community is full of great people, places, restaurants, and recreation. That is why I visit Bethel I bought this abandoned summer farmhouse in because of my love for skiing, and my desire to have both a ski house, and a lake house.

No doubt, I had no idea what a labor of love I was getting into! Ask me about the day I tried to jack up the old farmhouse in order to pour a foundation underneath it I'll fill you in on how this house, built in the year , came into being! Our second year staying here -- great place to stay for a weekend at Sunday River. House is clean, Jim is helpful and easy to communicate with, overall great experience.

Big fans of the hot tub. Was an amazing time, check in and out was easy. Jim made the whole stay a breeze and the house was in great condition! We had a group of 5 families stay at the house for two nights. There was plenty of room for everyone to enjoy themselves, Jim was very responsive and so accommodating and easy going. The hot tub was definitely a hit. Sunday River is an awesome mountain and it's only minutes away. We do a ski trip every year to a different mountain and our experiences have varied over the years. This one is close to the top of the list. We are coming back.

We had a great time.

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The kitchen was large with two tables so there was room for all of us to hang out. We had a great time ringing in the new year. Did not have a microwave which was a little odd, but we got along fine without it. Two refrigerators left one for liquid refreshments and one for food.

Owner was very fast to respond to any issue we had. He even checked with us to make sure we were good. Thanks, Jim, we had a great time at your Songo Pond rental house. Drive minutes away to Bethel and explore the shops and restaurants while strolling Main Street. Bethel is the home of our national poet laureate, Richard Blanco, author of the inaugural poem "One Day. North Conway is a 60 minute drive, with a mecca of shops. The White Mountains, Mt. Washington, Santa's Village, and endless adventures are all within one hour away.

Hill House, Mt Abram, Greenwood handcrafted cabin. A true one-of-a-kind place. Beautiful porch for warm weather months. The solar panels are NEW and work like a charm! The house is only 6 miles to town, yet loads of privacy and peace and quiet. Overlooks mountains to the north and west - spectacular sunsets, and amazing stargazing!

House has an open kitchen - dining - living room, with piano and mountain view. Several choices for eating - the island in kitchen, the dining table overlooking the view, or the porch in warmer months. A propane fireplace is used only as occasional supplementary heat, as the woodstove is much more efficient. Please honor this. There are 2 baths - the one upstairs has a clawfoot tub, downstairs has a shower. The enclosed porch has a futon couch that opens to a double bed - appropriate only for warm months, as the porch is not heated.

Please note, the layout is very open, and does not allow for complete privacy with groups, unless one couple is in the house and another chooses to sleep on the porch. It is also not the best or easiest space for toddlers, with the stairs being rather open, and the wood stove. There is a fire ring for having outdoor fires under the stars - take wood from my burn pile, out in the field, scavenge the woods for deadwood or bring your own firewood.

Please do not use wood from the shed for outdoor fires! I pay dearly for it, and it is for heating the house, only. There is 'camp wood' available for purchase several places in town. It is easy to 'hide out' at my place, and equally easy to access entertainment and local shops. TMobile does NOT work here! Let me know ahead of time if interested in private yoga, meditation, Thai-Shiatsu or Reiki. I can also arrange for a massage therapist to come to the house, or if you are a massage therapist, and want to share your skills with your pals, there is a massage table in the yoga room. Give yourself a vacation to remember.

Many thanks, Karen. Super quiet - No visible neighbors. Walk, bike, hike or ski right from the door. Dirt roads make for pleasant walking or running. Downtown is just a 10 minute drive, with plenty to do - see Guidebook. Come stay on our 1. The property includes a 12' X 16' cabin with attached 6' X 12' screened porch.

The cabin is unfinished on the inside. The interior of the cabin includes a small table and chairs, a mini fridge, coffeemaker, toaster, and a few pots and pans. There are two twin bed mattresses on frames - these can easily be placed together to make a king sized bed.

There is ample space outside for tenting for additional guests. Bed linens are NOT provided- so please bring appropriate sized linens or sleeping bags and pillows. There is electricity. There is no running water. You may carry water from the pond if needed. There is a port-a-potty outside. Outside you will find a large picnic table, fire pit, and plenty of space to pitch a tent if you prefer. Nearby are a variety of amenities to enjoy. There are several fantastic places to hike which we have listed in the description.

Within a 30 minute drive you will find the historic towns of Norway, South Paris, and Oxford with it's casino and speedway. Jewett Pond Retreat. The Stagger Inn is located on Farewell Mountain. The cabin is off-grid, but boasts complete amenities including an on-demand generator that runs the cabins electrical needs. The Stagger Inn also has a 12v outlet for charging your devices. The cabins first floor consists of a spacious great room, a kitchen and a bathroom. The loft 20 ft contains a queen bed and two single beds.

