He’s taught Kyle Jr. all about horses and put him up on a pony. The boy can barely run without falling, but he can ride.
It’s getting late, so I’ll save what’s left for another time.
Your devoted friend,
Bella
March 12, 1932
Butler Farm, porch swing facing east
Dear Kyle,
Bella tells me what a wonderful job you are doing. Marvin and I are so appreciative to know a good man is there to help Vladimir.
I am thrilled for you and Ann Marie, but still, during times like these, I’m certain the good news comes with its own set of worries. Every father in this country shares your fear, especially when no one knows what the next day will bring.
I’m here to tell you, don’t worry. As long as I have this farm, you and your family will always have shelter and food, a stable for Sir Charles, and a yard for your children.
You listen to me. No worries!
Always,
Donatella
June 24, 1932
Orlando, Fla.
Dear Donatella,
I’m enjoying the audiences, though they have become much smaller. I had forgotten what it is like to be the ringmaster, but it feels so natural, like a gift that I was born with. After all, generations of circus people inhabit me. I still have to leave the tent when “The Amazing Renaud Brothers” enter the ring. I can’t think of any act replacing my dear Spade, but every once in a while when no one is around I climb the platform and take a few steps to help me clear my head. Not a word, Donatella.
Bella misses you, and so do the girls.
Your friend,
Vladimir
July 24, 1932
Memphis, Tenn.
Dear Donatella,
After a night of labor, Ann Marie gave birth to a healthy little girl at 7:23 in the morning on July 23, with eyes as deep and dark as her namesake’s. We have named her Scarlett Spade Vronsky Erhard. Ann Marie was quick to remind me that with only three queens, we’ve been a little lopsided. Now a fourth is back in play, and so is my Vladimir, who once again had a reason to pass out playing cards to all his friends. I am hopeful that this is a new beginning.
Bella
September 2, 1932
Winston-Salem, NC
Dear Donatella,
I worry about Ann Marie. Though she is happy in her marriage and thrilled with Kyle Jr. and that new baby of hers, she still has difficulty getting through the day. I try to help, and I babysit. But sometimes I wonder when my own life will begin.
Diamond’s another case. I love her and miss her, but she makes me angry. She just up and left us. I know I played a part in instigating her departure, and I look forward to her letters, but I can’t stand that I’ve begun to live vicariously through her.
I must sound like the most horrible sister. I hope you won’t think ill of me.
Your favorite queen,
Lucky
March 4, 1933
Butler Farm, porch swing facing west
Dear Bella and my queens,
I write to you facing west, in the hope that this upcoming season is full of new opportunities for you.
This winter we had buckets of rain, and soon our gardens should be dancing with bright spring blossoms, so beautiful and fresh, reminding me that anything is possible.
Roman says his father needs him in this, his final season. It’s hard to think we are all separate.
My fortune-telling has been in hibernation with the bears, yet I get premonitions. Some I’d rather I didn’t. Marvin, Harsita, and I are doing well and are happy, but still I anxiously await your letters. There is nothing sweeter to my ears than Ben saying, “I got one for you, Miss Donatella.”
Donatella
April 3, 1933
Jacksonville, Fla.
Dear Donatella,
I’m sorry, but the truth is, I am writing you for selfish reasons. With you away for so long, I have befriended our German trapeze artist, Greta. She is very smart and has read much about psychology, which we talk about often. It gives me something else to think about, but Greta always brings it back to me. There’s no escape with that girl.
She says I must tell the person closest to me what is on my mind—and that is you. She says it will help me to be a better wife, mother, and grandma. So here I go.
I fear for my Vladimir. Our circus is held together by a thread, and Vladimir has started drinking heavily again. That makes me worry. I watch over him like a bird. We both know he can get reckless when he drinks.
Greta says I also must share something good. Yesterday Kyle Jr. rode with me on Ali Baba, and like our Diamond, he did a somersault in the saddle and shouted, “Pony!” I laughed so hard, I thought we would both fall off.
Oh, how I wish my father could have gotten to know our little boy, who brings us all so much joy.
When I was a little girl, we had horses and ponies everywhere. My father owned the finest in all of Italy. Oh, the regrets we have in life. I should have brought the girls to see my parents, but at the time it seemed like too much trouble. As you know, Mama and Papa only met the girls the one time they came for a visit. Diamond and Lucky were still just babies, and it felt as if we had forever to do it again.
How foolish of me. I see now how mean I was not to give them more happy moments. Poor Vladimir’s parents, Anton and Lillya, never got to see them once. Oh, they must have longed for their grandchildren, the queens of their family circus. Sad the girls never had the comfort of knowing they came from good Italian blood, not just Russian blood that mixed with the aristocracy.
Your loving friend,
Bella
April 7, 1933
Butler Farm, porch swing facing west
Dear Bella,
I love your letters, and I don’t care if you’re writing them for yourself. I miss all of you terribly.
