The Life She Was Given

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

  Except for the thick coating of dust and cobwebs hanging from the crown moldings and ceiling lights, the layout was the same as the second floor, with a wood paneled grid of hallways lined with red Turkish runners, brass sconces, and closed doors. Starting at the far end of the main hall, Julia stuck her head inside each soundless room, unable to shake the feeling that she was in an abandoned hotel. Every tight, narrow chamber was exactly the same, with double windows, a mahogany bed, a mirrored dresser, a dust-covered duvet, and a red and green Tiffany lamp on a bedside table.

  She had no memories of visitors heading up to there to sleep, and could barely recall her parents having company. She also had no knowledge about the history of Blackwood, if it had been in the family before her parents owned it, or the age of the building. As a child, she hadn’t cared. But now it was easy to imagine a time when elaborate feasts and grand parties were held in the dining room and the sweeping front lawn, couples dancing and drinking before treading upstairs arm in arm to make love in the beds, or to argue, laugh, and cry within the privacy of the third-floor rooms. She pictured lovers meeting secretly, couples fighting, men taking advantage of women, drunks being put to bed, women weeping in chairs next to windows, men playing cards and smoking. It was quite possible that someone, maybe more than one someone, had died up here. Could it be that rats weren’t the ones making noises at night? Could it be that Blackwood Manor was full of ghosts? The idea made her shiver.

  She pushed the morbid thoughts away and walked to the end of each hall, looking for a way up to the attic. If rats were getting in somewhere, the attic would be the logical place for them to hide. She searched for another door or staircase, but found none. She checked the ceilings for a trapdoor. Still no luck. It didn’t make sense. How did her parents get up to the top floor? Thinking she had missed something the first time, she looked in every room again.

  Then, in the bedroom at the end of the last hall, she noticed there were two closet doors instead of one. She hurried toward it, then slowed. What if she found a nest full of rats in the attic? Or a loft full of bats? With a strange mixture of excitement and fear, she opened the first door. It was a closet, empty except for a dusty pair of men’s dress shoes with crumbling laces. When she slowly opened the second door and peered inside, the light from the bedroom revealed a narrow space the size of a large bathroom or small dressing room, decorated with wainscoting and fleur-de-lis wallpaper. Haphazard piles of hatboxes and shoeboxes lined one wall. She opened the door all the way and let out a screech.

  A nude, headless woman stood in the back corner, partially obscured by shadows.

  Then Julia realized her mistake and laughed, her fingers over her mouth. It was a dressmaker’s dummy. She stepped through the door, pulled a string on a bare bulb, and the room flooded with gray light. Unlike the eight-foot ceilings in the rest of the house, the ceiling in the small room was less than six feet tall. And if she stretched out her arms, she could touch two walls at the same time. At the far end of the space, next to the dummy, a hand-carved table with lion legs atop ball and claw feet sat beneath a cloth tapestry embroidered with a stone cottage surrounded by iris and lilies. Why anyone would hang a tapestry in such a small room was beyond her. She put her hands on her hips and glanced around. What had this room been used for? It felt chillier than the rest of the house and she couldn’t imagine why. Maybe it had been someone’s private sitting area or changing room. It almost seemed like a hidden chamber. A hidden chamber for what, who knew?

  She picked up one of the hatboxes and blew a layer of dust off the lid. Just as she was about to open it, someone called her name downstairs. It was either Claude or Fletcher, she couldn’t tell which. She switched off the light, left the room, closed the bedroom door, and hurried toward the staircase.

  Claude waited at the bottom, his face dark.

  Julia stopped on the top step, surprised to see him in the house, let alone on the second floor. “What is it?” she said.

  “Sorry for barging in unannounced,” he said, sounding winded. “I knocked, but no one answered.”

  “I was in one of the bedrooms. What’s going on?”

  “We need to call Fletcher. One of the mares is foaling.”

  She started down the steps. “The phone is in the kitchen.”

  Claude hurried down the stairs and Julia followed. He ran into the kitchen and went straight to the phone on the counter next to the pantry door. She couldn’t help noticing he knew where to find it. He dialed the number and waited, his hat twisted in his fist, his wind-reddened brow furrowed. Without saying hello or announcing who he was, he said, “Bonnie Blue’s in trouble.”

