Joanne Bischof

by The Lady

  He looked past her and must have spotted her mother when his head dipped in a quiet greeting. Ella took a small step back. Overwhelmed, she turned to leave.

  “If you’ve ever a need of anything…”

  She paused and timidly glanced back.

  “I’d be at your service.” He pulled his hat off, silver hair standing on end, and pressed his hat to his heart. “Always. No matter how great.”

  The back of her throat burned and she barely whispered out a thank you.

  He moved down a step, and then another. His gait uneven as if he’d earned a limp over the years. “An’ I’m…I’m so sorry.” He moistened his lips, eyes glassy. “I’m so sorry about the boy.”

  Ella nodded fiercely, blinking back tears. “He was a sweet one.” And he’d been hers for two whole hours. Bundled against her snug and careful. His tiny hand in hers—little chest heaving for air that wouldn’t come no matter how hard she prayed.

  The reverend’s furrowed brow held conviction. “He took after his mama.”

  She pressed her lips together and could only tip her head in thanks as nary a word would slip past her throat.

  She gave him a gentle wave, then turned and walked for what felt like forever to her mother. But never had her steps felt more free. Realizing she was trembling, Ella slipped her arms through her mother’s. Mama reached over and squeezed Ella, kissed her cheek, and they walked on.

  Letting out a deep sigh, Ella leaned into the strength beside her and closed her eyes. She felt utterly spent. But in its wake was rushing forward a joy she didn’t know could live inside her. It hit her chest so fiercely her skin tingled.

  Ella felt a smile surface. And now? She didn’t know.

  But she thought of a sunny meadow. And lions. Wondering if the man with a heart for them would be singing just now this Sunday morning. The thought of it about did her in. A warmth that went down to her heart and pulled at it, making it hurt. Wanting to hear that sound again…just once more…she clung tighter to her mother’s arm.

  Holland was going to be one tomorrow. Ella wondered if there would be music or dancing. Perhaps even a cake. She smiled at all the mischievous things Charlie would be up to. More than anything, she wished to be there. To hold Holland again. See how she had grown. To see Charlie’s face—the joy that would live there that very day. For his little girl was safe…and he would be free.

  C H A P T E R 3 6

  __________

  “The cake?” Charlie asked, shoving a stack of dirty dishes off to the side of the tent.

  “It’s there.”

  “And everyone?”

  Regina’s dark eyes twinkled. “They’re all coming.”

  “All right, I’ll bring her along.”

  Regina patted his arm and told him she would see him shortly. They were all to meet at the picnic area Charlie had reserved that dawn, far from Coney Island’s bathing pavilions and the bustling Iron Pier. Earlier, he’d rather officially marked off a tree-shaded section of grass—near to the beach, but far from the hordes of vacationers who dotted the sand like seagulls.

  When Regina was gone, Charlie searched for the beaded necklace Evangeline had made Holland for the occasion. But for the life of him, didn’t remember where he’d stashed it. He shuffled through a crate of Holland’s belongings, tugging out socks and dresses and little ruffly things that the sisters always sewed for her and he was yet to know what to do with.

  He plucked out the necklace and set it aside, then his hands stilled at the bottom of the crate. He lifted out her yellow sweater. It was too small now, so there was no reason to keep it, but his fingers grazed his uneven stitches on the middle button and he recalled how it had dangled loose after that nurse had nearly torn it clean off in her haste. That nervous little nurse who kept giving him odd glances and acting like such a know-it-all. Charlie smiled to himself, the melancholy overwhelming.

  Holland babbled at him and he snapped to attention.

  The baby was on the floor where he’d left her, but she’d crawled over to a tin of cookies and now sat with it in front of her, a half-eaten cookie in each hand.

  “What are you doing, my dear!” Charlie knelt, tucked the treats away, and slid them on the shelf.

  Holland started to cry, a garbled sound with cookies already in her mouth.

  “Hey.” He pointed a finger at her sternly.

  She stopped, but her bottom lip quivered.

  “I said no.”

