Gravel disturbed at the opposite end of the narrow building-length alleyway. A footstep crunching, even as Pippa froze in response. Squinting, she peered into the deep, lifting the flashlight that was growing warm in her grip. The torch didn’t stretch to the end of the alley, but she heard it again. That evident sound of someone approaching.
“Hello?” There was a tremor in Pippa’s voice. She could feel it as well as hear it. A weight of trepidation settled on her chest, suffocating deep breaths and increasing the rate at which Pippa drew short, quick ones.
Quiet. She must be quiet.
The Watchman was like a ghost. He would spook and flee at too much sound. She could feel it, sense it. He was as spooked as she was, perhaps more. Maybe even the light from her flashlight . . . Pippa flicked it off, allowing the moonless sky to wash her in its ominous insinuation.
When the moon slept, evil awoke.
Pippa’s superstitious mother had taught her that throughout childhood. Be fearful of the night. God had turned to cast His grace on the other side of the world, and it was on nights such as these that wickedness ran rampant, that dangers were not thwarted, and evil found its voice.
A hiss drifted through the stillness, like breath being muffled as it was expelled. A stone skipped down the path toward Pippa. She could hear its tripping journey, though she couldn’t see it in the blackness. Reaching out, Pippa touched the siding of the elephant house, her gloved fingertips catching on the rough wood.
She dared not say hello again. The Watchman had not shown himself. He’d not spoken. But he was there. She heard a deep, shuddering breath sucked in, and then—
“You came.”
The voice was unfamiliar. A raspy and reedy tenor like sandpaper, which only aggravated her raw nerves, sending another shiver through Pippa’s body.
She nodded. And then, because she realized he could not see her, Pippa answered, “I did.”
Silence.
Breathing. A heavier breathing now. One that indicated the Watchman was as nervous as she—or perhaps it was something else.
“W-will you show yourself?” Pippa ventured, and with her brave question she took another hesitant step, tendering her twisted leg and dragging her fingers along the side of the building.
He didn’t answer.
She stilled.
The sacred yet menacing silence was shattered as a ferocious crash vibrated the wall of the elephant house. Pippa squelched a scream, and the flashlight she held flew from her grasp, her body jarring away from the building. Another enormous bang shattered something inside, followed by an earsplitting trumpet pushed through the trunk of a circus pachyderm.
“All hands! All hands!” The shout from behind her caused Pippa to spin in place toward the street and the lamplit walkway.
Cold fingers touched her neck. A scream clawed from Pippa’s throat, and she fought away the frigid feel of flesh against her skin. Callused fingertips dragging along the back of her neck where her hairline wisped into loose curls.
“Noooo.” It was the Watchman’s hissed whisper. Urgent. Demanding.
Pippa ran. As best as she could, she ran toward the street. Away from the Watchman. Away from the question of whether the marriage of darkness and evil was true. She plunged toward the sound of humanity. Toward the urgent shouts from the doorway of the elephant house. Seeking security in the crashing fray and shrieks from inside and fleeing the very one she had so desperately wanted to see.
She stumbled, her weak leg giving out as her foot twisted over something. Whether a rock or a wayward brick, Pippa didn’t know. Tripping forward to gather her balance, she cast a glance over her shoulder. Back toward the shadows.
There the Watchman stood. A silhouette braving the brush of light that now washed through the windows of the elephant house as the electric lamps were turned up. A burlap sack covered his head, black holes where his eyes should have been. Holes that were ragged and frayed, lessening the distance between them as the empty void became a frightening traverse.
In that moment, Pippa was bound to him. More so than she had been before. But it was a binding that imprisoned her, not freed her. The Watchman held captive all her secrets, held prisoner her soul, and she began to drown in the hollowness of his eyes.
The screaming trumpet pushed through the elephant’s trunk, ricocheted off the house’s walls, and pummeled the street outside with its vibrations. Pippa noted a few lights coming on in two small houses across the street. Houses that had only a muddy road to separate them from the wildness of the circus that spanned blocks in both directions. But in the darkness, Pippa could see little, and even the small electric lamps that flicked on cast only tiny shafts of light. The primary beacon came from inside the elephant house, whose double doors were rolled back to reveal the octagonal ring where the elephants were exercised and trained in the cold winter months. A menagerie laborer sprinted past Pippa, his shoulder brushing hers as she stood dazed in the opening.
