by Oliver, Tess
“That’s the last kind of man Emma needs to be throwing herself at.” I buckled the narrow strap on my black patent leather shoes. They had a small row of silver beads curled around the two inch heels. They were the one frivolous thing I’d allowed myself to buy that was new and fashionable.
The generator had been shut down, and only a few gas lanterns and the stars above provided light outside the tent. The carnival looked like a ghost town where an extremely messy herd of phantoms had washed through, littering every open speck of ground with paper wrappers, soda bottles and crumpled handbills. The crew would have to be up early to clean before the next wave of mess.
The two tall figures waiting near the main tent were easy to recognize, the Jarrett brother with unruly black hair, who was as tall and broad as Hector, the strongman, and the nearly as tall brother, whose straight posture, fine build and handsome face made him look as if he’d walked out of a fine mansion in Manhattan. Tiny red sparks trailed from the ends of their cigarettes as they waited for Rose and me to walk toward them.
“They are a fine looking pair, aren’t they?” Rose whispered.
“You at least look ready for a night out. My very non-spectacular dress is going to look sorrowful next to his crisp black suit.”
“I’ve seen the way that man looks at you, Charli. Don’t think he’ll be noticing your dress.”
Shyness was rare for me, but one glance from Jackson’s intense blue gaze and my tongue deserted me. Rose, on the other hand, took hold of Gideon’s arm and led him confidently toward the exit. Stomach butterflies? They’d either flown off quickly or I’d been had.
Jackson and I walked behind them without a word, until he broke the awkward silence with small talk, something that we hadn’t tried yet. “You look very nice.”
“Thank you, but I’m feeling rather frumpy next to the rest of you tonight. I don’t really have glad rags for a night out.”
“I like the dress. Besides, I’m sort of relieved.”
I turned my face to him. “Relieved?”
“I’ve met you riding a giant horse through the forest with your dress hitched up your thighs.” He leaned his head closer. “Riding attire I heartily approve of, by the way. The next time I met you, you were wearing a man-eating snake like a scarf. A look, I’m not as keen on. And just an hour ago, I saw you again as you exploded out of nowhere on a shiny red motorcycle wearing not much more than a sequined handkerchief. Again, my hearty approval on that particular outfit. I wasn’t completely sure what would happen on this fourth occasion. Sweet and pretty, I like it.”
“Glad I didn’t shock you too much this time. But if we want to be accurate, this would be our fifth encounter. We met when our truck was pulling into town. And that brings us back to the first few times I saw you, equally interesting, but I don’t feel the need to describe those moments or comment on your attire . . . or the lack thereof. I’m sure you remember it all well enough.”
“I do.”
Gideon and Rose were a good fifteen feet ahead.
“Turn left onto the road,” Jackson called to his brother. “There was no room to park when I got here tonight. Why didn’t you tell me you were The Enchantress?”
“I guess it never came up.”
“It never came up because never in a million years would I have expected it.”
“But you knew The Enchantress was a woman?”
“Yes but— I guess I was expecting someone a little less—”
I peered up at him questioningly. “A little less—?”
“Well, less womanly.”
I laughed. “That’s what might be referred to as ignorance.”
He was quiet at first, and I was about to apologize for once again shooting stinging words at him. Then he laughed. “I’d say you’re right on that. I’ll have to work at being more open-minded about things in the future.”
We reached the car. The rest of the carnival attendees had gone home and, aside from a few unseen critters moving around in the dried shrubbery, the roadside was deserted. Rose and Gideon seemed to be thoroughly enjoying each other’s company, and I couldn’t have been happier for her. She needed a little romance in her life, something to keep her from dwelling on her broken heart.
Jackson opened the door for me, and I climbed into the backseat. He walked to the front to crank the motor for Gideon and then scooted onto the seat next to me. Rose hopped into the front seat, and we were off.
Rose turned back and winked at me. The grin plastered across her face made the whole night out worth it. “Are you planning on dancing tonight, Charli?”
