by Sharon Ihle
Gant couldn’t believe this. “How could you have fixed it, kid? You know that Luther’s going to come after you sooner or later. How do you expect to keep the folks on this ship out of harm’s way when Luther comes after you?”
J.R. inched closer to Gant, but not close enough for him to take a swing. “I worked all that out ahead of time, honest I did. Luther ain’t gonna notice for days that I’m even gone.”
Working himself out of difficult spots had never been J.R.’s strongest suit. The last time Gant had seen him, the kid had been fourteen, more child than man. So far he hadn’t noticed that J.R. had matured much beyond that time except on a physical level. Still, if J.R. really had secured some measure of safety for himself and the troupe, Gant supposed they might be able to work something out after all. The steamship had three, maybe even four days depending on the river’s mood, before they made the next scheduled stop in Memphis, Tennessee.
Softening a little, he said, “Sit a spell, J.R.”
After the kid took a seat on the lone chair in the cabin, Gant said, “I figured on us getting together on down the road, but since you’re here now, I’m thinking that you might be able to stay, at least until I can get things figured out.”
“Praise the Lord.” J.R. came out of his chair. “Thanks a heap, Gant. You won’t be sorry you took me in. I’ll do anything, wash your clothes, carry your honey bucket, anything.”
“Relax and sit.” After he’d obeyed, Gant said, “I don’t need a servant. What I need is information on what kind of trouble to expect from Luther. How did you fix it so he won’t know you’re gone?”
J.R. was quick to explain. “Luther was in one of his moods last night, I reckon cause he’d seen you and all. Anyways, I could tell he was gonna get real drunk, so I made sure he got even drunker than he figured on.”
“From what I saw in that saloon, I’d say you were just about as tanglefooted as Luther.” Gant shot him a look. “I’d like to believe that you were moon-eyed drunk when you called me a stump-broke squaw, among other things.”
Color flamed in J.R.’s cheeks. “I never meant none of those names, Gant. You got to believe me. I was just pretending to be as drunk as Luther so’s he wouldn’t get suspicious.”
J.R. wasn’t a very good liar, so Gant believed this of him. “Let’s just forget about last night then. Go on with what happened to Luther.”
Letting out the breath he’d been holding, J.R. said, “After me and Luther went outside, I got to thinking about everything you said about starting a new life. It sounded good, Gant. Real good.”
J.R. interrupted himself to take off his hat and dig through his matted hair. When his fingernail came across the spot that itched him so terribly, he scratched until it hurt, and then replaced his hat.
Resuming the conversation as if he’d never left it, he said, “So right after Luther passed out, I stumbled up to the bartender and told him that I was worn out with his stupid little ole saloon in a tent, and what I needed was some real excitement. I said I was gonna lite out on my own, and to tell Luther when he woke up that I didn’t need no big brother showing me the way down to Nawleans.”
“You said you were headed south?” This wasn’t good.
Proud of himself, J.R. beamed. “Yep. I told him I was gonna hook up with pa and the boys down there. Said I was looking for some fun, not lessons on growing cotton. Pretty good, huh?”
The kid laughed then, a stuttery, insecure kind of chuckle, and Gant couldn’t help but laugh along with him. After a moment, he said, “Boy, J.R. It sounds like you really pulled one over on old Luther.”
“I sure did.” He slapped his thigh. “Now who’s the dumb one?”
Gant laughed along with J.R. again, but he was thinking ahead. It probably wouldn’t take the oldest Gantry brother to figure out that he’d been fooled. When that happened, he would come after J.R., and then the kid and everyone in the circus would be facing the wrath of one of the West’s most ruthless outlaws. Was keeping J.R. aboard ship for even two or three days worth the risk?
“So?” asked J.R., a rare glimmer of hope shining in his expression. “Will you take me on? I know I ain’t much to look at, but I’m a fast learner.”
“You can stay for a while, J.R., probably as far as Memphis.” Gant couldn’t think of a gentle way to phrase what he had to say next. “After that, I’m not sure we can take the chance of keeping you on board.”
J.R.’s shoulders sagged. “I ain’t looking for no ride to Memphis, Gant. I want to stay with the circus. Wherever it’s going, I want to go, too.”
Something about those words raised the hairs on Gant’s neck. “You’re not thinking of working for the Bailey’s, are you?”
“Course I am. What do you think I been talking about? You said you’d teach me how to be whatever I chose to be, didn’t you?”
“Sure, kid, but I meant for you to get some learning in school, and then decide on the kind of life you want.”
“I done decided.” J.R. grinned and sat back in the chair. “I want to be a clown with the Bailey Floating Circus. Maybe even a lion-tamer.”
“But, you can’t do that.”
His buckteeth jutting over his bottom lip, J.R. cut loose with a rare burst of spunk. “Well, then shit on you, pardon the ears of decent folks. Shit on you and the warden what let your lying hide out of prison.”
“J.R., listen.”
