Spellbound

by Sharon Ihle

  “Bye Hans,” J.R. called after him. “And thanks for the lion-tamer lessons.”

  Gant figured he ought to offer some kind of courtesy farewell to the big German, but then his mind’s eye supplied a picture of the way the man had treated Rayna not so very long ago.

  The best he could managed was, “So long, Hans. Make sure to watch where you step.”

  J.R. laughed. “That ain’t going to do him much good as long as he’s carrying that black painter around with him.”

  “Serves him right,” Gant grumbled, struck by the uncomfortable realization that at least one of Maria’s spells had worked. Putting that out of his mind, he added, “We’ve got a show coming up. Anything I can do to help you in here?”

  “Nope. I’m all done except for changing into my Gantini costume.” J.R. turned, making sure all of the cages were locked, and then caught the glitter of polished stone lying amongst the straw at his feet.

  “Uh, oh,” he said, picking up the onyx panther. “Hans must have dropped his little gift. Should I go after him?”

  Although he sorely wanted the revenge to continue, even to follow the big German for the rest of his life, Gant shook his head. “No. Toss the damn thing overboard. It doesn’t belong to anyone now.”

  “That’s all right by me.” J.R. palmed the panther, and then started for the exit. “I got to get ready for the show. Toby’s about to start in with his processional music.”

  “Is it that late?” Gant asked, increasing his pace as he and J.R. headed toward the arena. “I’m supposed to be out front already watching the crowd.”

  Gant thought of Rayna alone on the landing near the infamous part of town known as Natchez-Under-The-Hill, and increased his stride even more. When the Gantry brothers reached the wide entrance, J.R. continued on to the dressing rooms, and Gant stepped out onto the deck of the ship.

  Moving aside as customers began to file up the gangplank and on by him, Gant walked out to the edge of the low railing and scanned the levee. Rayna was nowhere in sight, but that didn’t alarm him. He’d left her in quite a state of dishevelment. She would probably be lucky to get dressed in time to make it downstairs for the processional. Feeling more relaxed, he drew in a deep breath of the cool evening breeze, a rare commodity now that summer along with its supply of humidity and bugs had descended upon the South. Then he took his first look at the town through the blue-gray skies of twilight.

  Natchez itself sat high up on a bluff overlooking the river and swamplands, its regal mansions thumbing their noses at the boisterous sub-town perched on the ledge below. Rich heavy perfumes drifted under his nose, floribunda, magnolia, a profusion of plants and flowers he couldn’t identify as anything except tropically southern. All was well. And for a good while, it looked as if all would stay well.

  Although he’d never considered himself to be any manner of a religious man, Gant found himself giving thanks for all of the riches bestowed on him during the past three months or so, a silent prayer of sorts, he supposed, to someone or something much bigger than himself. Then, as quickly as the thoughts left his mind, a disturbingly familiar voice called to him from out of nowhere, shattering that perfect little world.

  “That you, little sister? Damned if you ain’t a sight for these poor tired old eyes.”

  Eighteen

  Something wrong with your hearing, Son? Or are you just too surprised to see me to speak?”

  His fists clenched so tight his nails carved a neat row of scallops along the center of his palms, Gant slowly turned to face Luther Gantry, Sr. Behind him, Gant noticed, stood his brothers Luther, Junior, and Lou.

  Sickened and stunned as if he’d just taken a blow to the gut, Gant assessed the situation. The first thing he noticed was the fact that the years hadn’t been particularly kind to his father. The old man’s formerly red hair had grayed and thinned, the remaining strands sprouting intermittently like a failed crop. His skin had given in to a one-sided quarrel with the sun, blotching his formerly striking features. The saving grace in that battleground was the old man’s amber eyes—the kind of eyes women found irresistible and men found disconcerting. What the old man lacked from the neck up, he made up for in muscle. Although in his early fifties, the elder Gantry hadn’t given his body a chance to soften or go weak on him. He was every bit as hard, firm and virile as Gant remembered.

  “If you don’t say something right quick,” his father said, “I might get my feelings hurt.”

  “Sorry. You just surprised the hell out of me.”

  Gant’s voice was flat. Inside he was poised at the alert should he need to draw his gun. He suffered his father’s remarks and his very presence the way he’d learned to deal with all manner of adversity in prison—with an outward calm even though his gut was roiling like a soup cauldron. It had been ten years, a lifetime ago since he’d heard the voice of Luther Gantry, Sr., or bowed under to the demands of the man. And that was a thing Gant had sworn he’d never do again, no matter what it might cost him.

  “Good to see you again, too, Son.” The old man had already removed his hat. He tipped it towards Gant, and then turned to wave it at his other sons, calling to them, “What are you boys hanging back for? Get on up here and say hello to your brother.”

  Lou, trembling, his smile as wobbly as J.R.’s was self-effacing, stepped forward and offered a sweaty palm. “Hi Gant. How ya doing?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

  As Gant shook his youngest brother’s hand, he saw everything J.R. had tried to explain about the kid. Lou was pretty, not handsome, delicately built and eager in a kind of desperate way. For lack of a better word, the young man struck him as sensitive. Too sensitive, Gant suspected, and he could feel his heart going out to this brother the way it had for J.R.