Marvin has become my rock in even bigger ways. I needed a strong man, a leader, a ringmaster to orchestrate the workers. With him here to do all these things, life on the farm is getting better, and my bank account is getting stronger every month. The soybeans and peanut fields are finally yielding a profit. The pigs, we keep for ourselves. I hate killing them, but our workers have to eat, and I make certain they are slaughtered in a humane way, though, as you can imagine, ending their lives makes my heart ache. Do you remember how I used to catch crickets by hand to remove them from my carriage? I know you think me silly.
But on to sweeter things—let me tell you about Marvin. His relationship with Harsita has deepened. Harsita’s become like the son Marvin never had, and it’s good for both of them. He’s such a good boy—or, I should say, young man—and you know how grateful I am to him for having stayed with me to help when times were really bad. I feel a little guilty that you are still struggling at the circus, although I know most of the country is struggling as well. I am lucky that Irina left me land, and that the crops are turning into money. A small check is in this envelope, to make up for what you and Vladimir have given up by loaning me my two men. You must cash it, Bella, before you mention it to Vladimir. Tell him it would be impolite to turn down a present. This isn’t charity. It’s what sisters do for one another.
Will write again soon. There’s much to do, much to plan. Who knows what is around the corner? Our new president Roosevelt seems to be a good man, and he has ties to Georgia.
Yours always,
Donatella
April 21, 1933
Greenville, SC
Dear Donatella,
I don’t know what to do. I try and try, but I think you Russians are even more stubborn than us Italians.
I deposited the money as you asked me to, and when I told Vladimir, he got very angry. It’s as if he has become two people. One man I adore, the one who gave me four children, and t
he other is a man who has not found a home for his grief and tries not to let anyone see. He needs a man who can tell him what his wife can’t, a man like Marvin.
I would be grateful to you if Marvin could be spared for a short visit to come to the circus and help his brother Vladimir remember who he is.
Bella
May 4, 1933
Butler Farm, porch swing facing east
Dear Bella,
By the time you get this, it will be old news. Marvin is on his way. When I read him your letter, his mind began to race, figuring out everything he would need to do before he went and everything he might need to do once he arrived. Seeing his turmoil, in a voice as tranquil as an ocean sunset, I told him, “Go, our friend needs you.”
Marvin and I continue to be very happy. I waited a long time for this kind of love. He knows what I think and what I carry in my heart. Sometimes I wonder if he’s the one with the visions. I spend so much time in my garden, he says I must be waiting for more then a bloom to sprout and grace us with its presence, and he is right.
Did Marvin tell you that he ran into old Moses, who used to shoe the horses while he was out buying hay? It turns out that Moses has a buddy who works construction for Big Jim’s circus, and he said Bess may not be happy, but she is well. Big Jim, as we know, has a new manager named Larry. I’m told he’s educated and may not be the kindest of persons when it comes to people, but Moses says its clear the man likes animals. Moses has promised to notify us if anything changes. Marvin slipped Moses a little money on the side to help keep the lines of communication open. You know, Bella, every night I ask God to watch over Emily and Bess and let no harm come to them. Don’t worry. I pray for you too.
Your friend who loves you,
Donatella
May 15, 1933
Raleigh, NC
To my love,
I understand Bella’s concern. Our dear friend is going from bad to worse by drowning himself in alcohol and grief. Roman, Vladimir, and I were sharing a bottle of whiskey and some hearty beef stew that Bella had made, and although Vladimir does not have the temperament that my stepfather had, I couldn’t help but think of him when Vladimir passed out by the fire. Then he started mumbling incoherently, and when he opened his eyes, he yelled at us for interrupting a dream he was having about Spade. Then he took a bite of stew and fell back asleep.
Minutes later, he awoke for real when a piece of beef got stuck in his windpipe. He grabbed the whiskey bottle right out of my hand and took a swig. I thought he was going to have another swallow, but instead he turned his head the other way, and suddenly tears began to fall down his cheeks. I told him, snap out of it—you have a wife and family who need you. Seeing him in that state was more than Roman could take, so he said good night.
After Roman left, Vladimir asked, “How does a father ever get over such a thing?” What could I say, Donatella? It felt as if he wanted permission to fall apart, and I wasn’t about to give it to him. I just told him that first he’d have to let go of the bottle.
Did you know he is walking the rope when no one is around or looking? Bella has Greta and her psychology and Vladimir walks across a wire high above the ground to find peace below him.
I send you kisses.
Your love,
Marvin
June 17, 1933
Asheville, N.C.
To my love,
Today was bright and sunny. It amazes me how the weather leads my mind to places I have not thought about in a long time. I was taking a walk, and I saw one of our posters on a pole. I was reminded of the day I first saw that circus sign and the way I bicycled home as fast as I could to tell my brother. I know I don’t talk of my family much, but I do think of them and wonder what kind of men my brothers have grown up to become. All the same, I’m so grateful that I found the courage to run. I just wanted to tell you that I’m happier with you than I’ve ever been.
