Milly’s expression crumpled. “But don’t you want Dumbo happy?”
Vandevere stalked over to the window, peering down at the fairgrounds below, which were still active, even this late at night.
“I want my audience happy. I want my animals to be mine. Think I’d have gone and bought her if I thought she was related to him? This doesn’t help me at all.”
“But V. A., please—” Colette stepped forward.
“Who doesn’t want something from me? One person. You show me one.” Vandevere glared around the room. Joe’s shoulders hunched under his scrutiny, but Milly raised her chin. Colette snapped her mouth shut.
“They’re Dumbo’s family now,” he continued, gesturing out the window. “Six nights a week, five bucks a head. Their love is all he’ll ever need.”
Next to Milly, Joe’s eyes were welling with tears. She put a protective arm around him, tugging him close.
Vandevere picked up his coat from his chair and paused in front of them. “Thank you, child, for your help—your so-called scientific method. But the most important part of growing up is learning how to go it alone.”
With that, he swept from the room.
Down below, Vandevere found Skellig waiting by his car. The huntsman nodded—letting Vandevere know that Dumbo was secure in his pen, with no chance of getting loose again. At least one person knew how to handle things, Vandevere thought.
Shrugging into his coat, Vandevere paused as Sotheby held the car door open for him. “Get rid of the mother. You know where to take her.” His eyes darted down to Skellig’s feet. “Treat yourself to new boots.”
Skellig’s mouth twitched into a smile and he nodded again. “Yes, boss.”
“But sir, you can’t just kill her,” Sotheby objected.
“Why not? Who will ever know?” One problem solved, as far as Vandevere was concerned.
Milly’s fingers rubbed the key on her necklace, her mind whirling from the past few minutes. She missed her mother more than ever. She’d know what to do. How could Vandevere think Mrs. Jumbo would cause trouble? Having her close would make Dumbo so happy—and he would still fly for them. She knew it in her heart.
If they took her away from him now, it would destroy Dumbo. Nothing could replace the love of his mother. Couldn’t Vandevere see that?
Milly turned to Holt, her heart squeezing painfully. “Dad, do something. Please?”
Holt exchanged a look with Medici. Of course Vandevere had been too good to be true. In signing on to his amusement park, they’d given him power over all their lives. Vandevere didn’t seem like the type to change his mind, but Holt had to at least try. For Milly and Joe. And for Dumbo. He plopped his cowboy hat on his head and jogged out the door.
He caught up to the Dreamland owner just as Vandevere was settling into his expensive car.
“Mr. Vandevere,” Holt called out. “Please hear me out.”
He stopped by the car and Vandevere turned cold eyes on him.
“Don’t separate them, please. Don’t do that to my kids.” Holt tugged his hat off, practically begging.
Vandevere let him stew in silence for several seconds before answering. “You know, when my father left us it was a blessing, really, because I had to learn how to fend for myself. Maybe that’s what your children need?” He raised an eyebrow at Holt, who bristled and clenched his fist.
“Don’t tell me what my children need,” Holt said.
“Best take a step back, elephant man,” Skellig drawled, angling to be in front of Vandevere.
Behind Holt, Milly, Joe, Medici, and Colette rushed toward them. He felt their eyes on him.
“A circus is more than just a business,” Holt said. Even now, he believed with all his heart that it should be a community, a family, a home.
“Ah.” Vandevere grinned at him, then shot a glance at Medici. “That must be why yours failed.” Turning back to Holt, he arched his eyebrow in challenge. What would Holt do next?
Holt’s lips pinched together. He wanted to draw the line in the dirt, demand Mrs. Jumbo move into the tent with Dumbo, but Vandevere could strip him of his job. Now that Colette knew Dumbo’s training secrets, Holt was replaceable. He’d have no way to feed Milly and Joe. No place for them to stay. Who would hire a one-armed man?
Seeing the defeat in Holt’s eyes, Vandevere smirked and addressed Milly.
“Darling, Dumbo and his mother need a little alone time. So Mommy is going on a little trip so that Dumbo doesn’t get distracted.”
