The Orphan's Tale

by Pam Jenoff

  Though I do not look bad yet, I feel awful. The nausea that had started that first day on the trapeze has worsened, causing me to vomit three or four times a day. There is no extra food to spare once I have wasted mine being sick, though Noa tries to slip me bits of her own rations when I let her. But it doesn’t matter—I cannot hold down a thing. My empty stomach burns like I have eaten something too spicy all day long and at night, too, keeping me awake.

  “Eat something,” Peter pled the previous night. “For the baby.” He’d brought my dinner to the train when I did not come to the cook tent. It was a watery stew, enriched with bits of meat and turnips he’d added to it from his own rations.

  But the once-appetizing aroma of onions made my stomach turn and I pushed it away, gesturing in Noa’s direction. “Give it to Theo.”

  Ironically, as I’ve grown sicker, Peter has brightened. The baby has changed everything for him. I haven’t seen him drink at all since I told him and the melancholy in his eyes is gone, replaced by merriment and hope.

  I pull out my valise to put on some powder to conceal my paleness before the meeting. The other girls hurry from the carriage, but Noa lingers behind with Theo. I pat my hair and start out.

  “Wait,” Noa says. I turn back. She is biting her lip as if she wants to say something. Instead she thrusts the baby at me awkwardly. “Can you hold him while I change? He never fusses at you.” I take him. It is true that while I had never cared for a baby before, Theo seems to warm to my arms.

  “Ready,” Noa says a few minutes later, her voice a bit pinched, as if nervous or excited. She is dressed more smartly than I would expect for a Sunday, too, her skirt and blouse crisply pressed. I carry Theo outside. The late-day sky is an eggshell blue. The air is balmy and fragrant, the first real spring evening. We pass the big top. Despite feeling ill and having no appetite, I have not stopped flying. I swing harder and higher than ever—perhaps harder than I should. I am not, of course, trying to jeopardize the pregnancy I had so dearly wanted all my life. The baby would have to understand, though, that this is our life, as well. I need to know that they can exist together.

  Closer to the backyard, I can hear the murmur of the others gathered. But as we round the corner of the tent, the voices hush. The full circus is present, performers and laborers intermingled. They stand not in the main part of the backyard close to the big top. Rather, they have assembled at the far edge, where the trees meet the clearing in a kind of semicircle, forming a grove.

  A canopy of leaves has been prepared, branches secured across the outstretched limbs of two oak trees. Peter waits beneath it beside Herr Neuhoff, face bright with anticipation, regal in a dark suit and top hat I’ve never seen. I wonder if he brought it with him from Russia. The crowd seems to part as I near into two distinct clusters, forming a sort of aisle down the middle between them. My skin prickles: What is going on?

  I turn to Noa. She smiles, a faint twinkle of excitement in her eyes, and I realize she had stalled me with the baby on purpose. She hands me some wildflowers, wrapped with string. “I don’t understand,” I say.

  Noa takes Theo from me and brushes back a lock of hair that has fallen close to my face. “Every bride needs a bouquet,” she replies and her eyes dart toward Peter, as if unsure she should have spoken.

  Bride. I look at Peter questioningly. But his gaze is unflinching and intent. He means to marry me here, in front of the circus. A wedding. The ground seems to wobble beneath my feet. There can’t really be one, of course; our union is against the law in France, just as surely as my marriage to Erich had been in Germany. It would certainly never be recognized by any government. But still, to take my vows with Peter, and have our child born in wedlock, to a real family. In my wildest dreams, I had not imagined it.

  One of the cellists from the orchestra begins to play, a song too soft and somber to be a wedding march. The circus folk stand in a semicircle, faces aglow, a little bit of life affirmation, for each so very needed. I take in the smiling expressions around me. Have they guessed my secret? No, they are happy for this moment of light in the darkness—and for us. For the first time since leaving my family in Darmstadt so many years ago, I feel as though I am finally home.