“Outta the way, miss!” he shouted.
Pippa leapt to the side, just in time to avoid being run over by Ernie Phelps, the elephant trainer. The man stumbled in his sprint into the elephant house. His brown eyes collided with Pippa’s and widened in stunned surprise. He shot a glance of confusion toward the doors opened on the far end of the house leading to the boarding stalls for the elephants, then back to Pippa.
“Miss Ripley!” His expression clearly indicated she shouldn’t be here, and he waved her off with dismissal.
Ernie hurried toward the elephant stalls as another frantic trumpet threatened to shatter the roof. Pippa followed. Curiosity mingled with fear urged her toward the ruckus. Whatever animal emergency had awakened the circus menagerie crew also brought awakened life into a world that had turned very dark, very quickly. She was resistant to finding her way home through the blackened alleys of Bluff River, the walkways of the downtown square that were no place for a lady at night, and up the hill to the stately yellow mansion that overlooked its kingdom. She had been foolish. Reckless. There would be no way to explain any of this to her father.
Chains linked around the elephant’s feet clanked against the cement as she was led into the ring. Her eyes were rolled back in fury, the whites of them bulging with a ferocity that made Pippa scurry to the wall and press herself against it. A few men fought to soothe the elephant, who seemed to have been calmed into some sort of obedience. Ernie, whip in hand but gentleness in his voice, murmured to the great creature. The branch of a tail flipped back and forth at the elephant’s hindquarters, her trunk extended, like a weapon preceding the breadth of a body so large that, if she tried, she could surely trample them all. Yet the elephant had a healthy respect for the whip in Ernie’s hand. A whip he didn’t brandish but merely tapped firmly against the elephant’s shoulder.
“Hook the rings,” he commanded over his own shoulder.
One of the workers tugged the end of one of the ankle chains, latching it to a metal ring bolted to the floor. The elephant’s ears branched wide on either side of her head. Whatever had enraged her was now the focal point of the other workers in the massive room of elephant stalls beyond.
Unnoticed, Pippa edged around the wall, her hands and back pressed against its cold stone. She made her way to the entrance of the barn addition, catching the sleeve of her dress on a splintering piece of bright yellow wood that framed the doorway. Lights illuminated the inside, lone bulbs dangling from wires. A lantern at the first stall hung from an iron hook, adding more specific light to the large enclosed area. Straw was strewn about. Bloodied straw. An unfamiliar scent assaulted Pippa’s nose, and she lifted a gloved finger to hold beneath her nostrils. Slipping forward, she peered around the thick wooden framework of the stall, desperate to see and dreading to know all at the same time.
An animal doctor knelt in the straw, his hands running gently down the back of a prostrate, newly birthed elephant calf. The animal was stocky, with large padded feet and skin covered with patches of afterbirth. Its ears l
ooked like limp, oversized lily pads, and its eyes were shut. The calf’s trunk lay still, resting in the dirtied straw. It was difficult to tell whether all the blood was from its birth or from something worse.
Another man knelt beside the doctor, who held a stethoscope to the elephant. Both of their backs were to Pippa, and she gripped the frame of the stall opening for support. She recognized the doctor. Dr. Thurston, whom she thought she’d heard her father mention recently. He was a necessary and relatively new expense for the circus, and an attempt to relieve the trainers of the full onslaught of the animals’ medical care.
This. This must be the long-awaited birth of the elephant calf. The one Forrest and her father had heralded as the next major focal point of profit. Pippa winced. If they knew their investment lay in the straw, unmoving and covered in blood, would they be so thrilled?
“How could you leave her unattended?” Dr. Thurston’s growl was directed at the man kneeling beside him. Jake Chapman. Pippa had met the retired ring fighter a few times, but mostly she had stayed clear of him. He was a scrappy muscle-bound man, his face half covered with whiskers and an ever-present cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t always lit, but his eyes were usually squinting as though he found it disagreeable—found the world disagreeable. He had never acknowledged her. Even when they’d met. His eyes looked through her as if to confirm how invisible she truly was.