Milly’s face transformed from hope to horror as she realized what he meant. She glanced up at her dad, but he just looked back at her, remorse in his eyes. With a cry, she dropped her bag and took off into the crowd.
“Milly, wait!” Holt called, hurrying after her.
Colette ran over to Joe and hugged him close to keep him from chasing after his family and getting lost. Colette hoped Milly wouldn’t go too far. She had looked so upset—and for good reason. Colette studied Vandevere, who was smiling smugly as he settled into the car. Skellig and Sotheby took their places as well, ever-constant bookends at his side.
What had gotten into V. A.? She’d never seen him as upset as he’d been upstairs, yelling and threatening. Nothing like his usual smooth-talking self. She knew the show always came first for him, but still, to tear a mother and child apart was heartless.
“Get in, Max,” Vandevere ordered from the car. Head hung low, Medici trooped over and slid into his seat. Vandevere smirked, then held out his hand to his starlet. “Coming, Colette?”
She took a step back. “I have rehearsal.”
Vandevere studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, better get that act perfect,” he said. Then he waved to Sotheby and the car rolled away.
That felt good, Colette thought as she turned back to Joe. He was crouched on the ground, gathering up the papers that had spilled from Milly’s bag. She bent to help. Horses and a glittering couple galloped across every page—these were old promotional photos of Holt’s act. They’d been ripped in half and then taped back together. Colette ran her fingers down the jagged line of one. The woman was lovely—her cheeks just as round as Joe’s, her smile a mirror of Milly’s.
Holt’s act hadn’t been a solo affair. His wife, Milly and Joe’s mother, had ridden beside him. Understanding crashed over Colette.
“He’s just a little elephant,” Joe said, sniffling.
Colette pulled him into a hug. This was about more than one mother. “Oh, Joe, I’m so sorry.” She wished there were something else she could do.
In the throngs of people, Holt searched for Milly, but she’d slipped away from him. He checked the Colosseum, the training tents, their new house, and the tents where the rest of the Medici troupe was staying. He trekked back to Nightmare Island, but it had been locked up for the night. Only the sounds of disgruntled beasts emerged from within, and Milly was nowhere to be seen.
Dejected, he circled back to the training tent. Dumbo was locked up in the golden carriage, snuffling pitifully. Joe was asleep on the ground next to it, his head in Colette’s lap, but there was no sign of Milly. Holt sighed. He’d hoped that she’d come back here, to Dumbo.
“Did you find her?” Colette asked.
Holt shook his head. Where else could she be?
“It’s not your fault,” Colette said.
“I’m not sure it matters who’s to blame. I just need to fix it is all.”
“You will. You’ll make her understand.” Colette’s face was full of confidence, but Holt wasn’t so sure.
If only Annie were there. She knew how to talk to the kids, how to ease their heartache, make them understand what was happening. She would have found a way to convince Vandevere, too; Holt was sure of it.
“Her mama knew what to say, no matter what, she always knew. And I just can’t seem to—the words don’t come out right.”
An awkward beat passed. Holt stared down at Joe. His son was curled into a ball and Holt could see tear tracks
down his cheek. What could he tell them? How could he fix this?
“Your children don’t need you to be perfect. They just need you to believe in them.” Colette ran her hands through Joe’s hair, smoothing it down.
“That simple, huh?”
Colette nodded at him.
Maybe she was right. Maybe there was a different kind of support his kids needed from him, not just food and shelter, but something deeper. Instead of wanting his kids to love what he loved, think like he thought, maybe he should listen and be there for them. Milly wasn’t a performer; she loved science and solving puzzles through trial and error. Joe wasn’t an artist who could pull off magic or acrobatic tricks, but he had a heart as wide and deep as the ocean, and this world could use more people like him. Holt might not be a rider anymore, might not be an elephant trainer if Vandevere decided to fire him, but no matter what, he would be the best father he could be.
Rather than preparing them for how harsh and cruel the world could be, he would be their shelter in the storm, a rock from which they could leap to find their own way.
