The Fortune Teller's Fate

by Audrey Berger Welz

  “My father took several steps toward the bear. The honey was dripping off the end of the stick he was carrying. The bear immediately forgot anything else existed. He dropped the dog, walked over to the honey-dipped stick, and started licking it. The little dog ran to its trainer, who scooped him up and took him away.”

  Vladimir laughed. “It just took the finesse of a man with a little more experience. That’s what my father said to me, and that’s why I always stay close by. My years of experience have averted many a mishap, but Marvin is quick, and he thinks ahead. For example, Marvin knows that a zebra spends sixty percent of his day eating or looking for food. He also knows that the animal does not have the disposition of a horse and needs to stay calm; so the performers are instructed to never charge after the zebra. At the end of each day’s performance, the roustabouts lay out a bale of hay and oats for the zebra, and when he is finished eating, Roman feeds the zebra a bag of carrots for a treat. So what did the zebra do with its freedom? He followed his daily routine, and Roman was able to get ahold of the reins while the zebra happily chomped on its carrots. Yes, nine out of ten times Marvin is right, and because of it today, once again, an accident was avoided.”

  ¯¯¯

  Marvin had to stay sharp in every sense of the word. He had to be aware of everything and everyone under the big top, and as ringmaster, he also had to look sharp. Image was everything, and the ringmaster was the embodiment of the circus. Though in recent years Marvin might have been forced to comb through thrift shops for his suits rather than buying them new, he still did his best to keep up with the latest in European fashions. As he put it, “The circus has to maintain its veneer.”

  He knew he was lucky to have a job at all. Everywhere we turned, hard times were reflected back at us. “When I look around at what others are suffering through, Donatella,” he said, “sometimes I’m uncomfortable. We have so much. I try to stay grateful.”

  Vladimir liked the dark side of Marvin, which followed him like a shadow. “He’ll protect what he loves, Donatella, and that means the circus and you. Don’t ever forget that.”

  I could tell Marvin was burdened by his thoughts. I knew what questions he was asking himself—What do I do with my love for Donatella and my love for the circus? Who am I without one or the other?—but I did not tell him that. I could not be the one to wade through the river of his feelings. All his answers had to come from him.

  Still, I hoped he’d find them himself…and soon.

  ¯¯¯

  Marvin wasn’t the only one at the circus struggling with matters of the heart. Trying to come to grips with Spade’s death, Roman had begun dating one after another of the circus’s trick riders. He clearly lusted after the girls, but I’m not certain that he liked them. Still, every night after the show, when we gathered to share our stories by the fire, he’d take the hand of his most recent flame and make a point of displaying his affection. It fell flat on me. We had very little to say to each other. I think I reminded Roman of Spade, and he didn’t want to feel the pain.

  ¯¯¯

  Like many of us at the Circus of the Queens, Marvin lost himself in cards. He loved playing poker almost as much as his mentor. He believed in fate, and recently he had become interested in astrology. “Didn’t fate lead me to Vladimir and the Circus of the Queens?” Marvin told Bella, who in turn told me. “Maybe it’s fate that delivered this dilemma to me, too.”

  It wasn’t easy for Bella to be objective. She knew what a void Marvin would leave behind for Vladimir, who had already lost too much. Bella was a lover of love, though. For her, love trumped all.

  In the past, Marvin had occasionally sought council from Ouija boards, tarot cards, and even me. This time, though, he couldn’t ask me to use my gifts—I was the subject he wanted to discuss. Instead, he found a different route.

  ¯¯¯

  The night before Harsita and I were to return to the farm, Indian summer had set in. The leaves were waiting for permission to start changing color, but the heat wave was giving their branches a different set of instructions. It was too hot to sit by a fire with the others, so Marvin and I excused ourselves. I could tell he was working up the courage to tell me something.

