There isn't much worse than sweating next to a rack of rotisserie turkey legs at seven in the morning, but that's life working at a Renaissance Faire. I push my hair from my forehead to keep it from sticking and lean out over the counter to see if I can spot Cat Page milling about on the street — or rather Joan Strangeways. Until the last guest heads out the gates of The Shire, Cat will be in character trying to earn tips.
Just a few feet away from the roasters, I catch a caress of the coolness of the May morning on my face. Across the path, a woman in a very tight corset at the door to the Blackfryr's Pub slips a cell phone down the front of her dress inconspicuously as one of the Great Midwestern Renaissance Faire organizers rounds the corner.
A walkie chirps from the back of the stall where guests won't see and it won't break the illusion that this really is a 16th century English hamlet. "Gates open in ten."
I slip my own phone into the leather pouch that hangs from my belt next to my sewing kit. A low whine carries through the woods as a bagpiper starts up their tune. My pulse races as I remember the feeling of seeing the first patrons skip down the streets of the shire. Kid's faces will light up at the sight of jugglers and princesses and real, live pirates. That is why I love this place. It's home — even the turkey smell.
The walkie beeps again, but this time it's for me.
"Morwen!" The voice is laced with panic. "Morwen, come in! Over."
I duck out the back of the stall and grab the handset out of view. "It's Morwen. What's going on? Over."
"It's mom. Costume emergency in the Queen's Garden. Some idiot thought fabric glue would hold trim onto a bodice. Over."
My pulse races all over again. Trim isn't easy to fix, but with cars lining up for miles to get in, it can't wait — not for a member of the Queen's Court either. They're the opening act.
"I'm coming. Send a floater to watch the Fiesty Friar until I get back."
The paths of the shire wind in and out of the woods to divide the faire into sections for patrons to explore, but I know the way to the Queen's Garden — I've run these little streets since I could walk. In fact, I've never not known a summer at this place. It's my parent's and they're the ones who built it from the ground up when my mom decided she didn't want to be a corporate accountant and my dad was tired of being an acquisition and mergers lawyer.
The Queen's Garden is my favorite place in all the Shire. It's a maze of rosebushes with a beautiful white gazebo in the center and you have to cross a little footbridge over a babbling brook to get to it. Lots of Rennies get married there and it's pretty easy to see why.
A crowd of ladies in their finest renaissance attire gather together in the gazebo, and when I arrive, they part to make room. Like me, my mom is dressed in a homespun gown. We're not part of the King's Players so we try to blend in with the illusion of the village. We don't stand out as the main performers. Mom still looks remarkable pretty with her wild, brown curls braided and pinned to the nape of her neck. With her hair away from her pale face, it allows her blue eyes to shine all the brighter. She never wears much makeup on faire days though she doesn't need it anyways.
"Morwen." Gwenevere Hall peels off from the group and rushes to grab me by the arm. "Oh please, you must assist me for I am in dire need of your skill." She gestures to the loose trim on her bodice.
I tamp down an eye-roll at the obscenely overdramatic character she has decided to play. The faire doesn't have the budget to supply costumes to every single player and employee who works the stalls. Most people who work the faire are in charge of their own costumes from start to finish. It works to varying degrees of success. That's why faire organizers like my mom walk the streets of the shire and make sure everyone is properly dressed without too many anachronisms. Gwenevere's trim is entirely wrong for the 16th century, but only the pickiest of patrons would notice and, though I wouldn't tell her as much, Gwenevere's Basic Faire Accent needs work before she's given a bigger role in the court.
"This will take a few minutes," I say with a glance at my mom.
She nods. "This is what the friends and family dress rehearsal is for." She turns to Gwenevere. "Go with Morwen and she'll get you straightened away. You can catch up with the court when you're ready to be seen with the court."
I take Gwenevere "backstage" if it can be called that. It's an area behind a wooden wall painted to look like stone where there are picnic tables and a first aid tent.
Gwenevere lets out a long groan and sinks down onto one of the benches. "Sorry I didn't break character, you know how it is." She tosses an auburn curl over her shoulder.
"It's okay." I take a pinch of a few pints from the satchel at my side. I know how it is. I don't point out that this is her first faire and I've done more than I can count.
"I just don't want to make a habit of breaking character in the shire," she continues as I start the work of pining the trim back into its proper place. "It will only make it easier to break when the audience is here."
I smile. "I'm sure you'll be great, but almost everyone breaks. Faire days can be quite long and it can be tough to act for ten hours straight."
"I think I'm up for it." Gwenevere sat up a little straighter, which made my job of pinning easier. "How are you, Morwen?" Her voice is so pitying it feels like a punch in the gut.
I know what she wants to ask. She wants to ask why I said my goodbyes to everyone at the end of the spring semester at Buckeye State University — why I won't be back in the fall. "I'm good. Are you excited for your summer?" I don't give her any hint that I failed out. I hadn't even declared a major, but yeah, I still failed out. All my friends knew, and we all did theater with Gwenevere so I'm sure she and the rest of the BSU drama department have figured it out. Only now do I regret talking up the renaissance faire and getting a bunch of the theater kids to audition.
While Gwenevere chatters on about her new job at Starbucks, I pull out a needle and some burgundy thread to match her bodice. A few invisible stitches and her bodice looks as good as new.
"You're a lifesaver!" She jumps to her feet and pulls me into a crushing hug.
"You're welcome," I choke out. "Just come see me before you use ironing tape again."
"Thanks, Mor." A veil of sorts falls over her features, and then with a toss of her shoulders, she's her character — another person entirely. She turns and heads back to rejoin the queen's court, but I linger at the sad little picnic table with hundreds of names carved into its surface.
I hear the sound of the trumpeters which means the faire has officially begun. It's all our family and friends, but tomorrow they'll be real, paying customers who expect to be transported to the court of Henry VIII. I want to be so happy to be home, but now all I can think about is the email from BSU sitting in my inbox every time I open my phone. BSU was my safety school in every sense of the word. It was my security. I wouldn't have to pick up and move to the next city, the next school, and the next faire every three months. I was going to be like every eighteen-year-old that left for college and never look back.
The worst part was knowing that Cat was going back to BSU without me in the fall. We'd even picked out our dorm room, but now she was probably going to get assigned some transfer. Before I even realized it, tears were falling down my face.
"Morwen?"
I swiped away tears at the sound of my mom's voice. "Here." To my dismay, I couldn't hide the sadness from spilling into my voice.
"Morwen?" Mom's face fell at the sight of me. "What's wrong?"
I shake my head and her gentle had on my back makes more tears fall down my cheeks. "I don't think I can do this."
Mom wraps her arms around me and pulls me into the best sort of mom hug where she puts her chin on the top of my head. "I know you're still upset about that school. But think of this weekend as your chance to escape. Let me find a place for you in the King's Players."
"No," I groan. "I don't want to play pretend right now. If I can't be at BSU then I want... I want..." I can't seem to finish the sentence without a sob.
"It's okay, baby. You have all summer to figure that out. BSU may even take you back if you maybe take some summer classes at a community college." She helps me up off the bench. "But now it's family time. We have a show to put on."
I wipe my eyes on my sleeve, careful not to smudge my eye makeup. "I'm not really up to a show today."
"Then you can float with me. We'll probably need your quick fingers as we find out who else tried to doctor their costumes to fit the period with glue and fabric tape."
I laugh.
"Feel better?" Mom asks.
"Much better."
~
Ahhhh! I can't believe I'm sharing this draft with you in such a raw stage! Please go easy on me, but be honest! I want to know what you guys think!