The Brandywine Prophet

2.4 The Evolution of the Brandywine Prophet

Sarah’s bare feet searched for easy footing as William led her--arm in arm--up their hill. The grass is always so soft here, she thought and took extra care to wiggle her toes in the blades.

The last two hours were spent at the dining-room table with chicken-scratch concept art, scribbled notes and loose bank statements creating a paper veneer over the wooden top. He showed her charts and financial information that explained how a 2.4 million dollar investment would pay itself off in less than nine years. Unbeknownst to their neighbors, the Carmels had the money, though most of it was buried in two, five and ten-year bonds. If Sarah approved the plan, divine intervention or not, they wouldn’t live as comfortably as they did now. 

William foresaw her concern and laid out a strategy to contact national theater troupes, dance competitions, orchestras and booking agents. He would gauge their interest in his theater, then ask them for an informal agreement to use his venue upon completion.

“Depending on the size of the show, concerts can pay tens of thousands,” he said at the table. “Same with national dance competitions. Right now, the Sparkle Motion regionals are held in a high school gymnasium. Michigan is one of their worst venues. When they go to Indianapolis or San Antonio they pay upward of twenty grand.”

William told her about Marvin Gibson. The architect would create professional concept art to excite potential clients in order to secure contracts.

“The biggest concerts go to Grand Rapids, Ann Arbor or Detroit, but we can grab some of their business. Plus, we’ll draw tourists from the coast.”

Will couldn’t handle the tediousness of paperwork, so he grabbed Sarah by the wrist, pulled her into the dry spring night, and led her up the hill.

“I remember seeding this hill with Sir,” he said as they continued their trek. “We spread seed three years in a row before it finally took.”

“I remember when we moved in after the honeymoon,” she said. “We spent summer nights on those rickety lawn chairs watching them build ‘phase three’ in the distance.” She glanced to the Brandywine gate. “This is happening so quickly, Will.”

“I think it’s supposed to.”

“Can’t we wait a year? Maybe see how you feel after everything settles?”

“No.”

When they reached the plateau, Sarah saw pink flags peppered throughout the moonlit hill. An orange ladder from the stables stood in the center.

William removed a flashlight from his pocket and let the beam guide his way from one marker to the next. He was nearly skipping. “This flag marks the back corner,” he said standing on the edge closest to Boulevard Street. Sarah looked past him, at Best Buy, Wendy’s, the Shell Station and Arby’s--somewhere between was the piano bar, Kayla’s studio and Hyde’s store--all glowing red and yellow in brazen proclamations.

Will walked sixty feet toward the house. “The right-wing will be here.” He walked a few more steps. “And the stage itself will start here.” He ran back to Sarah.

She crossed her arms and tilted her head in an I-can’t-believe-I’m-buying-this gesture of love. “And the ladder?” she asked.

Will’s grin could be seen from Lake Michigan. “Here,” he said and helped her up the steps.

The eight-foot difference was astounding. Sarah stood atop the world, peeking over Everest and the Himalayas and with an extended arm she could touch the chalky dust of the moon.

“You’re standing center stage overlooking a thousand people, some in seats, some on benches, and some on blankets in the grass. Is there anything like it?”