She had bounced up and down on the buggy seat.
'Look, Auntie!' she squealed. 'A freak show's come to town!'
Elender frowned disapprovingly at the brightly painted wagons.
'Can't we stay here, Auntie?' Jenny begged. 'Please? I want to see the freaks!'
'We will not put off this trip,' Elender said concisely. She narrowed her eyes. 'You have looked forward to it for two weeks and so have I. And I still am.' And with that she determinedly snapped the reins to make the horse trot even faster.
But it did not move fast enough: Jenny caught sight of two dwarfs, obviously arguing. Elender, who did not like to come face-to-face with human misery, quickly averted her eyes. And in doing so saw the child.
She was at the roadside, pushing through the weeds, plucking sunflowers. As Elender watched, the little girl brought the bouquet up to her nose and sniffed it. Then she wrinkled her nose and looked up.
What a beautiful child she was! So tiny and delicate, so perfectly . . . angelic. For an instant their eyes met, and the girl smiled disarmingly. There was a happiness in that smile such as Elender had never seen.
The magical moment was broken by Jenny. 'She's one of the freaks, isn't she?'
Elender did not reply. She could only wonder how Jenny had turned out the way she had. She is so unlike me, Elender thought. How did that happen? I've tried to do everything for her. Give her everything. Is that the problem? Or is it because the child has no father?
Everyone in Quebeck knew that Elender Hannah Clowney was a spinster and that Jenny was her orphaned niece—because that was what she had told them when they had first arrived. It was the first and last lie she had ever told.
Spinster. Well, it wasn't far from the truth. After all, she didn't have a husband. But Jenny wasn't her niece.
She was her daughter.
Elender had not planned to have a child, certainly not out of wedlock. She'd just turned sixteen when it had happened. When Arthur Jason Cromwell's parents had sailed for Europe. She had been one of Mrs. Cromwell's chambermaids, and the night of the sailing, she and Arthur had been alone in the big brick house on Boston's Beacon Hill. He'd given the rest of the servants a free night out. And told her to stay. She'd never forget that night as long as she lived.
She was in the kitchen when he rang for her. She glanced up at the bell register, surprised that the ringing did not come from the public rooms or his own. It came from his father's bedroom, which was just next door to the missus'.
She hurried upstairs and knocked on the door.
'Come in!'
Slowly she opened the door. The room was dark and warm, and he was sprawled in a tufted armchair in the corner, his feet up on a hassock. There was half a bottle of brandy on the marble-topped table beside him.
'You rang, sir?' she asked respectfully.
He nodded. 'Turn down the bed.'
Automatically she walked over to the bedside table. If he wanted to sleep in his father's bed, that was his business. She shivered at the impropriety of the idea, but did as she was told. When she finished, she looked over at him. 'Will there be anything else, sir?'
He smiled slowly, his eyes traveling over her body. She was tall for her age, slim but full-breasted. Much more so than most girls her age.
She could feel her face reddening under his obvious scrutiny.
'Get undressed,' he said softly.
She stared at him, suddenly feeling helpless and frightened. Terrified, in fact.
'I told you to undress!'
And slowly she fumbled with the buttons on the back of her dress. She knew what he wanted to do was wrong, but with the Cromwells gone, he was master of the house. She dared not disobey him. He could dismiss her at his whim; and without references, all jobs would be closed to her.
She was, after all, the orphan of poor Irish immigrants, had no family, and had blessedly been taken in by the rich and all-powerful Cromwells. A bad word from any of them, and her life might as well be over.
Her fear only seemed to excite him all the more. Swinging his legs off the hassock, he got up from the chair and crossed over to her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he pushed her roughly to her knees and tore at her petticoat. When she was naked, he pulled her back up and led her to the bed.
The sheets were cool and clean and crisp, but she felt hot and dirty and used. She had never been to bed with a man, and the agony was supreme. Arthur smelled of brandy and sweat, and when he tore savagely into her, the pain was so great she nearly fainted. It was the worst experience of her life, but mercifully quick.
As soon as he fell asleep, she gathered up her torn clothes and stumbled out of the room. She felt humiliated and empty. Mortally wounded. Tears streamed down her face. Her thighs were wet with blood.