  Gant gave him a broad smile. “I’ve thought a lot about you over the years, wondering how you were doing and all. Looks like you’ve grown up just fine.”

  Lou fairly beamed, but the expression was snatched from his face as the old man’s meaty hand grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him up against the ship’s railing.

  “Don’t be saying things like that to the boy,” his father admonished. “You’re likely to get him all weepy-eyed.”

  The old hatred rose up in Gant, mingling, and then growing along with the new. Until that moment, he hadn’t fully understood just how much anger he still harbored for this father of his, or how deep was his well of utter loathing.

  Gant’s childhood stalked him, marching through his mind as he stared back at his father. He felt ridiculously young, smaller than the man even though he’d grown a full inch taller. Forcing himself to forget the child he’d once been, instead he drew on his hatred.

  “You’re mighty quiet, Gant,” the old man said. “I thought you’d be happy to see us after all of this time.”

  Luther stepped forward. “I told you he was none too thrilled when J.R. and I dropped in on his little show outside of Greenville, didn’t I?”

  The old man shot Luther a warning glance, and then set those amber eyes on Junior. “Well? Ain’t you planning to say howdy to your brother?”

  Like his twin, Junior sported the old man’s bright red hair. He didn’t offer either hand as he brushed past Luther, but jammed them both into his pockets.

  “Good to see ya,” he said flatly, making sure that Gant knew he felt otherwise.

  “You, too,” Gant said woodenly.

  Even though this brother was less than friendly, he looked different somehow, less vicious. Then Gant recalled that J.R. had mentioned that Junior was supposed to be in love. Is that what he saw in those Mexican black eyes in place of the usual ruthless gleam—a glimpse of his heart?

  Done with formalities, Luther Gantry, Sr. shoved his other sons out of the way and speared Gant with a pointed gaze. “It’s a real pleasure to see you again, but the main reason we stopped by is to see if you got J.R. Where is he?”

  “J.R.?” Gant said with surprise. “What happened, Luther? Did you get
drunk and lose him?”

  Lip curled into a snarl, Luther lunged past his father, fists raised. Before he could even draw back to take a swing, Gant wrapped his own hand around his brother’s throat, and then buried his pistol into the soft part of his belly.

  “Don’t even think about causing a commotion aboard this steamship,” Gant warned, pausing long enough to level his father with a vicious glance. “Any of you.”

  “And if we do?” the old man asked. “You sure as hell don’t plan on stopping all of us by yourself, do you?”

  Ten years of hatred and regrets swelled up in Gant, coming to a head with a tremendous rush. He cocked the hammer on his gun, and then spat out a warning he knew he would back up if pushed too far.

  “If I have to take on all of you myself, I will, and with any means necessary.”

  The old man must have seen something in Gant’s eyes, something of himself perhaps, because he took a backward step and howled with laughter.

  “Prison life must have agreed with you, boy,” he said, still laughing. “A couple of your brothers could stand to get half as tough as you are. Maybe I ought to see if I can’t get them arrested, too.”

  Lou and Junior fell in behind their father at those words, but Luther remained locked in Gant’s grip. He pushed the barrel of his gun deeper into his brother’s gut, amazed and repulsed by a sudden urge to just pull the trigger and be done with it. Had all his hard work to rehabilitate himself come to this?

  “What about you?” he asked Luther. “Do you hear what I’m saying? I don’t want to see your ugly face on the landing, much less aboard this ship. Comprende?”

  “Who do you think you are, you arrogant bastard?” Luther hurled a wad of spittle into his brother’s face. “Next time you pull a gun on me, you’d better be ready to use it. Comprende, yourself?”

  Gant’s finger tightened on the trigger and he felt it begin to give under the pressure. Thinking that maybe he’d gone crazy, that maybe he was more Gantry than not, some measure of reason returned before he went too far. He eased the hammer down and then shoved Luther backwards to crash against the wall.

  “Next time I stick a gun in your gut,” Gant muttered, wiping his face with his sleeve. “You won’t have time to wonder if I plan to use it.”

  Luther bristled and started to advance on Gant again, but the old man stuck out his arm, keeping him in place. Then, sounding amused, he said, “I swear I thought you boys got all this fighting out of your systems when you was nothing but a bunch of snotball kids.”

  Facing Luther, he added, “It’s no damn wonder you went and lost J.R.”

  His attention back on Gant, the old man said, “You sure you ain’t seen that boy lately? I can’t hardly imagine him running across the countryside by hisself.”

  “Sorry,” Gant said, amazed at how smoothly the lie fell off of his lips. “I haven’t seen him since he was with Luther. I couldn’t tell you where to start looking for him.”

  From out of nowhere, Rayna’s voice broke into the family reunion. “Gant? Are you out here?”

  He turned to warn her, to head her off before it was too late, but she kept on coming.

  “There you are,” she said, out of breath. “Mollie’s been wondering if you could give her a hand.”

  “I’m busy,” he said abruptly.

