The Life She Was Given

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

  Now, as she sat in front of the roaring fireplace surrounded by legal forms and listening to the house creak and groan, she tried to imagine taking care of the farm and making the right decisions for the horses. It was amazing and terrifying at the same time. The grounds and house were one thing, but Blue and her baby and the rest of the horses were living creatures. How would she ever manage it all? What if one of them got sick or injured and she didn’t see the signs? What if Claude wasn’t around and she didn’t call Fletcher in time? The idea that this was a test crossed her mind again. Maybe Mother wanted to prove once and for all that bad things happened if you didn’t follow the rules. But what Mother didn’t know was that Julia planned on following the rules. Except this time, they were going to be her own.

  She tried pushing the worries from her mind and concentrating on the paperwork, but her eyes grew blurry from reading and her head hurt from trying to make sense of everything. She put down the papers and decided to explore instead. She had no idea what time it was, but the sky outside the windows was black. Mother’s key ring beckoned from the end table next to the couch, as if every scrolled bow held the potential to reveal secrets. She stood, picked up the key ring, and started toward the far side of the house, knowing all along Father’s den was the first place she’d go.

  Wrapping her sweater around herself, she padded down the hall, switching on lights as she went. The floor creaked beneath her feet and lamplight flickered off the smooth oak paneling and dusty picture lamps above paintings of horses and dogs. How many times had she tiptoed down this hallway as a child after one of Mother’s tirades, hoping her father would let her into the den? How many times had she heard him, throwing things and crying behind the double doors? How many times had she wanted to ask what tormented him? A hundred? A thousand?

  She stopped in front of the den and ran her fingers along the engraved oak doors, the hair rising on the back of her neck. What would she find on the other side? Suddenly, she felt like a little girl again, her knees trembling. Mother would surely disapprove of what she was about to do, and for reasons she couldn’t explain, it still felt wrong to invade her father’s space. But, she reminded herself, Mother and Father were dead and gone. Blackwood Manor was hers now, along with everything in it.

  She fingered the keys, trying to decide which one to try first. They were all so different. Surely, Mother had them made that way to ensure she’d be the only person who knew which key unlocked which door. A lot of good that did her now. Julia slipped the key with a circular medallion engraved with the letter B into the lock and turned it. The tumblers clicked and the wooden doors creaked inward a few inches. She gave them a gentle push and they swung all the way open, squeaking on their hinges.

  Lamplight from the hallway fell across the plank floor of the den, revealing the dusty fringe of a Persian carpet and illuminating a wide middle section of the room. Julia stood for a long moment. Maybe she should wait until tomorrow, when she wasn’t so tired and overwhelmed. But she had too many things to do and too many rooms to go through to put anything off. She took a deep breath, entered, and switched on the lamp on top of her father’s piano-sized desk.

  Mahogany bookshelves covered the back wall, every space crammed with books and maps and files and papers and folders. A sideboard lined with dusty liquor bottles and etched tumblers sat against another wall, and a green upholstered couch sat against the opposite wall next to a silent grandfather clock. Her father’s wingback chair slumped behind the desk, its faded brown leather wrinkled and worn. The air in the room felt close and musty, scented with the stale, sour tinge of cigar smoke and old whiskey. Except for the dust that seemed to cover everything, the den looked like her father had walked out yesterday.

  For a few seconds, Julia was too stunned to do anything. How would she ever go through it all? And why hadn’t Mother cleaned and straightened the den after Father died? One of Mother’s pet peeves had been his unwillingness to part with anything, and she had warned him a hundred times not to drop a cigar on his papers and books. Because if there was one thing Mother was deathly afraid of, it was fire. She used to have a fit when Father burned leaves and brush in the burning spot in the side yard, and she always reminded him and Julia that sinners would burn in the fires of Hell. So why hadn’t she cleaned up the den for safety’s sake, if nothing else?

