by The Lady
Perhaps he ought not to have done that. Perhaps it would have been better to harden his heart and let her think him indifferent. But he didn’t want any regrets in this life and that would have been one of them.
“Where will you go from here?” she asked.
“After Charlottesville, toward the coast and then north toward Baltimore. Then up, maybe as far as Massachusetts before we come back down to New York where we’ll land at Coney.” He spared her a glance. “Why? Are you thinking of running away and joining the circus for good?”
She blinked at him.
“Because if you are, I know some folks who would take you.”
She nodded, then pressed a hand over her mouth.
Oh, he shouldn’t have said that. “Please don’t start crying again.” But her chin just trembled, so Charlie dug around in the saddlebag and handed her the handkerchief again. “You should ride now.”
“Please, I’d rather walk.”
“You’re slowing down and we still have some ground to cover.” He wasn’t quite ready to tell her that they weren’t going to make it tonight. He was still trying to come to grips with it himself. The fact that—without a shadow of a doubt—the two of them would be passing the night in these woods.
“When do you have to be back?” she asked as shadows stretched long.
“Saturday. I absolutely must be there for the matinee.” Two and a half days.
“Will you make it in time?”
“Yeah.” He had to. He glanced around. Time to say it. “Look, Ella. It’s going to be dark in half an hour. How far do you think we are from your home?”
She surveyed the land around them as if hunting for familiarity. “I’m not sure. I didn’t come this way ever. It was always Papa’s doing. How many miles do you think we’ve gone since we spoke to those men?”
“Three.” He’d been gauging them. It was more like two, but he didn’t want to discourage her. And now he was feeling like a liar, so he confessed the truth.
“You could ride this horse, too,” she said.
“I’ll walk, thanks.”
“We’d get there faster.”
Something he had no desire to do, for even now, he knew that when they came upon her father’s house, his heart would be the worse for it. And riding the horse—he couldn’t quite handle the thought of her putting her arms around him, or his around her. No. He’d walk. “The horse is tired and he won’t be able to handle anything other than you.”
She looked regretful for having made the suggestion.
“Look, Ella, I want you to decide. I can get up on Siebel with you and we can ride for a while, but he truly is tired. His hoof is bothering him and this is a different terrain than he’s used to which isn’t helping. So I don’t know how far that’d get us. Or, we can just press on like this. Possibly be there late tonight around midnight or later.” He shifted his head at a pesky gnat. “Or, we can stop and get settled while we can still see. We’ve been following a creek for a while now and just passed an old camp. It’s as good a spot as any. Then we would get to your parents’ in the morning. It’s up to you.”
She didn’t say as much when she’d spoken of what had been done to her, but by what she shared—walking home from church that night—he sensed it would have been along a wooded path. Perhaps like this. The thought of her being afraid of him churned his stomach and he had to let her know there were other options.
She reached out and patted Siebel’s neck. A pink sunset burned over her shoulders. “We can stop. It would be a good idea to rest the horse.” Her eyes didn’t quite meet his. “And then get an early start tomorrow. I haven’t seen my folks in so long, and they’re not expecting me, so I don’t want to startle them in the middle of the night. It would be best to stop.”
He took a moment to let her words sink in. Finally he nodded. “Then we’ll stop.”
C H A P T E R 3 0
__________
Ella blinked into the growing dark as she followed Charlie and his horse to the clearing he’d circled them back to. The rooted and rutted path mellowed into a small grassy pasture. Charlie dropped the lead rope and stepped to the creek which wound and gurgled beneath thick trees.
Returning, he loosened the buckle of the saddle.
“How can I help?” Ella asked.
Charlie glanced around and mentioned something about a fire. “You could gather up some kindling. Pile it right here.” He pointed to a ring of stones that looked like it had been used for that purpose many times. “I’ll get it going and there’ll be some light.”
Saddle hefted aside, he clicked his tongue and called the horse to the creek where the animal drank deeply. Charlie gathered up larger scraps of wood and added it to Ella’s pile of sticks. She brushed the grit from her hands and dress front as he knelt in front of the stones.
