by The Lady
Her fist returned to her hip. “If my horse foals, t’will be that horse’s fault. Again!”
Charlie held up his hands. “I assure you it’s not. The first time, maybe. But…” He shook his head gravely and felt a mite sorry for poor Siebel.
“Ne’er do well,” Ruth muttered and adjusted a latch on the side of her wagon. “If she foals, I’ll be selling it and you willn’a see a single dime from me.”
He grinned and motioned toward Siebel. “This is the face of a saint.” A very gelded saint.
She gave him a squinty look.
As he walked on, Charlie rubbed the scruff of Siebel’s neck. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure your name gets cleared.” The horse let out a snort and flicked his tail.
Charlie led them onward until he spotted the caged wagons that held his lions. Thanks to La’Rue marking his spot, there was a gap in the caravan awaiting him. A bit too small, so Charlie led Siebel in at an odd angle. “Whoa.” He pressed against the horse’s neck and the Vanner stopped. Hands in his pockets, Charlie strode up the line to see how his boys were doing.
Kristov lay with his back pressed against the bars, golden mane sticking through the slats. Han was asleep as well, but Axel looked up. The lion rose lazily and moved to where Charlie stood and leaned against the slats. Charlie scratched his thick fur.
“Hey, boy. I’ll have you out of there soon, all right?” He hated to see the lions caged. It was his least favorite part of this job. How he wished he could just romp with them in the meadow. “Soon,” he said, scrubbing harder at Axel’s hide.
Charlie moved his hand back a few bars and gave the lion’s hindquarters a firm pat, then poked around in their food stores and slipped the boy a piece of meat. He didn’t know how many lion tamers there were in this country but knew that every one of them would tell him to never feed an adult lion with his bare hand. He also wasn’t supposed to sit down with them and he was quite certain wrestling was frowned upon. It wasn’t that Charlie ignored the rules—he just preferred to trust his instincts. One of the most valuable lessons his father had taught him when working with these cats. And if they were his friends, he treated them as such.
If one of his boys had wanted to eat him—they’d have done it long ago.
When Axel lowered his head to the gap between two bars, Charlie touched his own to Axel’s, honored each time the five-hundred-and-thirty-pound cat greeted him so intimately. He had always known Axel to be the alpha of the three males. But Charlie sensed that Axel saw him as the alpha—a position of honor that Charlie treated with great care.
He braced himself as Axel lifted his white jaw and ran his tongue up the side of Charlie’s head. Children often asked him what a lion’s tongue felt like. He always explained that it was rough like a housecat’s but ten times worse because a grown lion’s tongue was designed to pull the flesh right off an animal’s bones. Feeling like he’d just been attacked by sandpaper, Charlie groaned good-naturedly and ducked away.
A few more pats and a “love you too,” he stepped back. With Axel still watching curiously, Charlie slid Holland forward to his chest. She was awake now, and upon seeing the great lion, stuck out her hand which Axel sniffed. Charlie let her babble and Axel talked back—a wuh-ooow that had Holland beaming. All the lions saw her as Charlie’s cub, and he always took care to let them see her close to him. And to let her interact in safe ways. If he was a part of their pride, then Holland was too. Though the only lion he ever allowed her this close to was Axel. For when it came to the five-year-old male, Axel was an old soul.
Each of his boys had a different personality and Charlie knew them as well as any family. Axel had a sensitivity and protectiveness that made Charlie trust Holland in his presence. The animal was patient, not flighty in the way Kristov was or as rambunctious as Han. Charlie played the most with those two and loved them for it. But Axel was his other half; if Axel were a man, he would have been Charlie’s brother.
And Han and Kristov? Well, they were two partners in crime, but he knew their soft spots—Han’s literally being just under the shoulder, and Kristov was putty in his hand when Charlie rubbed his belly or napped in the sun with him. Kristov was his favorite to wrestle with and Han had eyes so vivid that Charlie could sit and watch him for hours.
