by Tess Oliver
“I want to hear it. Please, go on.”
“Ben wasn’t much of a writer.” He chuckled. “He’d scribble out just a line or two. He was a terrible speller, so he’d always give me the card to double check before he handed it off for mailing. ‘We made it safely to camp.’ ‘Saw this and thought of you.’ ‘Just off to bed’. ‘Best regards from Ben’.” Jackson smiled. “And my favorite, ‘send money, I’m busted’. That was when we were still in the states. Those notes were short but cheery, as if we weren’t heading into anything worse than a trek across Europe.”
I picked up a blade of grass and twirled it absently in my fingers. “Was he writing to a sweetheart?”
“Someone named Barbara. He didn’t say who she was, but it seemed pretty clear she was his sister. I think he would have preferred to have me think it was his girl back home. On one note he wrote—” Jackson stopped to think, “something about his mother. ‘Tell mama not to throw away the old wine press in the cellar. Uncle Don wants it’. And then there was the comical exchange about the boots they’d sent him. He complained on the first card about them being too stiff and couldn’t they have found a better pair. Two cards later he was saying that the boots had been softened by wear and that he could probably do all right with them.”
“I imagine with all the walking soldiers do, the comfort of boots is pretty important. I couldn’t even manage a one mile walk in these shoes.”
He reached down and touched my ankle with the pretense that he was looking at my shoes, but my half bare legs seemed to be his real focus. His fingers grazed along my ankle and lower leg for just a second, but the heat of his touch spread all the way up my thighs. A breath caught in my chest. I released a disappointed, silent sigh as he drew his hand away.
“Once we got to Europe, he continued writing the postcards. Made me feel pretty guilty for not writing more myself.”
“To your sweetheart?” I teased. I’d said it lightly, but from his reaction, it wasn’t a light subject. He shook his head in response. It seemed, once again, I’d prodded too far.
“The tone of Ben’s notes, still just as brief of course, had darkened. As we got nearer to the front-line he wrote ‘pray for me’ at the bottom each time. He knew. We could all sense how brittle our existence had become in the midst of the war.” A weak, forlorn smile broke out on his face. “On one card he wrote ‘thank god for the boots you sent me’.” Jackson stared down at the grass below him and ran his palm over it. “We were in a trench in the middle of a French battlefield. The artillery had come to a lull and things were tense but quiet. There’s plenty of waiting in battle. But it’s a hard wait, not like waiting in line at the butcher shop. You wait to see if that was the day that would change your life forever, or if it would be your last day on Earth. Extreme hunger had turned our minds to home cooking, and we talked about how much we missed it. We were both having a smoke.” He paused and his story seemed to have taken him back to that moment in time. Crickets peddled their noisy legs in the grass near the riverbank and the water swooshed quietly along. Suddenly the setting seemed as melancholy as the man next to me.
“Ben was telling me about his ma’s cherry cobbler. Like always, he took his helmet off to scratch his head. There was an explosion, a grenade. Shrapnel flew at us. Ben was still smiling about his ma’s cobbler when a shard split his skull open. If he’d had his helmet on, it might have saved his life.” He sat still for a second, then looked at me. “See, you’ve already cast a spell on me. I’ve never told that story to anyone. Not sure what it is about you, but I feel like I can tell you everything. I’m comfortable talking to you, like we’ve known each other for a long time.”
“I feel it too. It’s nice. My strange lifestyle makes it impossible to have friends other than the people who travel along with us. And sometimes, strongmen and snake charmers don’t make the best confidantes. Even Buck and I rarely see eye to eye on things. Rose is my closest friend, but we’re so different. Which reminds me, we should be getting back to them. Rose and I have to be up early to help with the clean-up. Those crazy carnival goers barreled through the midway like a hurricane. We had a good turnout today, but I’m worried Buck picked too remote of a location. People around here will tire of the shows and run out of spare money, sooner rather than later.”