I looked over at my date. He was waiting for a response.
“I don’t know. I’ve forgotten how tiring opening day can be. Especially when my act comes at the end of it all. I was just sort of imagining myself sitting at a table, listening to music and sipping on a Mary Pickford. Do they make them at this place we’re going to?”
“The bartenders at Breakers have been running juice joints for awhile. I’m sure they know how to make one.” Jackson smiled at me. “I should have figured you for a sweet drink kind of girl. Although, I suppose it would be stupid, or ignorant, to figure anything about you. There seems to be a surprise around every corner.”
“No more surprises tonight.” Oncoming headlights splashed light into the dark cab of the car, illuminating Jackson’s face and reminding me just how incredibly handsome he was. It took me a second to gather my thoughts again. “Tonight it’s just little ole me in my frumpy dress and slightly fancy shoes sipping sugary, sweet drinks.”
He looked down at my feet. “I do like those shoes. But I think you could end off those gams with just about anything, and they’d look fine.”
I blinked up at him. “My goodness, you sure are practiced at those sugarcoated compliments, aren’t you?”
Gideon’s laugh rumbled off the front windshield. “She’s got your number, Jacks. You’ll have to try a different tack.”
Jackson shook his head, looking slightly embarrassed, which was probably not something he was used to. For a second it seemed his brother’s comment had shamed him into silence. I was wrong. “Not a problem. I’ve got more tacks than a sailor in a hurricane.”
Laughter filled the car. Charm and fine looks was a lethal combination, and Jackson Jarrett had both in quantity. I would have to keep my feelings guarded and not let my feet leave the ground. No matter what happened between us, I needed to remember that in six weeks I’d be packing up and leaving the charming and fine looking man for good.
***
The melodic but rambunctious sounds of brassy instruments, bass strings and drums vibrated the walls of the dark, somewhat dank speakeasy. Jackson explained that the building had been a library at one time, but a fire had consumed all the literary contents, leaving behind only the brick walls and charred skeletal remains of bookshelves. What was once a burnt out shell was now several good sized rooms lined on all sides with round tables. Several gleaming counters stretched down the middle of the large front room.
The patrons were dripping with glad rags. Men were clad in fashionable wool and tweed coats, starched white shirts and every style of hat. The lights above reflected off the black and white polished patent leather of their shoes as they leaned over counters and relaxed back on the chairs. The women’s shimmery jewel-toned dresses glistened with silk adornments and glass beads that quivered as they chatted, laughed and took sips from stylish glassware. The aura of camaraderie was palpable. Everyone there, no matter who they’d walked in with, had the same sense of community, a group of young people mocking the rules handed down from the stout chinned men on Capitol Hill. We were all part of the same clandestine group who believed our rights had been trampled. Toasts and glasses were lifted all over the place in a show of freedom.
Jackson spoke quietly to the man at th
e door, who let us in without so much as a second glance. We were then led to a table in a corner close enough to see the band but far enough not to have to scream over each other for simple conversation.
Jackson pulled a chair out for me. Gideon did the same for Rose. Jackson sat down and leaned over. “I ordered you that Mary Pickford.”
“Thank you. Do you come here often?” I asked. “It’s just the table came suddenly available, and they let us in without the usual password.”
“I don’t come here all that much, but I work for the owner.” He clamped his mouth shut. It seemed he wanted to take back what he’d just said.
It took me only a moment to put together the puzzle. “That man, Griggs, he’s the owner?”
Jackson nodded. The evening had been nice thus far, and I decided to drop the subject. Jackson didn’t look as if he was keen on talking about his relationship with Griggs. And, truthfully, neither was I.
Even though she’d done three dance shows, Rose was anxious to cram onto the small dance floor between the crush of bodies twisting and gyrating to the beat of the music. It took Gideon three whiskeys to loosen up enough to agree.
