by Carol Arens
At the moment, finding that companion was the very last thing she needed to do. If she fell into a life of being protected, it might be akin to seeking relief in a small blue bottle of laudanum. She would gain strength by standing on her own two feet and no other way.
Plucking her wrap from its hook on the wall, she tugged it tight about her. If she was to become a woman whom men would respect, she had to be a woman that she respected first.
Surely she could be as brave as Ivy’s pet mouse. That sweet creature ventured out nightly.
The moment she stepped outside a small shaggy dog met her at the bottom of the steps.
“Where were you at feeding time, Miss Valentine?” A short time ago the dog had been star of the show, well-groomed and pampered. Now that she was beginning to show her age she’d been cast off, left to fend for herself or die.
As far as Agatha could tell, no one cared about her fate one way or another. It was the same for the other mutts Agatha fed with the scraps left over from dinner.
“Come along. We’ll stop by the chuck wagon and see what’s left.”
Valentine wagged her curly tail and limped along after Agatha. The poor creature hadn’t been limping yesterday. Perhaps that was why she didn’t show up with the other dogs to be fed.
Bending low, she scooped Valentine up. “It’s a crime how they tossed you out. Why, if you were earning them money I reckon they would have the veterinarian look at your foot right off.”
The distance to the cook trailer was not so far, maybe a couple of hundred yards. But the path was dark, isolated and a bit unnerving. The shifting light cast by the torches seemed creepy rather than reassuring.
This was a challenge, nothing more. The shadows at her back didn’t really cry her name. The rush of leaves across the ground was only that. It was her imagination turning them into light, quick footsteps pursuing her.
Hilda Brunne was dead. Everyone believed it. There was no reason not to. Because her body hadn’t been found, Ivy and Travis had hired the Pinkerton agency to search for her.
Even the professionals presumed Hilda was dead. The moaning presence pursuing her was nothing but a dark, emotionless wind.
Agatha no longer needed to fear her. What she did need to fear was what her nurse had tried to make her. A girl afraid of everyone—believing she could only trust one, twisted woman.
Until she became be strong enough to live among strangers, she would never be free of Hilda Brunne’s ominous ghost.
All at once the shadows gave way to bright light, crowds and laughing people.
Tattooed Joe stood on a stage flexing the tiger emblazoned on his back. Near him, Sword-Swallowing Smithy consumed red-hot flames.
From inside a tent Agatha heard the guffaws of the Fat Lady.
Couples strolled arm in arm, gazing more at each other than the bizarre things happening around them. Parents covered their children’s eyes at every turn while their own eyes popped wide open.
Over to the right, a group of young men gathered around a painting of three-breasted Josie. It seemed they could not hand over their quarters fast enough for the chance to see the oddity. They were, of course, being duped. Josie was as two-breasted as any other woman. But the fool boys would see what they expected to see in the dim light of the tent.
Valentine wriggled in Agatha’s arms, trying to lick her face.
The distraction nearly caused her to slam into the back of a tall gentleman who had stopped at the fortune-teller’s stall. A finely dressed woman clung to his arm.
“I see your future, young people.” Leah Madrigal, the fortune-teller, tapped her red fingernail on a glass globe filled with colored water. “For a penny, I’ll share it with you.”
“Oh, yes—please do tell.” The lady clapped her hands. “Mr. English, do you have a penny?”
Mr. English!
Agatha stumbled backward. It couldn’t be—but yes—it was! She knew that silhouette! Indeed, she’d half recognized him earlier in the day when he’d been climbing the hill toward town. The sense of familiarity she’d felt had not been misplaced.
“Come now, Mayor!” The woman fairly bounced on her toes. “I know you have a penny!”
William—her very own William was here! He was mayor?
She wanted nothing more than to hug him about the ribs and feel safe. He’d made her feel that way once before—safe and protected on that awful afternoon when no one knew what her sister’s fate might be. If not for William standing between her and an evil blue bottle she might have succumbed to it.
Leah noticed her cowering in the shadow, nodded and winked.
She prayed that William would not see her! How would she act? What would she say? No doubt she’d trip over her words. It had been some time since she’d seen him. He hadn’t been to the ranch since Ivy turned him down.
What if he didn’t remember her?
The bouncing woman snatched the penny out of William’s fingers then dropped it on the fortune-teller’s brightly decorated table.
“What do you see for us?” The eager miss clung to William’s hand. His fingers had to be going numb, her grip looked that tight.
Leah caressed her glass ball, made a show of staring into it. All at once her brows arched, her lips curved. She leaned sideways to peer around William and his lady. Her puzzled-looking gaze held Agatha’s for five full seconds before she returned her attention to her customers.
“I see marriage—for you both. But not to each other. You, my dear girl, will make a lovely match that will make your parents proud and your friends jealous. But you must be patient. This will not happen in a moment.”
The lady started to protest because clearly she wanted William and she wanted him now.
