“Hey! You kids! Get off that hillside!” Cleve shouted. Three little kids from town had been watching from above. They scrambled away and the hillside was quiet and still once more.
It was a wonder to behold—slowly, inch by inch, the creek restaked its claim like a gentle incoming tide.
All and all, quite a day.
51
“Always working, huh, Babe?” Lotty said, bringing a glass of lemonade over from the house. “You spent the last two days cleaning up down at the creek and now this?”
“Them fence posts ain’t made for elephant-scratching posts, so I’m digging deeper holes. Remember, Egypt can’t never get loose again, Lotty.”
“I know. Come on. Get out of the sun. Have some lemonade. I feel guilty with you out here doing all the work.”
“Thought you was getting fitted for fancy school clothes for your fancy high school,” Babe said, trying to keep the pinch of jealousy out of her voice.
“Well, we’re just altering some of Miss V’s old clothes. You know, she’s really going to insist you register for school, too.”
“We been through this, Lotty. Ain’t going and that’s a fact. Cleve said he’d help me with some primers. Ain’t going until I can be with folk my own age.” She downed the lemonade in a single gulp.
“If you think clearing that landslide was hard, wait until you go up against Miss V on this.”
Babe handed the glass back to Lotty, then pointed toward the world beyond. “I’ll walk away sure as anything before I’ll go to school. I’m done with upsetting desks and dunce caps and all that.”
“They don’t have dunce caps anymore!”
“They’ll make one for me! Ain’t going to school!”
“That’s another thing! Ain’t! You’re always wanting to speak better. Thought you wanted to lady up some,” Lotty said. “You want to spend your life talking like a hick from the hills?”
“I am a hick from the hills!”
“Well, maybe that’s where you belong!” Lotty shouted. “Maybe you should just go back to the hills! Go be a lumberjack now that Miss V can start up the mill again! Or, I know! Go be a hermit like that Luckett!”
“Why you so mad?” Babe demanded. Lotty was silent. She turned her back on Babe and looked into the empty lemonade glass. “Lotty?”
“Because you’re still living in a barn, but I’m living high and mighty. You’re digging fence posts and I’m getting new clothes. Because I’ve found a home and you’ve found . . . what?”
“I’ve found I don’t belong here any more’n I belong sipping tea with the queen of England.”
Lotty looked up at her friend. “I think maybe you might be right, Babe. But where? Where do you belong?”
Babe shrugged her giant shoulders. “Rosa said maybe she could find me a place if she gets that big house of hers. I writ her, but she ain’t writ back.”
“You wrote her?”
“Yes, asking if maybe I could come and help with her big house.”
“What’s this about a big house?” Lotty looked at her with narrow eyes.
“Said she was going to find her a big house for lots of folk.”
“What? Like a boardinghouse? Don’t make me laugh!”
Babe felt her face redden as the beast gurgled to life. “Stop that!”
“Sure, I can just see Madame de la Rosa passing the mashed potatoes and washing sheets once a week. Somehow, I don’t think that’s the kind of house . . .”
The sound of horses trotting up the road broke their argument.
Babe squinted toward the riders. Denny and . . .
“Lotty. We got trouble.”
“Look who I found on the road!” Denny shouted, sliding off his horse before it had come to a stop. “This man was coming out to see us. Says he’s an old friend! What’s your name again?”
The man took off his hat, gave a dramatic sweep from atop his horse, and announced, “Phillipe Renoir. At your service.”
Lotty stepped closer to Babe.
“No one here needs your service,” Babe managed. Her whole body was pounding, and her hands formed into fists. He slid down off his horse and she smelled the gooey sweetness of his hair pomade. He handed the reins to Denny and walked toward them.
“Is that any way to greet an old friend?”
“There ain’t nothing for you here, Renoir,” Babe said.
“I’m going to tell Ma we have a guest for lunch!” Denny chirped. “A real circus ringmaster! Man!” he shouted, running backward across the barnyard to the house. “Yee-ha!”
“Ringmaster? Ha! Maybe of a flea circus!” Lotty said.
