Come, My Little Angel

by Diane Noble

  “Come, my little angel,” she sang softly, looking up into the pines. “Is your halo on straight?”

  Her friends stopped, concentrating so hard their foreheads creased.

  “Sing it again,” Wren said. And when Daisy did, the other two joined her. The sounds of their sweet, slightly off-key voices made her eyes smart.

  Wren stopped singing right in the middle of a word. “We could do it without Mister Taggart.”

  “We can’t.”

  The corners of Cady’s mouth turned downward. “Well, we could. But no one would want to come see us.” She shrugged. “They sure wouldn’t pay to see us.”

  Wren was still lost in thought. “Maybe they would if we could get everybody to help us.” She brightened. “Think of it. If we could get the whole town to participate—our mas to make our costumes, our pas to set up a big tent and build a stage…”

  Daisy bit her lip, but she couldn’t stop a big grin from taking over her face. “And put benches in rows. Lots of benches.”

  Even Cady was smiling now. “How much money would we get for Daisy’s church if we charged two bits a person and everybody in town came to see our drama show?”

  Both girls looked to Wren to do the ciphering. Everyone knew she was the smartest fifth-level pupil at Red Bud school. “The population of Red Bud is approximately five hundred people, considering even those living in the backwoods.”

  Daisy’s smiled widened. “If everyone came and paid their money, that’d be a heap.”

  Wren seemed unable to resist a look of superiority. “It would indeed.”

  Daisy let out a whoosh of awe. “Think how much lumber could be cut with more than a hundred dollars!”

  They started walking again, hand in hand. “Wait.” Wren halted and narrowed her eyes. “We can’t build a tent big enough to hold that many people.”

  “Then we’ll put on more than one performance,” Daisy said. “I hear tell they do that in the city. Show the same drama show over and over, and folks still come. Sometimes more than once.”

  “But where?” Wren was frowning again, obviously calculating more than just the money. “If we have it in a tent and the weather’s cold—it will be near Christmas—then we can’t possibly put it on more than a few times…”

  “Maybe we can talk our pas into building the biggest tent ever.” Daisy nibbled on the tip of her braid, considering the magnitude of the idea. “Something that would hold dozens of people at a time.”

  “Like a circus tent,” Cady added with a giggle. “That would work. I hear tell The Greatest Show on Earth has a tent that’ll hold a thousand people!”

  Daisy suddenly stopped dead still. “A thousand?” she breathed. “That would work. It really would!” Her heart was leaping inside her chest. “A thousand?”

  “Maybe we could write to the Ringling Brothers and get them to contribute one.” Cady’s eyes were bright with the thought of it all.

  Wren lifted a brow. “They’re called Ringling Brothers, United Monster Shows, Great Double Circus, Royal European Menagerie, Museum, Caravan, and Congress of Trained Animals.” When the other two looked doubtful, she went on. “I did a composition paper on it last year. I also happen to know they are located in Baraboo, Wisconsin.”

  “That’s an awful distance…” Daisy’s heart suddenly sagged. “Do you think they would send a tent this far?”

  “Doesn’t hurt to ask,” Wren said.

  “Surely folks with a name like that could help us.” Cady’s voice had taken on a reverent tone. “Maybe they’ll see we don’t want any of the money for ourselves. It’s for a good cause.”

  The three friends changed direction as if with one mind. They followed the winding path back through the grove of pines to the town square, then down the dirt road and past the tavern to the place where they imagined a large circus tent might fit.

  Daisy blinked when they reached the vacant spot of land between the tavern and the schoolhouse. It was a beautiful site for the circus tent. And someday, for a church. “Do you think something that big would fit here?” She gazed up at the tall pines that grew all across the slope of the hillside. “We might have to fell some trees.”

  “A tent that tall would fit right over them,” Cady said.

  Arms outstretched, Daisy turned in a circle on a carpet of fallen pine needles. She pictured the sweeping canvas, perched on the tops of poles like graceful snow clouds above the sugar pines.

  “A circus tent?” She turned again to her friends. “Do you really think the Ringling Brothers might help us?”

