The Life She Was Given

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

  The twins straightened, pouted coyly, and shook their index fingers back and forth.

  Then the snare drum rolled and the twins faced each other and slid each other’s bra straps down from their shoulders. They winked at the audience, rotated on their tiptoes, bent over again, and let their breasts swell forward in the loose cups of their brassieres.

  “Come on,” another man shouted. “I paid good money for this!”

  The twins shrugged, turned away from the audience, and reached behind their backs to undo their bra clasps. In perfectly timed identical movements they glanced over their shoulders, winked again, and let their brassieres fall to the floor.

  “That’s it!” someone shouted.

  “There you go, girls!”

  “Turn around, honey!”

  The twins spun around with their hands over their nipples, opened their red-lipped mouths in mock surprise, and took their hands away, letting their breasts drop. The men whooped in delight.

  “Lord have mercy!”

  “Sweet Jesus!”

  The twins did another quick little dance, then curtsied and ran off the stage, smiling and blowing kisses to the audience. The men cheered and whistled and clapped. Lilly’s neck and chest ignited with a strange mixture of shame and panic. She was next, and she didn’t think she could go through with it. On the opposite side of the stage, Josephine sauntered out from behind the curtain and asked for a big hand for Rosy and Ruby. The men hollered and applauded. The twins hurried down the stage steps, entered the wing, and stopped beside Lilly, laughing and out of breath.

  “You look gorgeous,” Ruby said.

  “Like a movie star,” Rosy said.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” Lilly said. She was starting to feel dizzy.

  Onstage, Josephine raised a hand to quiet the men.

  “It’s your lucky night, fellas,” she said. “Because we’ve saved the best for last. Tonight you’re going to see something you’ll never forget, something so shocking you’ll be talking about it for weeks. This one is so special, boys, we’re asking you to pay another quarter to stay. I can’t say any more than it’s our last girl of the evening, and you won’t want to miss her. Just hand your quarter to that fella right there, and he’ll let you stay for this final act. That’s it. Just one more quarter and you’ll see something you’ll be talking about for the rest of your lives.”

  “Listen,” Rosy said to Lilly. “The first time’s the hardest. But once you see those men turn into little boys at your feet, you might like it.”

  “I doubt it,” Lilly said.

  “Just remember what we taught you,” Rosy said. “Start with a slow, sexy strut, and make sure you smile.”

  “And play with your hair a little,” Ruby said.

  Lilly nodded, suddenly incapable of speech.

  “And now,” Josephine announced to the audience, “our very own, the beautiful, the alluring, the angelic, the virginal Miss Lilly Blackwood!”

  Lilly stood frozen, unable to put one foot in front of the other. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, blocking out all sound. Josephine grinned like a wolf, one arm outstretched, and waited for her to come up the steps. Lilly’s vision start to close in and the ground swayed beneath her feet.

  “Go on, Lilly,” Ruby said. “You can do it.”

  “Quick,” Rosy said. “Give her a swig before she runs.”

  Ruby grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the overturned crate and, before Lilly could protest, held it to her lips and told her to drink. Lilly took a big sip. The alcohol burned her throat and ignited her chest. But she didn’t care. If it helped her get through this, she’d drink the entire bottle. She took several more good swallows, then pushed it away and coughed. She’d had her share of booze over the years, but never on an empty stomach, and she could already feel it slithering through her veins, warming her arms and legs.

  “There you go,” Ruby said. “That’ll take the edge off. Now go on.”

  “I . . . I can’t,” Lilly stammered. “I can’t do it.”

  “You have to,” Rosy said. “You know what Merrick will do if you don’t.”

  “Come on,” Ruby said. “Show him you’re stronger than that.”