He arranged the smallest scraps together, and using the matches from his saddlebag, had it lit. On his knees, he lowered his face and blew gently on the flames, coaxing them brighter and stronger. Ella turned to keep busy. She focused on the necessities. Food. Something to sleep on. Probably best not to go poking around in his stores, so she worked his odd knot that held her own gunnysack to the saddle.
He moved to her side. It took but a moment then he had it free. She set the sack aside and tugged out her blankets. The air was fully black now. Fire crackling a halo in the center of the clearing.
Ella looked around. Where to put herself?
As if sensing her uncertainty, Charlie motioned toward the fire. “That’s gonna be your best bet.”
Clutching up her sack, Ella carried everything nearer to the flames. She set her blankets down, and not wanting to go about making a bed just now—or think of what that entailed—she sat on the pile like a little seat and, feeling the dark all around, watched the flames grow. Charlie carried over a bundled sack and set it near.
“Supper.” Next he brought over a bedroll, insisting she take it as he set it beside her. Ella slowly glanced at it.
“It won’t bite, Ella.”
An easy silence settled as Charlie tethered the horse to a low branch. He spoke soft and low, coaxing the horse’s leg from the ground to examine that hoof.
Charlie lowered the animal’s leg again and stroked his side. Then he glanced around and said, “I’m going to go fetch some water.” With deft hands, he rummaged about in his things and took up the canteen before heading off.
He was gone a lot longer than it would take to fill the jug and he returned with wet hair. His shirt was dry but clung to his skin as if the latter were still damp.
Ella pulled her knees in and gripped her ankles, staring at the fire. A heavy longing for Holland made cracks in any rest the quiet might have offered. Thoughts of home were the thread stitching all things back together. But the thread didn’t feel strong enough.
Charlie leaned toward her and freed the jar of dried apples from the sack. He popped the lid, let her take a handful, then took some for himself. She broke a piece of dark bread and gave him the larger portion. He sat opposite her, and with their simple supper formalized, she nibbled on a piece of sweet apple.
“You look just like the Princess and the Pea sitting there on that perch of yours,” he said.
With a soft chuckle, Ella shifted on the mound of bedding. “I’m not terribly used to sleeping outside.” Feeling more a field mouse than a princess, she unraveled her braid only to work fingers through it and bind it back up with pins from her sack. A swipe at her forehead caught traces of grit there.
It would be nice to see her folks tomorrow somewhat clean. She mulled on the idea a few more minutes. “I’d like to wash up myself.”
He looked at her as if surprised she’d be so brave. “Um.” He peered off to where the creek was. “I promise I’ll sit right here and won’t move.”
Of that she was surprisingly certain. Ella rose and shuffled through her things for soap and rag, as well as the cotton hair wrap Angelina had given her, which could serve as a tow
el. She strode off, and with the night enveloping all around, glanced back at Charlie.
“Would you like me to walk you?” he called.
“No, it’s fine.” But she looked into the blackness that shrouded the creek. Just to follow the sound of the water perhaps…
She took a few steps, but then Charlie was striding toward her and on ahead. Ella’s eyes adjusted to the pale moonlight until she could see her feet. Then Charlie’s hand was on hers.
“There’s an embankment here,” he said. “Watch your step.”
She did, but nearly stumbled on a root.
“This here,” he said when they reached the bottom, “is a little pool. It’s not real deep but it’s freezing. So don’t drown, because I do not want to have to come and save you.”
Ella smiled. “I promise not to drown.”
He turned and pointed the way they’d come. “You can see the fire? That’s where I’ll be.”
“Thank you.”
He strode back up the bank into the clearing where he settled beside dancing flames.
Now. How to do this? With the darkness and not-quite aloneness, she was inspired to stay in corset and petticoat and sponge bathe along the edge.
But mercy that water stung.
