In Search of a Memory (Truly Yours Digital Editions)

by Griffin, Pamela

  “Actually,” Angel said, “I was hoping you might have a job available.”

  “You want a job?” The short, thin man with mustache and goatee beyond the brass grille window looked at Angel strangely, echoing Roland’s thoughts. “At my carnival?” He looked from the luggage in her hand back to her face. “I can’t pay much, with the nation’s crisis being what it is.”

  “I don’t need much.”

  “You running away from something, young lady?”

  She hesitated, and Roland sensed it was because of his presence. “I’m looking for something,” she said at last. “Something I think I can only find here.”

  The man, who reminded Roland of a dignified magician minus top hat and tails, raised neat eyebrows in surprise. “I’m not sure what you think you may find here, but my carnival isn’t all fun and games. We take our work very seriously. If you haven’t any intention of staying longer than a few weeks, it would be best for both of us if you’d just leave the way you came.”

  “Oh, I can be serious. Please, sir. I need the work.”

  He seemed to consider and held up a thick roll of tickets. “My ticket girl ran off two days ago, eloped with another one of my workers.” He eyed her and Roland severely. “I can’t have any funny business going on. I don’t want to be left shorthanded again should you two not find the carnival to your liking and take it in your head to run off.”

  “Oh no! Y–you have it all wrong,” she stuttered quickly. “I hardly know this man.”

  “Is that a fact?” He eyed her matching brown luggage still clutched in Roland’s hand.

  “Yes. We met on a train, and this… gentleman came to my aid.” She hesitated with the word. “Please, give me a chance. I can sell your tickets. I’m good with managing money, and I get along well with people.”

  Roland held back a snort of disbelief.

  “Well, you do have an enchanting smile,” the owner drawled. “It helps to have beauty induce the tightfisted customers to loosen their wallets and buy more tickets.” He looked her up and down. “But selling tickets won’t be all that’s required. Each carny helps raise and dismantle tents and engage in preparations at each destination where we entertain. Likewise we work together in daily chores. Can you cook?”

  His words came fast, his question unexpected. She blinked, taken off guard. “A friend taught me how to do a number of things in the kitchen.”

  Roland wasn’t sure why, but he had the feeling she exaggerated.

  “Fifty cents a month comes out of your pay for board, another fifty for food. Like I said, I can’t pay much. A dollar a week.”

  She winced but nodded. “That’s not a problem.”

  “All right then, young lady, I’ll give you that chance. The ticket girl who ran out on me was in charge of helping with breakfast. You’ll also have that job. You can share a car with Cassandra. The living lot is the train at the back of the carnival. Her car is painted with a woman standing bareback on a white horse. Tell her Mr. Mahoney sent you. You start tomorrow, since this day is done.” He locked up a small strongbox. “It’ll be a relief to hand this job over to someone else and return to my office. If you need me, my car is at the head of the train.”

  “Thank you.” Anxiety melted off her. “You won’t regret this.”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  She turned to Roland, looking a bit sheepish. “Thank you, too.” She spoke under her breath so only he could hear. “I know I haven’t been the best company, and I wasn’t very nice when all you did was save me from that nasty situation earlier—both of them. But I’m not ungrateful. And I’m really not a brat.” She gave him the first genuine smile he’d seen, stunning him, and reached for her large case, which he still held. “This time it really is good-bye. I hope you aren’t late to wherever it is you were supposed to be.” She nodded in farewell. Her luggage in hand, she walked down the midway toward the tents shielding the carnival train.

  Flabbergasted by her change in attitude, Roland watched her go.

  “Something more I can help you with, young fella? In case you forgot, we’re closed for the night.”

  Roland came out of his semidazed trance and turned his attention to the owner.

  Foolish. Crazy. Absurd. He could think of endless words to describe what he was about to do.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have another job for hire?”

  Mr. Mahoney eyed the stylish cut of Roland’s expensive silk shantung suit. “You need work? You’re pulling my leg.”

  “Dead serious. I heard all you told Miss Mornay, about pay and board, and those numbers are fine with me.”

  The owner’s sly smile warned Roland he wouldn’t like what was coming. “Is that a fact?” the man drawled. “Well then, I might have just the sort of job for a strapping young fellow like yourself.”

  four

  Angel knocked on the railcar and stepped back to glance at the near-life-size mural of a slim blond standing atop a white horse. When no answer came, she set her luggage down and worked to slide back the door.

  “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” A woman’s irritated voice came from behind, and Angel turned to find the painted image in the flesh, rhinestone costume, feathered tiara, and all. “That’s my car you’re nosing around.”

  Angel picked up her luggage. “Mr. Mahoney said I was to sleep here.”

  The woman eyed Angel up and down. “You’re my new bunk mate? Hmm.” Her reply left Angel clueless as to whether or not she passed muster when suddenly a smile lit the woman’s face. “All right then. Come on in, and I’ll show you around. I’m Cassie, by the way. Horse trainer and bareback rider extraordinaire. What do you do for an act?”

  “I’m Angel. I was hired to sell tickets.”

