by The Lady
“I’ll get you in. I’ll pay your way.”
Ella let out a little laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” But oh, the irony. And then she was struck with the way Charlie had helped her over the wooden barrier. Her hand in his. How she hadn’t let herself think much of it then, but now, after their argument and all that had passed, she studied her fingertips, trying to draw his touch to memory.
“Hello in there…” Margaret pretended to knock on Ella’s head. “Where did you go?”
Ella blinked quickly. “Sorry. Have a good time. Tell me all about it.”
Margaret sighed. “All right then. Off I go to the circus…all on my lonesome.”
A bittersweet smile surfaced—as did the temptation to wander down there with Margaret, see the sights and have some popcorn and lemonade, all for the chance to lay eyes on the lion tamer one last time. Even if only from afar.
Just sitting here she could nearly imagine Charlie in the center ring with his commanding presence and ferocious companions. So dashing with his slicked, dark hair, pristine gloves, and painted face. Vibrant eyes concealing a most mysterious reality. Did his audience know who he was? How he cared for a child who wasn’t even his own? An orphaned baby who held his heart?
Swallowing a twinge in her throat, Ella tried to raise a smile for her friend’s sake.
Easier would be to add the pearl she owed to Regina’s necklace.
Bidding farewell, Margaret headed downstairs and Ella tore out the page of advertisements, three of which she’d circled—a need for a seamstress on Fifth, a laundress in a wealthy home, and a nanny for a trio of boys.
Regret would be her only companion if she remained indoors, so downstairs she went, coat in hand. Her mother had taught her and her sisters to be handy with a needle, but the seamstress position would be a rather far walk every day. Perhaps a little too far, but certainly worth a try. The laundress position in the wealthy home was only a few blocks away, and the nanny advertisement stemmed from one of the finer homes on the edge of town. This address she committed to heart as she tried to rally courage.
Outside, the morning beamed down with a cheery sun and Ella started westward. A clear, quiet day blew her the few blocks there, and when she knocked on the door of the fine townhome, she was greeted by a male servant, then ushered into a den. A tall, slender man conducted the interview, and from his introduction, Ella learned right away that he was the boys’ father. Triplets. She’d never met triplets before, and the longer the father posed questions, his eyes on her with a brash smile, the more uncomfortable she felt.
Worse was when he asked her how someone so young and pretty could be out of work. He winked and she conjured up a reason why she wouldn’t be able to fill the position.
Her skin still crawled with the memory of him even when she left in the direction of the next post. At the home seeking a laundress, she knocked and was greeted by a maid.
Ella held out the advertisement. “I’m here to see about—”
“Our apologies, but the position has been filled.”
“Filled?”
The maid tipped a nod, then asked if there was anything else Ella needed.
“No, thank you.” Back on the sidewalk, Ella sat a moment in the speckled shadows of a leafless maple and studied the final job position—seamstress. She really didn’t want to walk two miles to work every day, but options were sparse.
The sun was high overhead when she arrived at a narrow brick building, and after meeting the family, Ella learned that while the job paid only fifteen cents a day for long hours, it included room and board. She followed the mistress of the house to a closet where the woman pulled out a dozen stylish gowns that the last seamstress had fashioned. Ella gulped and confessed she was best with mending and buttons. The homeowner politely showed her out.
Ella walked to her apartment with sore feet, the flame of hope fizzled. Perhaps the next paper would have the right position.
Back home, she set about cleaning to keep busy. With a beautiful spring day out, she carried bedding up to the roof to air. She checked her pots of herbs in the corner of the small greenhouse that the landlord let her use. The parsley was bright and green and she fingered ripening strawberries, then plucked a few sprigs of chives and carried them back down to her apartment.
Margaret came home not long after, cheeks glowing as she shared about all the sights she’d seen. The girl exuded delight over the matinee. She described the tent, the cheer of the audience, and the magnificent performances from aerialists and animals alike. “And when I was looking for the privy, I saw something you wouldn’t believe! There were some wagons stuck in the mud—those fancy circus ones, you know.” She waggled her hand. “A bunch of workers were trying to get one of them loose. And guess what?” Her brown eyes were wide, sparkling.
So much so that Ella smiled. “What?” she asked theatrically.
“There was an elephant pushing the whole operation. You should have seen it. It was such a sight! They couldn’t get the wagon out, though, not even with all the horses at the hitch. Snapped the wagon right off the axel and they had to yell to the poor elephant to stop shoving the front into the mud.”
Ella nodded gravely, remembering how Charlie had mentioned them being stranded. He wasn’t kidding.
“And oh the men. Ever so many of them!” Margaret tugged off lace gloves. “But I only managed to catch the eye of a country bumpkin. Too backwoods for me. He and his friends didn’t have a proper hat among them, and one of the young ladies in tow couldn’t even tie up her stockings right. You’d think she’d know better—” Margret’s hands froze. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
Ella shook her head—not offended in the slightest. She had no shame of being raised far from city life or having a family who was as poor as those people surely were. She’d once had loose stockings as well.
When Margaret draped the gloves over a chair, Ella spoke. “Did you see any lions?”
