Joanne Bischof

by The Lady

  She followed. “They chained you.”

  “The people need a good show.”

  “Isn’t there some kind of regulation against this?”

  “Welcome to the sideshow.” He let out a single, dark laugh. “Do you really think that there is a regulation against a man with no arms and no legs on display for people to pay to see? So they can laugh at him?”

  Words failed her.

  “I’m a grown man, Ella. I make my own decisions.” He stopped so quick, she tripped over a tent stake, catching herself on a rope.

  “The lesser of two evils.” She fought the urge to rub her ankle.

  He looked at her. Hard.

  So he thought she’d forgotten about that?

  “What do you want from me?” he asked.

  “I want to understand.”

  “For what? Your own benefit? Or is there some reason why my business is your business. Because the way I understood it…” His voice fell too soft to wake others. “Why did you come there?”

  “I needed to know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Who you are.”

  “You know who I am.” He stepped into the light of his tent opening and then ducked inside, letting the tent close.

  She hesitated only the briefest of moments before following him in.

  C H A P T E R 2 3

  __________

  Ella blinked into the soft light of a lantern that burned low as if waiting for him.

  The space was hemmed in silence, Regina asleep behind her partition. Holland bundled on her bed. Charlie reached up and pulled back the hood of his cloak, keeping his face toward the ground.

  Ella searched his profile. “A few days ago I thought I did,” she whispered.

  He winced, and when he glanced around, the light illuminated Regina’s handiwork with coal-black coloring. Ella checked her fear. It was just Charlie. She tried not to think of how he’d startled the crowd. Startled her. How fearsome he had been. It was just a show, she reminded herself, and tried not to think of how the muscles of his chest and arms had coiled tight with his grip through the bars. How he towered over her now.

  Ella gulped. A man not of hatred, she reminded herself. But of brokenness.

  Overwhelmed, she dropped her gaze, peering down to his hands, his wrists instead. “You’re hurt.”

  “I’m fine.” After tossing the cloak aside, he sank onto a crate.

  “May I look at them?”

  “I assure you, I’m fine—”

  His voice clipped to an end when she knelt and traced her fingertip past his raw skin where the iron cuff had worn. “This needs salve. I have some. Please, let me.” When he said nothing, she slipped away, crossed to where the red wagon sat, and quietly knocked.

  Angelina opened the door. “You don’t have to knock, silly goose.” She motioned her in only to reveal that Danielle was brushing the end of Evangeline’s hair.

  “Oh, goodness,” Ella breathed.

  “It is long, no?”

  Evangeline’s hair puddled to the floor and into the aisle of the wagon.

  “And a bit crowded, I’m sorry. Why don’t we sit out by the fire?”

  Ella motioned back the way she came. “I need to fetch something for Charlie, but then I’ll be back.” She pointed to the box just behind Angelina.

  “Oh, yes.” Angelina pulled it down and handed it to her. “We have to do this every night and morning. I fear you may regret coming with us.” Smiling, Angelina held the door open and Ella promised she wouldn’t be long.

  The case clutched tight, Ella walked back. Charlie sat in the same spot, looking too tired to move. So as not to wake the others, she circled him and his crate and sank back to her knees. The case she nestled in her lap. It clicked open and she hunted for the tin of salve.

  “How much longer?” she asked. “For you. With all of this?”

  “About four more months.”

  “Would they…” She reached for his hand and he let her take it. “Would they have done this to Holland?”

  “Blast it, Ella,” he muttered.

  So she stayed silent.

  He sighed, and after rubbing the side of his face against his shoulder, spoke low. How he wasn’t sure of what would have been done to Holland. But that he was certain it would have been worse. “Madame makes her money by exploiting people in cities all over the country.”

  Ella watched his face, uncertain of what he meant.

  “Whether it’s the burlesque dancers or the tall man, they’re here by choice, and they make much of their profits. But Holland would have been different.”