  For a second, Lilly thought about taking the beating. Anything would be better than undressing in front of a crowd of drunken men. Then she remembered what Merrick said about entertaining rubes in a tent behind the baggage wagons and something shifted in her head, like reason and logic and sanity coming unfastened deep within her. She felt it in her chest too, like a loosening of her lungs and heart. Her breath felt bottomless. She wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey or a sudden case of indifference, but something pushed her toward the stage. She almost laughed, wondering what the men’s reactions would be when they saw the color of her skin. Maybe they’d go running out of the tent and spread the word that the Barlow Brothers’ had a disgusting freak in their girlie show. Maybe it would be the last time she’d have to do this.

  Holding up the hem of her silk evening gown, she marched up the steps on unsteady legs. Josephine winked at her and left the stage. When the music started, Lilly took a deep breath and stepped into the spotlight.

  A collective intake of breath filled the tent, and there was a moment of awed silence. Standing men sat down hard in their chairs and sitting men stood, wide-eyed and gawking. Lilly was right. The rubes didn’t want to pay good money to see a freak take off her clothes. They wanted busty blondes, sultry redheads, and voluptuous brunettes, not a ghost with a headful of spider-web hair. Relief washed through her. There was no need to get naked after all.

  Then the men started whistling and clapping, and Lilly’s heart sank. She glanced nervously at Ruby and Rosy, who were watching from the wings. Ruby smiled and made a circular motion with her finger. Lilly turned around, her back to the audience, and tried pulling herself together, a bulge of terror rising in her mind. Merrick and Mr. Barlow had forced her up there, up there in front of a group of men who might be fearful of her, up there in front of men who might want to hurt her as badly as they wanted to see her naked. And now she was supposed to undress and put herself on display for them.

  It’d been years since Momma’s words rang in her ears, but she could hear them now, like a returning nightmare from her youth, calling her an abomination and telling her it was a grievous sin to expose her naked body to anyone, even herself. And suddenly it broke, the horrible realization that she had been cheated out of a normal life came over her, and a soundless cry tore from her chest. Her only thought was to run, to get off the stage and get out of the tent. All at once, the whiskey rebelled inside her empty stomach and she knew she was going to be sick. She turned and her feet tangled in her dress and she almost fell. Then she recovered and headed toward the steps, a hand over her mouth.

  Someone in the audience began to laugh, and another man joined in. Others shouted angry words.

  “Is this some kinda joke?”

  “Get that freak off the stage!”

  “We want our money back!”

  An empty popcorn box hit Lilly in the head. She hunched her shoulders and put her arm up to protect herself until she reached the stage steps and scrambled down them. At the bottom, she fell on her hands and knees and vomited in the flattened grass, her hair hanging in her eyes.

  “Oh my God,” Ruby said.

  Rosy knelt beside her. “Are you okay?”

  The twins helped her up and Josephine rushed back onstage to calm the angry crowd. Dizzy and disoriented, Lilly broke free from the twins and stumbled along the wing. She went out the back flap and hurried into the dressing tent. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard Josephine calling the twins back up onstage.

  Trembling and trying to catch her breath, she collapsed inside the dressing tent. After a long minute, she got up, trudged over to a mirror, and wiped the red lipstick from her mouth with shaking hands. Using more force than necessary, she scrubbed the melted mascara from around her eyes and cheeks. She’d done a
lot of things to survive over the past six years, but she refused to take her clothes off in front of a roomful of men. She just couldn’t. And if Merrick and Mr. Barlow thought they could force her to entertain rubes in the tent behind the baggage wagons, she’d run away. There was no other choice. She’d take her chances in the real world, or join a different circus. Maybe, if she begged him, Cole would leave with her.

  Behind her in the mirror, the canvas flap whipped open and Merrick stormed into the tent. She got off the stool and backed away. No matter what happened next, her conscience was clear.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” Merrick shouted, his face snarling and red. “You think you can just do whatever you want around here?”

  “I was sick,” she said. “The twins gave me whiskey and I—”

  “I don’t give a shit if you were dying! You made a laughingstock out of Josephine and the entire Barlow Brothers’ Circus!” He launched forward and grabbed her arm. “I warned you what would happen if you didn’t do what you were told. Now you’re going behind the baggage wagons with the rest of the whores.”

