The Illusionist's Apprentice

by Kristy Cambron

  PRAISE FOR KRISTY CAMBRON

  “Prepare to be amazed by The Illusionist’s Apprentice. Wren Lockhart, the talented magician at the heart of Kristy Cambron’s spellbinding tale of Jazz Age Boston, is the fierce, brilliant, guarded headliner you’ve been waiting for. This novel will have your pulse pounding and your mind racing to keep up with reversals, betrayals, and surprises from the first page to the last. Like her characters, Cambron works magic so compelling and persuasive, she deserves a standing ovation.”

  —GREER MACALLISTER, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE MAGICIAN’S LIE AND GIRL IN DISGUISE

  “With rich descriptions, attention to detail, mesmerizing characters, and an understated current of faith, this work evokes writers such as Kim Vogel Sawyer, Francine Rivers, and Sara Gruen.”

  —LIBRARY JOURNAL, STARRED REVIEW, FOR THE RINGMASTER’S WIFE

  “Mixing fictional characters with true historical figures is a daunting task, but author Kristy Cambron achieves such excellence in that vein that the reader is compelled to devour the author’s note at the end, just to find out which characters lived among us . . . and which were constructed on the page. Historical fiction lovers will adore this novel! A vivid and romantic rendering of circus life in the Jazz Age, The Ringmaster’s Wife features two rich love stories and a glimpse into our nation’s live entertainment history. Highly recommended!”

  —USA TODAY HAPPY EVER AFTER

  “Cambron takes a real person, Mable Ringling, and breathes fictional life into her while staying true to what is known about this compelling woman. The novel is an intriguing look into circus life in the 1920s . . . but the author’s gift for writing beautifully crafted sentences will draw readers into the story and the fascinating world of the circus.”

  —RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4 STARS, FOR THE RINGMASTER’S WIFE

  “Cambron vividly depicts circus life during the 1920s, when the vast menagerie moved in 100-car trains and the Ringlings were establishing themselves in Sarasota, Fla., society. With a strong supporting cast of friends and family—including a nemesis or two—the women experience heartbreak, loss, hope, and triumph, all set against the colorful backdrop of the ‘Greatest Show on Earth.’”

  —PUBLISHERS WEEKLY, FOR THE RINGMASTER’S WIFE

  “A novel that is at once captivating, deeply poignant, and swirling with exquisite historical details of a bygone world, The Ringmaster’s Wife will escort readers into the center ring, with its bright lights, exotic animals, and a dazzling performance that can only be described as the Greatest Show on Earth!”

  —FAMILY FICTION

  “In true Kristy Cambron fashion, The Ringmaster’s Wife is packed with emotional depth and characters who charm their way into your heart within the first pages. But perhaps most alluring about this story is the colorful world it’s set in—from England to the Chicago World’s Fair to the ever-moving backdrop of the circus world, I felt fully immersed. Engaging and poignant, this is a must-read!”

  —MELISSA TAGG, AUTHOR OF FROM THE START AND LIKE NEVER BEFORE

  “A soaring love story! Vibrant with the glamour and awe that flourished under the Big Top in the 1920s, The Ringmaster’s Wife invites the reader to meet the very people whose unique lives brought The Greatest Show on Earth down those rattling tracks. Through each of Rosamund’s and Mable’s stories, author Kristy Cambron offers the rare delight of witnessing a heartrending portrayal of love in the midst of circus life . . . and how one so deeply amplified the other.”

  —JOANNE BISCHOF, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF THE LADY AND THE LIONHEART

  “The second installment of Cambron’s Hidden Masterpiece series is as stunning as the first. Though heartbreaking in many places, this novel never fails to show hope despite dire circumstances. God’s love shines even in the dark.”

  —RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4½ STARS, TOP PICK! FOR A SPARROW IN TEREZIN

  “In her second book, the author again interweaves a story from the present with a tale from the past. Both Sera and Kája must find courage to battle for a future against impossible circumstances.”

  —CBA RETAILERS + RESOURCES, FOR A SPARROW IN TEREZIN

  “Fans of the author’s first book will gravitate to this tale of the power of faith and love to cope with impossible situations, although the grim realities depicted cannot be ignored. A must for book groups and genocide studies teachers and students.”

  —LIBRARY JOURNAL, STARRED REVIEW, FOR A SPARROW IN TEREZIN

  “Alternating points of view skillfully blend contemporary and historical fiction in this debut novel that is almost impossible to put down. Well-researched yet heartbreaking scenes shed light on the horrors of concentration camps, as well as the contrasting beauty behind the prisoner’s artwork. Two stories are carefully intertwined and demonstrate that there is always hope in God despite the monstrosities inflicted by man.”

