Joanne Bischof

by The Lady

  And now that he was being honest with himself, it had blurred sooner than this moment.

  But he formed the words anyway, knowing they were safer. “Even if you’re just the nurse. And a nosy one at that.” He smirked and walked backwards, still watching her. Then he slowed. “I can take Holland now.”

  Her hand slid over Holland’s head in that way it seemed to always do. A circling over her curls as though Holland were too good to be true. Eyes downcast, Ella went to loosen the knot of the sling when Charlie stepped closer.

  In a motion that appeared to surprise her, he slid his fingers along the edge of her shawl that had slipped down her arm. He pulled the shawl over her shoulders, her front, covering Holland. A veil over the sight of the baby in her arms that made him a little less uneasy.

  Without speaking, Ella looked up at him.

  “Was that wrong to do?” He hadn’t meant to be unseemly. But he could see that might have been. He tried to think of something to say and probably chose wrong with, “I’ll walk over here and you walk over there. We’ll head to the entrance separately today.”

  She stilled. “I’ve left my box in your tent.”

  He looked around a moment, saw the sun low in the sky. “I have another show I need to get ready for soon. Is it okay to leave it and you can get it tomorrow? Or I can bring it to you.”

  “Are you sure I should come back tomorrow?”

  Had he offended her? He feared he may have. “Only if you’re free. Either way, I will pay you for your time and the ice.”

  She shook her head again at that. “No payment, but I am free.”

  He tried to think of how to respond to that, but then someone was calling out to him.

  “Well, if it isn’a Bonnie Prince Charlie.”

  He looked over to see Ruth giving him one of her smiles.

  “Have’na seen ye all week,” she said.

  “Ruth.” He gave a cordial nod to the other two aerialists beside her. Dressed in little ruffled bloomers and corsets, their faces painted like dolls, they had a swarm of murmuring onlookers around them who were no doubt awed by their coverings of thin tights from toe to hip. A fact he knew Ruth enjoyed.

  The young Scotswoman put her hands on her hips as he passed by, the latter of which she gave her signature swivel. “When are you going to come and see me?”

  “When are you gonna come and see me?” He walked backwards, thinking to find Ella.

  The feathers on Ruth’s lace garter fluttered. “Ye ken I haven’a the time for that nonsense.”

  “And that, my dear,” he halted and pressed a hand to his heart, “is why we part ways.”

  She feigned the same pout she’d used since they were kids.

  He turned away for Ella.

  “A fair bit of work you did in the show today,” Ruth blurted.

  “And you too,” he said, looking back only a moment. “All of you…nice…twirling.” He scanned the crowd for Ella.

  She’d moved to the other side of the path. That’s right. He’d told her to. He braved another glance across the midway and even from here could see that Ella’s cheeks were flushed.

  Which had him looking back at the aerialists to try and see them the way Ella did. Lace, tights, and revealing corsets that when compared to the way city women dressed was quite insufficient. Scandalously so. He pulled his gaze back to Ella. And now her cheeks were redder.

  When they neared the exit and the congestion was that of only townsfolk—strangers—he moved back to her side. She was quiet as they followed the path that drained onto the city street. Horses and wagons rambled by and children wove between them, clutching school books. Suddenly lost, Charlie looked around. But Ella was storming onward. He jogged after her. Not only had he promised to walk her home, but she had to give Holland back.

  He slowed when he reached her and shoved his hands in his pockets. This was probably a good time for small talk so he thought of what that entailed. Maybe the weather? He looked up at the sky to try and form some kind of normal, everyday, non-carny conversation.

  “What was her name? Holland’s mother?” Ella asked softly.

  Or…they could talk about that.

  “Um.” He blinked, trying to get his bearings. He never spoke of his private life, but was getting so used to this woman’s questions, that something had him blurting it out. “Her name was Jessamine, but I never really called her that.” Just thinking of her sunny smile made his heart ache afresh.

