Defiant Rose

by Colleen Quinn

  CHAPTER SIX

  “AYE, IS IT CARNEY, NOW?” The storekeeper wiped his fingers on his apron, then extended his hand toward Rosemary and proceeded to pump the life from her wrist. “Good to see you, lass! I didn’t need the clown suit to recognize you! I remember when you were just a tiny little thing, coming in here with your pa. You’ve been coming here every year since. I’ve watched you grow up.” He beamed from behind wire-rimmed spectacles, then cast a suspicious glance toward Michael. “Who’s that?”

  Rosemary managed a smooth smile. “Our new manager. He’s helping the circus to provide a better profit. Michael Wharton, Angus MacDonald.”

  “Pleasure.” Michael’s hand was also vigorously shaken. Glancing disdainfully at the clown suit, Michael reluctantly admitted that wearing it to town was a clever ploy. She was like a walking advertisement for the circus. It was unbelievable how well the disguise served her—there was no sign of the curvaceous young woman from the previous night beneath the gaudy costume and clown-white. There is something wrong with you, Wharton, he chided himself. But the sight of her in the candlelight, water glistening from her soft skin, was an image that wouldn’t leave him. More annoyed than ever, he shook off the shopkeeper’s grip, massaging his wrist to get some of the blood back in it while Angus turned to Rose. “How is the show? Old Griggs? I heard you got two more elephants. Aye, your father would have been proud of you.”

  “The show’s doing very well.” Rosemary grinned, pleased at his interest. “We’re gaining a larger audience all the time. I think last year we did about one hundred and fifty tickets here, but tonight, I plan to double that.”

  “That’s grand. You’ve worked long and hard, you deserve it. I suppose you want to come round back while we load up your order?”

  Rosemary nodded, then followed the shopkeeper to the rear of the store. They passed through a narrow doorway, into an enclosed area filled with crates, barrels of feed, cages of pullets, and pens of pigs. Hay glistened from one side of the enclosure like a wall of pure gold, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of straw and corn.

  “Well, if it isn’t Carney! How’s the troupes?”

  “Guess we’ll be seeing them all tonight at the Red Keg. Will you be drinking them under the table again, Rose?”

  “No doubt.” She grinned at the farmboys. They were stripped to the waist, carrying bound-up bundles of straw, but the sight of the little red-haired clown was like a tonic. Carney meant the circus, and the circus meant fun. “Weaklings, every one of them. Can’t hold their liquor any better than they can their women. And will you all be at the show, Jim Bob?” Rose asked.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” The tallest boy grinned. He reached out to ruffle her wig, his fingers tangling in the red mop. His grin died as her companion stepped closer, radiating disapproval. Clad in a stiff white shirt that was totally inappropriate for a warm June day in a feed shop, the man looked bored and impatient at the rustic’s cheerful comradeship.

  Rosemary’s cheeks heated, and she was grateful that the thick makeup covered just about anything. The sight of Michael towering over her in censure reminded her all too vividly of the previous night, when he’d caught her in the tub and dangled her nightgown in front of her. She gestured to Michael with the backward crook of her thumb, grateful for the excuse to stop thinking of her own reaction to him. “This is our new manager. He’s learning the circus ropes.”

  “You’ve got the best teacher in the world. No one knows how to run a circus like Carney….” Jim Bob’s voice trailed off as the stranger eyed him with cold animosity. Even Rosemary was puzzled by his actions. From what she’d seen of him so far, Michael was undoubtedly a prig, but he usually wasn’t openly rude. Shrugging, the farmboy joined Angus at the stall as the wagon backed into the square cut opening to be loaded.

  Michael walked disdainfully through the dark store, examining barrels and making notes in that damned book he always carried. Rosemary watched him with annoyance as he noted a price, then checked to be certain that it was the same as they paid in the last town. Figures were checked and double checked, the quality of feed noted, as well as sizes and amounts. Growing more embarrassed by the moment as the boys looked questioningly from the well-dressed stranger to Carney, she tried to smile but inwardly burned.

  Angus noticed Michael’s scrutiny of his goods. “Is there something amiss, lad?”

