The Life She Was Given

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

  “Everything okay?” Fletcher asked Claude.

  “Right as rain,” Claude said. “Just checking her bag. Samantha’s nursing a lot. Probably going to be seventeen hands.”

  “Better give Blue extra grain then,” Fletcher said.

  “Already doing it.”

  Fletcher glanced at Julia and shrugged, and they made their way down to the new filly’s stall.

  “Has he always been that grumpy?” she said. “Or just since I got here?”

  Fletcher threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. I mean, he’s always been focused on work, but he’s never been that temperamental toward me.”

  “It’s my fault.”

  “No, it’s not. I told you he doesn’t like change.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “What then?”

  “He knows something. Something he doesn’t want to tell me.”

  “About what?”

  “My parents.”

  “What about them?”

  “I’m not sure. But I’m going to find out.”

  * * *

  Julia spent the following week in the barn feeding the orphaned filly—she had named her Molly—every two hours. She picked up Molly’s bony, wiggling body and hugged her to her chest like Fletcher had taught her—one arm around her front, the other around her tail—so Molly would think Julia could lift her no matter how big she grew. Then she lifted Molly’s legs one by one to get her used to having her feet picked up to trim her hooves. In between feedings, Julia spent time getting to know the other horses and cleaning out stalls.

  Whatever section of the barn she was working in, Claude stayed on the opposite end. He was civil and polite, but it was obvious he was avoiding conversation. Julia left the barn long enough to shower, change, and get something to eat, but her first priority was taking care of Molly. Everything else, the house, the questions about her dead sister, and any other secrets her parents had been hiding, would have to wait. Near the end of the second week, Molly started nibbling hay and playing with Samantha and the other foals in the turnout pen, and Julia nearly burst with pride.

  The following Monday, Julia was cleaning out Molly’s stall when Fletcher leaned in and held out a yellow envelope. “I stopped by the drugstore today,” he said.

  Without missing a beat, she yanked off her gloves, snatched the envelope out of his hand, pushed open the stall door, and handed him the pitchfork.

  He jumped out of the way. “You’re welcome.”

  She hurried along the aisle toward the door, the envelope gripped in her hand. “Sorry,” she called over her shoulder. “Thanks.”

  Ten minutes later, she was at the kitchen table, the yellow envelope on the tablecloth in front of her. Nerves fluttered in her stomach. What if the pictures showed her father in the arms of another woman? What if they were photos of her dead sister? What if they were a record of the sin committed by her parents referenced in her father’s journal? What if they were more pictures of horses and she had gotten herself worked up over nothing? No, that wouldn’t make sense. If they were horse photos, the camera wouldn’t have been locked in a drawer. She took a deep breath, picked up the envelope, and tore it open.

  The first black and white image showed a circus tent surrounded by circus wagons and draft horses hitched to drays loaded with poles and rope. The second photo was of a circus midway, crowds of people shoulder to shoulder between a row of freak-show banners and a line of striped tents with signs that read: COTTON CANDY, SALT WATER TAFFY, AND CANDY APPLES. The women and girls were in light summer dresses, and the men and boys wore white shirts, straw hats, and newsboy caps. A water tower rose in the background and the air looked filled with dust. The grainy scene reminded Julia of old photos in her high school history books. She squinted to read the words on the big top in the distance, and could only make out: BIG SHOW and MAIN ENTRANCE.

  The next picture showed the interior of an enormous three-ring big top, with tall poles and rigging and ladders leaning left and right from the ground up through the canvas roof, like the colossal masts of a giant ship. Thousands of people filled the bleachers, and a man in a white suit stood frozen mid-step in one aisle, a tray around his neck like a cigarette girl. Four elephants lay on their sides inside the center ring, and zebras, llamas, and camels circled the other two. Men in dark suits gripped long sticks beside the animals, ready to keep them in line. What looked like the ringmaster in a jacket and top hat stood near the center ring, his back to the camera, one arm in the air.

  There was another shot taken inside the big top, this one with empty bleachers and an informal gathering of performers posing here and there in separate groups. Six men in band uniforms holding clarinets, a tuba, French horns, a trombone. A group of clowns made up of midgets, children, and adults, in white faces, hobo clothes, bald caps, ruffled collars, dunce caps, police uniforms, and firemen’s hats. Four pale women in grass skirts, flower leas, and bikini tops. A line of girls in long dresses holding their sequined skirts out like fairy wings.

