"Did he tell you what he did?" I almost shouted.
"Do you think he was right to sell his five children for five hundred dollars apiece?"
"No, of course I don't think it was right," she answered calmly, taking the winds from the sail of my attack. "He told me about what he did. It was a terrible decision he had to make. You five could have starved while he recovered his health. I can only justify his actions by saying he did what he thought best at the time, and none of you have suffered permanent damage, have you, have you?"
Her question hung in the air as she sat with her head bowed, quietly waiting for me to say I forgave Pa. Did she believe that the worst he'd done to us had been his Christmas betrayal? No, that had been only the climax! And I could not speak up and say anything to redeem his cruelty. The hope that had flared briefly on her face faded. Her eyes dropped to her son, and deeper sadness came over her face. "It's all right if you can't forgive him today. I just hope you will be able to one day in the near future. Think about it, Heaven. Life doesn't give us many chances to forgive. The opportunity comes, flits by, time passes, and it's too late."
I jumped to my feet. "I thought Tom would be here to meet me. Where can I find him?"
"Tom pleaded with me to hold you here until he returns about four-thirty. Your father won't be home until much later."
"I don't have time to wait until four-thirty." I was afraid to stay. Afraid she'd win me over to forgiving a man I hated. "When I leave here I'm flying to Nashville to see my sister Fanny. So please, tell me where to find Tom."
Reluctantly she gave me an address, her blue eyes still pleading with me to be kind and understanding, even if I couldn't be forgiving. And I said my polite goodbyes, kissed Drake on the cheek, then hurried away from the young wife who wore blinders.
I felt pity for such a naive woman who4 should have looked beneath the surface of a handsome, almost illiterate man who used women and eventually destroyed them. A list of discarded women behind him that I knew about, Leigh Tatterton, Kitty Dennison, and Lord knows what had happened to Sarah after she walked out on her four children and me. Only when I was in the rented car and speeding toward the border of Florida did I remember I should have gone out of my way to say hello to Grandpa.
An hour later I reached the small country town where every day Tom worked during his summer vacation, according to what Stacie had told me. I gazed around with disapproval at the small houses, the inadequate shopping center with its parking lot showing a sprinkling of late-model cars. What kind of place was this- for Tom and his high ambitions? And like an avenging angel, determined to do what I could to upset Luke Casteel's plans for his eldest son, I guided my luxurious car to the outskirts of this nothing town and found the high wall Stacie had told me about.
Some things she hadn't prepared me for, such as the long line of colorful banners snapping in the hot wind. The banners kept on such a move I couldn't read the message they imparted. Insects hummed and badgered my head as I headed for a gate that was open. No one tried to prevent me from entering a huge, grass-covered arena with many worn dirt paths crisscrossing the lawns. What kind of place was this, I thought, my heart racing, so disappointed to think that my brother Tom would settle for . . . for . . . and then I knew just what future Tom had set for himself in order to please Pa!
Tears seeped into my eyes. Circus grounds! A small, cheap, crass, unimportant circus struggling to survive. Tears began to streak down my cheeks. Tom, poor Tom!
As I stood beyond the gate in the hot afternoon sun and listened to the sounds of many people at work, some hammering, some singing and whistling, some shouting orders, others answering back in irritable voices, I also heard laughter, and saw children running, chasing one another. They threw me curious glances, and I guess I must have looked very strange in my early fall Boston attire that was totally wrong for Florida. Strange-looking people in bizarre clothing idled about. Women in shorts washed their hair over basins. Other women acted as hairdressers.
Laundry was hung up to dry in the hot sunlight. A few palm trees offered some shade, and if I had been less prejudiced, I might have found this scene picturesque and charming. However, I wasn't about to be charmed. Strong animal odors wafted to my nostrils.
An assortment of men in scant attire, with deeply tanned skins and bulging muscles, moved with purpose from here to there, setting up stands and booths with signs that read "Hot Dogs" "Hamburgers" and so forth. They repaired colorful posters that advertised a half-man and half-woman, dancing girls, the world's fattest woman, the world's tallest man, the world's smallest husband and wife, and a snake that was half-alligator and half–boa constrictor. Not one man failed to stare my way.
