The Life She Was Given

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

  “What do you mean she can’t work?” Mr. Barlow bellowed. “We’re bringing in the biggest takes we’ve had in years. She can’t quit now!” He slammed his hand on the table, rattling the tumblers and nearly knocking over a bottle of bourbon.

  “She’s not quitting,” Cole said. “She’s just—”

  “We’re going into the slow season,” Lilly interrupted. “I’ll be ready to work again next summer.”

  “I don’t give a good goddamn what season we’re in,” Mr. Barlow said. “We’ll lose revenue without her and that elephant!”

  “I refuse to put my wife and unborn child in danger,” Cole said. “If something happens to her, you’ll lose the act for good.”

  “Any possibility the baby might be albino?” Merrick said.

  Cole and Lilly ignored him.

  Mr. Barlow slumped in his chair, his face dark as thunder. “Son of a bitch. I knew it was too good to be true.” He addressed Cole. “Can you take her place? We could put you in a wig and white greasepaint.”

  Cole shook his head. “Won’t work. Pepper does things for Lilly she won’t do for me.”

  “If you’re open to suggestions, I have an idea,” Lilly said. “Why don’t you tell everyone The Albino Elephant is performing in Europe? Then, come spring, people will flock back to see what they missed.”

  Mr. Barlow took a long swig of bourbon, put his glass down hard on the table, and glared at her. “Jesus Christ. One way or another you manage to screw up every act you’ve ever been in. I’m starting to wonder if I should keep you on at all.”

  “If she goes, I go,” Cole said. “And my father too.”

  “I’m not paying her until she’s back to work,” Mr. Barlow said.

  “You just started paying me two months ago,” Lilly said. “And not much, I might add, considering what the crowds have been.”

  “Now hold on, young lady,” Mr. Barlow said. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since the day you arrived, and I’m not paying you until you’re back on that bull.”

  “Yeah,” Merrick said. “We can’t have an albino taking tickets and selling cotton candy. It’ll scare the kiddies.” Amused with himself, he grinned, a wad of chewing tobacco in one cheek.

  “Shut up, Merrick,” Cole said. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  Merrick sneered at him. “We could put her back in the sideshow,” he said. “Tell everyone she’s giving birth to an alien.”

  “Absolutely not,” Lilly said.

  “She can help me and my father take care of the bulls,” Cole said. “That’s worth something at least.”

  “I’m still not paying her,” Mr. Barlow said.

  “Fine,” Lilly said. “But if Pepper and I are still the main draw when I come back, I want benefits.”

  Mr. Barlow’s eyebrows shot up and one edge of his mustache quivered. Lilly thought he was going to scream or get up and slap her. Then he exploded, laughing so hard his face and neck turned red. “Oh, Lilly,” he said. “Oh dear. That’s good. You’re here telling me you can’t work for a while, at the same time you’re asking for the entire profits from one or more performances if you’re the star?” He clutched his midriff, as if trying to contain himself. “That’s priceless.” Merrick laughed with him. Mr. Barlow leaned back in his chair and chuckled, then wiped his eyes. “I have to say, I haven’t heard anything quite that funny in a while.”

  “It’s only fair that part of my pay should depend on my drawing power,” Lilly said.

  “That’s the way Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey do it,” Cole said.

  With that, Mr. Barlow shot to his feet and stormed toward them, his eyes on fire. “You’re lucky I don’t get rid of the both of you right now, let alone pay you more,” he yelled. “Do you have any idea how many circuses went out of business last year? No, you don’t. And I don’t want to talk to either of you until Lilly is ready to perform again. That’s just what we need around here, another mouth to feed and my biggest draw off the bill!” He pointed at the exit. “Now get the hell out of my car!”

  CHAPTER 26

  JULIA

  Julia stood, stunned, staring at the hidden door inside the small room on the third floor of Blackwood Manor. She was too surprised to do anything. The door was smaller than normal, less than five feet tall, and the wallpaper on the top half along with the wainscoting on the bottom matched the rest of the wall perfectly. Even the hasp and padlock had been painted red to blend in. Why had someone gone to such great lengths to hide the door? Was it the entrance to the attic, or something else?