  Wren nibbled her bottom lip for a moment, a clear sign she was lost in thought. “There are seven Ringling brothers. Alf, Al, Charles, John, Otto, Henry, and Gus. All we need is to convince one, then he can convince his other six brothers.”

  Cady laughed. “If I tried to convince my brothers of anything, they’d just do the opposite.”

  “These are grown-ups,” Wren said seriously. “They likely respect each other.” She scrunched her forehead. “I’m thinking they’d not be inclined to give us a tent. But we could write and ask if they might loan us one. They’ve got circus trains that travel everywhere. Maybe they could send it up from the valley on the new railroad grade. Maybe in pieces because it would be so big. We could get our fathers and some of the others to put it together.”

  Daisy kicked a small pinecone. “If it gets here in time for Christmas. They’d have to send it right away. Then there’s convincing our fathers and all the others.”

  “I have a better idea!” Cady’s eyes were wide. “What if we invite the circus to come to Red Bud, animals and all? Then we could use their tent and be part of the circus!”

  Wren sniffed. “The Ringling Brothers would likely look down their noses at a drama show put on by children. A show about little angels, when the audience is waiting for tigers and lions and high-wire acts? I don’t think so.” Cady and Daisy usually rolled their eyes at Wren’s look of superiority. Today, they let it go. “Actually, they couldn’t do that,” Wren continued. “They’ve got eighty-five rail cars and hundreds of animals. Can you imagine an elephant coming up the steep railroad grade in the back of a boxcar?” She took a breath and rushed on. “And even if they did, they’d likely keep all the money for themselves because of the cost of getting here.”

  “The company brought up all that heavy equipment for the power houses,” Daisy said. “I’d reckon an elephant isn’t any bigger than a length of pin stock. As for the other, maybe their hearts are bigger than we think.”

  Wren’s tone was gentle. “You always think that other people have bigger hearts than they really do.” She reached for Daisy’s hand with one of her own. With the opposite hand, she pushed up her eyeglasses. “Like with Mister Taggart.”

  And my own mother. Daisy swallowed hard and nodded. “It doesn’t hurt to try.”

  Cady’s eyes shone with the adventure of it all, apparently unaffected by Wren’s words of caution. “I say we write them anyway. Daisy, you have a way with words. Why don’t you write a letter tonight, and we’ll all look at it tomorrow. I’ll ask my pa to post it for us after school.”

  The girls walked up the hillside to the dirt road leading back to the town square. Daisy glanced toward their school to her left, just beyond a stand of sugar pines, only to see Mister Taggart stepping out and heading toward them. Normally she would have stopped the others and waited, just to see the smile of greeting on their teacher’s face. But today she turned without a word and walked with her friends to the square. She heard the crunch of his shoes on the hard earth behind them. It sounded as if he was in a hurry, perhaps wanted to catch up and walk with them.

  Unwilling to face him, she nodded toward a shed behind the tavern. “Ever been in there?” She kept her voice nonchalant.

  The other two looked at her quizzically.

  Wren shrugged. “Why would we want to?”

  Cady laughed. “Likely filled with spiders and ground-squirrel nests.”

  It cam
e to Daisy in a flash. “I was thinking there might be some plywood for our props. Something we might use for clouds. Cut them out and paint them white…”

  “Who’s it belong to?” Wren was still frowning at the ramshackle edifice.

  “What does it matter?” Daisy did not so much as glance over her shoulder at Mister Taggart as she hurried the girls off the road and down the hillside to the rickety shed. “If we find something good, then we’ll find out who owns it.”

  Caught up in the sense of adventure, the others did not seem to notice that Mister Taggart had now overtaken them and strode by on the road just above the shed.

  The shed was directly behind the tavern, but slightly off what Daisy figured was the McGowans’ property.

  One dusty window faced the backside of the tavern, and a single door hung in a lopsided manner from rusty, broken hinges.

  Cady wrinkled her nose. “I don’t care what’s in there. I’m not goin’ in.” But even as she spoke she pushed open the door a few more inches and peered inside. She sneezed three times, then backed away, wrinkling her nose. Moving to the window, she stepped onto an old stump so she could see better, and began describing the dusty bottles of liquor she saw.

