Joanne Bischof

by The Lady

Which meant he needed to be going. Charlie’s heart suddenly thundering, he fought the urge to run his hand through his hair. He didn’t look at Ella as he spoke. “Might I…” He looked at her father who’d grown quiet. “Might I speak with you a moment, sir?”

  The room went quiet as the man exchanged a glance with his wife, then with Ella.

  Swallowing his nerves, Charlie rose and straightened to his full height. He felt everyone in the room looking at him. Losing the battle, suddenly all he saw was Ella. He sealed her face in his mind, holding it there. Praying it would last. This little nurse. The one who’d taken him and Holland when no one else would. And her…so strong yet so filled with hurting it broke his heart. He wanted—with everything inside him—to be able to hold her heart and fight the sorrows for her. To bear them for her. But he couldn’t, and if he tried, he would only be adding another.

  It was time.

  Mr. Beckley was stepping out into the yard and Charlie forced his face to keep from revealing all that rolled inside him. Soaking in the sight of Ella one last time, he stepped away and followed her father out into the sunshine.

  C H A P T E R 3 2

  __________

  Ella stood at the window and watched the closed barn door. Charlie and her papa had disappeared there over half an hour ago. What were they talking about? She touched the glass, hating the distance, knowing it would grow if she didn’t hurry up and answer him. And oh, how she longed to answer him. She hated the look on his face that her silence and surprise had borne.

  “I do believe my daughter is in love,” her mother said.

  Ella didn’t even know where to begin, so full was her heart with thoughts of Charlie and the time they’d shared. All laced with sorrow at the rush of this. The decision. What he’d asked and what she needed him to know. Never had she felt so small and so on the verge of change.

  The children inquired about her time with the circus as if four years in Roanoke were much less fascinating than the last week and a half. Delighted by their endearing ways, she answered them, soaking in the sight of their faces—all that she’d missed.

  Yet she couldn’t be in two places at once.

  Her heart torn in so many ways, Ella was grasping at it, trying to put it back together in the only way that felt right. And that was with Charlie. She glanced out the window again to the closed barn door. It had almost been an hour now.

  Knowing she should do something to pass the wait until his return, Ella helped her mother wash dishes and put them away. Some things had been moved to new places which was making being useful a bit of a challenge. Especially with her thoughts circling around the men in the barn and how she was going to explain all this to her parents in a way that made sense.

  There was a clatter and a crash, and Ella turned to see that Beth had dropped a jar of beans. They splattered every which way. Ella knelt beside her sister and together they scooped them up. Her mother handed down a bowl and Ella filled it to rinse the beans. Seeing several under the table, she crawled over and plucked them up, lowering the handful into the bowl with a clang. She found a few more under one of the chairs and pointed to where Beth could fetch the ones that had rolled to the foot of the stairs.

  Ella went to straighten and hit her head on the table. The door opened. She rubbed at the spot and sat back, eager for Charlie.

  In the doorway stood her father. He stepped in…

  Closing the door behind him.

  Ella tried to stand but her legs didn’t move. “Papa?” When he looked down on her, she gripped the table’s edge and pulled to a stand. The room felt as though it tipped. “Where is Charlie?”

  Her father seemed to decide how to answer that. He held out an envelope and Ella didn’t move. She glanced to the window then back. He held the envelope out farther. She took it as she rushed to the door, her head light.

  “He’s gone, Ella. He left a few minutes ago.”

  No. She tugged open the door and hurried onto the porch, scanning the yard for some sign of him. Since they’d gone to the barn, she ran that way, crammed the envelope in her skirt pocket, and shoved open the massive door. Empty. Empty. Empty. Each stall.

  This place.

  Empty.

  “Charlie,” she breathed the word broken on a sob.

  She ran back out and turned in a circle. She started down the road. Running. Running as fast as she could. Please, God, let him be on foot. But there were no boot prints. Only that of a horse. Perhaps a galloping one. Her heart pounded and her head, so, so light, spun. Still running, she called his name again. And then again.

