Mammoth Secrets

by Ashley Elizabeth Ludwig

  Wonder surged as she waited for him to finish.

  “Sorry I brought you out here.” His words fell gruff, his voice betrayed the pent up bitterness. “I’m sorry I promised anyone I could help change things. I can’t even help myself.”

  “It’s not you, Jake.” She shadowed him with her body, wrapped her arms around his hunched shoulders. “It’s this place. It doesn’t want to change any more than it wants to grow. In spite of its name, or maybe because of it, Mammoth is just what it’s always been. A blip. A place people drive through—the middle of the map. Bull’s-eye.”

  He jerked to meet her gaze then slid his attention back to the shattered floor.

  “Sometimes you just have to let a dream die, you know?” She touched his jaw with gentle fingertips, and reeled him back to her. “It’s time to wake up, and deal with the cold, hard reality. Who cares if God intended you to come here, or sent you here in a crazy game of chance? How you handle it is your choice.” Lilah sidled up next to him and elbow nudged. “I’d have aimed at Hawaii.”

  He tilted his attention down to her waiting gaze.

  A wave of warmth washed over her, the total focus he had on her. This was their moment.

  “Pulling out all the stops to make me feel better, huh?” He dusked a hand through her hair, cupping the back of her neck. “Because, if so, you’re doing a lousy job.”

  She pushed back, made space between them though remaining in the protective circle of his embrace. A jolt of longing, a magnet pull drew her mouth inches from his. His breath warm, scented vaguely of mints he favored, mingled with her cherry lip balm. “I’m so wrong for you, Jake. Why are you the only one who doesn’t see that?”

  He was warmth and light and fire. She sensed his need for her. Theirs was a loose connection, a live wire, sometimes solid, other times, vapor. She couldn’t let him go or it would fall cold, fizzle to embers as everything else in her life had so far.

  “So, what now?” His green eyes flashed with heat, as much as confusion, and consequences. They were both free, and yet, shackled to the choices they’d each made in their mutual journeys.

  “I’m telling you, even though you might not want it to, life moves on. You get a do-over, and it’s what you do next that counts. So, Pastor Gibb. What do you want to do next?”

  “Can’t I just sit here and mope?”

  She shook her head, drew him to stand. “You organized this party, got more of a crowd coming than either one of us could have hoped for after yesterday.”

  “So, where are we gonna put them, oh, Miss Party Planner?” He fought a growing smile and cupped her face. “Yesterday you insisted you were all wrong for me, for the church, for everything. Know what I see today?”

  “No.” She kissed his mouth closed. Shivers ran head to toe as her arms draped his neck. “And don’t you dare tell me.”

  “Why on earth not?” Jake’s gaze heated her to the soul. “I know mistakes. I’ve made more than my share. This doesn’t feel like one.”

  “Whoa there, cowboy.” She pushed back against his chest. “We’ve not even been on a proper date yet, there, Pastor Gibb.”

  “I took you fishing.” His smile jogged her heart, but she stood firm.

  “I seem to recall it was the other way around.”

  “What about the carnival?”

  “Just your attempt at slaying the spirits of the faithful into joining your revival crusade.” She pouted. “I had to win my own panda and everything.”

  “Fine.”

  They slow danced to the music of the breeze. Clouds raced.

  The tattered tent waved its surrender as he spoke again. “I promise, when we’ve dissected your brilliant idea and put it into play, then I’ll take you out to a real restaurant. One without spinning stools and Formica tables.”

  “Before you go waxing rhapsodic...” She turned toward the carnival grounds, even now bustling with visitors in spite of yesterday’s storm. “This might be the biggest hare-brained idea since putting a couple of tents on the hill.”

  “Yeah, that one didn’t go so well.”

  “Hey, you thought that w—”

  He silenced her with his mouth, their arms anchoring each other from the storm that already passed, and the one yet to come.

  32

  Lilah trudged downhill toward the carnival, Jake following at her heels.

  Off the beaten path, he let her lead.

  She headed straight through the scatter of trucks, around the back entrance, and past the ticket-takers, not even pretending to purchase entry into the Reunion grounds. A large bouncer with “Security” in block letters across his pocket, munched on what she recognized as an Earl’s Kitchen Panini sandwich. “Can I help you?” He wiped his chin clean of what looked like her garlic aioli sauce.