He gave Axel another firm pat as the great cat lay down. Holland had been slung at Charlie’s back around the eldest male since Mimi’s death. Though Charlie doubted his sister’s maternal instincts would have had her approving, it was Mimi herself who had sat as a mere tot with their father and the very lion that had sired Charlie’s own. Perhaps not the best way for him and his sister to have been raised and perhaps not the best way for him to parent Holland, but it was the only way he knew.
Enjoying the stretch of legs, Charlie walked farther up the line, past the wagon that held the striped Big Top that was covered with canvas and tightly bound. In front of that, the king pole ran up the center of its massive wagon—all sixty feet of the pole being led by an eight-horse hitch. Charlie greeted the canvasman, and then seeing the front of the caravan begin to move, walked back to his wagon.
From somewhere behind, a woman was singing a Psalm. Several others joined in. Charlie took up Siebel’s lead rope, and with Regina settled on the back stoop of the wagon, clicked his tongue and the horse walked on. Charlie listened, sparing the world his voice. Holland was round and soft against his back. A small bundle of warmth that seeped all the way to his heart. Reaching back, he gave the mounded sling a gentle pat and tried to make sense of how one person could love another more with each passing day. That was surely what was happening to him. He wished Mimi were here to hold her. To know this feeling.
The day passed smoothly, and by the time the sound of song was but a memory, energetic children now tired and lounging on vardo porches—watching where they’d been as opposed to where they were going—the sun hung low in the sky. Charlie saw the wagons up ahead begin to circle. Around them spread a broad grassy knoll, and in the distance, a glittering, snaking strip of silver meant a river wasn’t far off.
Charlie waited until they were parked, then paid a bored-looking roustabout a nickel to tend to Siebel. Holland and Regina were contentedly eating slices of pickles in the tall meadow grass, and as much as he wanted to go and check on Ella, he turned all his attention to the big cats, and more particularly, the cleaning of their cage. A job he wouldn’t mind leaving to a laborer, but it was always hard recruiting men to climb inside a cage with fifteen-hundred pounds of lion. Which meant he had the privilege of shoveling manure every single day.
Charlie grabbed what he’d need, and with a roustabout on hand, freed the lock to the massive, barred wagon. His boys were asleep, so Charlie pushed aside the metal clasp and eased the door open just enough to climb inside. He closed the door carefully behind him, then reached through the bars for the shovel.
Three maned heads lifted and they blinked sleepily as he moved about, shoveling out old straw. Energized by his presence, Axel rose to watch more closely while Kristov—the pest—made it his obsession to jump on Charlie’s back with his front paws. Charlie kept pushing him off only to have the beast do it again. He gave Kristov the strongest shove he could manage. So hard it might have appeared rough to an outsider, but it was scarcely a nudge to a giant like Kristov, and if Charlie didn’t treat them with ferocity now and again, they’d stop thinking of him as a lion. A sucker for roughhousing, Kristov nudged Charlie’s side with his broad head and Charlie indulged the cat in another playful shove.
After fetching fresh straw, the tall, spindly laborer handed it to Charlie. By the time it was spread about, the animals were back in their napping positions, Han gnawing on the end of a rope, Kristov gnawing on the center of a bone.
Crouching, Charlie gave the rope a playful tug. Paws to the rope, Han smashed the tattered fibers to the floorboards and flicked his long tail, letting out a low guttural sound. With a grin, Charlie tugged a few quick times. Han let out a snort and Charlie gave
a firm yank, pulling it free. “Ha!”
But his victory lasted less than a second because the whole wagon shook when Han pounced on the end. It was enough to make Charlie fall, and with massive jaws, Han ripped the rope free, flopped back down, and set to gnawing again. This time while lying on Charlie’s leg. Charlie chuckled as he sat up. With firm hands, he scrubbed Han up and down his mane. A few seconds of that and the cat closed his golden eyes, lazily lifted his jaw, and the rope was momentarily forgotten.
Charlie kissed the side of his muzzle then struggled to a stand.
“Are they crowded with the three of them in one cage?”
