The Road to Bittersweet

by Donna Everhart

  Papa raised both arms in the air. “For Christ’s sake, Ann! What else we gonna do?” And then Papa said something what surprised me most. “What if Laci or Wallis Ann gets sick like Seph? What will you think then about deciding so quick against the best idea that’s come our way so far?”

  Momma reacted like he’d slapped her. She jerked back and then her chin come forward, and her eyes tightened. “Let’s not forget who was in an all-fired hurry to bring Seph home.”

  Papa dropped his head. “We ain’t got no other choice here. What would be wrong in seeing about it? It ain’t a permanent thing. It’s only temporary.”

  Momma worried her hair. “I don’t know. It don’t seem fitting.”

  Papa said, “Way I see it, we got three choices.”

  Momma frowned at me like she couldn’t understand why I’d mentioned such a thing.

  Papa kept on. “Go to Hardy’s.”

  Momma cringed.

  “Keep going around on our own like we been doing.”

  She heaved a heavy sigh, and her shoulders slumped.

  “Or, join them carnies for a little while, and make some money.”

  Momma flipped her hand in a dismissive way that said, Do what you want. I imagined she give in because of what he’d said about Seph. It had put a fear in her.

  I said, “He said that Cooper feller’s looking for new acts right now, but we got to be quick about it.”

  Papa said, “Let’s go see about it then. If it don’t work out, we’re going to Hardy’s. And that’s that.”

  Momma looked disgusted, but she got busy gathering together our few things and Papa kicked dirt on the fire to put it out. I went to hand Laci her fiddle, and she jerked it from me. Surprised, I studied her, but she only rubbed at the wood with the end of her sleeve. I shrugged and went to help Momma tote our cookware to the truck. It took us only a few minutes to finish, the only sign we’d been there the blackened pit from the campfire.

  Inside the truck, I said, “He said it ain’t far from here, they’s set up near to Tucker’s Branch.”

  Papa said, “I know where they’re at. I seen’em earlier.”

  Momma didn’t ask what he’d been doing or how his truck got so dirty, disinterested since he’d come away empty-handed. The hills seemed to watch in silence as we made our way down Highway 28. The prospect of meeting Johnny Cooper and knowing his opinion could mean a return to Uncle Hardy’s had me wishing we didn’t look as scruffy as we did. We come to a curve in the road where foothills rose over a big, flat open field filled with tents and rides, and more vehicles than I’d ever seen at once in my life. Papa had the windows cracked, and I smelled a strange mixture of odors, from pungent animals, to something like exhaust from Papa’s truck, and most powerful of all, food. My mouth watered and after catching a whiff of that, I sure hoped he liked us enough to hire us out.

  Papa turned into an area where several others had already driven. People milled about, and as we rolled and bumped through the flattened grass field, I heard a loud voice crying out, “Step right up, come on, let me guess your birthday, a penny to guess your birthday!” There was pigs being led to a small racetrack, a merry-go-round with kids screaming as they went round and round. I took in the signs telling about all sorts of sideshows, with Jungle Monkeys, a Snake Enchantress, and a bigger sign declared FREAKS! SEE THEM, ONE AND ALL! It looked like a very odd and bizarre world, and some part of me was scared of it, while the other part of me was excited. Momma gazed at some of the show folks standing near a section where off-white tents was lined up in neat rows.

  The area looked to be private, and she turned her head and said to Papa, “What do we do, walk up and announce ourselves?”

  Papa parked the truck, and said, “I reckon. I guess I’ll go ask for Mr. Cooper.”

  He approached the group of workers, and spoke to one of them, a rough-looking man who reminded me a little of Leland Tew. The man spit on the ground and pointed to a tent. Papa tipped his hat, looked over his shoulder at us, then walked to the tent. The workers turned to stare at the truck, smoking their cigarettes and studying us like we was too boringly normal for the likes of this place.

  Momma said, “This is a bad idea.”

  “Momma, we don’t know for sure yet. It might work out.”

  “Hm.”

