Coal River

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

  Emma breathed a sigh of relief, realizing the man wasn’t going to bring out the freaks after all. He was just trying to pull the crowd closer, to pique their curiosity. She stepped backward as the onlookers surged forward, like cattle on their way to feed. When she turned to make her way toward the concession stands, someone gently squeezed her elbow. She spun around, hoping it wasn’t Frank Bannister.

  It was Clayton Nash.

  Remembering their last exchange up at the miners’ village, her shoulders tensed. At the same time, she couldn’t ignore the fact that she was happy to see him.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” he said with a grin. Thankfully, the flash of anger she’d seen in his eyes the other day was gone. “Where is your chaperone, young lady?”

  Her cheeks grew warm. “I must have lost her.”

  He gestured toward the freak show tents, bowing slightly. “May I accompany you inside?”

  “Oh no,” she said, shaking her head. “I’d rather not.

  “Are you sure? It’s quite a spectacle!”

  She shook her head again and started walking, her eyes on the ground.

  He followed. “May I walk with you?”

  She nodded, and clasped her purse in front of her. Then she let go of her purse and clasped it again, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands and arms. She didn’t want to brush against Clayton’s hand accidentally, or make him think she was waiting for him to take her arm. “So you’ve been inside the freak show?” she said at last.

  “It was a long time ago. The last time the carnival was here, I was eleven.”

  “Did you see the mermaid?”

  He laughed. “I don’t think they had a mermaid back then.”

  “What about the others?” she said. “The three-legged boy? The giant?”

  He stopped and pointed back at the tent. “Are you sure you don’t want to see for yourself? My treat?”

  “No, no,” she said. “I was just curious. I mean, I was wondering if they were real.”

  He shrugged and started walking again. “Well, the people I saw were real, all right. But I don’t know if some of the sights inside the tents were a trick of the eye or what. Last time, I saw a two-headed man, and I’ll never forget it. I even remember what he was wearing. A white shirt, a blue bow tie, pinstripe trousers, and a shiny red vest. He was sitting in a wingback chair, smoking a cigar and looking back at people. He moved the cigar from one mouth to the other, drawing on it with one set of lips and blowing smoke out with the other. And all of his eyes moved left or right, or up and down, at the same time. It gave me nightmares for weeks.”

  She shivered. “Don’t tell me any more. I don’t want to know.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Shall we do something fun to take your mind off it? Maybe we should ride the Ferris wheel.”

  Just then, Jack and Sawyer—the orphan and the breaker boy who were watching Clayton when he was arrested at the dance hall—came running toward them. They were laughing and excited, their smiling faces sticky with cotton candy.

  “Can I have a nickel to go to the freak show?” Jack said.

  “Did you spend your money already?” Clayton said.

  Jack dropped his chin, shoved his hands into his pockets, and scuffed his shoe in the dirt. “Yes.”

  “Well then, “Clayton said. “You know the answer. I told you not to spend it so fast.”

  “I know,” Jack cried. “But I wanted to—”

  “No more bellyaching,” Clayton said. “There are plenty of other things to see that don’t cost a penny. Now run along and stay out of trouble.”

  Sawyer tugged on Jack’s shirt sleeve, and the two boys ran off toward the red and white awning of the fry tent, where other children were gathered around a clown.

  Clayton grinned at Emma. “Sorry about that.”

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “I know how rambunctious young boys can be.” They continued on, strolling toward the midway. “Sawyer told me about Jack. It’s wonderful that you’ve taken him in.”

  Clayton’s brow darkened, and he scanned the horizon, as if looking for something that wasn’t there. For what seemed like forever, he said nothing. She was about to ask if she’d said something wrong, when he spoke.

  “Do you have children?” he said.

  “Me?” she said. “Lord, no.” She fingered the lace cuff of her sleeve, surprised by her desire to open up to him about Albert. “I had a little brother once, but he’s gone now. He was eight when he drowned, right here in Coal River.”

  “Oh no,” Clayton said. “I’m so sorry.” He touched her hand, his fingers like sunbaked stones on her skin. She’d never felt a hand so warm. “Please, forgive me for prying. I hope I didn’t upset you.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t know. It seems to be the talk of the town.”

  “I don’t pay much attention to gossip,” he said.

  She chewed on her lip, wondering if she should ask him if he knew Michael. Percy had been no help. Maybe Clayton knew where the boy lived, or whether what Percy said was true. Maybe the story about Michael being a deaf-mute was nothing but more gossip. And yet, in her heart, she knew it was true. There was something about Michael and the way he spoke to her that was strange. Just thinking about it gave her chills. “Can I ask you something?” she said.

  “Sure.”

  “Do you know a boy named Michael Carrion? Or his grandmother Tala? She has white braids and—”

  Clayton shook his head. “The name sounds familiar. But I can’t place it.”

  She started to say more, then stopped. She didn’t want him to think she was foolish, or worse, crazy. “That’s all right. It’s not important.”

  “I’ve got my hands full with so many things, I barely know my own name sometimes,” he said.