Ann Marie is enjoying being a mother. Diamond is building a good life in New York City, or so her letters report. Bella shared a few of them with me. Lucky reminds me of a bird waiting for the opportunity to fly away, wondering why she clipped her own wings. Kyle is as solid and helpful as ever. I think our Bella wishes she could return to Italy, though she knows it’s not an option. And me, I wait to be back in your arms.
Marvin
July 24, 1933
Chattanooga, Tenn.
My love,
Yesterday was Scarlett Spade’s first birthday. I’m sorry you weren’t here. The blaze of fire that had always been our Ann Marie is slowly returning. She can see herself in her young daughter, and she remembers the way she used to fly through the air on Napoleon’s back and the passion that she felt. Even Vladimir seems to be doing better. Every now and then I come across him laughing, and on several occasions he has shown some restraint with the vodka. I hope to make my way home to you soon.
Funny, for some reason I keep thinking of my older brother, and the excitement we felt watching the circus parade that day becomes real again. When I take a deep breath, the smell of sweet popcorn in the air makes it feel like yesterday. I see the clowns and the dogs and remember how the windjammer band drowned out all the sounds of the town. But what I remember most is the look on my brother’s face when I handed him my letter. Neither of us ever looked back. Perhaps it’s time? So many things could have brought about a different fate. We wake up every morning thinking we know what the day will bring, but really we have no idea. The only thing I know for certain is that I love you.
Marvin
August 17, 1933
Butler Farm, porch swing facing east
Dear Marvin,
Your dream seems to have come true. Harsita answered the door, but when I got there, staring back at me was a slightly older version of you. Yes, it was your brother Tyler, who sells spices from port to port, I learned, and is a quiet, kind, and respectful man.
I invited him in and fixed us both some mint tea. For years, he said, he’d kept an eye out for you. When he traveled, he’d visit any circus that happened to be close by and strike up conversations with the carnies, trying to find you. Eventually he gave up. Then recently, while in Atlanta, he was invited to play cards with an old acquaintance. His friend said that a nasty circus owner would be there, who was always ranting on about his competitors, and if Tyler led him on with questions and complaints, he might find something out. It turned out to be—you guessed it—Big Jim.
Your brother said he took a seat directly behind this man. Hoping to bait him, he raised his voice as he began telling the story of a run-in he’d had with a six-foot-four man who worked for a circus and thought he was smarter than anyone else. Your brother all but said you were a rather cocky kid. I found it sweet.
He told the men that this know-it-all gave him a wicked tongue-lashing, just because he beat him in poker. Right on cue, Tyler said, this Big Jim fellow turned around and said, “Sounds to me like you met the not-so-marvelous Marvin.”
Then he went on to tell your brother what an arrogant ass you were. You’d learned all that you knew, he said, from a self-righteous circus owner named Vladimir who passed himself off as Russian aristocracy. Big Jim also mentioned that he thought Marvin was living in sin with a woman named Donatella on the old Butler farm in Savannah.
Once he—your brother, that is—had what he wanted, he disentangled himself, but not before Big Jim threw in his last words. He said something to the effect that he wasn’t the only one with a grudge toward this Vladimir fellow. “There are a few of us who wish him bad luck!” From there, your brother said it wasn’t hard to track us down.
Tyler and I talked for several hours, until he had to catch his train to New Orleans. We took a walk and picked some flowers, and Polly put them in my favorite purple vase by the phonograph. Then she added some jasmine to fill out the bouquet, knowing that I love its sweet fragrance. Tyler said
he’d be passing through again in three weeks. After that, he’d be moving to California. He left a note in case he misses you. I put it in my top dresser drawer.
My love, the time has come for you to return and for Vladimir to be strong.
Yours,
Donatella
Chapter 45
“What do you think the letter says?” asked Marvin. “You’re the psychic.”
“You’re his brother. I only spoke with him for several hours.”
Marvin shook the envelope, hoping to hear answers to the questions that had been haunting him for years. He’d returned to Savannah immediately after he received my letter with news of his brother. He had been home a day but had not gathered the fortitude to read Tyler’s words.
“You know, Donatella, I tried contacting them once. Two months later, my letter was back in my circus mailbox, marked ‘Return to Sender, Address Unknown.’ I thought I was dead to them.”
Marvin stared at the sealed envelope, as if he might in that way divine what he’d find tucked inside. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, he handed it to me.
“Will you?”
“Are you certain?”
Marvin nodded.
I went and got a sharp knife to use as a letter opener. Then, carefully, keeping the letter and the envelope in pristine condition, I unsealed it.
“Are you ready?” I asked Marvin. He nodded, and the words began to lift off the paper and out of my lips:
Dear brother—or should I address you as Marvin the Marvelous? You always did have a spirit, and yes, you were a marvelous brother. That may be why I have searched for you these many years, but it is not the reason I write. I wanted to tell you that I’m happy you left us, though angry too, for after you departed, our stepfather took most of his rage out on me. He broke my leg and burned my back once, when he threw me to the floor and pushed me into our fire. Better me, though, than our little brother Jimmy. Mama felt some of it, too.
The Fortune Teller's Fate Page 27