He looked down to see Ella standing there—at such a safe distance that he smiled. “Um…sometimes they ride separately. But lions like to lay on one another, so they get cranky if I don’t keep them together.”
A silk scarf bound her hair back and it caught the soft breeze blowing over the meadow grasses. She watched quietly as he set about filling up their water bowl to the brim.
“Would you like to come closer?” he asked.
Quickly she shook her head. “Will…will they eat now?”
“No. Tomorrow.”
“What will you feed them?”
“Well, they’ll start with a salad and then a chilled soup…”
Ella smiled.
Charlie winked. He’d made it a habit of making light of their diet to passersby. He’d only been joking to those children about zebra meat. The menagerie was well cared for, so unless an animal somehow died healthy, they took no part in his lions’ supper. Venison or goat were the favored meats, but they ate what was fitting in different towns and cities, and the circus kept grazing stock for that very purpose. He explained all that to her as tactfully as possible.
“In Louisiana, the farmers bring me any livestock that’s died of natural causes. We try to only take from what’s already been lost—but I also have to be selective. If we have to take an animal’s life for these lions I make sure that I’m the one to do it.” When she remained quiet, he gripped a hand around one of the bars. “Does that make you unhappy with me?”
“No. I suppose…I suppose they’d have to eat in the wild.”
“Yes.” And what most people didn’t realize was that his maned brothers were designed to be less quick with their prey than he was.
“Have you ever thought of freeing them?” she asked.
“Are you writing an article for the newspaper or something?”
She smirked. “I just want to understand.”
He looked at her—more grateful for that than he could say. So much so, that he climbed down and locked the door before striding over to her. “I think of it every day of my life.”
Ella peered up at him.
“But they were born in captivity, not taken. I dream of them in the wild, but even if I could get them to a land where they could roam freely, they’d have a high chance of death because they’d each need to fight other males for lionesses. Maybe even each other.”
Ella glanced from the lions then back to his face.
“They also wouldn’t know to avoid humans, which would not end well for the cats.”
Sorrow filled her eyes.
He didn’t mean to concern her but rarely had the opportunity to speak freely. Speak truth into what people understood so little about. “So I do my best for them and make sure they get lots of sun and air and places to roam. And that they get to spend some time with lionesses a few times a year.” Her jaw fell a little, so Charlie added, “They’re very affectionate. Lions.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” He wasn’t about to go into detail so instead explained the courtship. The way the leader of a pride pressed the front of his head to a lioness’s. To tell her that he saw only her. With Ella standing so near, Charlie touched his forehead down to hers and she smiled up at him. Which was gracious considering that he probably smelled like manure. He took a step back. “So…have you come to talk about these fellas, or did you really come to tell me how bad your feet hurt?”
Ella circled around him, avoiding the cage that was still yards away. “I promise to keep all aches and pains to myself.”
“Then you’re half Gypsy already.” Unsheathing his knife, he brushed his thumb against the blade several times to check the sharpness. At the supply box on the back of the menagerie wagon, Charlie pulled out a length of rope and cut a fresh piece which he tossed in to Han. “Don’t worry. The soreness is something you get used to.”
She fingered something in her palm, nodding slowly.
Charlie realized his blunder. No, she wouldn’t be getting used to this type of travel. Why had he said that? Tomorrow would be her last day with the caravan. He cleared his throat, but Ella spoke before he could.
“Danielle mentioned that there would be dancing tonight. I don’t know how you all manage it.”
He closed the supply box. “You don’t feel like dancing?” Charlie reached over and gave a gentle tug on the scarf that bound her hair. “Maybe you’re only a quarter Gypsy, then.”
Ella laughed and backed away a step. As if just remembering the scarf herself, she unknotted it. “I’m terrible at it so will just sit and watch.”
“Terrible? Then you’ll have to learn a thing or two.”
Smiling, she tugged at the slip of silk and her blonde hair tumbled free. “Does that mean your dancing is better than your singing?”
He looked at her, pretty sure he failed to hide his smile—and his heart. “You’ll just have to wait and find out.”