  “Like what?” she said. If he couldn’t tell her anything more about Michael, maybe he would tell her more about himself, and what, if anything, he was going to do about the mining company and Hazard Flint.

  “Today is not the day to talk about unpleasant things,” he said. “Look around.” He smiled and swept a hand through the air, like a magician presenting a trick. “We’re supposed to be having fun! Now how about that Ferris wheel ride?”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t bring any money with me,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t see through her lie. She didn’t want to tell him that she didn’t have a red cent to her name because Aunt Ida had decided the money she earned at the Company Store should go straight into the household funds. And she’d be damned if she’d grovel for a single penny from her aunt and uncle. For now she’d have to be content with the sights and sounds of the carnival. “Maybe another time.”

  “Another time?” he said. “Didn’t you hear me say how long it’s been since the carnival came to Coal River? Come on. It’s my treat.”

  “I can’t. Really. The Ferris wheel is not my cup of tea.”

  “Why not?” he said. Then he tilted his head and grinned at her. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

  She shrugged and said nothing, but he knew.

  All of a sudden, a wave of breaker boys shoved around and past them, laughing and yelling at one another to hurry up. She watched them run away, trying to see where they were headed. Why were they so excited?

  Up ahead, the crowd parted to let someone through. It was a man in a chalk-stripe suit and black top hat, making his way along the midway. Breaker boys surrounded him on all sides, walking beside and in front of him, vying for his attention like chickens around a farmer scattering corn. He was reaching into a leather pouch and handing out coins to the boys, smiling and telling them there was enough for everyone.

  It was Levi Flint.

  Emma and Clayton fell silent, stepping aside to watch him pass. Emma searched the surrounding faces for Mr. Flint, but didn’t see him.

  “I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” she said.

  “Me either,” said Clayton.

  “Do you think Mr. Flint knows?”

&
nbsp; Clayton shook his head. “He must be away on business or something. I admire Levi’s nerve.”

  A few yards behind Levi and the swarm of breaker boys, Frank was striding toward her and Clayton, his face hard. Without thinking, Emma grabbed Clayton’s hand and yanked him sideways into a cluster of people gathered around a man guessing people’s height and weight.

  “The Ferris wheel is the other way,” Clayton said.

  Emma ignored him and pulled him through the crowd, hurrying around baby prams and laughing children. She crossed the stream of people on the midway, then turned and went in the other direction, where they passed the shooting gallery and the ringtoss. When they reached the other side of the carnival, Emma stopped and faced him, breathing hard. She let go of his hand.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, heat rising in her cheeks. “But I—”

  “It’s all right. I saw Frank Bannister coming toward us. You don’t want him to see us together.”

  “It’s not that . . .” she said. For a second she considered telling him about Frank and Mr. Flint murdering someone down by the river. Maybe she should warn him. Then she changed her mind. She still didn’t know him that well. And if he told anyone, it could put them both in more danger. “Let’s just say I’ve known Frank a long time, and I’d just as soon never talk to him again.”

  “People find Frank intimidating because he’s Mr. Flint’s right-hand man,” he said. “And he’s not the smartest bloke to walk the streets of Coal River.” Clayton moved closer and took her hands in his. “But you’re shaking.” His hands were wide and rough, the kind of hands that would catch you if you fell, or pull you quickly out of the path of an oncoming wagon. The kind of hands that made you feel safe. Emma pulled free of his grasp, afraid she would throw herself into his arms and sob.

  He searched her face, as if trying to uncover the secrets behind her eyes. Then he straightened and grinned mischievously, offering his arm. “I shall protect you from harm, my fair lady,” he said in a fake English accent. “Now, please, if you don’t mind. May we continue on with today’s merriment?”

  Emma drew in a deep breath and regained her bearings. She took his arm and let him direct her toward the midway. He was right. Carnivals were for having fun. She would think about Michael and Frank and Mr. Flint tomorrow. Of course, if Uncle Otis and Aunt Ida saw her with Clayton, there would be hell to pay. But for now she was going to make the best of the day. Besides, her aunt and uncle were probably hoping to marry her off; why would they care who her suitor was as long as she was out of their house? When she was someone’s spouse, she would no longer be their concern. Why would it matter to them if she married a poor miner, a rich banker, or a boorish policeman?

  She drew closer to Clayton, brushing her shoulder lightly across his arm. He smelled of wood smoke, pine, and shaving soap, like a strong, capable man who would know how to protect the woman he loved. Emma shook her head to clear it. What was she doing, thinking of Clayton as a potential husband? She barely knew him! And besides, she didn’t want anyone, or anything, tying her to Coal River.

  Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed where Clayton was taking her. When they reached the Ferris wheel, he stopped. The carnival workers were loading the ride, and there was only one other couple in line. “Shall we?” Clayton said.

  She smiled, her face uncertain. “I’m not sure.”

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise,” he said, leading her toward the queue. “Come on. It’s fun. See those cars up there?” He pointed at the Ferris wheel seats. “It’s like sitting on your grandmother’s davenport.”