  Grief pooling in her chest, she couldn’t breathe.

  For the trail sighed empty. A great vast hush of it. Slowing hope to a halt and sinking her knees to the rutted path where fierce hoof prints spoke just what her father had. He’s gone.

  The land around her blurred and she saw nothing but his face. The whipping of flags rushed her mind. A sound that didn’t live here, save her heart. Ella bent lower, face twisting, and she remembered the coolness of an open field. His hand on hers. Those pale green eyes smiling. Fireflies and his whispered I love you.

  Charlie. She called his name. Tasting it. Needing him.

  His words from the trail rushed her. Do you think you might marry me? A question spoken so abruptly, she’d barely grasped it. But as each word tumbled into place, realization dawning—what he was proposing, giving her—she’d sought the answer. Though fast-blooming were the buds of these days and their time together, the root of him ran deep. One she could never pull free. He had to know.

  That yes. She would.

  A piece of her ripped away. A heaviness pulled her closer to the ground and she sobbed against her wrist. The air grew cooler then warmer as light danced, the breeze playing in the clouds…pushing all things on.

  Suddenly remembering the envelope, Ella sat up. She wiped her eyes with a sleeve then tugged it from her pocket and tore inside.

  She slipped out the single sheet of paper, hand shaking so badly that she couldn’t read it.

  Vision blurring, she had to wipe at her eyes again. More so at the sight of his tidy, masculine script at the top half of the page.

  Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden.

  And I will give you rest.

  Ella heaved out a sob.

  Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am meek and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.

  The paper trembled as she ran her finger over his words.

  Matthew 11:28-30

  She realized something was tucked behind the paper. She slid it aside. A postcard. The sketch of a Dutch landscape. Tears pooled and she squinted, forcing them to fall as she turned the postcard over.

  You are loved and you’ll not be forgotten.

  - Charlie

  C H A P T E R 3 3

  __________

  Late summer, 1890

  Charlie felt the sun warm on his face. Warm and hot and perfect. With his eyes closed, he could feel the wind ripple across him, wave the dried grasses. Laying there, Axel’s great side beneath his head, the lion’s stomach rose and fell in a quiet sigh and Charlie with it. In the crook of Charlie’s arm, snug against his bare chest, Holland slept peacefully.

  He was so content he could fall asleep himself, but he dared not, so he forced his eyes open and had to blink against the white light of noon, a glorious blue sky. He should be finishing packing. He had so much to load. But this moment was too precious. Until he got to Coney Island, Philadelphia was one of the few cities where the lions would be able to securely stretch and sun, even feel the grass against their fur. So he was going to delay as long as he could. Charlie closed his eyes again. His sigh matched Axel’s.

  Holland shifted. Her curls brushing his cheek.

  A man’s gravelly voice broke the quiet. “Crew wants to break this down, so I’ve been ordered to load ’im.”

  Charlie squinted one eye open and looked over
to see a roustabout just outside the enclosure. Careful not to disturb beast or baby, he hefted Holland to the center of his chest, pressed his hand against her back, and sat up. Her eyes didn’t so much as open when he rose to his feet. She’d grown over the last three and a half months but was still nothing to heft. She’d yet to take a step on her own, and with her first birthday just two weeks away, he knew that time wasn’t far off.

  He carried Holland out, and still holding her flush to his skin, thumbed a corner of his dangling shirt snugger into his waistband. He ought to put it on, but Holland was so comfortable, he ignored it. If the Madame saw him, she’d pitch a fit—for according to her, no one gets a free show. But there were no rubes around, so he simply went over the routine with the roustabout and made sure the man knew how Axel was to be loaded.

  “I’ll come back to check in once I get hitched up and the baby settled.” Charlie walked through the bare carnival grounds. Troupers milled about, getting ready to leave, no one giving him a second glance. People knew who he was here. He was one of many—all strange in their own way—and it was a rare thing indeed that he could be outdoors without his collar snug no matter the time of year. So he savored the late August breeze on his shoulders and Holland’s sleepy breathing as he walked to where he’d left his wagon.