  She took a step forward. “We need to get in, please.”

  He halted her with an incredibly large hand to the shoulder. “Entrance is around the other side, ma’am.”

  “I’m not here for the carnival.” She eyed the towering security guard with a hooded stare. “I need to speak to Mr. Randall.”

  The guard wiped a hand over a stubble-covered jaw, checked his list. “Your name?”

  “Lilah Simp—I mean Dale. Lilah Dale.” She cleared her throat. “I won’t be on your list, though. He doesn’t know we’re coming.”

  “Go buy a ticket, like everyone else, then.” The guard straightened, closed his silver clipboard, and picked up a soda can.

  “How’re you enjoying that?” She stood tiptoe, observing the combination platter. “It’s better if you order it with the roasted peppers.”

  “They said you were fresh out.”

  “Of roasted peppers?” She sniffed, turned to Jake. “Eden just didn’t want to melt her nail polish roasting them.” Hands on hips, she stared down the guard. “I tell you what. I’ll send you another one tonight, with an extra serving of sweet potato fries. And, if you love it, another one for every day you’re here.”

  “Who are you again?” The burly man considered his sandwich, as if imagining it as described.

  “Earl’s Kitchen? That’s where your lunch came from, right? It’s my place.”

  He shrugged. “OK. Go on in, but I warn you, Mr. Randall’s none too happy with those Mammoth folks who dragged him away yesterday. Not by a long shot. He’s thinking of pulling stakes up, early.”

  “Thanks.” Lilah hurried inside, Jake on her heels. She turned as he fell into step beside her to the large RV. “What do you suppose that was about?”

  Jake shrugged. “I don’t have a clue. Luke took him and the others to the gym, yesterday. I doubt he dragged him, though.”

  She trotted up the small staircase and rapped on the door. Hollow footsteps trod from the back, paused. The lock flicked, and the teenage girl she’d seen at the diner the night before leaned out. “Can I help you?” The girl dragged an errant camisole strap up onto her shoulder.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Randall.” Lilah cleared her throat. “Is he in?”

  “He’s passed out.” She shrugged, stepped back. “I’ll see if he wants to talk.”

  They followed her up the steps and into the grand looking room. To the right, the steering wheel and dashboard was hidden with a large cover, the windshield drawn tight with matching gray shades. The left was a mansion on wheels. On the hardwood floors, a scatter of rugs, and long hallway to the back. The walls were graced by framed artwork—photographs of landscapes, devoid of people. A low-lit chandelier hung over the dining area, a splay of expensive furniture in the deceptively large room. A spicy candle licked the air, filling the trailer with scents of amaretto over acetone.

  “Sit down if you want.” The girl pointed to a leather couch.

  The television was tuned to a daytime talk show, volume low.

  Lilah noticed the remnants of a manicure in process at the dining table. Beyond the galley kitchen, the girl stepped through to the back of the trailer, holding her hands out, freshly painted finge
rtips splayed. She blew on them as she walked.

  “What are we doing here?” Jake whispered.

  Lilah shrugged, sat gingerly on the seat as directed. “Give me a second. I’m thinking.”

  “...OK. I’ll tell them.” The girl’s words drifted ahead of her. She stepped across the carpet onto the hardwood, sat back at her manicure station, and propped a foot up onto the seat. “He’ll be out in a second.” She brushed her toenails a bright shade of pink.

  “Thanks.” Lilah cleared her throat, failing to remember the last time she’d given herself a pedicure.

  “So, where’d you two spend the tornado?” She dipped her head, viewed them from behind a curtain of her hair.

  Jake cleared his throat. “We were, uh, in a storm cellar.”

  “Together? Sounds cozy.” She painted another stroke on her pinky toe. “Dad wanted us to stay here. Said it was safe enough. Then, the ambulance came and took us to the high school.”

  “That was Luke.” Lilah screwed her lips at the sharp uptake from the kid. Luke was a looker, after all. Interesting. “So, Maya, is it? What grade are you in?”