“No, you listen.” He pushed out of the chair, flung his hat to the floor, and clawed at the spot on his head. “If’n you don’t want to help me anymore, then I’ll just get off the boat in Memphis and find another circus to work for. I’m gonna do it one way or t’other. I don’t need Luther telling me what to do, and I don’t need you neither.”
J.R. turned and stomped toward the door. It was all Gant could do to catch up to him before he reached it. “Not so fast,” he said, blocking the exit. “Give me a minute to think, will you?”
J.R. shrugged, and wouldn’t even look at him. “I already know what you think. That I’m stupid and can’t say or do a thing without someone older and smarter ordering me around. No thanks.”
“That’s not what I meant at all.”
To this, J.R. had no response.
Gant slid his arm around the kid’s stiff shoulders, and gently directed him back toward the chair. As he walked, he considered the possibility of putting J.R. in the show, and then thought back to the risks the Bailey’s had taken on his own behalf. They could have gotten financial backing elsewhere, certainly from a safer source, but they chose to give him a second chance, to trust that everything would work out for the best. How could he do less for this brother?
With a heavy sigh, Gant said, “Tell you what. If a place in the circus is really what you want, then one way or another, I’ll find a job here for you. Agreed?”
“Hell, yes, I’m agreed.” J.R. turned into Gant and gave him a brief hug. Then he scratched his head and said, “Where do we go to get started, boss?”
Gant cocked a thumb toward the cabin door. “I think we’d better begin in the bath house. What in hell is wrong with your head? Have you got lice?”
J.R. shrugged, scooping up his hat as they headed for the door. “A tick I think. Don’t bother me much.”
“Well it sure as hell bothers me. Lucky for you, I think I have just the perfect cure.”
Gant grabbed a box of matches off of his desk, and then met his brother at the door. He loved seeing the enthusiasm and hope pouring out of his J.R., but as they walked downstairs, he couldn’t shake one utterly disheartening thought; had his efforts to enrich his brother’s life put the entire Bailey operation in jeopardy?
*
Down in the show ring, Rayna sat huddled in sewing circle style with a small group of performers as Mollie prepared to query them about changing some of the acts.
She stifled a yawn, trying to remain alert, but knew she was losing the battle. Once the sun had come up, any plans she may have had for getting some rest, vanished. Fi
rst Maria had padded out of bed and begun dressing, and then Mollie knocked at the door, calling on everyone to convene downstairs to prepare for the bigger shows up river. Now that the meeting was underway, Rayna strained to stay awake long enough to hear what her employer had to say.
“Just remember that we’re all in this together.” Mollie buried her hands in the sawdust, filtering the bits of wood through her fingers like a child at play. Then she asked, “How do you think things went last night?”
Most everyone agreed that the show was wonderful.
Mollie shook her head. “I think we did pretty good, too, but don’t be afraid to speak your minds.”
Anna Mae Gunther raised her hand. “Everyone seemed to like my wire-walking act just fine.”
“Fine isn’t good enough,” said Melvin. “Maybe if you used a regular pole instead of that dumb umbrella, your act might be more dramatic.”
She lifted her chin. “I use a parasol instead of a pole because it’s ever so much more feminine. After all, I am a Southern lady. I don’t have to be all that acrobatic, do I?”
Mollie slowly considered her words. “It wouldn’t hurt none if you stretched yourself a bit, honey. How about this?”
Mollie’s voice faded as Rayna drifted off into her own thoughts about the show. As far as she was concerned, the circus had been a failure. It showed in the eyes of the audience, on the faces of the adults in particular. They’d come to the circus filled with expectations, hoping the night would charge them with cheer and bubbling laughter. Yet they’d left just this side of disappointed instead. And Rayna had a pretty good idea why. Compared to Spaulding’s Floating Palace, or even the Miller Brothers seedy little carnival, the Bailey Circus was colorless.
Not simply colorless, but dull. Dull and depressing. Especially inappropriate were Mollie’s melodramatic plays, skits that brought tears to the eyes of folks who’d already shed enough tears to flood the entire state of Mississippi. Changes had to be made if the floating circus could hope to survive, much less compete. Were the Baileys really so receptive to change?
As if reading Rayna’s thoughts, when Mollie finished with Anna Mae, she turned to Rayna and said, “You’ve traveled with some really fine circuses in the past. Do you think it went over as well as it should have?”
Too tired to muster up false enthusiasm, Rayna shook her head. “Sorry, but no. I think we've got a long way to go if we’re going to impress anyone from Knoka, much less Memphis or New Orleans.”
Anna Mae wrinkled her pert little nose. “Kon—where?”
Rayna chuckled. “Exactly my point. This circus is not, in my opinion, ready to play the big towns.”
Anna Mae tossed a golden curl over her shoulder. “Humph. That’s a pretty cheeky remark coming from someone who’s only been with us a week or so.”
“It’s all right, Anna Mae,” Mollie said. “Rayna and Maria have worked with some of the biggest names in the business, and for more years than any of us. I value anything either of them has to say.”
She gestured to Rayna. “Go ahead. Let fly with your comments and suggestions.”
“All right.”