  Crumbs were all over her birthday dress as she hung her head. Her new white stockings poked out from beneath the blue checked fabric and jolly red hem. Two front pockets that had been cut and sewn like tulips. Regina’s handiwork.

  Chuckling, Charlie scooped her up and did a little dance, turning them in a gentle circle. Her hand came around and gripped his shoulder, her other at his neck as she held on. She chewed her mouthful of cookie and he kissed her sticky, plump cheek.

  “Happy birthday, Little Miss.” He plopped her in the center of his bed then climbed inside. “Now, if you’ll just wait a second while I change, we can be off.” He doffed his good top hat and yanked off his velvet coat, leaving the costume shirt. Back down the crates he searched for her shoes, then it took him a few moments to fasten them up the side. The buttons were so small and his fingers so big, it was really unfair. Holland giggled as she watched. In jest Charlie asked her where he’d put the button hook but she just pointed to the tin of cookies and said, “peaz?”

  He grinned as he slid her onto his arm. “How about we go celebrate.” He grabbed his father’s tattered top hat from the trunk and put it on as he walked out.

  Outside the tent, the early September sun was hot, but the whoosh of a distant roller coaster jangled along the seaside breeze. He lowered Holland into the new little wagon, painted a deep plum purple—her birthday present. He’d padded the wagon with a blanket, worried she might fall over, and when he pulled it into motion, she did just that, tipping back into the soft bedding. Charlie grinned, and with wide, uncertain eyes, Holland sat back up.

  “Thatta girl.”

  He pulled the wagon across the noisy midway where here and there workers and performers waved out to them. A few happy birthdays in Holland’s honor. Across the paved pathways and away from the bustle of the promenade and sideshows, he led them, the sound of laughter and shouts fading into the crash and swell of the ocean. The air grew cooler and a seagull dipped and swooped overhead. Still walking, Charlie pulled Holland and her wagon to a shallow grassy knoll that overlooked the water, far away from the noise and bustle. He could see Angelina and her sisters, all the others. Evangeline wore a bright beaded necklace that matched Holland’s and Danielle waved cheerily.

  Blankets lay scattered all around and he creaked the wagon to a standstill where he lifted Holland out and plopped her in the center of it all. She spotted the cake and crawled toward it. Falling to his knees, Charlie lunged and caught her by her little shoe with a laugh. Evangeline came along and swept the cake up, moving it out of reach. He pulled Holland back across the blanket and the girl giggled.

  She giggled more as Charlie helped her open gifts. All kinds of girlish things that delighted Holland and the sisters alike. Then there was a tin whistle from Arnold and a wooden box for keepsakes that Little Joe had tied with a bow. Charlie heartily thanked everyone. Regina passed out plates of cake and Angelina poured glasses of frosty lemonade. Charlie had never seen such a feast. Never seen such a pretty little girl as the one smooshing frosting between her fingers and a bit in his hair whenever he got too close. He kissed Holland’s hand and made a growling sound as he nibbled at the sweetness. She laughed a deep belly laugh that shot down to his toes.

  Then suddenly, the salty wind lifted his hat, tossing it over him and into the dry grass where it tumbled toward the shore. Charlie jumped up and ran, laughing at the sudden burst of cheers and whistles behind him. Which made him glance back to see Evangeline and Danielle sprinting after him—ruffled skirts free around their bare feet
. He knew they only followed in jest, but it had him running faster all the same. Down the hill the hat tumbled, farther and farther. Their strides were no match for his, and he got there first, plucked the hat up out of the sand, and with a shake, set it back on his head. Breathless, the two sisters made a show of snapping their fingers in disappointment. Reaching them, Charlie draped an arm around each of their shoulders as they walked back to the grass and blankets.

  “You two can be very troublesome when you want to be,” he panted. “What would your husbands say?”

  They each smiled up at him, their faces shining.

  From his spot in the shade, Arnold said, “I think I need to get me one of those hats.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “One day,” Angelina said from where she sat on the patched quilt, “you are going to lose that hat for good.”

  “And then where would we be?” Charlie sank down on the other side of Holland, the shade cooling him from the sprint.