  —RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4½ STARS, TOP PICK! FOR THE BUTTERFLY AND THE VIOLIN

  “In her historical series debut, Cambron expertly weaves together multiple plotlines, time lines, and perspectives to produce a poignant tale of the power of love and faith in difficult circumstances. Those interested in stories of survival and the Holocaust, such as Elie Wiesel’s ‘Night,’ will want to read.”

  —LIBRARY JOURNAL, FOR THE BUTTERFLY AND THE VIOLIN

  “This amazing book was emotionally engaging and very hard to put down. Its message of trusting God no matter the circumstances is one that will stay with your customers.”

  —CBA RETAILERS + RESOURCES, FOR THE BUTTERFLY AND THE VIOLIN

  “In chapters alternating between past and present, debut novelist Cambron vividly recounts interwoven sagas of heartache and recovery through courage, love, art, and faith.”

  —PUBLISHERS WEEKLY, FOR THE BUTTERFLY AND THE VIOLIN

  BOOKS BY KRISTY CAMBRON

  The Ringmaster’s Wife

  THE HIDDEN MASTERPIECE NOVELS

  The Butterfly and the Violin

  A Sparrow in Terezin

  The Illusionist’s Apprentice

  Copyright © 2017 by Kristy Cambron

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.

  Published in association with the Books & Such Literary Management, 52 Mission Circle, Suite 122, PMB 170, Santa Rosa, California 95409-5370, www.booksandsuch.com.

  Interior design by: Mallory Collins

  Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail SpecialMarkets@ThomasNelson.com.

  Scripture quotation is from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation. © 1996, 2004, 2007, 2013 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Cambron, Kristy, author.

  Title: The illusionist's apprentice / by Kristy Cambron.

  Description: Nashville, Tennessee : Thomas Nelson, [2017]

  Epub Edition February 2017 ISBN 9780718042318

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016044577 | I
SBN 9780718041502 (paperback)

  Subjects: | GSAFD: Christian fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3603.A4468 I45 2017 | DDC 813/.6--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016044577

  17 18 19 20 21 LSC 5 4 3 2 1

  For the real Jenny Wren:

  because sisters have the magic of memories

  and secrets all their own.

  The world is full of obvious things

  which nobody by any chance ever observes.

  —SHERLOCK HOLMES,

  THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES (1902)

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Praise for Kristy Cambron

  Books by Kristy Cambron

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Further Reading

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  O death, where is your victory?

  O death, where is your sting?

  —1 CORINTHIANS 15:55

  DECEMBER 31, 1926

  MOUNT AUBURN CEMETERY

  CAMBRIDGE, MASS.

  Agent Elliot Matthews stared down a firing squad.

  The potential executioners held firm in their stance with camera lenses and pencils cocked, all ready to fire. And fire they would, splashing sensational bulletins across the next day’s newspaper headlines.

  A slew of brash young journalists assembled in the famed Mount Auburn Cemetery, focused on the job at hand. They stood in formation at the front of the crowd, photographers tinkering with cameras and reporters tapping pencils against notepads, all with the itchiness of glorious anticipation.

  Elliot hated feeling hemmed in, with the press and scores of onlookers closing ranks. He wanted a full view in the event something erupted without warning, so he and his partner melted along the side of the gathering, opting for a perch along the old stone fence bordering Bigelow Chapel. They were still surrounded by the overhang of trees, but at least they would have a clear view of the front row.

  The faces in the crowd weren’t morose like one would expect to find in a cemetery on such a frigid day. They smiled and chatted, their curiosity piqued as they waited for the show to begin. Police stood by, too, poised to arrest anyone who dared to cause a stir.

  And that’s all Elliot could think it was. A stir.

  A media frenzy in what should have been a place for mourners and gravediggers. Instead, a crowd of onlookers—spiritualists and press—had shown up at the public invitation printed in the Boston Globe the previous Monday: Famed Medium Horace Stapleton to Defy Death in Public Ceremony on New Year’s Eve.

  What a terrible waste. Elliot had seen a crowd of mourners fill a cemetery before—one too many times—and didn’t want to be haunted by the host of memories the current setting dared trigger. Not wishing to think back on things he couldn’t change, Elliot turned away and settled his attention on the landscape. If his objective was to forget, staring down lifeless trees seemed safer than watching a bunch of nail-biters in trench coats and fedoras.

  The canopy of trees formed a bower on all sides. Mist invaded, curling around the trunks of aged sycamores and maples. An icy drizzle coated the leafless limbs, making the scene look like a fragile glass world.

  “See that?” Elliot elbowed his partner.

  Agent Connor Finnegan responded with a full-body turn and a squint in Elliot’s direction. “Noticing something, boss?” He coughed into his palm, a puff of breath on air. “Besides the zoo in front of us?”

  “The trees.” Elliot motioned to the line of sycamores and the only spot broken in the row of trees shadowing the chapel’s stone border. “Odd. In a well-known and meticulously manicured cemetery like this, the grounds keepers leave a spot untended in full view of the chapel. It’s just there. Barren. Lifeless. Like a tree fell and they neglected to replace it.”

