by Sharon Ihle
“Yeah, I’m afraid that was my family.”
“You pulled a gun on your own father?”
None too proud of himself, Gant just nodded.
“My God, for a minute there, I thought you might even shoot him.”
“In another minute,” he admitted. “I might have.”
“Oh, Gant.” He couldn’t stand to hear the censure in her tone. “Do you hear yourself? I can hardly believe this is you talking. I admit that he doesn’t seem to be a very nice man, but how can you hate your own father so much that you can even think of shooting him?”
Now wasn’t the time to explain how things were with his father, so Gant avoided the topic the best he could. “With my old man, hating is easy. Maybe in time you’ll understand.”
Rayna shook her head. “I doubt it. You’re talking to a woman who never even knew her father. He rejected me without ever laying an eye on me. If anyone has a reason to hate it’s me, but I don’t. In fact, I’d give anything to meet my father, to be in the same room with him.”
“Believe me, this is not the same.”
She considered this. “Maybe not, but at least your father took the time to raise you and you know something about him besides his name.”
“Believe me, Princess, it would be better if I didn’t know who Luther Gantry is beyond his name.”
She still looked puzzled but Gant simply didn’t have the time to make himself look better in Rayna’s eyes. Members of the troupe were rushing around changing into their costumes, and soon J.R. would be performing as the Great Gantini. Gant had to get to him before he stepped into the arena so he could at least warn him about the old man and the others.
“I have to go find J.R., but in the meantime, think about this. The years I spent in prison were served because of something my father did.”
“Is that why you hate him so much?”
“Not because I had to serve the time.” Gant had never admitted this to anyone before. “I pretty much deserved the time I spent in jail. I had it coming for several things I did in the past. What I can’t forgive my father for is gunning down an innocent young woman the day I got arrested. He killed her as if she were nothing more than a fly, and then left me behind to hang for it.”
“Oh, Gant.” Rayna’s stricken expression was a balm for his soul. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you understand,” he coaxed. “Say you can see how the image of that woman dying still haunts me—especially her eyes. I’ll never be able to forget the look in her eyes.”
Pressing her head against his chest, Rayna murmured, “Of course I understand.”
Gant kissed Rayna’s forehead and then released her, asking for one last concession. “I’m going to stand guard over the entrance tonight and probably for as long as the circus is in Natchez. Please don’t take any chances up there on the ropes when I’m not there for you. Why don’t you ask Sam to help you and maybe he can get Marco and Melvin to work with the twins.”
“You want Sam to take over your part?”
“Just until I know the Gantry Gang is out of town. Sam is the only one I trust with you. If he doesn’t think Melvin can help with the twins, then promise me that you won’t do the act.”
Because she knew how very full his mind was with worry at that moment, Rayna agreed without hesitation. “I’ll make the arrangements and the promise. And won’t worry. I’ll be very careful up there tonight.”
Gant brushed her cheek with his fingertips. “See that you don’t forget that promise. I’m afraid I’m going to have my hands full with J.R. and the rest of my family for the next few days.”
*
Gant found the Great Gantini in the stables. He was rolling the lion cages toward the steel tunnels that led to the ring. Calling him aside, Gant said, “We need to have a little talk.”
“Later, Gant. Right now I got to get the lions ready.”
“Now.”
J.R.’s eyes bugged out at Gant’s lethal tone. He quickly left the job of arranging the cages to the men who usually helped him with that task and walked with Gant to the far corner of the room.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as soon as they were out of earshot of the workers.
Gant made it simple. “The old man is here in Natchez with the others. They’re looking for you.”
J.R.’s face dropped into that frightened puppy expression Gant hadn’t seen since he’d joined the troupe several weeks back. At the sight, he found himself growing angry all over again.
Fighting to keep the anger out of his tone, he said, “I told them the last time I saw you was in Greenville when you were with Luther.”
J.R.’s expression brightened. “Did Pa believe you?”
Gant shrugged. “Maybe, but I don’t know how long I can keep them away. Mollie has her heart set on staying here at least ten days. If Pa and the boys are here that long, we might have a big problem with the old man.”
J.R. hung his head and nodded miserably. “He ain’t gonna let up till he finds me, Gant. He’s gonna kill anybody what gets in his way, including you.”
J.R. turned then and started for the arena, but Gant reached out and caught him by the arm. “Wait a minute, kid. Where do you think you’re going?”
“To do my job.”
Gant pulled him back to the corner near the pigpen. Apparently their argumentative tones had agitated the animal, because as soon as Gant leaned against the wood slats, Sweetpea jumped to his feet. Then, snapping and squealing, he bit down on the first thing he could reach through the slats of his cage; Gant’s trousers. This wouldn’t normally have been much of a problem, but his memories of pigs while he was a young boy remained strong in his mind. He’d been something like seven years old when an overly protective sow had terrorized Gant, leaving scars on his legs that were still visible today.
