“You wouldn’t believe the stories if I told them to you,” the unidentified twin carried on with a quiet giggle. “But Francis does make regular visits. Claims it’s a problem with sleepwalking, but he only ever seems to wind up in here when it happens. And I don’t reckon I believe he makes it through five cars in his sleep, as much as I’m certain he draws his motivation from coming in here in hopes of watching Maude dream about him.”
So this was Mabel, on the right, Annis noted.
“He’s in love with her, see,” Mabel went on. “And I know she feels the same way ‘bout him. It’s why she keeps him at bay, hoping he’ll give up. Move on.”
“But... why?” Annis didn’t understand. If they both cared for one another, why fight it?
“Same old story. Thinks he deserves better. Wants him to have a sort of normal he could never have with her. With us.” Though she delivered the words in the same chipper tone, seamlessly transitioning from the lighthearted parts to the heartbreaking ones, Annis heard the briefest of hesitations, a struggle to take in the breath that gave away the truth behind her seemingly carefree demeanor. Her heart was just as broken as her sister’s.
“I’ve lived an entire life of normal. It’s not anything anyone should hold out for. All the pretty perfection is nothing but a façade. Truth is, everything that’s preened and polished is likely rotting on the inside. I, for one, hope I never have to endure any sort of normal ever again.” She’d meant it to sound encouraging, but the cold, bitter tone of her voice was anything but. “Sorry,” she mumbled for the second time since this conversation had begun.
“No need,” Mabel assured her. “As for normal, you needn’t worry about that here. Won’t find any of that rubbish around these parts, that much I can promise you.” She giggled again. It was catching. The surge of a giggle bubbling up in Annis’s own throat startled her and she gasped loudly at its release, covering her mouth just as fast as it happened. She hoped desperately it hadn’t woken Maude, who, by some miracle, seemed to have slept through their entire interaction thus far. She supposed the twins had learned to tune out a great deal of sounds and movement because they were physically attached to another human being. No matter how close, or how dearly loved, Annis imagined there would be times they would simply want to be alone with their own thoughts.
“Mabel?” Annis asked, “how long has it been since you brought me here to sleep?” The longer she was awake, the more she realized all that had to have transpired for the circus to have packed up and be traveling the tracks now. She felt certain she’d slept for days, if not weeks, given her state of exhaustion. There was no telling just how much of life she’d missed, or how far she’d traveled since the time she’d last seen her surroundings. The thought made her heart leap. Distance. The promise of a lasting escape. It was almost too much to hope for.
Mabel turned her head toward the window behind her. Lifting the corner of what Annis remembered to be maroon and yellow curtains, Mabel assessed the state of the night beyond. Annis could make out the rise and fall of Mabel’s shoulders as they bounced with a noncommittal shrug before she abandoned her post at the window and turned back to face her.
“Eight hours. Nine, tops. Sun’s just about to breach the horizon.”
Impossible, Annis thought. “Are you certain you don’t mean days?” Annis sat up straighter, a growing desire swirling at the pit of her stomach to peek through the window and see the sun for herself. “I feel as though I’ve missed a week to sleeping. How long have we been traveling?”
Mabel gave another lazy shrug of her shoulders before she answered. “Four hours or so. Break down’s always faster than the set up. You’ll see. Next stop, you’ll get to experience the entire cycle. Then you’ll be wishing you could sleep through half of it, just wait.” She gave another carefree laugh, this one louder than the last.
“I think I prefer your approach to resting, actually. Dreaming while awake.” Sleep had lost its appeal to Annis. She disliked the way it left her with her guard down, unaware of all that went on in the world as soon as her eyelids were shut. Annis had learned the hard way just how much the world kept busy while she rested. How many lies could be spun in her absence. It was a lesson she had no intention of repeating.
