Heart Appearances (Truly Yours Digital Editions Book 560)

by Pamela Griffin

  Darcy chewed on her lower lip. She didn’t trust the boy either. There was something about the look in his eyes when she would suddenly turn and catch him watching her. As if he were waiting for a certain moment—though to do what, Darcy had no idea.

  “Then what’ll we do, Guv’ner? We can’t change the rules this late in the game. We’d look dishonest—promising the boys one thing and then not living up to our part of the bargain.”

  “I didn’t say that the decision would apply to all the boys. Only to Joel.”

  “I understand,” Darcy said impatiently. “But if we did such a thing, the others would think we don’t stand by our word. Maybe it wouldn’t affect them directly this time, but they’d remember what we did, sure as I’m standin’ here. And we may wind up with discipline problems because of it.”

  Obviously upset, Brent pulled off his glasses and cleaned the spotless lenses with his handkerchief. “Had I known Joel would catch up to the others, I might not have agreed to the idea. I sincerely didn’t believe he would win. You and I both know that Joel is just waiting for an opportunity to run. He talks incessantly of finding his father. Suppose he decides to escape while we’re at the carnival? What then?”

  “Michael will be with us,” Darcy countered. “The boys know better than to act up with him around.”

  “Yet suppose that doesn’t prove to be the case when Joel’s in a public, unrestricted area? Suppose the lure of freedom proves too powerful for him?”

  Darcy put her fists on her hips. “As for supposin’, suppose the sky falls down around our ears like it did for Chicken-Licken in that children’s book I read last year? Suppose a felon ambushes the wagon on the way to the carnival and holds us up? Suppose a blizzard hits the county—in which case, this conversation is moot because there wouldn’t be no carnival!” She shook her head. “You do too much supposin’ and not enough trustin’ in the Lord, Guv’ner.”

  Brent held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, the temples of his glasses dangling from his fingers. “Very well, Miss Evans. If Charleigh and Michael agree, then obviously I’m outvoted. Still, I want you to know that I’m not in favor of taking Joel.”

  “You’ve made that clear as windowpane glass. But I think we should give him a chance.”

  Brent gave an abrupt nod. “I have a test to prepare. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  ❧

  Days later, while Brent waited for Darcy and Michael to round up the three winners—Joel, Tommy, and Lance—he stared into the cloudless aquamarine sky and wondered again what he’d allowed himself to get into. He watched a formation of birds in their flight south. The scene reminded him of a postcard he’d seen recently detailing a fleet of ships in two neat rows, forming a V. He wondered about Bill and what he was doing. Had his desire to enter the seagoing life given him satisfaction? Or regret? Was he safe from the gangsters’ clutches?

  A door slammed, and Brent peered over his shoulder. Herbert leaned against the rail of the stoop, Lance next to him. Both redheads had their arms crossed while they talked. The resemblance between the two was striking. They could have been brothers, with their freckled faces and bright eyes full of mischief.

  Herbert’s expression was envious, but at the same time he seemed grateful. The dressing over his eyes had come off two days ago, and the doctor declared it a miracle that the boy suffered no permanent damage to his sight. He had commended Darcy for her quick thinking in rinsing Herbert’s eyes. Darcy had looked uncomfortable at the praise but nodded, saying, “It was Mr. Thomas’s idea. All the prayin’ every one of us did sure must have helped some too.”

  Brent thought about the young woman who’d come to the establishment a year ago. In fact, it seemed lately all he did was think about her. A truth that did little to please him. Twice in past months, he’d actually entertained the notion of courting her, then blinked at the absurdity of such an idea and quickly set his mind to the work at hand.

  Even now he envisioned her, with her entrancing eyes—as dark blue as the sky sometimes appeared in late autumn after the sun had descended far below the horizon. She’d finally adopted the habit of wearing her dark tresses up, as propriety demanded; but wispy tendrils often trailed at her temples and neck, giving her a delightful air of femininity.

  Again the door creaked open. Michael and the last two winners stepped outside. After several seconds elapsed, Darcy followed. Brent blinked, then blinked again, his heart skipping a beat.