Come to think of it, he had a pretty good idea where to find Milly, once the exhibit opened for the day. But for now, he’d keep searching.
Holt tipped his head to Colette and headed back out into the night.
Far across Dreamland, in a makeshift tent hotel, Milly sobbed as Catherine stroked her hair. She didn’t want to see her father, not tonight. Not after he’d given up so easily. Not after he’d forfeited Dumbo’s mother.
Once she’d fallen asleep, Catherine sent Ivan out to try to find Holt and let him know Milly had shown up after all and was safe now. Then she puttered around Milly, fetching blankets, remembering another night long ago when she’d felt helpless.
Rain lashed the ground and battered the tents. Most of the troupe had retreated to the train, crowding into the boxcars to escape the worst of the storm, but Ivan and Catherine were braving the elements, despite the virulent strain of influenza ravaging their circus family.
“My love,” Catherine said, curled into Ivan’s side, “do you miss Florida?”
“They had hurricanes and plenty of storms there, too, mi amor,” Ivan said.
“Yes.” Catherine paused. “I was thinking more about the cottage on the bay.”
“Ah.” Ivan rubbed his jaw—something he did when he was uncomfortable.
He probably didn’t want to think about the cottage. When they’d lived there, Catherine had decorated one of the rooms as a nursery, but they’d tried for years with no success to have children, even after they sold the cottage and joined the circus to see the country.
“We couldn’t afford it anymore, remember? And we wanted the adventure of traveling,” he finally said.
Catherine nodded, her face lined with sadness. The Medici troupe was wonderful; they stuck by each other through thick and thin, better even than some real families—better than her own, which had cast her out when she fell in love with Ivan, a Spanish immigrant and boardwalk magician. They had disapproved of the match.
But from the first time she’d seen him perform, his voice calling out over the backdrop of crashing waves, he’d tucked her heart up his sleeve just like a card. She’d watched for hours, eventually spotting his sleight of hand. Ivan had winked at her and touched his finger to his lips, pleading for silence. She’d learned Spanish for him—loving the way the words rolled through her mouth—and magic, as well. She was the finest magician’s assistant to be found and had worked hard to master distraction and timing to boost Ivan’s act.
“Catherine, Ivan, come quick!” Joe’s voice cried out. “Help!”
Oh, no, Catherine thought.
Jumping up, the couple wrapped blankets around themselves, grabbed their meager medical supplies, and ducked out into the torrential rain to reach little Joe, who was shivering next to the train.
“Back inside, Joe, quickly,” Catherine said, hustling him along.
The boxcar was nearly empty—just Milly and Pramesh hovered over Annie as she lay, trembling and pale, on a collapsible cot.
Annie’s fever had finally broken the day before, and she’d even gotten to her feet. But she must have taken a turn for the worse that morning. A wretched cough racked Annie’s body, and Milly helped her sit up, pressing a handkerchief to her mother’s mouth. The white cloth came away spotted with blood.
Catherine cursed silently and moved to Milly’s side, laying a protective hand on her shoulder as she knelt next to her.
“What can we do?” Ivan asked. Joe’s eyes were a mix of hope and fear as he looked up at him.
Catherine felt a pang. Did he think Ivan had the magic to fix his mother? She wished Holt were there to comfort his children, to be by Annie’s side.
Pramesh turned to Catherine with somber eyes. “I was hoping you might have some paraldehyde left.”
Catherine dug through their bag for the vial, her hands trembling slightly as she handed it over. It might help ease the cough, but from the look in Pramesh’s eyes, he meant it more as a salve to Annie’s pain than as a cure.
With careful movements, Milly folded the handkerchief and set it aside, readying a new cloth in its place. Her lips were pressed tightly together, as if holding in her sorrow, but even without tears, it spilled out of her eyes as she bent to help her mother sit up enough to take the medicine.
Pramesh measured out a few drops, which Annie swallowed before slumping back into Milly’s lap. In the back of the car, Joe was unusually still.
“My loves, come where I can see you,” Annie pleaded.
Catherine took over for Milly so she and Joe could kneel on either side of Annie.
