'Where in Pennsylvania?' Elender pressed. 'Please, it's very important. Try to remember.'
The dwarf screwed up her blistered face, whether in concentration or pain, Elender couldn't tell. 'I. . . ..I don't know. A little town. Starts . . . starts with a 'Y.' '
'Yes?' Elender said eagerly. 'A 'Y' ?'
'A little town. York. Yes. York . . . York, Pennsylvania.'
Elender thanked Hazy and left. She returned to visit her two days later, but she had died from her infected burns.
Now all that was left of the circus was Elizabeth-Anne. The letters Elender sent to York, Pennsylvania, went unanswered.
'I'm Auntie,' Elender would tell Elizabeth-Anne gently. 'Until we can get in touch with your next of kin, you'll be living with Jenny and me. She'll be your sister. Don't be frightened, Elizabeth-Anne. Your mother and father are in heaven, and we both love you. Don't we, Jenny?' Elender glanced at Jenny, who made a production of nodding her head.
Elizabeth-Anne could only stare blankly at both of them, but Elender was patient and kind. Unfortunately, Jenny wasn't. The cruel streak she had apparently inherited from Arthur Jason Cromwell was surfacing more and more all the time. She despised Elizabeth-Anne. For weeks, the slap she had received from Elender still burned hotly on her cheek, but she especially hated Elizabeth-Anne because she usurped her place at home and received most of the attention. Jennifer Sue Clowney could not and would not tolerate the situation. She must have all of Auntie's affection for herself, and she made a silent vow to destroy Elizabeth-Anne. But Jenny was guileful, careful never to go too far while Elender was watching or within earshot. She perfected her technique of torturing Elizabeth-Anne in little ways. And Elizabeth-Anne, unable to speak, had no way to fight back. She had to take her lumps in numb silence. She would look Jenny in the eye and pretend nothing had happened. She hoped that if she didn't respond, perhaps after a while Jenny would get bored and leave her alone.
Since Elizabeth-Anne hated anything that reminded her of the circus, it was only natural that she despised her hands. The shriveled, dry skin was an ever-present reminder of the horrors she had witnessed. She got into the habit of hiding them behind her back or keeping them out of sight at her sides, but as much as she tried, she still caught sight of them too often. She had to wash and eat, and she could do neither without using her hands.
One day, out in the backyard alone, she forced herself to take a good look at them.
They 're just ordinary hands, she told herself. There is nothing wrong with them. Nothing at all.
But the vision of the fire leapt up in front of her, and only when she hid her hands did it disappear.
Elizabeth-Anne did not know it, but as she tried to come to terms with her hands, Elender had been watching from the window. That night, Elender stayed up until early morning sewing Elizabeth-Anne three pairs of white gloves.
'Here,' she told Elizabeth-Anne when she went in to wake her in the morning. 'Now your hands won't distress you so much anymore.'
At lunchtime Elizabeth-Anne stared at her plate hesitantly. Then she looked over at Elender and held up her gloved hands.
'Yes,' Elender told her gently, 'you may wear them while you eat.'
When it was time to wash before bedtime, Elizabeth-Anne stared at her washbowl. She looked questioningly at Elender and held up her hands.
Elender hugged her and handed her another pair of gloves. 'You may wear them while you wash too. Only, don't forget to change to dry ones afterward.'
Elizabeth-Anne looked at her gratefully.
At bedtime Elender sat at Elizabeth-Anne's bedside and said her evening prayers for her. Once again, without saying a word, Elizabeth-Anne questioned her about the gloves.
'You may wear them anytime you please,' Elender told her, 'anytime at all. Even while you sleep.' Then she kissed Elizabeth-Anne good night.
It s strange, how well we can communicate, Elender thought. Even without Elizabeth-Anne's saying a word, she always manages to get her point across.
I love Auntie, Elizabeth-Anne thought, but I don't like Jenny at all. Maybe if I don't show any fear of her, she'll leave me alone for good. Things aren't too bad. Everyone else treats me nicely.
But she was wrong. The ladies were on their way.
Jenny saw them first. She was sitting on the porch swing with Laurenda Pitcock, who was a year younger than she, when the contingent of women marched briskly down Main Street, their long dark skirts flapping around their ankles. The Sunday afternoon was warm, pale yellow with sun, but cool and shady on the porch. From the open kitchen window behind the girls wafted the sweet, mouth-watering fragrance of baking blueberry pie.