“Well, in any event, we really ought to stretch out again, let our bodies breathe. Won’t be long and all around will be up and at ’em, and we’ll have no choice but to join in. Too many laughs to pass up on, even for the best of dreams.” Mabel didn’t wait for Annis to answer before she fluffed her pillow once more and adjusted into a horizontal position.
After a few more seconds of letting the hum of the train buzz through her soles and up her calves, Annis pivoted her legs back into her bed. Tucking herself snuggly under the covers, she let her head sink deep into the pillows while she gazed up at where she knew the ceiling to be. It was still too dark to make out the details of her surroundings, but it was all the same to Annis as she stared upward, seeing neither darkness nor the red wooden panels she knew lined the inside of the sisters’ roof. Instead, she saw images of her own design. Horses. Beautiful horses, galloping over rolling hills of green as she rode atop a red-and-white paint in their midst. The sky, the bluest blue, hung above her and the wind tangled up her hair. And then the scenery changed. The rolling hills flattened, and the horses slowed. Riding up beside her was Sequoyah, smiling.
Startled, Annis blinked until her vision blurred and the fantasy disappeared. She hadn’t meant for him to be a part of it, but her mind had made other plans. Tugging at the blanket until it came up to her chin, she scooted her body down into the mattress, uncomfortable with her own desires and the complications they could cause her.
She wouldn’t wind up like Francis, lost in a love she could never receive nor release. She would stop these irrational thoughts and their consequent emotions. She’d choose to be numb, instead. Numb was preferable to the pain that would inevitably follow having a childish infatuation with a young man who most likely would never give her a second thought. And, for his sake, even more than for her own, she hoped he wouldn’t.
Indulging in fantasies having lost its appeal, Annis stared blankly into the dark of the cabin and focused her mind solely on the sounds of the train as it skirted along the tracks. She studied the clinks, squeals, and occasional thuds to identify their patterns and origins. Before long, sleep came for her a second time.
A burst of light cut through her lids and instinct made her turn her head away before she was fully awake. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” Mabel’s voice rang out. Annis realized, quite pleased with herself, that even in her half-awake state she’d easily recognized the chirping tones as belonging to Mabel rather than Maude.
“Has it been a week this time?’ Annis asked, rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands. Mabel laughed.
“Not quite. Still the same Tuesday from the last time we spoke, I’m afraid.” Tuesday. Annis had lost count of days during her time traveling on foot. Tuesday would mark ten days since she’d left. It didn’t seem nearly long enough. Ten days had passed in the blink of an eye, and she’d hardly accomplished anything. Until now. Now, things were really moving forward. She could get back to tracking the days of the week again.
“Where are we headed?” she asked, sitting up to find that Mabel and Maude were already moving around the small cabin, both fully clothed. Maude braided Mabel’s hair while the latter went about fixing the seam on the side of their full skirt.
“Next stop is Dallas, Texas,” Maude replied. “Ever been?” Annis shook her head, though she wasn’t entirely sure whether Maude had been serious or not.
“Oh, it’s lively. You’ll like it,” Mabel went on, eyes wide with excitement. “Caroline’s from there. She’s got loads of stories. Knows all the best places.”
Annis swung her legs over the side of her bed, the buzzing of the moving train beneath her feet already becoming a source of comfort for her. “I’m not sure I’m ready for lively. To be honest, I quite l
ike keeping out of the way. There’s less trouble in it.”
Mabel giggled. “Also less fun.”
Maude elbowed Mabel’s side and scowled. “You’re awful, you are. Always trying to get people to go along with your crazy ideas.” She turned toward Annis, her index finger stabbing at the air. “You’ve got the right idea, Annis. Camp is plenty lively as it is. And has the benefit of being free of any hateful individuals who might want to tarnish our good time simply for the sake of pointing out the obvious.”
“You mean like how we’re attached at the hip and Sawyer’s a fully-grown man the size of a small child?” Mabel said.
“Yeah. Precisely. See, even without them we’ve got you to fill in.”
