by Sharon Ihle
Rayna wasn’t fooled. She instantly recognized the agony in her mother’s eyes.
“Stop it, Hans,” she demanded. “Can’t you see that you’re hurting her?”
The lion-tamer glanced at Rayna, and then slid his hands from Maria’s knees up to her armpits. “I am only trying to help, but I cannot tell if something is wrong with her legs while she is sitting down. Those knees are too full of little bumps and knots.”
Without warning, he then lifted Maria off of her chair, and swung her through the air as if she were a doll.
“Stop it, Hans.” Rayna leapt up beside him. “Put her down. You know she hates to be picked up like that.”
To back up her threat, Rayna reached inside her apron and gripped the dagger’s handle. That’s all it took for Hans, who was familiar with the sharp little knife. He laughed and set Maria on her feet beside him.
Still angry, half-tempted to use the dagger on the arrogant German anyway, Rayna said, “Don’t you ever treat my mother that way again.”
“You make too much of this, darling.”
Hans reached out to pinch Rayna’s cheek just as Mollie’s voice rang out.
“Rayna,” she called. “You found my good luck charm.”
She turned as Mollie approached, noting that the little oval of pink enamel shone from the throat of her blouse.
“Gant tells me you found the brooch on the stairs,” Mollie continued. “On the stairs?”
Since she could hardly do otherwise, Rayna nodded.
“Imagine that. On the stairs of all places. Why the fact that you even found it at all is the best luck yet. It could have been crushed, kicked overboard, or any number of horrible things could have happened. Thank you, girl.”
Compounding Rayna sense of guilt, Mollie then threw her arms around her shoulders and gave her a big hug. In no position to do otherwise, Rayna accepted the woman’s embrace.
Looking over Mollie’s shoulder as she endured the hug, Rayna caught Gant’s gaze from across the arena. His expression was guarded, a little stormy, and filled with disgust.
*
That look was the last sign Gant offered by way of acknowledgement to Rayna for the next two days. Even if he’d wanted to pursue her—and he was pretty sure that was exactly what he wanted to do—there hadn’t been much opportunity. The show was the thing. And the show wasn’t quite ready, even though the first performance had been delayed for those two days by the twisting, headstrong, Mississippi River.
Mollie had hoped to open the circus on Tuesday in a small settlement just upriver from what was left of Greenville, Mississippi, but the river, swollen with excess runoff and an abundance of spring rain, became almost unmanageable. Not only did Pilot Duke Myers have to navigate in waters that sometimes rose as much as forty feet, but at those levels, the current became a wild, irresistible tide that left him exhausted and bleary-eyed. Huge trees, boats, sheds, even cabins raced by the paddlewheeler, some lurking beneath the surface of the water as snags waiting to rip open the bottom of the ship. Other trees, liberated when their anchoring banks dissolved into the water, fastened the tentacles of their root systems to the river bottom, clinging tenuously to the mud and silt below. Those trees, called sawyers by boatmen, bobbed rhythmically with the tide, visible one minute, gone the next, and were considerably more dangerous than snags.
The showboat miraculously escaped the myriad of obstacles hurling toward her, but by Thursday after the steamship finally arrived at a makeshift landing, Pilot Myers was a wreck. As the first man off the ship, he headed down the muddy streets looking for anything that might resemble a saloon, and swore he wouldn’t return to the ship until someone came and dragged him back. The others, including Gant, remained on board helping with preparations for the parade and the two shows scheduled for that day.
By noon, everyone was lined up and ready to descend on the town. Gus, who was still recovering from injuries he’d received during the War, remained on board along with Toby, who was busy playing the calliope. He pounded the steam-driven keys into an ear-splitting message for the surrounding tents, hastily constructed buildings, and outlying farms. When Gus gave the signal for the parade to begin, Toby’s music took on a more dramatic resonance, and the formerly quiet countryside was filled with excitement.
