Joanne Bischof

by The Lady

  Ella was quiet for a long while before speaking. “I haven’t been home in almost four years.” An ache lived thick in her voice.

  So he decided to say this before he changed his mind. “Home to me has always been with my family,” he said softly. “Probably because it’s the only kind of home I’ve ever known. My parents passed on and then losing Mimi this last year, home has been with Holland. And with Regina. I wasn’t looking for more or asking for more.” He looked at her. “And then when I’m with you…I have that same feeling. That feeling of home.” The moonlight was soft on her face as she peered up at him. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

  She didn’t say anything. Didn’t so much as move.

  And now his heart was really pounding.

  Charlie ran his wrist over his forehead. There was a lot more he needed to say. A lot more. But she rose to her knees and sitting back, faced him. Her hand brushed against his. Taking it. Pulling it from his thigh and lifting it. His heart hammered in his chest as Ella held his hand with both of hers, cradling it close. Bowing her head, she kissed his knuckles.

  He closed his eyes.

  “I don’t know how to tell you how thankful I am for you.” Another kiss brushed his hand.

  Charlie turned his hand, running his thumb over her lips. He wanted to kiss her. Wanted it with everything inside him. But somehow bigger than that was the knowledge that he couldn’t just take it from her. Not if it wasn’t something she wanted to give. He lowered his arm and looked over at her. Her eyes were wide and searching.

  God be his strength, for he was suddenly feeling very weak.

  Charlie pressed his palms to the edge of the bricks and cleared his throat. He looked out over the tops of the dark buildings, wishing he wasn’t so aware of her sitting beside him. He gripped the ledge tighter, willing his hands to keep from wanting to touch her, hold her. Even brushing that bit of hair away from her face felt wrong.

  “Charlie?” she whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you all right?”

  He nodded but it felt like a lie.

  Lightly, she touched the side of his neck so softly that it shouldn’t have awoken every bit of his skin, but it did. And then she shifted closer to him, her small hand sliding up to the side of his face, over his ear. He had to remind himself to breathe.

  Slowly, she pressed a kiss to his forehead.

  Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move. It was his cry. Over and over. For he wanted to move and to pull her close…draw himself to her. But not wanting to alarm her, he sat there as still as stone, all but his heart which was pounding so loud she had to hear it.

  He closed his eyes again and felt Ella’s knees bump against the side of his leg which meant she was as close as she could get, her hand still cradling the side of his head. She seemed to be meaning to do something.

  Don’t. Move.

  His chest heaved.

  “I want to kiss you, Charlie,” Ella whispered. “But I’ve never…I don’t know how.” Vulnerability softened her voice. Mixed with something very womanly that had him gripping the bricks tighter.

  He had to clear his throat again. “Okay.” Gosh, that was a stupid answer, but his mind was suddenly feeling very blank right now. And then a surge of grief filled him when he realized what she was saying. She’d never kissed anyone. Or been kissed. Despite all that she’d been through…

  She had been taken. But never loved.

  Something broken grated over his heart and he had to shove away other emotions. The kind that had his hands flex with that fighting desire and he had to silence it, letting her words move through him again. Finally he looked over to realize just how close she was.

  “May I?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  Drawing in a deep breath, he lifted his hand to the side of her face, fingers finding her hair. She felt so small, so fragile. In so many ways she was, but she had a strength.

  Made more clear when she dropped her gaze and pulled herself closer to him. Still on her knees at his side. Waiting.

  He moistened his lips and adjusted his grip on the side of her face, trying with everything in him to be slow and gentle. He leaned toward her.

  Then realized she was trembling.

  The ribbon at her waist was smooth beneath his other hand. But the quake he felt there said that this would be so much harder on her than it would be on him.

  “Shall I stop?” he whispered.

  A moment’s hesitation and she shook her head. “No.”

  His thumb felt against her lips again and he waited until she seemed calmer. To his surprise, her eyes closed.