At least it's over, she told herself. Now I can die in peace.
But it wasn't over, nor did she die. He took her to bed every night, and soon the other servants suspected what was going on. As a whole, they were ruthlessly respectable, and blamed Elender. She became a pariah.
Six weeks later, it was all over. This time it was she who came to see him. Her face was pale. 'I'm pregnant,' she told him quietly.
He stared at her and then ordered her to undress. The next day he gave her five hundred dollars and one instruction: 'Go down to New York and get rid of the baby.'
So she went to New York, but she didn't get rid of the baby. She worked one job after another until she 'showed,' and was frugal with her money. When the baby was born, she named her Jennifer Sue and headed west, perfecting her cover story on the way: that she'd had a widowed sister-in-law who'd died and left her some money and custody of her child.
When she came to Quebeck, Elender knew it was the perfect place to start a new life. The town was small and no one knew her. Her story was plausible and accepted. Not even Jenny knew the truth.
In over eight years, Elender and Jenny had never left sleepy little Quebeck. Except for the trip to Brownsville.
Now Elender couldn't help wishing she hadn't taken Jenny, who had been sour and had pouted during the entire drive. Only when they'd checked into the hotel had Jenny finally forgotten the circus. Elender Hannah Clowney might have been frugal, but for the one time in years they would stay overnight in a real city, she had decided to splurge and stay in a first-rate hotel.
The Hotel Garber was a huge square red-brick structure of four stories, with ornamental black iron fretwork and tiers of balconies, and boasted its own livery stable. She and Jenny were helped down from their buggy and escorted inside to the front desk by a uniformed porter who carried their luggage.
Elender's breath caught in her throat as she gazed around the huge, luxurious lobby. This . . . this palatial hotel . . . this was what she dreamed of owning, not the modest rooming house in Quebeck, but she was practical enough not to confuse idle dreams with hard-core reality. Still, it did no harm to dream, and so her envious eyes took in the plush red carpeting, the shiny red damask walls punctuated with graceful white plaster columns with gilded capitals, the electric globes on brass sconces, the sweeping brass-railed staircase, the palms in Chinese export pots, and she wondered how it felt to own all this. All the while, her New England mind attempted to grapple with all that luxury and translate it into a mind-boggling sum of dollars and cents.
They were shown up to their second-floor room by yet another porter. As soon as the door opened, Jenny headed straight for one of the twin beds and hopped on it to test its springs. Elender looked around and smiled, savoring the luxury of the quilted pale blue satin bedspread and the matching swag drapes hanging elegantly on either side of the arched French doors.
The porter cleared his throat. She turned and found him waiting expectantly. She dug into her purse for a coin, handed it to him, and smiled. He frowned into his hand and Elender's smile faded. She snapped her purse shut with a decisive click. Generosity had its bounds. Money did not grow on trees, at least not for Elender Hannah Clowney. The amount she had alread
y spent on the room alone seemed outrageous. 'A fool is easily parted from his money,' Mrs. Cromwell used to warn, and she cautioned herself about being more thrifty; it seemed remarkable how, in a city, money had a habit of changing hands with alarming regularity. There were altogether too many temptations.
When the porter left, snapping the door behind him with no less decisiveness than Elender had closed her purse, she noticed a framed sign affixed to the back of the door. She leaned forward and read the thick block letters: 'GUESTS WISHING TO TAKE A BATH
KINDLY RING THE BELLPULL BESIDE THE BED AND IN¬FORM THE CHAMBERMAID A HALF-HOUR BEFORE THE DESIRED TIME.'
Yes, Elender thought, a bath would be nice. It had been a long ride, and she felt tired and gritty. She could use some freshening up.
She started to reach for the tasseled bell rope. Suddenly she frowned, her hand hesitantly poised in midair.
Ring the chambermaid for a bath. She wondered why she felt so peculiar about such a simple action. Was it because she had once been a chambermaid? Or was it that she still felt the class distinction she had known on Beacon Hill, and was still herself a chambermaid at heart?