  “Like Roman,” he began, when we were on our own in his tent, trying to cool ourselves down with iced tea, “I tried talking to the lions. When that didn’t work, I went to Ali Baba. Poor Ali Baba, Donatella—I rode him so long, I was afraid for his back. My question is simple, but the answer is far from it. Should I stay with the circus, where I’m desperately needed, or catch the next train to Savannah to be with you? I think I’m needed there, too.

  “None of the animals could tell me what to do. So I began talking with Roman. I must be in trouble, I thought, if I’m asking Roman, of all people, about my love life! Surprisingly, though, I learned more from him than I thought was possible. Donatella, my stomach ached each time we spoke of love. I could feel his pain, the pain from losing Spade. She left a big hole in his heart. I don’t know if it will ever fully heal.”

  The words sizzled, and Marvin’s desire grew from a spark to a flame.

  When we were through, Marvin took a deep breath to regain his composure. Then he took my hand. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about my world and what’s truly important to me. And more than being ringmaster, when it comes to my deepest desire, who and what I want in my life, I always return to you.” He kissed my hands and held them to his face. “I want you, my beautiful Russian ballerina fortune-teller. You and your impeccable manners and the three languages you speak. I want to be with the soul who has the ability to see what is special in everyone, even me. Donatella, I’d like to go with you to Savannah. Will you take this devoted old fool?”

  Chapter 43

  That night I dreamed of the Russian women in my life, and their men. I gathered bouquets of lilacs with my mother and watched my father kiss her when she sent me into the kitchen and they thought I wasn’t looking. I saw Irina’s eyes shine like sapphires when she said yes to Colonel Butler’s proposal of marriage. And I watched Lillya galloping through a forest in the Loire Valley, standing tall on her saddle, Laurent seeing her from afar but not yet knowing who she was. Love wears so many faces. The thought floated through my dreams. I turned onto my stomach and continued to drift until streaks of morning sun shone through the canvas of Marvin’s tent, and I gently woke him up.

  Harsita and I said our goodbyes. Marvin would join us in two months, when he’d had time to put all of his management work in order. “Vladimir is doing his best to be happy for us,” he wrote a few days later, “but he feels as if he’s watching his circus be disassembled piece by piece. Keeping it together is becoming harder and harder for him, but he believes it’s his duty to continue his family’s legacy. He feels a deep responsibility to his mother and his father, who entrusted him with their life’s work. He does it for them, for Bella, and for the queens.”

  Bella, Lucky, and Ann Marie also sent letters, with news about Diamond Claire, who was beginning to make a name for herself. “Reading Diamond Claire’s letters is a great escape,” Lucky wrote.

  When we heard from her, we traveled to worlds unknown, and for a few moments we lived a life inhabited by famous people and movie stars. Was this what it was like for Vladimir when he was young?

  That Gershwin fellow she had mentioned before seemed to be gaining a reputation. That association was good for Diamond.

  Harsita and I tried to find out more about Emily and Bess. After my first letter to him, Big Jim had refused to accept any others. “A deal is a deal,” he scrawled on the back of a postcard bearing a hand-tinted photograph of his circus’s big top, “and this one is done. Little Bess seems sad and lonely, but she still knows how to put on a good show. Say goodbye, Donatella, for this is the last letter from you that I’ll open. If you have anything more to say, contact my manager Larry, but I don’t think he will go out of his way to h
elp you.”

  I read the card to Harsita. He turned away from me, claiming a gnat had flown into his eye, and left the room. My heart ached for him.

  “Don’t give up,” I told him as we sat on the porch that evening. “I won’t. You never know what time will bring. Remember, Big Jim’s a gambler and gamblers make mistakes, and when he does we’ll be waiting in the wings. It may take years, but I can be patient when it concerns matters of the heart.”

  Emily was alone in a Mississippi zoo. Happily, the trainer didn’t seem to be a bad man, and he took the time to answer my letter. “She’ll be fed and cleaned, and I promise she won’t be abused,” he wrote.