Laurenda's alert nostrils picked up the scent first. Jenny heard her deep, appreciative sniffs and promptly jabbed her elbow sideways into her ribs. Laurenda turned to her angrily, and Jenny put a finger to her lips. 'Ssssh!' she whispered.
Laurenda sighed heavily and leaned forward with weary resignation, her chin resting on the palms of her upturned hands, her elbows digging into her thighs. She was bored, but neither she nor Jenny dared speak. It was a strictly enforced rule that each Sunday, during the two hours that Auntie's roomers and Elizabeth-Anne took their afternoon naps, Jenny and her friends were not to make a sound. They didn't even dare swing back and forth, for fear the rusty chains supporting the porch swing might creak and awaken someone. Sometimes Jenny and Laurenda would whisper to one another, but before they did so they would first glance suspiciously back over their shoulders to make certain that Auntie wasn't at the window, watching.
After a while Laurenda began to swing her legs impatiently up and down, watching the tips of her Sunday boots appear from under the swing, then disappear again. She twisted around. One of the swing's slats began to creak, and Jenny jabbed her with an elbow once again.
'Ow!' Laurenda mouthed soundlessly, promptly poking Jenny right back.
'Now, what did you go and do that for?' Jenny hissed.
Laurenda glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen window. The gingham curtains were still open to the breeze, but she couldn't see anybody. She turned back to Jenny. 'If we wake somebody up, your aunt'll be real mad,' she whispered ominously.
'I wish we would wake everybody up. I'm sick and tired of just sitting here.'
'So am I.' Laurenda kicked her legs morosely. 'I wish I'd stayed home.'
Jenny sat up straight, craned her neck, and nudged Laurenda again. The ladies, with Mrs. Pitcock in the lead, were approaching the house. Their steps were purposeful, and Jenny could see that their faces were set in grim, uncompromising lines. 'Your mama's coming,' she said in a low voice. 'Looks like she's on the warpath.'
Laurenda made a face. 'Now I know I'm in big trouble,' she whispered morosely.
Jenny watched the women come to a stop. They waited for Mrs. Pitcock to open Auntie's picket gate, then they marched toward the porch like a flock of birds, their starched skirts ruffling indignantly in the breeze. Jenny turned back to Laurenda. 'Why are you in trouble?'
Laurenda shrugged miserably. 'I wasn't supposed to come over here and play with you,' she said.
'What did you do this time to deserve that punishment?'
Laurenda looked hurt. 'Nothin'.' She lowered her voice and glanced at her mother out of the corners of her eyes. 'Mama just said I gotta stay away from here while the freak's stay in' with you.'
Jenny felt a cold chill settling over her. She had known from the start that Elizabeth-Anne was trouble, that she was poison. Now it looked like she would lose all her friends because of her, too. 'Then why'd you come?' Jenny whispered.
Laurenda screwed up her face. 'I didn't have nothin' better to do. Mama doesn't let us work or play on Sundays. Says it's the Lord's Day. I get bored sittin' around the house.'
'Are you going to get whipped?' Jenny looked at Laurenda with keen interest.
'Naw,' her friend said in a grown-up voice. 'I don't ever get whipped.' She fell quiet and waved to the women as they stepped up on the porch.
Mrs. Pitcock's face was frozen.
'What are you doing here, Laurenda Pitcock?' she demanded.
'I was just passing by and—'
'You go home right this very minute, Laurenda Pitcock!' Mrs. Pitcock hissed at her daughter. 'Your pappy's going to wallop you good for disobeyin' me!'
Laurenda paled and jumped off the swing. In her hurry, she lost her footing and went sprawling. There was a thud as she hit the porch and let out a grunt. Quickly Jenny helped her scramble back up on her feet. 'You hurt?' she asked with concern.
Laurenda didn't bother to reply. She leapt off the porch and dashed across the lawn.
Jenny turned around and stared up at Mrs. Pitcock. The left side of the woman's face was brown and crinkly, where she had been burned in the circus fire. The other side was still perfect.