  Then she reached for the padlock and her heart dropped. Where was the key?

  She tried the keys on Mother’s key ring. None worked. She yanked on the padlock, hoping it was broken or unlocked. It didn’t budge. She pushed on the door with both hands to test its strength. It felt sound. She examined the back of the table, hoping to find the key taped there. No luck. She felt inside the table’s velvet-lined drawer. Still no luck. Discouraged, she stood in the middle of the room and looked around. Maybe there was a loose piece of wainscoting or a hidden compartment somewhere. Then she glanced at the tapestry again, rolled up like a rug below the rod.

  The key hung from a hook attached to the hanging rod, hidden behind one of the tapestry tabs.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said to herself.

  She took the key from the hook and tried it in the padlock. It fit, turned, and unlocked the clasp. With her heart hammering in her chest, she pulled the padlock from the hasp and opened the door. A gust of stale air brushed over her face, as if the house were exhaling after decades of holding its breath.

  To her surprise, the opening behind the door was even smaller than the door itself, like an entrance made for children. The upper edge hung a foot lower than the top of the doorframe, and the bottom edge rose a foot from the floor. In stark contrast to the shiny wallpaper and glossy wainscoting on the outside of the door, rotted, wormy wood surrounded the opening on three sides, and the mortar below the warped threshold had cracked and fallen away, revealing pitted craters of filthy plaster. Black streaks of tar ran down the plaster like melted wax. The opening reminded Julia of abandoned houses, or hiding places for Jews in black and white WWII photos. She shivered. Had the hidden door been there the entire time she was growing up? Maybe there really was someone living behind the walls.

  Weak light from the outer room fell across the grimy landing of the opening and what looked like a bottom step. She picked up the flashlight, turned it on, and shone it into the door. Her light revealed a cramped, narrow stairwell with worn wooden steps and a tangle of electrical wires running along the edge of the slanted ceiling like a black snake. Chunks of yellowed wallpaper hung from the stairwell like flaps of dried skin, revealing broken patches of lathe and plaster. It looked like a tight fit, and the space above the steps remained hidden in darkness.

  She stood transfixed, her heart kicking in her chest. Maybe she should wait and ask Fletcher to go up with her. It was going to be dark soon, and tomorrow, during daylight, they could go up together. Because what if she found the rats? What if one of the steps gave way and she broke her leg? What if one of the attic floorboards snapped around her ankle like a bear trap? No one would find her for days.

  Then she remembered telling Claude about the rats in the attic. If she went missing, he would know where to look. Besides, she couldn’t wait until tomorrow. She had to know what was behind the hidden door. Curiosity killed the cat, she thought, and stepped into the dank opening.

  She made her way up the steep stairs one step at a time, testing each step as she went, cobwebs clinging to her arms and face. The air was close and musty, and plaster and dried paint crunched beneath her shoes. Up she went, moving slowly and shining the flashlight on every worn rung to check for rotted or cracked wood. Halfway to the top, she felt dizzy and stopped. She put a hand on the wall to steady herself, then realized she was holding her breath. She inhaled deeply a few times, then moved up the stai
rcase again. Near the top, she pointed her flashlight toward the ceiling. The circle of light revealed wood planks and rough-hewn beams soaring above her like the upside-down bowels of an old ship.

  The attic.

  Finally, she reached the top step and cast the flashlight beam around the attic, which was even bigger than she’d imagined. And on that rainy day, it was dark up there, the far reaches of the vast space hanging in shadows. The dormer windows were few and far between and crusted up with watermarks and mold. It was so quiet she could hear the creak and sway of the house, and the rain filtering through the leaf-choked gutters. Except for narrow walkways snaking through cobweb- and dust-covered piles of normal attic things—old trunks and dressers, mirrors and wardrobes, empty picture frames and faded portraits, china sets and books, boxes and crates and another headless dummy—every inch of space was filled.