  I’m certain our Emily was confined to what was the equivalent of a jail cell. When I thought about it, I got so angry. Why hadn’t Vladimir told me what he planned to do? I might have been able to help, but how? Eventually I came up with what seemed to me like a pretty good solution. I hoped one day I could use it, but for now, restoring the farm to its former glory was the task at hand. And alongside Marvin and Harsita, that’s what I’d set myself to do.

  Harsita and I worked hard every day, as did all the men who’d come in response to our signs. By the end of that first year, we had constructed a dorm-style sleeping area with a large kitchen in an old barn on the property. The men preferred it. I put in an outdoor shower and gave them access to the indoor plumbing on the big house’s first floor. Polly kept her old room. It was home to her. No one received much in the way of money, though the workers had all the food they could eat. We all labored hard to keep a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs, grateful for what we had and what we had achieved.

  I deeded each of my three managers—who’d had almost nothing when they arrived—five acres of land, with the stipulation that they continue to work for me. All three built homes where their wives toiled in their private gardens and their children played. On one of the five acres of each manager, we pooled our resources of labor and farmed together so we could make the most out of what we had and each manager could make a little extra profit on top of their wages. Given a sense of ownership, the men worked with pride.

  Harsita and I had put all this in place before Marvin joined us in Savannah. I realized that I was more resourceful than I had ever given myself credit for.

  ¯¯¯

  When Marvin arrived, almost to the day he had predicted, he brought a surprise—Roman.

  Roman had broken up with the last in his line of equestrians, and his talks with Marvin had made it obvious that his feelings for Spade were still unresolved. He needed to come to the place where Spade was buried, to be in her presence. This made me happy; until he dealt with the hole that Spade’s loss had left, he would always be restless, never finding true contentment.

  “Donatella,” he said, “I’m sorry if I was distant the last time I saw you, but I just couldn’t look you in the face.”

  I gave Marvin and Roman a tour of the mansion. Seeing their transparent surprise at how grand it was, I realized that they’d suspected me of romantic embellishment when I described the place.

  Polly brought them each a plate of ham and potatoes, and later one of her famous desserts, sweet potato pie. After the meal, Harsita took Marvin out into the fields and introduced him to the workers. At first I don’t think they knew quite what to make of him, but he was a tall, strapping man with large hands that might prove useful, so they accepted him happily.

  Roman and I walked in the opposite direction; I’d told Marvin I wanted a little private time with the boy. “Let’s go see Spade,” I said, taking Roman by the hand. “I think you’ll like where she’s buried.”

  Leaving the glare of the fields of soybeans and peanuts behind, we walked in the cool shade of live oak trees, ghostly Spanish moss dripping from their limbs. Beneath us, chicory and the last of the wild daisies danced in the sunlight along a path that lead to a black wrought-iron gate, with a big B, for Butler, at the center of the scrolled arch above it. Here was where generations of the Butler family were buried, including my dear Irina.

  At a clearing on the other side, a few white and purple irises grew wild, and the honeysuckle I had planted scrambled over a small fence that separated Spade’s burial place from the others. It’s not that I wanted her to be alone—I thought I might be buried here too—but since she wasn’t a Butler, it seemed more respectful.

  Behind Spade’s headstone, I’d set a pole with a piece of wood attached to the top on which Diamond had painted a rainbow. On the headstone, Vladimir had carved the words, “To the one who believed in chasing rainbows, may you rest in peace.”

  Roman stood looking at the grave silently for a few minutes. “Donatella,” he said finally, turning to me, “you might have wondered what happened to the planter box and flowers you gave to Spade all those years ago. Every year she bought new seeds of the flowers she’d chosen to fill it with and tended them with care. It was one of her most prized possessions. The day after she died, I took the box. She loved the flowers so, and I knew I would care for them the way she would. I couldn’t bear the thought of them shriveling and dying, too. I hope you’ll give me your permission to keep the box. This spring I planted the leftover seeds. They’re in full bloom again. I think the zinnias are my favorite.”