  “No,” she said. “You can’t make me. I won’t do it!”

  He bared his teeth and dragged her toward the rear of the tent. “You will, and I’m going to be the one to break you in.”

  He shoved her behind a stack of steamer trunks, then seized her again, lifted her off her feet, and crushed her to his chest. Her kitten heels fell off and for a moment she hung suspended, her bare toes scraping the tops of his boots. He shook her hard and set her down. When her feet touched the grass, she tried to get away, but he grasped her face, turned it toward his, and pushed his wet mouth over hers. She clamped her lips shut and tried to wrench free, but he wrapped his arms around her and held on tighter. The sour tang of whiskey and tooth decay filled her nostrils and mouth. She twisted and turned and kneed him in the crotch.

  He groaned in pain and loosened his grip, then slapped her across the face and shoved her backward with an angry grunt. She landed hard on her back and scrambled to her knees, trying to crawl away. But before she could get her feet beneath her and run, he grabbed her ankles, dragged her backward, flipped her over, and held her down.

  “Let me go!” she screamed, pushing against his chest. She swung at his head, her small fists colliding with his rock-hard jaw, his muscular neck, his granite temples. He grabbed her flailing arms with one rough hand and pinned them above her head, his face red with exertion. She bucked and twisted and tried to bring her knee into his crotch again but couldn’t lift her legs beneath him. He ripped open the front of the silk gown as if it were paper and tore off her underwear. Then he undid his pants and forced himself between her legs.

  “You don’t tell me what to do,” he said. “I tell you. You belong to me, remember?”

  She thrashed beneath him, using every ounce of strength she had left to try and push him off. But it was no use. His full weight, nearly twice hers, pinned her to the ground like a moth beneath a rock. She could barely breathe. She turned her head and closed her eyes, then felt herself going somewhere else, like a dropped coin spiraling to the bottom of a lake. Away from this, away from him, away from what he was doing to her. She saw a black hole and felt herself falling in. Deep in the center of her soul, a diminutive, secret place split wide open. It was the only part of her she’d managed to keep hidden and protected, even while people stared and made fun of her in the freak show. Now, without any warning, it was exposed and vulnerable, lingering for just a moment, like a trailing wisp of black smoke, and then it was gone. She let out a high, keen shriek, like the long, final wail of a dying animal, until she tasted blood at the back of her throat.

  Suddenly, Merrick stopped and stared down at her as if he had no idea who she was, his shocked face that of a man suddenly exorcised of a demon. Then, with a hard, low grunt of surprise and pain, his head jerked to the left and he fell to one side, his body limp. Behind him, Cole stood with a bull hook in his hands, his face contorted with rage.

  He dropped the bull hook and knelt beside her. “Are you all right?” he said.

  Lilly gathered her torn gown over her trembling legs, rolled on her side, and curled into a fetal position, fighting the urge to jump up, grab the bull hook, and bash in Merrick’s head. The newly dead space at the center of her soul began to shift and change. Then it shriveled, closed, hardened, and turned to stone.

  Cole scooped her off the ground and carried her out of the tent. “You’re going to be okay,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

  She leaned against his shoulder and closed her eyes, her teeth chattering.

  He kissed the top of her head. “I’m so sorry, Lilly. I never should have let you go through with it. I should have protected you.” His voice sounded strangled, as if he had to force the words out. “I hope I killed the bastard.”

  She looked up at him. “No, don’t say that. Mr. Barlow will have you red-lighted.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Neither of them spoke again as he carried her through the back lot. Above the ghostly roofline of the big top, above the yellow and orange flags and colored lights, a smattering of stars twinkled in the evening sky. The circus was starting to close down and the jovial finale music floated out into the night. Laughter and shouts sounded in the distance as the rubes started toward the exit, happily making last-minute stops at the sideshows and concession stands before returning to the normal world.

  When Cole and Lilly reached the train, he passed her car and kept going.

  “Where are you taking me?” she said.