Rayna glanced at Anna Mae, and then decided to leave the rope-walking act out of the discussion for the time being. The young woman had been widowed during the war, her husband one of Hood’s casualties. Rayna had already heard enough rumors to realize that Anna Mae was a member of the troupe because of her husband’s alliance with the Baileys, not to mention, Mollie’s big heart. Smiling inwardly, liking that aspect of this particular circus, Rayna decided to start with the person least likely to be offended by a critique—herself.
“I think this circus needs more life, more excitement, and less melodrama.” Although she’d been referring to her fortune-telling act, Rayna saw Mollie wince, and knew that the woman had taken those words to heart. Following that lead, she softened her tone and said to her, “I know that skits are your favorite part of the show, and you do a fine job of performing in them, but I’m really concerned about their impact on the audience.”
Mollie sighed. “I do so love the plays. What’s wrong? Too many skits, or the actual stories?”
Sticking with candor, Rayna said, “Both, I’m afraid. I think you ought to get rid of East Lynn and The Old Homestead. All of the other acts should be more circusy in nature, too.”
“How so?”
“We need more comedy and more action.”
Slowly, thoughtfully, Mollie nodded. “I have to agree about the skits, girl, and the lack of excitement in the crowd. Much as I hate to admit it, you’re right.”
Mollie paused here, staring down at the sawdust, and then her eyes brightened. “We could fill some of the time with more clown acts, I suppose, and maybe work up a couple more routines for the twins on horseback. Folks love those equestrian acts.”
Little Minnie tugged on her mother’s sleeve. “Me, Mama, peeze?”
Mollie chucked her daughter under the chin. “Maybe in a year or two when you’re bigger.”
Rayna carefully suggested, “I’m working on something with Pierre now, a comedy act, and I could use a special assistant.” She winked at Mollie, barely inclining her head toward Minnie. “We can talk about it later, if you like.”
“Thanks.” Mollie glanced down at her daughter, relieved to see that she was drawing stick figures in the sawdust, and then resumed her inquiries. “Let’s move onto other matters. What else is wrong with this circus?”
Maria spoke up. “This new Cleopatra act you are putting together for Rayna. The crowds will not like it.”
“Oh?” Mollie glanced at Rayna, who nodded her agreement. “Because of the death scene?”
“Yes, and no,” Rayna said. “Maria and I have talked about changing the entire act, but it will still revolve around the death scene.” She directed her next comments to Colleen Travis and her twin daughters. “Have your girls ever done much by way of aerial ballet?”
As the trio muttered and whispered among themselves, Mollie said, “We’re not a very sophisticated troupe. What are you talking about?”
“Working on vertical ropes.” Rayna paused, shaking off a sudden shiver as she imagined herself ten feet above the arena floor. “I was thinking that we could make my entrance as Cleopatra really dramatic, overdo it by having a couple of big strong men carry me into the ring on their shoulders.”
Mollie’s eyes sparkled. “I like it so far. Then what?”
“I could wear a long robe, probably something in purple velvet to stay in keeping with the Cleopatra image. Once I’m in the ring, the men remove my cloak, and then hoist me up to the rope Maureen and Mavoureen use to get to their swings. Here comes the best part,” she added, grinning. “There’ll be a wrist loop braided into the rope. I’ll slip my hand into it, one of the men will start twirling the rope from down below, and I’ll just kind of hang there, spinning in a death spiral with a phony snake clinging to my bodice. That way you’ll get your death scene, but it will be done in the grandest circus tradition. What do you think of that?”
Amid a chorus of ‘ohs and ahs,’ Mollie closed her eyes. She envisioned Rayna, her slender body twirling madly above the crowd, her long black hair whipping along behind her like the wind, and then imagined the reaction of the crowd.
Her eyes suddenly popped open and she exclaimed, “It will be fabulous. You can wear a white dress under the robe, long and flowing, maybe cut like a toga.”
“Yes, of course,” Rayna agreed, thrilled to see how enthusiastically her suggestion had been received.
“What about us?” Maureen asked. “You wanted to know if we could do aerial ballet. What do you want us to do while you’re up there dying?”
Rayna turned to the girls. “I’ve been watching you and your sister, and I think you two could learn to do the spin, too. We could dress you up as Cleopatra’s slave girls.”
The twins glanced at each other, covered their mouths as they conferred in a whisper, and then Mavoureen said, “We’ll do it.”<
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“I don’t know,” their mother said, her voice halting. “It sounds awfully dangerous.”
“Actually,” Rayna explained. “It’s less risky than what they already do on the trapeze. Remember, there will be a big strong man at the bottom of each rope. Those helpers are not only there to twirl us, but to catch us should we fall.”
Rayna cleared a small area in the sawdust and began sketching with her index finger. Explaining not only the rope spinning act, but how she would coordinate the new acts with the old, she diagramed the way she thought it would all work.
Mollie listened raptly, agreeing or disagreeing with Rayna’s suggestions until she felt the discussion had brought about the changes she’d been looking for. She was just about to call an end to this part of the meeting, when her partner approached, interrupting her final suggestions for improving the show.
