by The Lady
Charlie’s shoulders sank theatrically and he covered his face with his hand. When he had the lions lined up a third time, he raised his cane to direct them when another aerialist dropped a treat. This time two lions bounded away. The quicker one snatched it up which had the other batting at him with a fearsome set of claws. The first lion bared his fangs but backed away.
With feigned dismay, Charlie strode over to the victor, gripped him by his upper and lower jaws, and spread the mouth wide. Gasps shot out at the sight of the huge, hinged jaw, more so when Charlie stuck his face past the open fangs to peer inside. Knowing her eyes were as round as saucers, Ella pressed her hands over her mouth. Charlie pulled back, and facing the stands, held up his hands in question. Countless fingers pointed toward the top of the tent and he lifted his painted face to the ladies for the first time. They giggled and swung. Fists to his waist, he shook his head disapprovingly.
There was something about their actions that felt spur of the moment, but Ella sensed it was all rehearsed. The aerialists twisted and twirled on their silk strips, watching Charlie playfully and laughing aloud now that they were caught. Arms folded over his chest, Charlie watched them back. Heads tilted upward, the lions did too. Axel swiped a huge tongue over his jaws.
A gentleman from a back row hollered out, “Makes ya wonder who wants those little ladies more—the lions or their trainer.”
The audience guffawed and even Charlie pointed at the man with a stern yet playful scowl. Folks laughed harder.
Charlie strode to one of the massive crates and bending, gripped the underside and heaved it onto its narrow end with a heavy slam so it stood taller. Awed by his strength, Ella sat motionless as Charlie started to shove another one of the great boxes beside it. Feigning struggle, he whistled and his lions ambled over, each of them placing their heads to the wood and appeared to help. Folks cheered and Charlie grinned. Finished with the stair step effect, he flashed a naughty smirk and motioned Axel, the largest lion, up the boxes.
No longer swinging, the aerialists held palms prayerfully beneath their chins. Each as angelic as could be.
Shaking his head, Charlie motioned Axel up to the next crate. The huge lion bellowed at the women, his tail swishing back and forth. With quick swivels, the aerialists climbed farther out of reach. A loud thrill swept the audience. With a metal stand on his shoulder, Charlie climbed and set the stand for the lion to rise farther. Axel bounded up onto the shiny platform and gave a swipe of his paw. Unable to go any higher, the trio of ladies squealed and a collection of gasps filled the stands. Ella glanced across to where Charlie’s partner lingered outside the fencing. Though his stance was easy, he scanned the performance like a hawk, wooden club now in his grip. Ella had to peel her gaze away from what looked like the glinting nose of a pistol at his belt.
She pressed fingertips to her lips, nearly missing the subtle touch Charlie gave the lion between his shoulders. The animal looked over to the crowd and roared. Once…and then again, splintering the air. Ruth’s painted lips tipped open.
Charlie motioned to one of his lions below. The animal turned, went into his crate, and returned with the stick of a wooden sign quirked crookedly from his jaws that read, Say Please.
The audience laughed, and in unison, the three women squealed a please! Delight washed through the stands. Ella clapped along with all the rest as Charlie feigned disappointment and signaled Axel back from their hunt. He righted the crates and in the animals went. He clicked locks and the aerialists slid down the silks, landing with perfect precision on the boxes. The crowd cheered and Charlie motioned to the women who did a little bow, then he bowed as the audience stood in thunderous applause. Ella joined them. Charlie flashed her a wink and she gave him a small wave.
With a sweep of his hand, Charlie’s partner signaled for the workers running into the ring to retrieve the oversized crates. While the three women tossed one last wave toward the crowd, Charlie disappeared out through the part in the curtain. Turning quickly, the ladies joined him and a new act rushed in.
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“Well, that was fun,” Ruth snapped. “I just about stepped in elephant—” She pranced over a lounging clown and flung him a glare. “Hey laddie, find somewhere else to sit next time.” Her voice fell to a mutter. “Stupid joey.”
Someone was in a good mood. Removing his top hat, Charlie trailed her through the press of clowns and acrobats.
