by Sharon Ihle
Sitting up straight again, Gant said, “I have to say I’m pretty surprised by this whole conversation, but you’ve definitely made your point.”
“Then you agree?”
“No, ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t agree to those terms.”
Maria puckered up her mouth and glared.
“Rayna is special like you said,” Gant continued. “No one respects that or her better than me. I just can’t give her up so easily. She and I, we’re two of a kind.”
He hesitated as the next sentence formed in his mind, taking a moment to wonder what it might mean and where it might eventually lead. Shaken by the surprising emotions the words stirred up, he said them anyway.
“Rayna and I belong together.”
Maria banged her puffy fist against the chair. “This is no good. You must stop seeing her. You know she is cursed, that nothing can come of this but heartbreak.”
“So that’s it,” he said, sighing heavily. “That damned curse. I told Rayna, and I’ll tell you; I don’t believe in curses.”
“What do you know, a Gaje?” she said, her eyes wild. “A curse is nothing to ignore, especially to a Gypsy. You must let my daughter go.”
Gant didn’t even consider the request this time. “I don’t want to get on the wrong side of you, ma’am, but right now Rayna is just about the most important thing in my life. I’m not giving her up.”
A sudden calm washed over Maria, not at Gant’s words, but at the finality of what she must do. She had hoped the spell, even the talisman, wouldn’t be necessary, that she could convince him to stay away from Rayna by words alone. Now she knew better. She would have to continue to make with the black magic. And also offer him her little gift.
Her smile bright, Maria lightly tapped Gant’s arm. “I thank you for your honesty. Rayna is lucky to have known a man such as you.”
Gant felt himself shrinking from her touch, the little tingle of evil it contained. Had this been a test of some kind? An endurance trial to see if he was qualified as husband material for her volatile daughter? Or was there some other, more sinister purpose?
Maria reached into the little leather pouch she wore tied to her belt, and withdrew something.
“Since you insist on seeing my daughter,” she said. “I must warn you that you will need much luck to escape the curse. Take this. It is a lucky charm.” And it was from her point of view. “Keep it with you always and do not tell anyone you have it. If you do, you will dilute the luck.”
Gant accepted the panther, and then turned it over in his palm. It was smooth, sleek, graceful, everything he thought of when he saw Rayna. A thoughtful gift for her daughter’s suitor? Even though he wanted to believe that and the theory that Maria had been testing him all along, Gant’s strongest instincts warned him that all was not as it seemed.
Shrugging off the doubts, he closed his fingers over the figurine. “Thank you very much, ma’am. I’ll be sure to take good care of it.”
“Do that,” she muttered hoarsely, “and it will take good care of you.”
Then she hopped off of the chair and headed toward the fore curtain.
“Did you see me do that Gant?” J.R. hollered, pointing to the lion.
Swinging his gaze from the crazy Gypsy to the ring, Gant saw that Zoltaire was sitting on a chair that had been hung on the side of the cage some eight feet above the floor.
“Sorry, J.R.,” he called back. “How did you get him way up there?”
J.R. slapped the buggy whip he held across his open palm. “I thought you was gonna watch me.”
Gant jumped up from his seat. “I was watching, kid. I just got distracted a while with some other circus business. Why don’t you make him do it again?”
As he moved over to the cage for a better view, Gant stuffed the jaguar deep into his front pocket.
*
Behind the curtain in the women’s dressing area, Rayna held her Cleopatra costume aloft.
“What happened to my dress? I have to wear this tonight.”
Anna Mae, her hair carefully tied in rags to give her the tightest sausage curls imaginable, grabbed a handful of the cotton garment and fanned it out for a better look.
“Lands sake,” she said, equally dismayed. “It looks like someone or something tore it up on purpose. Who could have done such a thing?”
Maria, who had just pushed her way past the clothes rack to where her daughter stood, reached out and snatched the dress from Rayna’s hands.
“This doesn’t look too bad,” she said. “I can have it ready by show time tonight.”
“But look at it,” Rayna said, eyebrows dawn tight. “Someone tore the braiding and the glass emeralds off of the bodice. You worked so hard on this costume. What could have happened to it?”
Maria shrugged. “Maybe someone thought it a rag, or perhaps one of the animals got hold of it. I can fix it.”
Anna Mae wrung her hands. “But if an animal got it, one of them must have gotten loose. Oh, my stars. What if my pink tutu got torn up, too?”
She whirled around and rushed off toward her own cubicle.
Rayna didn’t care for her mother’s attitude, especially her evasive answers.
She bent low and whispered against her ear. “You don’t fool me, Daia. I think you know exactly who did this.”
“Don’t worry so, daughter,” Maria insisted, spinning away from Rayna as she took the costume to the table where she kept her sewing supplies. “I was not happy with the way the cording looked, so I tore some of it off myself. I may have gotten a little sloppy and accidentally tore a few jewels off as well, but I can easily put it back together.”
