by Sharon Ihle
When it dawned on him that he was bleeding, Gant tore out of Rayna’s arms. “You stabbed me,” he said, astonished.
Her full lips rosy, swollen from his kisses, she said, “You can't say I didn't warn you.”
Gant couldn’t think of a lucid answer, couldn’t think at all. He just stood there looking dumber than a bag of fodder, and watched as Rayna opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.
“It seems that I’m suddenly ravenous,” she said, licking her lips. “I’m going downstairs for supper.”
Still mute and in no condition to go anywhere just yet, Gant
waited until she disappeared. Then he brought his hand to his damp shoulder. As he’d suspected, the material there was sticky with his own blood. He hardly felt the sting. That small discomfort was nothing compared to the overall ache Rayna had left in him.
*
Downstairs in the arena, Rayna settled onto the bench next to her mother and across the table from Mollie, Gus, and their five young children. Although enthusiastic about her introduction to the other performers, by the time she met the acrobatic fourteen-year-old twins to her left, Maureen and Mavoureen, Rayna was only half listening to their tales of circus life. All she could think about was Gant.
She’d left him in the doorway of her room some fifteen minutes ago, and still no sign of him. Had her dagger dipped into him deeper than she thought? She’d only meant to nick him, to cool his ardor before they both wound up on the floor. There had been blood, she recalled, not an alarming amount, but enough to soak through his shirt. Maybe he needed help, more doctoring than he could manage on his own. Should she take the risk and go to him?
Rayna glanced to her right, where Maria sat, and found the answer. A resounding, no. Her mother was watching her, studying her swollen lips and flushed cheeks, frowning at her with censure.
Grumbling to herself, Rayna bent over her bowl of stew. If she couldn’t assuage the one appetite—at least not with the man she desired—she would satisfy the other.
*
After cleansing his superficial wound and changing into a clean shirt, Gant made his way down to the show room. He paused in the shadows searching the crowd, looking for Rayna. He found her sitting with the Baileys, completely absorbed in her supper, practically attacking it with a spoon in one hand and a large chunk of bread in the other. Did she do everything with such gusto? He wondered, fascinated all over again. Kiss, eat—everything? At the thought, desire came alive in him again, and Gant had to linger several moments longer before he quietly made his way to the common buffet table.
After filling a bowl with stew, he slipped over to what he liked to refer to as his corner. Then Gant dug into his meal, frantic to ease a hunger that no amount of food could ever satisfy.
Across the room, Rayna had almost finished her meal when she felt something tugging on her skirt. She waited a moment to make sure she wasn’t imagining things, but then another movement, this time more of a soft caress against her bare ankle, startled her. Rayna abruptly tucked her feet beneath the wooden bench, lifted the tablecloth, and peered under the table. A pair of mischievous blue eyes blinked up at her.
“You don’t got any shoes,” said the precocious three-year-old.
Mollie, who hadn’t noticed that her youngest daughter was missing, cocked her head. “Minnie? Is that you? Where are you girl?”
Minnie scrambled onto the bench beside Rayna and borrowed her shoulder to steady herself as she stood up. Then she faced her mother. “She don’t got any shoes, Mama.”
“Hush, now,” admonished Mollie. “That’s none of your business.”
Rayna blushed. While she preferred going barefoot as often as possible, she had planned on slipping into her ballet slippers before coming down to supper. Gant, of course, had changed those plans. In her confused, frustrated state, she’d been lucky to get out of the cabin at all, much less completely and properly dressed.
Minnie, who was playing with a length of Rayna’s hair, leaned toward her mother and said, “She don’t got no socks either. Can we give her some socks?”
Laughing, Rayna tugged on one of the girl’s soft blonde curls. “I have both shoes and socks, little one, but I thank you for the offer.” She glanced across the table. “Forgive my manners, Mollie. I love going barefoot so much, sometimes I forget I’m not wearing shoes.”
“Don’t worry your head about it. Just try to keep your feet covered during performances.”
“Except for when I dance?”
“Exception noted.” Mollie crooked her little finger at her daughter. “Get on over here, girl. Leave the poor lady alone with her supper.”
Minnie balked, stamping her feet. “I ain’t doing nothing wrong. I like her. She’s pretty and gots hair like Spike.”
“Spike?” Rayna asked Mollie.
“He’s one of the draft horses we use in the show. You ought to be pleased she compared you to him. He’s a beauty.” She smiled at her daughter despite the fact that the girl had yet to obey her. “Minnie’s just wild about horses and their manes and tails.”
Rayna glanced back at the child, into her energetic blue eyes, and smiled wistfully. She never gave much thought to the things she couldn’t have—children in particular—but something about this girl touched her, stirred the longings she thought she’d buried so long ago.
Rayna swallowed the sudden ache in her throat, and rumpled Minnie’s hair. “If you’re half as full of the dickens as you look, you must keep your mommy busy from morning to night.”