There is room for additional guests and supplementary sleeping arrangements can be made with appropriate notice. The yard also includes a fire pit perfect for toasting marshmallows and making Smores. Spring and summer are the perfect time to visit the beautiful mountains of Western Maine. Our 4 bedroom, 2 bath getaway is only a 5 minute ride to Sunday River Ski Area or Bethel Village, where you will find kayaking, hiking, and golf all within a 5 mile radius.

Perfect for groups up to 8, with a spacious yard and hot tub on the banks of the Sunday River. This 4 bedroom home is perfect for families or groups looking for fun in the Sunday River area. A four season destination, in the Spring, Summer and Fall, enjoy kayaking, hiking, swimming, or lying by the river. The winter brings some of the finest skiing in New England less than 5 minutes away. At the end of the day, relax by the fire pit or take a soak in the hot tub overlooking the Sunday River.

The four bedrooms are located on the second floor, and include 2 bedrooms with a queen bed, 1 bedroom with a double bed, and a bunk room, with 2 sets of twin bunk beds. Country Store. In the winter, take a short walk down the street to Sunday River Rd where you can pick up the mountain explorer to visit Sunday River and local restaurants and bars. Bethel has been called Maine's Most Beautiful Mountain Village and has something for everyone to enjoy.

Take in the fresh mountain air, while sitting on the banks of the Sunday River right out side your door. In fairer weather, you can take a hike, visit a swimming hole, get out on a kayak or canoe on one of 2 rivers, golf, or visit Grafton Notch State Park. Downtown Bethel with local shops, and restaurants offer something for everyone, plus Sunday River is a 5 minute ride down the access road.

Sunday River Cabin - 4 Season Getaway. This Brand New Cabin, nestled in the Mahoosuc mountain chain, boasts beautiful mountain views and is very convenient to some of the best skiing in the east, but don't limit yourself to winter trips; there's plenty to do all year round. Newly completed in July with great access to Sunday River 10 miles , Mt Abrams 8 miles , Cross Country Skiing 1 mile , also extremely close to snowmobiling, along with biking, hiking, Canoeing and Kayaking during warmer months. After a fun filled day of activity choose to dine out at one of the charming local restaurants only 5 miles away in downtown Bethel, or stay in and enjoy a cocktail while surrounded by the breathtaking views.

If ambitious, the kitchen is fully prepared for you to unleash your culinary talents and prepare a feast for all to enjoy.

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Property details include: Stone Gas Fireplace, kitchen island, Large dining table seats 7 , coffee maker Keurig , microwave, electric stove, toaster oven. Where possible we will accommodate early check ins or late check out, however there will be an additional fee charged to cover costs. This property is a 3 Bedroom, 1. It can host 8 people. Please see the description below or inquire for more details! Head to beautiful Bethel for a memorable waterfront vacation at this three-bedroom, one-and-a-half bath dog-friendly cabin for eight with sunset views and an outdoor fire pit. Revel in solitude and privacy, yet enjoy easy access to the nearby village.

This vacation rental is located on the east side of Songo Pond, so you can wake up every morning with shimmering pond views right outside. Bethel proper is under five miles away and plentiful outdoor activities are available year-round. Outside you'll enjoy a covered back porch, grass lawn, firepit, kayaks, and a dock where you can sit, watch the sunset and listen to the loons.

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Don't forget about your dog - he's more than welcome to join you for a small nightly fee! Book this inviting cabin today and experience Maine in comfort! Please tell us about yourselves! Bike or stroll 8 miles of private gravel roads, sit by the fire pit, snooze in the hammock, or take in the views from the deck. Lots of hiking, swimming and kayaking a short drive away. Privately set on a wooded hillside, lower on the property, away from the cabin used by the owners who may or may not be present. Cell coverage is good depending on your carrier. There is potable water from a drilled well and cold running water in the cabin sink.

We recommend using the Brita H2o filter drink at your own discretion. We have done so without issues. The cabin has an attached bathhouse with toilet and on-demand heated shower accessed from the deck. A bundle of firewood is provided to start your visit; pick up some additional wood on the way if you want nightly fires. By and large solitude is what you have when you stay at the cabin. The road is accessible only by landowners and their guests. Occasionally another car or ATVs pass the property, and the sound of passing logging trucks far below on Rt 2 may drift up occasionally or you may hear the occasional sound of a chainsaw or generator in the distance as people go about life in western Maine.

Beautiful Mountain View Cabin. Show all. Popular homes. Lovely summer cottage perched on rocks overlooking Twitchell pond near Bethel, Maine. This is probably the most gorgeous location on this lovely Maine pond. My grandparents bought it in the '20's. It's perfect for swimming and boating.