  Darcy had dressed for the occasion in a cobalt blue dress with a white ruffled inset—obviously an outfit of Charleigh’s that had been altered to fit. Yet Brent couldn’t imagine it on anyone else. The dress appeared as though it had been designed for Darcy, bringing out the rose of her cheeks and the shine of her hair. The blue hat she wore added to the stunning picture.

  She stopped in front of him, offering him a puzzled stare. “Somethin’ wrong, Guv’ner?”

  Her inquisitive words snapped Brent from his daze. He realized an audience of four watched with amusement and extreme interest. Joel snickered. Brent turned a formidable glance his way and, for good measure, cut it to the other two boys so they would realize from the start that Brent wasn’t about to put up with any nonsense. He didn’t dare look at Michael.

  “Guv’ner?”

  Darcy’s soft query brought his attention her way. “No, Miss Evans, everything is splendid. Splendid. Allow me to help you to your seat.”

  Taking her soft, warm hand in his was a mistake, and Brent broke contact the second she was seated on the driver’s bench. He felt her curious stare but concentrated on taking his seat and slapping the reins on Polly’s back.

  Despite Darcy’s attempts at conversation, Brent continued to stare ahead, offering abrupt replies to any questions she presented. At last she gave up with a frustrated sigh and turned to watch the thick line of trees on her right while the wagon continued down the road.

  Michael and the boys had entered into some sort of rapid word game. Brent shook his head in amusement at the sudden laughter that erupted from the back when Michael missed his cue—probably on purpose in order to gain the lighthearted response he had. He would make a superb grandfather.

  Brent had never known his own grandparents. His only sister, Amy, older by eight years, once spoke about them from the little she remembered before they died. Yet they sounded too wonderful to be true; and as a child, Brent asked if Amy were inventing such paragons of benevolence. Whatever the truth, Brent wished he could have known them. Perhaps then he could better understand the concept of fun.

  Much later, he pulled the wagon alongside a row of other wagons and several motorcars parked behind makeshift buildings and tents that were part of the carnival. The sun shone pale from a sky that had turned grayish blue, and the distinct smell of roasted peanuts and something sweet made Brent’s mouth water.

  Unexpectedly, he found himself actually beginning to look forward to the adventure ahead. He decided he would do his utmost to relax and have fun—without sacrificing his dignity or principles, of course. Moreover, he would endeavor not to be stuffy, as the women had dubbed him—first Charleigh, then Darcy.

  “Well, my lads,” he said, turning to look at the boys with a wide smile. He removed his glasses and placed them in his breast pocket. “Are you prepared to embark on an exciting escapade—one that in all likelihood you shall never forget for the rest of your days on this earth?”

  The boys stared. Michael stared. Brent could feel Darcy’s stare.

  The smile slid from his face. Had he laid the ebullience on a little thick? Perhaps there was a proper way to relax and have fun—one of which he was unaware. Before the day was through, Brent determined to unveil the secret.

  Nine

  Casting Brent a peculiar look, Darcy grabbed the picnic hamper.

  “Leave it be, Lass,” Michael said. “We plan to return to the wagon at midday and eat our lunch.”

  “Of course.” She’d already known that, but Brent’s bizarre behavior had m
ystified her and made her act without thinking.

  “Besides,” Michael continued, “with five strong men to assist, you wouldn’t be thinkin’ we’d let a wee lass such as yourself carry even a small burden? Isn’t that right, laddies?”

  The boys responded with a loud chorus of “yessirs.”

  Darcy grinned. “Michael, you’re a peach.” She loved the old Irishman. He made her feel like somebody special, like his own daughter.

  Brent cleared his throat and stepped down. “Ahem, yes. Shall we proceed?”

  Darcy darted a somber glance his way, one he didn’t see. Brent would never accept her as a lady, no matter what she did to improve herself. Tommy slipped his hand into hers while the other boys scampered ahead. “Somethin’ the matter, Miss Darcy?”

  His earnest brown eyes held concern, and she forced a smile. “Nothing for you to fret about. Now, as Mr. Thomas so aptly put it—let’s have fun!” She squeezed his plump hand, and he grinned.