Renoir looked Babe up and down. “You know, Magnifica, I think you’ve grown. Maybe beefed up some. Tan as a roustabout!”
“You better just leave!” Lotty barked.
“And you,” he continued, stooping down to speak to Lotty face-to-face. “I think you’ve grown smaller.”
“Nothing for you here,” Babe repeated, stepping into his light.
“I think there is.”
“None of us are interested in you or your cheap dog and pony shows. We’re done with that!” Lotty yelled.
“Well, actually, one of you isn’t done with that.”
“Get back on that horse and leave,” Babe said.
“After that wonderful invitation to lunch? That would be rude.”
He pulled out a piece of paper. Babe knew what it was even before he unfolded it. Miss V had framed the same newspaper article. “I’ll happily leave. Once I get my property back,” he said, holding up the article. “You can’t deny this is Euclid.”
“Babe,” Lotty said, touching her arm.
“Just have him caged up and at the train station in Medford by this time tomorrow and all your troubles will be over.”
“Euclid isn’t yours! You cheated us! You left him off the inventory!” Lotty hollered. “You cheated us!”
“Perhaps you should read contracts a little more carefully, ladies.”
“He’s old and isn’t fit for carnie life!” Lotty screamed, her beautiful face now pink with anger.
“The taxidermist can fix that. He’ll have him looking young and ferocious in no time. Little stuffing here, little hair dye there, sparkling new eyeballs—nothing to it.” He watched Babe’s face as he talked. She wasn’t scared, wasn’t even worried.
“Lotty, go tell Sarah we don’t got company after all.”
“I think I better get . . .”
“Everything’s fine, Lotty. Everything’s just fine.” For the first time ever, Babe had Phillipe Renoir just where she wanted him.
Lotty hesitantly backed away, leaving Babe staring down at Renoir. “Euclid’s this way.”
52
Euclid started shrieking and jumping up and down when Renoir approached. “Son-of-a-bitch beast!” Renoir shouted, pointing to the fresh, pink scar on his face. “Look what you did to me, you . . .”
Euclid charged at him, screaming, grabbing for him.
Babe handed him Euclid’s leash and collar. She remembered when Lotty pulled the same stunt with Egypt. “Want him? Let’s see you take him. Careful now, his cage door ain’t locked.” She pointed to his scarred face. “Reckon you know how he can slip a latch.”
Renoir pulled out a small Derringer pistol from his vest pocket.
“That animal should be put down, I tell you. He’s a man-killer.”
“Well he ain’t the man-killer sporting him a gun. Gimme that cap shooter.” She easily snapped it out of his hand.
He fumbled for it, but Babe held it over her head and placed it on top of the main beam running through the barn.
“You and me got some fair commerce to trade on,” Babe said. “Come in here where I got paper and pencil.”
She slid the door to her room open. “Let’s us get down to the last pitch. You took Euclid thinking I’d come after him. You don’t want that ape any more’n you want me back in your cheap mud opera. I’m thinking it has to do with the Califor
nia State Bank and your fancy back-east investors.”
“You figured that all by yourself? You’re quite the brain trust.”
“There’s paper on the desk. You write up Euclid is mine free and clear and you get your deposit ticket back. Been keeping it nice and safe all this time.”
“You’re bluffing. Why, you don’t even know who my investors are.”
“Sure I do.” Babe stood her ground, hoping her voice didn’t quaver in her lie. “Got it from good sources.”
“Who?”
“Ina. Mina. Tina. Rosa and Serena. That’s a powerful full house, don’t you think? They all got the goods on you and handed ’em over to me.”
He glared at her, twitching his lips in thought. He sat and quickly wrote out something. “There. I didn’t use any big words, so you can understand it.”
She gave it a squint, then handed it back. “You forgot something.”
“Now what?”
“Eighty dollar.”
“What the hell for?”
“Care and feeding of your ape lo these last weeks.”
“You’ve slipped a cog, Babe.”
“I got the ape and I got the ticket, Renoir. I even got your pretty little parlor pistol. Make that one hundred dollar.”
She put out her hand and snapped her fingers. He sighed and counted out five twenty-dollar gold coins.
