Bringing Ezra Back

by Cynthia DeFelice

  It was no wonder I had some peculiar dreams. In one, that dead man from the wagon came right into our camp, sat down, and played my fiddle. In another, a trained bear talked in sign language and tried to put his paws around my neck for a dance.

  When I woke in the morning, Beckwith was already talking. Or maybe he’d never stopped. He had fixed more coffee and beans, and he and Honeywell jawed about where they were headed next. Beckwith allowed as how we were going east, and suggested that Honeywell point himself to the west, north, or south. “No sense in folks having to choose between spending their money on my goods or yours,” he said with a shrug.

  Honeywell appeared to agree. He shouldered his own pack and looked at me. “I hope you find the gentleman you’re looking for,” he said. “In the meantime, if you get tired of listening to this rascal’s lies, look me up. I’m a better cook, when I’ve got the fixin’s, and I could stand the company.”

  I was surprised by the offer, and even a little bit tempted. Honeywell came off a decent feller. But I needed to stick with Beckwith, who was headed east, toward Ezra. Beckwith was a scoundrel, but I’d be all right as long as I kept that in mind.

  “Thank you, sir,” I told Honeywell. “I hope you find lots of folks who want their likeness made.”

  He nodded. To Beckwith, he said, “How far’s the next town west?”

  “It seems farther than it is,” Beckwith said with a grin, “but once you get there, you’ll find it ain’t.”

  Honeywell scowled. “Thank you kindly for that useful information. When I get there, reckon I’ll sell tickets to your funeral and make me a bundle.”

  Beckwith laughed and wished Honeywell luck, and then we went our separate ways. It wasn’t till the sun was getting high overhead that I reached up to touch the pouch around my neck—and discovered that it was gone.

  5

  I CRIED OUT in dismay, and Beckwith turned around to see what was wrong.

  “My money!” I said. Too late, I remembered I didn’t want to tell Beckwith I had money, but it didn’t matter anymore. “My pa gave me a five-dollar coin, and it’s gone!”

  Beckwith looked at me and shook his head sadly. “I tried to warn you about Honeywell. Didn’t I tell you to keep a sharp eye on your fingers and toes and whatever else you got?”

  “You mean to say he took my money?” I asked. Then, before Beckwith could answer, I said, “No. He couldn’t have. He didn’t know I had it. The only one who knew was me.”

  “Not true, Nathan,” Beckwith said solemnly. “I knew.”

  I was almost too astonished to speak. “You did?” I shook my head in bewilderment. “But how?”

  Beckwith gave a little smile. “I suspected it from the first, the way you were always foolin’ with something hanging around your neck. I saw your sister give you that locket, but there was something else, too. Then last night around the fire I knew for sure. You practically came right out and made a pronouncement.”

  “I didn’t say any such thing!” I cried.

  “You didn’t have to,” Beckwith replied. “Honeywell asked if you had money and you said no. You’re not a practiced liar, Nathan. Your face was enough to give you away to anybody who was paying attention. But your hand went to that string around your neck, and right then I knew not only that you had money but also exactly where you were keeping it. I’ve no doubt Honeywell saw the same thing.”

  And I’d thought Honeywell was a decent feller. I was too disgusted with myself to speak.

  Beckwith went on. “People tell things about themselves without meaning to, Nathan. When you’re living by your wits, you learn to read people just like you read a book. You hear the things people don’t know they’re saying.”

  To heck with reading people like a book, I thought. You could pretty much count on them being low-down and shifty.

  Beckwith gave a little shrug. “Honeywell’s no different from most men. He saw an opportunity and took it.”

  In my mind, I was remembering my dream. Someone had been reaching around my neck. It wasn’t any trained bear, though, but Honeywell. Now, because of my stupidity, Mama’s gold piece was gone. Pa could have used it to buy himself some spectacles, but he’d given it to me and told me to use it wisely. My belly ached.

  Beckwith had resumed walking. He called back loudly, “Come along, Nathan, time’s a-wasting. Look at it this way: you learned a valuable lesson today, one you’re not likely to forget.”

