“Oh, Darla, what are you doing out here?” He winked and grabbed her hand, tugging her past the guard’s astonished face. “You shouldn’t be wandering off during one of your crazy spells.”
The guard pushed back his hat. “You mean this girl’s with your outfit?”
A very short, very bald man with a handlebar moustache peered over the driver’s seat of the first wagon. He stared at Darla for a moment, nodded and jumped down from his perch. “That she is, good sir.” He shook the guard’s hand. “Doctor Ebenezer, at your service.”
He stepped up to Darla and sighed. “This woman does suffer from some mild ailments, but I can cure every fit of insanity.”
“Wait . . . which one has fits?” The guard turned to Darla. “I thought he had fits?”
Doctor Ebenezer held up a hand. “Sir, I must be on hand every morning to give her this patent blend I created myself, from the honey of Canadian bees.” He pulled a small bottle from his pocket, along with a tiny silver spoon. Uncorking the bottle, he drizzled a bit of liquid into the spoon.
Both Darla and the guard watched in fascination.
“There, take your medicine like a good girl.” He held the spoon out to Darla, his gnarled, mottled hand shaking a bit. He must have noticed the uncertainty in her face, because he winked.
Darla squeezed her eyes shut and downed the spoonful in a hurry. The concoction was a bit thick on the tongue, but not unpleasant.
Doctor Ebenezer smiled. “Good girl. Feel better?”
“I feel . . .” A few words from the label caught her eye in the lantern-light. “Fresh and full of vitality.”
“Come on, Darla, we’d better get in the wagon.” Johnny Jingles tugged on her hand.
As Darla followed him, she heard the guard speaking to the doctor. “I’m glad you came along. I didn’t quite know what to think of her.”
“Yes, yes, quite sorry,” the doctor said. “She’s always been a bit of a tangle, that one. Takes after her mother, I suppose. If you have no objection, we’ll be off. The fair manager knows we decided to leave tonight, all is squared away.”
The doctor took Darla’s hand. “Hop on board, my dear, and we’ll be on our way.”
A strong scent of animals and leather surrounded Darla as she entered the wagon, and a muffled snort came from the corner of the large, box-like area. The room inside was as wide and long as a small house, larger than any contained wagon she’d seen.
Johnny came in, hung a lantern on the wall, and closed the door. Though he couldn’t have been older than twelve, he wore the smile of a wise old man. Darla recognized the look, worn by every orphan from the children’s home where she had grown up, the same expression she saw on her own face every time she glanced in a mirror.
A glint in his eye belied a likable and fun-loving spirit. “You’d better sit down, Miss Darla. These wagons jolt a bit, ‘specially when the roads are muddy.”
Darla perched on a low bench built into the wall, and none too soon. The wagon jerked forward and would have sent her tumbling.
Objects around her began to take shape as her eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness.
The box-like things built into the left wall were wooden crates, and the lump swinging from the ceiling was a wire bird cage. The most unusual bird Darla had ever seen, with feathers of green, blue and yellow, stared at her with a sleepy eye.
She couldn’t see the end of the wagon the snort had come from, but she assumed other types of beasts were kept over there.
“Excuse me, Miss Darla,” Johnny said. “You did come to the fairgrounds because you’d changed your mind, right. I told Doctor Ebenezer about you, that’s why he covered for you with the guard.”
“Yes, there is nothing in Dallas for me now,” she said, realizing how dramatic the words must sound. “If I could earn a ride to the next town, I’d be awfully grateful.”
“You’ll have to talk that over with Doctor Ebenezer.” Johnny reached up to cover the bird’s cage with a large cloth and then settled on the bench beside her. “But we lost a sales girl a few stops back, so the doc’ll probably be glad to have you.” He gave her a slanted look. “If you want to stay.”
“The doctor seems very kind,’ Darla murmured.
Johnny nodded, his forehead wrinkling. “He’s not a bad sort. Sometimes he gets moody, though. Like tonight, he up and decided to leave the fair, when sales had been pretty good. He didn’t tell anyone why. Sometimes he just has these hunches. We go along with what he says. It’s saved us from ticklish times, I can tell you that.” The boy wriggled his shoulders and settled against the wall.