  “Yes.” Michael stopped, made a few more calculations, then indicated the feed. “Why are we paying top dollar for the oats and the hay? I notice you have a cheaper quality.”

  Angus looked at Rosemary, who looked mortified, then spoke in a barely controlled voice. “We always get the best feed. Circus animals are worked very hard and need to be well fed. It is a practice my father insisted on.”

  “Well, I don’t.” Ignoring her indignation, he gestured to a barrel of pale, crumbly oats. “This will do for the horses. And we can use the inferior hay. That should provide a fifty-dollar savings.” He grinned, pleased with himself, then pocketed his notebook.

  Rosemary cleared her throat as the farmboys looked at her questioningly, then favored Michael with less appreciative glances. In desperation she tried again. “The money is well spent. Our animals look the best, are always in good health, and able to withstand the travel and the rigors of performing. Zach even says—”

  “They don’t work as hard as farm horses, for God’s sake. And elephants in Africa don’t get choice feed, and they seem to survive just fine.” His eyes bore into hers, daring her to challenge him again. “As new manager, I’ve made the decision. Replace this order with the cheaper feed. Now.”

  The boys did nothing but leaned on their pitchforks and looked to Rosemary. New manager or not, it was Carney’s circus, and it was Carney they’d obey. Fighting back her anger, she was forced to nod and watch in dismay as they unloaded the barrels brimming with shining oats and replaced them with feed unfit for swine. Then she turned on her heel and marched out of the store into the blinding sunlight.

  Michael Wharton was a greedy, selfish tightwad. And no one was learning that faster than herself.

  The dram shop was next. Rosemary bolted out of the cart and into the dimly lit store before Michael dismounted.

  Inside, the shop was lined with shelves, and on them were bottles of every shape and size. Good wines imported from France and shipped from Philadelphia were proudly displayed, along with kegs of ale and casks of Kentucky bourbon. Rosemary nodded as the shopkeeper glanced up, his rimmed spectacles partway down his nose, and favored her with a warm smile.

  “Carney! I heard the circus was in town. I’ll be at the show tonight for certain.”

  “Thanks, Jack.” Rosemary unfolded a list from her clown suit pocket and placed it on the counter. “The usual, same as last time.”

  “Right.” The shopkeeper nodded to a small boy, who rushed to put several jars of whiskey into a crate, along with a sampling of ale. He’d succeeded in completing half the list when Michael strode into the store, pulverizing him with a glance.

  “What is all that?”

  The shopkeeper looked back up from his work, clearly annoyed. His glasses bobbed up and down as his eyes traveled to Michael’s frock coat, his pure white shirt, and his good trousers that still contained a pleat. Confused, he looked back to Rosemary, who was eyeing the stranger with undisguised annoyance.

  “This is our order. Whiskey, for the men.”

  “Put it back.” Michael waved his hand abruptly. The boy stopped with a whiskey keg, gazed from Rosemary to the shopkeeper, then back to Michael, uncertain of what to do. “You heard me! I said put it back.”

  Rosemary forced a smile between gritted teeth. “I’m afraid you don’t understand,” she said calmly, her voice strained. “Would you mind waiting a few moments?” she said to the boys. “I need to speak with our new manager—outside.”

  The boy nodded, placing the keg at his feet, certain of the outcome of this quarrel. The shopkeeper frowned, continuing to work on h
is books, but he favored Michael with a cold glance as the man walked out with Rose.

  They had barely reached the sun-washed road when Rosemary exploded.

  “What the hell are you doing now?”

  “We are not in the liquor business,” Michael said calmly, extracting that damned book once more. “I’ve added up the amount of money you’ve spent on whiskey, and the sum astonishes me. If the men want to drink, they can buy their own. Carney’s is a circus, not a brewery.”

  Rosemary bit her tongue, forcing herself to remain calm. “I suppose I should have explained this before. You see, my father made arrangements with the men to supply whiskey and beer during the season. In turn, they agree to show up sober for work, and not disappear into every taproom along the way. It’s the only way to keep the men working and the show continuing. We can’t afford to have them sitting in the local saloons when it’s time to perform.”

