by The Lady
His gray tweed waistcoat suddenly feeling snug, he tugged at it and said a silent thanks to Regina for ironing his good shirt yesterday. Having dressed in a hurry, he slid his thumb along the side of his waistband, checking that the hem was neatly tucked. Ella glanced over just then and tripped a little over a crack in the sidewalk. Charlie tried to hide a smile as he opened the first floor door for her. On the stairs, she mused aloud as to whether or not Margaret would be home.
He sure hoped so. It would make things a lot less complicated.
No answer came when she called out for her friend. “She’ll be back soon, I’d imagine.”
“Shall I wait?” he asked, hesitating in the hallway.
“No. Come on in.”
He did and left the door ajar. Folding his arms, he crossed to the window and peered down at the street. Wagons passed in front of nearby businesses, and in the lot beyond a pair of children tugged a kite from a spindly tree. Charlie wasn’t used to being so high up. Or peering out of glass. He tapped it with his finger. “You have a nice view here.”
“Thank you. I’ve always loved it.”
At a thunking from beside the stove, he turned to see her lift the lid off the coal bucket.
He stepped closer. “May I?”
“Thank you.”
Kneeling, he cleaned out the ashes for her. Then he added kindling and let that burn for a few minutes before sprinkling in a thin layer of coal. By the time flames crackled, Ella opened the small oven door and slipped her hand inside.
“It’ll take a bit to heat and then I can put this in.” She motioned to some kind of baked dish she was making.
“Can I do anything else?”
“Nope. Just make yourself at home.”
Back at the window, he looked out again. He tapped the glass once more, enjoying the feel and sound of it. Wrists sore, he rubbed gently at them, careful to keep his cuffs in place.
Several photos hung along the wall and he studied them. A man and woman, seated in front of a two-story farmhouse, each had a countenance much like Ella’s. Her parents perhaps?
The longer Charlie looked, the more he saw the resemblance. She was a perfect mirror of the pair of them. “You look like your folks.”
She smiled. Then she asked of his own parents and Charlie told her briefly of his father, Jacobus, a Dutchman, and his mother, Koštana, a Romani flyer. The memories sending a twinge through his chest, Charlie looked back to the photos but could still envision them both. He favored his mother’s coloring, her passionate temperament. She was like the wind and had taught him to be the same. But it was his father who had taught him to be steady. To never take a step unless it was carefully thought out. To treat a spirit—be it feline or human—with deep respect.
How he missed the man. Even now the words often spoken between them rushed to Charlie’s mind, in particular, the week before his father’s death.
“How will you go to a lion?” his father had asked, biting back a cough. They’d stood shoulder to shoulder in an open air pen for what would be their last time together. “No matter how big. No matter how small.”
“Humbly,” Charlie answered, while Axel, just a cub then, dozed in the folds of Mimi’s skirt outside the fencing. And Charlie easing his hands along the warm hide of Braam, the nine-year-old lion that had sired all the others.
His father had tipped back an old top hat. “And you will go to them with strength.”
“With strength.” Yes, by the sweat of his brow, his back, he was learning that too.
“And you will go to them when you feel no fear.”
No fear. The hardest part when feeling the power of muscle beneath your palms. Looking into the yellow eyes of a maned king. A deep-soul wild that would never change and wasn’t meant to.
His father’s voice faded away, but the wind of that meadow—of the open plains, his life—clung to memory. Charlie held it all close as he studied the rest of Ella’s photos. Took in the faces of her family. The farmhouse—quiet, steady. Unmoving. His eyes traced from that to the papered wall. Still standing there, he slid his hand along the firm surface. He listened but heard not even a breeze. Gave a gentle push but it didn’t budge against his hand. He listened again. Silence.
Ella watched him with a curious expression.
Just then Margaret called out and he turned to see her toting a crate of groceries inside. The way the girl was buckling under the weight of it, Charlie hurried to take it from her.
“Thank you.” She panted the words even as she gawked at him openly.
He carried the crate to where she asked. Margaret thanked him again, then chatted easily as she set about putting the groceries away. Charlie fell quiet, leaving the conversation to Ella and her roommate as he continued to wander around the small apartment. A wall sconce hung loosely, which would be dangerous when lit, so he asked Ella if she had a screwdriver.
She looked up from where she was setting plates on the table and Margaret offered to fetch the tool. The girl dug in a low cupboard and held one up.
Charlie moved closer. “Do you have a smaller one?”
A bit more digging and she found one.
“Thanks.” He walked back to the sconce and loosened the screws to tighten it straighter. He felt Margaret move in beside him.
“Do you always go around fixing people’s things?” she asked.
He gave her a smile. “Occasionally.”
When he finished, Margaret wiggled the sconce. “Oh, that’s much better.”
She pointed to the one on the other side of a hanging mirror which was almost as bad. Charlie handed her the screwdriver and told her to give it a shot. Tongue sticking to the side of her cheek, Margaret tightened it.
“See?” he said. “Now you can handle just about anything. And now your apartment might not catch on fire.”
She laughed. “You’ve saved the day.”