  Julia drew in a sharp breath, then rushed into the mudroom and put on boots and a jacket.

  “All right,” Claude said, and hung up the phone. He put on his hat and marched toward the door.

  “Is he coming?” Julia said.

  “He’s half an hour away,” Claude said. “And he might be too late.” He yanked open the door and went out.

  She followed. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Claude said nothing and sprinted across the lawn. Julia did her best to keep up.

  It started to snow.

  * * *

  In the barn, Bonnie Blue lay on her side in the straw, panting, her neck and sides wet with sweat. The other horses nickered and whinnied and thumped against their stalls, sensing something was wrong. Julia stood in the doorway of Bonnie Blue’s stall and watched Claude, unable to stop the trembling that worked its way up and down her limbs.

  “Is there anything I can do?” she said.

  “Nope,” Claude said. He moved straw out from around Blue’s backside with his foot and lifted her tail. A small white hoof stuck out beneath her tail, like a child’s fist wrapped in white plastic.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Her labor’s taking too long,” Claude said. “That foal should be out by now and Blue’s getting weak. I checked to see if the foal was turned wrong, but I can’t tell. It’s too big.”

  Julia could hardly breathe. If that beautiful horse and her foal died, she wasn’t sure she could take it. Not just because Blue and her foal were her responsibility now and she already felt a special connection to them, but because horses had always seemed so strong and majestic to her, like they were supposed to live forever. Seeing a horse die, a pregnant one at that, would be a tragedy from which she wasn’t sure she’d recover. And if this was going to be her initiation into the ownership of Blackwood Manor Horse Farm, maybe she should give up now.

  “Is it okay if I come in?” she said.

  “It’s your barn,” Claude said.

  She entered the stall and, stepping carefully around Blue, knelt beside her head. “Shhh . . .” she said. “Everything’s going to be all right.” With gentle fingers, she pushed Blue’s forelock away from her eyes and rubbed her forehead slowly, hoping to distract her from pain. Blue moved her head ever so slightly in Julia’s direction and nickered softly. Julia’s eyes filled and a burning lump formed in her throat. It seemed like Blue recognized her.

  Waiting for Fletcher, Claude paced the stall, his hands in fists, and, every few minutes, checked under Blue’s tail. Julia blinked back tears and kept stroking Blue’s forehead and ears, talking to her in a soothing voice. Every now and then, Blue closed her eyes, her breathing slowed, and Julia’s heart nearly stopped.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the barn door opened and slammed shut, and Fletcher ran up the aisle. “What’s going on?” he said, out of breath.

  “I think the foal’s too big,” Claude said. “Either that or something else is wrong.”

  Fletcher came into the stall, rolled up his sleeves, and felt Blue’s stomach. Then he went around to her rear end, knelt, and pushed her tail aside. “One of the foal’s front legs is back too far.” He pulled on the little hoof and let it go back in, sliding his fingers in beside it. “It’s okay, Blue,” he said in a calming voice. “You’ll be all rig
ht. Just hold on a little longer.” Slowly, he put his hand inside the mare, waited a second, then gently pushed his arm in almost up to his elbow. Blue stiffened and groaned. “Hold her hind legs,” he said to Claude. Claude got into position and Fletcher looked at Julia with serious eyes. “Do you think you can hold her head down?”

  Julia nodded.

  “Get between her crest and withers and firmly put your hands on the side of her neck beneath her mane,” Fletcher said. “This is going to be painful, so she might try to stand and we need to keep her down. Don’t worry, you won’t hurt her.”

  Julia went around the top of Blue’s head and knelt beside her neck.

  “Ready?” Fletcher said.

  “Yup,” Claude said.

  Julia nodded again, sweat breaking out on her forehead.

  Fletcher pushed his arm in farther and Blue’s body contracted in pain. She grunted and panted and moaned.

  “It’s okay,” Julia whispered to Blue, holding her neck down with both hands. “You’re going to be all right. We’re trying to help.”