Jackson and I both looked at the overcrowded dance floor with the same grim enthusiasm. I had no real desire to leave my chair or my extremely tasty drink, which I sipped with slow delight. More than one woman had stopped by the table to say hello, and, each time, Jackson had quickly introduced me as his date. It took off some of the irritating edge of having a seemingly long string of pretty, well-dressed girls flounce over to interrupt.
Jackson pulled out a cigarette and offered me one. I declined. “Do you mind if I have one?” he asked.
I swept my gaze pointedly around at the smoke clouded atmosphere above our heads. “I don’t see how one more can hurt.”
It was his faint smile that I found the most appealing. It always gave an impression of a man who liked to laugh and smile but who’d seen enough sadness to keep him from taking things too lightly.
He took a long drag on his cigarette, leaned back on his chair and eyed me through the stream of smoke. “Who taught you to ride a motorcycle?”
It was a question that came up often, and even though it always carried with it that terrible memory, I’d learned to answer it without going into too much detail. “My mother used to be the stunt rider for the show. After she died,” I said the words quickly, plainly, as if I was mentioning the weather, “I stayed with Buck. I had nowhere else to go. My real father died of a heart attack when I was five. At first, Buck tried to sell off the sphere. There was no one to ride in it, and it was a drag on profits. It takes two trucks to move the thing. As a teenager with no real skills except helping the other carnies clean-up after the show, I was a drag on the profit as well. Buck was going to have the sphere dismantled and destroyed, which felt like a stab in my heart. It had been my mother’s stage. I decided to continue her legacy by learning to ride. With a little help from Dodie, our show mechanic and master fiddler, I managed to learn the tricks and pick up where my mother left off.”
He took a sip of his whiskey. “Master fiddler? Was that the man playing before you performed? He was talented. Unfortunately, the crowd made it hard to hear him clearly.”
I was absurdly thrilled that he had noticed Dodie’s playing. It gave Jackson another layer that I hadn’t expected. “That’s him. Dodie’s had an interesting life—”
“Jackson Jarrett!” A man who was clearly drunk stumbled toward the table. He was in his early twenties with a long, narrow face and physique to match. His lids looked as if there were weights on them, and he used our table to keep upright.
“Harold, either this room is tilting or you aren’t walking straight,” Jackson said. “You look and smell as if you’ve been swimming in a tub of gin.”
“Something like that.” With a shaky arm, the man managed to find his forehead for a military salute. With some effort, he trained his unsteady focus on me. “You do realize that you are sitting with a war hero.” His words were long and stretched but quite comprehensible.
And they made Jackson stiffen. He sat up straighter on his chair. “Harold, you ought to find a ride home. Where’s Betty?”
Harold’s eyes closed for longer than a blink, and I half-expected him to fall face first onto the table. He opened them again. “Betty closed the bank on me.” He waved his arm, and the movement nearly swept him sidelong into the next table. “She wants to get hitched. Told her I didn’t need to walk no middle aisle for any woman right now. We’re through.” He swayed on his feet for a second and held onto the table edge for support. “Our Jackson, here, earned himself a shiny hero’s medal in France.” He tried to point at Jackson but gave up and lowered his hand again to hold onto the table.
I looked over at Jackson. His jaw was clenched tight. “All right, Harold, go dry up somewhere, would ya? Why don’t you ask the barkeep for a cup of Joe, eh?”
Harold’s gaze swept my direction. Again, the movement nearly toppled him sideways. “See, he doesn’t think it’s a big deal, our Jackson.” He pointed sloppily at Jackson again. “But those bleeding boys you dragged out of those ditches thought it was a big deal.” Harold pressed his hand against his side. “He even took a bullet pulling them out of there.” I thought back to the first time I’d seen Jackson. Rose had brought up the scar that she was sure was a bullet wound.
Gideon and Rose returned to the table. Jackson seemed more than relieved to have the conversation interrupted.