There's a stream, extensive artist-designed gardens, wild blueberries and two decks from which you can enjoy a spectacular view of this beautiful lake. The charming interior which is pure Maine "camp" including a wood stove which we use on cold summer mornings, antique quilts on the walls, and all the stuff central casting would want to represent an "On Golden Pond" environment. I spend most of my summer here but have a few weeks available for rent. Come experience Western Maine!

Welcome to Shady Ayers! This horticultural cabin is on a private road overlooking nearly 5 acres of open land. Wake in the morning to the sound of birds and the sight of verdant beauty. Pick fresh produce from the garden, and enjoy the nearby lakes, rivers, and mountains. The indoor house vibe is a fusion of rustic and boho. There's sq. This room has a queen size bed, beautiful view, closet, electric fireplace, and 20" tv with dvd player. The music will be loud. If you're into that, come on down! Otherwise, it will be much more quiet any other time.

White Mountains minutes. If you're new to hiking and would like a guide, I am trained in winter hiking and have over 50 all-season hikes under my belt. I'd be happy to be a guide, message me to discuss availability and price. Water play: 7 minute drive to pond, 9 minutes to Pennesseewassee Lake, 20 minutes to Long Lake, 40 minutes to Sebago Lake State Park, and the waterbody options are endless. This IS the lakes region on Maine. Message me with interest to discuss availability and pricing.

Portland is also an hour away. We have a direct trail one minute from the cabin, but really pick your place. Antiques: route 26 has shops all along it, but you really cant go further than 4 miles within the state without spotting a shop. Bridgton Twin Drive-in: enjoy film like we used to with boat-loads of snacks and car cuddles. Summer only. Oxford Casino: if you're feeling lucky, it's only 20 minutes away! New Hampshire's White Mountains 45 minutes Also, perhaps you enjoy history, or horror films, as I have a 19th century graveyard on our side yard--mostly veterans.

Please Note: If you're looking for accommodations for people, please message with interest before booking. This road is made up of 4 homes, has no small children running around, but is a haven for dogs. All the neighborhood dogs including my own run freely. We invite all dogs to join the tribe. Now available all year round, this spacious, clean, and modern cabin is your perfect getaway during any season! Just feet from the Westside Lodge and a short drive to Bethel, this location is an outdoor enthusiasts dream.

Within minutes are North, South, and Bryant Ponds where fishing, swimming, boating, and kayaking are all welcome. Only 20 minutes to Sunday River Ski Resort and their 1 rated golf course. This house is literally feet from the Westside ski lodge. You can put your ski gear on at the house, walk across the street, and be on the lift in less than 5 minutes! If you'd like to venture to Sunday River Ski Resort it is only 20 minutes away. If you're here in the summer, walk across the street to the mountain and go for a beautiful hike or mountain bike ride. The trails are accessible all year round.

The view from the top is gorgeous and you can see Mount Washington on a clear day. If you're here at the perfect time during the summer, you can pick wild blueberries to your hearts content. This area is full of beautiful hiking trails for all levels and has some of the best swimming holes in New England! The backyard is large and grassy with a firepit firewood provided and cornhole. Great location for kids to run around or let them jump on their bikes and ride around the dirt roads neighborhood. Enjoy grilling on the Weber Genesis while lounging on the front deck.

Hang out around the firepit at night and enjoy the stars. You've never seen a night sky like this!! Inside, you'll find hardwood floors and knotty pine walls. There are three 5 lb. A gas fireplace in the living room is wonderful on cooler nights. When it's warm, open the windows and hear nothing but nature. No traffic or loud noises, just peace and quiet. All combined this is a very clean, comfortable, efficient, and safe home to bring your family and friends. Like many Maine homes, we do not have central air in the cabin; however, new window units are installed on both floors to keep the home comfortable during the summer.

There are also ceiling fans in all bedrooms, which help to circulate the air. The Greenwood and surrounding Bethel area has so much to offer! Whether you are coming during the summer or winter, you will have plenty to do The neighborhood itself is quiet and low-key. The winter months bring more "hustle and bustle" with the ski season, but you will never find it too busy. Because Mount Abram is right outside your door, skiing, hiking, and biking are so easy. No packing up the car with lots of equipment!

Sleepy Bear Chalet at Mt. Abram Ski Area. This dog friendly house is brand new and funky it has 2 private sleeping lofts upstairs one queen bed and two twin beds, as well as a queen size daybed on the first floor. A full kitchen, large dining area, and bath with two toilet stalls that round out the first floor.

Please note that the downstairs bed is not in a private area. Central heat is a wood stove. There is hot water and a shower. The bath and kitchen are heated not to freeze, but you will need to keep a fire going in the winter. Wood is provided. This is an awesome house but it is small. Within 10 miles is Bethel, with lots of shops, restaurants, and Sunday River.


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