  Fletcher grimaced and reached in farther. He felt around for what seemed like forever, then finally said, “Got it!” and started slowly pulling. Blue stiffened and snorted loudly, nostrils flaring. Little by little, Fletcher’s arm came out all the way, the foal’s second hoof in his fist. Suddenly, Blue went limp, exhausted. “Let her go,” Fletcher ordered Julia and Claude. Julia lifted her hands, and Claude released Blue’s back legs. Still gripping the second hoof, Fletcher grabbed the first hoof with his other hand and pulled. “Come on, Blue, push!” he yelled.

  Blue’s belly contracted and she lifted her head and pushed while Fletcher pulled. The foal’s hooves and front legs came out up to its knees, and Claude broke the white bag around them and yanked it away so Fletcher could get a better grip. Then the foal’s head came out and Blue went limp again. Fletcher kept pulling while Claude drew away more of the white sack from around the foal’s eyes and mouth.

  “Come on, Blue,” Julia whispered. “You can do it.”

  Blue moved her head, her stomach contracted again, and finally, Fletcher pulled the foal out all the way. He let go and stood while Claude drew away the rest of the sack. The wet foal lay in the straw, its sides fluttering up and down, its head down, its neck limp. It was oil black like Blue, with perfect white socks halfway up to its tiny knees. But its ribs stuck out, it looked half-starved, and it wasn’t moving. Julia swallowed and knelt in the straw, certain the foal was dying.

  Bonnie Blue and her foal lay tail-to-tail in the stall, both motionless except for quick, shallow gulps of air. Julia’s heartbeat thudded in her brain, like her veins were about to burst. She felt like she couldn’t breathe or speak or move. How could this be happening? How could these beautiful horses, a mother and her newborn baby, be dying? To her horror and shock, Fletcher and Claude seemed unfazed. If this was what it was like to own Blackwood Farm, she didn’t want any part of it.

  Fletcher checked between the foal’s hind legs. “It’s a filly.”

  Julia looked at him and waited for the bad news, amazed he could be so detached. He was a veterinarian, trained to save sick and injured animals. Why was he just standing there? Then, to her surprise, the filly rolled onto its belly and lifted its head, its long limbs stretched out like saplings. But even if it survived, she thought, how would it ever stand on such bone-thin legs? It seemed impossible. The filly’s head doddered like an old man’s, as if taking one first and final look at the world. Julia couldn’t take it. She looked at Blue, who still lay on her side, her eyes closed. Oh God, not you too. Hot tears fell down Julia’s cheeks.

  Then Blue lifted her head, rolled onto her belly, and curled her legs beneath her. The filly lifted its tiny wet head higher, then glanced at its mother and inched forward in the straw, struggling to get closer to her. Blue gazed back at her filly and nickered. The filly inched toward her, every effort a little bit stronger. And then Julia recognized the look in their eyes, the look she had studied so many times between mothers and daughters, the look that lit up their faces with affection and recognition of their unconditional love. Her breath caught in her chest.

  “Well, Miss Blackwood,” Fletcher said, smiling at her. “What’s your new filly’s name?”

  Even Claude was smiling.

  Julia put a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. Miraculously, Blue and her filly were going to be okay.

  CHAPTER 13

  LILLY

  1937

  Lilly lay on her bunk inside the stifling hot car, staring into the darkness and listening to the other sideshow women mumble and snore in their sleep. She was on top of her covers, her cotton nightgown pulled up to her thighs, her long hair piled above her head on the pillow. The train had stopped a few hours ago, and she had been with the circus long enough to know that the smell of bacon, eggs, fried potatoes, and strong coffee meant the flying squadron—the first section of the train to arrive in town—had already set up the cook tent. The roustabouts were laying out the lot, Cole’s father—his name was Hank—and the rest of the menagerie workers were feeding hay and grain to the animals, and the cooks were getting ready to serve the first meal of the day—made from meat, vegetables, flour, milk, sugar, and butter delivered earlier that morning—to the hundreds of workers and performers employed by The Barlow Brothers’ Most Amazing Show on Earth.