  She tried to sound reasonable, but Michael’s expression did not change.

  “That’s nonsense. When you pay a man a day’s wages for a job, you expect him to work when needed without coddling him with whiskey and beer. I’ll fire the first man who fails to show up for a performance. Believe me, that will end any such thoughts for the rest of them.”

  Rosemary glared at him, her fists clenched. “And what of Biddle? He has a drinking problem; surely you’ve seen that. Without the whiskey, he cannot function.”

  “Then let him supply his own. I’m sorry, but we simply can’t afford to be aiding every man’s addiction just to get him to work. Next you’ll want me to provide them with opium pipes and gin.”

  “But my father promised—”

  “Your father is no longer here.” Michael tone softened, but his words did not. “I’ll tell them, if that’s what you’re worried about. But charity begins at home, and we need to turn a greater profit. No more liquor.”

  Her face crimson, Rosemary marched back into the shop, her arms folded across her chest. Michael entered behind her and gestured to the boy. “I’m sorry, but we’ve changed our mind about the purchase. Please put all that back.”

  The spectacles toppled down the nose of the proprietor, and he glanced up in astonishment. “You can’t mean…Is there something wrong with the quality of the merchandise? I can assure you I stock only the best—”

  “No, it’s not that at all,” Michael began while Rosemary shrugged, mortified. “As the new manager of Carney’s, I’ve decided to cut any unnecessary costs. And whiskey is one of them.”

  “But Carney’s has always been one of my best customers! It’s in the circus tradition…”

  “This is the new tradition,” Michael said coldly. “I’m sorry, but if the men want to purchase their own libations, they are free to do so, and I am certain you will get their patronage. After the show.”

  He strode out of the shop, leaving Rosemary to face the storekeeper and the lad, who scratched his head in bewilderment. “I’m so sorry,” Rosemary choked. “If I would have known, I wouldn’t have had you go to the trouble.”

  “Don’t worry.” The shopkeeper gave Rose a sympathetic glance, then nodded to the boy to unpack the crate. “I have a feeling you’ll have a near riot on your hands when the boys hear. Clowns without whiskey. What’s the world coming to?”

  Lastly came the butcher shop. By now Rosemary was no longer speaking to Michael Wharton, and when he politely inquired as to why, she informed him that she was afraid to use too much speech, seeing as he might take it away. When that earned her a scowl, she retreated to a cold silence that was joined by his own. This time she gave Michael the order, determined not to be embarrassed once more.

  Instead of cutting it down or eliminating it as he had previously, this time he surprised her and actually increased the allotment. The butcher rushed to fill the order, while Rose stared in astonishment at the banker.

  “But…I thought you meant to cut down!”

  “I am.” He closed his book and indicated the list. “This isn’t enough food for the men.”

  “But Carney’s has always fed the men well! Good beef, chickens, potatoes…”

  “I have no doubt this was adequate.” He oddly stressed the word was. “However, I’m planning to make some changes in the performances. The employees will need their strength.”

  “What kind of changes?” Her initial instincts were right. Michael Wharton was not the kind of man to give away anything.

  “I’m going to go to two rings. Barnum is already doing it, and I think it’s the way of the future. The acts will have to double up.”

  “Wait a minute, these people are overworked now! You mean to double the work load without hiring anyone else? Have you gone mad?”

  Michael was outraged that she should question him so brazenly, especially with the butcher looking on, obviously interested in the outcome. He quickly escorted her to a corner of the shop.

  “We will discuss this further back at the camp. I will thank you not to argue with me in public. You agreed last night that I would assume the duties of manager, with your full cooperation, did you not?”

  Hot blood rushed to the surface of her skin, and she had to force herself not to kick him again. She nodded, fighting back tears as he studied her face to assure himself of her compliance.

  “Do you still agree?”

  “Yes.” She spat out the answer, more furious than ever.

  “Good,” he said, then returned to oversee the order, directing the men to the cart. Rosemary followed him, her shoulders drooping in defeat.

