Billy Creekmore

by Tracey Porter

  “What if one of the supervisors or Mr. Sparks himself sees you wandering about? They’d think you snuck in for free, then they’d throw you out. And there you’d be—off on your own! An orphan again!”

  By and by, Darla spotted Mr. Sparks going over a clipboard of notes with some other men. It looked awful official to me, but Darla warn’t one bit afraid. “They’re just the managers, don’t let them worry you. I’m a performer, and Mr. Sparks always speaks to me, no matter how busy he is. Oh, Mr. Sparks! Mr. Sparks!” She waved to him, bold as can be. “I want you to meet somebody….”

  Mr. Charles Sparks excused himself, then turned to Darla with a little bow. He was dark haired and cleanshaven, and he wore a bow tie and a ruby ring. “Why, Darla,” he said, “what a pleasure.” He bent down and kissed her hand. “And who do you have here?”

  “This here is Billy Creekmore, and he come running out of the woods this morning, raggedy and dirty, without food or shelter, and no family to speak of. He’s just a lonely little orphan boy, Mr. Sparks! One of the world’s castaway children. Just like I was when my parents left me to fend for myself on the streets of Chicago, without home or family till the day I joined the sideshow of the Sparks Circus…. Now, don’t you think we can find a place for him here?”

  Mr. Sparks stepped back a little to give me the once over, but he warn’t trying to scare me, only to size me up, I reckon.

  “Well, we might be able to find him a place…. What’s your sense of him, Darla? Is he an honest boy? A good worker?”

  “Oh, I think so, Mr. Sparks….”

  “Then it all depends on Billy and whether he’s willing to work hard for the circus. Can you do that, Billy?”

  “Why, yes sir, Mr. Sparks. I’ve been workin’ hard all my life, first at the orphanage farm and then at the mine. I was a mule skinner in the Newgate Mine over in Holly Glen….”

  “You don’t say ….” said Mr. Sparks. His face brightened a bit, and he nodded to me all respectful. “We can always use help with the mules and the horses. The vet and the blacksmith have more than they can handle. But first, I need you to work the advance. You’ll be with another boy, going into towns a couple weeks ahead of the circus, pasting up posters, then meeting back up with us to check in and get more supplies. What do you say to that, Billy?”

  My heart sank. Here I was, hoping to be on the road to becoming a trick rider. I could see the pony boys brushing the stallions and braiding their manes for the parade. The riders were adjusting their headpieces and fastening their capes. I had to stop myself from sighing out loud.

  “Uh, sir … What I’d really like is to be a trick rider.”

  “Well, son, I can’t promise that. If you work out, we can see about getting you some training. But right now I need someone to work the advance. That is, if you want to join the circus …”

  “Thanks, sir.” I sighed, hoping he was a man of his word. “I’d be happy to.”

  “Good. Now, let me introduce you to your supervisor, Matthew, and the other boy who works with him. Where’s that new boy? Someone send him over here to meet Billy.”

  Well, if I said that my eyes nearly dropped out of my head, I wouldn’t be exaggerating much, for who comes darting out of the crowd but Rufus Twilly! He took one look at me and just about fainted dead away himself.

  “Billy! Billy Creekmore!” he cried out, and ran toward me with open arms. We swung each other around, laughing. Mr. Sparks chuckled, saying something about how the circus reunites folks with a shared past, but I can’t remember the particulars. My mind was still dazed and jumpy from things.

  Matthew introduced himself, then the three of us headed over to the advance car. It was jam packed from floor to the ceiling. A lithograph machine was bolted to one side of the car, and three sleeping berths were lined up on the other, all stacked up on each other. In between were stacks of paper and buckets of paint, so there was hardly any room to walk.