  At the entrance, a wide banner billowed with the frequent gusts of wind that beat against it and proclaimed in large block letters: RENWALDI’S PREMIER CARNIVAL. Darcy took her first look at the fair. Twin rows of tents and buildings stretched into the distance, sitting closely side by side. The buildings bore elaborately carved and painted fronts. Jewel-colored pennants waved from the top of many. On closer inspection, Darcy saw that the makeshift buildings were narrow in size, and the fronts were false.

  A wooden platform extended across the front of every building. One to three carnival workers—easy to recognize because of their outlandish dress—stood on each platform, facing the small crowds that gathered. From what Darcy could see of the aggressive barkers, they enticed anyone with “enough courage” to walk up the five steps and seek the mystery of what lay inside the buildings behind them.

  Monstrous mechanical gadgets packed with people whirled round and round. From somewhere within the circular contraption that bore decorated wooden horses, lively organ music played. Laughter, screams, and the sounds of machinery clicking and clanging punctuated the air. Darcy’s eyes widened when she noticed a machine built like a huge, spoked wheel. It slowly revolved and took people high—very high—to the top and then whooshed them to the ground again to repeat the process. Her stomach lurched just watching the spectacle.

  As they moved farther into the noisy, exciting, and somewhat frightening world, the sudden amplified voice of a man captured Darcy’s attention. She turned, and the boys followed, as curious as she. They made their way to the platform where a carnival worker stood and bent slightly toward the crowd of onlookers. In one hand he held a bamboo cane, which he waved about with a flourish while he spoke through a megaphone.

  “Hurry, hurry—step right up and see Carelli’s amazing freak show. The sights inside will astound you. The phenomenon within these four walls will mystify you. See Bruce, the strongest man in the world, lift five hundred pounds. That’s right, folks, I said five hundred pounds.”

  A hairy, well-muscled bald man, wearing no more than a leopard-skin wrap around his thick middle, stepped from beyond the red curtain in the arched center of the false-fronted building. Teeth bared in an awful grimace, he took a stand at the opposite end of the platform. He bent at the waist, held his thick arms bowed out like a gorilla, and growled. A woman onlooker in front shrieked and clapped her hands to her mouth, taking a step back into the growing throng of people. Her companion put his arm around her shoulder in reassurance.

  “See Lila, a true freak of nature, and only one of many abnormalities that lie beyond the crimson curtain,” the hawker continued. Turning, he gestured with his cane toward the entrance. A young woman stepped from behind the drape to stand on the platform not far from where Darcy stood.

  Darcy gasped, the rest of the hawker’s speech wafting over her like so much nonsense. Lila’s features were feminine, her ringed hands next to her full lilac skirts dainty, her body curved in all the right places. Yet she sported a full curly beard that matched her dark hair. For a moment, her thickly lashed brown eyes met Darcy’s sympathetic ones; the bold, indifferent look flickered—but only for a moment. The young woman lifted her whiskered chin and stared Darcy down until she looked away uneasily.

  “For only the price of a penny,” the hawker continued, “you can witness these shocking freaks of nature and more. But only if you dare.” At this, he flashed a wicked smile beneath his waxed handlebar mustache, revealing all his teeth. His last words were a certain lure to ignite every male’s determination to prove his courage.

  And the boys were no exception.

  “Let’s go in,” Lance cried. “I ain’t skeered!”

  “I want to see the freaks,” Joel said.

  “Can we go in, please, Miss Darcy?” Tommy asked, tugging her sleeve.

  “I, uh, don’t know,” she hedged, throwing a glance that cried “help” Brent’s way. He looked just as perplexed.

  “Perhaps we should find something else to do,” he suggested quickly. “It appears that there are many activities to see and do at a carnival.”

  Obviously he felt as Darcy did. Curiosity had lured them to listen to the hawker. Shock kept them rooted to the ground through the spiel. But neither wanted to see what lay beyond the crimson curtain.

  “Then again, it might do the lads some good,” Michael deliberated. “And make them grateful for what they have. I say we take them inside.”