Mollie chuckled. “Ain’t that the truth. Now you get over here this minute, Minnie girl, and finish your supper. Time’s a wasting.”
Recognizing the final warning in her mother’s tone, the child ducked back under the table, and then popped up on the bench between her sisters, Dixie and Mattie. Rayna, done with her own meal, noticed that most of the performers had finished as well, and were gathering at a common washtub. There they rinsed and dried their individual eating utensils, and then stacked the clean crockery in a small wagon for delivery back to the storage area.
Following the direction of Rayna’s gaze, Mollie said, “I guess you’re probably used to a lot fancier arrangements than we got here, but even a showman like Barnum must have started out near the bottom. I hope you aren’t too disappointed in the way we do things around here.”
She and Maria had endured much worse of late. “Not at all.”
Glancing around the arena, Rayna thought of adding a few comments about how very much at home the cozy, if less opulent atmosphere made her feel, but then her gaze fell on Gant. He’d changed his shirt, she noticed, and much to her relief, didn’t seem to be in pain. Why was he alone in the corner, huddled over his bowl of stew as if he were guarding the Crown Jewels?
Furrowing her brow, Rayna turned back to Mollie. “Have Maria and I taken your partner’s seat at the table? If there isn’t room for us, we don’t mind eating elsewhere.”
“You talking about Gant?”
Rayna nodded.
“Don’t fret about him,” Mollie said. “Gant won’t eat in a crowd, or even with one or two other people. Prefers his privacy, I reckon.”
Returning her gaze to the corner, Rayna saw that Gant had one arm hooked around the crockery bowl, shielding it from view, and that he would occasionally glance up and make a visual sweep of his immediate area. He looked like a man who was trying to satisfy himself that no one was approaching—the way a wild animal might. Curious behavior, but not entirely foreign to her. Where had she seen those gestures before, she wondered, and when?
Mollie, who’d apparently been observing Rayna’s intense scrutiny of Gant, said, “There’s nothing snobbish about the fact that he wants to eat alone. Like I said, he likes his privacy, maybe more than most folks, but I expect that’s his right. He’s been like that since we first met up with him, back when we all signed up with the Confederate Army under General Hood and the Texas Brigade.”
“Texas Brigade? Then you are
all Texans, you, Gus and Gant?”
“Me and Gus are from Alabama. After the war, Hood made us honorary Texans. As for Gant, he’s the only true Texan, but he don’t like to talk about it.”
Something Rayna already knew.
Mollie rose up off the bench and gestured for her children to do the same. Still speaking to Rayna, she said, “Why don’t you take a minute to have a look around the dressing rooms and stables. I have a few more chores to tend to before I turn in. As I told your mother, we’ll be shoving off at dawn.”
“For New Orleans?”
Mollie shook her head. “Not yet. Since we’re all so new at this river boating, and such a small troupe so far, I thought it’d be best to work out the kinks and take the circus upstream before we think about impressing the folks down in the Crescent City. We’ll be working the east bank on the way up and the west during the return trip.”
Rayna nodded absently, wondering just how far north Mollie intended to tour before turning back down river. As far as Pierre, Illinois? When she looked up again, thinking of voicing those concerns, Mollie was already halfway across the arena, her brood following along behind her like a row of ducklings.
Maria, who’d waited until their new employer was out of sight, leaned toward Rayna and asked, “What happened with the Gaje back in the cabin?”
Rayna shrugged. “Nothing much. He just wanted to make sure we weren’t planning to cheat the customers.”
“That is all?”
Measuring her words carefully, for Rayna hated to lie to her mother, she said, “He just wanted to make sure who and what we are.” Then she abruptly changed the subject. “What do you think of the other performers now that you’ve met them? And what about our act? Did you find out when we’re supposed to rehearse?”
Maria, whose expression suggested that she knew Rayna hadn’t told all, filled her in. “The Bailey’s have hired amateur acts. Also, it seems these performers are expected to double as deckhands between shows.”
Rayna shrugged. “We knew this circus would be different from any we’ve ever been associated with. Does that trouble you?”
“Not really. I thought you might not like it, though.”
“I don’t mind a little extra work. What about our act? Did you speak to Hans?”
“Hans?” Maria slapped a pudgy hand to her forehead. “Yes, I almost forgot. He said he wants to see you in the stables immediately after supper. Go, I will take care of your dishes tonight.”
“Is it Sweetpea?” Rayna asked, alarmed. “Is something wrong with him?”
“No, I don’t think so. Hans just said that he wanted to discuss the act with you and no one else.” She wrinkled her bulbous nose. “It would seem that he doesn’t like me.”
“Then consider yourself lucky.” Frowning, Rayna got to her feet. “I’m the one who has to work with him.”