  Closing her eyes only amplified the despair in his voice. Ella glanced to the baby curled up, asleep in her bed.

  “The moment Madame could have begun making money on that little girl, she would have.” As if not wanting to talk about it, he moved to the washstand, wet a rag, and returned. Gently, Ella took it from him. His shoulders sank.

  “Sit, please.” She pulled over Regina’s low chair for herself. When he didn’t move, she touched his sleeve. “Will you let me look at your wrists?”

  He rolled back the cuffs. Loosening the top of his collar, he spoke as if to converse with the grass at their feet. “Does this make you uncomfortable?”

  “No.” The wrong answer because he freed two more buttons and pulled the shirt overhead and off.

  He tossed it aside, and whatever he had wanted to prove worked; suddenly her heart was in her throat. He watched her for several heartbeats. Whatever this test was, she clearly failed because his gaze raked from her to the crooked stove pipe rising up and out.

  He motioned with his hand between them. “You were only Holland’s nurse. And I thank you for what you did. But we both know there’s nothing more to it than that.”

  Yet she could see that though the lie came easily, it wasn’t true for him.

  And for her?

  She searched his face, looked past his blackened eyes, and saw the man who had been taking her heart in what she could only name as love.

  Then her eyes grazed his body. Grief laced through her again—at all he’d given up. Marred with needle and ink. But the grief ran deeper, sharper.

  Burning right through her walls that she had so carefully built around her heart.

  Because she knew what it meant to be damaged. Not only in one foul moment with pain and horror so fierce, she could vomit all over again, but daily, yearly. Bit by bit, dying, not healing. And here he was, scarred beyond repair, and no amount of his faith would make it go away.

  He was marked. As was she. Which had her wanting to ask him to put his shirt back on. The desire strong, she voiced it. Slowly he rose, picked it up, and loosened the rest of the buttons. He slid the shirt on and fastened it up, stopping only after he’d rolled the cuffs back.

  When he sat, she eased his hand to her lap and dabbed the cloth on his wrist. Next, the melting of salve to his skin. Before she could finish, he turned his hand long enough to squeeze hers. To hold it.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. Not without telling you first.”

  Was it only last night that they’d sat on the roof? Her giving him the only thing she had left to give a man? She swallowed the burn of tears, consumed with her love for him and the way it mixed with the heaviness of loss. Of shock and broken hopes. Of his body and all that he’d done to it. The crushing heat and the crowd’s ridicule. All for a little girl who she knew he would die for.

  When the silence stretched on, he leaned forward. “It’s still me,” he whispered.

  She looked at him, and blackened eyes implored for words she couldn’t speak.

  His head bowed between them. “Please see me.”

  Her hand moved, reaching for his hair. Some piece of him that might make sense. She felt the oiled ends, felt the grit of the carnival grounds.

  As if knowing as much, he said, “I should go. I need to take a bath. I can walk you on my way to the
creek.”

  “That is where you go, then. It’s so cold…”

  “I bathe there because I never know when you’re going to show up.” He motioned to her, silently proving his point. “And it helps me calm down.”

  Ella glanced to the baby when he did.

  “I’m sorry that I almost kicked you. I didn’t know—”

  She shook her head.

  “I really am sorry. And the others…Ella, I’m not angry at them.” He tipped his head to the side, light dancing along the line of his jaw. “Well, not entirely. I just—sometimes I panic knowing I can’t get out. Or if they throw things at me. I wish I could tell you that I’m always on my best behavior, but…” Head lowered, he shook it.

  Her heart was in a hundred pieces. “You have to do this every night.”

  “Only during the carnival.”

  “Why do they chain you?”

  Charlie let out a slow sigh. “A question for another night, Ella.” He slowly shook his head and she could see that he was utterly spent.

  Remembering the rag, Ella lifted it slowly toward his face. A question.

  In answer, he closed his eyes.