  Noa leads me forward to the canopy. I reach for her, wanting her to stand up with me so I am not alone. But she puts my hand in Peter’s and takes a step back.

  I look into his eyes. “You planned this?”

  He smiles. “I suppose I should have asked you,” he says, but then he lowers to one knee. “Astrid, will you marry me?”

  “It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?” I chide. There is faint laughter from the others. My mind whirls: I had not planned to get married again, to Peter or anyone else. Marriages are about forever, and there is nothing certain about that anymore. I had not planned for the baby or any of this either, though. Peter is kneeling before me, his face so hopeful. He wants to make us a family.

  And so do I, I realize. I see then as if watching a movie my life with Peter since I had joined the Circus Neuhoff, how he has protected me, and how close we have grown day by day. The nights without him are empty and no space complete until he is there. Noa had been right, not just about Peter’s feelings, but mine. He had gotten into my heart when I wasn’t even looking. Part of me curses myself for letting it happen. At the same time, though, I would not want to go forward any other way.

  That doesn’t change the reality of our situation—or the danger marrying me could bring to him. I lower my head to his. “Are you certain?” I whisper low, not wanting the others to hear. Though he stands in front of me, willing to risk everything, part of me still cannot believe it. How can he want to take this chance after all that he has been through?

  He nods. “Never more so,” he replies, voice clear and unwavering.

  “Then yes, I would love to marry you,” I say more loudly. I smile, batting back the tears that sting at my eyes.

  Herr Neuhoff clears his throat. “Well, let’s get started,” he says as Peter stands. “There are few words to describe love in the least likely of places, which is also the most beautiful,” he begins, his voice a softer version of the sotto baritone he uses in the ring.

  He opens a worn Bible and reads, “And Ruth said, ‘Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.’”

  As he reads, my eyes drift upward to the canopy. To the onlookers, it is a simple bough of branches and leaves. But I know that Peter, himself not Jewish, has designed it as a chuppa in a silent concession to my family. I wish for my father to give me away, my brothers to hoist us high on chairs after as “Hava Nagila” plays, just like when Mathias and Markus had married the Hungarian horseback riders, Jewish sisters. I have done this before without them, of course, standing before a justice of the peace with Erich in Berlin. Then I pretended not to mind, thinking that my family would be there always. Now I feel longing and grief. I touch my stomach, thinking of the grandchild my parents will never know.

  My missing family is not the only difference. Once when I had taken my vows with Erich, I had been young and unafraid. I had thought that nothing could touch us. Now I know that this union will not shield us from whatever lies ahead. Rather, it will make my burden Peter’s and his mine.

  Peter is not young and naive either, though. I think of the wife and daughter he lost, who surely cannot be far from his mind today. Yet he has the courage to go forward, head lifted, eyes clear. For this, I love him more than ever.

  Herr Neuhoff finishes the passage. “Peter, you have something you want to say?”

  Peter pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and drops it. He stumbles as he bends to pick it up, his usual composure gone. His hand shakes, nervous as a young groom. “There is so little one can be certain of these days,” he begi
ns, voice wobbly. “But finding a hand to hold while we walk this path makes even the most difficult of times better and the strangest of villages home.” Around us, heads nod. Each circus performer has a past, his or her own memories of a home. Then he crumples the paper and jams it back into his pocket, so abruptly I wonder if he is having second thoughts. “Once I thought my life was over. When I came to Germany and joined the circus, I never thought I would find happiness again.” His voice grows clear and strong as he abandons the words he had written and speaks from the heart. “And then I met you and it all changed. You made me believe again that good things were possible. I love you.” He looks down.

  “Astrid, is there anything you want to say?” Herr Neuhoff asks.

  Everyone is watching me expectantly. I had no idea and have nothing prepared. “It—it is hard to find a love you can trust,” I manage. I search for the words that I have not said until now, even to myself. “I am so very lucky. You make me feel stronger, every day. I can face whatever is to come as long as I am with you.”