Virginia Evins Pitcock, strong as the proverbial rock, stood tall and straight as a board, one gaunt hand clutching the shawl she wore draped over her shoulders. The other women clustered around her. She was clearly their spokeswoman.
Mrs. Pitcock's bituminous eyes flashed as she took a deep breath. She looked as if she could barely control herself . . . as if a thousand buried burdens were ready to burst to the surface. 'Is your aunt at home?' she asked in a voice quivering with anger.
'Hello, Mrs. Pitcock,' Jenny said politely. 'Yes, she is.'
'Then could you be so good as to tell her that we'd like to speak to her?' Mrs. Pitcock asked sarcastically. 'We'll wait here.' She folded her hands in front of her.
Jenny hesitated for the barest fraction of a second. She knew that Auntie did not like disturbances while her roomers were napping. Yet what choice did she have? Mrs. Pitcock had been forbidding and intimidating at the best of times, but ever since she'd been burned in the circus fire two months earlier, she had become positively condemnatory.
Jenny preferred invoking Auntie's anger to Mrs. Pitcock's any day. She dashed inside the house to find her.
In the bedroom dimmed by the drawn curtains, Elender was gratified to hear the gentle snores. She looked down. Elizabeth-Anne's white-gloved thumb was in her mouth, and her long golden lashes were pressed down against her freckled cheeks. She was fast asleep.
Slowly Elender shook her head, a sad smile on her lips. Ah, the sleep of the innocent, she thought to herself. How lucky the poor thing is to be able to retreat into its protective, healing mantle. Yet how tragic to be orphaned at so tender an age, and by so horrible a calamity. The worst is surely yet to come—it isn't easy to adjust to a new life.
Elender, if anyone, could easily sympathize with that.
While she watched, Elizabeth-Anne rolled onto her side, tucked her knees up to her stomach, and continued to snore. Elender had come to wake the child, but now she decided against it. Better to leave her sleeping, she thought. Let her at least have her dreams.
She had so little else.
Elender leaned over the bed, brushed her lips ever so lightly against Elizabeth-Anne's cheek, and pulled the cover up over her. Then, straightening and tiptoeing from the room, keeping the door open a crack so that she could hear the child if she cried out in her sleep, she collided with Jenny.
Elender could see the grim expression on Jenny's face. For an instant she felt guilty for having kissed Elizabeth-Anne. What if Jenny had seen? She knew that Jenny was, by nature, extremely jealous. Jenny never wanted to share anything with anybody, least of all attention and affection.
Jenny cleared her throat. 'Mrs. Pitcock and a lot of other ladies are here, Auntie,' she blurted. 'They want to talk to you!'
Elizabeth-Anne didn't know how long she had been asleep. When she awoke, she opened her eyes and frowned up at the ceiling. Then she turned her head to one side. It was starting to get dark out, and the curtains were drawn. But the stream of pale yellow light coming in from the cracked door gave the room a comforting glow. Somewhere in the house she could hear sharp voices raised in anger.
She sat up in bed, wiped the sleep from her eyes, and fidgeted with the gloves. She despised wearing them. They were hot and made her hands sweat. But she hated seeing her disfigured hands much more.
She looked around the room, trying to orient herself. She wasn't in her own small bunk in the circus wagon, nor in the storeroom which Auntie had made into a bedroom for her. She was in Auntie's bedroom, in Auntie's own bed, but Auntie wasn't here.
Her ears picked up another muffled wave of conversation coming from the parlor. She turned toward the door and frowned in concentration. A woman whose heated, strident voice she did not recognize was doing most of the talking, but she couldn't make out what she was saying.
Drawn by curiosity, Elizabeth-Anne tossed aside the covers and slid off the bed. The floor felt cool against her bare feet. Soundlessly she padded over to the door, pulled it open a trifle further, and slipped out into the hall.
As she neared the parlor, Mrs. Pitcock's voice gained in loudness and clarity.
'I tell you, she's not normal!' Mrs. Pitcock was hissing vehemently. 'She was with that motley group of freaks, wasn't she? Well, this is a respectable town, and if we have anything to say about it, we aim to keep it that way! We do not intend for our children to associate with her kind!'
