But after the first few weeks of her new act, she grew to hate the fact that people thought she was real, and she felt horrible seeing rubes part with their hard-earned money in the hopes of hearing from a deceased family member on the “other side.” Some people were so desperate they paid with jewelry or what looked like their last dollar. Sure, there were a lot of fake acts in the sideshow—The Devil Baby, The Fee Gee Mermaid, The Woman with Two Heads—but that didn’t make her feel any better. Day after day of countless pained faces, all them looking at her with hope and enthusiasm, praying to hear from deceased mothers, fathers, lovers, children, was almost more than she could bear.
How long had it been since the first clueless rube had come into The Albino Medium’s tent and asked to speak to a departed loved one? Two years? Three? It felt like a hundred. Thinking about it now, as she lay in her bunk alone with her thoughts, anguish welled up inside her chest. But she fought it and pushed it back down, packing it away. It was better to be numb.
And yet. And yet. She wasn’t numb. She felt like one of the lions or elephants, a caged animal being forced to perform. She used to work the gig on the same schedule as the rest of the sideshow, but then the lines grew longer and longer, and some of the rubes willingly missed part of the big top to see her. Now, her tent was open all day, from the opening of the doors to the final curtain, with two short breaks to rest and have a meal. At the end of those long days, her emotions were spent, and the only thing that made her feel better was spending time in the menagerie.
If it were up to her, she would have gotten a job with Hank taking care of the bulls, mucking out stalls, filling water and feed buckets, giving them treats and patting their trunks—the smallest and perhaps only bit of comfort they would find in the circus. The circus trainers and performers claimed to love the animals, but as soon as the show was over they put them back in their stalls and cages and forgot about them until the next performance. Sure, the animals were fed and housed, and examined by a vet if they were hurt or ill, but Lilly and Cole were the only ones who talked to them, played with them, and gave them extra scratches and rubs. And they did it every night.
Last night in the menagerie, when she told Cole she had turned away the line of rubes, he begged her to hide in his car until Merrick cooled off. But she refused. It wouldn’t be fair to get him involved. He was her best friend and everyone knew it and accepted it, maybe because they had been children when it first began. But that meant if Merrick didn’t find Lilly in her car, Cole’s car would be the first place he’d look. Now, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. Maybe she should have taken Cole up on his offer. At least he’d be there to protect her.
Part of her hoped no one would tell Merrick, but she knew better. Anyone who held back that information would be in trouble too. And then there was Viktor, whose loyalty rested with Merrick no matter how badly he treated his sister, Glory. Everyone had warned Lilly over the years never to bad-mouth Merrick in front of Viktor, or to do anything that might affect Merrick’s bottom line. Now she wondered if Viktor would be the first one to tell Merrick what she had done. The other women said they couldn’t blame her for shutting down her act, but she knew it wouldn’t matter to Merrick.
Thinking about it now, she could hardly believe what happened. To trick the rubes waiting to see The Albino Medium, Alana went down the line with a ledger and wrote down the name of the departed loved one each rube hoped to reach, in the guise of a money-back guarantee. She only did a few at a time because the waiting area tent next to The Albino Medium’s tent only held ten people. But unbeknownst to the rubes, Alana wrote the names down twice, once in her ledger and again on another slip of paper, which she moved to her pocket unseen. And if the rube was a mark—a townie with a fat wallet, singled out by the ticket seller with a friendly slap on the back that left a chalk mark—it was noted on the paper too, so Lilly could offer a more “in-depth” reading for an extra charge. After ushering ten rubes into the waiting area tent, Alana transferred the list to Merrick, who gave the names to Lilly one at a time. Sometimes, when Merrick was gone, Leon, the old man who found her locked in the animal cage all those years ago, took his place.