The sisters snickered at their own silliness and Annis couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of them. There was something sort of wonderful about the way they not only embraced their oddities, but also had a laugh at themselves—or, rather, had a laugh at the thought of those who couldn’t comprehend what really made the sisters unique. The twins being conjoined wasn’t what set them apart from the average members of society. Annis realized what made them special was the unhesitating kindness and graciousness they extended to others, without expecting anything in return.
“What do you suppose they’d say about me?” Annis asked, and instantly wished she hadn’t. There was nothing physically remarkable about her, no obvious difference to point out. She was perfectly bland to look at, no more unique to the eye than a blade of grass.
Maude, however, seemed oblivious to this as she answered. “I don’t suppose at all. I’m quite convinced they’d say you must be mental. Or even possessed, perhaps. All that outward innocence always holds the darkest evil within.” She grinned. “Haven’t you heard?”
“It would also explain your being tangled up with our lot,” Mabel added.
Annis took in their words, allowing theories of innocence and evil to sink in alongside the prospect of being insane. She supposed there was a kernel of truth to all of what they said. At first, it made her uncomfortable. She had assumed they’d said in jest, facetiously poking fun at the small minds of others. But, at the heart of it, they’d stabbed at the core of Annis’s secret. All of her innocence was hiding a darkness, one wrapped in an unhealable heartache. Then, glancing back and forth between the sisters and their quiet expressions, an unspoken understanding transpired between the threesome and Annis saw clearly the web they’d spun. They hadn’t been pulling at strings or making up stories. They were fully aware of the seedling of truth sprouting their theories. She wasn’t evil. But after what she’d seen the night she escaped, she’d never be fully sane again.
The honest brilliance of their playful theories made Annis erupt with an explosive laugh from the pit of her stomach. It barreled through her, spilling out in uncontainable waves that shook her core until it hurt. So loud was her laughter that it drew the attention of several of their neighbors, who wandered into the sisters’ car to investigate the noise. Annis didn’t care. It was the most alive, most carefree, she’d felt in as long as she could remember, and she was determined to hold onto the feeling for as long as she possibly could.
“Well, well, well. Look whose marble shell finally cracked,” Sawyer said, looking delighted as he climbed up onto the built-in nightstand and had a seat. Following right behind him was August, Caroline, and Homer, entering from the opposite end of the car.
“I don’t recall this part of the train ever being so chipper first thing in the morning,” Caroline said over Annis’s laughter, sliding her rear end onto the twins’ wide cot until her back rested against the wall and her legs stretched out before her. Annis tried taking several calming breaths to quell her raucous howl, but only managed to bring it down to a giggle. Tears streamed down her face, which continued to contort at the mercy of her escaping emotions. Through her giggling, Annis noticed that though the cabin had seemed cozy with just the twins and herself, with seven people it seemed rather suffocating. No one else seemed bothered by it.
With little room to move about, the twins took their seat beside Annis, both still having a good chuckle themselves, while Homer took his place beside Caroline. August remained the only one standing, his massiveness nearly filling the car wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling. Just looking at him, Annis doubled over again in another laughing fit. There was something ridiculous about how he could make an entire train car feel like a sardine can.
“Why do I suddenly get the feeling the joke has shifted in my direction?” he grumbled, his arm reaching his hand to the ceiling to steady himself as the train took a narrow curve around a bend. This made Annis laugh harder. Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard engrained warnings about how succumbing to a laughing fit in the company of others wasn’t proper behavior.
“Who cares? She’s laughing,” Sawyer said, pointing at her as he chortled. “It’s a good sign she’s stronger than she looks and stranger than we thought.”
August cocked his left brow, the side of his mouth hitching up after it. “You didn’t think she was strange from the get-go?” he quipped, and Annis howled, louder still. This time, she was joined by the others. It shook the walls and echoed its way up and down the train until, at last, the train slowed and so did Annis’s inexhaustible giggling.