Gant, standing off to the side of the road, waited at the head of the parade until he picked up the pre-arranged signal. Then he cracked the whip Hans had loaned him, and a wagon carrying Rayna, Maria, and that damned pig bumped down off the gangplank and onto the muddy shore.
The rig, which was mostly used as a hay wagon, had been painted bright red. Pierre, the Gypsy’s mule, was drawing the wagon, and even he had on a new coat of ‘paint.’ Until that morning, he’d been a plain, lop-eared bay. Now with the aid of an elaborate musician’s hat complete with scarlet plume, a blanket of crimson velvet with gold trim, and a tail braided with bright gold ropes, he’d been transformed into a performing circus horse. As if aware of his finery and the prestige afforded him for leading the parade, Pierre was lighter on his feet than usual, almost, but not quite prancing as he started for the parade route.
With a shake of his head, Gant straightened his shoulders and glanced at the crowd gathering along the roadway. Children of all ages gawked at the processional with awe, their small faces shining with excitement and hope, the kind of hope, Gant assumed, they hadn’t felt since their homes and farms had been burned to the ground by misdirected Yankees during the siege of Vicksburg. Yet those children, and even the adults, wore a look of expectancy, as if they thought the circus might somehow repair their shattered lives. It was a lot to hope for, but Gant had to swallow a sudden lump as he realized he’d taken part in something that might fulfill their dreams.
As he stood to the side of the road, the hay wagon rolled on by, carrying its strange little trio. Maria, dressed again as some kind of Queen, wore a royal purple gown and a tall rhinestone crown. She was jubilant, her smile open and wide as she waved continually to the gathering throngs. Rayna, who was driving the rig, was dressed in one of her colorful Gypsy dancing outfits, and also waved at the crowd. Squarely between the two women sat the damned pig outfitted in his purple velvet bolero get-up complete with fringed hat.
Gant rolled his eyes at the sight. Then it occurred to him that he’d just directed a fortuneteller, a dwarf, and a pig to descend on this war-torn town as if they were members of royalty. He didn’t know whether to laugh or bury his head in shame.
Just before the wagon rolled on by him, Rayna pulled it to a halt and called to Gant from over her shoulder. “Where are we supposed to go?”
Sorely tempted to tell her to take the strange troupe all the way back to Spain, he said, “Straight ahead until you get to the last of the tents, then turn left. I’ll catch up to you and let you know where to go after that.”
Checking to make sure that Rayna had Pierre’s reins firmly in hand—she did—Gant slapped the mule on the rump and hollered, “Let’s get this show on the road.”
The wagon lurched forward, and the parade march began. Gant stood just below the gangplank, watching as the performers trooped on by. Three members of Gus’s band; a tuba player, trombonist, and bugler, followed along behind the lead wagon, their instruments blaring, and behind them marched the Travis family; Sam, Colleen, and twins Maureen and Mavoureen. Melvin the ventriloquist, dressed as a Confederate soldier, wore his puppet General Grant on his right hand. He carried on a heated argument with the wooden doll as he passed by.
“Let Jefferson Davis go. Why you keeping him in jail when you let everyone else out? Let him go, ya hear?”
After Melvin came workman, cooks, boatmen, and everyone who wasn’t a star performer. All, no matter the rank, wore some kind of clown costume or leotards. Following this entourage was Anna Mae Gunther, a vision of grace in her petal pink tutu and leotards, and behind her, Mollie and her three daughters, Dixie, Mattie and Minnie. The Bailey girls, including their mother, were gowned as Southern Belles
. Each daughter walked white poodles dressed to match themselves, and Mollie paraded three monkeys uniformed as Confederate soldiers.
As she neared Gant, Mollie said, “Fall in with us, partner. You got to take part in the parade. That’s what this is all about.”
He shook is head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t think I quite fit the image. I’ll just bring up the rear if you don’t mind.”
“Everybody fits in with a circus,” she argued. “Just do it. The show has begun.”