She scrubbed vigorously at her arms, savoring the feel of being clean. Hair already pinned up, she ran the cloth over her neck and shoulders, trying not to dampen the lacy straps of her chemise. Water trickled as she washed her face. A chill taking over, she snatched up the scarf and ran it over her skin. She glanced toward the fire where Charlie sat, arms still on his knees. He broke a small stick in two and looked about to throw a piece into the flames when his face turned her way. Shrouded in darkness, Ella didn’t flinch.
Perhaps he’d heard her grow quiet.
“I’m not drowning,” she called out.
His chuckle was soft.
Sliding back into her dress brought the regret at having not fetched a clean skirt and blouse. But with sleeping on the ground, perhaps it was best to leave that for the morning. A few buttons later, she heard a slow, thrashing sound. Something heavy ambling on the opposite side of the creek. She snatched up her boots with stockings still tucked inside and strode up the bank. The circle of the fire pulled her nearer to him and she sat so close that her hip brushed his.
“It’s probably just someone’s pig,” he said calmly. His gaze flicked to the darkness where she’d been, then back to her, lingering.
It took a few minutes to thaw and then she plucked a stocking free of her boot, and turning sideways, poked her bare foot out from beneath her hem, slipping the soft cotton over her toes and past her heel. Charlie inched away some, giving her space. Hands safely hidden beneath her skirt, she tugged the stocking up her calf, sliding it snug above her knee.
His eyes followed the movement.
Her fingers grazed the little garter clips at her thigh, but she wasn’t about to even attempt those with him watching. Fighting a blush, Ella pulled the other stocking free. Her eyes lifted back to Charlie. Oh, why hadn’t she done this out of sight? She couldn’t very well hobble into the dark with one stocking on. As if realizing her struggle, Charlie glanced away. Ella slipped her toes into the other stocking and tugged it up that bare calf. Finished, she straightened skirts and forced herself to tuck her hands in her lap.
Charlie glanced back to her, his eyes taking her in for such a long quiet moment, her heart began to pound. Then he blinked quickly, picked up his bread and tore a piece.
She made sure her skirts were righted.
“Don’t worry, Ella,” he said quietly as he stood. “You’re modest.”
He moved to the opposite side of the fire and sat, not looking at her.
Minutes passed in silence. Every so often, he circled a hand around his wrists. A habit, she’d once thought, but now she knew why.
Every muscle hurt as she rose. Ella rummaged around in her box of medicines and pulled out the salve. Knowing it wisest, she removed the lid and simply handed it to him.
“Charlie. Why do they do this to you?” She settled opposite him again. “Why the bars, those chains?”
It wasn’t until he’d rubbed the ointment into his skin and placed the lid back on the tin that she realized he wasn’t going to answer that. Water gurgled in the creek, and around that, the gentle sound of Siebel tugging up grass kept an easy, chomping rhythm. Wind rustled along the treetops, all the sounds ebbing and flowing together until his gentle voice rose over it all.
“My sister was a flyer. A trapeze artist.”
Ella lifted her head.
“So was Lucca, her husband. But he was an addict. Liquor, opium—whatever he could get.” Charlie tugged a suspender from one shoulder, then the other, letting them hang loose. “He pushed her too hard, too soon. Some say her death was an accident, but I say it was something that could have been prevented.”
Ella thought back to the show under the Big Top. The way the flyers flipped from one swinging bar to another—a woman trusting a man to catch her. The clap of hand to wrist. Flesh to flesh. The poof of powder and the cheer of the audience. A feat of strength and perfection that was the careful precision the circus balanced on. She recalled a net below, but grief coiled to think of it failing Holland’s mother. Of everything failing her.
“When Mimi fell, she was gone instantly, they say. Someone came and found me and it’s all a blur. We realized that Lucca was gone. Everyone searched, but…nothing. I thought he’d taken the baby with him, but then rumor spread that she was with the Madame.”
“And her father—?”
“Walked away a rich man. I assume he fled the country, though I don’t know. Holland was already gone—hidden away. And I’d been baited by Madame and her cohort.”