  “But it’s all barren, isn’t it?” Connor looked around. “Everything and everyone’s dead here. Shame we have to spend our New Year’s Eve in a cemetery. We’ve been summoned to the event of the year—”

  “Says who?” Elliot shot back before he could help himself. It wasn’t the time to get caught up in the happenings of the society column. Connor should know that.

  “Says me. And anyone with a brain rattling in his head. At the event of the year—maybe the decade—with scores of reporters and all of Boston’s high society present, we have to spend it looking at a couple of trees on a hill?” He clapped his hands together in front of him, his brow furrowed. “Sometimes I wish this job had a little more action to it.”

  Connor was a roughneck of an agent with a thick New Englander’s accent and shades of pretension he shouldn’t yet own for barely a year with the Bureau. But he wore it well. He could be laid back when it suited him, but obviously not when forced to brave the punishing midwinter temperatures for a mockery of a display.

  “More action isn’t always a good thing. But yeah, Ace. That’s why we’re here. To notice what other people don’t, action or not.”

  “Trees . . . Figures.” Connor heaved a sigh. “Don’t tell me we were sent all the way out here to look at landscaping. Notice something more interesting, why don’t you? You tell me that missing tree is somehow connected to a dame and maybe then I’ll listen. How ’bout you find a nice pair of gams for us to appreciate while we wait for the show to start.”

  “Classy.”

  “I submit that class wasn’t a requirement when I applied for this job.”

  “And we never said you shouldn’t look for it down the road either.” Elliot tossed the thought away and turned his wrist to check his watch. “It’s nearly noon.”

  “Good.” Connor rubbed his hands together. “Because my face is starting to freeze. The sooner this clown starts and finishes his show, the better. My insides are screaming for a cup of joe. And I can’t tell you how many party invites I had for tonight, and I’m poised to miss out on all of them if something doesn’t happen soon.”

  Needing something mundane to occupy his mind, Elliot pulled the ivory-faced lighter from his pocket—the one his father used to own. It had been his favorite, one Elliot remembered now only in memories of days before the Great War. But even those had begun to fade as time passed. He flipped it back and forth between his fingers, waiting for the show to begin.

  The crowd hushed then, drawing their attention.

  “It appears he’s not going to make you wait any longer.” Elliot tipped his chin forward. “Look.”

  On the hinges of his words, a figure broke through the mass of people, the center of the crowd parting around him.

  Flashbulbs flickered, lighting up the man’s purple velvet coat and top hat. He was rail thin but elegant, moving with haughty purpose as the sheen on his long coat reflected the light with each drawn-out stride.

  “That’s Stapleton.”

  “Doesn’t look like much.” Connor curled up the side of his lip. “But he makes up for what he lacks in stature with gumption, eh? Houdini’s not even two months cold in his grave, and this guy’s already organized a public parade to discount his memory.”

  “Entertainers thrive on their
media attention. We knew it wouldn’t be long before characters like Stapleton would step out in the public eye again. They’ll try to discredit Houdini’s memory or make a bigger name for themselves now that he’s out of the picture.”

  “So you don’t believe Stapleton is a real medium?”

  “Doesn’t matter what I think. In this line of work, it only matters what we can prove. Remember that. Stapleton’s an illusionist. That’s a fact. Beyond that, I wouldn’t try to guess.”

  The showman climbed two steps onto a platform that had been erected—a clumsy but wide setup of wood and paper streamers that had been strewn about and were now frozen by the misty rain that still clung to the morning air. The paper became a skeletal backdrop that danced in its fight with the wind, lending a macabre feel to the makeshift stage.

  In front of the setup, the chilling image of an open grave.

  In clear view of the press, the excavated earth was piled into a mound behind the pit, its top darkened by the rain. Gravediggers stood off to the side, heads down against the wind, holding fast to shovels and picks.

  The crowd rumbled with murmurings. Stapleton raised his arms, quieting them with confident control. “It has been said that no man holds the authority over death.” His voice boomed, an Irish accent clinging to his words.

  Connor rolled his eyes heavenward. “Five clams says the accent’s a fake.”

  “Shh.” Elliot frowned, though not from Connor’s comic zeal. Somehow, he knew what was coming next.

  Stapleton held the crowd’s undivided attention. “Many have claimed to be great illusionists. And that is all they are. Trick-makers. They grasp your money in their pockets, tearing your eyes from the truth with evil deceit. But I ask you—who here has lost someone? Any sweethearts whose futures with their soldiers were cut short? Any mothers who’ve buried their husbands or sons? Would you not wish to hear from your beloved just once more? Could mere illusionists help you in this endeavor? I think not.”

  Elliot had to swallow the distaste growing more bitter in his mouth.