by Lisa Fowler
“Look alive, now! Look alive!” Daddy yells.
“All right,” I whisper, bending down and looking the triplets in the eyes. “You know how Daddy gets before a show. Be on your best behavior, please.”
“Chestnut, you’re not the boss of us,” Mac says, propping his hands on his hips, his lisp cutting the air.
“You’re our sister, not our mama!” Hazel says, sticking out her tongue and sucking it back in again.
“Come around here, young’uns,” Daddy says, calling the triplets to the front of the wagon.
“Filbert,” I hear him say, “you take the melody. Mac and Hazel, you do harmony this time.”
“Aw, Daddy,” Hazel whines. “I’m sick of singing harmony. Why can’t I do the melody and let the boys do the harmony?”
I peek around the corner and see Filbert, wagging his finger in Hazel’s face, but not where Daddy can see. I reckon he’s just a tad too smart for that. His head wobbles from side to side as he mouths the words “’Cause I said so, that’s why,” just before those same words come spewing from Daddy’s mouth.
Hazel smacks Filbert on the back.
Hard.
Good thing for her Daddy don’t allow the boys hitting on us girls or she’d be road dirt by now.
I’m leaning against the wagon trying to fix my own hair by running my fingers through it when Daddy yells, “It’s all about the show young’uns; it’s all about the show.”
But it’s not.
With him, it’s all about the money.
“All right now,” he says. “Showtime! Chestnut, make your move!”
11
GRANNY TALES
I amble from the wagon, trying my best to look like I belong to this fancy, citified town—but how could I? Dress two sizes too big and shoes with holes all in them. How could I look like I belong anywhere but backwoods Kentucky? Reckon the mustache man was right.
I tag along close behind some folks holding tight to young’uns of their own.
“Why, hello there!” Daddy hollers, motioning the few people stirring ’round in the streets over with a wave of his hand. “You folks look a bit tired, sort of run down and ailing. Looks like you could use a pick-me-up! C’mon and step right up close to the wagon here. I’ve got just the thing you need.”
It’s not long before the crowd grows. Seems folks always go to congregating when there’s a commotion about, and Daddy makes sure he works up a commotion. The more folks that come around, the louder Daddy yells.
“Come on, young’uns, and entertain the folks a bit while I finish setting up the wagon.”
He makes a big deal of slowly raising the wooden flap on the side and propping it open with a long stick on each end. When folks lay eyes to the rows and rows of elixir for the first time they practically fall all over themselves trying to see. There’s more oohing and aahing from the crowd than any one person should have to hear at one time.
Shooting a sneaky sort of look to Filbert, a look that says, “Get to singing, boy,” Daddy nods and winks.
And Filbert gets to singing. He instantly breaks into a chorus of “Meet Me in St. Louis, Louis,” and Mac and Hazel fill in the harmony, singing louder with each word that spews from their mouths. They dance and sing like nobody’s business and once the crowd is at least twenty, twenty-five deep and mesmerized by the show, I look over sort of casual-like and catch Daddy’s eye. He gives a subtle nod, not one that anyone but me would notice, and I know that now—for me at least—it really is showtime.
“Say there, mister!” I yell, right on cue. “You wouldn’t be the man that sells that powerful elixir from the South of France, now would you?”
Daddy’s eyes seem as big and round as grapefruits and they’re glistening with all the excitement of a baby laying hold to a shiny new rattle. “One in the same, little lady,” he shouts. “One in the same.”
He grins like he’s running for the office of president and needs all the votes he can get.
“And how, pray tell, has a pretty young filly like yourself come to know of my world-famous elixir?”
The crowd separates down the middle just like I reckon the Bible’s Red Sea did when Mister Moses waved his staff over the water so’s the Israelites could pass through on dry land. And before I know what’s happening, Daddy and me are standing there in the middle of that town and that mob staring each other nose hair to nose hair.