  “That can be an act in and of itself, so I heard from Germaine. She was my bunk mate, now happily married and away from this joint. Watch your step. Let me give you a hand with those.”

  Angel gratefully accepted help with the luggage and grabbed both sides of the car to hoist herself up inside. Her new living quarters were sparse and cramped with two cots anchored one atop the other. But a row of sparkling sequin costumes hung in one corner, a woven blue and brown rug covered the floor, and a colorful oil painting of wild horses helped make things cozier.

  “You’re not planning on eloping, too, I hope?” Cassie teased, setting Angel’s large case next to a small, mirrored dressing table. “Seems I just get a bunk mate broken in, and she leaves.”

  Memory of Mr. Mahoney’s stern caution to her and the handsome rogue rescuer flashed across Angel’s mind. That made two people in the span of ten minutes suggesting she might elope.

  “I never plan to marry.”

  At her declaration, Cassie lifted one perfectly arched sable brow. “A pretty thing like you? Is that what you’re running from, honey? An unwanted engagement?”

  Angel stared back in shock at her accurate guess. “Running?”

  “Nobody joins a carnival unless they’re running from something or they were born into it, like me.” She gave a bright smile. “I’m part of ‘The Magnificent Death-Defying Hollars.’ ” She quoted the words painted on her railcar. “An act my parents started long before I came into the world. You might have heard of us?”

  “No, sorry. I never went to carnivals as a child—that is, not that I can remember.”

  “Really?” Cassie looked at her as if she were a strange new bug. “Hmm.”

  “You’ve been with this carnival your entire life?”

  “A good portion of it. My parents were part of a circus before the owners mismanaged it, and we came here.”

  Cassie’s explanation led Angel to hope. “Then you know the sideshow acts?”

  The pert blond laughed. “Honey, I’m well acquainted with all the carnies and showmen. From the vendor selling peanuts and pretzels, to the roustabouts, to the trainer of fleas.” She blushed, making Angel wonder.

  “Does a bearded lady work here?” Her question came out in a h
opeful rush.

  “A bearded lady?” Cassie tensed. “That’s a rather odd question. You looking for one in particular?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. She goes by the name of Lila. I’m…” She wondered how much to reveal and decided to be forthcoming. “I’m a relation.”

  Cassie regarded her with surprise. “Really?”

  She didn’t know it would be so difficult to say: “I’m… her daughter.” The daughter she abandoned and wanted nothing to do with. Not for the first time, Angel wondered what compelled her to hope her mother’s viewpoint might have changed.

  “Her daughter,” Cassie repeated softly, looking Angel over with curious shock before turning to the dressing table. Clearly she was amazed that Angel could descend from a woman with such an obvious flaw. Cassie sank to the stool. “I hate to disappoint you.” She slipped off her feathered tiara, took a jar, opened it, and applied white cream to her thickly painted face. “No one like that works here now.”

  “Then she did before?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” She moved her lower jaw to the side as she spoke, applying the cream, intent on her task.

  Angel’s expectations crumbled. “Perhaps she worked here years ago? I would have been with her. Fifteen or sixteen years ago maybe? I was only two, or three… I think. But she might have come back to join the carnival, though I’m not sure when. Maybe you might have seen her at some point these past few years?” Another ember of hope sparked. “Maybe she even told someone where she was going?”

  Cassie busily set to work wiping off the cream with a cloth. “Sorry. I was just a little girl all those years ago. As for recently… sorry.” She shrugged and set down the soiled cloth. “Other carnivals travel through the New England area, too. Maybe she’s with one of them.”

  Devoid of the bold cosmetics, Cassie looked a great deal younger than Angel had first speculated, close to her own age. Maybe she really was too young to remember Angel’s mother. Cassie swiveled around on the stool.

  “Aw, don’t look so glum.” She smiled. “If it’s meant to happen, you’ll find her. That’s what Mama Philena says. If things are meant to happen, they will. You’ll meet Mama tomorrow. She was a gypsy fortune-teller when the carnival first started but gave that up several years ago and has become a helper wherever she’s needed and a mother to us all.”

  She delicately slapped her palms to her thighs, seeming nervous. Angel assumed Cassie also felt unsure around her new bunk mate. “Now, let me fill you in on the goings-on of Mahoney’s Traveling Carnival and who and what you’ll find here.” Cassie stepped behind a half screen beside the rack of costumes. All the while she spoke of the “family,” rustles and bumps came from the opposite side. Her head popped up now and then, followed by one shiny article of clothing after another, slung across the top of the screen. Her white hand appeared and fluttered to reach and pull a distant garment from a hanger. Angel stepped forward and grabbed the cotton wrapper, handing it to her.

  “Thanks.” Cassie soon stepped out, tying the wrapper around her waist. She ran a brush through her hair, the curls just touching her shoulders. “Most of us retire early, once the customers have gone home and chores are done. We rise before dawn. It’s fun working in a carnival, but a lot of hard work goes into it to make it as entertaining as can be.”