“I wonder what he’ll ask me to do,” Darla mused. “I wouldn’t want to do anything morally objectionable.”
Johnny jerked forward. “Naw, we aren’t like that here. You’ll see. The last girl just walked through the crowd to show things. Bottles and stuff. Handed out papers with information to folks who could read.” He studied her face. “Doctor Ebenezer might ask you to sing something. Can you sing?”
“I can sing.” Darla folded her arms in front of her.
“So’s your mother would listen, or for a crowd?”
“For a crowd, silly.”
Johnny stood and walked over to one of the cages, as at home with the swaying wagon as a sailor on his ship. He peered in and poked at something. “Good. Shirley’s eaten her rat. The last thing I needed was for the thing to gnaw through the bars.” He looked over at Darla. “Don’t worry. We’ll be stopping in less than an hour, soon as we find a camping spot. You won’t have to sleep in here with the snakes.” He sat down again.
Snakes? Darla had never been timid about creepy-crawlies, but if a snake were to fall on her head it would be rather unsettling. She eyed the cages and drew her skirts closer around her feet.
True to Johnny’s word, it wasn’t long before the wagons came to a halt.
The boy’s head snapped up. “See? What did I tell you? We could stay in the wagons, and sometimes everyone will on the coldest nights. But it’s pretty warm for March. So we’ll sleep in tents tonight.”
He grabbed the lantern and went from cage to cage, murmuring a few words to each animal. Seemingly satisfied, he moved to the wagon door and swung it open. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the folks.”
Darla stood in haste, bumping her head on the bird cage. An indignant squawk came from underneath the cloth.
“Ooohh . . .” She rubbed her head, picked up her carpet bag, and stepped outside.
In the five years since she’d been sent from the orphanage at seventeen to ‘find her own way,’ Darla had worked as a maid, cook and cleaning woman, including one memorable morning as a nursemaid to a crotchety old man who smelled of cabbage and called her “Twinkle Toes.” She’d been hired by three saloon owners who’d all possessed their own kind of crazy. But though her life had been a parade of meetings with colorful folks, nothing prepared her for the group of people setting up camp outside the wagon door.
The gypsy men, still dressed in dazzling outfits, bustled about throwing armloads of wood in a pile. A gypsy woman led two little boys to log seats and sat down herself, arranging a baby over her lap to nurse.
One man bent to light the fire. Soon flames leapt into the air, higher and higher, casting light on all the workers.
Two very tall, thin fellows with identical features and outfits juggled china plates beneath a clump of trees.
A woman wearing a plain gray dress, with thick dark braids piled on her head and skin so white it glowed in the semi-darkness, lugged a giant kettle from the back of the third wagon.
Darla’s mouth dropped open. “How did they get everything prepared so quickly?” she asked Johnny, who was examining the side of the wagon.
“We’d already cooked supper before we left, but the doctor was jumpy and no one got to eat. They packed it up and we moved on,” Johnny explained. He sauntered over to the woman in gray, who was now ladling stew from the pot. “Hey, Miss Miranda, could you get a bowl for
the new girl, here?” He jabbed a thumb at Darla.
“Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.” Miss Miranda’s eyes never left her work as she filled a rough wooden trencher and handed it to Darla. Pale as she was, the woman possessed a cold beauty. She seemed to be in her early thirties.
“Thank you.” Darla stood with her fingers curled around the bowl. The woman didn’t look up. Realizing the conversation was complete, Darla followed Johnny to the fire.
On the way, Johnny stopped to watch the two jugglers.
“Darla, this is Simon and Aaron Henderson. We call them the zanies. They used to be clowns in a real circus.”
The two men each caught their respective plates, turned and tipped their hats as one, almost as though they were a mirror image of the same person.
“Evening ma’am,” they said in unison.
A beautiful gypsy girl with long, brown tresses tied back in a colorful scarf used a wooden rake to clear the ground on the side of the campfire.
Johnny stopped in front of her. “Ketzia, meet Darla.”