  Despite the fact that the inside of the sleeper car felt like an oven and her horsehair mattress was full of lumps, she was grateful for both. She’d been sharing this car with the other women for the past four years, and she had Glory to thank for it. Because when Lilly turned twelve, Glory gave Merrick a choice. Either he allowed Lilly to move out, or she would leave him. Lilly knew Glory was doing it to protect her, but she never thought it would work. At first, Glory tried convincing Merrick it was an issue of privacy. But by that point, Lilly had already spent two years on the couch listening to them in the bedroom, talking and arguing and laughing. The first time she heard them having sex, she put a pillow over her head and cried, certain Merrick was hurting Glory but too terrified to do anything about it. When Glory came out of the bedroom the next morning and saw the worried look on Lilly’s face, she assured her that she and Merrick had only been playing a game and she was fine. Then Lilly walked in on them naked one afternoon and Glory gave her “the talk” about the birds and the bees. After that, Lilly put her head under the pillow every night, just in case. So when Glory told Merrick she was worried Lilly might catch them doing something “inappropriate,” he laughed. It was already too late for that.

  But then Glory packed her bags and stood in the doorway with tears in her eyes, and Merrick surprised everyone by letting Lilly move out. He still kept a close eye on her—threatening to send her away if she messed up, talking to her like she was a possession instead of a person—but she was no longer a regular victim of his physical abuse. When she was living with him, the slightest slipup or wrong word set him off, and he kept control with insults, the backside of his hand, and sometimes, his fists. Lilly tried talking Glory into leaving with her, but for some reason, Glory refused. Half the sideshow performers said Glory stayed with Merrick because she thought she could change him, the other half said it was because he saved her brother, Viktor, from a lifetime in an asylum.

  After Lilly moved out, she asked Glory nearly every day if she was okay. Sometimes Glory looked happy and acted fine, and other times she seemed sad and distant. On the days when she was quiet, she wore more makeup than usual, or combed her hair in a different way to hide the bruises. Lilly eventually realized Glory loved Merrick, despite the way he treated her. And sadly, she knew what it was like to care about someone who misused you. Even after everything Momma and Daddy had done to her, the fact that they never returned her love still broke her heart.

  Now, everyone would be getting up soon, and the other sideshow performers in the car—Dolly the World’s Most Beautiful Fat Woman, CeeCee the Snake Enchantress, Hester the Monkey Girl, and
Penelope the Singing Midget—would be climbing down from their beds, asking one another what town they were in today. After all, it was easy to forget, considering The Barlow Brothers’ Circus covered fifteen thousand miles and a hundred and fifty shows every season.

  Lilly knew two things for sure. They were somewhere in Pennsylvania, and when Merrick returned from scouting out new venues for the past week, he was going to have it out for her again. Even now, despite the fact that she’d been with the sideshow six years and was one of his star attractions, the money she brought in was his to keep. He was her boss and legal guardian, and three meals a day and a place to sleep was all he owed her. She’d asked a hundred times to be paid like the other performers, but he always reminded her that he could get rid of her as easily as he had acquired her.

  This time, though, she was going to be in trouble for turning away a line of townies—or as she now called them, rubes. And that was one thing you didn’t do. You didn’t get between Merrick and his take, especially when you were one of his main acts—The Albino Medium. Not to mention she had broken the golden rule—“The Show Must Go On.”

  Merrick came up with the idea for The Albino Medium after he convinced Mr. Barlow that the rubes were more interested in Dina the Living Half Girl and Mabel the Four-Legged Woman than The Ice Princess from Another Planet. And Alana loved the concept so much she wanted to help with the act and persuaded Mr. Barlow to give Lilly her own tent.

  At first, Lilly thought being The Albino Medium would be better than being in the freak show, where the rubes stared and heckled and spit at her, toddlers cried out in fright, and little old ladies tried poking her with canes. Kids and adults alike threw popcorn and peanuts and half-eaten candy apples at her, laughing when she ducked, hooting when something hit her. And when Merrick put her “out front” to lure rubes into the tent, women touched her face, drunk men grabbed her chest, and teenagers pulled her waist-long hair. More than one tried to yank it out.