“Write it up. Fair commerce.”
He added another line. “I assume this meets with your approval, Your Highness.”
“Sign it.”
“Okay, but pencil isn’t legal for a document.”
“Maybe you prefer blood?” Babe’s heart was racing. Had she really done it? Outsmarted Renoir? Now, to just get him out of here!
“Okay, okay,” he sighed, scratching his signature and handing Babe the pencil. “Now you sign. You can write your name, can’t you?”
Babe scribbled her name. He held out his hand. “And now, my deposit ticket, if you please?”
“Turn around.”
He did and Babe pulled up the horsehair conjure bag from down her front. “You can turn around now.” She handed him the ticket, still rolled tight.
She took the agreement he’d signed and placed it on top of a shelf, well out of his reach.
“Hey! Wait just a minute here!” he yelled. Euclid echoed his yell from his cage. He held up the paper. “All the ink’s run on this!”
She gave it a casual glance and shrugged her mighty shoulders. “Well, how ’bout that? Must’ve got wet. Lots of wettning in these parts.”
“You mean? You mean?” He shook his head. “You know, a lady would give me back my hundred bucks.”
“I don’t see no lady here.”
He sighed heavily. “I have never met a freak who didn’t lie, cheat, or steal.”
“Ain’t that a odd curiosity?” Babe said. “Even a delight.”
He glared up at her.
“Never want to see you again, Renoir,” she growled, still seething from all he’d done to her, wanted to do to her, tried to do to her. Wanting to kill someone and knowing you could—with your own two, giant hands—was a powerful and fearful thing, and the sooner he left, the better.
Euclid made one last swipe toward Renoir as he walked past his cage. Outside, Renoir untied his horse and turned to Babe. “Buy yourself something nice with that money. I know! A piano.”
“What do I need a piano for?”
“Well, for the box, of course! Where else can a giant like you get a coffin big enough?”
She grabbed him by the coat and swallowed the urge to crush him like a cheap carnival trinket, but instead let go and shoved him into his horse. “It’ll take a hundred hat boxes to bury you if ever I see you again, Renoir!”
He mounted up, giving her a last look of pity, spurred his horse, and disappeared down the road.
Before she could mumble good riddance, a shot rang out.
The barn!
Euclid was lying on the floor, not moving. Renoir’s pistol was next to him.
“My god! What happened?” Miss V said, rushing into the barn with the others.
“Euclid’s shot!” Babe cried. He was breathing, but his breath was fast, uneven, and short. He groaned when Babe picked him up.
“It’s his thigh. Right there,” Lotty said. “Quick. We need to stop the bleeding.”
Miss V knelt down. “Denny, get the first aid box.”
“I don’t understand. What happened?” Cleve asked.
“He got a pistol I hid! Blast me! I should have locked his cage!” Babe stroked Euclid’s head. His eyes fluttered. “Easy, ol’ man.”
Denny returned with the first aid box. “Where’s that ringmaster man? Did he do this?”
“No, I did this!” Babe cried.
“Someone better tell me what’s going on here,” Miss V said.
“Can you fix him?” Babe asked Cleve, ignoring Miss V.
“Sit down and hold him still. If we’re lucky, the bullet went straight through.” Cleve moved the ape’s leg, but Euclid swatted at the pain, growled, and flashed his teeth.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Babe whispered in his ear. She held him tight and rocked him.
“Babe, it’s not your fault,” Lotty said, reaching to comfort her.
“Hold him still,” Miss V said, helping Sarah get his leg bandaged. “Denny, go call the vet in Medford. Get him up here. Don’t tell him what it’s for!”
He dashed out of the barn.
“Sarah,” Cleve said, “see if there’s any morphine in the box.”
“No, Cleve, don’t you remember? You gave it to Frank Mahan when he broke his hip,” Sarah said.
Sarah picked up a brown bottle. “Babe, do you think he can have laudanum? It’ll help his pain and make him sleep.”
Euclid started to whimper. “I don’t know what to do. I wisht I knew more. What can I give him what won’t make it worst?” Babe asked, looking at each adult. Then, to Sarah, “How much would you give a youngin?”