Dismissing her, Leah turned her gaze on William. She smiled at him, then oddly, she winked one more time at Agatha.
“Now you, my handsome one, you will marry sooner than you think. It will come as quite a surprise to you—and to your bride. Oh, I see you are worried, but this will be a long marriage blessed with many children.”
“I don’t believe her!” the woman exclaimed. “You don’t, either, do you, William?”
It was an odd reading. Agatha had heard a few of Leah’s fortunes and they all ended with happily-ever-after for the hopeful lovers who paid their pennies.
“I believe I was entertained,” William said. Agatha imagined he was smiling, although she could only see the back of his head. “Thank you, ma’am.”
With that, he placed another penny on the table and walked away with the woman who, very clearly, had not been entertained.
With a crook of her finger, Leah motioned for Agatha to come out from the shadow.
“Most of the time, this is no more than a ball of water—but once in a while it does see things.”
“How do you know the difference?”
The fortune-teller tapped her chest with her crimson fingernails. “It’s in here.”
“How lovely for Mr. English, then.” He did want a horde of children. Ivy had told her that about him.
“Go on your way, Miss Agatha. Enjoy your evening.”
Yes, but first she needed to feed scrawny Miss Valentine. It was distressing to feel her ribs, so sharp and angular under her fur.
While walking away, she heard Leah’s throaty laugh, then seconds later, “I see your future young ones. For a penny I’ll tell you what it is.”
* * *
Sitting on the steps of the chuck wagon, Agatha listened to the distant wail of the pipe organ.
Miss Valentine had finished her second plate of stew and was nosing about in the dirt for fallen scraps.
Agatha drummed her fingers on her knees and wondered if William was going to marry the bouncing woman or the one who would bear him many children.
She sighed. She had never truly considered the possibility that she would ever be William’s bride. Although she could hardly control her nightly dreams. But the light-of-day truth was, she was not at all the woman he needed.
That was why, when the Lucky Clover had been threatened with financial ruin, Travis had gone in search of Agatha’s missing sister and brought her back to marry William.
Everyone knew Agatha would never be a suitable match for their wealthy neighbor. She didn’t have the stamina; she was too shy.
Sadly, her father had been informed by the doctor that she should never have children, being much too frail for the stress. Over the years Nurse Brunne made sure Agatha understood that she was not fit for any man because of it.
“I don’t care if you think you’re in the family way!” Frenchie Brown’s voice slammed the wall of the food trailer, bounced off and echoed down the dim pathway.
“I will not be shot out of the cannon!” came the outraged reply.
“I have a signed contract, Mrs. Otis. You have no choice.”
Agatha stood up and peered three trailers down.
Frenchie Brown’s big fist was clamped about the pregnant human cannonball’s arm. No wonder the woman was struggling to get free. This was a dangerous act—even when the wind was not blowing.
“Put the costume on or take it up with my lawyer.”
The red-sequined outfit lay on the ground glinting in lamplight—flaunting its indecency. Why, the wicked garment didn’t even have a skirt. It was no more than a pair of fancy long johns.
“Take it up with God!”
“Around here, I am God.” Now his voice was low, but unmistakably growling.
What a terrible situation! No one was in the area who might help Mrs. Otis.
No one but—
Agatha stepped into a wavering beam of torchlight. “I’ll run for help!”
Frenchie Brown let go of Mrs. Otis. She dashed away into the darkness.
“You! Girl! Come here.”
In spite of the fact that she had been willing to go get help, she was not good at dashing. No, she doubted she could do it if she tried.
She approached her boss, who apparently believed he was equal to the Almighty, with her heart beating madly against her ribs.
He studied her silently, walked around her in a slow circle.
“You’ll do.” He snatched up the costume from the dirt and tossed it at her. “Put it on.”
“I couldn’t.” She really could not. It was a comfort that Miss Valentine had trotted up to stand beside her.
“Do not try my patience. Folks paid good money to see a woman get shot out of a cannon. The reputation of this company depends on you.”
“No, it does not. My contract is to feed you.” Be bold, be bold be bold! “It’s far too windy for that stunt, anyway.”
“Danger is what it is all about! Folks like to get all het up inside. Gives them a real thrill.”
“I must decline,” she said while he tried to shove the costume at her. “Most firmly.”
“You leave me no choice, then.”
With a grunt, Frenchie squatted down.
Really, folks might pay to see that feat.
He snatched up Miss Valentine. “Put it on or I’ll break the mongrel’s neck.”
She did believe that. No doubt he would stuff the dog and mount her high on the elephant’s trunk.
“Very well.”
Agatha snatched the long johns and marched into the cook house. She would put the awful thing on, act like she was going to comply, then when the dog was safe, she would run. She would make a dash for it—as best she could. Clearly she would need cunning as well as speed.
Her plan fell apart when Frenchie’s fist anchored about her arm before he dropped Miss Valentine in the dirt.
He yanked her toward the cannon exhibit. She dug in her heels.
“I won’t do it!”