“What the hell?” he said, tearing his Levi’s out of the pig’s mouth. Without thinking, he turned on the animal and drew his gun.
“I don’t think Rayna will be too happy if you do that,” J.R. said, pushing down on the pistol until the barrel pointed at the straw. “Good thing you’re not the animal trainer. I think that pig hates you.”
Gant holstered his weapon. “Good thing for that side of bacon on legs that he belongs to Rayna, or I’d have barbecued him a long time ago.”
Surprised to find his hands shaking, Gant took hold of J.R.’s elbow and steered him to the other side of Pierre’s stall, out of sight and sound of Sweetpea.
“About the gang,” he said, picking up where he left off. “I don’t want the circus folks to know that you and I were part of the Gantry Gang, so keep it to yourself.”
“That ain’t gonna be a problem. Far as I’m concerned, I’m a Gantini, not a Gantry.”
“Good. I also think you ought to lay low while we’re in Natchez. We don’t want him to come looking for you again.”
J.R. shook his head. “I can’t hide from Pa and the boys for the rest of my life.”
Gant couldn’t argue the point, not since he felt pretty much the same way. But he said, “You could give it a try.”
“Wouldn’t be worth the trouble.” Striking a rare, thoughtful pose, J.R. then asked, “Tell me about the family. Was Lou with the old man? Junior, too?”
Gant nodded slowly, glancing around the stables to make sure they were still alone. “They’re all together again except for us.”
“How’d they look? Is Lou all right?”
An image of this youngest brother, of the fear and confusion in his bright blue eyes, suddenly popped into Gant’s mind. For a split second he saw Lou crying over the stage driver who’d been blown off of his seat by the old man’s shotgun. Gant grimaced, turning his thoughts to Junior, and was struck by the vision of their father fondling Junior’s woman the way he’d touched Rayna. He went cold with rage.
This reaction obviously wasn’t lost on J.R. “Lou’s as bad off as I was, right?”
“Things could be better,” Gant grudgingly admitte
d. He could see that J.R. was mulling something over, something that spelled trouble. “Don’t go getting any ideas about trying to save Lou or anything stupid like that.”
Again in a rare display, J.R. set his chin. “I got to go see Lou whether you like it or not. I just can’t turn my back on him, not now that I know what it’s like to be free.”
“You can’t risk it.” Gant drove his fist into his palm the way he wanted to pound some sense into J.R. “Look what you’ve made of yourself in just a few short weeks. Are you telling me you want to throw it all away at for a chance that you might be able to be of some good to those ungrateful brothers of yours?”
“Shit, Gant. Isn’t that what you did for me?”
He refused to see the similarities. “It’s not the same thing.”
“Course it is. I know I can’t do much about Luther and Junior, but I got to do that much for Lou.”
Seeing a stubborn side of J.R. that he’d never noticed before, Gant sighed. “Fine then. If you think Lou can be saved, I’ll give it a try.”
“That ain’t the way it’s gonna be.” His brown eyes moist, hand clutched to his chest, J.R. said, “I learned more than a trade from you, Gant. You taught me how to care about myself and showed me that it’s okay to feel something besides fear and hate. Thanks for offering to help out with Lou, but this is something I got to do myself.”
“Ah, dammit, J.R.” Because he couldn’t think of a reasonable objection, Gant repeated, “Dammit it to hell.”
J.R. popped up with a buck-toothed grin. “I’m glad we understand each other.”
It was catching, Gant decided, this love business whether it included family or a woman. Maybe love was like some kind of communicable disease, a sudden rash. He couldn’t think of one right now, but Gant knew he had to find someway of keeping the ailment from getting his favorite brother killed.
“Where’d the boys head to when they left the ship?” J.R. wanted to know.
“I don’t know, kid. Before you go looking for them, why don’t we rest on it a spell, think it through before either of us does something we might regret?”
J.R. actually considered this, and then surprised Gant with a short nod. “Okay. How about we meet up top by the calliope nice and private like tomorrow night after the last show?”
“Tomorrow night,” Gant echoed, wondering why he didn’t quite trust J.R. the way he had when he first got up that morning.
*
True to his word, J.R. did meet Gant at the appointed place and time. Much to Gant’s surprise, the kid showed up in a disguise so outrageous, at first he didn’t realize that his younger brother was hidden beneath all of the extra fluff.
After making a fast trip to Marco’s dressing table where the clown makeup was kept, J.R. had glued on a drooping blonde mustache, added an oversized pair of spectacles, and piled on enough padding beneath his clothing to make him appear at least fifty pounds heavier. He’d also donned a thick blonde wig, and topped that with a large floppy-brimmed hat. By the time J.R. finished explaining his plan to Gant, the bizarre costume paled by comparison.