“Ya flatta me, miss.”
Margaret giggled and took the tool. “He’s funny,” she said to Ella.
“He has an endless array of accents.” Ella’s smile warmed him through.
Margaret’s brows pinched and she looked at Charlie. “Why is that? I can’t quite place where you’re from.”
He settled down on a stool beside Ella. “I’m not from anywhere.” Looking back at Ella, he let his gaze filter over her blonde hair that draped against the nape of her neck to her mouth that was suddenly pursed. “That’s funny she’d wonder, Ella, because I was pretty sure I’d answered a few questions for someone…”
“What questions?” Margaret asked, breaking his stare.
“They must have gotten lost in circulation.”
“All right,” Ella whispered. “Maybe I was minorly curious, myself.”
Realizing he hadn’t answered Margaret’s direct question, Charlie turned a bit on the stool. “I’m from all over. Most cities you can think of, I’ve been there. Countless times.”
But Margaret didn’t seem to hear him as she looked to Ella with a goofy smile. “Hmm. We’re going to need another chair. I’ll…go…fetch one from Mrs. Brewer.” She stepped toward the door but not before Charlie noticed the googly eyes she gave Ella.
Ella’s ears pinked as she focused on the dough in her hands. Charlie coughed into his fist. He sat a few moments, determined not to watch her anymore while she worked.
Finally, Ella’s busy little hands stilled. She didn’t move and Charlie broke his own promise and skimmed his gaze to her.
“Everything okay?” he asked softly.
Her eyes danced over his. “You’re leaving.”
So simple a phrase, but with it coming softly from her—with such a pained look in her expression—it had him suddenly trying to remember his own name. He drudged up the only response he could stumble upon. “Yeah, I am. We break everything down tomorrow night.”
Though she hadn’t finished, she wiped flour from her fingers. “I wish that wasn’t so,” she whispered.
Charlie had to swallow hard to find
his voice. When she simply gripped the edge of her work surface and bowed her head, he moved to stand. “Ella—”
“I have a chair!” Margaret sang from the hallway. Charlie nearly slid off the stool. “And I’m bringing it in!”
He centered himself back on the seat and ran a hand through his hair. Ella plucked up a piece of dough and formed a crooked biscuit. Charlie felt Margaret eyeing them curiously as she nudged her way across the room before plopping the chair in front of the table.
Charlie sat another minute before rising and walking around the apartment again. Margaret started chatting—asking all about the lions, and he answered everything she threw his way from what they ate, to whether or not he gave them baths. That was good because he needed a distraction just now.
Margaret asked where he lived in the winter, and with Ella listening on, he described the troupe’s off-season compound in Louisiana. He countered with questions of his own learning that Margaret and Ella had known one another for all of two years and that while Ella had once played the piano, Margaret had as much musical ability as he did.
Suddenly, Ella was calling them to the table. Charlie sat where she directed, and when she dipped her head, she seemed to wonder if they should pray or not. Charlie sat silent. There was no need for her to do something she didn’t want to on account of him.
But then she spoke. “Would you bless the meal, Charlie?”
He studied her a moment, those words putting him at a loss for his own. Bowing his head, he spoke a brief blessing then silently thanked the Lord in his heart for her gentle offer. And that God might protect her. Bless her. Aloud, he spoke a soft amen.
Margaret passed him the basket of biscuits. “So Charlie, how long have you been on this good earth?”
He squinted at the brunette. “Are you asking how old I am?”
Margaret glanced to her friend. “Do you know?”
Charlie interjected, “How come I don’t get to ask as many questions as you do?”
“You can ask anything you want,” Margaret said, bobbing her brows.
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen,” Margaret answered.
Charlie nodded at that, then glanced at Ella, for truly, he’d been wondering.
“You don’t know how old I am?” Ella asked.
“Am I supposed to?”
She smirked and he was glad it was light or he would have missed that pretty blush blooming. He wasn’t about to tell her that he could find out by checking her teeth. A rather impressive ability when you were seven. He had a hunch this was different.
“I’m twenty,” she said.
Twenty. His gaze lingered, which only made the color deepen. Then he thought of her five years prior and that piece of math made him very sad.
“How old are you?” she asked.
Margaret made a show of propping her chin in her palm.
Despite himself, Charlie chuckled. “I have six years on you,” he said, discreetly pointing to Margaret. And to Ella, “Five on you.”
Ella seemed pleased with that as she scooped casserole onto his plate.
“So Charlie, where to next?” Margaret asked.
“Charlottesville. With our sights on Baltimore. Then up the coast from there as the summer continues.” He felt Ella watching him as he spoke.
Margaret folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. “How far do you go?”
“Not sure, but no matter what, we always finish the summer on Coney Island, in New York. Then move south before winter.”
Margaret’s face brightened. “Coney Island…you’ve really been there?”
He drew in a deep breath and held it before letting it out with, “Bunches of times.”
“Really. What’s it like?”