More than a little cording had been torn off. The garment’s bodice had been shredded. Maria had attacked the dress for some reason. That, added to her increasingly strange behavior of late was more than cause for investigation. Intent on getting to the bottom of the problem, Rayna followed her mother to the sewing table.
Pointing to the little doll sewn to her apron, she asked, “Why is this so necessary?”
Maria glanced at the object, and then went back to her sewing. “It is just a little luck for the show. Nothing more.”
Rayna didn’t know a lot about her mother’s charms and spells, but she was pretty sure the doll meant a lot more than that. “It’s more than a lucky charm, isn’t it? Maybe some kind of amulet to ward off evil?”
Maria laughed, but kept her gaze on the gown. “I suppose you could call it that if you want to, but really, daughter, I only put it there to improve your luck. Just wear the apron at all times and there will be nothing for you to worry about.”
But worry, she did, and for several good reasons. Other than the little doll sewed to her apron, there was Maria’s illness and her sudden refusal of food. Then there was the matter of the incense she burned night and day. Maria had tried to convince Rayna that she did this to help overcome her nausea. Even now as she inhaled, the acrid odor of her mother’s smoldering herbs and spices filled her senses. Their room, their hair, and even their clothing would all smell like burning incense for days or even weeks. The last time Rayna had endured this stink, she’d been a prisoner in the Pierre jail with Maria camped right outside the door.
Black magic.
Those two ominous words popped into Rayna’s mind with a sickening sense of horror. She didn’t want to believe that her mother had reverted to the dark arts again, nor could she understand at that moment why such drastic measures were necessary. And yet all of the evidence pointed that way. As if proving that theory, a woman screamed from somewhere behind the curtains.
“Lord almighty.” Anna Mae Gunther came running out of her cubicle. “My earbobs are gone. My mama’s diamond earbobs have been stolen.”
Rayna turned to her. “That’s a pretty serious accusation. Are you sure they’re gone? Perhaps you misplaced them.”
“Of course, I’m sure. I put them in the same place every day, and now they’re gone.” She turned and fled the dressing area
then, screaming as she ran, “Mollie, where are you? My mama’s earbobs are missing. Mollie?”
Rayna’s heart sank. All of her instincts as well as that second sense she’d been born with began ringing alarms in the back of her mind. Maria and black magic. The evidence of her mother’s work was gathering above the steamship like a series of storm clouds, building in intensity to hurricane force. This was too much like Illinois to be a coincidence.
“Daia?” she said, trying to keep calm. “Did you hear what Anna Mae just said?”
Maria kept her gaze riveted to the costume in her lap and nodded.
“Her diamond earrings are missing. Have you seen them?”
Maria continued jabbing the needle into the material, and slowly shook her head.
Mollie came running into the dressing room then with Anna Mae right behind her. “Come show me where you had those earbobs,” Mollie said. “They’ve just got to be in here somewhere.”
Anna Mae ducked into her cubicle and came out with a little crystal jewel box. “They were right there, Mollie. They were sitting on that clump of velvet just as pretty as you please, and now they’re not. They were my mama’s favorite pieces. I just can’t believe they’re gone.”
“Now don’t go getting all hysterical on me.” Mollie turned to Rayna and Maria. “Have either of you seen Anna Mae’s pretty little earbobs?”
Maria simply would not look up from the costume. She said, “I don’t think so.”
Rayna, miserable with a feeling of doom, quietly said, “The last time I saw them, Anna Mae was wearing them.”
“Come on then,” Mollie said, gathering the troops. “Everyone drop to your knees. Those earbobs have to be here somewhere, and we’re not going to stop looking until we find them.”
Although by now Rayna was almost certain the search would be fruitless, she slowly sank to the floor with the others. It’s only begun, a voice inside her warned. There’s more to come.
A shudder tore through her, jarring her teeth, and Rayna ripped into the sawdust in frustration. She had only sifted through one handful of wood shavings when Sam burst in on them.
His eyes were wide with shock as he said, “We need help in the show ring. Bring a bottle of whisky out to the arena along with something we can tear up for bandages. And hurry.”
“Laws,” Mollie cried. “Now what’s happened?”
There’s more to come.
“Zoltaire got hold of Gant. He’s hurt pretty bad.”
Thirteen
Rayna was the first to her feet.
After bursting through the main curtain, she headed straight for the arena and Gant. She kept up this pace until he came into view, and then she came to a screeching halt. Gant was sitting in the sawdust not far from the lion cage, his back to her. Even from a distance she could see splashes of blood and it seemed to be everywhere; in the sawdust, on J.R.’s hands, and worst of all, covering better than half of the back of Gant’s shirt.