  Before long, a little locomotive came along and picked us up. Then we were off, crossing the Ohio River to three towns I’d never heard of before—Ironton, Portsmouth, and Cincinnati. Matthew ran the press for a while, printing up a few hundred posters, then he crawled into the bottom bunk and was snoring away within a minute. Seemed like circus folk could take a nap anytime, anyplace, without any need to get drowsy or to wake up slowly. The air in our car was filled with a clean type of smell that reminded me of laundry day in Holly Glen. Rufus said it was the ink. He went over the route with me on a big railroad map he kept in his pocket. The towns crossed off in red were ones he and Matthew had already visited. He folded back the map and pointed to a town just up the Cheat River from Albright.

  “This here is Morgantown, where the glassworks is. I was sittin’ in Mr. Colder’s car, on my way to be an apprentice in his factory. We had stopped at a fillin’ station to get some gas, and just over yonder I could see the roustabouts settin’ up the Big Top. I don’t know what came over me, but all of a sudden I decided I’d open the door and sneak out. Heck, Mr. Colder didn’t even notice. He was too busy arguin’ with the attendant over his change. By the time he got back in the car I was long gone.”

  “You don’t say, Rufus. That was awful darin’ of you.”

  “Peggy gave me the idea. Soon as I heard I was goin’ to be apprenticed, she started helpin’ me figure out how to run away. She was dead set against me going to the glassworks. Said I’d get maimed or die for sure. The next Sunday she was in Albright goin’ to church when she saw posters for the Sparks Circus performance in Morgantown. She told me to look for the Big Top when Mr. Colder drove into town so I could run off and find it soon as I had a chance. Only I never made it to the dormitory. Never even saw it or the factory.”

  I was right impressed with Rufus, and I told him so.

  It was almost two hundred miles to Ironton, Ohio, and we passed the time trading stories and catching up. He reckoned his pa was still in jail, and he was awful sad to hear that I didn’t have no way of getting word to my father ‘bout where I was. All in all, Rufus hadn’t changed much. He was taller and fuller, with some muscles in his arms from carrying rolls of posters and buckets of paint all over, but he was still sunny in nature and freckled all over.

  “You’re different, though,” he told me. “I’d say you’re sadder. Maybe you’ve been seein’ too many spirits. Maybe you’re burdened by all those birds tellin’ you who’s gonna die next….”

  My stomach tightened up, like I had just swallowed something with an awful taste. I took a deep breath.

  “No, it ain’t that,” I said. “All those times I said birds was talkin’ to me was just a lie. I just made that stuff up, either to get outta trouble or else to tell a good story.”

  “Well, you don’t say,” said Rufus. “You sure fooled plenty of folks. Includin’ me. Don’t you ever see spirits?”

  “Sometimes I feel ‘em. Only they’re not speakin’ in words, and they’re not evil or scary. They’re sad mostly.”

  “What kinda spirits are they, then?”

  “I think they’re the spirits of folks that’s been killed before their time. Back in Holly Glen, I felt two spirits. One was the father of a friend of mine who died, and the other was the first boy that was killed in the Newgate Mine. His name was Golden Breedlove, and he used to follow me in the mine. Lots of times I’d feel him near me. Other folks did, too. He was awful sad, wanderin’ about hopin’ someone would lead him outta the mine to his mother.”

  “So, all those times at the orphanage, you was mostly actin’?”

  “No, I wouldn’t exactly say that, although I was actin’ some of the time…. Lookin’ back on it, I think I was sensin’ spirits that was roamin’ about the place, only I didn’t know it then. Remember the graveyard on the hill behind the chapel? Remember all the little crosses with the names of the boys who had died at the orphanage?”

  “Sure I do. Meek Jones is buried up there. So’s lots of boys.”

  “Right … well, remember how their na
mes had worn away from snowstorms and rain? I bet all those boys wanted someone to remember ‘em and the hard life they led, so they spoke to me when I was wanderin’ about at night, only I didn’t know it. I’d be out lookin’ at the moon or havin’ a walk to think things over, then I’d feel somethin’ sad and lonely driftin’ through the trees like mist. I used to think I was missin’ my parents, feelin’ sorry for myself ‘cause I didn’t have a family. I guess I was partly right, but now I think I was feelin’ the spirits of the boys at the orphanage who died from hardship and neglect. Darla called me a castaway child, and said she was one, too, before she joined the circus. Maybe the spirits I feel are the ghosts of castaway children. But I’ve never really seen a ghost or heard one. Mostly, it’s a feelin’ I get when I’m in certain places.”