  Looking past Gant to the small group of men huddled around him, she recognized two faces among them. Luther, and she assumed, his twin.

  “Get back inside the arena,” Gant quietly said to her. “I’ll be along shortly.”

  Shocked to see the violent man Gant had called brother, curious as to the identity of the others, Rayna didn’t move as quickly as he’d hoped. She stood motionless long enough for Gant’s father to reach out and grab her by the elbow. Then he yanked her up close to his side.

  “Well, well, well,” the old man drawled, his gaze dipping down into the scoop neck of her Gypsy blouse. “What do we have here?”

  Gant’s weapon was still drawn, and at that moment, he thought he quite easily could have gunned down his father. Still grasping at the threads of reason, he kept the weapon pointed at the old man, and said, “Let her go, and I mean now.”

  Chills ran down Rayna’s spine, not simply because this brutal stranger had caught her so firmly in his grip, but because of Gant’s tone, a sound so dominated by sheer hatred, she could hardly believe it came from the mouth that had to recently whispered words of love to her. Glancing up at the man who held her captive and into his arresting amber eyes, Rayna forced a smile and began to peel back his fingers.

  “The show’s about to begin,” she explained, trying to extract her arm from his tenacious grip. “I have to go take my place in line now. Please let me go.”

  Ignoring her pleas, the man looked at Gant and asked, “Is this one yours?”

  “She’s his all right,” Luther answered, stepping up beside the old man. “You got to watch her, though. She’s got a knife buried in her apron. She tried to gut me with it the night J.R. disappeared.”

  “Is that right?” The old man’s gaze fell on Rayna again as he expressed his admiration. “You sound like my kind a woman.”

  Gant’s rage suddenly knew no bounds. He gritted his teeth and fought to keep from pulling the trigger as he said, “Get your hands off of her, or I swear, I’ll put a hole in you.”

  More afraid of what she saw in Gant’s eyes than she was of the man who held her, Rayna kicked at the stranger’s shins, twisted out of his grip, and quickly stepped back out of harm’s way. The old man’s lewd gaze followed her, tracking her curves with such obviously carnal thoughts that she could almost feel his filthy hands pawing her body. Just as quickly, he turned back to Gant.

  “Damn,” he said with a lusty laugh. “You really thought about shooting me, didn’t you, Son? You’re damn near as touchy as Junior about your woman. You in looove, too?”

  Gant kept his eyes on his father as he said to Rayna, “Get inside.”

  “She’s a damn fine looking chicken,” the old man remarked. Noticing that Rayna hadn’t moved yet, he added, “A little hard of hearing, but probably worth it, huh?”

  Gant glanced to the side, surprised to find that Rayna still stood rooted to the spot. “Damn it, Rayna, I said to get out of here, and I meant it.”

  “Damn fine chicken,” the old man repeated, “but she sure could use a good beating. I’d be happy to see that she gets one.”

  At those words, Rayna finally took flight. The minute she disappeared into the bowels of the ship, Gant turned back to his father, determined to end the confrontation.

  “I can’t tell you what a thrill it’s been to see you again, but it’s time you and the boys were on your way. I’ve got a circus to run.” Gant stepped to the side and then waved his pistol toward the gangplank. “It’s time you were leaving.”

  The old man laughed in reply, and Gant’s brothers, as if taking their cue, joined in with his chuckles.

  “I’ve never been more serious in my life,” Gant promised, his tone harsh. “You are not welcome aboard this steamship, now or ever. Get off.”

  The old man held up four bright orange bits of paper. “We come to see the show and find J.R. We got tickets.”

  Gant reached over and snatched them out of his father’s hand. “Not any more you don’t. Now get off of this ship.”

  The elder Gantry regarded Gant and the weapon he held for a long moment. Again he laughed. “We’ve been thrown outta better places than this before, ain’t we boys?”

  His chuckles abruptly ceased and he filled his fist with the collar of Gant’s shirt. “What about J.R.? You got him hidden away on this pile of kindling?”

  Gant shook his head. “I told you once. I haven’t seen the kid since Greenville. Maybe he’ll wash up in New Orleans.”

  “Maybe.” The old man stared into Gant’s eyes, giving him the impression that he hadn’t believed a single word. But then he released his shirt and said, “I expect he’ll turn up sooner or late
r.”

  “I expect so.”

  “Come on boys. There’s a lot more fun to be had in town than on this crumbling down boat.”

  Gant stood rock still, bile crawling up the back of his throat as his father and brothers filed down the gangway and onto the levee. Holding this stance, he waited until well after the men had disappeared into the seedy town below the bluff. Only then was he able to turn his back and march into the arena.

  When Gant rounded the entry, he found Rayna waiting for him. She quickly threw her arms around him.

  “I was afraid for you,” she said, voice trembling. “Was that your father and the rest of your family?”

  Very aware that the eyes of not just the troupe, but also the audience were upon them, Gant took hold of Rayna’s shoulders and steered her behind the huge velvet curtain. Gus’s raucous circus music filled the air along with the laughter of children and voices of the excited crowd. He had to speak louder than he wanted to in order to be heard over the din.