“Oh, my granny took some of that elixir a while back,” I say loud enough so’s everyone there can hear. “She was a-fierce sick, yes she was. Grandpappy said she’d done crossed over into the valley of the never-do-no-good and took to her deathbed for sure. But, one day my grandpappy brung her a bottle of your elixir and now she’s out plowing the fields behind our mule. Yes, sir, as sure as I’m standing here living and breathing, Slim’s Powerful Franciscan Healing Elixir cured my granny of a fatal case of the can’t-help-its.”
“Ha! Ha!” Daddy laughs out loud. “I’m not surprised by that a bit, little lady. Not surprised by that at all. Matter of fact, folks,” Daddy stretches out his arms to the crowd like he’s going to plant a hug on every last one of them, “I hear stories like that everywhere I go.”
There’s a gleam in Daddy’s peacock-blue eyes and a spring to his steps I’ve not seen since … well, since the last crowd he worked. He’s jumping around in front of the folks like a caged animal set free.
He’s smiling and winking, making goo-goo eyes at the ladies—especially the ones that smell pretty like they just took a bath and slapped on some fancy store-bought perfume.
He’s moving in close to the gentlemen, slapping them on the back, shaking their hands, and saying things like “You know what I mean, buddy?” and “I know you’ve been there—the same as me.” Why, when Daddy’s out in front of the crowd like he is now, he’s so downright charming it almost makes me take a liking to him.
Almost.
I look around and that swarm of folks I’m in the midst of now stands about forty, maybe fifty deep, more than enough for Daddy to draw in a whole mess of money. I move among them, in and out, ’round and around, studying the faces, looking for skeptics and doubters.
That’s my job too, you know, to root out the doubters.
Folks that scratch their heads, rub their chins with their hands, or shake their heads with a look of disgust while Daddy’s talking. Those are the doubters.
“Now move in close,” Daddy says, motioning the crowd closer with a wave of his hand. “Move in close. Folks, this elixir is blended from the purest water that bleeds right out of the hills in the South of France. It’s combined with the world’s most priceless herbs and minerals.” He pulls one of the bottles from the shelf and rubs it between his hands like it’s fine gold. “Why, Slim’s Powerful Franciscan Healing Elixir is the answer to everything that ails you, from slow digestion to the driest skin.”
“Sir?” He points to a man in the crowd. “Are you hard of hearing? And, you,” he says, pointing to another, “do you wish your memory was as good as it was when you were the size of one of these darling little children here?” He slings a finger toward Filbert, Mac, and Hazel.
Filbert and Mac bow. Hazel curtsies and grins, showing the empty space where her two front teeth are supposed to be.
Daddy blows her a kiss.
She catches it in midair and pulls it to her chest.
“Ah, aren’t they adorable? Well,” he shouts, “Slim’s Powerful Franciscan Healing Elixir is everything you need to make your life all you’ve dreamed it could be. Why, one week of this elixir and, men, you’ll rise up early feeling fit enough to fill your sheds with enough chopped wood for the winter, plow your fields for the spring, and still race your horse into the barn—all on the same day. Now that’s some powerful stuff!”
I’m studying their reactions, watching the men poking their thumbs through their button holes and puffing out their chests. Some of the ladies are red-faced and flitting their eyelashes at the men.
“And, ladies,”
Daddy continues, “you’re not left out in the weather. One week of Slim’s Powerful Franciscan Healing Elixir and your skin will be smooth as a baby’s. Your hair will be full, your eyes will twinkle, and your worry lines will completely fade away.”
Daddy hops up the steps of the wagon so’s he can be seen by the folks in back, as well as be heard. “Come now, folks, step right on up! Don’t be shy! Who’ll be the first to try this magnificent miracle-working product? Fifty cents, that’s all. Just five silver dimes, fifty copper pennies, or two of our shiny United States quarters—God bless America. A measly pittance to pay for a new life! Come on now, step up. Don’t be left out in the cold.”
“I’ll take a bottle!” an elderly man yells. He waves his quarters in the air.
Hands pop up all over the crowd.
“Sing another song for these fine folks, children, while I serve them up the elixir.”
Filbert breaks into a chorus of “The Bear Went Over the Mountain,” and the young’uns in the crowd clap and dance along.