“You might be right. Once the novelty wears off, ticket sales might slow. But there are still some of the nearby cities, Alexandria and Arlington. If Buck put posters up across the bridges, you’d get visitors from across the Potomac too.” Jackson stood up. His white shirt looked bright against the dark backdrop of the mill. He held out his hand for me to take. I picked up his coat as I stood. I brushed it off and handed it back to him with a nod of thanks.
I kept my hand in his as we hiked back to the car. His grip was strong and warm and protective. It was a good hand hold.
“I’m sorry about your friend, Ben.”
He nodded. “Yeah.” A thin layer of clouds had blocked out some of the moonlight, but the shreds of light coming through gleamed off the slate gray car. We stopped before getting in, and I glanced back at the scenic place we’d just left.
“Trees and moss and water sure beat the midway. Sometimes it feels like I’m growing up in an artificial world of striped canvas and carnival posters. Thank you for bringing me out here. It’s much more my cup of tea than the speakeasy.”
He held his hat but hadn’t put it back on his head yet. I wondered if, and even hoped that he had plans to kiss me. I peered up at him, and that winning smile shot up on one side of his mouth.
“I’m never hesitant when it comes to kissing a girl,” he said, as though he’d read my mind. “But standing here with you, the exotic, fearless Enchantress, who had an entire crowd of people on their feet tonight, I’m feeling a little intimidated. Of course, that also might have to do with the fact that you are quite the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
“More sugary words, Jackson Jarrett. You’d better watch yourself, otherwise you’ll sweep this Enchantress right out of her glitzy shoes.” I hopped on the toes of my sparkly shoes.
“I sure as hell hope so.” He reached up and placed his hand on the side of my face. His mouth hovered just an inch from mine. His warm breath tickled my lips. Then he lowered his mouth over mine and kissed me. It wasn’t a chaste kiss, but it seemed he was holding back.
My knees weakened as his kiss deepened. My legs felt rubbery, a sensation I’d never felt before. His hand dropped from my face and he took hold of my waist. Then, with some reluctance, he lifted his mouth from mine. I opened my eyes.
He was gazing down at me. “Can I see you again, Charli? I’d like to take you out again.”
I knew starting a relationship with someone on the outside, someone not part of my bizarre little life circle was silly and could only lead to heartbreak. This time, it could very well be me instead of Emma crying for the first five hours of our journey to the next location. But there was something about Jackson that made me think I needed this. And with his face and that deep whiskey voice and the many layers that seemed locked away under the extraordinary exterior, I was sure I would regret not knowing him more than I would regret losing my heart to him. “I’d like that, Jackson.”
Chapter 9
Jackson
The white facade of the federal style mansion loomed down over the rolling green lawn. I took a moment to admire the building with its hipped roof, brick chimneys and array of six-over-six windows. It was a popular style home on this side of the river, a balanced but different version of the common Georgian style. The house belonged to Clarence Albert, a prominent lobbyist, a somewhat controversial figure on the Hill.
Mr. Albert had grown very fond of Walter’s corn whiskey, and with his connections, he didn’t worry much about having me walk right up his brick lined driveway and past the gleaming white balustrades of his front porch to deliver my crates. I’d been leery of rolling my illegal goods up his driveway in broad daylight. He might have been safe
from the law, but I wasn’t. He’d assured me I was under his protection when I was on his property. I had no choice except to take him at his word.
The normal routine was to leave the crate just inside the back gate of his yard. I reached over, opened the latch and pushed the gate open. The backyard was shaded with cherry trees that would have been dripping with white and pink blossoms just a month before. A maze of perfectly trimmed boxwood lined a brick path to the back of the house. The screen door opened, and Mr. Albert stepped out in a blue dress shirt with a contrasting white collar. The buttons on the shirt strained over his barrel chest. Without his hat, his hair looked especially sparse on top. His thin black moustache flicked with a grin as he strolled across his back lawn. “Just leave it there. I’ll have my butler carry it down to the cellar later.” He stopped in front of me. The short, quick walk across the grass had left him slightly breathless. “I’ve been thinking, J.J.—” He stopped to catch his breath. I’d shortened my name to initials while I was working. I figured no one needed to know my name.