  She reached out a hand and brushed down Laci’s hair, licking her fingers and making an attempt to flatten down the stray hairs around her forehead, but her hair was so wild, and dirty, it didn’t do much good. I didn’t touch mine. It felt pure tee gummed to my head, and it was useless to worry with it now. Papa come out of the tent with a man who had silvery hair and a mustache what drooped down past his chin. He’d been eating right good as his belly led the way.

  When Momma seen them, she said, “Wallis Ann, get out!”

  I obliged and we spilled out of the truck in all our dirty glory, rank, starving and desperate for a chance.

  Papa spoke quick and eager. “This here’s my wife, Ann Wallis Stamper, my oldest daughter I told you about, Laci, and our young Wallis Ann, voice like a songbird.”

  Mr. Cooper, sounding bored, said, “Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh. Show me what you got.”

  We shifted around into our usual positions, Laci to Papa’s left, and me to Momma’s right. It never got easier for me, and my insides curdled like a glass of milk gone bad. I tried to settle my nerves down.Without prompting, and likely because of the habitual way we stood, Laci tucked her fiddle under her chin and drew the bow over the strings, sending out a high, sweet note. The ones who’d been standing around, nudging each other when they seen our raggedy clothes, stopped talking and give us their attention. Laci started with a real familiar song, “Shall We Gather at the River,” and Papa began with the opening verse, then Momma and me joined. Our voices soared out and into the trees, and it seemed like our singing could touch the clouds above our heads.

  I closed my eyes and I didn’t think about how we looked, or anything. I simply opened my mouth and sang knowing this moment needed to shine. We had to be our best. We had to eat. Suddenly, it was like I wanted to be doing this. I wanted to sing because of what we’d been through, I wanted to sing for losing Seph, and there went an unlikely tear streaking down my filthy cheek, though I didn’t care how it looked to anybody right then. Papa, Momma and I harmonized, belting out tune after tune between gospel and the old folk tunes I was most familiar with. I eventually opened my eyes and stared out at a gathering crowd. I’d never seen so many folks in my life. They stood, mesmerized it seemed, and I thought, Maybe we sound okay. We sound okay, or we sound real bad.

  Mr. Cooper grinned from ear to ear, nodding at everyone like he’d discovered us, and I noticed at some point Clayton appeared and stood front and center of the gathering crowd. He was smiling, looking proud. Another man who looked like he was a ringmaster because of his coat with long tails and shiny shoes tilted his head, like he could picture himself announcing us. Mr. Cooper finally waved his hand indicating he’d heard enough. We’d sung four songs and ended the final one with a long, stretched-out note.

  He led the crowd in a round of applause, and said, “How about that, folks? This here’s my newest act, and if you want more of them, be here at seven sharp tonight! The Stampers, folks, that’s their name, get used to it because you’re gonna be hearing from them!”

  The crowd applauded again, and I felt it might be all right, we might do fine.

  Mr. Cooper come over and shook Papa’s hand hard, and said, “You all is gonna do fine, fine. Come on, let’s get them details worked out. Bring the missus along too.”

  He led Papa and Momma towards the cluster of tents, and I watched as they ducked inside the one he’d come out of. I shifted foot to foot, feeling uncomfortable and conspicuous, grateful when Clayton hurried over to us. The crowd dispersed on its own, and I was glad to not have them keep standing around looking at me and Laci.

  Clayton seemed pretty excited. “Hey, I see what you mean about your sister
on that git fiddle there. And you sounded great too, even better than yesterday. How’d y’all end up here so soon?”

  I motioned towards the tent. “We was at a point, so to speak, and Papa decided.”

  “Well, now, see? I was sure Johnny would go for the idea.”

  The words I’d typically find to keep the conversation going didn’t come. Trying to talk to him here was different than at the falls. I couldn’t think of a thing to say, not with Laci pressing up against me, not with the effects of so little food, and the effort to sing. All of it together had sapped the very last bit of strength out of me.

  “Can we sit down somewhere?”

  Clayton said, “Sure, come this way.”

  “I can’t go far from Papa and Momma.”

  “We’re going right over here. See them benches? They got all kinds of snacks. You want something?”

  He led me and Laci towards an area that said CONCESSIONS.

  “Like what?”

  “Name it.”

  “I ain’t never had a store-bought snack. We always made ours.”