  I forced my feet to follow along behind him, although my mind was filled with fury at Honeywell, and at myself, and at Beckwith, too, for his cheery advice about learning lessons.

  We kept on, heading pretty near due east. I reckon I wasn’t very good company. The knowledge of Honeywell’s trickery gnawed at me. I wanted to go after him, grab him by his neck, and get back my money.

  Then I’d think of Ezra, and make myself keep going. But something had changed. Having Mama’s gift next to my heart had made me feel strong and confident, and without it I felt shaky and unsure. I touched Molly’s locket, and thought longingly of her and Pa and home.

  * * *

  As we worked our way east, we began to travel through more settled areas. Where Pa and Molly and I might go weeks without seeing another soul, Beckwith and I began to meet up with folks quite regular. Beckwith tried to make a sale to everyone we saw, and almost always made one. Every farm we stopped at made me more homesick, and I wondered how Pa was making out without me.

  I looked hard at every tall, dark-haired man to see if he might be Ezra, but he never was. I asked everyone we met if they’d come across a traveling show of monstrosities, curiosities, and whatnot, but no one had. Then, on the fourth day, as we reached the outskirts of Tullyville, we came to a handbill tacked onto a tree. It wasn’t the same one Beckwith had brought to our cabin, but it had the same flavor about it. It read:

  Then, in real small print, it said:

  • ATTEND AT YOUR OWN RISK. •

  ALL PRECAUTIONS WILL BE TAKEN TO PROTECT THE AUDIENCE.

  Funny, but it was that last part written small that tickled my imagination the most. For the first time since it happened, I quit brooding about the loss of my money. Feeling curious, I asked Beckwith, “What kind of critter you reckon it is?”

  He chuckled and said, “Likely a bear or a wildcat they got tricked out to scare folks. Could be they added horns or feathers or whatnot. Could even be a person wearing a fur skin, I suppose, if they got clever enough.”

  “You mean to say it ain’t for real?” I asked.

  “I’ll sprout wings and fly to France if it is,” Beckwith answered.

  He spoke so sure of himself, it was downright annoying at times. I thought it likely there could be a beast he hadn’t heard of. “You ever been to this Borneo place?” I asked him.

  “No,” Beckwith answered. “But I don’t need to see a rat to smell one.”

  Well, maybe so. But, still … The truth was, the idea of that Devil-Beast had got me wound-up.

  “Nevertheless,” he went on, “it’s bound to be an entertaining spectacle. And that, Nathan, is bad luck for us.”

  “How so?”

  “People love a spectacle. They’re sure to be handing over money to see this beast tonight. What we’ve got to do is see how many of their dimes we can get to first.”

  I couldn’t help thinking about the Devil-Beast of Borneo as Beckwith and I walked the rest of the way into town and up the dusty main street. The handbills about it were posted on every storefront and hitching post. People gathered around to read them, pointing and speculating. It seemed every snatch of conversation I overheard was about the upcoming show. Everybody appeared to be as excited as I was. None of them talked about it being a trick, so what made Beckwith so almighty sure of himself?

  We walked down the main street until we came to a tavern called the Spotted Hog. Here Beckwith took off his pack and said, “Start playing, Nathan. Something lively. And loud.”

  This was the first town we’d come to. It w
as the moment I’d been secretly dreading. I’d never played in front of folks before, only just Molly, Pa, Eli Tanner, and Beckwith. I’d heard good fiddlers and knew I wasn’t one of them yet. There was so much feeling in Eli’s music that it made folks weep. So far I had to work hard just to get the notes right. Eli said the feeling would come later. I hoped so. At the moment, I was more than half afraid people would laugh or even jeer.

  After I tuned and rosined, I began to play, though my hands were shaking some. Beckwith did a little jig to catch folks’ attention, and to my surprise people began to drift our way. Soon there was a fair-sized crowd gathered around, mostly ladies and children. Beckwith gave me a sign to stop, and he started talking. Just as he had with Molly, he opened by asking a riddle.

  “I have a question for the smartest youngster in the crowd,” he called out.