  Angelina gave him a knowing smile.

  “What exactly is the hoopla with this hat?” Little Joe asked.

  Angelina looked at him slyly, beginning the words to the tale that Charlie had heard told all his life. “Some say it is luck. Others…magic.”

  Charlie held up a finger. “But I say it is…”

  “Love,” Regina finished, for they all believed the same.

  Beside her sister, Evangeline pulled Holland into her lap. “Tell us the story again.”

  Holland rubbed her face against Evangeline’s pink dress and sighed. Charlie could tell the baby was getting tired, sitting there in the warm, speckled sunlight, eyelids heavy. No doubt she would be asleep soon. Which reminded him that he had somewhere to be with evening not long off. One last show. The thought filled him with both melancholy and joy, binding his chest tight.

  “I’m not really much of a storyteller—” Charlie had to duck when crumbs of cake flew his way. “All right, all right. That wasn’t true.”

  “I will tell the story.” Regina held up a stout hand. “Because I was there.” She pressed a finger to her lips, making a show of thinking.

  Charlie watched her, secretly hungry for the memories.

  “He was standing beside the Big Top, your father.” Her dark, sparkling eyes found Charlie. “He’d just finished cleaning up after the matinee. It was a cold day and I was walking with your mother. She was new to the circus. Her first week. A Romani beauty, she was.” Regina’s face went wistful and Charlie squinted down, overwhelmed by the image of her in his mind.

  “We were talking about something—that I can’t remember,” Regina continued. “One of the shows. I’d been working the dressing room, and of course she was a performer. One of the flyers. She was so talented at what she did and so beautiful. And kind. I remember she was wiping rosin from her fingers…” Regina made a gliding motion with her small hand. “But then the wind came. Just snatched that hat right off that man’s head.” Her hand floated across the air, growing lower. “Until it fell.” She looked from Holland to Charlie. “Right at your mother’s feet.”

  “And they say…” Charlie arched an eyebrow, missing the two of them so bad it hurt.

  “That they were married at the very next town.”

  The ache grew deeper as he remembered the life his parents had shared with him and Mimi. It had been beautiful and he was blessed to have been part of it. He looked down at Holland who sighed in her sleep.

  “So be it luck…or magic….” Regina continued.

  “Or love.” Charlie rose and took Holland. “That’s ‘the end.’” His throat smarted so he swallowed against it. Because he could still remember Ella’s wide eyes as he’d taken the hat from his head and set it on hers. Lantern light golden on her hair. Her small hand so perfect inside his. Perhaps she didn’t find the hat herself. Perhaps the wind didn’t blow it to her feet. But it was hers all the same.

  C H A P T E R 3 7

  __________

  Crickets chirped—a sweet fast sound in the night air.

  Sitting beside her sister on the porch swing, Ella’s bare feet barely grazed the porch as the wind kept the swing creaking. Little Beth was asleep. A bowl of beans rested on Ella’s lap and she trimmed them as Beth slouched against her. Ella kept her fingers moving, savoring the quiet, simple work of evening. Thankful for her family and all that God had given her. Missing Charlie. Missing Holland.

  Missing her little one.

  As the air cooled, so slowed the sound of the crickets. Papa stood out near the windmill, watching the sunset. Mama had taken the boys in to wash up for bed, and while Ella had thought about following them in, she couldn’t resist setting the beans aside and easing Beth down to the striped cushion. Rising, Ella left the porch and headed toward her father.

  She stood beside him for several moments, perhaps too quiet when he cleared his throat.

  “Where is my girl who is so full of questions?”

  Ella smiled. She’d made herself keep constant wonderings to herself this week. “I think about him all the time.”

  “Do you now?” Amusement lifted his voice. “I dare say, we’ve all taken notice. It’s a special man indeed to do that to my daughter.” He winked but there was a depth to his words, his expression, that made Ella know just what he meant.

  Across the sunset, a hawk dipped then rose. The windmill clattered a breeze, the iron groaning as it turned west. The air warm and dry. Her father was watching her with a curious light in his eyes.