  Seeing that Roman’s eyes had begun to well up, I took that as my sign to leave. “Just follow the path back to the house when you are finished,” I said. “Take your time. And, of course, the box is yours.”

  ¯¯¯

  Roman found me that evening just after sunset as I sat on the porch, gazing out over the darkening fields and listening to a distant whip-poor-will. His hazel eyes reflecting the light of the lanterns that hung from the porch columns; he looked newly invigorated, as if a great weight had been lifted from his heart. “Donatella, it was so strange,” he said. “I was ready to declare my love to Spade, as I had planned on doing the night she died, and I asked God if he could tell me if Spade already knew what was in my heart.

  “Just as I laid out this question, I saw something shiny on the ground. I bent down to look for it, but it was gone. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, so I stood up. And there, only several feet in front of me, were a mama deer and her little fawn, so young her legs were still a little wobbly. She saw me staring and froze, but before she ran away, she looked at me the same way Spade used to do. Life goes on, Donatella, and so does love, though both are fragile. I’ve been so angry with God and the world that I couldn’t see what was in front of me. Spade knew my heart long before she died, and I believe her heart was already one with mine. I can’t begin to tell you the peace that knowing this gives me.”

  The front screen door creaked, and Marvin and Harsita came out onto the porch, carrying tall glasses and a pitcher of mint juleps. “This is some place you inherited, Donatella,” Marvin said, a gleam in his eye. “My imagination is running wild with ideas for it. I know there’s a lot of hard work to be done, but maybe we can all write down our thoughts and decide which dreams we want to realize first when better times return.”

  “Count me in,” said Harsita.

  “I’ve got some ideas of my own. I hope I’ll be here, too.” Roman raised his glass. “To Donatella’s beautiful farm, and to dreams.”

  Me, I just smiled. I already knew the dream I wanted one day to bring to life.

  Chapter 44

  January 1, 1932

  Jackson, Mississippi

  Dear Donatella,

  Happy New Year! I start off the year sharing good news, Ann Marie is pregnant again. We spent Christmas here in Jackson. Kyle dressed up like Santa Claus after the show, and we gave candy to all of the children. This depression we are in seems as if it will never end, but happy moments like these, when I get to share joy instead of sorrow, are like spoonfuls of sugar, sweetening what has been so difficult to swallow, and help me to hold onto promise. Our dear Spade has been gone three years, an
d I can’t say that I miss her any less.

  I embrace you, my friend, and wish you and Marvin the very best.

  Always,

  Bella

  January 8, 1932

  Butler Farm, porch swing facing east

  Dear Bella,

  Congratulate Ann Marie for me! I wonder what gifts the newest member of our unconventional clan will bring to this world. Babies always astonish me. They’re born with a power they are unaware of—innocence—and they have the capacity to take us back to a time when life was so hopeful and fresh.

  Marvin, Harsita, and I rang in the new year with a lot of quiet resolutions, and one that will remain left unspoken.

  Yours truly,

  Donatella

  March 1, 1932

  Tampa, Fla.

  Dear Donatella,

  Kyle wakes up by six every morning. He says it’s to catch a little quiet time. Following in Marvin’s footsteps, he acquired a hammock too. “Rocking for five minutes is like a twenty-minute nap,” he says. When he’s done, he begins his paperwork before the circus starts waking up. It gives him time to play catch with Kyle Jr. He adores that boy! It also gives him the opportunity to sneak off for fifteen minutes of alone time with Ann Marie while I watch Kyle Jr. in the afternoon.

  He has taken on many of Marvin’s past responsibilities. He helps Vladimir prepare his books and figures out the workers’ weekly schedules. He hands out the checks, which has made him even more popular. And when Ann Marie goes to make the beds, she finds them already done. Kyle insists it’s Sir Charles who does it. He thinks the world of that horse.