Folks are talking amongst themselves, digging in their pockets for change, smiling and nodding while it’s all happening. There’s money and elixir being passed back and forth faster than a hawk can snatch up a pullet, and if I didn’t know better I’d figure my daddy was striking it rich just off this one giant gathering of people.
I scan the crowd again, moving among them, looking at faces and listening to comments. As always, there are a few holdouts, and, just as Daddy’s instructed, I make my way through, moving in next to the doubters.
Even in all of the hubbub Daddy keeps his eye on me, and I know—bad as I hate to admit it—he’s counting on me to be right with what I see and hear.
I spy a group of three ladies huddled together beneath the skinniest excuse for an oak tree I’ve ever seen in my life. They’re shaking their heads saying something about the entire lot of us going to the devil, with their lips pressed tight and making straight lines across their faces.
Doubters.
I know what to do. I stand my ground and wait.
Daddy notices too, and after a while he moves in for the kill.
12
DADDY GIVES THE ORDERS
Daddy snatches three bottles of the elixir from the shelf, shoves one into each pocket, and clutches the third to his chest.
I step aside as he moves in toward the ladies.
He bows in front of them, one arm outstretched to the side like he was bending low before a king or a queen.
The ladies let loose of their lined lips and smile. One giggles.
One at a time, Daddy takes their hands and plants a kiss on top of each. “My, my, my,” Daddy begins, and I know in my mind what’s coming next. “What beauty I see before me.”
I run the words over and over in my mind before they ever seep from his mouth, my lips moving just a tiny bit. After all I’ve heard this speech so many times I could recite it myself given the chance.
“However,” he continues, “in your ravishing beauty I sense doubt. Ladies, am I correct?”
They hem and haw about, obviously searching for the words to respond. As the crowd turns to watch, their faces turn as red as a fresh-pulled radish.
“Now, ladies,” Daddy continues. “Lovely, lovely, enchanting ladies. You wouldn’t want to be the only ones in this delightful town to miss out on this powerful elixir, now would you?”
They hang their heads and stare at the ground, and I know why. I’ve seen it before. Daddy’s shaming is working.
“There’s no telling when we’ll be back in your area with this elixir, ladies; perhaps never. You wouldn’t want to be the talk of the town, now would you? Why, I can hear your friends and family now. ‘You should have bought a bottle of Slim’s Powerful Franciscan Healing Elixir,’ they’ll say. ‘I did, and my rumatiz is gone,’ others will testify. ‘Feel better than I have in years,’ I can hear them saying now.”
The ladies whisper among themselves, nod, and then hand over the money for the elixir.
“Sing a little bit of that ‘Danny Boy,’ that I love so much, children,” Daddy hollers.
Filbert lets loose on the tune and before too long Mac and Hazel join in, harmonizing just to beat the band. I mean, them young’uns are singing their hearts out better than I’ve ever heard them sing.
Watching them, I forget my job for a minute, so I’m surprised to hear a voice yell out, “What you’re doing here is wrong—stealing from poor folk like you are.”
It’s a new man who’s just joined the crowd.
The sun’s going down behind the mountain, the air’s got a sudden bite, and folks who was just smiling at Daddy are beginning to tire. All of a sudden, grumbling takes hold and I can feel the tides of kindness turning.
“I think it’s awful,” a woman in the crowd says to the man standing beside her. “Making those children work for him like he’s doing. It’s not right, I tell you. It’s just not right.”
“You’ve got a point there,” the man next to her says. “Hey! You! Elixir man!” he yells. “What you’re doing, working those children like you are, it’s not right.”
Another man, wearing a wide-brimmed cowboy hat, moves to the front of the crowd. With one hand he waves his hat above his head. “Can’t you people see what’s happening here?” he shouts in a deep southern drawl. He flings an angry finger toward Daddy. “This man is using his own children to rob you people blind. Why, he’s no medicine man. He’s a thief!”
Before I know it, there’s way more angry shouts than happy ones. The yelling from the crowd turns personal—and it’s aimed at the triplets.