  Three young boys and one girl all stepped up. The girl hollered, “That’s me!”

  “If three crows are sitting on a fence and you shoot one and kill it, how many are left?”

  “Two!” shouted the children.

  “Not at all!” cried Beckwith. “For the other two would fly away!”

  Laughter and groans came from the crowd, and Beckwith tried a couple of the same riddles he’d used with me and Molly. It made me feel a little better that nobody else figured out the one about the cow turning grass to milk and butter, either.

  Then he asked, “What has four legs up and four legs down, is soft in the middle and hard all around?”

  The little girl who had spoken up before shrieked and said, “The Devil-Beast of Borneo!”

  Everyone had a good laugh about that, and then a boy about my same age called out, “I know that one. The answer’s a bed!”

  Beckwith tipped his hat to the boy and told him how smart he was, and soon proceeded to say the boy would need a good shaving razor before too long. Beckwith said he just might have such a thing in his pack.

  I stood by and watched him work his tricks on the crowd. He showed the young children little carved wooden animals and tops. He held up hair ribbons and combs and shawls and soaps to the ladies and allowed them to look and touch and smell. When men came from the tavern to see what was going on, out came tools and elixirs and Barlow knives and more.

  I saw the longing in their faces, the wanting in their outstretched hands, and watched as Beckwith made one sale after another. Some folks stood back, their arms crossed over their chests, which I was beginning to see meant they were holding back, trying not to be charmed by Beckwith’s “silver tongue.” A few folks murmured about saving their money for the show that evening, but even so it seemed to me we were doing a pretty good business.

  When the crowd had gone, Beckwith counted up his money. He’d taken in a hodgepodge of dimes, half dimes, cents, half cents, shillings, ninepence, coppers, and Spanish reales, which made figuring difficult, leastways for me. But Beckwith claimed we’d made well over three dollars.

  A woman waited there with us till we put our packs back together. She fancied a set of tin cups, and had offered us corn bread, a piece of ham, and a dozen eggs in trade. She’d told us we could sleep in the barn, too, long as we didn’t mind the rooster crowing early in the morning.

  We followed her home, made the trade, and settled our belongings in the hayloft. Then I made a small fire outside.

  While the ham and eggs were cooking, Beckwith rubbed his chin whiskers contentedly. “All in all, that was a much more profitable afternoon than I’d anticipated, Nathan. Your fiddling drew us a fine crowd. I think I can spare two thin dimes, and I’m curious to see the tomfoolery myself. How ’bout you and I take in the show tonight?”

  I had tried to tell myself I didn’t much care, but now that it looked like we were going, I could admit it: I wanted to see that show awful bad.

  Why should I believe Beckwith against a whole town full of people? I wished I could tell Molly and Pa I was going to see the savage Devil-Beast of Borneo with my very own eyes!

  6

  IT WAS GETTING ON dark when Beckwith and I headed to the show. Everybody in town seemed to be in the street, talking excitedly and going in the same direction. The crowd included men, women, children, even babies and old folks hobbling along on canes and crutches.

  A long line had formed at the entryway to the town hall. A big, red-faced man was keeping folks in place. “No need to push and shove, ladies and gentlemen,” he called out. “There’s room for all, and I assure you, the Devil-Beast won’t make its appearance until everyone is seated.”

  A skinny man with dark, greasy hair poking out from under his felt hat was taking money. Some people, who I expect were lacking dimes, brought food or other items to trade. I didn’t see the skinny man turn anybody away.

  Beckwith and I were getting close to the entrance when suddenly a wild and terrible roar came from inside. It sounded like no animal I’d ever heard, not wolf or coyote or wildcat, either. A shiver shot right through me and down my back. People screamed, and some children began to cry.

  The big, red-faced man shouted, “Remain calm, ladies and gentlemen. Do not panic! You are perfectly safe. The Devil-Beast is restrained by the strongest chains and bars known to man. Escape is impossible. Keep moving now, so the show can begin.”

