The Life She Was Given

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

  In the kitchen, she rinsed out the copper teakettle, filled it, and put it on the stove to boil. The water from the sink smelled the same—iron, wet stone, and a hint of algae, so unlike the chlorinated water in the city. How many times had she been in this kitchen, washing dishes and helping Mother cook? How many times had she begged to do more than cut vegetables or cheese, more than get the flour out of the pantry, or the milk and eggs from the refrigerator? She wanted to knead the bread and brown the meat for the soup. She wanted to frost the cake and roll out the piecrust. But Mother worried she’d ruin whatever they were making, so she never let her do any of those things. After all, it was a sin to let good food go to waste.

  Julia grabbed an apple from the wooden bowl on the island and stood at the sink, looking out the window, her shoulders hunched against the chill. Outside, the winter garden was a tangle of leggy plants and overgrown weeds. Mother would turn over in her grave if she could see it.

  Now more than ever, Julia felt truly alone. Her mother and father were gone, and nothing had been resolved. Now it never would be. Over the years she had pulled herself apart, piece by piece, trying to understand why she felt so unloved, and why it always seemed as though her parents were keeping things from her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, there were foggy memories of Mother swaddling her in blankets and kissing her cheek, and she could still picture Mother’s blond hair and red lips as she sang lullabies and rocked her to sleep. But something changed as Julia got older, and she had no clue what it was.

  Around the time Julia turned nine, Mother told her how she had prayed for a daughter and had spent most of her pregnancy in bed because she was so afraid of losing her. Then she went into a tirade about how disappointed she was to learn Julia’s only goals in life were to disobey and argue with her. Sometimes it seemed like her parents had a separate life that had nothing to do with her, or she had been born into the wrong family. She used to fantasize that she was adopted, or that her parents were spies, or had changed their identities to hide from the mob. But that was only to distract herself from being sad. Maybe she would never know.

  A sudden banging at the back door made her jump. The banging came again, more insistent now. She set the apple on the counter, headed toward the door in the mudroom off the kitchen, and looked through the glass. An elderly gentleman in a tweed fedora and brown jacket stood on the stone steps.

  “Hello?” he called.

  Julia opened the door a crack. “Can I help you?”

  “Just stopping by to check on you, Miss Blackwood,” the man said. He was short and thin, with a weathered face and watery blue eyes. “I don’t suppose you remember me, do you?”

  Julia shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  The man looked uncomfortable, as if he were performing some unpleasant but necessary task. He glanced over his shoulder, as if plotting a quick getaway. “I’m Claude, the barn manager and groundskeeper. Worked for your parents for nearly twenty-seven years.”

  She smiled and opened the door wide. “Oh,” she said. “I don’t think we ever officially met. I wasn’t allowed in the barn when I lived here.”

  Claude cleared his throat. “Well . . . I . . . ah . . . I remember you. I met you when you were just a little tike. And I saw you playing around the yard. Your father, God rest his soul, used to talk about you all the time.”

  Julia was taken aback by the comment. Her father used to talk about her? All the time? Maybe Claude was just being nice. Maybe he was worried about losing his job. “How are the horses?” she said because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “They’re fine, Miss Blackwood, just fine. We’ve still got the best breeding mares around and five of the best stallions.”

  “That’s nice,” she said. “I look forward to seeing them.”

  Claude briefly dropped his eyes and scuffed his boot on the step. When he looked up again, something that looked like worry, or maybe it was fear, gathered behind his eyes. “You planning on redoing the place? Selling the horses or land, anything like that?”

  Julia shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think that far ahead yet.”

  He forced a quick smile. “Okay. Just curious, is all.”

  “Maybe we can get together in the next day or two and you can start going over everything with me.”

  He nodded.

  “Thank you for getting the groceries,” she said. “And thanks for staying on and taking care of the horses. I’m sure you’ve done a wonderful job.”

  Claude seemed embarrassed by the compliment. He ducked his head and nodded once. “All right. As long as you’re settled in, I’ll be getting back home then. The keys to everything are in that drawer over there.” He pointed at the cupboard next to the stove. “Including the key to the Buick in the garage.”

  “I’m afraid the car won’t do me much good,” she said. “I don’t have a driver’s license. Mother didn’t allow that either.”

  “Oh,” Claude said. He hesitated, his expression slack. “Well, if you need to go into town for something, let me know and I’ll give you a ride.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “All right, then. Just give me a holler if you need anything else. Have a good night.” He gave her a two-fingered salute, clomped down the steps, and started across the yard.

  “I will,” she said. “Night.”

  After Claude left, she berated herself for not asking him how to turn up the furnace. How could she be so dumb? She looked out the window toward the barn to see if he was close enough to come back, but he was getting in his truck. By the time she put on a coat and hat and ran after him, he’d be gone. Then she remembered the fireplace in the living room. Right now she was cold, hungry, exhausted, and overwhelmed. There would be plenty of time to figure everything out tomorrow, including how to turn up the furnace. She took eggs and milk out of the refrigerator and made scrambled eggs and toast, ate them standing at the island, then went into the living room to start a fire.