“Just a little.” She pulled out the dropper and handed it to Babe. “Here. See if you can get this down him. Don’t let him bite it off.”
He fought it and twice spit it out, but the third time she clamped his jaw shut until he swallowed. She couldn’t bear looking at his frightened eyes looking up at her.
“Come on, Babe. Put him in his cage and let him rest,” Lotty said.
“I ain’t leaving him. This is all my fault, and I ain’t leaving him.”
“Then I’ll bring you something,” Sarah said. “Come on, Miss V. You’re looking exhausted.”
“Operator said the vet’s phone doesn’t answer,” Denny said, out of breath.
“Well, go back and keep trying!” Miss V snapped.
The barn grew silent as the adults exchanged glances. Euclid was fighting falling asleep but was soon in a deep sleep on Babe’s lap.
“Come on. Everyone to the house. Lunch is getting cold,” Sarah said.
Alone in the barn, Babe rocked Euclid in her lap. He seemed to be dreaming and jerked his head about. “Don’t fight it,” Babe whispered. “Sleep, sleep.” She carefully carried him to her room, set him down on her bed, tucking her quilt around him to hold him safe and warm.
53
Several hours later, Babe left the barn for some fresh air. The heat of the day was beginning to peak. The screen door to the house slammed shut and Lotty walked toward her, carrying a tray.
“Here’s something to eat. How is he?”
“Sleeping. That laudanum worked. Lotty, I dang near killt him. First by leaving that gun where he could get it and then I didn’t lock his cage.” She looked away, not wanting Lotty to see her cry. “How can I be so stupid? I was feeling so cocky pulling the wool over Renoir’s eyes. Got him to leave, got him to give me money, got him out of our lifes, but . . .”
“Babe, you can’t blame yourself. It was an accident.”
“Everything in my damn life is a accident, starting with me.”<
br />
“Come on, Babe. You know better. Here. Let’s sit in the shade while you eat. Want some lemonade?”
“No, thanks.”
“But . . . Babe . . .” Her words slipped away as she set the tray on a bench outside the barn door.
“You don’t got to say nothing, Lotty,” Babe said, giving her friend a slight smile.
Lotty began to back away. “Well, anyway, you better eat something. Your favorite pie is under that napkin.”
Babe didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep. She did nothing but sit next to Euclid, watching him.
Several hours past dusk, Euclid stirred awake. “Ssssh, ol’ man.” Babe put her hand on his forehead to soothe him back to sleep, but her hand shot back fast, as though she didn’t want to believe what she felt. She touched his forehead again, then ran her hand down his face.
Euclid was on fire.
Babe paced her room, talking to herself. “What’re you going to do, Babe? Vet’s in Medford. That’s a piece away, even if he’s around.”
She looked out the barn door toward the house. The only light was coming from the moon. Euclid was now restless and moaning. Babe felt the weight of the five gold coins from Renoir in her pocket tapping her thigh as she paced. She jingled her pocket absently. “What good’s gold for a vet if I can’t get me a vet?”
Her hand dove into her pocket for her bandanna. Her fingers touched the gold coins. “Wait! I know!”
She quickly, but carefully wrapped Euclid in the quilt. Gently, she scooped him into her arms. He moaned and growled.
“Ssssh,” she said. “Ain’t getting you a vet. Getting you a doctor. Sssssh. You just let your ol’ Babe tote you.”
She knew he didn’t understand her words, but he understood her voice. Her thoughts raged as she carried him out of the barn and into the night. She realized critters knew pain, maybe they even knew what death was. But did they know to fight for life? If he didn’t fight for his, she’d fight for him!
She headed down the path to the creek. As well as she knew the path by now, she stepped lightly, careful to keep her balance, trying not to jiggle Euclid.
The creek wasn’t as deep now, but it ran faster. It wasn’t often Babe was happy for her size and her strength, as she easily and quickly forded the water. She scooped up a handful of water and patted some on Euclid’s burning face. “Shhhshhh,” she whispered, coming onto the shore. “Almost there.”
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