Even as he heard the clatter of the fencing being disassembled, he watched the roustabouts tote away the lion crates.
Someone called a greeting to him. “Nice work, Preach!”
Not seeing who it was, Charlie shot a wave in that direction as he headed after his boys. Passing the flyer troupe who stood chalking their hands, Charlie patted one of the young women on the shoulder whose sunny smile always reminded him of Jessamine—Mimi.
He paused to wish her well, a habit he’d taken on since Mimi’s death, but Ruth turned and shoved a fingertip into his chest. “You are not supposed to improvise.”
Rolling their eyes, the other two aerialists steered from the storm.
“Who improvised?” Charlie countered.
“Oh, let’s see…” Hand propped on the curve of her corseted hip, Ruth all but glared at him. “The wee stunt with the key?”
Charlie grinned—remembering the look on Ella’s face. He stepped aside for an acrobat who toted a dozen metal hoops.
Ruth frowned at him. “’Twas the lass you were with the other day.”
Charlie ignored her, but concern slipped into her expression and was warranted, for there was a fine line in the sand and he’d just stepped way over it.
“What are you doing?” Ruth hissed.
Really, he had no idea. “Don’t get your ribbons in a twist. If I’m not mistaken, you blew a kiss to a section of soldiers in Detroit last year and missed a very important cue.”
“I did not.” Though the fire in her eyes said otherwise.
He didn’t have time for this.
Pocketing his white gloves, Charlie headed toward the menagerie tent where he helped load the lions into their wagon. Since grown lions only spent about five hours of the day awake, they circled one another, weaving in and out, before flopping down. From nearby, zebras chattered—a hee-hawing laugh sound that Charlie was so used to he barely noticed. One of the giraffes dipped her long neck and sniffed at Charlie’s pocket. With nothing to give her, Charlie smoothed a hand along her neck.
Han quirked his head, and remembering how he had favored his left paw near the end of the act, Charlie checked the leathery pad. Finding a burr, he plucked it free. Han licked Charlie’s fingers, then his own paw.
The lion licked his hand again, and though the grit of the massive tongue was painful, Charlie held still. The cat’s eyes were closed and Charlie watched him without speaking. Sired by his father’s own, Han was bred in captivity just like the others. While they had a longer lifespan than those in the wilds of Africa and Asia, Charlie often imagined what it would be like to see his lions walk out across an open plain. Though it wasn’t the same, he paid a few laborers to set up the performance arena outdoors as often as he could, which meant a few hours of regular sun for his cats. Circus goers enjoyed seeing them that way and the lions loved it.
Charlie stepped toward Axel who he’d gotten as a cub the year his father had died, and even now could still remember being on the stock car of the southbound train, holding the little bundle of fur that would keep his life afloat when everything else went dark. Something Charlie aimed to return for Axel. Hope. Freedom.
Not just for Axel. For all three of them.
“I promise I’m working on it,” Charlie said gently as he ran his thumb under Axel’s jaw.
Next he checked water basins, then tuned an ear toward the roar of the crowd, awaiting the familiar sounds that would indicate the matinee’s end. The ringmaster, Mr. Graven, would expect him to be at his side for final bows. A hunch told Charlie that it was because the ringmaster
was more than pleased that he had extended his contract for another four years. With handsome offers from both Ringling and Barnum & Bailey, Charlie certainly had his choice.
When the boom of cannons rocked the air, Charlie adjusted his top hat then slid gloves on, covering the tattoo there.
He strode back to the Big Top to where Mr. Graven stood in the wings. After a friendly pat on Charlie’s back, the ringmaster explained that despite having run aground in muddy Roanoke, ticket sales were high and Charlie’s act a bright favorite.
Charlie nodded his thanks. Especially since the ringmaster never raised an eyebrow over the fact that Charlie insisted on working with his cats his own way—including a refusal for them to be displayed on the midway between shows. While Charlie didn’t care if it posed a problem, his mandate never detracted from the carnival atmosphere; people still flocked to the ticket booth in droves, and Mr. Graven paid him a handsome salary.