  “You and Laci sit right there. I’ll bring you all something, it’ll be a surprise.”

  We sat and Clayton walked to the man behind a makeshift counter. When he come back he held colorful bags.

  “Look a here. I brung you Lay’s tater chips, some Twinkies, and a couple Snickers bars.”

  I’d seen these things, just never had them. He opened the two bags that said Lay’s and handed them to me. They smelled like nothing I’d ever imagined. I give one to Laci and she took it and peered down into the depths. The bags crinkled loudly as we dug our hands in. The chips looked like the fried taters we used to fix sometimes for Saturday night suppers, only much thinner. I’d been hungry for so long, when I started, I started slow, placing a chip in and chewing carefully. They was so good that, without thinking, I picked up speed and went to shoving in handful after handful. Laci did the same thing. We crammed salty chips into our mouths like starving dogs gnawing to get the most out of a bone.

  I finished the bag in seconds, and then grabbed for the Twinkies. I tore the wrapper off one and shoved half in, closing my eyes, and savoring the yellow fluffy cake and creamy center. I didn’t look to see what Laci did, because I’d finished that and was now on to a Snickers bar. I took a bite and half got gone. I heard a noise and raised my eyes to see Clayton staring at us, stunned, his eyes wide, and sad. Was that pity I seen in them? I dropped what was left of the candy bar on the table. I chewed and swallowed and it felt like it was sticking somewhere between my throat and my belly. My stomach knotted, sending distress signals by way of little shooting pains as I fought not to be sick. I was worried I’d lose all of it on the ground since it was the first food I’d had in I don’t know when.

  Clayton rubbed a hand through his hair. “Damn, Wallis Ann. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say y’all was in such need?”

  Laci was still eating her candy bar, chocolate traces on her fingers, eyes searching the tabletop for more as she took the last bite of her Snickers, eyeing what was left of mine. I shoved it towards her and she crammed the rest in her mouth. I breathed slow and easy to calm my stomach.

  I mumbled, “We ain’t ones to talk of our troubles. We make do for ourselves.”

  Clayton give me a look as if I was the strangest creature he’d ever met. Meanwhile, we sat here in the center of a carnival, with its oddities advertised, and I was the one he thought peculiar? This struck me as hilarious. I started laughing, bending over and gripping my tightened waist, gasping. I couldn’t seem to stop until Laci, who’d been sitting quite still, put a hand over her stomach, and looked distressed. I stopped my crazy laughing.

  I said, “It’s all right, Laci. You ate too fast, and too much. Like me.”

  Clayton offered us more food. “You want I should get her another bag of chips?”

  “No, no, that’ll make it worse.”

  “Maybe you both ought to have you a cold drink? I can get y’all one right there.”

  He pointed to a line of people standing patiently, coming away with drinks, peanuts and popcorn.

  I squashed my pride and said, “Okay.”

  Clayton hurried off and returned juggling three bottles and some popcorn. The popcorn reminded me of last Christmas and using one a Momma’s needles and some thread to create strings of it to go round the tree. I took a swallow, and the sting of carbonation down my throat was another reminder. I’d go with Papa to Dewey’s for cornmeal, flour, sugar, and coffee. He’d always buy us a “dope” as he called it, which was bottles of Pepsi, plus some peanuts for the ride home. We’d dump the peanuts into the bottles and ride along, swilling and crunching the nuts and talking about whether or not we should catch us a mess of fish. Our world sure had changed, and it had me wishing for home, despite the excitement surrounding me.

  “Thank you. I’ve not had one in a while.” As I said it, Momma and Papa come out of the tent. Papa shook Mr. Cooper’s hand, and I took that as a good sign. They started towards us, and Clayton stood as my parents got closer, his hand out.

  “Sir, Clayton Jones.”

  Papa eyed Clayton down the length of his nose. “And I suppose you’re the big time, that high dive act.”

  “Not so big, no, sir.”

  “Well, son. You’re either the craziest or bravest person we ever heard of.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Clayton spoke so formal like. Papa’s cheek twitched, and he give Clayton the once-over, like he couldn’t decide if he liked him or not.