  The crowd was making its own roar, and it was growing louder and more high-pitched. I glanced at Beckwith, who was grinning from ear to ear and appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. I checked the expressions on the faces of the other men. Their eyes looked feverish with excitement and fear. Some of them fingered pistols they carried on their hips.

  Beckwith winked when he gave the skinny man two dimes, and we went inside. I was relieved to see that all the front seats were already taken. A few lanterns hanging from the roof beams cast a dim light. The front of the room was closed off by a curtain, so folks in the audience couldn’t see what was behind it.

  Beckwith motioned for me to join him in a row about halfway back. He was looking all around the room, smiling widely at anybody who looked back. I couldn’t tear my eyes from that curtain hanging in the front, couldn’t stop thinking about what was behind it. Once, when the crowd noise sank low for a minute, I was sure I heard the rattle of chains.

  It was pitch black out by the time everybody got in and settled on a seat, and it wasn’t much lighter inside. I looked toward the back of the hall and saw the skinny man close the door. I reckoned the show was about to begin, and I felt my heart start thumping.

  The red-faced man stepped from behind the curtain wearing a black hat, a bright, stripy tie, and a gentleman’s jacket. The crowd hushed all at once. In the sudden quiet, I could almost hear their eager breath and their hearts beating along with mine. Put together, we were like one great hungry beast waiting to be fed.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the man began, “thank you for your patience. I promise you it will be well rewarded. At great peril to life and limb, we have brought to you from darkest, far-off Borneo the most astounding—”

  At that moment we heard a loud clanking of chains and a screeching sound like metal ripping. Then there came a crash, another horrible roar, and the sounds of a fearsome scuffle behind the curtain, followed by a scream that made my blood run cold. The red-faced man stopped his speech and froze solid as an icicle, his eyes bugging wide with fear.

  A gasp arose from the audience. The curtain was ripped aside and the skinny man appeared. His hair was wild and rumpled, his clothing torn and covered in blood. It was a terrible sight. “Run for your lives!” he shouted. “The Devil-Beast has escaped!”

  I never in my life saw such an uproar as followed. Everybody was shrieking and hollering and bawling at once. Folks ran for the door, pushing and shoving, leaping over seats and each other, nearly stepping on a few poor unfortunates who had fallen or been knocked down in the rush.

  I was too scared to move right at first. When I finally gathered my wits and looked for Beckwith, I was astonished to see him standing beside me, laughing so hard, te
ars were spilling down his face. I wondered if I might have struck up company with a madman.

  “Come on!” I urged him. “We got to run for our lives!”

  He just bent over and laughed harder. I didn’t intend for us to be the ones eaten or torn apart by the Devil-Beast. I grabbed Beckwith’s arms and pretty near dragged him out of the hall and onto the street.

  People were racing off in all directions, and their screams still filled the air. I looked every which way for the Devil-Beast, but it was nowhere in sight. There wasn’t any sign of the red-faced man, or the skinny one, either. I pulled Beckwith along behind me. I was headed toward the barn, which was the only place I knew to go.

  I figured to get us where it was safe. Later I’d sort out what in tarnation had got into Beckwith. That was my thinking, anyway.

  Suddenly a man in front of us stopped and looked around. Then he bellowed in outrage, “Wait just a minute here. There ain’t no savage Devil-Beast, escaped or not. We’ve been hoaxed! Where’s those fellers took our money?”

  Some of the others quit their running, too, and began talking. Then one of them looked our way. “You there,” he said, pointing to Beckwith. “What’s so blamed funny?”

  Another man said, “Maybe he’s in on this here little trick.”

  Then more voices joined in and became a chorus. “These two showed up in town just today, same as those other two.”

  “Likely they’re all in it together!”

  “Reckon they’ve got explaining to do.”

  Then the whole bunch of them came after us.

  7

  QUICKER’N IT TAKES to tell about it, we were surrounded by a mob of angry-looking townsfolk. Some of the men had their hands on their pistols, I noticed. I felt little bumps rise up on my arms. People said that meant a goose just walked over where your grave is going to be someday, but I knew better. It meant I was scared. Till right that minute, I didn’t know that you can taste fear, sharp and bitter on your tongue.