“To think that three decades ago we were little more than a dog and pony show,” Mr. Graven said with a tug on his red, brass-button coat. No doubt relishing that the troupe’s growing caliber had catapulted the Graven Brothers Circus into prominent standing nationwide.
Keeping P.T. Barnum on his toes.
Charlie fell in step with the ringmaster as they strode toward the curtain. The silver-haired man twisted the end of his mustache, speaking of how the show must always go on. “Let’s do ‘Animals from Around the World.’ Keep changing things up for the house.”
That one was easy enough. Charlie only had to keep his lions from wanting to eat two bull elephants instead of three aerialists. After Ruth’s mood today, he’d take the twelve-thousand-pound bulls any day.
As Charlie stepped through the back corridor of dressing rooms, he spotted the very woman lounging against a side pole. She always waited for him, sometimes more subtly than others. Charlie halted as a roustabout tried to offer Ruth a pile of lacy handkerchiefs and more. She ignored him, so Charlie let the poor fella off the hook by taking the tokens of affection.
The worker grumbled as he adjusted the round of lunge rope crossing his thin chest. “We need to hit the road. Rubes’r gettin’ way too friendly.” When the hopelessly besotted roustabout peered toward Ruth, Charlie smirked, then leaned in to whisper loudly to the lad, “I wouldn’t waste your time with that one; her bite is even worse than her bark.”
Ruth stuck her tongue out at him.
A note crinkled on the top of the pile, and turning it over, Charlie read, “To the pretty lady with the red hair.” He eyed Ruth.
Adjusting the silky slip of a kimono that draped her shoulders, she snatched it from him, read, then tossed the card in a waste bin. “Manky local.”
The final applause erupted. Charlie set the things aside and stepped toward the gap in the striped tent. He tugged at his green velvet coat then smoothed the brim of his glossy hat. “Remind me to never write you a note.”
Ruth slipped off her covering, baring cream-colored shoulders above her ivory, bone corset. “Well, if it was from you, I wouldn’a tossed it.”
She gave him a little look as Charlie strode into the applause-filled ring, her snapped, “Have fun in Hicksville,” trailing him.
C H A P T E R 1 1
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With the sounds of delight still floating along the air, Ella worked her way through the throngs of people back to Charlie’s tent. The show danced in her memory, the energy still buzzing around.
After the audience had thinned, Charlie had slipped into the stands toward her, only to be greeted by several young boys, all peppering him with questions. He’d tousled the youngest boy’s hair. Kneeling in front of the stair-stepped lads, he passed back easy banter with them even as he slid Ella a winsome glance that was edged in apology. With a smile, she had slipped out quietly to let him finish.
Now clouds dimmed the air and a rising breeze shook the sides of Charlie’s tent as she drew near to it. Ella stepped inside to find Regina mixing dough in a bowl and Holland stirring from her nap.
Ella settled down beside the baby’s bed, but spoke to Regina. “How did your afternoon go?”
“Very well, mia cara.”
While she worked on supper, Regina chatted about it in that motherly way of hers. Holland squirmed and seemed uncomfortable, so Ella pulled out a picture book, and with the baby lying on her side, held it in view. Holland touched a picture of a tiger and the girl’s nose creased playfully as she stroked the striped sketch. Ella kissed that tiny finger which was so much cooler than it had been the day before.
While the baby was still showing signs of discomfort in her throat, the infection was fading. Ella offered her a sip of water and Regina declared that Holland had eaten a fair bit of porridge that afternoon.
Suddenly the tent flap moved aside and Charlie ducked in. He held out a white rose to Regina. “My dear.” Then he slid his hand behind his back and pulled forward a pink one, which he lowered to Ella. “For the lady.”
Ella was stunned afresh by his powdered face. The jagged, charcoal teardrops below his eyes that made his charm all the more intriguing.
“Oh.” She remembered the way the flowers had fallen into the arena at the show’s end. “Might you have a secret admirer?” she teased gently.