“Having to deal with this man, Griggs, leaves a sour taste in my mouth,” he continued. “His reputation in this town, as I’m sure you know, is not good. He’s a cutthroat and a racketeer, and, frankly, as much as I like my whiskey, having to deal with Griggs leaves a bitter aftertaste. Now, I’ve asked around and I understand that you are not just the runner but you are the connection to those sweet jars of honey you just left at my gate.” He pulled out a cigar and offered me one as well. “What do you say about working up a deal to cut out our rather unsavory middleman? More profit for you and your brilliant spirit maker. I can keep the revenuers off your back, and you can replace that old jalopy of yours with something more suitable to a first class runner like yourself. What do you think? I can get you more clients as well.”
As a lobbyist, the man, himself, was involved in plenty of shady business, not to mention his love for illegal liquor. Yet he was worried about his connection with Griggs. It was almost comical.
“Actually, we just upgraded to that truck.” I smiled thinking how Gideon would take to someone calling his new vehicle a jalopy. I looked around somewhat suspicious of his offer. It occurred to me that this could be another of Griggs’s tests. Albert seemed to understand.
Cigar smoke puffed out of his nostrils as he snorted a laugh. “I’m not in cahoots with Griggs, if that’s what you’re thinking. A scoundrel like that would never be my partner.”
I stuck the cigar in my pocket for Gideon. “You might be able to keep the revenuers off my back, but they wouldn’t be my main worry. Griggs has people all over the damn place. The only new ride I’d be buying myself would be in the back of a horse-drawn hearse.”
The thick cigar stuck out from between his even thicker fingers as he put up his hand. “Right, right. I understand. But give it some thought. You seem like a smart cookie. I’ll bet you could figure something out.” He turned to go back inside, and I walked out the gate.
I slid into the passenger’s seat and handed the expensive cigar to Gideon. “A little gift for my chauffeur.”
“Right, bodyguard is more like it.” He pressed the cigar under his nose to breathe in the scent and then shoved it in his pocket. He glanced casually at the side mirror. “There’s been a plain black T following us since we got to the bridge. Something about the man looks coppish.”
I laughed. “Coppish? What the hell is coppish?”
“You know, the look of a cop or some kind of official.”
I leaned slightly toward the door, and my gaze brushed the passenger side mirror Gideon had welded on just for occasions like this. “Hmm, that punk looks familiar. Drive on. Let’s see if he stays on our tail. It might jog my memory. Either way, let’s get out of here.”
Gideon pulled the car out onto the road, and we headed back to the bridge. His eyes flicked to the mirror. “Our friend is turning around too.”
“Fuck this,” I pulled my gun from its holster, leaned out the passenger window and stared straight at the man. He glanced off toward the houses as if they held interest for him. “He’s not very good at being inconspicuous, that’s for sure. He’s young, maybe twenty, and I’ve seen that sharp, clean shaven chin before.” Seeing no threat, I shoved my gun back in the holster. “You’re right. He is a cop, but he’s getting a granny fee from Griggs to look the other way.” No longer concerned with the weasel behind us, I turned back to the front and lit a cigarette. “Griggs is just keeping an eye on things. It seems he hasn’t quite put his trust in the Jarrett brothers yet. Which is fine. Mistrust is a two-way street. Which brings me to an interesting conversation I just had with Mr. Albert.” I took a long drag on my cigarette and pointed out the window. “Turn on Reservoir Road. I’m meeting someone at the canal.”
Gideon glanced in the mirror again. “That toad is still behind us. You sure you want to meet Walter with him right there. Even if he is on Griggs’s payroll, don’t think Walter will appreciate us dragging along a tail.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t, but I’m not meeting Walter.”
He shrugged. “You’re the boss.”
“Yep.”