“Big six!” Harold leaned over to get a full look at Gideon and stumbled back. “How are you doing, big six?”
Gideon held back a smile as he pulled out a chair for Rose. “Apparently, not as good as you, Harold.”
The unsteady finger pointing returned. It seemed to help Harold focus on whoever he was talking to. The finger came toward me. “You know why I call him big six?” He answered himself before I could put forth a guess that it had something to do with Gideon’s size. “It’s because Gideon Jarrett is the strongest man I know.”
Rose covered her mouth to keep back a laugh.
“I’ll let you all get back to your date. I need to sit down so the room can stop spinning,” Harold muttered and wandered unsteadily away.
“Will he be all right?” I asked.
“Sure. After a long night of throwing up, he’ll be fine.” Jackson put out his cigarette. “This joint is closing in on me. It’s a warm night. Palmer’s Mill is just a mile from here. Would you like to take a walk, or are you too tired?”
I glanced down at my shoes. They were definitely pretty and definitely highly impractical for a walk.
“That’s right. I forgot your glittery shoes.” He turned to Gideon. “Do you mind if we take off with the car for an hour? Then we’ll swing back to pick you up.”
Gideon looked at Rose, who looked more than happy to have the man to herself for an hour, even if it was inside a crowded club. Jackson’s brother seemed just as pleased with the prospect.
Jackson took hold of my hand and navigated a path through the dancers and drinkers. Like he had mentioned, it was a warm night, but there was still a stark difference between the thick, almost misty, atmosphere of the speakeasy and the fresh night air. A tiny shiver shook my shoulders.
“Are you cold?” He went to take off his coat.
“No, I’m fine. It actually feels refreshing. The air inside was making me a little sleepy. We’ve been up since dawn getting everything ready for opening day.”
He pulled his coat back onto his shoulders.
I smiled at the gentlemanly gesture. It was easy to believe that the tall, handsome and extraordinarily confident man next to me had been a war hero. “Thank you, anyway.”
I climbed in while he cranked the motor on the Model T. It wobbled side to side as the motor sputtered and chugged. He climbed in, took off his fedora
and combed his fingers through his hair. He dropped the hat into the backseat and grinned, almost shyly at me. Again, I smiled.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Nothing. It’s just that for a moment there you looked like a boy going out on his first date. Sort of comical, considering it’s you.”
He faced the road. The lines on the side of his mouth creased with a lazy smile. “This date is different. I’ve never gone out with an Enchantress before.”
“I promise not to cast any spells on you.”
“Too late.” He looked at me. There was no smile or humor this time. “You have me completely bewitched already.”
It was my turn to look shyly away. He’s a practiced sweet talker, I reminded myself.
The landscape passed by in dark, billowing shadows of overgrown shrubbery and trees that had grown unmanaged and unfettered for years. The only sign of life on the vast stretch of land was the occasional hanging silhouette of a massive owl floating down to nab some unsuspecting field mouse or rabbit.
“You don’t like to talk about the war much,” I said breaking the silence. “Can’t imagine how hard it was.”
He didn’t say anything, but his throat moved with a swallow beneath the white collar.
“Forgive me. It was a mistake for me to bring it up.”
He pulled the car off on a rough swath of road. I clutched the door to keep from being tossed around.
“I was nineteen,” he said quietly. “I thought I was invincible when I signed up. Tough as nails, as they say.” A sad chuckle tumbled from his mouth. “It took me a few long months on the front-line to knock me back down to earth.” He pulled the car along a path that traveled parallel with a quietly meandering river. A half-moon showered an old mill and the surrounding water with silver drops of light. The mill’s imposing wheel stood stock-still in the slow moving water. The mill’s wood siding, bleached white from the elements, seemed to glow in the dark. A thick carpet of green moss that looked almost teal-blue in the starlight softened the rough, splintered edges of the deserted structure. That same lush mound of moss lent its ripe, verdant aroma to the surroundings.