After a quick glance toward Gant, who was still engrossed in his supper, she hurried upstairs to her cabin, slipped into her shoes, and retrieved Sweetpea’s ‘happy’ blanket from the trunk. Then she went back downstairs and headed toward the rear of the ship where the stables were located. Gant, Rayna couldn’t help but notice, was no longer in his corner or over by the washtubs. Shaking off a stab of disappointment, even though she hadn’t planned to approach him, she pulled the heavy curtain aside and stepped into the stable area.
This section of the steamship was lit better than the arena or sleeping quarters. The Bailey’s, prudent enough to invest a little extra capital in the animal’s domain, a place in which the more serious mishaps were likely to occur, had installed expensive and safety-oriented oil lamps over the candles which illuminated the rest of the ship. These lamps, plain brass-bottomed globes bracketed high on the walls, had their wicks turned up high.
Rayna stepped into the aisle where three small performing dogs rested in their pens. Two of them whined, begging her attention, and she paused long enough to rub their furry heads. Moving inside the corridor a few feet further, she came upon three ornate circus wagons housing Hannibal, Zoltaire, and Mishka—Hans’ African lions, all male. Well-fed, the animals were sluggish, almost indifferent to her invasion of their territory. She quickly passed by them and their pungently musky aroma, and rounded the corner.
Here the fresher, cleaner scent of bedding straw met her nose as she came upon the stalls containing the draft horses, one with a flowing black mane and tail which had reminded Minnie of Rayna’s hair. The other, dapple gray in color with a sparse silvery tail, had no mane at all. The dapple, named Monte according to a wooden plaque nailed above his feeder, nickered softly as Rayna moved beyond him to a small group of spider monkeys. They raced around the inside of their communal cage as she approached, chattering and stirring up the cockatoos and doves in the connecting flight cage.
Rayne stopped to scratch the chin of one particularly mournful-looking monkey, and then glanced toward the end of the aisle. There in the corner of a wood-sided enclosure, she could see Sweetpea stretched out in slumber. Tied to a post outside this pen, stood her bay mule, Pierre. Continuing on her way, Rayna saw Hans walk up beside the pigpen. His back to her, he lifted a bucket over the top slat and began to fill Sweetpea’s water pan.
Since he was unaware of her presence, Rayna watched him a moment, regarding his sculptured backside. He was even more handsome than she remembered, what with his enviable silky blonde hair, thick German build, and well-muscled body that he kept tanned and fit. Even so, she felt nothing for him and had long ago moved beyond the physical attraction she’d once felt for the lion tamer. What Rayna remembered best about Hans now was his arrogance and the cruel remarks he used to hurl at Maria. She frowned, thinking of all the hours she’d have to spend with him, and then suddenly, grinned.
Tiptoeing, Rayna covered the distance to the pen. When she was within three feet of the German’s backside, she signaled the pig by clicking her nails.
With a mighty squeal, Sweetpea jumped to his feet.
Startled, Hans threw the water bucket into the air, dousing not just the pig, but himself.
Stifling her laughter, Rayna circled around to the back of Sweetpea’s pen. “Hello, Hans,” she said. “Did you want to see me about something?”
Using the back of his hand as a mop, he wiped his brow and turned on her. “You did that on purpose.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“That pig,” he spat. “I know about learned pigs, and that they hear better than dogs. You must have signaled him.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she said, brushing him off.
Hans glared at her, but then collected himself and smoothed his damp hair. “Perhaps I made a tiny mistake. It would not be smart of you to upset me. I can make you very sorry.”
Since she couldn’t think of a single basis for his threat, Rayna ignored the remark and bent over the pigpen. After rubbing Sweetpea’s coarse-haired back and scratching between his shoulders blades, she tucked his blanket beneath his chin.
Backing away from the pen, she asked Hans, “Maria said you wanted to talk to me about our act. How does that concern you?”
“I am the animal’s caretaker,” he said, closing the distance between. “I must be sure that I am feeding your smelly little friend correctly.”
“Don’t worry about him. I’ll take care of his needs myself.”
“And what of mine?” he asked suggestively. “I have certain needs, too.”
Rayna’s stomach did a roll. “I don’t care about your needs, Hans. I don’t care about you. Now, if that’s all?”
“Not quite, woman.” He stretched the word, making it sound like woo-man. “You should be interested in my needs.”
A little ripple of fear skittered up Rayna’s spine. Hans obviously thought he had something on her, but what? Surely nothing so insignificant as their short-lived relationship.
“What are you talking about?” she asked irritably.
His smile was smug, full of conviction as Hans pulled her roughly
into his arms and said, “I had occasion to visit Illinois recently. Have a little trouble with za sheriff in Pierre, perhaps?”
Her stomach no longer rolling, but fisted into a tight ball, Rayna caught a sharp breath. She didn’t try to plead with Hans, it would do no good, and yet she couldn’t bear the idea of his hands crawling all over her skin. He was like a rotten egg nesting beneath a coat of fine plumage. Before she could think how to respond to Hans’ threats, from behind her somewhere Gant’s voice called out.