  Tethered to the side of the green caravan, Siebel was nibbling grass, and Charlie grinned when he passed by Ruth whose mare looked a little rounder in the belly. He lifted a hand in greeting and Ruth scowled in that playful way of hers. They’d been pestering one another since they were kids. He supposed some things never changed.

  He knew she wasn’t all that mad—not that she had a right to be—since once they set out on the road, she would most likely offer to carry Holland a while. He always let her but had a feeling her intentions were more wifely than motherly, which made him a bit uncomfortable. Usually, he sought out Angelina or her sisters when he needed an extra set of hands. And when it came to Holland learning the feminine arts, he’d certainly be as choosey.

  As he walked on, Charlie blinked against the noon glow and thought of Ella. The way she used to hold Holland and walk beside him. He thought of what she might be doing. What she was thinking. If she was missing him.

  For he was surely missing her.

  The caravan had two full days of travel ahead. Two road-weary days and it would be that much closer to Holland’s birthday. Which meant it would happen while they were at Coney since they’d be there into September. And then the contract would be fulfilled. A light pooled in his chest, so bright that he nearly laughed with the feel of it. He was almost done. Almost free.

  The circus would soon turn south again, and as he’d told Ella, they would begin their descent for the winter. A few entertainers would head to east coast boardwalks, and while Charlie had done that himself in years past, he now spent his winters at the circus compound in Louisiana. Since Holland had come along, he was trying to learn how to settle down some.

  Last winter, while others in the circus lounged or peddled or even told fortunes, he’d spent three months breaking up scrap metal in a yard near New Orleans for fifty cents a day. Swinging a sledge hammer didn’t pay much, but it kept him strong and gave Holland a few quiet months away from the midway.

  It also meant he’d still be a pauper come spring, just as he’d been when he charged into that hospital in May. He smiled at the memory of Ella’s shocked face—she’d had a bundle in her hands. Busy little bee. He sobered at the memory of having but coins to pay. Then her kindness. Her goodness. The way she’d followed him that snowy day and showed them compassion. How she let him sleep on her floor—truly sleep—for the first night in days.

  He needed to stop this. His chest was constricting something awful.

  Charlie focused instead on hitching up the wagon. Regina settled on the back porch of the caravan with Holland. The woman’s black and white hair was pinned up in a high bun. Dark eyes bright and snappy. The pair of them prettier than any of the ornate carvings and trimmings.

  Charlie slid into his shirt then led both horse and wagon to his spot in line. A quick check on the lions, then he went back just as the caravan was setting off. The noise and busyness of Philadelphia behind them, he breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t much like this place. It only reminded him of losing Mimi.

  The day before, he’d visited her grave. Had let Holland crawl around awhile in the grass there. Her gripping the little stone to pull herself up to a stand. Charlie had sat near and ran his hands over the letters of Jessamine. Remembering how shattered he’d been. How he’d hated Lucca with every fiber of his being. First for the loss of Mimi, then for what he had done to his daughter.

  And as Charlie had sat there, Holland plucking up blades of grass, him turning a dandelion between his fingers, he’d prayed for God to take away his hatred of that man. That he could be free of the disdain that had him once lusting for revenge. Now with Holland in his arms and him determined to keep his sister’s memory alive, Charlie had simply asked Holland if she knew how beautiful her mother was. The baby had babbled at him, poking a finger in the grooves of Mimi’s name.

  Holland didn’t remember; she never could. So Charlie told her. And he would always tell her.

  He turned the memories over in his mind. Those of Mimi. Those of Ella. And he knew the two would have been friends. Mimi would have welcomed Ella like a sister, for that’s the way she was with everyone. And Ella…why, she’d have asked a million questions and Mimi would have answered every one as Mimi dearly loved to talk.

  A sting in his eyes, Charlie chuckled to himself.