Laughing softly to himself, his mood considerably brighter, Gant waited for Marco the Clown, who was spinning a plate, and Hans along with his gilt-edged cages to roll on by. Then he signaled the watchman to close off the gangway, and he fell in behind the last cage.
Gant strolled along with one eye on the lion ahead of him for nearly two blocks before he realized that someone was walking directly behind him. He took a quick glance over his shoulder, smiled at the curious onlookers who, he assumed, wanted to join in the parade, and then resumed the march. So comfortable was he in his new role, Gant screwed up his mouth and started whistling. Then something clicked in his mind, some little warning that suggested the folks behind him were not quite as they seemed.
In his mind’s eye, Gant recalled seeing a woman with three small children, a butcher wearing a bloodied apron, and two trail-weary men hanging back off to the side. Something about that pair of strangers rang an alarm in his mind, an ominous warning. Had his instincts called to him, or was he giving into old habits from his days on the run?
Gant turned back for a second look. The men’s faces were shadowed, hidden by dusty low-riding hats. Nothing terribly ominous about that, but the alarms doubled in intensity.
One of the strangers suddenly flashed a grin.
“Gant?” he said. “Is that you?”
The voice was awfully familiar, as was the man’s stance. Gant narrowed his gaze.
The grinning man stepped closer.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, laughing. “If it ain’t my half-breed little brother. When’d you get out of jail?”
Six
Up high on the wagon, Rayna had a bird’s eye view of the settlement, a tent-dotted grid etched into a piece of land flatter than the bottom of the paddlewheeler. A few old buildings, ruins of farms and homes that had existed before the war, blemished the earth like craters of pubescent acne, scars of what used to be lingering as cruel reminders of a growing nation’s war within.
Her heart going out to the excited children racing alongside the wagon, Rayna twisted around, glanced toward the rear of the parade, and scowled. Gant was nowhere in sight. He’d very clearly stated that he’d come to lead the parade back to the ship. Where the devil had he gone?
Maria, looking at her daughter with puzzlement, asked, “Such a mean face you wear. Are you not excited about opening day?”
“Sure, I am.” Rayna forced a smile. “I was just wondering why Gant hasn’t showed up yet to lead us back through the town. I don’t know which route to take to get back to the landing.”
“He said to turn left, no?”
“Yes, but then what?”
Maria sat back on the bench, hands folded across her round tummy. “We will find our way,” she said confidently. “As for the other, this way is best.”
Rayna glanced at her mother. “If I get this parade lost in town, we’ll all look like fools. How can that be for the best?”
“I speak not of the parade, but of the Gaje.”
“Oh, Daia, please.”
“You cannot fool me so easily.” Maria’s chin was set, unflappable. “Do not wish for this man’s attentions. He can only bring you grief.”
“Please stop worrying about Gant,” Rayna said, letting a little anger show. “It’s a waste of your time, and mine.”
She meant what she said, and yet realized at the same time that Maria probably had good reason to worry. Rayna had been upset of late, and most of that unrest was due to her confusing feelings for Gant. He’d all but forgotten her the past two days, avoiding her path, her gaze, and even her attempts to engage him in conversation. Gant had obviously branded her as a thief and wanted nothing more to do with her. Worst of all, it seemed the more he stayed away from her, the more she craved his touch.
Maria had a point. No good would come of this longing she felt for a man she could never truly have. Soliciting his attention, even if it were possible now, would only add to her mother’s anxieties. If that happened, no telling what Maria might do next. The sickness would come on her again, that much was for sure. It was a risk Rayna couldn’t afford to take.
To ease her mother’s mind, and even her own, Rayna laughed and said, “You have nothing to worry about. I don’t care if I never see Gant again. In fact, when we head up river, I hope he misses the boat.”
*
In an alley just a few blocks away from the levee, Gant was wondering if his best move now might just be to miss the boat. That way his family would never know that he was a part of the circus. Unfortunately, that would also mean dissolving his partnership with the Baileys. His share of the circus was more financial and brawn than anything else, an arrangement he’d hoped that would more than double his investment by the end of the season. This plan would have given him the stake he needed to move farther west and rebuild his life. Now that dream was slowly turning into a nightmare.