  The next photograph showed a group of freak-show performers. A man wearing nothing but shorts and socks, his wrinkled skin covered in dark scales. A fat woman in a silk dress bunched at the top and bottom like a drawstring bag. A giant man in a cowboy hat. Several midgets in tuxedos and evening gowns. A woman with no arms or legs on a pedestal. A man as thin as a skeleton. A woman covered in tattoos.

  The fifth snapshot was of a pale woman in a leotard and ballet slippers standing between two elephants. One of the elephants looked like it had been painted white, and the woman resembled the albino in the article Julia had found earlier. Her curled white hair ended at her waist, and her porcelain skin looked flawless. With one hand on the elephant’s trunk, she looked at the camera, her smile soft and content. If Julia was right and this woman was her father’s mistress, she could understand why he was drawn to her. Seeing her in an actual photograph instead of a grainy newspaper clipping or hand-drawn circus poster proved she was a stunning, almost ethereal beauty, with huge, soulful eyes and a heart-shaped face.

  The next picture was the same albino woman in a lace dress and a man in a suit and tie. Performers from the other pictures surrounded them, holding up bottles and glasses and smiling at the camera. It looked like the woman and man were kissing—she was standing on her tiptoes and they were holding hands—but the giant man behind them playfully held a straw hat in front of their faces. Julia squinted at the photo and examined the man’s hands to see if they looked familiar. She couldn’t tell.

  Hoping the next picture showed their faces, she held her breath, expecting to see her father looking back at her. But it was another group shot featuring tight rope walkers and pretty girls on horses, children in clown and cowboy costumes, girls playing drums in skimpy sailor uniforms. The last picture showed the albino woman with a plump, white-haired baby on her lap. This time she was in normal, everyday clothes, and the baby, who looked to be about three months old, was laughing and holding a patchwork elephant in her chubby little fists.

  Julie gasped.

  It looked like the same calico elephant on the shelf in her old bedroom upstairs.

  She sprinted up to her old room, grabbed the dusty patchwork elephant off the shelf, ran back downstairs, and set the photo and elephant side by side. The elephants were identical, right down to the button eye and braided tail made out of yarn. She tried to remember where she got hers, but nothing came to her. It had been one of her favorite toys for as far back as she could remember, and Mother always made sure it was in her bed every night. It could have been purchased at the circus, but it looked handmade.

  With a hundred questions spinning in her head, she took the photos of the woman back to the den, opened the circus poster, and looked at the woman on the elephant. They had to be one and the same. She knelt on the floor and went through the newspaper clippings again, laying them out on the rug. When she found what she was looking for—the clipping featuring Th
e Albino Medium—she read the first sentence of the article and put a hand over her mouth. The Albino Medium’s name was Lilly, the same name written inside the camera case. Trying to figure out what it all meant, Julia could hardly think straight. Had her father taken her to the circus when she was a baby, introduced her to his mistress, and purchased the elephant there? Is that why she couldn’t remember ever going? Or was the baby on Lilly’s lap her dead sister? If the camera belonged to Lilly, how did it get in her father’s desk? And why hadn’t Father gotten the film developed?

  CHAPTER 23

  LILLY

  After Cole knocked Merrick over the head with the bull hook for attacking Lilly in the cooch show dressing tent, he took Lilly into his sleeper car and laid her gently on the sofa. Shivering, she held the torn evening gown together as best she could and lay back on a pillow, the muscles in her legs and arms aching, the inside of her thighs scraped and sore. Her cheek felt hot and swollen. Cole helped her into one of his long-sleeved shirts, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, then sat beside her on the edge of the sofa to wipe the blood from her split lip with a clean, wet handkerchief.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” she said, her voice shaking. “When they find Merrick, Mr. Barlow and his strongmen will be searching for me and this is the first place they’ll look. I should hide over at the menagerie.”

  Cole shook his head. “If you hide, you’ll look guilty, and you didn’t do anything wrong. And what happens if they find you over there all alone? You think they’ll take it easy on you?”