  He nearly kissed her in that breath, fast and firm and achingly swift, but he had to pull on every ounce of his self-control for his touch to be as feather-light as possible. His father’s teaching was the only thing keeping him sane.

  You will go to them humbly. Humbly.

  You will go to them with strength. Strength.

  You will go to them without fear.

  No fear.

  And then his lips met hers. She was soft and she was silk. His mind and heart whirled with all that she was to him. Like the dripping of wax to an envelope, he felt a press and a pain and a freedom that something had just sealed inside him. He held her that way for only a heartbeat, then pulled away. But she slid her hand behind his neck and tugged him back. Kissing him.

  And then his world went white. Everything but her…gone.

  From head to toe she was perfect and there wasn’t a single part of her that was less than. Overwhelming was the desire to tell her that. She was a precious gift to be given. All of her. As was this, a kiss. He knew what value it held for her. And she was giving it to him, of all people.

  He told himself not to move. Was utterly still—save his mouth against hers. He didn’t want to stop, but he pulled back. Her eyes were still closed, her breathing heavy. The sound of desire or fear, he didn’t know.

  Finally she looked up at him so beautiful and so pure that he was suddenly very glad he’d pulled away. A little farther would be good. He inched back, hoping she wouldn’t notice or take offense. If she only knew…

  “Ella,” he breathed. He wanted to say all that he needed her to know, but it wasn’t the time. Made more clear in the way he felt her sorrow tinge the air. A bitter sweetness that he couldn’t begin to understand.

  And he was glad he’d stayed quiet for then she gripped the collar of his shirt and her face changed. Those very lips trembling. She let out a little sob and with every tenderness he felt for her, he pressed her face to his shoulder, holding her there. He was pretty sure she swiped a tear.

  Knowing of nothing else to do, Charlie closed his eyes. Thanked God for her. Held her and prayed. Silently pleaded that she would be safe and healed and whole.

  C H A P T E R 1 7

  __________

  Ella woke before the sun. Restless, she wandered to the kitchen and fetched a drink of water. Knowing her tossing and turning was loud enough to wake Margaret, she settled down on the window seat and peered out. At this hour, the circus grounds were completely dark. Torches, lanterns, and fires having long since been put out. She thought of Charlie asleep and Holland in her small wooden trundle with its carvings and figures that were so like Charlie’s wagon, she wondered if the same hand hadn’t replicated it. And she wondered if it was his.

  She nibbled absently on the end of her finger. The memory of him about did her in and it felt silly to blush in an empty room, but there she was, doing exactly that.

  His church would begin in a few hours and unmade was the decision of whether or not she would go. She didn’t want to go. Not to church. She didn’t want to be a part of it or anywhere near it, but there was something in the way he’d asked. The way he always took such care with her. So gentle. So careful. Something about him was different. Something that had her wondering how…and why.

  __________

  An energetic breeze whipped the flags overhead as Ella dre
w nearer to Charlie’s tent. A hush hung over the circus grounds at this hour, on this day. The ticket wagon quiet. Front booths not even open yet. If it weren’t for Lorelai, Ella knew she wouldn’t have even been admitted. There had been a difference in the streets of Roanoke this morning as people headed to Sunday service. As was she.

  Ella pressed a hand to the bodice of her best blouse. She’d pulled her hair back in a low bun—nothing that could be construed with any hint of vanity—and she’d polished her shoes because that’s what one did on a Sunday, and she tried to think particularly nice thoughts because that was also something one did before church. At Charlie’s tent, she was happy to see the flap open. Someone was singing—rather off key. Peeking in, Ella saw Regina combing Holland’s short, damp hair. The singing was a man’s voice.

  It couldn’t be…no. It couldn’t be Charlie.

  But where was he? Ella looked around and the sound was coming from the meadow on the back side of the tent. “Good morning,” she said to Regina as she ducked inside.

  Surprise registered in Regina’s features. “Good morning, mia cara. How lovely to see you.”