With a grin, Charlie pulled forward his other arm revealing a mixed bouquet. Then he tugged a messy array of perfumed calling cards from his breast pocket.
“I have a hunch he’s blushing behind all that makeup,” Regina said.
Charlie pointed at her. “You be nice.”
“Which reminds me,” Ella said, “I can’t believe you did that!”
He feigned shock.
“Sneaking a key into my pocket…” She squinted at him as he tossed his coat aside.
“It wasn’t that sneaky,” he laughed. “I dropped all my stuff and bumped into you. I’m usually much smoother with things like that. I think you make me nervous…” His eyes sparkled.
More so when her cheeks flushed. To try and cover it, she told him how much she enjoyed the performance.
Grinning, Charlie tugged off his vest. At the washstand, he moved his shaving kit aside then filled the basin. He dabbed oil to his fingers and scrubbed his skin clean. Splashes of soapy water dampened his face and hair. Water dripped onto the shoulders of his shirt as he grabbed the towel.
His face clean, he bent and kissed Holland’s head. “And hello, little one.” Kneeling beside her bed, he kissed her cheek. “I have a flower for you too, but I’ll have to save it.” He rose. “I need to go change. Just make yourself at home, Ella.” He climbed up the trio of crates and stepped into the wagon, closing the curtains behind him.
A pot of water heated on the stove and Regina brought over the dough she had prepared earlier. She turned it out on the low work surface that was no more than a wide board balanced on two barrels. She patted the dough with a wooden pin and set to work rolling it out. The light in the tent dimmed and Ella peered through the open flap to see the wind softly winding its way through the camp. Clouds pushed across the sky.
Ella brushed at her hands and rose. “May I help you do anything? I could set the table.”
Charlie emerged wearing a fresh, dry shirt. He and Regina looked at her in unison.
Oh, yes. There was no table.
“Why don’t you just sit and let us do something for you for a change. Remember,” he pointed at her, “this is our treat.”
He and Regina set to work, and Ella settled on the crates in front of the wagon to watch. Regina rolled and cut rounds of dough and Charlie helped her stuff them with a filling Regina had beaten together. All the while Regina scolded his technique in phrases laced with Italian. The passion in her voice mixed easily with Charlie’s chuckles. At the stout woman’s direction, he added salt to the boiling water. Too much, it seemed, when the water foamed and Regina swatted his arm with her wooden spoon.
Charlie grinned at Ella as Regina lowered small dumplings into the water. Him standing tall and
solid in his crisp shirt, costume pants, and boots, her on a wooden box—they made quite a pair.
“You will like Regina’s cooking,” Charlie said over his shoulder. “She uses garlic and onions and her peppers.”
Regina pointed at him with her spoon. “Don’t you start in on my peppers.”
Charlie let out a deep laugh that warmed the room. A few raindrops tapped on the canvas overhead. He rinsed his hands, and with the air dimming further, went to light the lantern.
“He is just sore about it because of my peppers and the way he has to load the plants into the wagon every time we move on.” Regina motioned toward the ornate green wagon.
“It’s quite a task.” Charlie moved to a wooden crate that sat on the grassy ground and pulled out a jar of silverware, followed by tin plates.
“It keeps you from becoming a fat old man, my boy.” Regina’s dark brows danced.
“Regina has a small garden outside. Pots and pots of things.” Charlie rose. “She’s Italian, and that seems to be the way they do it. A wise old man once said, ‘Don’t ever befriend an Italian Gypsy or you will be toting around a great many things.’” He ducked when a snip of pepper went sailing past his head. “And watch out for their tempers.”
“Were you born in Italy?” Ella asked Regina.
She nodded. “I came here when I was a young woman. My feet were barely on American soil when I married a carradore. A wheelwright who was with this troupe of traveling performers. I had traveled so little myself, but felt right at home with the circus. Here I am, thirty years later.” She reached up and patted Charlie’s forearm. “With this one and his sweet bambina.”
Those threads of joy wound tighter within Ella’s chest. “And you are both Gypsy by blood?” She glanced from Regina to Charlie.