  “No, but if Merrick is dead, I don’t want you tied up in this mess.”

  “If he’s dead, I’m not going to let you take the rap for killing the son of a bitch. I’m the one who hit him over the head, and I’d do it again if I caught him trying to . . .” Fury flickered in his eyes and he looked away.

  “Shhh,” she said. “It’s okay.” She put a hand on his cheek and turned his face toward her again. “You saved me. I’m fine.”

  He took her hand in his and gazed at her with sorrowful eyes. “When they get here, they’ll see . . . they’ll see what he did to you.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “How did you . . . how did you know I was in trouble?”

  “When I heard you ran off stage, I knew Merrick would be furious. I tried to get to you before he did, but I . . . I’m sorry, Lilly.” He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead with gentle fingers. “For everything.”

  Just then, Hank plodded out of the bedroom, his eyes swollen with sleep, his hair sticking out in all directions. “Cole?” he said. “What’s going on?”

  Before Cole could answer, Mr. Barlow’s strongmen barged into the sleeper car.

  * * *

  A short time later, Lilly and Cole stood inside Mr. Barlow’s car, the strongmen guarding the exit. Smoking a cigar, Mr. Barlow scowled from his seat at the table while Alana sipped coffee on the couch, her bare legs crossed, one foot bouncing up and down. Chi-Chi had curled up in the crook of Lilly’s arm and was nuzzling her neck. Lilly scratched the dog’s ears to avoid eye contact with Mr. Barlow and Merrick, who sat at the table with an ice pack held to his head. Along with the bruises on her face and her sore muscles, she could feel every taut muscle in her neck, every burning vein beneath her skin. Until now, she hadn’t realized how much she wished Merrick dead. On one hand, she was distressed to find him alive. On the other, she was relieved. At least Cole couldn’t be charged with murder.

  “I don’t give a good goddamn!” Mr. Barlow shouted at Cole. “If you want her in the show with you and the bulls, you’re paying Merrick for her!”

  “Otherwise it’s kidnapping,” Merrick said.

  Cole glared at Merrick with hateful eyes. “What are you going to do about it, you piece of shit?”

  “Shut up, both of you!” Mr. Barlow said. “I’m the judge and jury in this circus and you know it.”

  “That’s right,” Merrick said, lifting his chin. He winced in pain, then repositioned the ice pack on his head. “So what’s the punishment for assault?”

  “What’s the punishment for attempted rape?” Cole hissed.

  Merrick grinned, his lips crooked and bloody. “It wasn’t rape, it was training. Someone had to get her ready for her next job.”

  Cole lunged at him, his hands in claws, his face contorted with fury. The strongmen caught him and held him back.

  Mr. Barlow slammed a fist on the table. “I told you to shut your pie hole and let me handle this, Merrick!”

  Merrick grumbled under his breath.

  “What’s that?” Mr. Barlow said. “You got something to say? Say it out loud.”

  “I said she belongs to me,” Merrick said. He looked at Cole. “So unless you want to be red-lighted for assault and kidnapping, and your girlfriend here wants to pay off her debt by entertaining rubes behind the baggage wagons, pay up.”

  “No,” Cole said. “I’m not paying for my wife.”

  Lilly stopped petting Chi-Chi and looked up.

  Mr. Barlow’s face went sour. “What the devil are you talking about, boy?”

  “As soon as Lilly is feeling up to it, we’re getting married,” Cole said. “You said yourself the bulls are your biggest draw. If you try to stop me from marrying Lilly, we’ll leave, and you’ll have a hard time getting JoJo to listen to anyone else. And if I go, my father goes. Ringling Brothers put an offer on the table months ago because they know he’s the best bull man around, but he turned it down because he didn’t want to desert your bulls and he knew I wouldn’t leave without Lilly.”

  “The other performers won’t like you marrying a sideshow gal,” Alana said.

  “They don’t have a problem with Lilly,” Cole said. “Even if they did, I wouldn’t care.”

  Mr. Barlow dropped his shoulders and looked at Merrick. “I can’t stop them from getting married. This is a business, not a dictatorship. I’d have a rebellion on my hands.”