“Oh,” Annis gasped. “Air.”
“Yes,” Mabel agreed, rubbing her cheeks, which were taut from all the laughing. “And we’re about to have plenty of it.”
When the train stopped, everyone in the car jolted forward. The others were well accustomed to the motion, but Annis was not. She nearly toppled into Maude and Mabel’s lap beside her. August reached out one colossal hand and caught her by the back of her shirt just before she fell. “Bet you don’t think I’m so funny looking now, do ya?” he teased, pulling her back into her seat with ease.
“Thank you.” She grinned, remembering what the twins had said about their sister, Maeve. He might not have been her particular cup of tea, but she could certainly see the appeal where August was concerned.
Everyone was soon on their feet and shuffling out of the car. Annis was last to exit, with nerves and excitement tap dancing at the pit of her stomach. Outside, the unloading and rebuilding ritual was already taking place. Canvas tents were attached to train cars. Animal wagons were being rolled from the trolleys. Large wooden masts were being carried off and placed in the center of their new, temporary home. The circus had officially arrived in Texas.
“How do I help?” she asked, hurrying to keep up with the twins. They moved with more speed and grace using all four of their legs than she could muster on her more traditional pair.
“Just follow along and we’ll put you to work,” Maude shouted over her shoulder, ducking immediately after to avoid being hit with several rolls of canvas that August was carrying past them.
Annis maneuvered the site, which was quickly turning into an obstacle course, as best she could until they reached the elephants’ quarters. Unlike many of the other animals’ residences, these were a permanent fixture of the train. Two men Annis had seen only in passing were busy dropping the large ramp to the elephants’ car. “Wait until you meet our girls,” Mabel said, bursting with pride. “They’re absolutely breathtaking.”
“Yeah. When they’re not making you want to rip your own hair out, they’re just dandy,” one of the two men said.
“You haven’t had hair since before we met you, Charlie,” Maude teased.
He grinned, pointing at the fellow to his left, who was a great deal younger than himself. His long, shaggy, straw-like hair was second in prominence only to his striking blue eyes, which were alive with curiosity and mischief. “Was talking about Goldilocks, here,” Charlie said. “My personal experience with the hair pulling is more witness-based than as a participant.”
“Goldilocks,” Annis hissed, hoping only Mabel could hear. “Is that really what people call him?” After the last twenty-four hours, she could hardly rule out the possibility.
However, her whispers were louder than planned.
“Sadly, yes,” the golden-haired boy answered, hand outstretched to meet hers. “Though I prefer Jacob if it’s all the same to you.”
She nodded, taking his hand. “Annis. And I think I can manage that.”
“Careful of the promises you make,” Charlie warned playfully. “I think you’ll find Goldilocks to be lot more fitting as time goes on.”
Mabel leaned in, ensuring her whispers were exclusively directed at Annis’s ear. “It’s true. Actually forgot his name was Jacob until he just said it.” She shrugged, brushing off the oversight, and carried on with her sister up the ramp. Annis offered an awkward smile at Jacob and Charlie before she followed the twins inside.
It was dark, with sunlight only spilling inside in patches through the small windows on either side of their enclosure. Annis blinked multiple times in an attempt to adjust her eyes to the dimness and stumbled over unidentifiable debris. “What’s the story with Goldilocks, then?” she asked, her eyes slowly coming into focus. She was curious to hear how he’d wound up in the Brooks and Bennet collection and why on earth Goldilocks was a better suited name for him than Jacob.
“Some rubbish about bears and porridge,” Mabel answered, hardly paying attention. “I don’t really remember the details. Was never one of my favorites.”
Maude stopped fussing with the buckets she’d been busy filling with a variety of fruits and turned toward her sister, glaring at her. “You can’t be serious.”
Mabel, however, remained oblivious. “What?”
“She wasn’t asking about the fairy tale, you twit. She was asking about the boy.”
The Wild in her Eyes Page 7