  Then she gasped. “Somebody’s been in here. I see footprints in the dust.”

  “This is where the McGowans keep their whiskey, silly,” Wren said with a sniff. “Of course there will be footprints in and out.”

  “Come see for yourself,” Cady insisted. “Come on over here.”

  Daisy shrugged and started toward the window to join her friend.

  Wren was about to follow, then she cocked her head slightly. “Wait!”

  At her loud whisper, Daisy paused.

  “Over there. I see some branches moving.” Wren pointed to a cedar tree.

  Daisy followed her friend’s gaze upward. Still standing near the window, Cady fell quiet and turned to find out what they were watching. A murmur of voices carried toward them from a tree at the far side of the tavern.

  “Somebody’s up there,” Cady said, taking a single step. “In that tree.”

  Wren shot out her arm and caught Cady’s hand. “Wait.” She put her finger to her lips. “Wait.”

  Daisy cocked her head, listening. One voice sounded like her brother Alfred’s, the other like Grover’s. Then there was a higher-pitched voice. Toby, the tavern keeper’s son. All three voices were coming from the tree.

  The others recognized Toby’s voice as well and turned to her, giggles threatening to erupt.

  “Toby’s climbed that tree!” Cady’s voice was a loud, snickering whisper. “Think of it! Toby’s in that tree!” She plastered her hands over her mouth, looking ready to burst with laughter.

  But Daisy wasn’t laughing. Something was not right about this. Why would her brothers be talking with Toby? They had never spent more than a few minutes in his presence. And furthermore, why would they climb a tree with him?

  Then she remembered the footprints on the dust-covered planks of the liquor shed and shivered. Surely not!

  Curiosity got the best of them all. Daisy and her friends crept silently along the carpet of brown pine needles to the corner of the tavern and peered around, looking into the thick, evergreen foliage of the cedar.

  The three boys were sitting in the tree all right, about midway up. A jug of whiskey was hanging by its round, crooked handle from a dead limb just below them. Witless grins were plastered on all three of the boys’ faces. Toby wobbled precariously from the limb directly over Alfred’s head. There was a glow of pleasure on his face, likely from the attention being given him by the older boys. Or on account of the ol’ devil liquor—as Daisy’s ma called it. At the same moment, it came to her why her brothers were paying attention to the tavernkeeper’s son.

  Toby likely had a key to the whiskey shed.

  Ashamed, she felt her lower lip tremble and looked away.

  Then a voice—a loud and angry voice of authority—called up to the boys from a clump of foliage beneath them.

  “You there! Come down!” It was Percival Taggart. Daisy would have known the raspy timbre of her music teacher’s voice anywhere. “You! Alfred, Grover! Get down. Help Toby. He looks ready to fall.”

  Alfred had just unhooked the whiskey bottle from the dead limb, and at the sound of Mister Taggart’s voice, he started visibly. The brown glass container dropped as if it were made of lead. It hit a small boulder with a shattering crash and landed so close to Mister Taggart that a spray of the liquid covered his shirt and jacket. The pungent odor drifted toward the place where the girls were hiding.

  Daisy choked back a cough until her eyes watered. She covered her mouth and bit her lip to keep from making a sound. But Mister Taggart, Alfred, Grover, and Toby were looking anywhere but at her.

  Alfred easily slid past the others and landed with a thud on the ground. He wobbled slightly, then leaned almost belligerently against the rough-hewn boards of the tavern. The silly smile still covered his face as he watched Grover grunt and lean out to grab the branch beneath him.

  Just as he reached for it, Toby burped, giggled, then wobbled and sang out that he might just let go if someone would catch him. Two things happened in that same instant: Grover slipped from the branch, and Alfred dove to catch him. The older boy succeeded in breaking his brother’s fall, but just as he looked up in triumph, Toby sang out again and let go of his branch.

  A whoosh, a thud, and a hoot of Toby’s triumphant laughter all sounded at once. For a moment, the huddle of three bodies made Daisy think of a litter of puppies—except for the dusty, flesh-colored faces, human limbs and torsos, and torn, soiled clothes, of course.

  “Is anybody hurt?” Mister Taggart stood over the group, looking angry and concerned at the same time.