  No wonder there were rats up here. It was a rodent paradise. But how would she ever find out where they were getting in, let alone go through all of this stuff for clues about her dead sister and whatever sins her parents had been hiding?

  She sighed and started through a narrow walkway, testing the strength of the floor as she went. It squeaked and groaned, but seemed sound. Faded portraits and landscapes hung from rusty wires on the opposite wall at the far end of the attic, their frames skewed this way and that. She made her way toward them.

  When she reached the paintings, she stopped in her tracks. There was another door in the wall, a foot up from the floor.

  “What in the world?” she said to herself.

  This time, though, she didn’t have to search for a key. It hung from a hook next to the doorframe. She unlocked the door, turned the knob, and the door creaked on its hinges and swung inward. She took a deep breath and stepped over the high threshold into another part of the attic. To her surprise, it was bare, except for an empty bookcase and two cane-back chairs.

  And then she saw a third door.

  CHAPTER 27

  LILLY

  Outside Lilly and Cole’s sleeper car, the sun was blazing and the air was heavy. The land was flat as far as the eye could see, and the lot was covered in dry grass the color of hay. The roustabouts were raising the tent city, and the clatter of chutes, shouting, cursing, and the thunder of four-horse hitches filled the air. They were in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma, and if Lilly’s estimates were right, it had been nearly two years since she and Pepper made their first appearance under the big top on these very grounds.

  After her daughter, Phoebe Lillian Holt, was born, it didn’t take long for word to travel that The Albino Queen & Her Elephant were back from Europe, and the crowds entering the big top doubled. Mr. Barlow was happy, and so was everyone else. The money coming in was better than ever, and that made up for everything. Four to five nights a week they performed at a new spot, and for the first time ever, Lilly was getting paid on a regular basis. She and Cole owned their own sleeper car, and Lilly finally convinced Glory to leave Merrick for good, retire from the freak show, and take care of Phoebe when Lilly and Cole were working.

  Now, Lilly sat in the rectangle of sunlight coming in through the open window of the sleeper car and looked over at her twelvemonth-old daughter napping in her cushioned crib.

  In her deepest fears during pregnancy, Lilly worried her baby would be born with some kind of abnormality, either albinism or something else. She’d been lucky enough to fall in love and get married, but would she be fortunate enough to have a normal, healthy child too? Every day while waiting for the baby to arrive, she became more and more certain she’d only be allowed one of those things, not both. She never thought she’d be this happy, let alone content with this strange circus life that had been forced on her. Was it possible to be doubly blessed? Then Phoebe was born with delicate blond curls covering her little head, perfectly normal pink baby skin, and cobalt blue eyes, like Cole’s, shining like opals above her chubby cheeks. It felt like a miracle, almost too good to be true, and sometimes Lilly woke up in the middle of the night, panicked and terrified none of it was real.

  After Phoebe was born, Cole bought a camera in a red case, and the walls of their car were filled with photos—Phoebe sitting on Pepper with Lilly, Phoebe having her face painted by clowns, Phoebe perched on Brutus the Texas Giant’s shoulders, Phoebe sunbathing on a blanket with Cole. On her first birthday, Lilly made Phoebe a stuffed elephant out of yellow and pink calico print, with button eyes and blue yarn for a tail. It was Phoebe’s favorite toy, and now, it lay beside her in her crib.

  Lilly watched her daughter sleep, wishing she could skip this afternoon’s performance. Today was going to be even hotter than yesterday, and she wanted to let Phoebe play in a cool bath. She didn’t want to miss a second of her daughter’s life, but knew she didn’t have a choice. When Glory showed up to babysit in a few minutes, Lilly would go to the dressing tent and get ready to perform. After all, the show must go on.