“Milly, Joe, you are the best things I’ve done.” Annie paused to wheeze. “There is much more waiting for you. I know that you will accomplish amazing things—things I cannot even dream of!”
“Mama, no, please don’t say that.” Milly’s voice quavered.
“Shh, my sweets. Listen, Joe, my kind boy, no matter what you do, remember to lead with your heart—it knows the way. Milly, my clever girl, the world may tell you no someday, but just remember you can unlock any door.”
Annie’s fingers tapped the key she’d given Milly just after Holt had shipped off to war.
“I’m so proud of you both,” Annie whispered.
Sobbing, Milly and Joe leaned over, hugging their mother. She held them to her tightly.
Her eyes met Catherine’s above her.
“Take care of them, please,” Annie said. “Until Holt comes home.”
Catherine read the rest of Annie’s message in her face: If he doesn’t make it back, if the war claims him, please take care of my children.
“We will keep them safe and love them like our own,” Catherine assured her. She dripped some water into Annie’s mouth and ran her hand over her forehead.
Milly and Joe were still crying, but their mother slowly slipped into sleep, the paraldehyde taking effect.
“Is she—” Milly sat up, her face blotchy.
“No, my dear, she’s sleeping,” Catherine said. “Get some rest, little one.”
With a respectful nod to Catherine and Ivan, Pramesh silently left for his own boxcar. Next to Joe, Ivan’s expression was grim, but he gently rubbed the boy’s back until Joe fell asleep. Milly, too rattled, kept vigil until her mother’s chest stilled, her lungs giving out one final exhale.
Milly’s face crumpled, but before the tears dropped, Catherine was there, wrapping her in an embrace, tugging her close and rocking her back and forth, back and forth.
“Shhh, shhhh, mi hija,” Catherine whispered. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”
Meeting Ivan’s eyes, Catherine stifled a cry. They had been called upon to be guardians for a little while, and they would do their best.
Catherine bowed her head, kissing Milly’s thick brown hair. Whatever it takes, I will be here for you, she thought fiercely. As much as you’ll let me.
From his window, Medici scanned Dreamland. T
hey hadn’t opened for the day yet, but workers bustled below, sweeping the paths and hauling water and food for the animals. He twirled a ring on his finger—a nervous habit. Everything was so much bigger here. But was bigger always better? At what cost?
Thump. Medici whirled to see Verna dropping a stack of pink papers on his desk. Finally, something for him to do.
Medici picked up the top one. Big letters proclaimed: CONTRACT TERMINATED. The name on the form was Rongo’s.
“Whoa, whoa, what’s this?”
“Gimme a break,” his secretary snapped. “I gotta teach you to read English, too?”
Medici tore through the rest of the pile, then grabbed up the stack, his pulse racing, and hurried into Vandevere’s office.
“Morning, Max,” Vandevere said calmly. He set down the newspaper he was reading and selected a slice of orange from the breakfast spread in front of him. Glancing up, he saw the slips in Medici’s hand. “Good, you got the paperwork. I finished reviewing the rest of your acts, and to be honest, they’re pale imitations of ones we already have.” Medici’s stomach clenched, but Vandevere carried on like he was reciting the weather. “So one month’s severance seems more than fair. Capisci?”
The papers grew damp in Medici’s palm. “I thought you promised—”
“Tut, tut.” Vandevere picked up a spoon and stirred a lump of sugar into his coffee. “The contract says I’d hire them…it never specifies for how long.”
Was the floor swaying under him? Medici nearly stumbled. “But they’re my troupe. They were counting on me.” Miss Atlantis, Pramesh, Rongo, Puck, the rest…they were his people. He owed them.
Vandevere shrugged. “What does history value, Max? The pyramids? Or the hands who built them?” He nodded at the slips. “That said, let’s have a heart: they should hear the news from you.”
That’s what Vandevere called having a heart? Medici tried to object one more time, pointing out how valuable they could be, even as understudies. But Vandevere set down his cup and stared hard at him.
Dumbo Live Action Novelization Page 14