  It was the first time I had really put these thoughts together, and they surprised me as much as they did Rufus. I guess all those days alone in the woods gave me the time and place to figure out a few things.

  Rufus was awful quiet for a while. I couldn’t tell if he was angry with me for lying back in the orphanage or angry with me for telling the truth now. He stared out the window or studied the map, keeping to himself without looking at me or starting up another conversation. Finally he said something, which relieved me considerable since I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Mr. Sparks is a different sort of person than Mr. Beadle or Mr. Colder,” he said. “And workin’ in the Sparks Circus is different, too. There ain’t no ghosts lingerin’ about, and no one beats on any of the children or makes ‘em do things that are too dangerous for a grown-up. We’re fed well, too. The tables in the dinin’ tent is covered with tablecloths, and there’s waiters to serve us, and they’s treated well themselves, although they always eat last. But all in all, the Sparks Circus is a family, and I think you’ll like it here. You won’t have to pretend you see a spirit to get outta bein’ mistreated like you did.”

  I was downright chagrined, embarrassed and comforted at the same time. “I never told a lie to be mean,” I said.

  “I know. I’ve always known you ain’t a mean person. I can tell a mean person a mile off,” said Rufus. “Seems to me you got two talents—tellin’ stories and sensin’ spirits, and sometimes you mix ‘em up.”

  “I guess so,” I answered. “Only I’ve got things more settled in my mind now. I don’t think I’ll mix ‘em up no more, either on purpose or by accident.”

  After a couple of hours, the train pulled our car onto a sidetrack outside the depot, and like magic Matthew woke up. He stretched his arms in big circles and twisted at the waist a few times. An engineer from the yard came over to uncouple our car from the main train.

  “Come on, boys,” Matthew said, smiling. He liked his job. “We’ve got two hours to paper this town before we get on the train to Portsmouth.”

  We picked up our posters and buckets and jumped off the train.

  “You take the road along the river, Billy, and Rufus, you take the main road into town. I’ll take the roads behind the jail. Here you go … take these free tickets and give ‘em to any store owner that lets you paper his store. And don’t paper any houses or churches since it’s disrespectful. Be back at the depot by three and don’t be late.”

  The three of us papered every wall and fence we could see. There was a parade on the poster, with a band of clowns playing banjos and horns, then came Darla sitting on a float drawn by white horses with lions roaring about, and finally came the Ling family walking on their hands and turning flips in the air. By the end of the two hours, my arms were aching from all the hauling and pasting I was doing, and I near crawled back to the advance car. Rufus and Matthew were already there, resting on their berths waiting for me.

  “You’ve got to rest when you can,” said Matthew, letting his head tilt back and his hat fall over his eyes. “When you’re with a circus, the work never stops.” I crawled up to my berth, but I couldn’t sleep none since my nose near touched the top of the car. It took me a few days, but I got used to it.

  Later on we joined up to another train that took us to Portsmouth, and Cincinnati. We papered both towns from the barns on the outskirts to the gates of the floodwalls, and everything in between. Rufus even climbed up a rickety ladder to paste a poster on the watertower by the fire station. He was trying to get used to heights, just in case he decided to become a tightrope walker.

  “Usually, you are born into performin’, but Mr. Sparks lets us kids have a try, if we want. First we have to work for a year, either in the advance crew, or in the kitchen, but after that, he lets us train to be clowns or performers, if we want. What do you want to be, Billy?”

  “A trick rider. Had my heart set on it ever since I saw the circus with my uncle Jim and my buddy Clyde.”