“That’s the craziest idea I’ve ever heard,” Gant complained. “The old man will recognize you in a minute.”
“No, he won’t,” J.R. insisted. “You didn’t. Besides, I’m just going to kinda slink around town, peeking in doors, looking this way and that away till I catch sight of Lou. Way I’ve got things planned, Pa will never even see me.”
Gant snorted a laugh. “And what happens when that plan takes a couple of unexpected turns? How do you figure on managing on your own then?”
J.R. shrugged. “I can’t worry about that. I’ve got to try and let poor Lou know that I kin help if he wants me to.”
Gant stretched his arms across the railing and stared down at the water. “All right,” he said after thinking things through. “I won’t try to stop you, but I am going with you.”
“Sorry, big brother, but you’re not.”
Gant twisted his head to the side where J.R. stood. “I’m not figuring on interfering with your plans. I just thought I’d be there in case of trouble.”
“You mean in case I can’t take care of myself? No thanks, Gant. Besides, if I let you anywheres near me it would just give me away.” He straightened his spine. “I got to do this myself.”
“You don’t have to,” Gant reminded gently.
“Yes, I do.” The he added, “You got Rayna to think about now. You don’t need to be worrying about me to .”
“If you need help---“
“I won’t,” J.R. finished. He stuck out his hand then. “Thanks for trusting me. Don’t come looking for me until I’m good and ready to come back. Promise?”
Gant bit back the urge to berate his brother, to continue trying to talk some sense into him. He did realize how very important this night could be to J.R., possibly significant enough to affect him for the rest of his life. Since he could no longer find a legitimate objection, Gant took J.R.’s hand in his and gave it a shake.
“I promise.”
“Thanks.”
Then, as his brother turned and walked away, Gant returned his attention to the river. He stood there for a full hour at midship near the railing where the calliope was stationed. After a while, Gant moved to the bow of the ship to watch the flicker of light reflections playing tag atop the rippling water not to mention getting a better view of the town.
Most of Natchez had gone to bed, but the Gomorrah below those stately mansions fairly sparkled in the night, the soft glow of lanterns glistening through windows of buildings that housed every kind of vice imaginable. Gant stood this post another hour, flinching, but not moving when a volley of gunshots rang out.
Could have been anything, he convinced himself. A fight over the prettiest whore, a crooked gambler caught with an ace up his sleeve. Anything at all.
When the second volley rang out just moments later, Gant thought back to his last words to J.R., and then saw his trusting face and puppy dog eyes. He’d promised the kid he wouldn’t interfere, and so held his ground.
Seconds later another round of gunfire shattered the night. This time Gant immediately thought of an old proverb: Promises and piecrusts are made to be broken.
“Damned if they aren’t,” he muttered as he checked his gun to make sure all six rounds were in place. They were.
Gant ran for the stairs.
When Gant reached the main deck, he lowered the gangplank and stepped onto the bright blue runner. He paused there, thinking that he’d seen the shadowy figure of a man stumbling toward him in the darkness. J.R., he wondered, Lou?
Gun drawn, Gant proceeded quietly down the narrow wooden plank, skirted the large puddle of mud that had gathered at the landing as the night progressed, and then strained his eyes in the darkness. Nothing. Had he been imagining things?
Suddenly, from behind a city of packing crates, came a hoarse whisper. “Gant? Is that you?”
“J.R.?” Gant whispered back before he realized that the voice didn’t sound much like his brother.
“No, you son of a bitch. It’s your pa. Get on over here.”
Gant’s first impulse was to turn and head on into town, leaving the old man where he stood. It occurred to him that he had no idea where to begin searching for J.R. and the others, not to mention the fact that his father would probably just shoot him in the back if he turned and headed in the opposite direction. He had little choice but to follow orders. Jaw tight, his gun at the ready, Gant cautiously approached the crates.
“Where are you?” he asked, throat tight.
“Here.”
The old man staggered into view. He was hugging his left arm and shoulder against his body. As he drew near, Gant caught the shimmer of moisture, a patch of slick darkness spreading against the pale gray of his father’s shirt.
“Are you shot?” Gant asked, increasingly concerned about J.R.’s welfare.
“And here I thought not a one of my boys was born with a brain.” He�
�d made a snide joke, but instead of grinning at his own cleverness, the old man’s face was twisted with pain. “See if you can’t get the bleeding stopped.”
Gant had no choice but to help his old man. Using the torn-off tail of his father’s shirt as a bandage, he staunched the flow of blood then secured the material against the wound with his own snakeskin hatband.
