by Sharon Ihle
Gus laughed and shook his head. “That’s a mite too fancy for me and the boys. How about a polka? Will that do?”
Rayna swallowed her disappointment. A polka was hardly a substitute for the haunting melodies that usually accompanied her dance, but she smiled and said, “That will be fine. Start it slow and let it build. When I begin to sink to my knees, can you make your fiddle cry?”
Breaking into a broad grin, he said, “Yes, ma’am, I believe I can. After that, do I let the music fade out?”
“No. End it with passion and spirit, bring the fiddles back to their highest peaks, and then find a higher one still. I’ll signal when the dance is over, like so.” Rayna drew her hands together, the tips of her long nails kissing. “After that, cut the band off in mid-note.”
“Understood.”
As Gus went over the music with the band members, Rayna dashed across the ring and ducked behind the curtain where she’d left her trunk. When she finished preparing herself, she peeked through the curtain to where her audience sat. Mollie and her children were settled, awaiting her entrance. Gant, legs spread, elbows propped on his thighs with his hands dangling between his knees, wore the look of a raptor, a great hawk studying the disturbance in his serene valley.
This man would not be so easy to convince, to charm. She would have to dance as she’d never danced before. To what end? Rayna wondered. If she risked alienating Mollie Bailey, would her dance be for naught? Even if she turned Gant’s head and his stubborn mind, it might not be enough. In that event, she and Maria would find themselves back on the road.
On the run again.
Two
Still slouching in his chair, Gant watched the spot where the Gypsy had disappeared. When the band began to play again, the chords were so soft, the tone so mournful, he couldn’t believe such a mesmerizing melody had come from Gus and his raggedy collection of musicians.
Suddenly from off-stage he picked out a distinctly metallic sound, the clinking of coin against coin. Keeping his eye on the curtain where he’d last seen Rayna, his breath an expectant little breeze deep in his chest, Gant strained for a glimpse of her. When she finally reappeared, that breeze grew into a tempest.
The Gypsy was no longer the magician or fortuneteller hiding behind shawls and braids, but a woman, all woman, wild and uninhibited. She’d freed her hair from its bonds, leaving it to spill down her back and shoulders in thick raven ripples. She’d also removed the shawl from her shoulders and tied it around her waist at the back, complimenting the apron. The kerchief she’d been wearing like a cap had been rolled into a band that circled her forehead. In the center of this crimson cord just above the bridge of her nose dangled a solid gold coin, a charm he supposed, with which to capture the eye, to hypnotize. The effort wasn’t wasted on Gant.
As Rayna began to dance, bare feet stomping the sawdust, arms raised high above her head, weaving, cobra-like, Gant could feel himself falling under her spell. Then she began to spin, the lavish wealth of ebony hair whipping along after her like a great mass of storm clouds, and he was completely lost to her. She was a hurricane brewing, arms still high, breasts heaving, hips gyrating, and then she came to an abrupt halt. With a nod in Gus’s direction, the music slowed, coming almost to a stop. When Rayna began to move again, hands curled inwardly and twisting, making them look as if they were made from ropes of peach satin. Her body mimicked those ballet-like movements, and then she slowly spiraled down to the ground.
It occurred to Gant as he gazed on her supple body, now coiled in the sawdust, how very long it had been since he’d had a woman, and that never had he even so much as touched a woman so wild, so very cocky. Heat skittered through him at the thought, and then settled like a warm cloth across his groin. As if she’d sensed this about him, Rayna slithered up to her knees and sought his gaze. Even from the distance, Gant could almost feel her keen eyes on him, her sensuous fingers stroking the muscles along his back and down his hips. He coughed into his fist, struggling to clear his mind, but again, and again, she drew him to her, made him feel as if he were a part of her.
As she slowly lifted herself up from the ground, gracefully brushing the sawdust off of her arms, Rayna felt herself drawn to a glistening pair of onyx eyes, a primitive and raw kind of summons she couldn’t ignore. When she met Gant’s gaze, she felt a strong connection with him, sensed another troubled soul, a man as tormented as she. Something rippled throughout Rayna’s body as she plumbed his depths, a current of desire, yes, but something else as well. A thing as disturbing as it was provocative. How would it feel to be wrapped in his strong, and she suspected, quite capable arms? How many hours, nights even, could a man such as this keep the bad thoughts away? Longer, instinct seemed to whisper, than any man before.
Shivering at the idea of an actual tryst with this one, of succumbing to his strong embrace, Rayna slid her tongue across her upper lip, raised her arms, and began to writhe in time with Gus’s passionate fiddle. Then, through the fog her mind had become, she heard a squeal. The frightened voice of her pig.
Aware suddenly that more than Gant’s eyes were upon her and that she’d lost control of herself, Rayna signaled Gus to end the melody. Then, as the squeals continued, she turned to find her mother struggling with Sweetpea. Maria had managed to wrestle him to his feet, and was now in the midst of trying to push the balking animal toward Rayna.