Elizabeth-Anne heard the other ladies making indistinguishable clucks of agreement as Mrs. Pitcock continued her tirade. She peered into the parlor from behind the door. On a side table, Auntie's oil lamp, the one with the hand-painted roses on the frosty yellow glass shade, gave off a wavering light, casting the women's shadows high onto the walls. Mrs. Pitcock and another lady were sitting side by side on Auntie's red Victorian love seat; they were facing Elizabeth-Anne, but were too agitated to notice her. Elender and the other women sat on the matching side chairs, Elender's body and face in rigid, shadowy profile. Elizabeth-Anne felt an overwhelming urge to run in and throw her arms around her, but she hesitated and stepped back silently. Some instinct told her that she would be intruding, so she positioned herself behind the open parlor door. This way she could squint into the parlor through the crack between the door and its frame.
While Mrs. Pitcock was speaking, Elender had been studying her thin, folded hands. Now she raised her head in dignity and rose to her feet, her long black skirt swirling about her legs. 'But she's only a child!' she gasped in a low voice, her hands clenched angrily at her sides. 'An innocent! How can you be so cruel? Just this morning you were sitting in the church, not two pews away from us!' Elender looked accusingly around the room. 'If my memory serves me correctly, you were all there. And each of you listened intently to the reverend's sermon on Christian charity!'
Several of the ladies averted their eyes. It was clear that they didn't like the direction this conversation was taking.
Mrs. Pitcock sat forward and looked up at Elender, careful to show the good side of her face. 'Why do you think Moses led the Israelites to the Promised Land? So they would be in a land of their own, among their own kind, that's why!' She nodded her head in triumphant righteousness. 'It's not natural for normal people like us to mix with abnormal freaks.'
'She's as normal as you and I.' Primly Elender sat back down on the edge of her chair and folded her hands in her lap. 'It's not the child's fault that her parents were circus people,' she said quietly. 'Why should she be made to suffer the sins of her elders? If sinners they were.'
Mrs. Pitcock jumped to her feet. 'I suppose it's not that circus' fault that we suffered the worst scare of our lives? And I suppose it wasn't that circus' fault that I ended up looking like this?' Her voice had risen to a shrill screech and she leaned down in front of Elender to display the burned side of her face.
'No one likes you any the less for it, Mrs. Pitcock,' Elender said gently, taking the woman's hands.
Mrs. Pitcock snatched her hands away. 'All I can say,' she replied ominously, 'is that I'll not allow my Laurenda to associate with anybody in this house! Not while you harbor that freak. If you've got to keep that creature, I warn you, we'll drive her out of this town, and you alo
ng with her! You and your Boston airs! We'll have a town meeting! My husband is mayor! These ladies all support me a hundred percent!'
'Mrs. Pitcock, please.' Elender fought to keep herself under control. 'The child's suffered just as much as you. And she's lost both of her parents, and all of her friends. Can't you show just a bit of compassion? Can't any of you?' Elender glanced pleadingly around the room, but the women refused to meet her gaze.
Quietly Elizabeth-Anne slipped into the parlor. It was a moment before the adults noticed her. Elender spied her first and quickly rushed toward her. Elizabeth-Anne looked up at her with wide, hurt eyes.
Elender gently placed her hands on Elizabeth-Anne's shoulders. 'Nod hello to the ladies, dear,' she said gently.
Elizabeth-Anne nodded shyly.
'She cannot speak,' Elender explained with tears in her eyes. 'That's how much the fire has affected her.' She reached for Elizabeth-Anne's hands and held them for inspection. 'She wears these gloves because she cannot bear to look at her hands. Like you, Mrs. Pitcock, she was badly burned.' She paused to catch her breath. 'Does any one of you have the heart to be so cruel to someone who has suffered so? Who still suffers?'
The ladies looked silently at one another, and a signal seemed to pass among them. Without speaking, they got to their feet and filed out, leaving Mrs. Pitcock behind.
Elender looked at the woman and smiled tentatively, but Mrs. Pitcock sniffed and marched out with self- righteous indignation.
Elender drew Elizabeth-Anne close and held her tightly. 'If your kin from York, Pennsylvania, don't show up, I want you to stay here with us, Elizabeth-Anne,' she said softly. 'This will then be your real home. Would you like that?'
In reply, the child flung her arms around her neck and kissed her gratefully.
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