  “Thank you.” Ella twisted her fingers. “Charlie invited me.”

  “I’m glad he did.”

  The breeze rustled the tent, carrying with it Charlie’s voice. “My name is graven on his hands. My name is written on his heart.”

  “Is that…is that him outside?” Ella asked.

  “He’s loud, no?”

  “What is he doing?”

  “He’s getting ready.”

  Charlie sang on. Ella pursed her lips and listened. “What is he singing?”

  Regina listened a moment. “This one is ‘Before the Throne of God.’”

  “He’s quite animated.”

  Laughing, Regina tugged the comb through Holland’s curls one last time. “Wait until he gets to ‘Jesus Paid it All.’ That one will be next.”

  “Does he always do this?”

  “Yes. Just like his father before him. Though…” Regina’s eyes sparkled. “His father managed to sing on key.”

  Despite herself, Ella smiled. It was rather colorful, his singing. But then she sobered and tried to pay attention to the words—each one marked by his passion. A passion she never knew a man could possess for God or even a song about him.

  Perhaps it was her imagination, but his pitch sounded truer.

  “One in himself I cannot die. My soul is purchased by his blood. My life is hid with Christ on high. With Christ my Savior and my God. With Christ my Savior and...my…God!”

  No. It had definitely been her imagination because a dog howled in the distance and from somewhere else a man hollered, “Shut up!”

  Regina’s shoulders shook in a silent chuckle. “Charlie has conviction, no?”

  Ella nodded. More than she’d ever heard anyone sing—or try to sing.

  He fell silent and Ella slid to the floor beside Holland’s bed. From beneath, she pulled out the baby’s basket of toys and began to twirl a little metal top. The brightly-colored top whirred, and rolling onto her tummy, Holland slid off the bed and crouched beside Ella, little ruffled bloomers covering her padded bottom. Those chubby, rolled legs that peeked out from beneath her dress were so tempting that Ella had to tickle them. Holland giggled and squirmed then reached for the top and tried to give it a spin.

  Then Ella heard Charlie singing again, softer this time.

  “I hear the Savior say…thy strength indeed is small. Child of weakness watch and pray. Find in me thine all in all.”

  The top tumbled and Ella twirled it again, listening.

  Holland kicked her feet cheerily.

  “Do you like that?” Ella whispered. “Your papa is singing.”

  Holland patted her hands on those chubby legs, then suddenly Charlie quieted. A moment later he was ducking through the canvas opening, brown hair wild and windblown. When he spotted Ella, astonishment dawned in his face. She straightened her skirt and thought about standing, but with Holland pressed against her side, she stayed put.

  “You came.” He crouched beside them, forming a crooked triangle on the rug. A gentle smile spread across his face. “I’m glad.”

  She dipped her head shyly.

  Then his jaw fell. “Uh, how long have you been here?”

  “For a while.” She nibbled her lip to keep it from betraying her.

  “You didn’t happen to hear that, did you?”

  She laughed a little. “You have quite a way with…words.”

  Dropping his head, he tugged at his hair. Then he rose and strode toward his wagon. Looking over his shoulder, he pointed at her. “That was a dirty trick.”

  Ella held her hands up innocently.

  “You could have told me,” he muttered to Regina, but the woman only rocked and grinned.

  Charlie got to work straightening his bedding. He pushed his black boots off to the side, and after fiddling around with his mess, just closed the curtains altogether. He was nervous.

  Was he uneasy about church? Or was it her? Perhaps it was the two combined.

  Holland babbled and Ella patted her back. “What was that, my sweet?”

  The baby jabbered and patted her hands on her legs again.

  “Are you singing like your papa?” Ella asked.

  Charlie turned and looked at them.

  Dropping her gaze to the rug in front of Holland’s bed, Ella retraced her words. Then she looked up at Charlie. “I’m sorry. I meant uncle.”

  He slowly shook his head and she could see that she had pleased him with papa.

  Ella held his gaze for several moments. “You are a good one.”