Understanding immediately what her mother was trying to do—use the animal to bring her daughter to her senses—Rayna clicked her nails, signaling Sweetpea to join her at center ring. The pig responded even faster than she would have imagined. Maria, who was still pushing, toppled over as Sweetpea’s bulk suddenly disappeared from beneath her hands. She fell, head over heels, into the sawdust, her oversized hoop and velvet skirt inverting to cover her torso like a wind-blown umbrella.
Covered in yards of lacy pantalettes, Maria’s stubby little legs sprouted out from the center of this ruined parasol. She began kicking wildly, struggling to right herself and regain her footing. Sweetpea, confused and agitated, ran around Rayna’s feet in frantic, tight little circles. And Rayna, more concerned about her mother’s plight than her own, rushed forward to go to Maria’s aid, only to find herself tangled with four cloven hooves.
She stumbled, and then fell to her knees. Listing forward, she tottered there a moment before landing on her elbows in a kind of awkward bow. Taking what he saw as his mistress’s cue, a breathless Sweetpea imitated her by stretching his front legs before him and pointing his curly tail toward the ceiling.
Across the ring, Maria, who’d managed to roll over into a sitting position, sat dazed, smoothing the wispy strands of gray hair along the sides of her nearly bald head. Off to her left, its rhinestone crown in tact, but askew, her russet wig adorned a small mound of sawdust.
Apparently thinking this series of events was part of the act, the small audience roared with laughter, and then rose in unison to deliver a thunderous round of applause. Even Gus and his band members joined in with the adulation.
Shocked by the enormous response, Rayna slowly climbed to her feet. Circling, she bowed toward each corner of the arena, and then made her way to where Maria still sat in a daze.
“Are you all right?” she whispered, helping her mother to her feet.
“Yes, yes.” Maria groaned as she awkwardly regained her footing, and then shooed her daughter away. “Let us end our act here while they still laugh.”
Agreeing with this reasoning, Rayna continued on her way, Sweetpea and her mother trailing along behind her until she reached the Bailey family.
“Oh, lawdy,” Mollie said through her laughter. “Now that’s what I call an act.”
Feeling as if she’d just been released from jail, a feeling she knew well, Rayna said, “Then you enjoyed it?”
“Oh, honey, I more than enjoyed it. I love it. You and your mother are hired as far as I’m concerned. Gant? Don’t you agree?”
As all heads turned toward him, Rayna noticed the
dying applause had come to a halt save for one pair of hands. She glanced through her meager audience, and then to where Gus’s band had congregated. No one was clapping, but still the applause continued. As the sound drew ever closer, she finally spotted someone strolling forward from the shadows behind the seats, a man with a head of silvery blond hair and a full beard to match. To Rayna’s horror, he looked very much like Hans Jahner.
“So it is you,” he said as he reached her, a thick German accent smothering his words like sausage gravy. “Nobody can dance in quite za same way as Princess Rayna Sebastiani. Nobody.”
Gant, who’d never acknowledged Mollie’s question, said, “Princess?”
“Why yes,” Hans was happy to disclose. “Princess Rayna is from Spain, daughter of Raymond, King of the Romany Gypsies. She did not tell you this?”
“No,” said Mollie. “She most certainly didn’t.”
Before Rayna could respond, or had any idea what he was up to, Hans swept her into his arms and claimed her lips with his. Although it had been three years since she’d seen or touched him, everything about Hans seemed the same. His kiss; wet, possessive, brutish. His scent; garlicky, heavy with the stale odor of homemade brew and the musk of aging lions. Even his appearance seemed unchanged; tall and erect, a pharaoh-like demeanor with bright blue eyes as shallow as a teardrop. Hans Jahner. Dear Lord.
Sickened, Rayna pushed out of his arms, dragged the back of her hand across her lips, and stepped out of his reach. “Hello, Hans. What a surprise. Do you work here?”
“I am za lion-tamer, of course. Are you and your mother planning to join our troupe?”
“I don’t know for sure.” She turned to Mollie, eyebrows raised.
“You are, if I have anything to say about it. Any objections, Gant?”
Hell, yes, he had objections, way too many to list. Trouble was, he couldn’t think of even one that would make any sense, not now anyway. With a resigned shrug, he said, “Not if you think their act will help draw crowds.”
“Oh, I’m sure they will,” Mollie said, turning back to Rayna. “Especially now that we got us a real live princess. How do you know Hans?”
Without so much as a glance at the animal trainer, Rayna said, “When the War between the States forced the Floating Circus off of the Mississippi River, we went to South America with Spalding and Rogers. Hans was hired in Brazil.”
“Didn’t that circus lose a ship during the South American tour?”
She nodded, saddened by the memory. “Yes. As we headed back to America, the ship capsized. Many lives were lost, human as well as animal.”
“I do recall hearing that,” Mollie said. “What a terrible tragedy.”
“It certainly was,” Hans said, taking Rayna’s hand in his. “Not as terrible a loss as the day Rayna left za circus.”
“Oh, Hans,” Rayna said, snatching her hand back. “I doubt Mollie or anyone else is interested in hearing about us working together in the past.”
Gant, who’d seen Rayna wriggle out of Hans’ embrace, as well as their intimate greeting, was interested in anything that concerned the Gypsy and the integrity of the circus. That he was also vexed on a more personal level was something he refused to acknowledge. Of more interest was this convenient coincidence of Hans meeting up with ‘the princess’ again. The lion tamer had been hired only a few weeks ago. Were the two working together somehow, planning to rob or take over the circus in some way?