  “Did you know who Charlie was?” she asked. “And I don’t mean about the lions.” A question she’d never posed before.

  Arms folded over his chest, he thought on that, then dipped a nod. “I knew who he was.”

  “You did?” Ella studied his profile. “He told you?”

  After a few more spins of the windmill, he nodded again.

  Moistening her lips, Ella looked off at the sunset—the mountains an indigo silhouette against a pink and gray sky. She tried to picture the pair of them talking that day in the barn—all Charlie might have shared.

  Her father shifted worn boots. “He was quite a character.” It didn’t come out as an insult.

  “Yes, he was.”

  “He had a lot to say that day. A fair bit to show me.”

  Had he truly been so bold? “What did you think of that?” Ella whispered.

  Her papa ran a weathered hand over his mouth. “It was quite shocking…but…” He dipped his head. “It was honest.” He glanced sideways at Ella. “There’s something to be said for honesty. Especially when a man doesn’t have to be.”

  Ella squeezed his hand. They stood without speaking as she pondered that. “Did he ask you anything?”

  “He asked me a great many things.” Her father ran thick fingers over her own. “He asked me to take good care of you.” A sad smile. “And of course I promised that I would.”

  Though he had already told her that, she held that thought close. Missing Charlie terribly.

  “He asked me what I knew about farming,” Papa said.

  “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”

  His smile turned to a grin. “It would seem that boy doesn’t know a plow from a bag of seed.”

  Ella laughed—everything she loved about Charlie flooding her chest. “I don’t know what to do, Papa. I want so desperately to go and find him.”

  He looped her arm through his own, patting her sleeve. “That’s a big change. Have you talked to the Lord about it?”

  “I don’t know what to say. What if God says no?”

  He chuckled. “I doubt that. He’d have a good time following you there. The creator of the earth is rather adventurous.”

  Ella smiled. Her father tugged on one pant leg and then the other, then he sank down to the earth. She followed. A calloused hand took her own and he held tight.

  “Can…can we also pray that he’s all right?” She knew where they kept him tonight. His body, his heart. “That he’s not afraid. Not in pain.”


  Papa nodded. And with his strong hand over hers, showed her how to say hello to the good Lord. First a greeting, then a heart of gratitude. Then they sat quiet as the windmill rattled overhead. Papa squeezed her fingers and Ella said what she needed to say. Her voice was awful small so surely Papa couldn’t hear, but he held tight, steady beside her all the same.

  __________

  Torchlight glowed, and though the canvas tent rustled, nary a breeze came in to sweep comfort against this misery.

  Charlie knelt on the stiff wagon boards, giving the crowd the display it paid for, and tried to rally his strength. This night need not be hard. It was his last of all. He should feel joy. Nothing but release. So why was he doubled forward, nearly trembling? Perhaps it was the air hovering stagnant over a crowd much more dense than ever. This city of sin that never slept? He was feeling the very heartbeat of it now as their voices ebbed and flowed about him, a few drunken slurs rising over everything else. Even breathing was hard in the hot stench of sweat and revelry. Something warm and wet hit his chest and he didn’t even want to think about what it was.

  Charlie laced his fingers tight and peered out over the masses.

  Rock of Ages…

  Movement caught his eye. Strange, since the whole tent seemed to jostle and swell. But this flash of color was different. A woman edged nearer, neither in amusement nor fear, but in serene silence. Her face was pale. Stunning. And he knew her the moment he saw her. The courtesan who had turned for him that day under the dome of light. Here on Coney, they were but a short train ride from that very establishment.

  Her lashes were white blonde, full lips stained crimson, clear purpose in her eyes. A green satin gown cinched up her bodice. Few courtesans were adorned so finely and he knew he’d been offered the best. Her windswept curls were a flame of red. Skin nearly translucent. She tugged off a black traveling glove so it was with the softest, palest fingers that she reached through the bars, touching him.

  “We heard what had been done to you.” Her eyes brimmed with tears as if she’d been holding them back ever since. One fell and she swiped it away. “I saw the posters. The circus advertising such a man. And I hoped it would be you.”