  “You’re staying with me from now on. You’re done with Merrick and that damn sideshow.”

  CHAPTER 22

  JULIA

  After Julia told Claude and Fletcher no more foals would be taken from their mothers at Blackwood Manor Horse Farm, she took a glass of brandy into her father’s den to resume her search for the missing key and clues about her dead sister. She wiped the dust off the record player, turned it on, and put the needle at the beginning of “Little White Lies.” When the tinny, old-timey music filled the room, she stood there, frozen. Suddenly she was a little girl again, hearing her father’s curses and cries between the lyrics, Mother’s voice telling her to get away from the den doors. She knew if she turned around, she would see her father at his desk, his hand wrapped around a whisky-filled tumbler, his dark-ringed eyes wet with tears. She switched off the record player, took a swig of brandy, and turned around. The desk chair was empty.

  After another long sip of brandy, she sat at the desk and ran her fingers beneath the middle drawer to see if the key was taped to the wood. It wasn’t. She got on her hands and knees and looked beneath the desk. Cobwebs hung from the wooden legs and dust bunnies tumbled away from her breath. There was no key. She reached into dusty vases and searched beneath anniversary clocks and trophies. She took horse pictures and certificates down from the walls and looked behind the frames. She rolled up the edges of the rugs, lifted lamps, felt below windowsills, and tested floorboards to see if any were loose. Nothing. Feeling defeated, she sat back down at the desk and tried to think, her hands tented beneath her chin. If I wanted to hide a key, she wondered, where would I put it? Nothing came to her.

  She sighed and reached for her high school photograph. She still couldn’t believe her father had it, let alone kept it on his desk. Upon closer examination, she noticed the photo had shifted downward the tiniest bit, exposing the top edge of what looked like another picture behind it. She turned the frame over and, using her fingernail, bent open the metal points used to hold the mat in place, then took out the mat and a thin piece of cardboard between it and the picture. As suspected, there was another photo behind the first. It took her a few seconds to realize who it was, but when she did, her eyes went wide.

  Mother smiled in the professional-looking portrait, wearing a crisp white blouse and a necklace with a silver cross. Her light hair was pushed back in a headband, the rest falling in soft waves over her shoulder
s. She couldn’t have been any older than eighteen or twenty. Apparently, Mother hadn’t always been opposed to pictures. Imagining her as a young woman had always been difficult for Julia, but here was proof that Coralline Blackwood had once been fresh, vibrant, and beautiful. Still, Julia had trouble connecting the wide, genuine smile of the woman in the picture with Mother. She had never seen her smile like that. What had changed? Was it the loss of her first daughter that turned her into the woman Julia remembered? Or was it the affair, or obsession, or whatever it was her husband had with the albino and the circus? And why had Father covered Mother’s picture with hers?

  She laid both photos on the desk, mother and daughter side-by-side. The shape of their faces and their features were nearly identical, the arch of the brows, even the way one eye was the tiniest bit lower than the other. She had never noticed the similarities before, but now it seemed eerie how much they resembled each other. They could have been the same person living in separate eras. No matter how much Julia might have fantasized in the past about coming from a different family, there was no denying she was Coralline Blackwood’s daughter.

  With a thousand questions running through her mind, she returned the pictures to the frame and started putting it back together. Then she stopped. A small key had been taped to the front of the cardboard behind Mother’s photo. Her heartbeat picked up speed as she peeled off the key, removed the tape, and tried it in the locked drawer. It fit and turned. She held her breath and pulled open the drawer. A polished, wooden box sat alone and perfectly centered in the bottom, in stark contrast to the chaos in the rest of the desk. With shaking hands, she carefully lifted the box and put it on the blotter, relieved to see it didn’t have a lock.

  She opened the lid and found a velvet drawstring purse and a red leather camera case. She took out the drawstring purse and opened it. Inside was a pearl necklace, matching earrings, and a silver hairbrush wrapped in yellowed newspaper. She stared at the white strands in the brush. It couldn’t be, could it?