She lowered her hand slowly and decided to wait until later. In the meantime, she tried to shove the unpleasant memories out of her mind by investigating the room.
She pushed her hand down into the plump mattress and slid back the covers to feel the blinding white, stiffly starched sheets. Ever neat, she found herself remaking the bed, as well as smoothing the covers of the one on which Jenny had sat. She could not help wondering whether this instinctive reaction was yet another throwback to her tenure as a servant.
She peeked into the closets, felt the wallpaper with her fingertips, and judged the quality of the towels folded in precise squares beside the ceramic bowl and pitcher on the washstand. To her surprise, she discovered the room was no more comfortable than those she rented her roomers back in Quebeck. Less so, despite the impact of luxury, because upon close examination she discovered the lack of the personal, thoughtful touches the hotel did not provide—an extra blanket, toiletries a hurried traveler might have forgotten, a dressing gown, a reading lamp that could be moved just where you wanted it.
Her inspection over, Elender went through the open French doors that led out to the balcony. She drew a sharp breath. Jenny was leaning over the railing, precariously perched on her toes. 'Jenny!' she scolded sharply. 'Get away from there at once!'
'Yes, Auntie,' Jenny said with glum resignation.
'Come and wash up. We'll have a late lunch downstairs in the dining room.' She watched Jenny skip inside, glad to see her more cheerful.
The dining room was quiet and empty; the lunch crowd had long since finished and left. The waiter was a wizened, white-jacketed, white-haired black man. He let them have their choice of tables, and Elender chose a large round one beside a window looking out onto the street, where they could watch people pass, see the latest fashions.
'We still have the special from lunch, ma'am,' the soft-spoken waiter said solicitously. 'Rabbit stew with dumplin's.'
Jenny licked her lips.
'We'll order in just a moment,' Elender told the waiter, who withdrew quietly and busied himself snapping fresh tablecloths out over the tables and laying silverware and glasses for the evening meal.
Elender picked up her menu, glanced at it, and stiffened. The prices were exorbitant, and her immediate inclination was to get up and leave. Even if price were no object, she would have difficulty swallowing such expensive food. Surely there were modest places where they could eat for much less. But Jenny had never been to a city or a nice restaurant, she reminded herself. The child would be sorely disappointed.
Elender glanced across the table at Jenny, who was hidden behind a menu. She closed her own menu and laid it down. 'We'll have a slice of apple-walnut cake and a nice cup of tea,' she decided quickly, folding her hands on the edge of the tablecloth.
'Aw, Aun-tie!' Jenny wailed.
'I needn't remind you that we're not rich, Jennifer Sue Clowney,' Elender said. 'Besides, cake and tea will hold us over quite nicely until supper.' She did not add that supper would be inexpensive: while shopping, she would pick up some bread and cheese, which they would take back to the hotel and eat in their room.
After finishing their tea and cakes, which were small in portion, but delicious and beautifully served on gold-rimmed china, they explored the shopping streets. The hum of activity around them was contagious, and Jenny quickly forgot about the lunch she could not have. She was mesmerized by the faster-paced life here in Brownsville. The salt air from the gulf was invigorating. Shop windows were chock-full of enticing merchandise of all kinds.
'Look, Auntie!' Jenny squealed, suddenly tugging at Elender's hand and pulling her toward a shop. She stood enraptured in front of the window and sighed deeply. 'Isn't that a beautiful doll?'
Elender nodded. Seated in the window was the most exquisite doll she had ever seen. It had long, lustrous golden hair, a porcelain face with a sultry expression, and languorous dark blue eyes. It was dressed in a pink crinoline gown with flounces.
'Oh, Auntie, I'd love to have that doll! Please, Auntie?' Jenny shook Elender's hand. 'Oh, please say yes!'
'I'm sure it's expensive,' Elender said carefully.
'Oh, I know.' Jenny was silent for a moment. Then she looked up hopefully. 'But for Christmas?'
'We'll see, Jenny.'
Jenny's face fell, and as they continued walking, she lagged further and further behind.
On the next street corner, Jenny came to a stop and stood, galvanized, in front of another shop. When Elender realized Jenny wasn't beside her, she turned around and slowly backtracked.