  He followed Ella around the corner and she stayed quiet for half a block.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “I’m just wondering…why all those women…” She studied him closely, as if she could make out his character right there on the corner of whatever street it was they were standing on. “Did they know her? They don’t seem very…um…patient.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Holland’s mother. I’m sorry to bring up such a difficult subject, but I’m trying to figure you out, Charlie Lionheart.”

  “Figure what out?”

  “Well.” She shook her head, seeming to hunt for the words. “Do you regret having not…legalized matters?”

  He blinked down at the ground. Legalized matters? Was she talking about Holland? How did she know about that? He could see that the words pained Ella. But something else was moving through his mind and he tried to piece together her words.

  Tried and failed. “What?” The word clipped off his tongue in utter confusion.

  “I’m sorry. It’s not my business. I’m just…just confused.” Ella pursed her lips and he folded his arms, waiting. “Well, I confess,” she began again, “I wasn’t sure what to make of this all. You and Holland’s mother. You and these other women.”

  “I rarely even speak to those ladies.”

  “You weren’t acting that way. With all that talk of ‘when are you going to come and visit me?’” She waved a hand back the way they’d come.

  Her accusation crawled hot fingers up his skin. “What? Are you my mother now? I was talking about church, Ella.”

  “Church?” Those brows might as well have been pinned to the sky, they spent so much time there. “That didn’t sound like church talk to me.”

  Charlie blew out a slow breath then leveled her with a gaze. He was going to regret this because it wasn’t true. “Well, I don’t really care what you think.”

  “She deserves more respect. From those women.” Ella looked disgusted with him. “And from you. She was a real person.”

  “Who?”

  “Holland’s mother!” The words slammed off her lips, eyes snapping.

  He looked at the sidewalk, then at the baby, and then at Ella. He squinted. “I don’t understand.” He took a step closer, but she moved back, and for a second he thought she was going to slap him. Confounded woman, what was wrong with her? Then her implication hit him—slammed into his chest, shoving the words out. “Ella! Jessamine was my sister. Holland’s not my daughter.”

  Ella’s eyes went wide.

  “She’s my niece. Did you think I was her father?”

  “You said Holland was yours.”

  “She is mine—now.” For he was the only person Holland had. And he’d given everything he had to get her back. God help him, he was trying to make that count for something.

  “Ohhh…” It came out an airy groan and Ella felt around with her hands as if to find a seat to collapse on.

  “Had you thought…?” He shook his head, at a loss for how to phrase it delicately. Why did she keep assuming that he bedded every woman who breathed? “You’re upset with me.”

  She shook her head. Nodded. Shook her head again.

  A smile formed without his permission.

  “That was a dirty trick to play,” she said.

  It vanished just as quick. “I didn’t trick you.” He searched her face. He’d been more open with her than he’d ever been with a stranger in his life. “Ella, please know that. I didn’t think you’d jum
ped to that conclusion.”

  She made a little sound in her throat.

  “I can see now that it was an easy mistake for you to make.”

  And then there was that sound again. Except this time she was glaring at him.

  “Blast it, Ella! I really don’t know what to do with you. You’re so…difficult!”

  “I’m difficult? You could have just told me she was your sister’s from the start.”

  “Well, I don’t like to explain my life to people.” Two men in bowler hats eyed them in passing, so Charlie lowered his voice. “But you ask too many questions and you’re always reacting to all the answers and this is why I don’t do this.” With a hand, he motioned between them. He never should have let an outsider into his life. His home. He should have let her tend to Holland that day, then politely had her go back the way she came. He hadn’t expected this. This thing he had no name for. But it was inching inside him every second he was with her now.

  His eyes traced her blonde braid that was wound loose and nearly free, barely restrained with a ribbon. And now he was saying words that he felt he would regret. “When I’m around you I feel like I’m doing something wrong.” Wetting his lips, he braved more. “It’s not that way with other people I know. Look at Ruth. I’ve known her since she was three. And it’s always been exactly like what you saw. Well, not exactly.”