  “You are blessed indeed, Astrid and Peter, to have found one another,” Herr Neuhoff agrees, saving me from having to find further words. He turns to Peter. “Do you take this woman...” In Noa’s arms, Theo coos his approval and everyone chuckles.

  Peter’s eyes are aglow as he places an antique metal band around my finger. Was it a family heirloom or something he had purchased just for today? “I now pronounce you man and wife,” Herr Neuhoff declares.

  A great cheer arises from the onlookers as Peter kisses me and the musicians strike up a merry tune. Someone brings out a table and several bottles of champagne. Watching, I am touched by the details, the care with which the party has been planned. There are little trays of appetizers, simple foods made from rations that had been arranged to look grand.

  “To your future together,” Herr Neuhoff proposes, raising a glass, and everyone toasts in agreement. I raise the glass to my lips.

  The party breaks up into smaller groups, drinking and enjoying a bit of merriment. Impromptu, some of the Romanian acrobats begin to dance, twirling in circles with their brightly patterned scarves, sequined skirts flaring like pinwheels. I try to relax and enjoy the party, but the colors and noise are overwhelming after all that has happened. I lean wearily against one of the tables. Across the crowd, Peter shoots me a knowing smile.

  Behind the dancers, something moves in the trees. I straighten and glimpse someone standing at the edge of the grove. Emmet, watching the party. I do not remember seeing him at the ceremony. He is Herr Neuhoff’s son, and it is only natural that he would have been invited. But his presence makes me uneasy.

  The music grows livelier and the dancers form a circle, drawing me and Peter into the center of it, then whirl around us like a speeding carousel. Peter takes my hands and begins to spin me in the direction opposite those who have gathered around us. The movement and music are dizzying. As we twirl, I see Noa, standing alone on the outside of the circle, seeming to want to join in but not quite sure how.

  I break away from Peter and burst through the circle. “Come,” I say, taking her hand and leading her back into the center with me. Making her one of us. She clasps my fingers gratefully. I hold her hand and Peter’s, too, as we begin to dance, not caring if the others think it strange. I do not want Noa to be left out. But as we spin and I grow dizzy, I find myself clinging more tightly to her, needing her as much as she needs me to keep the world upright.

  The dance ends and a slower song begins. It is an older Romanian song, “The Anniversary Waltz.” Noa and the others step away and I know I am meant to dance only with Peter. He draws me close. He waltzes with more skill than I might have expected, but his movements are slowed and a bit clumsy from drink. As he hums the familiar tune, his lips buzzing against my ear, I can hear my mother singing the lyrics as my brother Jules played them on his violin. “Oh how we danced on the night we were wed...” My eyes burn.

  “I need to rest,” I pant in Peter’s ear when the song has ended.

  “Do you feel all right?” he asks, touching my cheek with concern. I nod. “I’ll get you some water.”

  “I’m fine, darling. You go enjoy the party,” I say, not wanting him to fuss over me. He starts off in the direction of the champagne. I lean against a chair, suddenly weak. A faint sweat breaks out on my brow and my stomach begins to wobble. Not now, I think. I walk around the side of one of the train cars out of sight, in search of a moment’s quiet. Then I stop, hearing voices on the other side.

  “The ceremony was lovely,” Noa says to someone I cannot see. Her tone is uneasy.

  Then I hear Emmet. “If only it was real,” he says sarcastically. How dare he insult my marriage to Peter?

  “It is real,” Noa protests with as much courage as she can muster. “Even if the government is too foolish to recognize it.”

  “Best to get married here,” Emmet remarks. “Before we go back, you know.” His tone is conspiratorial.

  There is a pause. “Back?” Noa’s voice is filled with surprise. I hadn’t mentioned my conversation with Herr Neuhoff, or the possibility that we would not be allowed to remain in France. “To Germany?”

  “Astrid hasn’t told you?”