Jenny pointed excitedly at a boudoir set of gleaming gold-tone metal. There was an ornate oval hand mirror, an embossed white-bristled brush, and a matching ivory comb.
'Oh, Auntie! That's what I want for Christmas!'
Elender smiled tolerantly. 'But I thought you wanted the doll.'
'Oh, no,' Jenny said loftily, shaking her curls. 'Dolls are for children.'
Elender hid her smile. 'I see,' she said.
'Auntie, do you think . . .' Jenny bit down on her lip.
'Perhaps you will get it for Christmas,' Elender said vaguely. 'If you're good, that is. But not now.'
Jenny was glum the rest of the day.
The following morning, Elender left Jenny at the hotel while she went shopping for new furniture and curtains for the rooming house. Prices being what they were, she decided against buying anything. Besides, she rationalized, the rooms she rented out were comfortable and homey just as they were. Much more so, in fact, than the hotel.
They stayed one more night at the Hotel Garber. In the morning they climbed up on the buggy and began the drive back to Quebeck. Jenny was gloomy, pouting about not getting the boudoir set. Christmas! she thought. Christmas is ages away! I'll never get it!
But unknown to her, Elender had bought the set and had it secreted in her luggage.
As they neared Quebeck, they passed Geron's Fields again. Where the circus had been only two days before, there was now a charred, skeletal ruin.
Elender stared at the destruction with horror. And then she saw the child again. The one who had been picking sunflowers. She was ragged and filthy, and her angelic face was stony. She walked aimlessly about, as if in a stupor.
Jenny saw her too. 'Look, Auntie!' she piped up. 'There's one of the freaks!'
Elender stopped the horse and turned to Jenny. Her hand blurred and there was a sharp crack. Jenny cried out. 'You hit me!' she accused.
'And I'll hit you every time you call another human being a freak,' Elender said with quiet rage.
Jenny stared at her with vitriolic hatred, but Elender didn't notice. She hopped down from the buggy and waded through the tall weeds out into the field.
The girl's eyes were dulled with shock.
Elender stooped down, put her arms around her, and picked her up. 'Come,
child,' she said gently. 'Everything's going to be all right.'
2
The shock Elizabeth-Anne had suffered was so great that she lost her power of speech.
'What's your name?' the nice woman asked her over and over, but much as she wanted to reply, she couldn't. Her mind simply would not allow her to form the words.
After Elender took Elizabeth-Anne home and bandaged her hands, she asked around in town and learned that there was another survivor of the circus fire: a dwarf was being treated by Dr. Purris. But when Elender mentioned Elizabeth-Anne, everyone expressed astonishment. No one had known that a beautiful little girl had been part of the circus, and that she had also survived the inferno. In all the commotion, the child had been completely passed over.
'Nobody noticed a stranger?' Elender asked in disbelief. 'I find that extremely hard to believe.'
Mr. Preston, the owner of Preston's Dry Goods Store, shrugged his narrow shoulders. 'Everyone was panicking,' he muttered, 'tryin' to round up their own families.'
'Does she have any other relatives?' Elender asked. 'Please, it's very important.'
But Elender didn't hear his answer. She was already outside, climbing up into her buggy, heading straight for the doctor's, where she spoke to Hazy, the dwarf, who was suffering from severely infected burns.
'It's gotta be Elizabeth-Anne,' the dwarf mumbled painfully. 'She's Szabo Gross's daughter. He owned . . . the circus. Her mother . . . her mother . . . was Marikka. Now . . . now poor Elizabeth-Anne got no mother . . . no father.'
'Does she have any other kin?' Elender asked. 'Please, try to remember. It's very important.'
Hazy sighed deeply.
'Please,' Elender urged.
Hazy stared at the kind woman and then made up her mind. God only knew what kind of relatives Elizabeth-Anne's parents had had. Better she should mention Szabo's half-sister, who lived back East. 'There is no one,' Hazy murmured. 'Just Szabo's half-sister . . . Elspeth . . . somewhere . . . somewhere . . . in Pennsylvania.'
Texas Born Page 3