Margaret’s eyebrows danced. “I saw Mr. Circus, if that’s what you mean. And later, he was there with that wagon. Shoveling mud with the others before it snapped. I hardly recognized him without all that stuff on his face and the fancy getup. He looked just like one of the workers.”
A pang struck her heart, and afraid to hear more, Ella quickly offered to fix supper.
“You’re a doll.” Margaret tugged off her button-up shoes. “I’ll do the dishes.”
Ella made a simple meal of toasted bread, slices of cheese from the icebox, and used the last of the honey to whip up honey butter. Margaret asked about her job search and Ella shared about it as they ate. Short story as it was. When Margaret set about tidying up the kitchen, Ella said good night and turned in early.
Her feet ached, and truth be told…her heart did too.
Curling up under her blankets, she felt sleep taking her. It seemed only a few hours later when a strange sound awoke her to the dark. The streets below silent. Everything quiet if not for the thunking in the hallway. Footsteps. Then a knock on their door.
Ella sat up. Heart pounding, she listened as the knock came again. She slipped from the covers and looked over at Margaret who was asleep in the other narrow bed. At the third knock, Ella crossed the bedroom floor and peeked into the main room toward the door that blocked her from whoever it was that was there. Quite certain she didn’t want to answer it, she considered waking Margaret for help.
But then the knocking turned to a pounding and someone was calling her name.
She knew that voice.
“Ella. It’s Charlie,” he called through the slab, and Ella heard a baby’s fussing. “Are you home? I have Holland here. She’s—”
Ella was at the door, twisting the lock. A yank on the handle and suddenly Charlie was peering down, Holland in his arms.
“Come in.” She held the door open and his trench coat brushed over the threshold.
Gripping the paw of a stuffed tiger, the baby whi
mpered, cheeks stained with tears.
“She won’t eat or drink and she won’t sleep,” Charlie panted.
“Have you tried ice?” Ella asked as he set a limp canvas sack by the door.
“I don’t have ice.”
Of course. That’s why he was here. Ella hurried to the icebox, lifted the brass handle, and tugged the small frozen block from the wooden chest. She dropped it on the table and shuffled through a crock of knives for a mallet and a butter knife. Once a piece was chipped off, she used the mallet to tap it into powdery chunks. Charlie moved to her side as she filled a spoon.
Ella pressed her shoulder to his and lifted the spoon to the baby’s mouth. “Here, my little love,” she whispered. “Try this.” Ella slipped some between Holland’s bright lips and the girl suckled the frosty bits. “That’s a good girl.” A few icy specks hit the collar of Holland’s nightgown and Ella brushed them away.
Holland swallowed, winced, and began to cry again. Ella checked that the bedroom door was closed and filled the spoon again. She repeated the motion several times until the baby’s cries quieted, the cold ice no doubt comforting her throat and bringing much-needed fluids. Holland pressed a tear-stained cheek to Charlie’s chest and rubbed her face against his shirt.
Ella smoothed a hand down the baby’s back. “She may sleep now.”
“I’ll just hold her.”
“You should sit down.”
He looked tired. Ella moved a crumpled blanket from the sofa, but Charlie was already sinking to the floor in front of the piece of furniture.
The bedroom door opened and Margaret peeked out. A glance to Charlie and Margaret’s eyes couldn’t have gone any wider.
“It’s all right,” Ella said. “He’s a…friend…of mine.” She offered his name and hoped Margaret wouldn’t let on that they’d already spoken of him.
“What is he doing here?” Margaret whispered.
Charlie glanced to Ella. Kneeling beside him, she waved her roommate over. “His little girl is still sick.”
Margaret vanished, then returned with a robe on. Looking warily at Charlie, she slid in beside Ella and knelt. Then a touch to Holland’s forehead. “Oh, she’s feverish.”
“She’s been fighting an infection.” Ella rattled off the list of things they’d been doing from the warm teas to the herbal tinctures.
Charlie looked from her, then to Margaret, then back to Ella where his gaze lingered.
“I just gave her some ice chips. Do you have any other ideas?” Ella asked Margaret.
“No. But I know these things take time. Days, really. Is she getting better or worse?”
Ella peered over to Charlie.
“I thought she was getting better,” he said. “But she hasn’t eaten all day and I can barely get her to drink. She’s taken some of the tincture but nothing else. I haven’t been able to get her to go to sleep yet tonight, and I think she’s hungry. I didn’t know what else to do so I came here.” His lashes lifted and lowered as he studied Ella’s face.
Her voice felt weak. “That’s normal, wouldn’t you say, Margaret? To not take much food?”
Margaret nodded. “Even with only a little food, as long as she’s taking some fluids, she should fare just fine. The infection in her throat is making it painful to swallow, but once that passes, it’ll be easier and easier for her.” She mostly spoke to Ella, but upon finishing peered briefly at Charlie. Margaret was as outgoing as they came and her uncertainty only amplified the untoward nature of all of this. A man in their apartment.
Ella sifted through her own mind and heart searching for a trace of fear but found none. She peeked over at Charlie, unsure of how to make sense of what she did find.
“What do I do? For tonight?” he asked. “Just do what I can to keep her comfortable?”