  “Don’t go to a real school.” She thumbed toward a stack of binders and texts on a small desk. “If I did, I’d be a senior.”

  Her wistful tone got Lilah thinking. “You rode out the tornado at the high school gym?”

  “Yeah.”

  “See any cute boys?” Lilah picked up a bottle of green polish, unscrewed the cap. She painted her thumbnail with a long swipe.

  “Yeah.” A secret smile shot to Maya’s lips. The slice of girl-talk jogged something within her. “There was one shooting hoops. Tall, built. I’ll keep my eye out for him on the midway.”

  “Sounds like Andy Phelps.” Another fingertip painted emerald green. The color of Eden’s prom dress. “He’s not dating anyone right now, is he, Jake?”

  “Um.” Jake crumpled his forehead, and turned back to Maya, his own face blank. “I don’t think I know him.”

  Lilah smiled back to Maya. “He just moved here. Barely knows anyone.”

  “You two got together quick, then?” Maya looked from one to the other.

  “We’re—um—hey, you thinking about college?” Jake interjected, obviously a bit out of place with the nail polishing and girl talk.

  “Nice idea.” Maya shrugged again. “Carnival’s a family business. No college I couldn’t do online, anyway. Already got twenty credits toward my degree.”

  “That’s great,” Lilah offered. “So, if you want, I can let you know if Andy’s coming tonight. Wait, that’s right.” She tapped her teeth. “Tonight’s the Revival.”

  “Revival?” Maya blew her tips. “Like a cult thing?”

  “No!” They answered in unison. Laughed together.

  “No.” Jake finished with a long breath. “Just a gathering of like-minded folks, praising God with prayer and music. Revival as in renewal of spirit. Of hope.”

  “Not a lot of that going around these days.” Randall stepped from the back room and settled his lean body into the leather chair across from his daughter.

  Jake stood and they introduced themselves, shaking hands.

  Randall eyed them as if viewing alien beings. “Not every day I get a pastor in my trailer.”

  Jake grinned. “Not every day I go trolling for a favor, either.”

  “I’m listening.” He kicked his legs out, grabbed a deck of cards off the table, and set to shuffling one handed.

  Lilah cleared her throat and explained her plan. The carnival had the large midway tents, bleachers, and sound system, untouched by the storms the day before. The Revival promised to bring in folks by the thousands, due to the media coverage and calls for help for the homes destroyed in Thayer. They could work together, as a team, and everyone would benefit.

  “Or...” Lilah’s shoulders did a shimmy in the chill of the Randall’s air conditioning. “We both suffer. Ours from lack of location, and you, for want of a crowd.”

  “So, what do you suggest?” He paused, mid shuffle, forming a bridge. “We just let folks into the carnival for free?”

  Jake leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Everyone wants to win the big prize for their girl. They’ll shell out at least a twenty to try their luck, especially if admission is free for storm victims.”

  “So, you just want to use the main tent?” Randall remained skeptical. “For how long?”

  “Tonight.” Lilah slid a glance from Randall, to his daughter, and back again. “Tomorrow. And the mayor won’t rush you all out of town if you want to stay another week.”

  “Any other time, I’d say no and don’t let the door hit’cha.” Chewing his lip, Randall leaned back, considering. “But after last night...I’ll say, yes. We’ll give it a try. Just for tonight. No promises for tomorrow.”

  “All or nothing, I’m afraid.” Jake stood, hand to Lilah. “Both nights. Or it’s a no go.”

  “He’s right, Dad.” Maya stood, too, shaking a bottle of clear polish. “The people have to know they have a place to go.”

  “If it means that much to you.” He considered Jake, looked him up and down. “Fine. Both nights it is.” They shook on it, then scratched out a quick agreement.

  Randall and Maya saw them to the door.

  “Tent one’s yours. Set up any time.”

  “Folks will arrive around dusk.” Jake pumped the carnival owner’s hand. “You’re welcome to come, too, of course.”

  Randall barked a quick laugh and set for the main ticket office, spoke over his shoulder with a wave-off. “Don’t count on it.”

  “You’ll tell me, won’t you, Lilah?” Maya’s voice held a slight tremor of excitement. “If Andy’s coming around?”