“Baited?”
“I’m not certain but Holland may have just been a means to an end for her. Which was why I didn’t ask anyone to help me. They would have fought for her, but it would have cost them their livelihoods and Madame would have just searched for another way.”
“What do you mean?”
“I, uh…it’s—” He ran a hand down his lightly-bristled jaw a few times. “It’s hard to explain delicately.”
When she assured him she didn’t mind, he blew out a slow breath and studied her a few quiet moments, eyes unflinching as if weighing a heavy decision. Then he spoke. Told her the story. Of wealthy women who didn’t shy away from scandal and how he’d stepped into the middle of it all. He told her of a brothel and then weeks spent in a hotel room. Hours upon hours with the needle because he’d refused to give himself any other way. She was nearly speechless when he finished.
“The Madame protects her assets,” he continued. “Whether it’s keeping scissors out of Angelina’s reach or making sure that Arnold always gets brought to his stand on time, she’s very protective of what she can make a profit on. And because the nature of my contract is much different than theirs, I knew the Madame would have been unhappy to find you in my tent. With me.”
Her jaw fell a little.
“I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”
“Would she have thought—?”
“She would have thought what she wanted because to her nothing should be given. Not if it could have a fee. And I think she’s been waiting for me to defy her on that.” His brow unfurrowed, glance tentative. She was surely staring at him because his mouth quirked up the tiniest bit. “I’ve shocked you.”
Ella fought to keep her expression as quiet as possible. “No. I appreciate your honesty. Please don’t be afraid,” she said, meaning it.
With slow fingers, he peeled at the bark of a stick, flicking the bits into the fire, then finally the stick itself. The coals popped and he wiped hands to pants. “What I hate is that the women there were surely there for many reasons. I had opportunity at my fingertips to choose another way, but…may I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“Would you be able to envision another way for yourself? I
f you were desperate?”
Ella searched his eyes. What did she see there? A pained and unbridled empathy. “I—I don’t know. I’ve never thought of it before.”
“If you thought of it now.”
Surely the answer lived in her soul, but even that felt like a well that went far, far, far down within her. Even the longest stretch of rope felt as if it would come up dry. “I don’t know, Charlie. Why do you ask?”
Reaching over, he pulled a blanket nearer and unfolded it. It wasn’t until he’d settled onto the dark wool that he spoke. “Because I can still see their faces.”
His hand brushed against the cuff of his sleeve, agitating the skin as if it itched.
“You have compassion,” she said softly.
But he looked at her as if all he had was sorrow. “The only one I could make a difference for was Holland.” He rubbed his hand across the cuff of his sleeve again, pushing it up his forearm.
“Surely you made more of a difference than you realize.”
He shook his head, looking doubtful. But she saw such strength in the man before her and water gurgled into that deep, deep well. Wetting the rope—breathing a whisper of an answer to her soul.
Brow turning pensive, he lowered his sleeve, but the images—the drawings—still flooded her mind.
To take such a burden upon himself. She hadn’t even known such a choice was possible prior to a few days ago. Not to this extent. Until working for Dr. Penske, she’d never heard of a tattoo, let alone seen a man who was covered with them. Her attention was lost in it all until Charlie reached over and brushed a bit of hair away from her neck.
His touch having shot an electric current through her, Ella struggled to speak, but the truth rallied. “I am proud of you.” She thought of all the names the crowd called him. Declarations that he was less-than.
She’d had such words thrown her way. Disgraceful. Unworthy. Ruined.
“Ella, I spend some time in very aristocratic circles. And those people would be mortified to discover who sat at their dinner table with his smart tie and his top hat. I know that Mr. Graven will do anything to keep my secret for that very reason, and I know that a father would surely never give me permission to marry his daughter. I know all of these things. But I’m going to hope anyway.” Charlie moistened his lips. “Maybe I don’t look like I should, but I’d like to think that this…” he pressed a hand to his shirt where it covered his abdomen, “isn’t too much for God.”