  Ella’s eyes narrowed. So much for his shot at humor.

  “We’ve never seen eye to eye, Ruth and I. But she doesn’t get upset and shout at me. She just walks away.” And she’d be recovered the next time he saw her. Ruth was easy to figure out.

  Ella pursed her lips. Then her chin trembled.

  Oh no.

  Charlie closed his eyes. He held his breath a moment, then released it, opening his eyes again only to see her lift Holland from the sling. Something lived in her face. So deep and pained that he feared there had been a lot more to what she’d been trying to say. He thought about remedying that, asking what it was that had her so troubled—

  “You know what to do. For Holland.” Ella’s chin trembled again. She hesitated, then her fingers softly dented Holland’s pudgy form as she held her out. A grip that made her seem like she could hold on forever.

  He nodded absently and took the baby who was squirming awake.

  “If something should change, this is where you can find me.” Ella glanced up to the center windows on the third floor. “But I think a few more days of the treatments and she’ll be right back to her old self.” Her voice cracked. “Goodbye, Charlie.” She pulled away, looked at him from beneath wet lashes, and then hurried up the steps to her apartment building.

  __________

  It hurt when he knocked his forehead against the tall frame of the wagon, but Charlie did it twice for good measure. He felt Regina watching him from where she rocked in her pint-sized chair.

  “Something has gone wrong,” she said.

  He banged his head one more time then shot her a glance.

  “The nurse,” she said. “Ella?”

  He nodded.

  “Perhaps this is for the best.”

  It was. So why did he want to walk back and tell Ella he was sorry? Sorry for not being more careful with her. For telling her she was odd, and at least twice he’d called her boring. Worse than that, he’d snapped at her. Made her cry. Said he didn’t care what she thought.

  No wonder he’d never had any friends outside of show business.

  Don’t try and make friends with rubes. There is no point.

  His parents had told him that over and over growing up, and he’d watched from beneath the midway booths as the townie children ran through the circus—having the time of their lives. Charlie had known better than to try to so much as talk to them. He’d never see them again.

  No wonder he’d messed everything up. He had no idea what he was doing with Ella. Had to remind himself that he would never see her again, too. Charlie ran fingertips over his forehead as Regina slid the lid off the tin of greasepaint. That was his cue. He pressed his eyes closed, took a breath, then opened them.

  Charlie looked to Holland sleeping in her bed, a damp rag on her forehead.

  He could do this.

  Pulling a crate in front of Regina’s chair, he sat and she lowered the tin to her lap. Leaning his head back, Charlie closed his eyes…

  And let Regina paint away the last shred of peace he had.

  He inhaled slowly. And then out. Having to remind himself that this wasn’t who he was. It was simply a show. One more, of a different kind. No lions. Just him. He felt the cool brush of Regina’s fingers around his eyes where she was blackening the skin. The haunted look she created so well. Just as was required of him in the contract.

  The paper that bore his signature. That he would give his body. His life. For Holland’s.

  It was worth it. His chest heaved. It was worth it.

  “Charlie,” Regina whispered.

  Eyes still closed, he cleared his throat.

  “Breathe, my boy.”

  When she paused and pulled her hands away, he nodded fiercely.

  “You won’t have to do this much longer.” Her voice rasped out a cry of hope. “The debt is nearly paid. You’re almost finished.”

  He nodded again, mouth dry. Just one year. Holland’s first year. As was his promise.

  But his pulse was racing. It was always hardest on opening night. A new crowd. New faces. Jeers from people who had never seen him. The sting, the pain of it always drove deeper this night. A piece of him dying—the piece of him that always dreamt that with each new city came the chance for a new beginning. But each time, at the hands of Regina and her skill with a brush…and all that he’d given to Madame Broussard…a fresh start was lost to him.