  Brent and Darcy stared at one another. Michael usually got the last word.

  “If you’d rather not go, you can wait here,” Brent said, his tone apologetic. “Mr. Larkin and I can oversee the boys in such a confined space.”

  Darcy gave a slight nod, her gaze traveling to the bearded lady. With a haughty lift of her chin, Lila stared at the crowd ogling her, then turned on her heel and marched back through the curtain. The strong man followed.

  “No,” Darcy murmured before she could think twice. Something about the bitter woman with the empty eyes caused her to state, “On second thought, I think I’ll join you.”

  ❧

  Michael paid their admission, and they took the stairs up to the platform. The hawker held back the heavy velvet curtain as they stepped through the entrance.

  Kerosene lamps lit the rectangular room, and swaths of crimson and black material were draped in front of the lanterns, giving off a subdued glow and adding to the mystery. A rough wooden stage with a black curtain that shielded what was beyond took up one entire side of the cramped room, which smelled of newly sawed wood. Wooden folding chairs sat lined up front, and many observers had already taken a seat. Brent motioned to six free chairs in the fourth of five rows.

  Once seated, Darcy stared at the curtain. The hawker gave another spiel designed to get every heart pumping with fear of the unknown. Darcy almost changed her mind and left, but at that moment the curtain rose. She gasped, eyes wide. Seated on high stools for the people to gawk at were some of the most pitiful sights she’d ever seen.

  Besides the bearded lady and the strong man, there was a man so thin one could see his blue veins, tendons, and bones through his translucent skin. Two young girls joined at the hip were propped against the same stool. A man with a head much too small for his body looked dully out at the audience. A woman so short she would likely come to Darcy’s knees stood on one of the stools.

  The hawker ordered them to the front, one by one, in order to perform some act that emphasized their deformity. Darcy wrinkled her brow, and fear melted into pity. She watched when a scoffing older boy was given the hawker’s permission to pull on the bearded lady’s chin to see if her whiskers were real. The woman flinched in pain at the cruel tug. Nervous laughter filtered through the room.

  “I love every one of them, My daughter. And I want you to show them My love, as I have shown My love for you.”

  Darcy’s eyes opened wide when she heard the gentle voice deep within her spirit—the voice she had come to know this past year through time spent with Him. “How, Lord?”

&n
bsp; “Did you say something?” Brent whispered.

  Darcy shook her head, not realizing she’d spoken aloud. Again she closed her eyes and concentrated, but she heard no reply to her question.

  After the humiliating exhibit ended, the curtain lowered and the crowd was ushered outside. Annoyed, Darcy stood her ground. “May I speak with the others?” she asked the hawker.

  “The freaks?” he said in surprise. “Why would you want to speak to them? You a reporter? News reporters are supposed to go through the general manager, Mr. Carson.”

  “No, I’m not a reporter.” Darcy lifted her chin and stared him down, then reminded herself that ladies were supposed to be polite, as Charleigh had taught her. With difficulty, she forced her features into a pleasant expression. “I won’t take up much of their time. I only want to talk with them for a few minutes. Perhaps I could just talk to Lila?”

  “Sorry, Miss, but fraternizing with the freaks ain’t allowed.” He chewed on the stump of a cigar, giving her a level look. “But don’t you go botherin’ that pretty head o’ yours about them. They’s fed and well cared for, like all the other animals. So don’t you worry none.” With that, he strutted back to the entrance, twirling his cane as he did.

  Darcy stuck out her tongue at his back. She couldn’t help herself. When she realized she probably had an audience of three impressionable boys, she inwardly groaned and turned to face them, wondering how to explain her behavior. Thankfully their attention was engrossed in some dreadful ride on the midway.

  Sometimes it was so hard acting respectable, like a Christian was supposed to act. Like a lady was required to act. Sighing noisily, she joined the others. She hoped this particular ride wasn’t next on their agenda.

  ❧

  As the day progressed, they visited a flea circus, a crazy house of mirrors, and a penny vaudeville featuring a pair of limber dancers. With his flat feet, Brent had never been able to dance well, but he enjoyed watching the spectacle, as he admired all things of beauty.