  “Of course she has,” Noa lies poorly, tries to sound as though she is not surprised. But she cannot maintain the facade. “It isn’t true!” she exclaims, and I wonder if she will cry.

  “My father says the French tour is being curtailed.”

  “Your father tells you nothing.” I am surprised by the strength in Noa’s voice.

  “Maybe you should just go home,” Emmet sneers. “Oh, that’s right. You can’t.” I stifle a gasp. How much does he know about Noa’s past?

  I step into the light. “That’s enough.”

  Emmet’s eyes flicker at the realization that I heard what he’d said. For a second, I wonder if he will back down. “There’s a reason she was all alone with a child when we found her,” Emmet says, seemingly undaunted. Over his shoulder, I see Noa’s eyes widen, terrified that he has somehow learned the truth. Of course, Emmet is bluffing. He has to be. I would never tell and there’s no other way he could have found out.

  “The little tramp, the child has got to be hers.” Emmet spits in Noa’s direction. Without thinking, I reach out and slap him so hard my palm stings. He steps away, staring at me in disbelief, the imprint of my hand bright red across his cheek. “You’ll pay for that,” he swears.

  “Get lost before I call your father,” I say.

  Emmet slinks away, still clutching his cheek. “Thank you,” Noa says to me when he is out of earshot. “I don’t understand, how could he possibly know about me?”

  “I don’t think he actually does,” I say and Noa seems to relax with relief. “I certainly didn’t tell him. Most likely he was just fishing for information.” The truth is that secrets don’t stay buried for long in the circus—they have a way of coming out. But telling Noa this would only worry her further.

  Noa casts her eyes downward. “Is it true, what Emmet said? Are we going back?”

  “It isn’t certain. Herr Neuhoff mentioned that the administration was threatening it. It was just a possibility and I didn’t want to upset you.”

  “I’m not a child,” Noa says, a note of rebuke in her voice.

  “I know. I should have said something. But you don’t have to go back, you know.”

  “How could I leave the circus?” she asks earnestly, doubt clouding her eyes. “I could never go without you.”

  I smile, touched by her loyalty. A few months ago she was a stranger to the circus. An outsider. Now this life is all that she can imagine. “It is only a show—and no show can go on forever.”

  “What about you?” she asks. So young, and always with so many questions.

  “As I’ve said before, I won’t run. And I won’
t hide again,” I vow. They would have to take me first.

  “It is not so far to Switzerland,” she ventures, her eyes lifting to the hills. “Perhaps if we went together...”

  “No.” I turn to face her squarely. “There are people who have vouched for me. People who would pay with their lives if I was gone. But not for you,” I add. “You can go.”

  “I am with you to the end,” she says, voice quavering slightly.

  “Let’s not talk about it anymore tonight,” I say, patting her hand.

  Noa nods in agreement and her eyes travel back toward the party. “The wedding was beautiful,” she offers. “I dream of such things.” I try not to laugh. The gathering in the woods is simple, far from elegant. “Doesn’t every girl?” Noa adds. “Will you take his name?”

  I had not considered the question. Then I shake my head. I had changed who I was once; I could not do it again. “What were you doing all the way out here anyway? We should get back.” I start toward the party but Noa does not follow. Her eyes travel in another direction, away from the fairgrounds.

  “You aren’t thinking of going to that boy again are you?” I ask.

  “No, of course not,” she says too quickly.

  “Nothing but trouble can come of that. And you promised,” I remind her.

  “Yes,” she replies. “I’m just tired, and I want to check on Theo. I had Elsie put him down after the ceremony.” I study her face, trying to decide whether to believe her.

  “Astrid,” I hear Peter’s voice, fueled by liquor, call too loudly from the party.

  “I need to get back,” I say.

  “I understand.” Noa squeezes my hand. “And about before...thank you.” Her voice is filled with gratitude.

  And then she turns and walks toward the train. I want to call after her and warn her again, but I do not. Instead, I start back to the gathering.