  Now Julia had no choice. She had to start somewhere. Maybe that was Mother’s plan. Maybe it was further punishment for her part in his death. She took a deep breath and walked slowly around the perimeter of the room, scanning the bookcases and reading book titles. The shelves groaned under the weight of hardcovers on horse breeds, horse diseases, first aid, training techniques, and veterinarian terms, along with stacked file boxes bearing names like Blue Venture, Preston’s First Run, Dakota Point, Shy Dundee, Whiskey’s Pride, and Fame’s Fortune. Another section held trophies, ribbons, and framed pictures of horses with blue and red ribbons on their halters.

  Julia gave the last few shelves a quick glance, then blew the dust off the gramophone player and opened the lid. A record sat on the turnstile, the needle halfway across the track as if someone had turned it off in the middle of the song. She squinted at the name of the record: “Little White Lies.” Of course, she thought, and closed the lid. She moved to the desk and stood staring at it. A film of dust covered the top of the desk, the blotter, the pens in the penholder, the green desk lamp, and the ashtray overflowing with ashes and cigar butts.

  She went to the sideboard to examine the dusty liquor bottles, looking for reinforcement. A glass tumbler held the remains of dark liquid, thickened into what looked like a solid sludge. All the bottles were partially empty, except for two bottles of unopened brandy. She picked one up, wiped the dust off with the edge of her sweater, opened it, and took a good swig. It burned her throat and warmed her stomach, and was just what she needed. She took the bottle to her father’s desk and sat down in the leather chair, ignoring the dust wafting out of the seat.

  And then she saw the picture.

  It was her sophomore photo in a silver frame edged with gold filigree, taken for the yearbook ten months before her father died. High school seemed like a thousand years ago. She picked up the picture, blew away the dust, and bit her lip, trying to hold back a sudden flood of tears. Unlike other people’s homes, where pictures of every milestone adorned the walls—kindergarten and birthdays, weddings and graduations—Blackwood Manor displayed none of those things. Mother said photographs were meaningless and vain. She never bought Julia’s school pictures to hang in the house, and they didn’t even own a camera. But somehow her father had gotten a copy of her school portrait and kept it on his desk. And she never knew. She brushed the rest of the dust off with shaking fingers and used her sweater sleeve to clean the smeared glass.

  In the picture, her skin was flawless, her white-blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her expression was somber. Anyone else might have thought it was a snapshot of a typical teenager having a bad day. After all, there were no telltale signs of the difficult times she had at home, or the taunts she endured because Mother didn’t allow her to wear the latest styles. But Julia could see the sadness in her eyes.

  She set the picture down, blinked back her tears, and opened the middle drawer of the desk. Inside were the usual things: pens and pencils, paper clips, rubber bands, stamps. She tried a side drawer and found a stack of unused envelopes, stationery with the Blackwood Farm letterhead, and a box of dried-out cigars. The drawer below that was locked. She tried Mother’s keys, but none of them fit. The rest of the drawers were filled with papers heaped willy-nilly—invitations to various events, statements, bills, and legal documents. She searched the other drawers for the key to the locked one, but found nothing. Frustrated, she stood and looked around the room. Where was that key?

  Just then, something bumped and skittered across the ceiling above her head. She looked up. Another, louder thump made her jump. Then there was a grinding noise, like an animal che
wing wires inside the second-floor walls. I’ve got to get rid of those rats, she thought. She glanced around the room one more time, then decided to call it a night. She was exhausted, and the weight of all she had to do, and everything she had to figure out, settled on her like chains.

  CHAPTER 11

  LILLY

  After Lilly bolted from the freak-show tent, Merrick dragged her back to the train and locked her in the bathroom to punish her for letting the townies see her for free. Shaking all over, her hands and face and hair smeared with dog shit, she threw up in the toilet, then sat on the lid and sobbed. The stench was overwhelming and she couldn’t stop gagging. After what seemed like forever, footsteps hurried into the car and someone unlocked the door. It was Glory.

  “Oh my God,” she said. “Are you all right?”

  Lilly shrugged and got up from the toilet, her eyes burning and swollen.

  “Did Merrick hurt you?”