  “Maybe we could play a game of chance instead,” she said. “Or ride the carousal?”

  “The carousal is for children!” he said, laughing.

  She looked at the Ferris wheel, trying to decide. Maybe it wasn’t as scary as it looked. At the top of the loading ramp, a carnival worker held open the safety bar of an empty car, beckoning them toward it. Emma glanced behind her to see if they were holding up any other riders. There was no one else in line. But then she gasped. Uncle Otis and Aunt Ida were making their way arm in arm through the crowd, and they were heading straight for them. Aunt Ida was eating a candy apple while Uncle Otis kissed her cheek. His face was sweaty and flushed, as if he were boiling hot or drunk. Emma looked back at the loading ramp. It was either the Ferris wheel, or her aunt and uncle. The carnival worker was gesturing with some irritation, telling her and Clayton to hurry up and get on. She grabbed Clayton’s hand, ducked, and climbed into a red metal car with blue stars on the sides.

  The carnival worker pushed the safety bar closed, let go of the car, and told them to hold on. The car rocked back and forth, metal squeaking against metal, and Emma’s stomach went up and down. Just as she was about to say she’d made a mistake and had to get off, the car lurched backward and up, flying toward the top of the giant metal wheel as if pulled by a rope. She gripped the safety bar, her knuckles turning white. Loose strands of her hair flew in her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, held on for dear life, and tried not to scream.

  “Open your eyes!” Clayton shouted above the whoosh of air and rattle of metal.

  She shook her head, certain she was about to throw up or die.

  “There’s no reason to be afraid!” he said. “Just enjoy the view. That’s half the fun!” Then, to her surprise, he put his arm around her and pulled her close. “I promise, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  She tried to breathe normally, taking slow, deep breaths and letting them out slowly. Despite her terror, she was aware of the close proximity of Clayton’s jawline, the clean, piney smell of his thick neck. On one hand, it felt inappropriate to be this close to him, to let him put his arm around her. On the other, it felt comfortable and safe, as if this was where she belonged, and nothing could ever happen to her as long as she was with him. She opened one eye and then the other, her heart pounding in her chest, and tried to shake the dizzy feeling that threatened to send her reeling over the side of the car, where she would fall like a rock to the ground. Frozen, she stared straight ahead, not daring to turn left or right.

  Rooftops appeared before her like a river of brown waves, followed by the leafy tops of trees, the peaks of canvas tents, the sea of carnival goers. And then she and Clayton were soaring backward and up again, floating toward the top of the wheel, where the mountains loomed over the village, over the rooftops, over the roads, over the people, over everything. Her legs and arms were trembling, but she couldn’t resist looking down on the people below. From the top of the ride, hats and heads looked like the beads of a multicolored necklace scattered on the ground—red, green, white, purple, gray, black.

  Just as she was beginning to think she might not be sick or die after all, there was a loud crack, like the sound of metal breaking in two. The Ferris wheel jerked and shuddered to a screeching stop. Emma and Clayton’s car came to an abrupt halt at the top of the ride, where it swung wildly back and forth. Terrified, she tried not to scream. Maybe she wasn’t as brave as she thought.

  “What happened?” she cried.

  Clayton tightened his grip on her shoulder. “We’re all right,” he said. He reached out and grabbed the metal frame of the Ferris wheel with his free hand, holding the thick bar to steady their car.

  “Why did it stop?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “This happens all the time. I was watching them test the rides last night, and they told me this engine breaks down at least once a day. We’re perfectly safe up here while they see to it.”

  “But how will we get down?”

  “We’ll wait until they fix it, then they’ll let us off.”

  “You mean we have to stay up here until they get it started again?” she said. “But what if—”

  “Shhh,” he said, pulling her closer. “Calm down. It’s all right. We’re going to be fine, I promise. We’ll be back on the ground in a few minutes, you wait and see.”

  “I never should have let you talk
me into this,” she said.

  “Pretend you’re on a porch swing,” he said. “Close your eyes if you want, but you’d better calm down before you send yourself into a fit.”

  “I’m not going to have a fit,” she said. “I’m just scared!”

  He laughed. At first she thought he was laughing at her. But then he said, “I can see your aunt and uncle. They’re looking up here, trying to figure out what’s going on. Everyone is watching and pointing. I could drop a hunk of coal in their mouths if I had one.”

  “Can my aunt and uncle see us?”

  “No, they can’t tell who we are from down there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I hope they’re gone when we get off.”

  “Is that why you changed your mind about getting on? Because you didn’t want them to see us together?”

  “You don’t know my uncle,” she said.

  “Oh, I know your uncle.”

  “How?” she said, doing her best to concentrate on the conversation and ignore the fact that she was hanging high in the air.

  “I’ve been working under him for years. My father always said you could judge a man by how he treats those below him. Using that measuring stick alone, I can tell what kind of man your uncle is. Besides, he doesn’t like me, and he has no qualms about showing it.”