  He eventually said, “Maybe I’m the one who ought to thank you for suggesting to Mr. Cooper here his show might need a singing act.”

  Mr. Cooper spoke enthusiastically. “That’s right, that’s right. Y’all are gonna fit right in.” He paused to look at us. “Looks like you could stand a meal. Ain’t no harm in going a little hungry, but ain’t no need if there’s work to be had.”

  He rubbed his hands together, and said, “I’ll let you folks settle in. Clayton can show you around to your tents, where to eat, and all.”

  Papa nodded, and shoved his hands in his pockets, while Momma’s expression remained flat as she stared dully at the commotion of the carnival swirling around us.

  Chapter 18

  Clayton said, “Come on, I’ll take you to the yard, and you can see where you’re gonna sleep.”

  We followed him to this “yard,” which was nothing more than a collection of tents behind a giant Ferris wheel. I’d only ever seen a picture of one, and it was impressive in real life. A few workers sat outside of their individual tents, playing card games, doing their wash, shaving in front of tiny mirrors hung on a post, or simply smoking cigarettes and talking. Some had painted faces on but were in regular clothes. They sat wearing the big, wide smiles of a clown, or sad face, and it was a right bizarre thing to see. Laci bumped into me, so intent was she at looking at them. A girl who looked about my age, maybe a little older, passed us leading a zebra by a halter, and she had on a pink satin outfit, with tights and these funny-looking flat shoes.

  Clayton pointed to her and said, “That there’s Trixie and her zebra, Zippity Doo. Her family performs dressage and as part of the horse show, she works with Zippity Doo and this little bitty monkey called Mr. M. If you can believe it, he wears a red riding coat and rides on a dog.”

  I shook my head cause I’d never heard the likes of such things. He waved at Trixie, and she waved back while staring at us intently.

  Someone hollered out, “Hey! Is them the Forty Milers we heard about?”

  Clayton didn’t stop.

  I said, “Forty Milers?”

  Clayton said, “Yeah, it means someone who’s new, and someone who might not last long enough to travel forty miles with the show.”

  Papa said, “We already been at least that and then some traipsing around these back roads.”

  I felt conspicuous, no different than the first time I sung all them years ago, imagining eve
ry single eye on us as we traversed the sawdust path around the tents. News sure did travel fast of newcomers. I noted how some studied on Laci, their gaze lingering and curious. Maybe it was her red hair, or her pale green eyes. Whatever it was, there was murmurings not expected for our ears, yet I heard them. “Wild as the mountains she comes from” and “Sumpin’s different in that one there.”

  Momma walked quick, looking neither right nor left, while Papa nodded here and there if someone gestured. We stopped in front of two tents at the edge of the tent city.

  Clayton pointed and said, “These was used by a couple jugglers who got into a fight, beat each other half to death and Johnny Cooper kicked them out. He don’t tolerate such foolishness.”

  Papa glanced at Momma and said, “Ain’t that good to know.”

  Momma said nothing.

  Clayton said, “They got a food tent that a way. You’ll smell it ’fore you see it. It’s for us workers so we don’t eat what’s intended for paying guests.”

  Papa nodded quick and said, “Right.”

  “And a water truck will come by and fill your buckets for drinking and washing. Twice a day.”

  “Great,” said Papa, as he rubbed his eyes like he was too tired to think of it all.

  Clayton shuffled his feet awkwardly, not daring to look my way. Neither of us was as comfortable and easygoing as we’d been when alone at the waterfall.

  He said, “Okay, then. See y’all at the show later tonight. I’ll be doing my thing at eight sharp. I hope you can stick around to see it.”

  Without waiting to hear if we would or wouldn’t, he loped off, and I made a point to pay no mind to his leaving, turning away before he was even out of sight because Momma was giving him a hard look as he left.

  One tent was a little larger than the other, and Momma pulled the flap aside on it and inside was two cot-like beds. There was also a washstand and on top of it was a porcelain bowl and pitcher, and two small camp-type stools at the foot of each cot. There was a stack of old sheets and towels someone had folded and set inside on the cots. All these things seemed luxurious to have after what we’d been through. Momma spotted something on the ground and bent over to get a better look, then motioned to Papa.