The Road to Bittersweet

by Donna Everhart

  Mr. Cooper pointed my way and said, “Girl’s got some fast feet, but, I tell you what”—and he pointed at Laci—“that one there? She could be a real showstopper. I’ve seen the crowd watching her. There’s something special about her. She draws the eye.”

  I was glad Clayton won’t around to hear his praise of Laci. I got to looking for him, and didn’t see him in the usual spot he watched our performance. And Mr. Massey said nothing to the crowd about “step outside and see our next exciting act.” Clayton had always performed every night, right after us, yet Mr. Massey had made no announcement.

  I interrupted and asked Mr. Cooper, “Ain’t there any high dive show tonight?”

  He said, “Young Clayton seems to think we’ll get bigger crowds if he only performs a few nights a week, instead of every night. We’ll have to see.”

  I wanted to ask where he was, only I didn’t dare in front of Momma and Papa.

  Mr. Cooper looked at his watch and said, “I got to go see about some of the exhibits.”

  He handed some money to Papa and left. Papa jingled the coins in his hand, and as if remembering what Momma said earlier, he pocketed the money without offering me any. I told myself I really didn’t want to walk around the carnival anyway, yet the change of plans spoiled my mood. I was feeling the pinch of regret even more about the way I’d acted toward Clayton, now that I couldn’t fix it. I went into mine and Laci’s tent and flopped facedown on the cot. Laci followed me and sat on the edge of hers, holding her fiddle and plucking at the strings. I turned on my side, facing away from Laci, wondering where he was and what he was doing.

  I hadn’t realized how tired I was until I jerked awake feeling like I’d been asleep for a while. Everything outside was quiet. The shows usually shut down around ten o’clock, and the stillness told me it was well past that. Also, there was no glow against the pale canvas sides reflecting lights from the rides. From some distance away, I heard laughing, and the high strains of an instrument. I slowed my breathing and concentrated. It sounded like a fiddle, yet different. Could somebody else play? I reached over to Laci’s cot. My fingers felt her sheet, a blanket, and nothing else. I leaned over even further, my hand moving along, up and down, expecting to touch her warmth. The bedding was cold to the touch.

  Laci won’t here. She was gone, yet I lay there as if needing to persuade myself because she’d not done this in such a long time. Seconds later I drew the flap aside and looked towards Momma and Papa’s tent. Their own flap was down and tied tight. I could hear Papa snoring. I ducked back inside and pulled on my shoes. Luckily, I still had on my dress from earlier, so I didn’t have to light the lantern to see to put on my clothes. After I slipped on my shoes, I left the tent again, and stood outside for a moment, listening. The music sounded like it was coming from the other end of the tent area, closer to where Trixie and her family stayed, as well as Darren, and La Diablo. I hurried through the maze of tents, my ears tuned in and following the odd tune.

  The first thing I seen was a campfire. And around the campfire was a circle of workers, men and women alike. I drew closer, unable to see who played this sort of music I’d never heard played before. It was different from the usual folk or gospel tunes we was used to and I began to feel scared. This couldn’t be Laci, and if it won’t her, where was she? I stopped and stood listening to the haunting, slow, pure quality of the music, so unusual and intriguing. One of the workers seen me standing a few feet from them, and he stepped back and I caught a partial glimpse of Laci, still in the lavender dress, and barefoot. The soles of her feet was dirty black, like she’d spent some time walking around. She was half hid by the others entranced by her playing and hadn’t noticed me there. She even moved different as she played this strange song, sort a swaying back and forth, her hair flowing like the music, as her fingers went up and down the neck of the fiddle. I come closer, and a few more people turned, poking at the person next to them, whispering and gesturing at me and moving off to the side to let me through.

  Then I seen who was sitting right beside her. Clayton. He smiled at her as she played, watching her every move, occasionally looking at the faces around them, like he was so proud. Clayton’s gaze circled the crowd and come to the spot filled in by me. It did my soul some good to see him almost jump, and then look guilty and embarrassed. I didn’t acknowledge him, smile or make any move. I let Laci finish the song, and when she put the fiddle down, everyone clapped except me and Clayton.