The men following along behind him were two of his four brothers; the eldest of the twins, Luther, and J.R., who shared Gant’s Apache mother. It had been a long time since he’d seen either of them, ten years to be precise, and now just the mere sight of them brought up reminders of a past he’d tried hard to forget.
Not that he could ever forget that ungodly hot summer’s day just outside of San Antonio, Texas. He could see it all now as if it were yesterday—the botched robbery, the grisly aftermath, and his subsequent arrest. Each miserable, rotten detail was forever etched on his mind, especially the look on the townswoman’s face as the elder Gantry, Luther Sr., accidentally gunned her down in a hail of bullets. Body twisting, arms wrapped around her chest, the woman screamed in disbelief, and finally in abject misery as she realized that she would never take another breath. That face, forever frozen in his mind, also froze Gant to the spot on the day the poor woman died. A lapse that cost him his family’s respect. And seven years of his life, all spent behind bars.
His dreadful past was mercifully behind Gant, and that, if he had anything to say about it, was exactly where it would stay. He turned, took a long moment to study his brothers, Luther in particular, and looked for some hint of reform. Nothing had changed. Luther appeared to be as lawless as ever, and probably as immoral. As long as he and J.R. stayed in the area, Gant’s hopes for a new life and brighter future were in jeopardy.
As Luther approached, he jabbed his elbow into Gant’s ribs and said, “What are ya up to these days?”
Trying to look far more casual then he felt, Gant rested his boot heel against the cornerstone of a farmhouse destroyed during the shelling of the area, and leaned against the building.
“Not much,” he said lazily. “What brings you boys out to a glorified steamboat landing like this? Lost your sense of direction?”
Luther bellowed with laughter. “That’s some kind a question coming from you, Gant ole boy. Where in hell you been for the last three years? We heard you got sprung from prison in sixty-three. Maybe you’re the one, little brother, who done gone and lost his sense of direction.”
Gant kept his expression impassive, but he flinched inwardly at Luther’s pet name for him and the tone in which it had been spoken. Until then, Gant had forgotten how much Luther sounded like the old man, and now that he’d aged, resembled him even more. It wasn’t just the physical parallels either, even though Luther and his twin Junior sported bright red hair while their father’s was the color of a rusted-out rain barrel. Their facial structures were pretty much the same as the old man’s, rounder, less angular than Gant’s, with eye
s a little too small and too close, and a brow that hung over them like the edge of a washed-out cliff.
Most telling of all, and the thing that put Gant’s stomach into a knot was a little something else Luther had inherited from the old man, a thing that went beyond appearances; he had that same bitterness of eye, a hatred too pure to imitate and too vicious to hide.
Trying to establish a measure of trust with this brother, if only to keep him at bay, Gant offered a small piece of himself. “My sense of direction is just fine. I joined up with the Confederacy the day I got out of prison. Guess I never found a good enough reason to make it back to Texas or Mexico.”
“Hear that boy?” Luther punched J.R.’s shoulder. “Your big brother went off to war just like one a them fancy plantation mama boys.”
J.R. hesitated, not sure he understood the joke, and then gave up and joined in with Luther’s laughter anyway.
As much as he hated the idea of running into his family this way, Gant’s heart went out to this full brother of his. Born a little slow, or maybe beaten down by his father and other brothers, J.R. never had an opinion on anything and hadn’t even gotten past the flyleaf of a first-grade primer. Mental shortcomings aside, he resembled Gant, after a fashion. J.R. shared the same thick head of curly dark brown hair, as well as his dusky skin and broad build, but that was about all. He was close to a head shorter than Gant, around Rayna’s height, and his eyes, while the same onyx color as Gant’s, were sloped at the corners, giving him the look of an orphaned puppy. Most often those eyes were rather dull and listless, but as he trained them on Gant, arguably his favorite brother, they lit up with delight.