The inside of The Albino Medium’s tent was decorated with red and black curtains, shiny beads, mirrors, and dark rugs. The only light came from three candles in pewter holders on a round, antique table in the middle of the tent, with two chairs on either side—one an elaborately carved throne for Lilly, the other a cane-backed chair for the rube. Pierre—a midget who used to work as a clown until he broke his pelvis during the “baby in a burning building” act—hid inside a wardrobe with sliding panels, where he could clap, whistle, or play the harmonica or tambourine without being seen. Sometimes he snuck out of his hiding place to touch the rubes with wool-stuffed evening gloves, or to produce a glowing light or other moving object in the dark, like a woman’s hankie on the end of a stick. Other times, a “spirit baby”—a stuffed shape concealed beneath the tabletop and attached to a stick worked by Lilly’s foot—peered over the edge of the table when called from the netherworld. And when Lilly asked a spirit to ring the bell beneath a glass globe in the center of the table, Pierre rang a bell inside the wardrobe.
It was a clever setup, and word quickly spread that The Albino Medium was authentic. But every time the bell rang or the tambourine jingled, every time Lilly relayed a special message from the great beyond and the grieving person’s facial expressions changed from sadness to surprise, from doubt to gratitude, guilt clawed at her throat. It was a lie, all of it. And seeing the rubes’ tear-stained faces broke her heart.
It was late yesterday afternoon when a strange-acting man came into the tent, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, a wool scarf over his mouth, his hat pulled down over his forehead. At first, Lilly thought wearing a scarf in the middle of summer seemed odd. Then she reminded herself that she had done readings for a woman in bathing trunks, an old lady dressed like a gypsy, and someone in a chicken costume. She had seen men in women’s skirts, toddlers wearing cat ears, and boys with earrings. Nothing surprised her anymore.
She gestured for the man to sit down across from her and thought briefly how the scarf did little to hide the smell of alcohol on his breath. Then, like a trained animal, she began her spiel in a low, even voice. “Hello and welcome. Before we begin, let me tell you a little bit about what I do. I’ve been communicating with the dead since the age of four and eventually came to realize I needed to share my gift. Messages from the beyond can come in the form of music, voices, and other sounds. What I’d like you to do is close your eyes and think about the person you’re hoping to hear from. While you’re doing that, I’ll try to connect with the spirit world. Then I’ll ask you some questions, to which you must answer either yes or no. Are you ready to begin?”
The man stared at her but said nothing. Candlelight flickered in his bloodshot eyes.
“Is there someone special you’d like to hear from today?” she said.
The man shifted in his chair. “Yes,” he mumbled.
“All right,” she said. “Please think about your loved one while I concentrate on—”
“I’m looking for my daughter.”
Alarms went off in Lilly’s head. Leon had told her the next name on the list was Barbara, the rube’s dead wife. Her mind raced and she tried to come up with a new plan. If she got this wrong or Leon mixed up the names, it could mean big trouble. “I see,” she said. “Please know that I’m very sorry for your loss. Perhaps we should start by—”
“She’s not dead.”
Lilly frowned, confused. “Okay,” she said. “Um . . . You do understand I’m here to help people connect with their departed loved ones, right? Are you sure you’re in the right tent?”
He nodded. “I’m in the right tent. My daughter’s name is Lilly.”
Lilly’s breath caught in her chest. What in the world was going on? She studied the man’s eyes, trying to remain calm. He held her gaze. She opened her mout
h to ask who he was and what he wanted, then reminded herself there were thousands of girls named Lilly. “I see,” she said again. “Is Lilly lost? Did she run away?”
The man shook his head. “I came here to tell her I’m sorry. I had no idea what her mother was going to do.”
Lilly stiffened. No. It couldn’t be. “Please,” she said, suddenly light-headed. “Just close your eyes and I’ll try to—”
“I want her to know I’m glad she got out and I hope she’s happy.”
Lilly leaned back in her chair, her heart about to explode. She didn’t know what to say. It had to be coincidence. It just had to be. Then the man pulled down his scarf and she jumped to her feet. “What are you doing here?” she cried.
Her father stood and moved toward her, his face thin and white in the dim light. “I came to see you.”