Jake Chapman didn’t bother replying to the doctor. Instead he ran a large hand over the calf’s forehead.
“We’ll be lucky if the calf survives,” Dr. Thurston continued. “There’s got to be massive internal injuries.”
The echoes of Ernie and the men in the ring almost drowned out the grumbling of the doctor.
“Without her matriarchal herd, Agnes panicked.” Dr. Thurston shot his companion a dark look. “A terrified elephant will stomp her newborn to death by sheer fear of the unfamiliar. She wasn’t to be left alone. She must have been spooked. Completely spooked.”
No excuse was offered, but Jake must have heard Pippa’s intake of shocked breath. He darted a sharp look over his shoulder even as she clapped a hand over her mouth. Their eyes connected. His were questioning, then quickly shifted to irritated. They were gray, like the color of Penn’s fur.
“Get out,” he growled.
Surprised, Dr. Thurston turned toward Pippa. The doctor’s expression held the distinct glare of disapproval. “Miss Ripley!” How he recognized her, she wasn’t sure. “This is not the place for you.”
The calf was motionless.
“We’ll have to put her down.” The words were blunt. Jake had no sensitivity to her female delicacies. His candor caused another gasp to escape uncontrolled from Pippa’s lips. Worse, Dr. Thurston gave an abbreviated nod. A regretful and clearly frustrated agreement.
“No!” The protest didn’t even have to fight its way from Pippa’s normally nonconfrontational self. “No, you can’t do that!” She stepped into the stall.
It wasn’t a wise choice, she realized instantly. She shouldn’t insert herself into circus business. Into men’s business. The world of blood and killing wasn’t meant for femininity. Mother had taught her that. It would taint her. Mark her, even subtly, as too experienced, and the loss of such innocence would mar her future. She must be above reproach.
Yet, Pippa realized, she wasn’t. She hadn’t even been born above reproach. The circus was in her blood. The same color red that stained the straw beneath the elephant calf.
“Miss Ripley, you’ve no say in this.” Ernie’s voice sounded behind her right shoulder. He was overseer of the elephants, longtime employee of the Ripleys’ circus, and someone Pippa had grown up in the shadows of. The older man’s thinning gray hair was askew, his clothes disheveled, and his small frame stiff with resolve. “You need to take yourself away from here.”
“This isn’t a place for a woman,” Jake said, affirming Pippa’s unspoken thoughts.
“You. Quiet,” Ernie snapped at the man.
Pippa swallowed back her nerves, frayed at all ends. The Watchman had brought her here, and now she was drowning in the muck of circus life. The tragic reality that not all animals survived in the circus, and that without the wildness of their habitations, being confined sparked in them an instinctual fear to protect and defend. Even against their own offspring.
“D-did I spook her?” Pippa’s voice trembled as she asked Ernie. She cast a desperate glance to Dr. Thurston. “Did my presence outside set the mother off?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“We won’t talk about it.”
The simultaneous answer came from all three men. Ernie with reticence to involve Pippa in any way, the daughter of the circus owner, and a liability just by being there. Dr. Thurston seemed to have little wish to place guilt on her shoulders and therefore barked his denial of her responsibility with swift reassurance.
It was Jake’s blunt “yes” that shut them all up.
Pippa bit the inside of her lip.
He was brutal, but he was honest.
“I did? I spooked her?”
“Impossible,” Ernie said. “It’s not uncommon for a mother to reject her calf shortly after its birth. She’d have no way of knowing you were outside the house tonight. None at all.”
“She could have sensed it,” Jake muttered, never taking his eyes off Pippa, who stared back at him. She was lost in his unguarded animosity.
Dr. Thurston shook his head. “Unlikely.”
“You don’t know elephants,” Jake snarled at the animal doctor. “You take care of cows and horses. They aren’t anywhere near the same.”
“Jake,” Ernie said, his tone one of warning.