  Later that afternoon, while the animals and performers lined up behind the big top before the grand parade, the air seemed saturated with an eerie yellowish-green glow. The distant clouds grew dark and the wind picked up. The flags fluttered, the tents rocked and rolled, and the ropes stretched left and right. The monkeys whined and the hyenas howled, and the normally lethargic cats snarled and growled and paced back and forth inside their dens. The horses whinnied and danced restlessly in their hitches while the drivers held tight to their reins and tried talking them down. The handlers did their best to keep the animals under control, but it didn’t help. Even Pepper couldn’t stand still. Lilly told her to calm down but had to keep repositioning herself on her back every time she moved. Cole got down from JoJo, took him out of the lineup, and led him in circles to distract him. Hank tried to calm Flossie and Petunia by rubbing their legs and scratching their trunks. It was normal for the animals to get restless during bad weather, but Lilly had never seen them act like this.

  “What do you think has them riled up?” she asked Hank.

  “They sense a storm coming,” he said. “Hearing them snarl and whine and bellow makes you feel kind of funny in the pit of the stomach, don’t it?”

  She nodded. “You mean a thunderstorm?”

  He scanned the horizon. “At least that. But it smells like tornado weather to me.”

  Lilly drew in a sharp breath. “Do you really think it’ll get that bad?”

  “More than likely. When I first started out with a show in Hutchinson, Kansas, a twister just missed us. I won’t ever forget the way that air smelled. We didn’t have much warning, but we all saw the black-green cloud with its trailing funnel comin’ at us.”

  “What did you do?”

  “The roustabouts got busy grouping the loose equipment and lashing everything together with ropes and chains. We covered the animal wagons and dropped all canvas flat to the ground, striking all poles. A few seconds later, the twister was upon us, cuttin’ a swath right through the center of the lot. We were lucky, though, because nobody got hurt and we didn’t lose anything.”

  Lilly gripped Pepper’s headpiece tighter. “Maybe I should go back to the car and check on Phoebe,” she said.

  “She’ll be all right,” he said. “If there’s a storm, she’s safer on the train than we are out here.”

  Lilly pressed her lips together and looked at the sky, worry knotting her gut.

  Mr. Barlow appeared and walked up and down the line, shouting orders, his face dark and brooding. One of the lions reached through his cage and swatted at him with a clawed mitt. Mr. Barlow turned, outraged, and dragged his riding crop along the bars. The lion snarled and reached for him again. Mr. Barlow cussed and gave the cage another whack, then marched into the big top.

  Cole brought JoJo back into line and climbed on.

  “Your father thinks there might be a tornado,” Lilly said to him.

  Concern lined Cole’s face, but before he could respond, Mr. Barlow’s whistle sounded inside the tent and the parade began. While the band played the g
rand march, the big top leaned and twisted, the great canvas ceiling and walls billowing up and down and side to side like a giant handkerchief. The majority of the rubes were oblivious, applauding and spellbound by the clowns and zebras and elephants circling the hippodrome. But some looked up and frowned.

  When Pepper and Lilly reached the halfway point on the other side of the hippodrome, a smattering of heavy raindrops drummed on the tent ceiling. At first, the sound was barely audible above the music, but then it began pouring. Sheets of rain beat on the canvas like a hundred galloping hooves. The light outside the entrance turned leaden and the canvas ceiling grew dark. Lilly glanced at Cole, struggling to push down the panic rising in her chest. He nodded once as if to tell her everything was okay, and she forced herself to keep smiling and waving. Then she saw something move near the bale rings and her heart stopped.

  Three birds had flown into the tent and now they circled the center poles, franticly darting back and forth, searching for a way out. A bird in the big top meant death for a performer. And there were three of them. Lilly’s smile faltered and she checked to see if anyone else had noticed. One of the female trapeze artists was staring up at the dreaded flying omens, along with the lion tamer and three tightrope walkers, all with ashen faces.

  Nerves prickled along Lilly’s skin and it was all she could do to keep her arm in the air. She glanced at Cole again and said his name. He didn’t hear her.

  Just then, lightning flashed outside the main entrance and lit up the canvas roof. A deafening clap of thunder startled the horses, then rolled over and over on top itself until it felt like the entire earth was shaking. Lightning flickered again and again and again, and the musicians lost their tempo. Near the pit, Mr. Barlow motioned frantically for the band to keep playing, then raised his arm and moved his hand in small circles to signal the performers and animals to keep moving. The audience looked at one another with worried faces.