“Them’s the skinniest children I ever did see!”
“Yeah! Clear to see that the elixir man ain’t spendin’ his money on food for his kin,” someone yells.
“Where’d you get them clothes? In a ragbag?”
“It’s the 1920s for crying out loud! Buy them children some proper clothes why don’t you?”
“This isn’t an elixir-selling show! It’s a lesson in how to misuse your children!”
In all my days I’ve never heard such hollering from townsfolk. A lot of times they end up attacking Daddy—in more than half the towns we play, matter of fact—and that makes us feel bad enough, but I’ve never heard people picking on young’uns this way. Don’t they know them babies have feelings? Why in the world don’t they just turn and leave? Why do they have to yell and scream hurtful things at ’em?
Filbert stops singing. He’s searching the crowd for Daddy with a panicked look on his face.
Hazel, humiliated, buries her head in her hands—and I know as well as I’m breathing what’s coming next from her.
Mac looks like he’s seen a ghost.
My heart’s breaking for them triplets. I want to run the steps, fall over top of the three of them, and keep them safe from the hurt.
But I can’t.
I’m not one of them.
Not now.
Not until the crowd’s gone home.
Them’s Daddy’s orders and I’ve learned the hard way not to disobey my daddy.
Daddy ignores Filbert’s looks. And he ignores the crowd’s jeers. But it’s clear by the look on his face he can tell them folks have turned against him.
He backs up toward the wagon making a move to pack up the show to leave.
“Well, I’m not a man to stay where I’m not wanted,” he says, reaching to drop the flap on the side of the wagon to cover the elixir, his face a blotchy cranberry red.
“You know the old saying: You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink of the water he don’t want,” he says. “You’ll be sorry, but I can’t make you take a cure you’ve no need of.”
Despite the jeers and Daddy’s packing to go, there’s folk still reaching out with their money and snatching for the elixir. And Daddy—being the kind of man he is—can’t resist.
He shoves his pockets with their quarters, dimes, and pennies, and is handing out bottles of Slim’s Powerful Fran
ciscan Healing Elixir in return. All the while the triplets stand huddled in a wad on the steps of the wagon looking like three wilted pansies on a hot summer’s day. It seems Daddy don’t care if his babies are hurting. Proving what I always say: it’s all about the money with him.
I move through the crowd slow but sure, making my way to the front of the wagon without causing a stir or looking conspicuous. Old Stump gives a whinny like she’s glad to see me, so I pat her on the side of the head and shush her as best I can.
Moving slowly to the backside of the wagon, I aim to plant myself there until Filbert, Mac, and Hazel come down from the steps and around the backside of the wagon.
Daddy’s going to be mad at me for leaving the crowd. But for once I don’t care. My heart’s aching for the triplets, and right now that’s more important than Daddy’s old elixir or his money.
The three of them come around back with their hearts shoved clean up into their hands, with Hazel sobbing like she’s lost the best doll she ever owned, and the boys looking like they don’t know what’s hit them.
As I pull them to me, I hear the mumbling of the crowd breaking up. All of a sudden, from out of nowhere, someone yells, “Hey! That girl ain’t got no ailin’ grandmaw healed by the elixir! She’s with the rest of the group. It’s a setup. That joker ain’t nothin’ but a flimflam man! Get him!”
13
HURLING STONES
I’m the first one to see them coming, even before Daddy and the triplets notice. There’s six, maybe seven boys, years older than me, toting big sticks and throwing stones at the wagon and at Daddy and at the elixir bottles. The closer they come, the more ruckus they make and the bigger the sticks and stones they throw, breaking some of the bottles into tiny little specks of pieces.
They’re shouting at us too; stuff like “Snakes!” “Liars!” “Thieves!” “Crooks!” and “Robbers!” And the louder they shout, the faster and harder them stones they’re throwing are hurled.
“Chestnut!” Daddy shouts. He don’t have to yell it twice.
“Go! Go! Go!” I shout, shoving the triplets up the steps. “Shut the door, Filbert, quick! And bolt it!”