  “You bet.” Lilah smiled and hugged the teenager. “We’ll see you there. Spread the word, OK?”

  “Sure. Whatever.” Maya waved a dismissive, perfectly manicured hand and turned to banter with the security guard.

  Jake wrapped his fingers around hers, a nod back to the teenager and the swollen-muscled bouncer. “You’re seriously setting Andy up for that? Pretty sure we could both go to hell for that one.”

  “Everyone deserves a chance.” A flash of premonition skewered her gut as they exited out the back the way they’d come. Thoughts of Randall and his ever shuffling hands, she wondered how long they could keep their house of cards from toppling.

  33

  The figure waited on his worktable. His creation, spun from nothing but brittle glass and fire. A girl with windblown hair, face upturned to the sun. Her clear curls lifted by an unseen breeze. Her fingertips outstretched, lips parted in a slight smile. Guthrie observed the statuette and sighed, her likeness emblazoned on his brain. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the bitter ache—the brutal punch that came every time he let the image of her out of his thoughts and into the glass. At least, now, he saw her as she was.

  A note or two rising above the calliope, lifted through the pendulum swinging boat and tilt-a-whirl, beyond the gong of the strong-man tower, the sweet melody rose, and wove a harmony unlike any carnival clatter. Sweeter than a siren’s call, it lifted in a rhythm that wouldn’t be denied.

  He pushed himself up to stand, frowned at the lack of crowd. Whatever the reason, the slow night gave him time to brood.

  The thin liquid in his vest pocket sloshed from its glass cage. Reminding, always reminding of its presence. His damnation was just a sip away.

  One more bender and he was out of the carnival, Randall warned him. But Guthrie knew the sober truth about Randall’s misdeeds, so he was allowed to stay on. His neck hairs bristled at the memory of his mentor, who was now nothing but bones in a shallow, unmarked grave. Every time the carnival neared Heber Springs, Guthrie made a point to make scarce, as if Randall might turn that murderous temper his way, and be done with the worry once and for all.

  The two men were deadlocked in a bitter standoff. It was no secret the carnival master simply waited for him to screw up again. Men like Guthrie always di
d, he so often said, and then he’d kick him out just for the sheer joy of it.

  He took the bottle out of his breast pocket, viewed the clear, brown liquid as it sloshed in his hand. It beckoned in its wave, promised to quench countless sorrows.

  The music from the main tent reached crescendo. A voice, pure as silver, captured. Captivated.

  Come to me...

  For my yoke is easy,

  I’ll take your pain.

  I’ll give you rest.

  He tightened his fingers, unscrewed the cap, and tilted the bottle, at last, allowing the contents to splash around his feet. Lid tossed in the trash, he shattered the bottle onto the recycling pile to be re-melted, renewed for a purpose more worthy, uplifting. Relieved, he returned to the moment and followed the music across the midway. Pocket lighter, and heart along with it.

  He ambled, steps scuffling under the insane twirling lights, but through the tent flaps was another world. Inside, the press of bodies, sawdust scents greeted—on stage, a teenage girl angel sang, eyes closed, arms raised in worship. He stepped into a throng of folks with their hands palmed to heaven; men and women, with kids in arms, even the babes singing along. Eyes closed. Some clapped. Smiles. So...peaceful. So joyful. All of them, singing that beautiful song, knowing each word by heart and he, the only one on the planet who didn’t.

  Come to me...

  For my yoke is easy...

  I’ll take your pain…

  Not after what I done...his throat filled with a lump that wouldn’t be swallowed away. A rush of cool to his eyes.

  You want my pain, Lord?

  Smiles and warm hands reached to touch his shoulders, and he shrank away, stared at his shoelaces. The hands remained. He didn’t look up as the tears rose in his eyes. Didn’t meet anyone’s gaze. He didn’t deserve that sort of recognition. He remained a stranger in this crowd as he was in every town. No one knew him, so why were they looking at him? Smiling at him? He’d been a ghost in this world, waiting for the next, ever since the night he lost control. His fault, and no other. Then, he saw her at the side of the wide stage, a smile on her face as she gazed at the musicians. Standing by an old man and a withered, white haired woman, the trio’s arms linked, singing praises with the rest of the crowd.