  Abruptly he stood and pointed at Laci with excitement. “Wallis Ann! I know. I know. I’m sorry! I’m sure you’re wondering how Laci come to be out here. It was by accident.”

  I frowned. “An accident.”

  He pointed to the fire eater, Diablo. “He found her. She was standing outside his tent. He has a phonograph and plays classical records all the time. He was playing Bach’s chaconne. She must have heard it and it drew her to his tent.When I seen her, she was standing with her fiddle to her chin, and sort of following along soft like.Then Diablo took the record off and she sat down where you see her sitting now, and she started playing it, over and over. We’re all out here listening because, I’m telling you, Wallis Ann, it’s unbelievable what she done!”

  Mr. Cooper come from out of nowhere and said, “He’s right. Like I told your pa earlier, she’s got something extraordinary. I’d like to make her a solo act. Been thinking about it some days anyway, and now? After what I seen here tonight? It would be crazy not to do it.”

  I couldn’t see Papa agreeing to this, and I said as much. “He won’t agree, Mr. Cooper. Laci . . . needs people who understand her, how she is. She’s used to performing with us, she’s never done it any other way. She’s particular about who she’s with, who touches her. He won’t allow it.”

  “Seems like she’s doing all right, look at her.”

  I glanced at Laci, who remained seated, the fiddle resting in her lap. She looked like she was quietly listening. Clayton sat back down beside her, grinning while a slow anger heated my chest, and flashed over me quick as a lightning striking in the summertime.

  “Papa ain’t gonna agree to it.”

  Mr. Cooper continued, “You leave everything to me, young lady. You’re not in the position to make decisions, you don’t know what I got worked out with your pa.”

  “No, but I know my sister.”

  Mr. Cooper’s eyebrows rose and his tone turned persuasive. “New experiences might be good for her. She’s been sheltered in them mountains all these years.”

  What he said won’t true. Laci hadn’t been sheltered any more than me. I held my hand out to her. She looked at me, and I felt an unfamiliar sense of panic, remembering her unexpected moments of stubbornness. My hand, suspended in the space, shook slightly. Everyone looked from her to me.

  Mr. Cooper said, “See, she’s . . .”

  Laci stood and tucked her hand into mine, and I was so relieved my legs felt as weak as when I’d first climbed out of the Tuckasegee. Likely I’d only imagined the hesitation, but I was grateful any doubt on my face was hidden by the fact there was only a campfire for light. I led her away, saying not one word to Clayton, or anyone else.

  As we walked to the tent, I was in a state of disbelief. Back at our tent, Laci laid down, and I crawled onto my own cot and turned on my side facing her. I reached out, touching her shoulder, waiting to see if she would brush her fingers down my arm. She didn’t. I listened as her breathing slowed down, becoming an easy in and out of a deep sleep. It was only then I closed my eyes, except sleep was nigh on impossible. My thoughts swarmed like gnats driven crazy by summer sweat, and I come to a peculiar conclusion. Lots of folks had paid Laci attention in the past, and it had never mattered to me much—not until Clayton showed up.

  I’d thought of him as mine, and mine alone. I hadn’t wanted to share his attention from the beginning because his interest towards me at the waterfall showed he was truly liking me for me. He’d made me think maybe I was pretty, and maybe he’d like me in that way, t
he way I’d started to think after he’d told me I reminded him of that girl, Janie Mae, and how he’d pressed his mouth to mine. My thoughts had stayed on him, and the possibilities of our friendship more than anyone before—ever. I’d liked a boy here and there in my class at school, but not like Clayton. It dawned on me then, the reality of my situation. How was anyone ever going to notice me when Laci was always beside me?