  Those very people he wanted to be normal around were about to pay good money to gawk at him in her show.

  He was glad Ella was safe outside his world tonight.

  “Rock of Ages,” Regina said softly, “cleft for me.”

  And he realized his breath was racing. Charlie tried to slow it. Searched his heart for the hymn. All that he clung to daily and during these dark nights, the only thing that kept him from losing his mind.

  “Let me hide myself in thee,” Regina sang softly for his benefit.

  The next words moved through his mind and he exhaled. Regina finished darkening his eyes. There would be no looking in the mirror tonight. It was a face he hated seeing.

  When she pressed the lid back on the tin, he stood. “All done?”

  “You will draw a good crowd.” She meant it in compliment; it felt anything but.

  He nodded, trying to rally his strength, his heart. So tiny, almost lost in his shadow, Regina squeezed his hand. When she pulled away, Charlie tugged at his sleeve cuff where Carpe Diem faded into other dark markings. “I don’t think I can—”

  “Holland’s stirring.” Regina’s voice hinted caution. The only answer he would get; they both knew he had no choice.

  “Please get her.” He didn’t want Holland to see him like this.

  Regina rose and the baby’s cries quieted. Charlie moved to the slit in the tent that led into the black night. As if knowing he was leaving, Holland started to fuss. His face still turned away, he reached for the black cloak that hung from the nearest tent pole.

  Her whimpers turned into a wail as he draped the cloak over his shoulders and pulled up the hood to shade his face from view. Through the slit of the tent, distant torch lights flickered. Beckoned. Reminded him that by their light, he would fall to his knees as nothing but a showpiece.

  Holland’s raspy cries made his heart feel like it would snap. His arms burned to hold her. To bring her close. To pretend like all of this was a bad dream. But that was why he was doing this.

  So he could hold her close. So that this despair wouldn’t be her future.

  Though he knew…

  Her reality would have been much different. Much worse.

  Which was all th
e prompt he needed to square his shoulders and tip up his head. If he simply walked into the dark and gave the crowd the thrill it hungered for…he could return to Holland, pick her up, and know that she was safe. For that reason alone, he stepped out into the night. And for that reason alone, he would do it again tomorrow.

  C H A P T E R 7

  __________

  Morning light spilled through the window as Ella sat at the table, arms resting astride the newspaper she was poring over. It had rained through the night, but now a clear day bloomed through departing clouds.

  Margaret stood beside her, fussing over the contents of a box of lace and bows. Ella scanned the typeset advertisements, hoping to spot an open position. Maybe a nursemaid or a laundress. She’d happily waitress as well since she could do most any domestic work and her savings would be gone after this month’s rent was paid…and Charlie was not Holland’s father.

  Or so had gone her focus all morning.

  When she peered down on the sidewalk where he had stood the evening before, her emotions were more tangled than the handful of ribbons Margaret was attempting to unravel.

  Margaret bustled back into the bedroom and returned ribbonless. “What’s the point of having time off only to spend it cooped up in this apartment?”

  Ella looked at her friend.

  “I was thinking of going to the circus. Why don’t you come with me?” Margaret adjusted a ruffle on her flounce skirt then poured a cup of coffee. “This will be here later.”

  Ella sighed. “I’d go with you, but I really need to find work.”

  Margaret conceded the truth with a nod. “I know. But…” She gave a pleading look. “Come along with me. Please. The banners say they close after tomorrow, and this is my only day off. I hear it’s quite spectacular. They have different shows…oh, the animals!” Margaret lifted a scone from the plate in the middle of the table, broke it, then popped a small bit in her mouth. “I’ve a hankering to see an elephant. And,” she made a show of fanning herself, “some of the dashing gents I keep hearing about.”

  Ella smiled sadly. She really didn’t want to go. For reasons she couldn’t explain. But there was a reason that would make sense and was unfortunately very true. “I need to save every cent I have.” Meager as that was. “For this month’s rent.”