  Lilly shook her head.

  “Come on,” Glory said. “Let’s get you cleaned up. I’ve got buckets of water outside.” She grabbed a bathrobe, a washcloth, towels, and a bar of soap, then led Lilly outside and around to the other side of the car, where no one could see them. She helped her out of the filthy princess dress and gave her the washcloth and soap, then watched with sad eyes while Lilly scrubbed her face and hands.

  “I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Glory said. “I swear I’ve never seen rubes act like that. It was so . . . so vicious.”

  A burning lump formed in Lilly’s throat, but she had run out of tears. “It’s me,” she said. “Momma was right. I’m a monster.”

  “No,” Glory said in a firm voice. “It wasn’t you. They tipped Dina over and threw half-eaten hot dogs at Belinda. They’re just a bunch of horrible, stupid kids who don’t know any better. I promise, being in the sideshow is not always like that. If it was, I wouldn’t have anything to do with it.”

  Lilly didn’t know what to say. It didn’t matter if the sideshow was like that or not. She never wanted to do it again. And the fact that she had no choice made her body feel heavy and slow, as if her arms and limbs and heart had turned to stone. She washed her hair and dried it with a towel, too exhausted to think beyond the next few minutes.

  Glory helped her into the robe, then knelt down to help her roll up the sleeves. She gazed at Lilly with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you. I said I would, and I failed. I hope you know I really care about you, and I’ll try to do better from now on.”

  Lilly bit her lip and said nothing. Between the shock of what happened in the freak-show tent and the way Glory was looking at her, she felt like she might disappear into thin air, or collapse in a heap in the grass. All at once, she was overcome. “I want to go home,” she cried, a sob bursting from her throat.

  Glory’s face crumpled in on itself and she held out her arms. At first, Lilly hesitated, then she collapsed into Glory’s embrace, her shoulders convulsing. Glory held her tight, rocking her gently back and forth. “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” she said. “Everything’s going to be all right. I promise.”

  A thousand different feelings overwhelmed Lilly, including surprise and relief at the calming effect of Glory’s arms wrapped around her. It reminded her of snuggling her beloved cat, Abby, except the warmth and comfort she felt seemed twice as powerful. Little by little, she stopped shaking. And even though she was too exhausted to cry, tears sprang from her eyes. So this is what it felt like to be hugged by another person. And maybe, just maybe, this was what it felt like to be loved.

  * * *

  The following night, Merrick insisted Lilly stand next to him on the platform outside his car as the circus train traveled to the next spot. When he forced her out the door between his car and the next, she gripped the railing, trembling and hanging on for dear life, certain he was going to throw her off, even though Glory had reassured her that Merrick would never red-light someone he’d paid good money for. Then, as they approached the outskirts of the next city, Merrick pointed out houses with boarded-up windows and breadlines outside churches. He made sure she saw the CLOSED signs on warehouses and the hobos along the railroad tracks—men and women, young and old—gathered around fires built in trash cans.

  “People are starving out there,” he said. “So you might want to remember how good you’ve got it. The promise of three square meals a day is the biggest reason some people join the circus these days.”

  The morning after a show in Massachusetts, during which Lilly got through her act without running out of the tent or having anything thrown at her, Merrick called a taxicab for her, Glory, and himself. When Lilly asked where they were going, Merrick said he wanted to show her a place called Danvers State Hospital. In the backseat of the cab, Lilly paid no attention to the fact that it was her first time riding in an automobile. The only thing she wanted to know was why Merrick was taking her to a hospital. Was he going to let doctors poke and prod her to see if she was normal? Was he going to sell her to someone who wanted to pickle her body parts and put them on display? She looked up at Glory with worried eyes, her fingernails pressed into her palms. Glory patted her arm and said everything would be fine.

  Twenty minutes later, they arrived at a castle-sized stone building with what seemed like a thousand windows and steep roofs. They entered through a set of giant doors into a foyer and followed a nurse into a long hallway. The hallway was empty and quiet, except for the clack-clack of the nurse’s white shoes. The farther into the massive building they went, the more Lilly worried Merrick was going to leave her there. To calm herself, she made her feet go in step with the nurse’s. One, two, three, four, five.