  Chapter 21

  I slept late the next morning, and when I opened my eyes it was unusually bright inside the tent. Remembering the previous night, I crawled out from under my covers, and hurried to put on the dress given to me by Joe Calhoun, saving my new ones for the singing. I shivered in a cold air, knocking a thin layer of ice off the top of the water in the washbowl. Winter was finally making its way here. I splashed my face and barely took the time to dry it before I ducked out of the tent to see Laci sitting beside Momma in front of a fire. Papa sat with them, hands between his knees, looking grumpy.

  Hesitant, I sat down and said, “What’s wrong?”

  Momma said, “Mr. Cooper come by this morning.”

  Mr. Cooper had already come. Papa glared over the campfire at me, and Laci got to rocking, and it took me no more than seconds to understand they knowed what happened.

  I chose my words with care, as Papa continued to scowl in my direction. “Diablo, the fire eater? He plays different music than what we listen to, on a phonograph. She heard the music.”

  Papa honed in on the parts I left out, as I should’ve known he would.

  He said, “You mean you girls went off last night. After we went to sleep.”

  I proceeded with even more caution. “We was only gone a few minutes.”

  Papa shifted his gaze to Momma, his expression conveying disbelief.

  Momma shrugged at him and said, “You’re the one taught her to be so independent, William.”

  I tried to explain further. “Laci heard the song being played, and learned it like she learns all the songs she knows.”

  Papa considered what I’d said, and turned to Laci, “Laci?”

  Laci kept on rocking.

  Papa said, “Laci, play the new song you learned last night.”

  She turned her head away from him, hair falling over her face as if to hide.

  I went into the tent and come out with her fiddle and handed it to her. She laid it in her lap.

  “Laci, won’t you play the new song for Momma and Papa?”

  She bent forward like she seen something on the ground.

  Momma said, “Leave her be. I reckon we’ll hear it when she’s ready.”

  Papa said, “Might as well go on to the cookhouse and get breakfast, it’s gettin’ late.”

  Laci tucked the fiddle under her chin and began playing the song, sounding like somebody we didn’t know. It lasted several minutes, and when it was over she went and put the fiddle back in the tent.

  Papa stared after her. “Ain’t that something, Ann?”

  Momma appeared just as surprised.

  She managed to say, “It sure is.”

  Papa said, “I’m gonna have another chat with Cooper. If he insists on her playing longer, he’s gonna have to pay more.”

  I said, “She won’t want to play on stage by herself.”

  “Mr. Cooper says that’s what he wants. If I tell him no, he could tell us to pack our stuff and get on down the road.”

  “What if she won’t do it, though? You wanted her to play and she didn’t want to. She only did it when she wanted to. Laci knows more than we think she knows.”

  Momma raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, Wallis Ann?”

  “She waited and when Papa said we should go eat, then she played the song.”

  “Your sister’s done things like that all her life.”

  I wanted to tell Momma what I’d seen long before we come here. I didn’t get the chance because when Laci come out of the tent, I didn’t say anything more. There was something uncommon, something altered, and it made her seem a bit like a stranger.

  Papa said, “Let’s get on to the cookhouse.”

  When Paulie seen us enter, he said, “I was about to give up and start on dinner. Got a few sausages. A few biscuits. Some corn mush, that’s about it.”

  Papa said, “Don’t matter, whatever you got is fine.”

  He filled plates and handed Momma and Papa theirs. They went to our usual table and Paulie served me and Laci. As usual we ended up with an extra helping of corn mush.

  “Here, let me put you some extra sorghum on it for you and your sister. That’ll help you last till dinnertime.”

  Ever since I’d met Paulie, I’d thought if he’d been about twenty years younger, he might have taken a shine to me the way he was always winking and giving me extras. That changed in the next instant when he looked at Laci. He motioned at me, secret like. I leaned towards him, hoping he won’t about to make me feel uncomfortable by admitting he had taken a fancy towards me. I had no reason to worry.

  He reached into his apron pocket to pull out a slender, silver harmonica, and nodded towards Laci, and said, “I got this here for you to give to your pretty sister. I’ve been coming to hear her play every night, and I thought maybe she’d like to learn this.”

