Open Rehearsal: The Court Theatre Blog

[Pores over it. From the distance comes the sound of a frontiersman’s ax, which he is too absorbed to notice. Red Rowan enters from the right, a wild, picturesque young figure in a scarlet cloak.

WASHINGTON.
(to himself, as he bends over his chart).
‘Tis not so easy as Little Hunting Creek!

RED ROWAN
(approaching him).
Nothing is easy in the wilderness!

WASHINGTON
(starting up, gazing at her, and then brushing his hand across his eyes).
I thought I was studying before the fire; but instead I’ve been dreaming . . . dreaming!

RED ROWAN
(shaking her head).
No dream! Only a woodsman’s daughter. You can hear my father yonder, felling oaks. I saw the glimmer of your fire and came.

WASHINGTON.
(with a boyish courtesy and shyness).
Will you—will you not be seated?

RED ROWAN
(seated on bearskin, looking at fire).
Folks call me Red Rowan.

WASHINGTON.
My name is Washington. George Washington.

RED ROWAN
(still looking at the fire).
You have a shrewd fire, and the air is chill in these mountains.

WASHINGTON.
Will you not have some bacon and bread? I wish there were more to offer you.

RED ROWAN
I’ll have a taste of the bacon and a morsel of bread. (Washington begins to prepare them). I thank you.

WASHINGTON.
(toasting bread and bacon).
The wilderness must be rough-seeming to you.

RED ROWAN
I’m well-used to deep forests and long, hard journeys, for the love of a trail is in my blood. My grandfather was a gentleman rover, and my father a frontiersman, and my mother was—a gipsy.