“Have you been trying to get her to sleep all this time?” Ella glanced at the clock to see that it was quarter to three. Nearly morning.
“Trying, yes.” He lifted his hand from Holland’s head to swipe it down his face. “She was like this last night, too.”
Ella watched him. “Charlie?”
He looked at her, his once-brilliant eyes almost unfocused.
“Have you slept?”
He didn’t answer.
“Charlie, please be honest with me. Have you slept at all?”
Slowly, he shook his head.
“And you worked last night and you have to work today, don’t you?”
He nodded.
Fearing the sofa was unsafe for the baby, Ella hurried into the bedroom, stripped the coverings off her bed, and made Holland a plump nest beside Charlie. She motioned for him to lay the sleeping girl down, then told Margaret to please not stay up on account of them. Knowing her friend had a morning shift, Ella was happy when she heard Margaret crawl back into bed.
“What time do you need to be to work today?” Ella asked, carefully covering the baby.
Charlie cleared his throat. “I need to be to the lions by eight. Seven would be better.”
“And have you eaten?”
At his silence, she fought the urge to click her tongue at him. “Holland’s asleep now. Let her rest for a bit. You can lay down right here beside her and close your eyes while I fix something to eat. You can rest, then eat, and be home in plenty of time.”
He looked to her face where his gaze roved freely. With strands of hair spilling out of her braid, she shoved them back. She spoke his name softly, but he just stared at her. So long that her heart began to hurt for she remembered the words she ached to say.
Moving closer, Ella knelt beside him. “Charlie.” She touched his sleeve, just brushing the fabric before pulling away.
His gaze followed the movement then up to her face.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Will you please forgive me? For yesterday?”
He blinked several times.
“I treated you unfairly and was unkind. I’m so very sorry.”
He simply stared at her and she wished she could know what he was thinking. But surely he was just exhausted.
She swallowed hard. “Will you please rest and let me make you something to eat?”
Finally, he lowered his head and ran a hand through his tousled hair. Was that a nod?
“That would be fine,” he said, his voice husky. His eyes found hers. “Thank you.”
Ella rose, and after adding more coal to the dying fire, moved to the cupboard. What could she make quickly? She found a jar of corn, a box of meal, and with eggs in the icebox, set about whipping up a batch of corn cakes.
Remembering the block of ice, she put the melting mess away. Ella poked about in the icebox and grabbed the chives along with a slice of ham that Margaret—bless her—had gotten at the market. Ella vowed to pay her friend back as she cut off a piece and added tiny dices to the batter. She would need to buy another block of ice as well. Deciding to shove thoughts of her tiny savings aside, she set a cast iron skillet to heat, added butter, and poured out three small cakes. Leaving them to brown and bubble, she moved around the sofa to where Charlie and Holland were.
She was about to call out to him and was glad she hadn’t because there he was, lying on the floor, his head on the mound of blankets, an arm draped over Holland. And they were both asleep. Her heart stirring in a way she’d never felt before, Ella moved closer, plucked the blanket off the sofa, and lightly draped it over both father and child.
Not father, she reminded herself. But looking at the way he held her…the way he seemed to give everything he had for her, she couldn’t think of him as anything but. She eased the blanket over his shoulder.
“Good night, Charlie,” she whispered.
Smelling the corncakes, Ella moved back to the stove and flipped them, relieved that they would be just as tasty cold. At least he would have breakfast. And then maybe she could show him that she’d meant what she’d said. Lord willing, ease the ache in his eyes—the one she’d put there.
C H A P T E R 8
&n
bsp; __________
“Ella,” a man’s voice said softly.
She stirred, the light on her face so bright.
“Ella.”
It was Charlie speaking. Remembering everything from a few hours before, Ella blinked into the yellow haze of morning and sat up.
He was crouched in front of her. “Do you always sleep in front of the door?”
She pulled her legs deeper under her nightgown, stunned at having fallen asleep so quickly. With a stranger in the apartment, no less. “No.” Sitting up, everything hurt. “I just didn’t want you to leave without something to eat.” She’d sat down there and hadn’t meant to drift off. She couldn’t even remember how it had happened.
“Holding me hostage?” He took a bite of the corncake that was already in hand. “Over breakfast?” He smiled.
She felt utterly awkward in a nightgown and robe in broad daylight. With him fully dressed, including coat and boots, no less. “I see I didn’t need to worry.” When she went to stand, he helped her. The sensation of his gentle grip lingered even after he let go. “How is Holland?”
“Still asleep.”
“How long have you been awake?”
“A while.”
“And you just left me there sleeping in front of the door?”
His eyebrows clamped together. “Should I have carried you to your bed?”
“No!” She almost yelped it and felt her cheeks heat. “I meant—you could have woken me.”
“But you seemed so peaceful.” His expression was still curious.
Never mind. She was not going to get far with this. “I should go get dressed. It will just take a few minutes. Will you still be here?”
“I can be.”
Did that sound forward? As though wanting him to stay. She brushed around him, trying to ignore the way he watched. But she glanced over her shoulder before disappearing into the bedroom and nearly smacked into the doorjamb.