He shot me a shifty, sideways glance. “Even if I could pound you into the ground like a nail in a pile of sand.”
“Yep.”
“So, what was the conversation about?” Gideon asked.
“It seems, working with Griggs is leaving a bad taste in the mouth of the illustrious Mr. Albert. He wants to cut Griggs out of the deal.”
“Shit, a fight with Griggs would make our little spar with the Denton brothers look like a day at the carnival.”
“That’s what I told Albert, just not in so many words. It would mean more money, but we wouldn’t be alive to enjoy it.”
“Speaking of carnivals, have you talked to Charli?” he asked.
I flicked my ashes out the window. “We’ve both been busy. But I’m thinking of heading over there later to talk to her.” It had been four days since our first date, and I hadn’t stopped thinking about Charli. I kept reminding myself not to get attached because she’d be leaving again, but it hadn’t been easy. She wasn’t the kind of girl you just pushed out of your head when she wasn’t around. No such thing as out of sight, out of mind when it came to Charli. “What about you? Have you talked to Rose?”
“I went to watch her show one more time.”
“I’ll bet you did. Your little thing for her has put a curve on my enthusiasm for the burlesque show. I figured you wouldn’t be all that pleased if I went. Like you said, you could pound me like a nail in sand.”
“See, you are the smart one, Jacks. I can’t go anymore either. The last time I came dangerously close to ripping some jackass’s head off. He was hooting and hollering, and my fists were turning to iron just listening to him. At least your girl isn’t taking off her clothes in front of a bunch of horny men.”
“First of all, she’s not my girl. Not that I’d be opposed to calling her that. When I watched her ride, I swear I held my breath the entire fucking time. Dangerous stunts are only fun to watch if you have no feelings for the person doing them.”
Gideon looked at me. “You do have feelings for her?”
I leaned back casually. “Is that surprising?”
“No, she’s what those city boys call the bees knees. It’s just I haven’t seen you have feelings for any girl since—” His words fell off. He knew it was never a good thing to bring up Ella.
“I just like being with Charli. It can’t ever be serious because in just over a month’s time, she’ll be packing up and leaving with the rest of the troupe. And you should keep that in mind too. It’s not like you toss your feelings toward many women either.”
“Yeah. It’s easier not to think about that. Rose has suffered a big heartbreak. She’s only been a war widow for three years. The wound is still raw. Charli’s seen her share of tragedy too.”
A tall and regal blue heron walked with long, slow motion steps along the grassy edge of the ro
ad, on its way, no doubt, to fish in the canal. “I know she lost both parents already.”
Gideon looked over at me. “Did she tell you what happened to her ma?”
I took another drag off my smoke. “No, and I didn’t ask.”
“Rose hasn’t been with the carnival that long. She had only heard it from others, but apparently, Buck had come up with a brilliant plan to have Charli’s ma ride through flaming hoops after she came out of the sphere. Rose said making money is the only thing Starfield cares about. Her ma’s costume caught fire, and she went up in flames so fast, she was dead before anyone could get to her. Charli was in the stands watching the whole thing.”
“Jesus. I had no idea. I could tell it wasn’t something she wanted to talk about. No wonder.” Maybe that was the connection I’d sensed between us. We’d both had to sit helplessly by while someone we loved died.
“Anyhow, Rose said they have a day off tomorrow. The carnival is shutting down for some maintenance. I guess those afternoon Blue Ridge breezes are taking their toll on the tents.”
“Yeah? Tomorrow? Good to know.”
“Don’t know why I’m saving this.” Gideon handed me the cigar. “Light this, would ya?”
I stuck a match and sucked on the tip of the cigar until its spicy aroma filled the car. I handed it to Gideon. He stuck it between his lips.
“You remind me of Ole Roy when you smoke one of those things,” I said. “Turn here. It’s that third barge.” A stack of fresh lumber was piled up on the long, flat deck of the barge. A man with a black pinstriped newsboy cap came out of the hold as we drove up.