For a dizzying second, she wondered if he were a ghost. Maybe he really did die after Momma took her out of the attic. Maybe Momma had been telling the truth all those years ago when she said he wasn’t “long for this world.” She moved away from him on watery legs, until her back bumped into the tent wall. Beads rattled against the canvas. “What do you want?”
“I want you to know I’m sorry. And I still love you.”
She put a fist over her churning stomach. “I-I waited for you. I thought you’d come looking for me.”
He glanced at the floor, his face grave. “I know. And I don’t blame you if you hate me. But I did the best I could.”
Tears flooded her eyes. “Did you try to find me?”
He shook his head. “Your mother never would have let me bring you back home.”
Lilly gripped the sides of her skirt in her fists and struggled to keep her voice steady. “Why would you listen to her after what she did to me?”
He pressed his lips together and stared at her, but said nothing.
“You were my father,” she said. “You were supposed to protect me.”
“I’m know, and I’m sorry. Your mother made me—”
Lilly couldn’t believe what she was hearing. What kind of father allows his wife to lock up his daughter and sell her to the circus? “Made you what?” she said, her voice rattled by fury. “Choose her over me?”
With that, Pierre climbed out of the back of the wardrobe. “What’s going on?” he said. “Are you all right, Lilly?”
She scrubbed the tears from her face, confused and furious and mad at herself for crying. Her father didn’t deserve to know he affected her that way. “Yes, I’m fine.”
Pierre looked up at him. “I think you should leave, sir,” he said in a firm voice.
“I just want to talk to her,” her father said. “I want to explain—”
“No,” Lilly said. “You don’t get to explain anything. You had your chance. It’s been six years and now you come looking for me? For what? To clear your conscience? It’s too late for that.” She pointed at the exit. “He’s right, you need to leave. I don’t need you anymore.”
“Lilly, please,” her father said. “I—”
“Get out!!” Lilly screamed.
He studied her face with sad eyes for what seemed like forever, then dropped his shoulders and trudged out of the tent. When he was gone, Lilly crumpled to the ground and buried her face in her hands, shoulders convulsing. Pierre put a hand on her shoulder.
“Are you okay?” he said.
She shook her head. “Shut it down.”
“What?”
“Shut down the act. I can’t see anyone else today.”
“Are you sure? Merrick will have a fit. Who knows what he’ll do.”
She looked at Pierre, her temples pounding and her face wet with tears and sweat. “I don’t care what he does. Whatever it is, it won’t hurt as much as this.”
Now, Lilly lay awake in her bunk, waiting to see what Merrick would do when he found out the midway had been packed with a long line of rubes waiting to see her, and she had turned every last one away. Pierre was right; there was no telling what Merrick would do. She tried to stay calm by counting the boards in the ceiling above her. One, two, three. four. It didn’t help.
She turned on her side, trying to decide if she should tell Merrick before someone else did. Maybe he’d understand if she explained what happened. Maybe he’d even be glad she kicked her father out. After all, buying a child from its mother couldn’t be legal. She could lie and tell him her father wanted to know where he was, and that he threatened to call the cops. Then the boxcar door screeched open on its iron tracks and slammed into the opposite wall. The other women startled and sat up in their beds.
“Everybody out!” Merrick bellowed.
The women swung their legs over the sides of their bunks, wrapped their robes over thin nightgowns, and slipped their feet into worn slippers. With her hair in curlers, Dolly the World’s Most Beautiful Fat Woman rocked back and forth on her cot, trying to get enough momentum to push herself up. Hester went over and put a hand under her arm to help. Lilly got down from her bunk, put on her bathrobe, helped Hester with Dolly, then followed the women toward the exit.
“Not you,” Merrick said, pointing a riding crop at Lilly.
Lilly stopped, her stomach turning over.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “My father showed up and I . . . I couldn’t pull myself together afterward.”
The other women got out of the car and stood in the open doorway, their faces lined with fear and worry.
Merrick glared at her. “Your father is dead.”
Lilly shook her head. “No, he’s not. My mother was lying. He came here looking for me. He wanted to know where you were and said he was going to call the cops.”