C H A P T E R 2 5
__________
With two blankets in hand, Ella walked beside Evangeline who was still straightening the scarf on her tresses.
Each of the sisters had braided and bound up their locks in thick buns at the napes of their necks. Wrapped secure with colorful scarves, the silky fabrics draped their backs. They’d combed and measured their hair but an hour ago—a feat within itself that Ella helped with. Shortly after, she’d gone off in hopes that Little Joe could spare a few moments for a quick checkup. He’d happily settled on the axle of his wagon while she examined his throat and encouraged continued use of the teas and tinctures. Most of all, rest whenever possible. Passing by, Madame Broussard had eyed them skeptically.
Now night was settling. A few steps ahead, Charlie carried Holland on his shoulders. He wore a clean shirt and dark suspenders. Hair damp, his worn top hat sat at an odd angle thanks to the baby’s pudgy hands. He swayed as he walked, drawing giggles from the little girl.
Beside him, Regina ambled along with a basket on her hip. Circled around were dozens of blankets, and within that, set out of the way, two pianos flanked one another.
“Oh my!” Ella slowed.
Charlie turned.
“There are pianos…in the meadow.”
He walked backwards. “The circus is very good at moving things.”
In the distance, countless instruments tuned—fiddles, banjos, and what sounded like an accordion. Two young women ran past, tiny trinkets jingling from their ankles, and a trio of children somersaulted down the shallow slope.
“You do this often?” she asked.
“Life is short, no?” He seemed amused by her awe. “And we try and be on our best behavior when we’re in town so we take advantage of a full moon now and again when we’re on the road.”
He plucked Holland from his shoulders and Ella gladly accepted the wiggly bundle. She caught the scent of soap on Charlie’s skin before he stepped away. When Ella pressed a kiss to Holland’s creamy neck, Charlie smiled down at them.
The smells of supper pulled them forward, and though Ella was hungry, she felt guilty at the notion. Supper was communal, and she assumed that whoever operated the circus provided the meal. Since she wasn’t a performer or earning her keep in any way, taking a plate felt wrong so she kept to the blanket she spread out and watched Holland do her darndest to chew on her toes.
Standing above them, Charlie spoke. “I can ta
ke her back if you’d like.”
“I’ll be hard pressed to let her go.”
He winked and strode off.
By the time the last hints of daylight had been snuffed out, Angelina and Danielle were settled beside her, plates and forks in hand. Danielle gave Ella a meal, insisting that there was plenty to be had. Evangeline and Regina joined them, and by the time Ella was partially finished with her supper, she looked around wondering where Charlie had gone off to.
Clusters of people lounged about on a patchwork of blankets and Ella finally spotted him across the way with the man she recognized as his partner and fellow lion tamer. Charlie sat with his knee pulled up, eating and laughing with the folks surrounding them. Keeping some distance. For her sake or his?
Holland pulled at the bread in Ella’s hand, so Ella pinched off another bite for her.
Minutes later, with Angelina and the baby immersed in a game of peek-a-boo, Ella rose to stretch her legs, her sights on the pianos nearby. She touched the polished wood of the nearest instrument, which sat at a complimentary angle to the other. Her fingers ever so tempted by the sight of the keys, she smoothed her skirt and sat on the wooden bench.
Her heart did a little leap and she ran her fingers across the cool ivories, not so much as pressing a one. Then she moved her hands into position and pushed softly. Perfectly tuned, the instrument sounded heavenly. She played only a C. One simple chord, but she eased it into an A minor. The sweet sound lifted her lips and her foot found the pedal, only daring to steal a few bars since the piano wasn’t hers. With the tune still vibrating, she pulled her hands into her lap.
“That’s very nice.”
Ella looked up to see Charlie stepping closer.
“Thank you.” She pressed a single key. “I haven’t had a piano for years.” She swiveled to face him. “Just touching these keys makes me feel home again.”
He settled beside her and pressed one and then another, making a funny sound. “And soon you will be.”
She clasped her hands between her knees. “Very soon.”