  As they neared the end of the first long hallway, she heard a low murmur, like a hundred voices talking in the distance. Then it grew louder and louder. When they reached a set of thick double doors surrounded by rubber strips, the nurse stopped and smiled sympathetically at her.

  “Now, it gets a bit unruly in here, but don’t worry, you won’t be staying in this area. Is it all right if I call you Lilly?”

  Lilly’s heart skipped a beat, then thumped hard and frantic in her chest. She gaped up at Glory, suddenly trembling.

  “That’s not what we’re here for,” Merrick said to the nurse. “We’re looking for a relative.”

  “Oh.” The nurse looked at Lilly again, confusion written on her face. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

  “You thought wrong,” Glory said.

  Lilly went limp with relief. Merrick wasn’t leaving her there after all. The nurse nodded and unlocked the door. Before they even went through to the other side, Lilly clamped her hands over her ears. What she thought was talking was wailing and crying and shrieking. The room was full of women in gray gowns with scraggly hair and scratches on their faces and arms. Some were strapped to their beds, and one of them screamed for help over and over. The room smelled like old urine and spoiled food. Bugs scurried up the windowless walls. A woman with a bloody nose smiled and came toward them. Lilly edged closer to Glory and kept her head down, her eyes on the nurse’s feet.

  After leaving the frightening, noise-filled room, they passed through a short hallway into another area, this one quieter, with women lying in beds and staring at the ceiling, reading, or talking in small groups. The nurse stopped in the aisle and addressed Merrick.

  “Anyone look familiar?” she said.

  Merrick scanned the room, then shook his head. “Not this time.”

  Afterward, in the cab on the way back to the train, he said to Lilly, “Do you know why I took you there?”

  Lilly, who was leaning against Glory in the backseat and trying to forget what she’d seen, shook her head.

  “Because I want you to know if you try to run away, chances are you’ll end up starving and homeless, and the cops won’t waste any time sending you to a place like that or worse. That’s the first thing you need to remember. The second thing you need to remember is that I visit orphanages and asylums all t
he time looking for my next act. Kristi the pinhead came from the Waverly Hills Sanatorium in Kentucky, and I discovered Aldo the Alligator Man in Willard State. So if you give me a hard time about doing what you’re told, having you committed would be a piece of cake.”

  Lilly said nothing and stared out the window. It was pouring outside, the green and brown smudges of trees and electric poles blurring past the rain-streaked glass. The clouds hung low and heavy, like ashes in the sky. She tried counting the trees along the side of the road but couldn’t see past her tears. The world was nothing like she imagined, and she would have given anything to be back in her attic room, even if it meant dealing with Momma. A surge of homesickness plowed through her, so strong it nearly made her cry out.

  Later that night, as Merrick snored in the bedroom, Glory and Lilly sat on the couch, talking about the visit to the hospital.

  “He’s right,” Glory said. “You’re better off with us, even though it’s not the easiest life sometimes. With the circus, at least you’ll have a place to lay your head at night, three square meals a day, the chance to see the country, and friends who look out for you.” She gave her a smile that looked sad and forced. “And for the most part, you’ll be treated like a person.”

  Lilly was glad that Glory was trying to make her feel better, but she couldn’t push the images of the women in gray nightgowns out of her head. Visiting the hospital was going to give her nightmares for sure. “What kind of place was that? What was wrong with those women?”

  “Danvers is an asylum for crazy people. You know, people who don’t know the difference between what’s real and what’s not? But some people are sent there because their families want to get rid of them, like my brother, Viktor. My parents put him a place worse than that.”

  “Why? Is he crazy?”

  Glory shook her head and began picking at the tiny balls of fuzz on her skirt. “No, he’s not. My parents left him there when he was five because some people think when a person looks different on the outside, they’re different on the inside too.” She looked at Lilly. “But we know that’s not true, right?”