  Alfred looked up from the tangle of body parts, seeming too stunned to answer.

  Behind him, Toby McGowan sniffled. “My arm. Ow, ow, ow…” He whimpered and rubbed his forearm. “It hurts!”

  Mister Taggart knelt quickly beside the sniveling boy. “Can you bend it?”

  Toby shook his head, a big tear now making a shiny trail down his dirty cheek. “It hurts.” He swiped at the drip with the back of his opposite hand.

  “Aw, you’re awright, ain’t you, Tobes?” Alfred grinned stupidly at the tavernkeeper’s son. “Ain’t you?” He bent over with a grunt and hoisted himself to standing. He did not so much as glance as his younger brother.

  Toby’s round face was pale. He swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.” The boy stood shakily and dusted himself off. “I gotta go.” He sniffled loudly in unison with Grover and started to limp away.

  “Not so fast, young man.” Mister Taggart shot out one arm to halt the boy’s advance. “You wait here. I have something I want to say to you. To all of you.”

  Alfred turned with a sneer. “Whasch that, Mister Taggart? Yer too late if you’re fixin’ to drink with us.” He laughed and tried to catch Toby’s eye with a knowing look.

  Daisy bit her lip, wanting to rush to Mister Taggart’s defense. But Wren’s hand was on her arm, holding her back as though she understood Daisy’s anguish. Cady, who was on her opposite side, let out a small gasp.

  “You boys know better than to pull a stunt like this.” Mister Taggart’s words were solemn and low. His compassionate gaze took in the miserable-looking Toby, the still howling Grover, then came to rest on Alfred. “And you, young man. You’re the eldest! You should have set a better example.”

  Alfred guffawed, then met Mister Taggart’s eyes, narrowing his own. “Just as you, sir, have been to the whole community?” Daisy’s big brother swung his arm wide, lost his balance, wavered a bit, then caught himself.

  “I am not on trial here,” Mister Taggart said. “But I’m here to tell you drinking behind a shed can start you down a road you want to avoid.” His shoulders drooped. “Now,” he continued, his voice soft, “it’s time to get you boys home. And I daresay you’ll be telling your parents exactly
what happened.” He paused, looking straight at Alfred. “Because if you don’t, I will.”

  Alfred laughed, then muttered, “As if anyone’d b’lieve you.”

  The stumbling boys marched toward the road, Mister Taggart bringing up the rear like a picture Daisy once saw in a book of an army sergeant. She let out a pent-up breath once they were out of earshot.

  “They’re gonna get in trouble,” Cady whispered. “Bad, bad trouble.”

  “Serves them right.” Wren sniffed, then looked at Daisy, and said, “Sorry.”

  Daisy shrugged. “They’re my brothers but they deserve to be in trouble after what they did.” She pictured the boys arriving home and telling all. Her mother’s thin, stricken face came into her mind next, followed swiftly by her father’s anger. She shuddered. “I better be heading home.”

  “We’ll walk you,” Wren said, taking Daisy’s left hand.

  Cady grabbed the other and gave it a squeeze. She sighed dramatically. “Well, at least your ma may not be so mad at Mister Taggart now.”

  A few minutes later as Daisy neared her house, it was apparent that Cady’s prediction could not have been further from the truth. The yelps from her ma and banshee hollers from her brothers carried through the pines. But the shouts weren’t directed toward her brothers as much as they were toward Mister Taggart.

  “You go on, now,” Daisy said, her voice subdued. Her heart twisted at the sounds of her mother’s fury.

  She walked up the path to her front door just as Mister Taggart burst through. The smell of whiskey wafted toward her even before she looked up into his face.

  Her ma stood in the doorway, calling after him that he was a drunken fool who was leading her sons down a wayward path—the same that he’d been trodding—straight to the gates of hell.

  Daisy’s beloved teacher brushed past her without saying a word.

  “It’s true, Ma,” she heard Alfred saying from someplace inside the house. “It was him who beckoned us to come to the shed. We would never have done it otherwise. It wasn’t my fault. Neither was it Grover’s. The blame is on that ol’ drunk, Mister Taggart.”