  Breath bated, she gently wiped at the ebony smudge that darkened one eye. She folded the rag over on itself, wiping the rest somewhat clean before moving to the other. The charcoal had smeared, she could only guess from sweat, since it had dried in rivulets down his temple. She slid the rag there, wiping the darkness away some.

  For an unnamed reason, she ran her fingers over his forehead, down the side of his face, to his neck. His throat worked and he moistened his lips.

  “There you are,” she whispered, letting her hand still where the last smudges had smeared. The place where his reality began and no amount of wiping would make it go away.

  No doubt feeling it, his eyes opened. “I want you to know that you don’t have to come with us. I won’t hold you to anything. You’re not trapped.”

  “I don’t want to stay here.” Not if that life meant that he wouldn’t be in it. Ella didn’t know how to make sense of that.

  They sat in silence for several moments. Wind rustled the sides of the tent, and the snapping of a nearby flag echoed back.

  His hand slid forward on his knee—hesitating. Then the words Carpe Diem caught the lantern light as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re so beautiful.” His voice held such ache and longing that she rose before it could melt the defenses she was already thrashing against.

  At the washstand, she took her time rinsing the rag. She returned and settled back on Regina’s chair then pulled his other hand into her lap. Dabbing at the raw skin with the cloth showed that the flesh hadn’t torn. At least not tonight, as it was scarred. With careful fingers, she smeared salve into his skin. Ella lifted a quick glance. “Does that hurt?”

  He shook his head, uncertainty heavy in his eyes.

  This man deserved such gratitude, and while he had it in Regina, Holland’s bright smile—even others, Ella longed for some way to acknowledge what he’d done. He’d displayed such honesty, such strength about them it practically hung in the air, tinging it with truth—vulnerability.

  Though small, so insignificant to what he deserved, Ella pressed the side of her face to the back of his hand. Coming tears tightened her throat. His skin was so warm, so right against hers.

  His breath hitched to silence and he slowly pulled away. “You should go.” He looked more taken aback than his words allowed.

  Nodding, she shifted to a stand when he did.

  Without speaking, he led her from the tent the short distance to Angelina’s wagon. The air nipped at her arms and she ached for a bed. He moved a little closer and the chill lessened.

  “Sleep good, Ella.” He stopped and let her walk the last few feet alone to the red wagon. Sensing that he was already gone, she had to force herself not to look back as she slipped inside.

  C H A P T E R 2 4

  __________

  Ella woke to the gentle sounds of Danielle and Evangeline moving about in the small space, brushing their floor-length hair. Evangeline spoke softly, her voice holding a hint of shyness even with her sisters, and she was perhaps only a few years older than Angelina. Evangeline’s face was tilted toward the window, and with each sister arranged so, Ella decided that Angelina was the most darling, the most sunny of spirit. Evangeline, so like a fawn, was as lovely as she was gentle, and Danielle, with her dark hair and exotic eyes, ever so elegant. Surely Charlie noticed all of this as well. She wondered if their marriage vows had ever been difficult on his own heart.

  Still in a chemise and corset, Angelina sat at the table, sipping from a dainty teacup. Her locks had been unbraided from a night’s sleep and now lay to the floor in glossy waves.

  Danielle gripped the bottom of her own hair and ran a brush through the ends. Her countenance was cheery as she looked to Ella. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Very well, thank you.”

  “Don’t feel the need to get up just yet.” Though she was the oldest, Danielle didn’t seem but twenty or so, and her scrunched nose was full of spunk. “As you can see, there is nowhere to walk.” Her hair covered the floor around her feet when she released her grip on it to brush higher up.

  Ella folded her legs in and bundled her blanket snugly around her waist. She was thankful for the narrow bed and generous hearts. Danielle had given up her space, joining her sisters on the large back bed which, although wide, had to be crowded with three. Their smiles hinted that they didn’t mind at all.

  Ella watched Danielle run the brush down her hair in long strokes. Her own felt utterly disheveled. “Do you do this every morning?” Ella asked.