  There was nothing she could do. If she protested, he would simply start laying off people. She had no hope of compassion from him, particularly after William’s knife-throwing act. Even now, as he stood in the road, overseeing the order, he had an air of command about him that wouldn’t be easily persuaded.

  Rubbing at her eyes, she absently smeared some of her makeup with tears. The stinging clown-white got into her eyes, and she blinked, balling her fist into her face. She wasn’t watching where she was going and accidentally bumped into a group of people striding down Topeka’s Main Street.

  “Oh, my, what have we here?” A man’s voice chuckled, then stepped back to inspect her. “A clown! The circus must be in town.”

  Through a blurry haze Rosemary saw a well-dressed man with a woman on his arm. Clad in a white linen suit with a fashionable summer hat and a gold watch chain, he looked like a wealthy easterner out on a stroll. He assisted the woman to the side of the road with a gallantry Rose had never experienced, and helped her with her parcels. Rosemary gave the expected cheerful smile and quickly wiped away any trace of tears. No clown could ever be seen crying, particularly not Carney.

  “It is a clown! Wretched people, aren’t they?”

  The woman stepped back a few feet, eyeing Rosemary with disdain. Wearing a beautiful yellow day dress with a froth of lace ruffles at her throat and wrist, she looked like a tea cake and smelled as sweet in spite of the day’s heat. Her soft blond hair was swept up in a neat pompadour, and her bustle gathered behind her, tied with pink ribbons and flounces. She was a lady, a woman who’d never known a day’s work, but by her birth and breeding had access to a world Rose had only glimpsed.

  Fury swept through Rosemary. It was just too much. She’d had her privacy invaded last night, her position taken away, her beloved animals’ feed reduced, and the clowns’ liquor halted. She’d had to endure Michael Wharton’s presence the entire morning, and now she was mocked by this lady. She couldn’t help but compare her own bawdy costume with the woman’s elegant dress. She felt grimy beneath her makeup and woefully inadequate. Used to the city folk’s prejudice against circus people, she normally would have just moved on, but today the woman was a stark reminder of everything she was not.

  “No, we’re not wretched, and I can hear you perfectly fine. We’re people, just like you and himself there.” She gestured to the man, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

  “Why, it’s a woman! Who would have thought,
beneath all that greasepaint and that ridiculous costume!”

  The man shrugged. “Cocky wench, though she seems to have command of her vocabulary. Watch your purse, though. Charlatans, every last one of them, and this one likely a trollop as well.”

  Michael Wharton stepped between them. “Why are you tormenting the clown?” he asked in a cold voice. “If you wish to see the circus, I suggest you buy a ticket like everyone else.”

  Rosemary gaped in surprise. She glanced up and saw that Michael was furious. His eyes were like ice as he stared the man down, and the woman looked obviously frightened.

  “Let’s go, Harry. It isn’t worth the trouble. Remember Reno. You lost three teeth in that fight.”

  The man, his fists clenched, was weighing the situation. Michael met his look with the same cold gaze Rosemary had seen when he looked at her books. The easterner shrugged.

  “You’re right, it’s not worth it. Circus creature.” He took his companion’s arm and continued along their way without glancing back. Rosemary waited until they had gone before turning back to Michael.

  “What did you do that for?”

  His face had darkened, and he looked even angrier than he’d been at her. “Get in the cart.”

  Puzzled, Rosemary obeyed, still surprised by his actions. If she hadn’t been so angry with him, she wouldn’t have even answered their taunts. Circus people were used to this attitude on the part of the gawkers, city folk especially. It had started with inferior shows, was fostered with Barnum’s humbugs, and exacerbated by troupes that encouraged chicanery. It was an image Rosemary fought, but usually silently and not in a confrontation.

  Michael climbed in beside her, more formidable than ever. Rosemary sighed and gave up trying to understand him. Her mind went back to the man and the woman, and she couldn’t help the twinge inside of her as she pictured the way his hand had lingered around her waist as he helped her shop. Glancing down at her baggy clown suit, Rosemary fought the emotions that swelled inside of her. It was ridiculous, but she couldn’t prevent the uncontrollable feminine part of her that wanted to be treated as a lady.