  “Now that’ll be tough…. The Christiani family has that pretty well tied up, seein’ how they have five kids. Why, that family’s been trick riders all the way back to olden times. Been performin’ for all those kings and queens in Europe since the time of King Louis Fifteen.”

  I got a little discouraged hearing this, but I figured if I did a good enough job on the advance crew, maybe Mr. Sparks would ask them to give me a try.

  “Say!” said Rufus. “I know the perfect job for you! You could work the sideshow as a fortune-teller! Why, you’re a natural, seein’ how you’re so good with words and makin’ up stories.”

  “Nah, I don’t wanna be a fortune-teller.” His words stung me a little, to tell the truth. I didn’t want Rufus to think of me as someone who could look into someone’s face and make up a story ‘bout themselves. It was too much like lying for money, and it didn’t appeal to me. “Right now I’m happy ridin’ trains from town to town and pastin’ up posters for the show.”

  “Oh, ballyhooin’s fun all right. I ain’t sayin’ it ain’t fun,” said Rufus. “You get to travel about, and you’re on your own mostly. But you get restless for somethin’ else, especially since there’s so many fun jobs at the circus. You’ll see.”

  “I guess I will,” I answered. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so I agreed with him.

  We worked all day papering three towns and catching four different trains. I learned how to work the lithograph machine, and when it warn’t running, Rufus and I stirred the paste to keep it from getting solid.

  We backtracked to Huntington, where the circus was already over and the roustabouts were taking down the Big Top. It was dark when we got there, but it warn’t at all quiet. Different groups of folks was walking about here and there, helping each other pack up or finish their job. The kitchen tent was long gone to the next town, but Matthew found Rufus and me some sandwiches and a plate of cold beans to share. The lions was growling in their cages, waiting to be fed, and the little boys in the Ling family were chasing each other in the dark while their mother was calling to ‘em in Chinese. A group of clowns walked by. Their makeup was off and the only reason I knew they was clowns was because there was a little white greasepaint behind the one fella’s ear. Some of ‘em was fat, and some of ‘em was thin, and you could tell their bodies was awful nimble and could do whatever they wanted, like walking a pretend tightrope or dancing soft shoe, or acting tipsy, or bowing very dainty like they was at court before a king. Matthew found Mr. Sparks and told him I was a good worker who did his job just fine. Mr. Sparks still had his clipboard in his hand, but he took time out to look me in the eye and shake my hand. He asked me if I liked the job all right, and I said yes, I did. Then he said very good and welcomed me to the Sparks World Famous Circus.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  We Paper Towns

  All over Wisconsin,

  AND

  I Meet Up with

  Another Person

  from My Past

  Well, the weeks run along, and it was the beginning of summer now. I got used to the routine of circus life, the early risings and the long days, passing through small towns and big towns with my posters and paste. Matthew worked us hard
, but never had no harsh word for Rufus and me. Only an urging now and then to hurry up ‘cause the train was coming soon, and we hadn’t even papered the center of town. We passed through well-kept towns filled with churches and banks and shiny stores, and tackety ones with wooden buildings aching for new paint and a window wash. There was smoky mill towns that smelled bad and grim little coal camps that reminded me of Holly Glen. Sometimes I saw children climbing a hill of coal near the tracks, stealing coal for the stove at home, and sometimes I saw boys my own age heading back from the mine, their faces black with dust. A kind of sadness came over me, almost like I longed to be living that type of life again. I’d look at ‘em and think about Aunt Agnes, Belton, and Mrs. Light, wondering if the strike was cancelled and if the Baldwin-Felts men was still there, watching their every move. I didn’t dare write Aunt Agnes yet, but I so longed to tell her about the life I was leading now. If only Uncle Jim knew! He’d be so happy for me, seeing how much he loved the circus himself.

  We was way up north in Wisconsin, three days ahead of the circus train. I was printing up some posters, and Rufus was setting them to dry on the rows of shelves built in the side of the car.