  A stack of old wood sat next to the fireplace, bugs and cobwebs filling the cracks and crevices of the brittle bark. After she got the fire going, she took off her shoes and curled up on the couch. The cushions sank low where she sat, and the silence of the house rang in her ears. It was going to be a long night.

  CHAPTER 7

  LILLY

  After seeing her reflection for the very first time in the mirror above the vanity in the dressing tent, Lilly sat on the ground, her head spinning and her stomach queasy. All this time, she thought she was a monster. All this time, her parents had been lying to her. All this time, she had been locked in the attic for no reason. She pushed herself up on wobbly legs and brushed the grass from her dress, the world a blur through her tears.

  “You okay?” Glory asked her.

  Lilly nodded.

  “Come on,” Glory said. “Let’s go over to the cookhouse and get some breakfast. That’ll help you feel better. You must be half-starved.”

  Lilly didn’t think she could eat anything, but she followed Glory out of the tent and across the midway. She thought about turning around and running away, but where would she go? Home? No one wanted her there. To the nearest town? Merrick and Leon said she wasn’t wanted there either, unless someone was waiting to pickle her brains and put them on display. There was nowhere to go.

  Walking beside Glory past rows of concession stands and circus wagons, she tried not to think about what might happen next. It was hard enough putting one foot in front of the other. On the other side of a row of wagons, three elephants stood with their heads down, their back legs chained to stakes in the ground. A man in bib overalls and a boy in a newsboy cap stood beside one of the elephants, studying something in the grass. Whatever they were looking at was gray and round, like a big rock. The man leaned against a long stick and the boy bent over at the waist, his hands on his knees, smiling. Then the boy sat on the ground and the rock moved. It got to its feet, shook its little ears, and flopped its
small trunk up and down. It was a baby elephant.

  Lilly slowed, unable to pull her eyes away. The boy laughed and the man rubbed the big elephant’s leg, stroking its thick hide back and forth. The boy ran a hand down the baby elephant’s forehead and along its trunk. The baby put its front feet on the boy’s shoulder, then dropped to its knees and lay on its side like a big dog in the boy’s lap, curling its head into his legs. Lilly couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The boy laughed harder and scratched the baby’s belly with both hands. Then he looked up at the man, who had caught sight of Glory and Lilly, and followed his gaze, grinning. To Lilly’s surprise, he waved.

  She dropped her eyes and walked faster. Had she been staring? Was she supposed to wave back? He looked a little older than her, but she had never seen another child, let alone a boy playing with a baby elephant. She didn’t know what to do. What did he think when he saw her? Did he notice the color of her skin, or was he too far away? He had to belong with the circus; otherwise he wouldn’t have been playing with the elephants. Maybe he was used to seeing people who looked different. But why did he wave?

  “Never mind about him,” Glory said. “Their kind don’t get involved with the likes of us.”

  “Their kind?” Lilly said.

  “Big-top performers. They don’t get tangled up with sideshow acts.”

  Lilly frowned. “Tangled up?”

  Glory smiled and waved a hand in the air. “Never mind. I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

  Farther along the midway, six animal wagons sat off to one side, each with a lion inside. Two of the lions sat up in their cages while the rest dozed in the heat, their sides heaving up and down. One slept with his massive head pressed against the cage wall, his brown matted mane spilling out between the bars. When Glory and Lilly walked past, he lifted his head, blinked, and watched them pass, his whiskers twitching. Lilly slowed and stared into his sad brown eyes. She saw how beautiful and perfect he was, locked in a cage and filled with sorrow. She saw his thick fur, his padded feet, his sharp teeth, his black nose. All of a sudden, the walled-in feeling of being locked in her room washed over her, and the heavy, horrible ache of missing home. The sensations were so strong they nearly brought her to her knees. It almost seemed as if she could feel the lion’s longing to be free, as surely as she felt her own grief and fear. Maybe he dreamed of lying on cool grass and running through the open savannah in Africa, like she used to imagine escaping her room and going outside. Maybe he, too, missed his home.

  With tears filling her eyes, she fought the urge to go over and unlock the cages. But the lions wouldn’t be any better off than she was. If they tried running into the woods, someone would stop them. If they tried to fight back, someone would hurt them or shoot them. She moved toward the watching lion as if pulled in by an unseen force. She wanted to reach in and touch him, to let him know that if it were up to her, he would be free.

  “What are you doing?” Glory yelled. “Get away from there!”

  Lilly stopped, startled out of her trance. “I just wanted to—”

  “Lions are man-eaters,” Glory said. “He could take off your hand with one bite!”

  Lilly moved away from the lion and continued on beside Glory, watching him until they were out of sight. Hearing Glory talk about the lions the same way Momma used to talk about her made her sad, as if the lions were something to be hated and feared. They were wild animals who wanted their freedom, and to be left alone. That was all.