  I felt myself draw up. Even Paulie was knocked silly by Laci. I took the harmonica from him, and without a word, I spun on my heels, mumbling my thanks. We went to the table, and I slid the harmonica across the table to Laci. I could sense Paulie’s eyes on us. Laci took it and turned it over in her hands, then set it on the table and started eating.

  Momma said, “Who gave you that?”

  I mumbled, “Paulie.”

  “Is something wrong, Wallis Ann?”

  “No, Momma. I’m hungry, that’s all.”

  “Well, eat your breakfast.”

  I glanced around as I ate, looking for Clayton. Most everyone was already gone, off to start preparing rides, shows and games for anyone who would come. Visits to the shows was light during the weekdays while folks worked their farms, or worked in town. After suppertime, things picked up, and you could hear the screams of folks on the rides, and the clanging noises of games, and bells when there was a winner. We hurried to finish, and as we got ready to leave, Laci left the harmonica behind on the table. I got it, and followed everyone out. When we got to the path leading to our tents, Papa hurried off to talk to Mr. Cooper about Laci.

  Momma said, “Let’s wash some things.”

  “Sure, Momma.”

  I give Laci the harmonica once more, and she turned it over and over, then laid it down again. Shrugging, I went to haul water, running after the water truck at one point to get extra. That was how we spent the rest of our morning and on into the afternoon, washing what we slept on, underthings, and about anything else we could get our hands on. It felt good to work. I missed the physical labor at Stampers Creek where every day began and ended with more than we could get done in a day. Work always made you feel like you’d accomplished something. After we finished, I fussed around inside the tent, moving mine and Laci’s cots from one spot to another, and then back again. I felt restless, still troubled about Clayton and wishing I could catch sight of him somehow. Later in the afternoon, I heard a familiar voice outside the tent.

  I looked out of the flap to see who it was, and spotted Big Bertha, dropped in for another unexpected visit. Momma, ever the politest of hostesses, dug out the coffeepot we’d used at Stampers Creek, and made some coffee. I decided to stay in the tent and leave Momma to handle things. I picked up the new harmonica and puffed into it. It made a honking sound, like a goose.Whatever in the world had Paulie been thinking? Big Bertha, whose voice matched her size, got to talking about nothing really. She seemed kind a lonely. Momma listened to her go on about this and that, and then she started on her husband again. Momma made appropriate comments and noises until, finally, Big Bertha heaved herself to her feet, preparing to leave.

  She said, “I’m thinking about quittin’ this place.”
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  Momma said, “Really? Why?”

  Big Bertha snorted.

  I peeked out and her blond curls bobbed with indignation. “Why? How would you like it if people come simply to stare at you, while laughing and poking their fingers into you, like you won’t a person? What if you heard them say ugly things, even when they know you can hear? Things like, my God, she looks bigger’n the biggest hog I own. What you reckon she eats, an entire cow?”

  Momma shook her head and said, “I reckon I wouldn’t like it one bit. How long have you been doing this?”

  Big Bertha’s shoulders drooped and she said, “I don’t know. Seems like all my life, but probably ten years. Thing is, when Walter was alive, I didn’t care so much what people thought. Now he’s gone, I got nobody cares about me, my feelings nor nothing.”

  Momma patted Big Bertha’s arm. “Try to only think about the good times you had with him. As far as leaving, maybe you ought to. If you’re not happy?”

  Big Bertha pulled a handkerchief from somewhere within the folds of her clothing, and swiped at her eyes.

  She flipped a hand and said, “Where would I go? Somebody like me? Ain’t got no family left. I reckon folks here is about as good a family as I’m able to have at this point. I won’t ever have nobody love me again like Walter. You know I was only foolin’ about the stew, right? I’d never hurt Walter. I loved him.”

  Momma said, “Of course you wouldn’t. And sure, this seems like a nice-enough place, you have friends here. I mean, folks seem nice enough and all.”