Many a time Tom had hinted in his letters that Pa was doing something glamorous that he'd dreamed about all his life. Working for a circus? A small, second-rate circus?
Almost numb with despair I moved forward, staring into cages where lions, leopards, tigers, and other large wild cats were caged, seemingly awaiting transportation to another area. I stopped before one of the antique animal wagons, staring at the tiger poster adhered to its side where red paint was peeling off.
A time warp ricocheted me back to the cabin. It could have been the original of the tiger poster that Granny had described to me so many times, the one her youngest son Luke had stolen from a wall in Atlanta that time when he went there at the age of twelve, and his Atlanta uncle forgot to keep his promise of taking his hillbilly nephew to the circus.
And Luke Casteel, at age twelve, had walked fifteen miles to the circus grounds outside the city limits and had slipped into the circus tent without paying.
Almost blind now with tears, I ducked my head and used one of my linen handkerchiefs to blot my face. When I looked up, the first thing I saw was a tall young man coming my way, carrying with him something that looked like a pitchfork and, cradled under his left arm, a huge tray of raw meat. It was feeding time for the big cats, and as if they knew, lions and tigers began to toss huge shaggy heads, showing long, sharp, yellowish teeth, sniffing, gnawing, crunching bones, ripping into the bloody raw flesh the youth poked through the cage bars with the fork. They made deep rumbling noises in their throats that I had to take for pleasure.
Oh, my God! My God! It was my own brother Tom who gingerly thrust the meat forward for savage paws to rake closer before teeth began to work.
"Tom" I cried, running forward. "It's me!
Heavenly!" And for a moment I was a child of the hills again. The designer clothes I wore faded into a shabby, worn-out, shapeless dress gone gray from repeated washings in lye soap on a metal scrubbing board. I was barefooted and hungry as Tom turned slowly toward me, his deep-set, emerald eyes widening before they filled with delight.
"Heavenly! It's ya, really ya? Ya came t'see me, after all, drove all this way!"
As always when he was excited, Tom forgot his good diction and reverted to country dialect. "Oh good glory day! It's done happened! What I prayed fer!" He dropped the large tray that was now empty of meat, let go of the pitchfork, and opened his arms.
"Thomas Luke Casteel," I called, "you know better than to slur your contractions. Did Miss Deale and I waste our time teaching you good grammar?"
And into his welcoming embrace I ran, throwing my arms about his neck, clinging fast to this brother who was four months younger, and all the time gone by since I'd seen him last vanished.
"Oh holy Jesus on the cross," he whispered emotionally, his voice hoarse, "still scolding and correcting me just like old times." He held me an arm's length away and stared at me with awed admiration. "I never thought you could grow prettier, but you're more than pretty now!" He swept his gaze over my rich clothes, pausing to take in the gold watch, the polished fingernails, the two-hundred-dollar shoes, the twelve-hundred-dollar handbag, and then he was staring at my face again. He exhaled in a long, whistling breath. "Wow! You look like one of those unreal girls on magazine covers."
"I told you I was coming. Why do you seem
so surprised that I'm here?"
"I guess I thought it was just too good to be true," he answered rather lamely, "an' I guess in another way I didn't want you to come and spoil what Pa is trying to accomplish. He's just an uneducated man, Heavenly, trying his best to make a living for his family, and I know what he does is not much to someone like you are now, but being part of circus life has always been Pa's goal."
I didn't want to talk about Pa. I couldn't believe Tom had taken Pa's side. Why, it seemed Tom cared more for Pa than he did for me. But I didn't want to let go of Tom, didn't want him to become a stranger to me.
"You look . . . look, well, taller, stronger," I said, trying not to say he looked even more like Pa, when he knew I—hated Pa's handsome face. The lean gauntness had gone from Tom's bony structure. The hollowed-out, dark shadows had vanished from his eyes. He appeared well fed, happy, satisfied. I could tell without asking.