  Not wanting to make any mistakes her first night there, Angel followed Cassie’s example and changed into her bed gown behind the screen. She brushed her teeth and hair then regarded the bunks with uncertainty. Cassie set down the brush and looked in the mirror at Angel’s image.

  “Yours is the lower one. I prefer the top. Helps me keep in shape for my act.”

  To Angel’s astonishment, Cassie swished around, jumped up, and darted toward the cots. She leaped upward like a gazelle, using her hand as a brace, her body forming a graceful sideways arc as she landed with ease atop her mattress, light as a feather. She grinned down at Angel, who gaped at her. “I know. I’m a hopeless show-off. It’s just in the performer’s blood, I suppose, and both my parents are Class A acts. Do turn down the lamp, won’t you?” She breezed her long, slender body beneath the blanket and laid her head on the pillow. “Good night, Angel. Don’t let the train bugs bite.”

  Angel chuckled and doused the light. She liked her bunk mate and hoped they might become good friends. Maybe she could find happiness here… and peace.

  “You can’t find peace in the world, child, till you find peace in your heart.”

  Nettie’s words of wisdom drifted into her mind. She still didn’t understand how her friend could believe in an all-loving and caring God, with so much suffering going on in the world. Still, it was Nettie’s wise words, some of them verses from her Bible, that Angel had found herself clinging to on the difficult days. The only thing she regretted about her hasty flight was not saying good-bye to her dear friend.

  Standing alone inside the huge tent, Roland stared with dismay at the stalls of animals, wondering how his life had come to this.

  Before him stood four beautiful grays, though they were not his problem. Their owner had just made it very clear he or his family would tend to all care of the champion horses. Three black ponies, assorted barnyard animals, and a baby elephant completed the unusual menagerie—all of them in his charge.

  “Is this a circus or a carnival?” Roland directed his question to the wrinkled gray beast that stood almost as tall as he did. How in the world did one take care of a baby elephant?

  “At least you know there’s a difference,” came a jovial voice from behind. “That’s a start. Not everyone outside the carnival world does.”

  Roland turned to see a short, barrel-chested man with a thin, waxed mustache and an infectious grin head his way. “I’ve been to both,” Roland admitted.

  “Impress me.”

  At the friendly challenge Roland took a guess. “A circus contains a variety of acts performed under a huge tent known as the big top. A carnival is a series of rides, games of chance, and sideshows along a midway, many of them rigged and containing acts of a far more sinister nature than anything one would find at a circus.”

  The newcomer raised his brows, not acting insulted by Roland’s straightforward explanation that made clear this wasn’t his first choice as a place to be. He’d had enough of sinister to last a lifetime.

  “Okay, so I’m impressed.” The man extended his hand, and Roland shook it. “You must be the new carny Mahoney hired. Pleased to meetcha. The name’s Chester.”

  “Roland.” He purposely left off his surname, relieved that Chester did as well, which prevented the need for excuses as to the omission.

  “Nice to have you aboard, Roland. Mahoney told me you’ll be sharing my car. My last bunk mate eloped with one of the ticket girls. It was his job Mahoney gave you.”

  “I’m overjoyed,” Roland said in a monotone.

  Chester laughed. “Aw, it’s not so bad. Jenny here is docile as a lamb and easy to take care of, aren’t you, girl?” He reached out and smoothed his hand over the elephant’s coarse trunk. Jenny curled it in a gray U, aiming her snout toward Chester. “You know me too well. And you’re getting downright spoiled, little lady.” He rolled his eyes when Jenny made a soft trumpeting noise. “All right then, find the peanut.” The end of her trunk pressed over his shirtfront then into the side of his jacket, slipping into a pocket. She fished the peanut out, with her trunk tip curled around the morsel, and brought it to her mouth.

  “Cute trick.”

  Chester eyed Roland’s own suit. “That’s some sharp duds you got there.” He quirked his brow. “Just why did you say you needed the work?”

  “I didn’t.” Roland took no offense at his genial probing. If he were in Chester’s shoes and a stranger showed up to work at a carnival wearing an expensively tailored suit, he’d wonder, too. “Long story,” he hedged. “I’d rather not go into it.”

  “There’s a number of those up and down the midway. Most of them hard-luck stories, with a number of us car
nies hiding pasts we’d like to forget. Some shady, some not so much. You’re right about your description of carnivals, though this one is private owned and also has shows and games acceptable for the kiddos. I’ll give you the lowdown on what to avoid. For the most part, the performers and other carnies are a good bunch; you’ll know soon enough who’s a shyster. Isn’t that right, Jenny?” He stroked her gray wrinkled head.

  “Is Jenny part of your act?”

  “My act?” Chester laughed. “No. Jenny here is a recent addition Mahoney & Pearson acquired. Her owner’s an Arab kid. Doesn’t speak good English, but he’s nice enough. One of the circuses split up a few years back, and some of the acts signed on here.” He patted the elephant high on the trunk again. “Me, I deal in the tiniest of critters in the animal kingdom, if you could call it that. I own a flea circus.”