As these ugly thoughts snaked through his mind, Gant saw that Hans was staring intently at Rayna, dragging his pale eyes over every inch of her body as if it was a road he’d traveled many times before.
Trouble.
Gant could sniff the air and smell it, look into the Gypsy’s exotic green eyes and see it. She was trouble, pure and simple.
As Mollie chatted with Hans about their former endeavors, Rayna kept a furtive eye on Gant. She knew without question that he didn’t want to hire her or Maria, but not exactly why. She thought she’d won him over until Hans showed up so unexpectedly. Was that the problem? Hans? Whatever it was, it had to be cleared up and now. If the Baileys did not hire them, their dwindling resources might force them back to New York and Barnum, or God forbid, back to the Miller Brothers in Pierre, Illinois where Rayna had almost performed and breathed for the last time.
She had no wish to become one of P.T.’s sensational seers again, nor could she bear the idea of seeing Maria displayed as one of his strange little pets. Most of all, she couldn’t think of placing herself in a situation where her special talents might land her in jail. The way they had in Pierre.
Startled as she heard Mollie calling her name, Rayna blinked and said, “I’m sorry. What?”
“I was asking you about wages. I can’t give more than room and board until the show gets under way and we find out what kind of crowds we’re going to draw. Will that be all right with you?”
“That sounds fair.” Anything sounded good as long as they were allowed to stay.
“Then we got ourselves a deal.” Mollie extended her hand. “Welcome aboard. Gant will see that someone collects your things and brings them to your room, speaking of which, I guess I’d best warn you now. I’ve only got one cabin left and it’s over the paddlewheel.”
Again, Rayna simply didn’t care. Anything was better than hiding out in the forest. “I’m sure it will be fine. What about Sweetpea and my mule?”
Gant answered this one. “What can the mule do? We can’t afford to feed animals who don’t pull their weight.”
She shrugged. “He doesn’t mind being dressed up, and he’ll pull anything you attach to a harness. I’m sure he’ll come in handy.”
Gant nodded, his expression grim. “I suppose we have to keep that pig, but I don’t want to find it running amok on this ship. First time I see that, it’s ham hocks and beans for supper.”
Hans, of all people, found this hilarious. When his laughter died down, he said, “I will build za pig a special cage in the stables. Tell Sweetpea to come with me, Rayna. I have an area where he can be confined in the meantime.”
Although she doubted that Hans, an animal lover, would ever cause her pet harm, Rayna had gotten to know the man well enough that she didn’t entirely trust him. She cautiously asked, “This area isn’t within sniffing distance of your lions, is it?”
Again laughing, he said, “Would I be foolish enough to put our newest little star in harm’s way? Don’t worry your pretty head about Sweetpea. He will be perfectly safe with me.”
Again thinking of his love for animals, Rayna decided to trust him. Sweetpea would be safe where Hans was concerned. Would she?
*
Later, after a roustabout had delivered their trunk and Rayna had unpacked most of its contents, she reexamined the tiny cubicle that would serve as her home for the next few months. The bed frames, single dresser, and walls were covered with a fresh coat of the same white paint as the outside of the steamship, making the room seem sterile, more like a hospital than a bedroom. Making a mental note to splash some color on those walls, Rayna again glanced at the beds.
Maria, exhausted from her long morning, not to mention, the unexpected and strenuous comedy routine she’d performed with Sweetpea, had been sound asleep on the lower bunk almost since the moment Mollie showed them to the room. The upper berth, its mattress cased in clean white sheets, looked every bit as sterile as the walls. Rayna smiled. This was something she could change.
Digging deep into the nearly empty trunk, she pulled out a worn blanket woven in stripes of bright lemon, violet, and lime colored wool. Stretching to her full five feet five inches, she tossed the blanket across the bed, and then stood on tiptoes to smooth the bedding across the sheets.
From below, Maria’s naturally hoarse voice called to her. “Perhaps I should take the top bunk. I will not get much sleep with you tossing and turning above me on such a squeaky bed.
Rayna ducked down to the lower berth. Maria was sitting at the edge of the mattress, her l
ittle legs dangling off the side.
“Take it if you like,” she said. “If you do, it will be difficult for you to get in and out of bed.”
Maria yawned. “No more difficult than what lies ahead for you, daughter.”
Although she’d been expecting this—a discussion, no doubt, about Hans—Rayna avoided the subject. Avoiding Maria’s gaze as well, she backed away and began fiddling with the lock on the small porthole overlooking the paddlewheel.
“I see no problems,” Rayna said, her tone purposefully breezy. “I’m really looking forward to working with these people, and to performing again. I thought you felt the same way.”
“Of course I do, but I think you know that is not what I am talking about, yes?” When this drew no answer, Maria went on. “I speak of your difficulties with men. The one in particular.”
Delaying her response, Rayna breathed deeply of the early evening air, the pungent floral bouquet along the riverbanks, as well as the decidedly unpleasant wormy odor of the river itself.