Ketzia leaned the wooden rake she’d been using against a tree and held out her hand. Golden bracelets hanging from her elbow to her wrist jangled with the movement. “Hello. Welcome to the medicine show,” she said warmly. Her words were clipped by a slight accent Darla did not recognize.
“Thank you.” Darla shook her offered hand.
Ketzia nodded to Johnny. “Four days.”
“Take you up,” said Johnny. Pulling a coin from his pocket, he flipped it in the air.
Ketzia caught it and hid it somewhere in her shawl.
Darla knew when a bet was being placed. “What was that all about?” she asked Johnny as they finally settled by the fire with their stew.
“Oh, don’t pay it no mind. Ketzia and I always make bets about how long the new folks’ll stay.”
“Oh.” Darla took a bite of stew. She’d made her share of wagers, but wasn’t sure if she appreciated being the subject of a bet.
After Darla was finished eating, she helped Johnny and Ketzia pitch tents and spread out blankets inside. But the lack of a normal bedtime was taking its toll, and she kept yawning and rubbing her eyes.
Finally, all was ready and Johnny led her back to Miss Miranda.
“You’ll sleep in my tent for now,” said the woman.
“Oh, thank you.” Darla’s shoulders grew limp with relief. As tired as she was, she wouldn’t have slept a wink in the snake wagon.
The tent was well made, and surprisingly spacious. Miss Miranda pointed to a pallet, already made up with thick flannel blankets. “That’s your space, over there.”
For Darla, sleep was a long time coming. Every time she closed her eyes, she would think of someone else she’d left behind, someone who would think badly of her in the morning. Tears streamed from her eyes onto the small, flat pillow, but she choked back her sobs. She didn’t want to disturb Miss Miranda.
Finally, the trembling hand of sleep found its place, and she floated away to a world of darkened dreams.
13 THE TROUPE
The next morning, Ethan came into the kitchen. He whistled while he washed his hands. Swiping a cinnamon bun from Mrs. Betty--somehow they always tasted better when stolen--he headed to the dining room with a spring in his step.
I can’t wait to see her. Even though he’d spent most of the night staring at the ceiling with wide eyes, a fresh, new energy coursed through his veins. He hadn’t felt this way since . . . since before Sarah left him. Sarah. The name had lost the power to stab with its usual white-hot needle of pain and regret. Finally, these feelings had faded to a hazy memory. I can move past that now. He’d known for a long time that God had forgiven him for the anger he’d felt during that time. And now I can truly forgive myself. A deep, contented sigh rose from his innermost being.
The man from last night flickered into his mind. Wonder how that fellow found Darla? That must be why she was so upset at the fair. He shrugged. Maybe she’ll explain sometime. I’ll give her time.
Ethan sauntered into the dining room and stooped to kiss his mother on the cheek.
“Good morning, all,” he addressed the ladies. His eyes swiveled to Darla’s seat. Empty. Was she too ill for breakfast? He stared at her vacant chair.
Lisbeth met his gaze with flashing eyes. “She’s gone,” she said softly. “Took all her things and ran off in the night.”
A dull throb began at the back of Ethan’s head. He staggered to his chair and sat down hard. “I don’t understand. Where . . . did she say where she was going?”
Lisbeth held up a scrap of paper. “She left this note for the house. It says thanks for everything . . . but something happened and she couldn’t stay. The note says we would know why, but I’m so confused. I can’t imagine what made her want to leave. Do you know, Ethan?”
Ethan shook his head. “I have no idea. That strange fellow came by last night, but I told him to leave. Darla did seem pretty upset, but I thought she’d be all right since we chased him off.”
Ma Downs sighed. “I thought Miss North was doing so well. But we have seen many ladies scared away by harmful men from their past, or tempted by wanderlust. Let us include her safety and well-being in our prayers. We will ask God to walk beside her wherever she goes.”
Lisbeth blinked hard, her lips trembling. The Pendell twins sobbed into their oatmeal.
Ethan closed his eyes during the prayer and did not look up until long after dishes clattered around him from food being passed. After choking down a few bites, he excused himself from the table.