“I don’t believe you. If he came looking for you, where is he? Why are you still here?”
Lilly’s chin trembled. “I told him I wanted to stay, and he left.”
“Of course he did. He doesn’t want you either.” He yanked the door closed behind him and moved toward her, his face snarling and red. “But I don’t give a shit if the Pope came into your tent! You don’t turn paying customers away!”
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
He stopped, and for a second she thought he just wanted to scare her, but then he lunged forward and whipped the riding crop across her bare forearm. It felt like a hot poker, burning through her flesh and muscle. A red welt erupted on her white skin, like a streak of fresh blood. She put a hand over it and gritted her teeth, determined not to cry out. He lifted the crop again and she ran to the end of the boxcar. He chased after her.
Trapped, she turned to face him. “Go on,” she cried. “Beat me all you want. You won’t kill me. You won’t ruin your biggest moneymaker!”
He stopped as if considering what she’d said, then raised the crop, his teeth bared, and hit her again and again, harder with every blow. She curled into a ball to try and protect herself, but it was no use. The crop whipped across her hands and arms and shoulders like a burning flame on her skin. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she was thankful for her bathrobe, otherwise her arms would have been bare in her sleeveless nightgown. Then the boxcar door slid open again and suddenly, Merrick flew backward, as if yanked by an unseen force. His eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. Lilly looked up to see what happened. Viktor held Merrick by the scruff of his jacket, the top of his head nearly touching the boxcar ceiling.
“What the hell are you doing?” Merrick bellowed, struggling to get out of his grip.
Behind Viktor, Glory stood with Mr. Barlow and his strongmen, her face contorted with anger and fear.
“If you mark her up, what good is she?” Mr. Barlow yelled. “We wouldn’t even be able to use her in the cooch show!” He gestured for Viktor to let go. Viktor did as he was told.
Merrick straightened his shirt and shot Viktor a withering look. “What, you’re siding with him now?”
“Sorry, boss,” Viktor said. “Glory said you were in trouble.”
Merrick pushed his hair f
rom his sweaty brow. “I can handle myself. And Lilly works for me, remember?”
“In my tent, in my circus,” Mr. Barlow said. “She eats my food, sleeps in my train. I’d say at this point she’s more my property than yours.”
Merrick glowered at him, breathing hard, his jaw clenched. For the first time ever, he looked speechless. He eyed Lilly, as if trying to decide whether or not to keep beating her. “You ever turn away another rube, your next job will be in the back lot behind the cooch show!” he shouted. Then, finally, he turned and stomped out of the boxcar, swearing under his breath. Viktor, Mr. Barlow, and his strongmen followed.
Lilly slumped in the corner, her shoulders and back screaming in pain. Her skin felt split open where the riding crop had whipped across her arms.
Glory helped her up. “That son of a bitch,” she said. “As soon as I knew he was headed over here, I got Viktor. I’ve never seen Merrick that pissed off. When Mr. Barlow saw us running, he came too.”
Lilly raked her hair way from her face and started toward her bunk. “Who told him what happened?”
Glory shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Just then, Cole climbed into the boxcar and rushed over to Lilly. “Are you all right?” he said. He wrapped an arm around her and helped her sit on the nearest bunk.
“Yeah,” she said.
“I’ll take her over to the menagerie,” Cole said to Glory. “We’ve got wound salve over there.”
Glory nodded and helped Lilly stand again. Together, she and Cole led her over to the door. Cole jumped out, then reached up to help Lilly down. But instead of setting her on the ground, he scooped her into his arms and carried her toward the midway. Lilly wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his chest, his heartbeat hard and strong against her ear.
As they made their way across the lot toward the menagerie, past Petunia and Flossie pushing tent poles into place with their trunks and heads, past workers and roustabouts putting up canvas and concession stands, several of the men stopped to watch Cole and Lilly pass, probably wondering if she were drunk or dead. After getting a good look, they went back to work without saying a word. They’d seen plenty of strange things in the circus, and they knew better than to stick their nose in a performer’s business.
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