"Tom, I just came from visiting Pa's new wife and child. She gave me directions to this place. Why didn't you tell me?" I glanced again around the arena where tents were mingled with permanent buildings.
"Just exactly what does Pa do?"
His smile spread all over his face. His eyes lit with pride. "He's the barker, Heavenly. And a great one! He does a terrific job at rolling out the spiel that pulls in the customers. You see how dull it looks around here today, well, you just hang on till this evening, and from five hundred miles around customers will show up and shell out their money to see the animal acts, and the show girls, and the freaks who make up the carnival show. And we got rides, too," he said proudly, pointing to a Ferris wheel that I hadn't noticed until now. "We're hoping this year to add a carousel; you know, the kind we always wanted to ride?
"Heavenly," he gushed as he caught my arm and led me off in a new direction, "the circus is Pa's world now. You didn't know, any more than I knew, that the circus was always his dream when he was a boy. A thousand times he ran from the hills to sneak into the circus. I guess it was his way of escaping the ugliness and poverty of that mountain shack where he grew up. You remember how he hated the coal mines, and so he took to running moonshine. He ran, too, from the scorn everyone had for the Casteels, who seemed to know nothing better to do than wind up in jail, caught for petty crimes. When the Casteel sons would have been admired if imprisoned for more daring and major ones, short of murder, that is."
"But Tom, this is not your dream! It's his! You can't give up your college education just to help him out!"
"Eventually he wants to buy out the owner, Heavenly, and then this circus will be his. When I found out what Pa was up to I'm sure I looked just as amazed as you do right now. I wanted to tell you, really I did, and yet I was reluctant to tell you, pretty sure you'd feel and show nothing but scorn for his ambitions. I understand him more than I used to, and I want him to succeed for once in his life. I don't hate him like you do. I don't know how to hate him like you do. He's looking for his self-respect, Heavenly, and if what he's doing now seems trashy anti nothing to you, it's the biggest thing he's ever attempted in his life. When you see him, don't make him feel small."
Again I looked around. Some women had
recently showered in their tiny trailer shower stalls, and wrapped in towels, they stood in groups staring at where Torn and I stood. I had never felt so conspicuous. Other women were working on torn costumes.
Everyone chatted in an animated fashion, and pretty girls born into the circus life threw Tom and me many a curious smile. Strong-looking acrobats practiced on dirty canvas mats, and at least a dozen dwarfs ran about doing odd jobs. I guess to some like Pa this might be the very kind of place he could hide himself away in, for no one here would care where he came from, or how lowly his background. However I knew exactly what Tony would feel if he could see what I was seeing, or perhaps he even knew, and that's why he had forbidden me to bring back even one Casteel.
"Oh, Tom; this is all right for Pa. Much safer and better than running moonshine. But it's not right for you!" I pulled him to a small bench put under the shade of a tropical-looking clump of trees. Bits of food were on the ground where birds fed, daring to pause and dine even at our feet. The heat and the odors had me feeling faint. The jewelry I wore seemed a heavy, sticky burden. "Troy has given me more than enough money to see you through four years of college," I began breathlessly. "You don't have to give up your dreams just so Pa can achieve his."
Tom's lean face flushed deeply red before he bowed his head. "You don't understand. I have already taken college boards and failed. I always knew my dreams would never be realized. I just wanted to please you. You go on and get your college degrees and forget about me. I like my life. I'll like it even more when Pa and I earn enough to buy out the present owner of this circus. Why, one day we might even take the show out on the road farther than Georgia and Florida."
I could only stare at him, completely stunned that he would cave in so easily. And the longer I stared the deeper shade of red he turned. "Please, Heavenly, don't embarrass me. I never had your kind of brains, you just convinced yourself that I did. I haven't got any special talents, and I'm as happy here as I ever expect to be."
"Wait," I cried out. "Take the money . . . do what you want to with it, anything to get yourself out of this kind of trap! Leave Pa and let him take care of himself!"
"Please stop," he whispered. "Pa might overhear you. He's standing right over there by the galley tent."