He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the ground.
She wriggled and pounded his arm, tried to peel his fingers off.
“Put me down!” she shouted. “I will not do this!”
“Take it up with your lawyer later—if you are able. It is a blustery night. Anything can happen.”
Chapter Three
The thing William regretted most about the evening was the encounter with the fortune-teller.
Somehow Aimee Peller had convinced herself that the seer intended to say that they would be married soon. For the past half hour she had clung to him, pride of conquest clear in her smile. He’d lost count of how many times she’d stared at her hand, at the finger a wedding ring would circle.
While it was true that Aimee would be an appropriate wife—she was beautiful and socially accomplished—he would never marry her.
He’d been cursed with knowing what could be between a husband and wife. He’d seen it in Ivy’s eyes whenever she looked at Travis.
Hang it, but he wanted to see that look in the eyes of the woman he married.
All he would see in Aimee’s eyes was triumph over her social position.
Maybe he ought to have married Ivy’s sister last year like he’d considered doing after Ivy turned him down.
But no. Marriage to Agatha was out of the question. While she was a sweet and docile girl who touched his heart with her shy smile, she would never be able to stand up to the rigors of political life.
It had been a good while since he’d seen her. He had not visited the Lucky Clover since Ivy turned down his marriage proposal.
He did wonder about Agatha from time to time. What had become of her? He hoped that Ivy had managed to restore her to health. He prayed that she had not become addicted to laudanum again.
Had life treated her differently, she might have been as bright and sparkling as her twin sister. That night he’d carried Agatha about the dance floor, he’d seen a spark of joy in her eyes.
Somehow, that brief encounter had left him feeling tender toward her. She had gazed up at him as if he were her hero. It could not be denied that he’d looked down at her, warming to the role.
“If we were to marry, William,” Aimee began again. He did not recall encouraging her to call him by his given name. “When do you think it would be?”
In a hundred years was what popped into his mind, but he needed to be careful not to say something to alienate her, or the votes her family might cast for him when he at last ran for governor.
A noise interrupted his thoughts.
“What was that?”
“We were discussing our wedding date?”
“I thought I heard a scream.”
“Well, my dear, this is a circus after all.”
“I’m sorry, Aimee. You’ve gotten the wrong idea about—that was a scream.”
Very clearly a woman was in distress. The trouble sounded like it came from the area where the cannon was.
The cannon that was due to spew a human being out of it.
That was one circus act he would ban when he had the power to do so.
He ought to bid Aimee farewell and send her back to her friends, but the cry was becoming more urgent.
Surely others would arrive to help before he got there, but regardless, he turned his back on Aimee and ran full out.
A few men had arrived before him. Judging by their manner of dress, they were employees of the circus. Unbelievably they shifted from foot to foot, watching silently while Frenchie Brown tried to stuff a small woman down the mouth of the cannon.
A dog latched its teeth into the leg of Mr. Brown’s pants. Luckily the critter was agile and avoided the circus owner’s attempt to stomp on it.
But the woman was not faring as well. She was no match for the brute strength being forced upon her.<
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While she cursed at Brown, he caught the back of her long red hair, wound it around his fist, then yanked downward, forcing her further into the cannon.
“Mr. Brown!” William shouted. “The lady is unwilling!”
“This is circus business, Mayor. You have no say-so here.”
“When I catch you trying to force a woman, it damn well is my business.”
“Boys?” Frenchie Brown stared at his men. “The show will go on. Escort the mayor to an appropriate area.”
“Where’s Mrs. Otis?” one of the fellows asked.
“Packing her bags as you’ll be doing if you don’t obey me.”
“I don’t think this here tiny lady will survive being blown out of Old Bessie,” the youngest of the men said.
All of a sudden Frenchie yelped. Blood welled from his fat hand.
It seemed the tiny lady in the cannon had taken that moment of distraction to bite him.
He lifted his bleeding fist, balled it up. William caught it on the downswing and shoved him backward.
The woman scrambled out of the cannon then crumpled on the ground, shaking.
“William?” her voice quavered under the fall of red hair that hid her face.
She knew him? There was something familiar about her voice—he couldn’t place—
“Help me up, William.” She lifted her hand toward him. Her pale fingers trembled.
He squatted beside her, drew the hair from her face.
“Agatha Magee? Is that you?”
“He’s on the ground, boys! Get him.”
Feet shuffled in the dirt. Glancing up, he gathered Agatha closer to his chest.
Two of the roustabouts were walking away, but the other two advanced, bulging arm muscles glistening, flexing.
“Oh, my word!” A woman’s gasp drew Frenchie Brown’s attention to the shadows.
William recognized her and her young fellow when they stepped into the lantern light. They had both attended today’s meeting.
“Nothing to be alarmed at folks. All a part of the cannon act.” Frenchie Brown’s voice was suddenly friendly as a slice of peach pie. “Naturally the lady was fearful, it being her first flight. But this act is widely known to be safe.”