Cows lifted their heads as he crossed the field to his little cabin in the back pasture. He grabbed his fiddle from the mantle and lifted the instrument to his shoulder. Music could comfort him like nothing else, but this time only dark, harsh notes came from the ancient strings.
He set the instrument down. “God, I don’t know what to think. Why would she leave? Why wouldn’t she at least tell me? What if she’s in danger?” Why did you allow this to happen to me again? He covered his face with his hands.
Remember last time. He reached into his duster pocket to touch a crumpled paper, always there. A resolution settled into his mind. I will find her. I have to find out the reason she left.
###
The light of dawn had settled like a filmy gray scarf over the trees when Darla stumbled from the tent. She had grown accustomed to early hours at Downs House, but after the late bedtime her head ached and her eyes stung. At the sight of the mirrored sconces on the sides of the lead wagon she turned her head away. She had no desire to see the state of her hair.
Stifling a yawn, Darla surveyed the camp. Most evidence of last night’s activities had already been whisked away to mysterious storage places in the wagons.
Doctor Ebenezer sat by the dying coals of the morning fire, spectacles balanced on the end of his bulbous nose. He looked up from the thick book in his hands. “Good morning, Miss North.”
“Good morning, Doctor,” Darla said in a bright tone that she hoped sounded less frazzled than she must appear. “I wanted to thank you again for rescuing me last evening.”
“Quite fine.” He leapt to his feet. “Now, I want to make something perfectly clear right now, before anything is decided.” Though he had to tilt his head back to look her in the eye, he carried an air of one who was accustomed to being respected and obeyed. “You are welcome to travel with this group for as long as you wish. I ask only one thing. We may have stretched the truth a bit to help you along, but my dear,” he took her hand in a firm grip, “you must never betray my trust.”
She shook his hand. “I hope I never lie again. Don’t like how it settles in my belly.”
A twinkle reached his eye and his lips twitched into a smile. “And how would I know if you were lying to me now, child?” His laughter rang out over the campground.
Darla couldn’t help but join in.
Doctor Ebenezer wiped his eyes. “Well, my dear, it’s the risk we must all take until an e
lixir has been created that can reveal a person’s very soul.” He pinched his white, waxed moustache and stared into the trees. “I could make a lot of money with a product like that.”
“Can you sing, Miss North?” Miss Miranda stood behind them, her arms folded against her chest. Her lips were set in a tight line, and she looked older in the daylight than she had by the fire last evening.
“Yes, ma’am.” A memory flashed into Darla’s mind. Spud Jones, the owner of the first saloon she’d been hired at, chewing the ever-present cigar in his mouth and pacing back and forth in front of her. “You sing, girl?” That had been the first question out of a mouth filled with rotten teeth and lips that had managed to steal one kiss before she ran away to the next saloon.
“Never go poking around inside the lead wagon. If you need something ask the Doctor or myself. For today, you will help Johnny with his animals. Miss North, are you listening?”
Darla’s head snapped up. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be happy to help in any way I can. I’ll go find Johnny right away.”
As she went off in search of the young boy, she heard the doctor murmur, “Go easy on her, Miss Miranda. I have a feeling about this one.”
People bustled around camp, preparing the wagons for the morning’s trip. Darla recognized several of the folks she had met the last evening, including the zanies, who nodded her way.
Johnny lounged on the far side of the animal wagon, wolfing down a chunk of corn bread.
Darla nudged him with her elbow. “Hey, I’m supposed to help you.”
“Oh yeah, sure.” Johnny leapt to his feet and led the way to the wagon’s back end, bits of blond hair waving on his head like tiny flags with each step.
An ornate little door had been built into the side of the cart. Johnny opened this to reveal a small compartment. He reached in and pulled out a pail.
Darla wrinkled her nose.
Johnny grinned. “Pretty rank, ain’t it?” He tipped it forward to reveal vegetable peelings and other food scraps inside. “Breakfast for Lucy.”
The Saloon Girl's Journey (Texas Women of Spirit Book 3) Page 9