  After leaving the lions, they headed to the back lot, toward a tent nearly as big as the big top, but not as tall. As they got closer, Lilly dragged her feet and fell behind Glory. The tent sidewalls were rolled up, and voices and laughter floated out over the lot. People at tables filled the tent, people who might stare and make fun of her, people who might be afraid and try to hurt her. Lilly’s chest constricted and she stopped walking, struggling to pull in air. Glory stopped to look back at her.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “There’s no reason to be afraid. This is the cookhouse, where everyone eats. One thing you’ll learn is that the circus travels on its stomach. It’s what keeps us moving.” She pointed to a flag on top of the tent. “See that flag? When it’s orange, the cookhouse is open. When it’s blue, it’s closed.”

  Lilly didn’t care about the cookhouse or the flags. She didn’t want to go in there. Glory returned to where she stood.

  “Listen,” Glory said, kneeling beside Lilly in the grass. “If there’s one thing you need to know about circus folk, it’s that we’re strangers in every town we go, so we only have each other. Sure, we got our own set of rules so we can get along, and not everyone follows the rules. But when the chips are down, we protect our own. And you’re one of us now. You’re part of our family. No one is going to hurt you. I know it’s hard, but try to calm down and breathe slowly.”

  Lilly thought about reminding Glory that Merrick had hurt her, but she couldn’t talk. Her lungs were too tight and her throat felt like it was closing. She drew in a shaky breath and blew it out, long and slow, over and over and over, counting each inhale and exhale. After what seemed like forever, her thundering heart slowed and her chest loosened.

  “Okay now?” Glory said.

  Lilly nodded.

  Glory gave her a weak smile, then straightened and started walking again. Lilly followed.

  Inside the cookhouse, a canvas curtain divided the tent down the center. On one side of the curtain, checkered tablecloths and silverware, salt and pepper shakers, and ketchup and mustard bottles covered the tables. On the other side, the tables were bare, their wooden surfaces stained and scratched and dented. Groups of men and women sat eating and talking at the tables with tablecloths and silverware, while only men sat at the bare tables, all with sweaty faces and dirty hands, grimy shirts and torn overalls. To Lilly’s surprise, children sat here and there among the adults at the tables with tablecloths. And other than the men in white jackets and aprons behind the food counter, everyone was dressed in ordinary clothes. For some reason, she thought they would be wearing costumes.

  The smell of cooking grease and fried food filled the air, and people with trays lined up in front of a counter filled with eggs and bacon and toast. Following Glory over to the food line, she noticed a giant man at the end of one table, his head and shoulders towering several feet above his fellow diners. Beside him, a second man looked thin as a skeleton, his skin stretched tight over his face. At a table filled with platters of pancakes and bacon, a fat woman with a purple bow in her curly blond hair took up an entire bench. Across from the fat lady, a tiny girl with glossy black hair stood on a stool feeding a man with no arms.

  Lilly dropped her eyes and followed Glory’s feet. Her stomach went wobbly and her chest felt tight again. How did a person live with no arms? And why was that girl so small? Her head seemed too big for her neck, and her legs and arms looked extra short and chubby. Was she an elf, or a doll come to life? Lilly wanted to run out of the tent and never come back. There were too many sights and sounds and smells, too many strange faces and bodies, all crammed together in one place. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be in her safe little room with Abby. Thinking of her cat again, her eyes and throat burned. Was anyone taking care of her? Or did Momma leave her in the attic to starve?

  Trying not to cry in front of everyone, Lilly followed Glory into the food line, the world a blur through her tears. Glory handed her a dented tin plate and she took it with shaking hands.

  “Have whatever you want,” Glory said. “There’s sausage and eggs, bread and jam, pancakes, hash browns, and ham.”

  Lilly didn’t think she could eat. Her stomach cramped with grief and fear and nerves, but she took a pancake and piece of toast to be polite. At the end of the line, an oily-haired man with a smoldering cigar in the corner of his mouth sat on a stool taking tickets. When Glory and Lilly reached him, he looked Lilly up and down.

  “Who’s this?” he said with a scowl.

  “She’s wi
th me,” Glory said.

  “Where’s her ticket?”

  “She doesn’t have one, Bob, and if you don’t like it, you can take it up with Merrick.”

  Bob studied Lilly with narrowed eyes. He paused for a long second, then took Glory’s ticket and jerked his head to one side, telling them to move along.

  Lilly gripped her plate with trembling hands and followed Glory toward the far side of the cookhouse. Heads lifted to watch her pass, and thousands of eyes followed her across the tent. Women whispered behind raised hands, and children giggled and stared.

  When they finally reached an empty table with a checkered tablecloth, Lilly almost dropped her plate while getting into her seat. She set it on the table and put her hands in her lap, thankful to be sitting down. Glory sat next to her, her plate full of toast and sausage.

  “It’s a good thing we’re far enough from town so there aren’t any rubes around,” Glory said. “Otherwise, we’d be boiling hot in a closed-up tent. Because God forbid the townies see a freak for free.”

  Lilly said nothing and stared at her food. Her chest was getting tight again and she was starting to feel dizzy. She couldn’t get enough air.

  “Are you all right?” Glory said.

  Lilly bit her lip and nodded. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention. She took a deep, trembling breath, held it for a second, then let it out, trying to calm down.