My eyes had passed several times over a tall, powerful-looking man with his black hair stylishly trimmed and shaped, though his jeans were faded and tight, and the white shirt he wore was more or less the same kind of loose smock shirt that Troy so favored.
It was Pa!
Pa, cleaner and fresher and healthier-looking than I'd ever seen him, and if he'd aged even one day, I couldn't tell it from the fifty feet that separated us.
He was talking to a stout, jocular-looking, white-headed man wearing a red shirt, and was, apparently, giving him orders. He even glanced at Tom as if to check why his son wasn't busy feeding the animals.
His dark intense eyes skimmed over me without coming back to gawk the way most men did when first I filled their vision. That alone told me that Pa wasn't interested in picking up young girls. His casualness also told me he hadn't recognized me at all.
He smiled at Tom in a fatherly, congratulatory way, then turned to talk again to the man in the red shirt.
"That's Mr. Windenbarron," whispered Tom.
"The current owner. He used to be a clown with Ringling Brothers. Everyone says there's not room in this country for two major circuses, but Guy Windenbarron thinks with Pa's help, the two of them can really grow. He's old, you know, and can't live much longer, and he needs ten thousand dollars to leave to his wife. We've already saved up seven. So it shouldn't be too long now, and Mr. Windenbarron will stay on to help us out as long as he can. He's been a real friend to Pa, and to me."
Tom's enthusiasm made me feel a bit sick. Only then did I realize that his life had gone on, just as mine had, arid he'd found new friends and new aspirations.
"Come back in the evening," Tom invited, as if to hurry me out of reach from Pa, "and listen to Pa's spiel, and see the circus, and when the lights are turned on, and the music plays, maybe you will catch some of the circus fever that a great many people feel."
Pity for him was what I felt. Sorrow for someone determined to destroy himself.
I spent the remaining afternoon hours in a motel room, trying to rest and put my doubts at ease. There didn't seem anything I could do to change Tom's mind, and yet I had to give it another try.
That evening, about seven, I dressed in a casual summer dress and set out again for the fenced-in circus grounds. A startling metamorphosis had taken place. The Ferris wheel spun slowly, dazzling the eyes with its triple rows of colored lights. In fact every building, tent, and caravan trailer was brightly lit. The lights, the music, the hordes of people, created a certain kind of magic I'd never expected. Shoddy
, ill-painted buildings appeared pristine and beautiful. The day's shabby circus wagons with their scratches and missing chips of red paint and gold appeared brand new. Music from a dozen sources was playing, and to my utmost surprise, those hundreds of casually dressed country people streaming through the open gates created great excitement with their happy anticipations of having a wonderful time. I followed, just another in the stream. I stared at girls my age hugged up close to boyfriends, wearing the briefest kind of costumes that would have brought scowls to Tony's face. Flushed parents held fast to the hands of children who wanted to run wild and explore; moving stiff and slow far to the rear of family groups staggered grandparents obviously more accustomed to spending their evenings in porch rockers.
In my entire eighteen years I had not been to even one circus performance. My experience with the circus had been as an observer watching a TV set, and that had not assaulted my senses with the sound, sight, and smells of animals, humans, hay, manure, sweat, and over all, from dozens of sources, the overwhelming fragrance of hot dogs and hamburgers, ice cream and buttery popcorn.
As I wandered over the circus grounds to stare at sideshow tents, where near-naked girls wearing heavy makeup undulated their hips provocatively, and freaks displayed their misfortunes with amazing indifference, for the first time I began to understand what had appealed to a twelve-year-old hillbilly boy straight from the Willies—appealed to him so much he'd returned to the hills to hypnotize himself into believing this was the best of all possible worlds: Better than the dark and dim coal mines, the spinning colored lights. Better than making and running moonshine and daring the Feds. Better in a thousand ways, all this, than that grim mountain shack and all the others like it, where reputations never died and your past mistakes lived on to haunt you forever. I could almost feel sorry for that ignorant boy.
Dark Angel (Casteel Series #2) Page 24