Whoever was telling the truth, or whoever was nearest to being right, didn’t matter. That she might have even played a part in alarming the mother into trampling her calf made Pippa’s stomach turn. She eyed Jake cautiously while taking a few more steps toward the baby elephant.
Kneeling, she ignored the moisture from the soiled straw that seeped through the material of her dress and onto her stockings. Pippa reached out tentatively. Cautious and unsure, she again met Jake’s eyes. She needn’t get permission from him to touch the calf. She needed it instead from Ernie. He was in charge. He was the boss here. Yet, Pippa couldn’t help but seek permission—unspoken and perhaps begrudging permission—from the man named Jake. The man whose broad shoulders and thick arms nearly busted the seams of his shirt, which was unbuttoned indecently down to the middle of his chest. A bare chest.
Jake gave a short nod, and Pippa brought her hand to rest on the calf. Its hide was warm, leathery, with tiny little hairs that prickled her palm. She trailed her fingers down the back of the infant, grieving the loss of such a beautiful animal.
“Please,” Pippa whispered. “You can’t put her down.”
Dr. Thurston cleared his throat.
Jake’s jaw was firmly set. “We’ve no choice. She’ll suffer.”
Ernie drew in a deep breath. Consternation laced every syllable in his words. “We’ll lose a fortune.”
Yes. Yes, they would. As Pippa ran her hand down the animal’s back once more, she could almost see her father’s face. A face that would be lined with darkened fury. They had advertised that there would be a baby elephant for next spring’s Big Top. A major attraction once the circus took to the rails and traveled across the country. The huge pachyderms were magnificent, and in comparison the baby would be the main draw. Especially for women. Women who might otherwise scorn the circus atmosphere, the oddities, the violence of the roaring lions and raging tigers. They would be drawn by their own maternal instincts. The instinct to love and to nurture the long-lashed infant with the curled trunk and innocent eyes.
Her father stood to lose thousands.
Pippa wasn’t sure where her courage came from. Courage or maybe foolhardiness. But she reached in front of Jake and laid her palm on the calf’s forehead. As she did, she felt the warmth radiating from t
he man’s body, for he was stubborn and refused to move away. Everything in Pippa willed the calf to live, to breathe, to fight for its life, and when its eyelid opened and it lifted the tip of its trunk in response, Pippa took heart.
“See? See, she’s alive!” Pippa breathed with hope.
“For now,” Jake said and terminated that hope.
“We can watch her—tend her best as we can in hopes she makes it,” Dr. Thurston offered.
“Yes!” Pippa nodded vehemently, tenderly stroking the baby’s face.
“The skin will already be flayed off my back,” Ernie growled. “Ripley’s gonna have my hide. Do what you want.” He was resigned, aware that Richard Ripley would be a force to contend with regardless of the outcome.
Jake stood, his leg brushing against Pippa’s. Her face flooded with heat, and she leaned away from him, causing her to lean into the calf. A whimper gurgled in the animal’s throat.
Jake’s hands fisted, and he spun on his heel. “I’ll go get my gun.”
Chapter Six
CHANDLER
The day had been grueling. Grueling and exhausting. Chandler’s stomach growled its irritation at not having had breakfast, and with the lunch hour already on her, it was a warning she needed to heed. Her blood sugar would be running low. Her body needed protein and oxygen, but she needed her son.
Chandler yanked open the screen door on the small Cape Cod–style house set just off Broadway Street.
“Peter!” Yelling for her son, Chandler attempted to squelch the undertone of helicopter-mom panic. She’d tried calling the new sitter—the one she’d hired off Nanny-Nine-to-Five.com—but they hadn’t answered. That unanswered call was close to unhinging Chandler. The idea of giving a stranger complete control over her most precious treasure made Chandler nauseous the moment she’d dialed the number. Yet Margie Robertson came with five-star references. A whole two of them.
“The last nanny in St. Louis came with gobs of stars.” Chandler hadn’t meant to whine to Uncle Neal, who’d patiently listened to her, knowing that her best way of figuring out a problem was to spew her thoughts without censure.
The Haunting at Bonaventure Circus Page 4