  When Holland grew too fidgety for Regina, Charlie took her. The caravan rattled on. Pots and pans and baying animals. Children’s laughter. Birdsong and the breeze whistling through the spokes of the wheels. An elephant trumpeted.

  Charlie let out a contented sigh. One that became many as the miles wore on. He felt Holland in her sling. Wide awake, she was tugging at his shirt to be freed, so he swayed a bit as he walked, hoping to keep her content a while longer. Amazed once again at the notion of her walking beside him one day soon. Her small hand in his.

  The thought made his heart soar and ache at the same time.

  My, how she was growing. With her birthday near, Charlie had drafted up a contract. Not so much a contract, he supposed, but a statement of faith for the Madame to sign. He’d spent ten dollars for a solicitor to make sure it was binding. After poring over it, the solicitor had looked at him over thick spectacles and said it would be another ten because of the illegality of it. The latter sickened him, made him dislike the man quite significantly, and having no choice, Charlie had dug the money out of his pocket.

  Unable to stomach the man thinking ill of him or Holland’s fate, Charlie explained the story and the solicitor had appeared genuinely intrigued. So much so that next, he waved the extra rate.

  Charlie liked him a little more then. He’d walked from the office with a grin, a document he could rest in, and rather glad he had the knack for weaving a whale of a tale—even a true one.

  He hadn’t known how to legally adopt a child, and even then, was pretty sure he lacked what was required. He didn’t have a birth certificate and would bet anything that his last name wasn’t legal, either. Charlie had also asked the solicitor what he could do about that. A few more forms and fees and Charlie had been on his way to changing that.

  He was no one to anyone in this country, nor was Holland. The very reason Lucca had gotten away with the selling of her in the first place—a baby born in a tent last summer. Her first cries lifting the ears of tigers. She might have been a field mouse for all society knew of her.

  And Charlie didn’t wholly trust the Madame, so it was all he could come up with for some kind of assurance of peace. That and a hearty dose of prayer.

  Those prayers carried him the rest of the day, through the circling of the caravan. As the first stars appeared in the night sky, he pulled Ella into those prayers. Covering her and Hollan
d in the only way he knew how.

  Charlie carried Holland to the cook tent, filled a plate heaping with stew, and walked back to their camp where he settled the baby in his lap on the back porch of the wagon. He stabbed at the smaller bits, feeding her first before polishing off the rest himself. Regina was off visiting, and already he could hear the tuning of instruments. There would be music and dancing within the hour. Not in a dancing mood, he tucked Holland into her bed that he always loaded within easy reach. By the time she’d drifted off, Regina had returned.

  “Would you mind watching her?” Charlie asked, running a hand into his hair to try and set it to rights. “I won’t be gone long.”

  “Certainly.” Regina eyed him curiously.

  This was something he’d been waiting a long time for. He ducked into the wagon, careful to take light steps. He pulled on his waistcoat then ran pomade and a comb through his hair before looking for his papers, finding them just where he knew they’d be. With the documents folded in hand, he headed back out.

  Standing beside the wagon, Charlie felt Regina watching him as he buttoned up the waistcoat. He ran a bit of pomade into his hair and combed it off to the side. With no mirror he turned toward Regina. “This all right?”

  “Molto bello.”

  The night was warm, but he suddenly felt chilled. He slid his free hand into his pocket as he walked, then pulled it back out. Fingers running together, he tried to calm his nerves.

  In the distance, a guitar plucked along slow and sweet. Throwing romance into the air that still held the warmth of the sun. A song for the Gypsies. Vagabonds who had come from ancient India, Greece, Russia, and so many other places. Along with the guitar, a woman sang soft and low. Charlie didn’t catch all she said—but he recognized the Romany language, for his childhood memories were fragrant with those words and his mother’s pretty mouth. Her ebony hair and golden bangles.

  Missing his mother, Charlie lowered his head.

  The bohemian song was lilting as another woman joined in harmony. And he knew a love song when he heard one. Charlie looked in that direction as he passed. Firelight flickered off their tanned faces, little dark-haired children playing around. Just as he and Mimi had once done.