He poked at his food. “Crowded. Thousands of people come in and out every day. There’s a hot air balloon you can ride and a carousel and even a race track. Lots of sideshows.” They didn’t call it Sodom by the Sea for nothing. Many sins known to man just a nickel away. “It’s wild and noisy. People looking for fun…and thrills and roller coasters. Me, I lost some money last year playing cards with a kid named Houdini. Never play against a magician, even a young one.”
Margaret chuckled and Ella looked amused.
“Depending on the season’s contract, we’re usually there for a two- or three-week run.” Maybe it was the Gypsy in him, but he always felt trapped there. He much preferred the open land, wandering from town to town. He wasn’t fond of Coney, and feeling like a downer, he searched for a positive. “The sea is nice. I like that part. And also the fireworks.”
Ella gave him a sweet smile.
He took another bite of the potato casserole. “This is really good, Ella. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. I’m happy to see you eating something.”
“You’re not hungry, Ella?” Margaret asked.
Charlie looked over to see that she was only pushing food around on her plate. “She ruined her dinner with popcorn,” he said. “I told her not to, but she doesn’t listen—”
Ella scrunched her nose at him, and when she poked another bite around, he wondered if it might be for a different reason. Good grief, he wanted to talk to her. Even if just to tell her…
Her head lifted. “What time do you have to go? For your night show?”
An answer came way too easily. “It’s cancelled.”
“Cancelled?”
He gave her a half shrug. “It happens from time to time.” He didn’t say any more and was glad when Margaret cut in.
“Then you must stay,” Margaret said, squeezing his arm in a friendly gesture. “I want to hear more about this Houdini.”
__________
Damp dish towel draped over his shoulder, Charlie stacked the last plate. They’d left the dishes to sit while they’d talked over glasses of iced, mint tea, and Ella had told a few stories from home. Then, just minutes ago, Margaret had excused herself. Rather on the early side, Charlie thought, but he wasn’t about to complain. And he knew he owed her a thanks for it. Having Ella alone, even for just a few minutes, was something he’d been aching for all day. Not wanting to overstay his welcome, he set the towel aside and tried to find the words.
Remembering the jars of herbs she’d set by the door for him to give to Little Joe, he eyed them. “I won’t keep you long, but I just want to say thank you for the meal and all that you’ve done for Holland. It’s meant a lot to all of us. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
“It was my pleasure.”
He could see that she meant it.
“You’re welcome to stay a little longer, unless you need to get right home,” she added.
Best to step out that door and thank her for a fine evening before this got any messier.
But, fool that he was, he slid his hands in his pockets and shook his head. She seemed to think a moment, glancing first at the bedroom door where Margaret was, then around at the tiny apartment. “Come with me. I’d like to show you something.” She plucked her coat from the back of the sofa and glanced back to see that he was following her.
C H A P T E R 1 6
__________
She led them down the hall then up a narrow stairwell that closed in tighter the higher they went, then suddenly, Ella was pressing against a door and a gust of night air rushed overhead.
“This is one of my favorite spots,” she said.
Charlie followed her as a cool breeze swept over the flat rooftop of the building.
“I come up here sometimes at night. More often lately, I confess.” A hint of embarrassment tinted her voice.
Puzzled, he let her lead him to the edge of the roof. She leaned on the wall that met his waist. Then he realized what she had a bird’s eye view of. Air lodged in his throat.
She looked over at him. “Have you ever seen that before?”
Charlie swallowed hard. He stared out through the darkness where in the distance lived the glow of the circus. Countless lanterns and t
orches lit up the place he’d called home since the moment he was born. He drew a slow breath. “Not like this.”
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
He nodded, slowly leaned forward on the wall…
And missed his parents.
Missed Mimi.
Ached for Holland even though she was safe with Regina. And he wished with all his might that he wouldn’t be leaving Ella. Overwhelmed, he wet his lips, desperate for the right way to say this. Then he remembered what he’d rehearsed. He turned gently to face her. “I spent some time the last couple of days looking at a few maps. I was thinking that maybe when we come back down south in the fall, that we might come fairly close to this area again.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“But they’re not going to risk this road again. At least not anytime soon.” He moistened his lips once more. “There’s something else I realized.” Rising nerves crawled across his shoulders. “We’re heading to Charlottesville next, like I told you, which means that we’ll be going past Clifton Forge by a fairly close distance. About fifteen miles.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I could take you home. Should you want to go.”
Ella glanced around for several seconds.
Were her eyes getting wet?
“You can think about it,” he added. “No need to say anything right now. I just wanted you to know the option was there should you want it. I could easily speak to the powers that be and hint that you’re nursing Little Joe’s sore throat so he doesn’t get a fever like Holland did. There’s a particular sideshow operator who would really like her talker not to lose his voice. Or die. And a nurse around for that would be handy.”
Eyes still wide, she simply nodded as if soaking all that in.
“And if that’s what you wanted, I would like to do it.”
She pressed hands to her cheeks and drew in a heavy breath.
“Will you think on it?”
Ella nodded. And he prayed for God to strengthen him for whatever her answer might be.
They stood silent for several minutes, then she motioned him over to a low block rise in the center of the roof. They settled beside one another. Her coat she laid aside.