  Merrick shot to his feet and threw the ice pack on the floor. The bag split open and pieces of ice scattered everywhere. Chi-Chi buried her head beneath Lilly’s arm.

  “She’s my property!” Merrick shouted. “I paid good money for her!”

  “And you’ve made it back tenfold,” Cole said. “You haven’t paid her a red cent in six years.”

  “Because she’s been nothing but trouble from day one!” Merrick said.

  “That’s a lie,” Cole said. “She—”

  “Everybody shut up!” Mr. Barlow said. He put his hands to the sides of his head, as if his skull were about to explode. “I don’t want to hear another word out of any of you.” He glowered at Cole. “Go ahead, marry her and put her in the elephant show. But I’m warning you, she’s messed up every act she’s ever been in, so if anything goes wrong or ticket sales drop, it’ll be both your heads on a platter.” Then he addressed Merrick. “He’s right, you got your money out of Lilly and then some. It’s time to move on. She’s an employee of my circus now, and I don’t own any of my employees.”

  Lilly couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Standing there in a ripped evening gown with a swollen face, melted mascara under her eyes, every muscle aching and sore, it was all she could do not to cry tears of joy.

  * * *

  A week later, Lilly and Cole were married somewhere in the middle of Louisiana, beneath a giant willow near a slow-moving creek. Glory, Ruby, and Rosy hung candle-filled mason jars from the moss-covered branches, the roustabouts lugged benches over from the big top, and sideshow and big-top performers alike gathered around to bear witness. The circus band played the “Wedding March,” and the Tallest Man on Earth—a self-ordained minister—performed the ceremony. Hester the Monkey Girl let Lilly borrow a wedding dress she’d been saving since she was fourteen—a simple white gown with a beaded bodice, cap sleeves, and a lace-tiered skirt—and Cole wore the equestrian director’s best tuxedo. The guests arrived wearing everything from tuxedoes and band uniforms to evening gowns, flapper dresses, tutus, and hula skirts. After the
ceremony, Lilly and Cole made their way between the cars as the train traveled to the next destination, accepting congratulations and offers of food and drink. Then everyone herded them into a private sleeper car—gleefully vacated by Mr. and Mrs. Benini, owners of the snow cone and cotton candy stands—and left them alone. At midnight, Lilly lay in Cole’s strong arms, amazed that her life had turned out so well.

  If Momma hadn’t sold her to the circus, she never would have met Cole. And right now, in this moment, she was so content and grateful, forgiveness almost seemed possible, like a shimmering jewel waiting for her to reach out and take it. But then she remembered the pain of all she had been through and everything she had endured, and the idea of mercy left her mind. Some wounds cut too deep. What her parents had done, locking her in the attic for ten years and selling her to the circus, was unforgivable. It wasn’t like Momma was here asking for forgiveness anyway. She didn’t think she had done anything wrong. Lilly wondered what Momma would think if she could see her now, loved by friends, happily married, and about to work with elephants under the big top. Would she be proud of her, or did her hatred run so deep it overshadowed anything good?

  For the next two weeks, Cole and Lilly worked on the elephant act inside a practice ring set up at the back end of each stop. Every now and then, Mr. Barlow checked in to see how it was going and seemed delighted with their progress. Pepper especially seemed to read Lilly’s mind. Wherever Lilly walked or ran, she followed, trunk in the air, mouth open in a smile. If Lilly lifted her foot, Pepper lifted a foot. Without a spoken word of instruction, Pepper stood on her hind legs or scooped Lilly up with her trunk and gently placed her on her neck behind her ears. Cole and his father had never seen anything like it. And Lilly was happier than she ever thought possible. But sometimes she noticed Merrick watching from the corner of a nearby tent, his face tight, anger radiating from his pores like heat from a desert. It unsettled her.

  Finally, the big day came for Lilly to make her first appearance under the big top. Dressed in a white leotard with a flowing chiffon skirt decorated with silver crystals and beads, her hair braided into a soft bun, she walked barefoot over to the big top, her white ballet slippers in her hands. Cole had left their car earlier to help his father bring over the elephants, and the other performers and animals were already lining up outside the connecting entrance to the arena, waiting to be summoned by the shrill note of Mr. Barlow’s whistle to start the grand parade.