Birdseye View of Previous Scene: Fanny admits her father had been the one who knocked on Mr. Albright’s door on the night the latter was lynched by a gang called The Army of Uriel (early version of KKK). She insists he was not in the gang. Fanny’s father, before his involvement, had organized weekly meetings with the farmers on how to deal humanely with their black farmworkers, who were caught up in the abolitionist pre-civil war frenzy. Before she has a chance to explain her father’s involvement with the “gang”, a delivery boy for the local telegraph company gives her the message that Juniper has died in Prison.
ACT II
Scene 1
CHARACTERS:
Fanny Barnwarmer: Eighty-five-year-old woman with plenty of spark and sizzle still in her. Has been performing at the Tavern for forty-four years.
Reporter: Mid-thirties. Works for the New York Times, on assignment in Brady, Texas to write a human-interest story on the famous Fanny Barnwarmer.
SETTING: Front porch of Fanny Barnwarmer’s home. Rocking chair, DOWNSTAGE RIGHT, facing kitchen chair, CENTER, and front steps behind, which descend to street level with a flowerbed to the side. OFFSTAGE LEFT are street sounds of traffic: of vintage 1929 cars, some horse whinnying, etc., that continue as a kind stew of white-noise background throughout the scene.
PLACE/TIME: Brady Texas, 11:00 AM, Saturday, August 11, 1929
AT RISE: FANNY in her rocking chair, a tray on the porch beside her, holding two glasses of iced tea. The REPORTER, dapper, hat tilted back on his head, one leg on the third step, the other on the porch.
REPORTER:
I have to tell you, Miss Fanny, at first I was questioning the wisdom of Mr. Hogarth, sending me halfway across the United States to interview Fanny Barnwarmer.
FANNY:
Spectin’ ya might wanna tek off yer coat, young man. Gon’ be a scorcher today.
REPORTER:
Thank you, but I’ll … be …
(His sentence trails off as he finishes mounting the stairs and sits on the kitchen chair opposite Fanny)
But I was going to say that then I saw last night’s performance … and now I’m wondering if I’m even up to the task.
FANNY:
Oh, pshaw! Y’all jes sit there an’ drink yer tea.
(Hands him the glass, from which he takes a sip and places the glass on the porch)
REPORTER:
Really, Miss Fanny. Your audience loves you. I can’t get over how you held them …
(cupping one hand and continuing while staring at it)
held them in the palm of your hands. How can I even find the words to—?
FANNY:
Words, words, words—I ’spect you’ll find them words.
YOUNG BOY’S VOICE:
(From street)
Miss Fanny, Miss Fanny…
FANNY:
(Bending to look behind the REPORTER)
Whatcha got there, son?
VOICE:
Ol’ Mister Woo—I’s his hepper. An’—an’ he has me to bring this here plate o’ stickyberry crullers fer y’all.
FANNY:
Well, shucks, youngun—you tell Mister Woo, I’s beholden! Ain’t no better way t’face the mornin’ then Mister Woo’s stickyberry crullers. Ye c’n smell them stickyberries from clean up here.
[The lad mounts the steps, holding the platter in both hands. Gives it to FANNY. The REPORTER stands and fishes in his pocket for a coin which he holds out to the boy]
BOY:
(Pulling away)
Noooo! Mister Woo don’ tell me to fetch no money. He feel real bad ’cause he missed y’all’s show las’ night on ’count o’ his missus has the grippe.
FANNY:
(Aside, to REPORTER)
Mister Woo be Brady’s Chinaman baker. We love him here.
(To BOY)
Now, you listen to me, youngen—You tell Mister Woo we missed him las’ night, heah? An’ I be much obliged t’cept his stickyberry crullers.
(Smiling, giving the BOY’S shoulder a squeeze)
As fer you, you lil rascal, reckon Mister Holmdahl be givin’ you that coin fer yersef, so y’all tek it an’ put it in yer pocket. Heah?
[The BOY pockets the coin and scrambles down the stairs]
REPORTER:
See how the whole town loves you, Miss Fanny? Why you could be mayor of Brady. No one would dare run against you. And after seeing that show-of-hands you asked for last night as to how many in the audience were from outside of Brady, I’m sure you could pull in enough votes to be Governor of Texas.
FANNY:
Gov'ner! Swon' I'd Druther wrestle a porky-pine in th’ altogether—an’ the folks hereabouts knows that.
REPORTER:
Oh, and I know that! I just mean you have something special, Miss Fanny. And that gives you a certain power.
FANNY:
Ain’t got no power! Power’d a kept—
(Stopping short, looking away with a distant expression, then at her lap. Holds the tray out to the REPORTER)
Take a cruller … ’Spect I should get us some napkins.
REPORTER:
(Taking one)
No, You sit back down, Miss Fanny. It won’t hurt us to lick the stickyberry off our fingers.
(Bites off a portion, chews it a moment with his eyes closed)
That hits the spot.
(Beat)
Miss Fanny? What did you—
FANNY:
Reckon I’ll wait a while for mine.
REPORTER:
Umm … Yes … Miss Fanny, so what did you mean a moment ago when you said that power would have kept …?
FANNY:
Tha’s why I stopped when I did. Warn’t important.
REPORTER:
(After staring a long time at the floor)
You know, I was just wondering … I kept waiting last night for someone to mention the empty table right up front? With the jigger of whiskey and the glass of water beside it?
FANNY:
'Twarn't no whiskey. Jes’ colored water what with probish’in an’ all. T’was whiskey up till nineteen an’ twenty.
REPORTER:
But … I mean … the table being … empty.