As she approached Gant, Rayna saw a blubbering R.J. trying to remove his bloodied shirt. Hans, usually so aloof and unruffled no matter what the circumstance, paced frantically nearby, alternately shouting orders to J.R. and calming Zoltaire, who was wild-eyed and roaring.
When Rayna finally reached Gant, she threw herself down in the sawdust beside him. “What happened?”
Grinning through the pain, Gant said, “I had a little lapse in my usually excellent judgment.”
“But why were you in Zoltaire’s cage?”
“I wasn’t inside the cage.”
Rayna jerked her head upwards, spearing Hans with a vicious glance. “I swear, you bastard, if you had anything to do with this, you’ll be very, very sorry.”
“I did nothing to cause this,” the German declared. “And neither did Zoltaire. Gant caused his own wounds because he is an idiot like his brother.”
“Hans is right about me,” J.R. cried. “It’s all my fault. I did something wrong and now Gant’s hurt.”
“We’ll figure that out later,” Rayna said, her attention back on Gant. “Right now we’ve got to help you.”
J.R., who couldn’t stand the sight of blood, no matter where it came from, hunkered down to study his brother’s wounds more closely. As they came into view, he rose again and staggered sideways. For a brief moment he wobbled there, his features blanched and drawn. Then his eyes rolled up inside his head and he fell over backwards.
Although she watched J.R.’s collapse, Rayna’s concerns were not with the younger Gantry. Feeling queasy herself, she leaned up on her knees and twisted sideways until she could clearly see Gant’s shoulder and back. A shudder ripped through her at the sight, but she forced herself to remain calm, to keep those feelings of horror inside. Zoltaire’s claws had carved four ragged grooves from the top of Gant’s left shoulder to his ribs. The lower slash was deeper, more crimson in color. And still bleeding. Rayna swallowed hard and sank back down on her knees.
“That bad, huh?” Gant asked, watching her closely.
“Not really,” she replied, brushing him off. “I don’t think it’s too bad, but it is a little messy. There are only a couple of scratches, but they’re, well, messy.”
Sam, who’d gone after the whiskey himself, returned and snatched Gant’s shirt from a still unconscious J.R. After rolling the garment into a ball, he pressed the ruined shirt against Gant’s wounds.
“We’ll have you fixed up in no time,” he said, reassuring his patient. Then from over his shoulder, he shouted back toward the dressing area. “Where are those rags?”
“Coming,” Mollie hollered back, on the run.
Hans strode up to where Sam tended Gant’s wounds, and nudged him with his knee. “Move out of za way,” he demanded. “I do za doctoring around here.”
Sam stayed his ground. “You can hardly see out either eye today, and you’ve only got one hand to work with. What kind of doctor is that?”
Rayna glared at Hans. “If you even think about touching him, I’ll break your other arm.”
Gant thought about putting his two cents into the discussion, but a fresh wave of pain washed over his back, rendering him speechless. The best he could do was look up at Hans and snarl.
Mollie came rushing back into the arena then, her arms filled with clean rags. “Here we go,” she said, handing them to Sam. Then she took a look at Gant’s back. “Oh, lawdy. Old Zoltaire really gave you what for.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Sam said, although his expression said otherwise.
Ignoring the wounds, Rayna said to Sam, “What can I do to help?”
Gant’s fingers curled around her wrist. “Stay where you are, all right? I want to look at you.”
Misunderstanding, she said, “I’m all right. I just want to help.”
“I need your help right here.”
Still Rayna hesitated, noting the pale beneath Gant’s usually swarthy complexion and the shock in his expression. Then she saw something more in his glazed eyes. Gant needed her, truly needed her in a way no man had ever needed her before. She smiled as she crept up between Gant's knees and sat back on her heels.
Resting her hands on his thighs, she asked, “Is this where you want me?”
Under his breath, so only she could hear, he whispered, “Close, but not close enough.”
Rayna wagged a finger in his face. “Behave yourself. This is as good as it gets for now.”
It wavered, but he rewarded her with a lopsided grin.
Determined to keep his spirits up, she playfully said, “I think you’re just faking those injuries so you can have me down on my knees fussing over you.”
“I guess you can’t fool a fortune-teller.”
Gant’s white-lipped grin after that statement abruptly became a grimace as a splash of cold liquid washed over his back. That cold sensation quickly warmed to heat, and then fire. Gant gritted his teeth and took Rayna’s hand into his own.
“Damn,” he said tightly. “What in the hell are you doing back there, Sam
?”
“I just poured a shot of whiskey over your back to clean it up. Would you like a shot?”
As Gant considered this he looked into Rayna’s eyes. “Not yet. How bad does it look?”
“Not too bad. Three are just scratches.”
Hans, forgotten in the background, stepped up for a closer look. “I will not tend to him of course, but I have seen and doctored injuries like this before. Za big scratch must be cauterized.”