  Evangeline nodded. “We must. Oh, you should see how grumpy Angelina gets if hers snarls. Helping her is not a task anyone would envy on those mornings.” Evangeline winked and Angelina chuckled.

  “How I envy you,” Evangeline said to Ella.

  “You envy me?”

  “To have such short hair. So easy.”

  Ella felt her own braid that went down to her lower back. She’d never thought of her hair as short, but now, after seeing all the sisters went through to maintain their length, she could see why it was such a novelty. The three of them tucked and bound their hair in tidy folds that was truly a feat in itself. Ella changed out of her nightgown and was thankful for the helpful hands on the buttons of her dress, returning the favor for Danielle.

  Ella thought of what Angelina had said the night before. Of how these young women with the dark, sparkling eyes and almond-hued skin were fond of Charlie, yet bound by vows made as girls. When Danielle peered at Ella, her expression was kind. Caring. Clear was the heart of a young woman who had been learning to be like a sister to a man who had touched her heart so. Ella was humbled by the graciousness extended to her by these young women who had walked beside him for so many years.

  Outside, they shared a humble meal of bread and cheese since the cookhouse was nearly packed away.

  Bread in hand, Evangeline strode off across the meadow. She returned but a few minutes later, leading a massive black and white horse on a line. With fur draping over his hooves, the horse’s feet looked like white bells. Tall and thick and patched with opposing color, he was a creature unlike any Ella had seen.

  “He’s beautiful,” she said as Evangeline drew near.

  Evangeline stroked the horse’s white mane. “Thank you. We keep him stabled with the other Vanners and ring stock.” She pressed the side of her head to the horse’s neck lovingly, and after a few more strokes, led him to the front of the wagon where she tethered him, allowing plenty of room for a morning graze.

  Danielle bent and freed a piece of wood chalking one of the wagon wheels. “As you can see, Evangeline has a heart for horses. I see to the business side of things. Finances.” She moved to the next wheel. “And Angelina keeps everything clean and organized because she is not very good at sums. Or horses.”

  Angelina’s giggle carried through
the open wagon window.

  Smiling, Ella turned to see if anything else needed to be gathered up when she spotted a green wagon moving past.

  Charlie walked steadily across the meadow. With Holland snug in the sling against his back, he led a horse that looked just like the sisters’. His wagon followed slow and creaking like a great ship on a grassy sea. Ella must have watched him overlong when Danielle stepped beside her.

  “He’s not leaving.” The young woman smiled.

  Ella felt her cheeks pink, for she’d been wondering the very thing.

  “He’s one of the lead wagons, with the lions. So he has to get in line earliest. We’re nearer to the end of the caravan, so we still have a few minutes.” Danielle gave her a sly wink. “Well, Ella. It looks like you’ve run away and joined the circus.”

  Ella glanced the way she’d come. To the rise of buildings that led back toward her apartment, and already she felt a sting of tears at missing Margaret and everything that had been home. But Ella looked back toward Charlie, more than thankful that she was not standing on top of her apartment building watching that very wagon disappear out of sight.

  __________

  Never had the spring sun felt so warm. The road beneath his feet so right. Charlie gripped Siebel’s line and knew it had something to do with a particular woman. The black and white Vanner following steadily along and with Holland still asleep at his back, he kept an eye out for his spot in the caravan, just behind his lions.

  He neared Ruth’s wagon that she shared with the two other aerialists. She stuffed something in a carpetbag, her white ruffled skirt a sharp contrast to the dark little moccasins she wore. Seeing him she straightened and propped a hand on her hip. “Me mare’s a bit sluggish today. Has been the last month or so. ’Tis growing steadily worse.”

  “Don’t buy such a lazy horse next time.” Charlie led his own onward, but felt Ruth glaring at him.

  “They continue to pen that louse of an animal with my mare.” She flung her hand toward Siebel.

  “And?” But by the look she flashed him, Charlie already knew. He slowed, fighting a smile.