FANNY:
My Juniper be sittin’ at that table ever night, Wednesday an’ Saturday.
(chuckling)
She made little birdy sips o’ that whiskey, an’ there alles be a little left at the end o’ the night.
(Beat)
Yep, first four years o’ me bein’ on that stage. Juniper narry missed a night.
(Takes a deep breath and releases it with a slow shaking of her head)
Till they goes an’ teks her away from me. Forty years ago.
[Both sit in protracted silence and in their own separate worlds, the REPORTER munching on his cruller, but absently, and FANNY slowly rocking in her chair and staring off in the space beyond her visitor. The REPORTER stirs and looks at FANNY]
REPORTER
The—the—Miss Fanny, if you could—c-could tell me the particulars about that. Now …
(Holds up his free hand, palm flattened toward her)
…now I know … and-and I respect your privacy, and all, but I-I can’t keep it from coming up in my mind.
FANNY
The first Saturday evenin’ Juniper warn’t at her table, I already knowed where she was and how as she warn’t gon be at her table thet night. Fact is, I knowed from when Jerold telled her Thurston Flourney be comin’ to town to sign some cattle papers.
REPORTER:
(Holding up a hand, he scrambles to finish off the last bite of cruller, opens his tablet, and fishes out his pencil, all while keeping his sticky index and middle finger of his right hand free)
You said Jerold?
FANNY:
(Indicating his fingers with a smile and a dip of her head)
Now you tek care o’ thet. …
(Waits while the REPORTER pokes fingertips into his mouth, then dries them on his pant leg)
Yes, it be J-e-r-o-l-d, one o’ them Pinkerton Agency boys what come from Chicago an’ be hired by Miss ’Lisabeth, Juniper’s Mama, to tail Flourney. It be Jerold’s reportin’ back to Miss ’Lizabeth what brung Juniper an’ me from Chicago to Brady City in the first place.
REPORTER:
But why this particular time, Miss Fanny? With Thurston Flourney living in Brady, why did it take so long for Miss Juniper to confront him?
FANNY:
He live five mile outta Brady on a cattle ranch. Jerold, he reports that Flournoy ne’er left his ranch an’ alles had his hep do his shoppin’ fer him.
REPORTER:
If Miss Juniper wanted to kill Thurston Flourney, why didn’t she just go to his ranch and do it?
FANNY:
On account o’ she wanted him to die afore witnesses what warn’t in his pocket.
REPORTER:
Oh!
FANNY:
So the story gets to Flourney ’bout Missus Brown, what was the crippled wife of a big cattle rancher fifty mile south o’ Brady. Only Mister Brown—he up an’ dies, leavin’ her Widder Brown wit’ ten thousan’ head o’ fat, dirty cows an’ no cash money. She moves to Brady an’ hankers to sell them cattle fer twenty-five cents on the dollar—cash.
REPORTER:
Let me guess … that would be Widow Juniper Brown.
FANNY:
That be a good guess. Only problem bein’ Widder Brown be a cripple.
REPORTER:
But not—excuse me, but not Juniper, not your Juniper. She wasn’t crippled.
FANNY:
No, she’s play-actin’. You’s the one wantin’ to call Widder Brown Juniper. But t’other Widder Brown be a cripple. An’ tha’s why Flourney had to come to her—in Brady.
(Beat)
So, on that day—on Saturday—long about sundown, I be in the Tavern gettin’ ready for the show what be startin’ soon … an’ that Thurston Flourney … he be comin’ into Brady, all fancy dudded out an’ all, in his two-horse tourin’ wagon.
(Beat)
Well Sir, there to meet him outside o’ Brady City Inn be Widder Juniper Brown … all smiles in her chair … but lookin’ outta her rattlesnake eyes. A blanket—it covers her lap an’ on the unnerside o’ the blanket her finger be on the trigger of her Li’l Liz—her derringer.
REPORTER:
Wait, wait, wait—excuse me Miss Fanny, but wait! But you were—Did—did you know?
FANNY:
I knowed.
(Letting out a short, loud exhale)
Juni planned it all aforehand … an’ I knowed. I knowed it all.
REPORTER:
Then … But Miss Fanny! You were in the Tavern?
FANNY:
I had a show, young man. T’warn’t as big back then as ’twere las’ night. But people already be comin’ in, takin’ theys table, an’ the curtain be drawin’ ’crost the stage, an’ I be readyin’ to take to my rockin’ chair …
(Beat)
An’ part o’ me be listenin’, waitin’ to hear that pop-pop-pop from outside.
REPORTER:
Oh, nooooooo, Miss Fanny. But you—you didn’t try—why didn’t you try to stop her?
FANNY:
To stop her!?
REPORTER:
(Removing his hat and combing his fingers through his hair, then with a note of desperation in his voice)
You did try, didn’t you, Miss Fanny? Tell me you did. You got up out of your rocking chair … you raced past the waiting people and … you …
(Fading into silence)
FANNY:
(Her eyes never leaving the REPORTER, she slowly shakes her head)
No, Robert. I stays in my chair.
(Beat)
She plan it too long. We talk ’bout it the night afore. Ever thing she gon’ say to that Flourney—ever word. Ever rise an’ fall of her voice. An’ she even ast me stage tricks fer holdin’ back the fear she knows gon’ be raisin’ in her just afore she pulls that trigger.
REPORTER:
(His voice thin and faltering)
Nooooo … Miss Fanny, don’t you understand?
FANNY:
I unerstand. An’ Juni—she unerstood.
REPORTER:
No, but that—that made you—an-an-an accessory!
(Again, falling silent)
FANNY:
I knows it. I knowed it then.
END OF ACT II, SCENE 1
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