  The side of his mouth tilted up.

  “The benches, Charlie,” Regina said.

  He snapped to attention. After heading outside, he came back with two small wooden kegs then went out again and returned with a thick board. Charlie did this until two benches were formed. Then he was gone again, longer this time, only to return with Angelina, her two sisters, and a clutch of folded chairs.

  Angelina beamed at Ella. “Good morning!” The young woman knelt and greeted Holland too, then introduced her sisters, Danielle and Evangeline. They seemed older than Angelina, by a few years perhaps. All of their dark brown hair was equally as long and thick, except today, they wore it braided and folded in half, bound by thick strips of ribbon. Even doubled back on itself, it fell past their hips. The three of them sat in the chairs Charlie set down.

  Remembering his promise that she could sit on Holland’s bed, Ella did just that, pulling both baby and basket of toys up beside her. She wanted to slip her feet up, tuck them beneath her skirt, and become as small as possible, but she pressed palms to the mattress and forced herself to stay calm. Charlie was moving about, setting chairs in place, and when he looked at her, he regarded her with clear pleasure. Sending her thoughts back to the night before. So much so that she blushed.

  Well, this would never do. Churchly thoughts, Ella.

  Next, the heavy-set man from the day before lumbered in, so large that he barely fit through the tent opening.

  “Ey! Little Joe!” Charlie called from where he was setting his Bible on the crate steps.

  Several others had trailed in as well, but Ella couldn’t fully see them. Joy stirred in her at the sight of the friendly face. Larger than any person she’d ever seen—she could already tell from their brief encounter that Little Joe’s heart matched his size. He spoke a hoarse greeting and today wore a strip of cloth across his chest that went over his shoulders. When he turned, Ella nearly gasped at the sight of a man nestled in a sling against his back. The bald man had no arms, and from the way he was cradled by the fabric…no legs either. Suddenly she remembered him from one of the tents she had wandered into the day before.

  Except now, he appeared much happier.

  His sleeves were folded and sewed flat to his sides. A wide smile lit his face. Ella remembered Charlie’s words when she’d first met Regina. Don’t stare.
Ella dropped her gaze to the grass at the tent opening then lifted it gently as Little Joe hefted his companion out and set him on a chair. Charlie sat beside them, greeting both men, and was soon laughing about a story the armless man was telling. Charlie slapped him on the back then jumped up from his bench.

  “Oh! My manners! Everyone,” Charlie arced a hand toward Ella. “This is Ella. She’s the nurse who cared for Holland.”

  The three sisters waved and Angelina’s mouth tipped up.

  “Nice to meet you, Ella,” the man with no arms said.

  Ella smiled shyly. “Thank you, and you too.”

  Charlie stood behind the two men. “Ella, you know Little Joe from the village.” Charlie patted him on the back. “And this is Arnold. One of the finest men I know.”

  Arnold beamed and Charlie gripped the man’s shoulder.

  The three other people who had come in were each a little different in shape and size as well. Ella also recognized them from her hour spent exploring the village. Charlie made introductions and Ella greeted them with handshakes when they offered. The final person to greet her was a giant of a man, so tall that he had to bend almost in half to shake her hand in his massive fingers.

  Ella couldn’t remember his name, but he had kind eyes. He sat on one of the benches—in the back, which seemed to be some kind of a joke as humorous remarks shot his way. A few more people came in, one she recognized as a juggler from the matinee and the other two she hadn’t seen before. They greeted one another as old friends and settled into place.

  Ella let her gaze scan across the room. At the far side stood Charlie, his expression now wistful as he stared down at his boots, hands in his pockets. A thousand words traced his dipped brow—more lost in thought than she’d ever seen him. Then he looked at her, gave a muted smile, and reached for his Bible before sitting on his crates.

  “We left off last week at Matthew chapter eleven.” Licking his thumb, he turned the thin pages forward. As if finding the spot, he settled the small book on his thigh and asked if someone would like to pray. Arnold volunteered.