“Follow our journey into the future. Hold on to the bright thread of our lives. Where does the cold and dark try to swallow them, Minnie? What do you see of the place of our greatest peril?”
Minnie stood motionless, a frown on her face, and the absurdity of it all made me want to scream. How would this little child be able to tell us anything useful? She would burst into tears soon, and we would be none the wiser. Meanwhile the mummy girl grew heavy in my arms.
Just when I was ready to call a halt to the proceedings, Minnie opened her eyes. “Big train,” she said. “Lots of men. A little red house.”
We all looked at her blankly.
She waved her hand impatiently. “Stick,” she said. Moses handed her a twig.
Minnie drew a lopsided house in the dirt—a peaked roof, two windows, and a door. “This is the sweet little house,” she said in a singsong voice.
I groaned. It was a child’s fantasy.
“Hush! She draws a picture of what she saw,” said Tauseret.
Minnie added a jumble of scratches above the door.
“What are you writing, Minnie?” Apollo asked.
“She don’t know how to write,” said Bertha.
I moved behind her. The scratches were shaky but were letters indeed. They spilled off the side of the house because she couldn’t fit them all in. If I ignored the strange spacing, I saw they spelled out TOMS JUNCTION. I spoke it out loud. “It might be a train station name,” I said, amazed.
“I have touched and seen people through you while we were apart,” Tauseret said. “Some may still be open to me. I will send a message for them to meet us at this tomsjunction, I will send it to everyone I can reach. I will send it and pray.”
“Well, mention the state of Iowa while you’re at it,” I said. “That should narrow down the search a few hundred thousand miles.”
“Dang,” said Earle. “Trust the lady, why don’t you. A lady what can turn from a buffalo chip to pretty can do anything.”
I left the children babbling excitedly to Earle and carried Tauseret back to her sarcophagus, where she closed her eyes, and moved her lips as if uttering silent prayers.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Saving you, as I should always have done,” she answered, then spoke no more.
On a break between shows I asked to see Miss Lightfoot in Mr. Ginger’s tent. She followed me with a fan in one hand and a handkerchief in the other.
“I’m taking the children away from Mink,” I said to them both. “Tonight if possible, and I want you to come too.”
“Abel!” Miss Lightfoot exclaimed. “Dr. Mink won’t let you steal them.”
“It’s not stealing,” I said. “They’re people.”
“How do you plan to go?” asked Mr. Ginger.
“We could all fit into the children’s wagon,” I answered.
“Now, that is stealing,” said Mr. Ginger.
“When was the last time you were paid?” I asked. “How much money does he owe you all?”
“He’s keeping it safe for us,” objected Miss Lightfoot. She peppered her neck with quick little dabs of her handkerchief. Mr. Ginger stared down at his brightly shined shoes.
“I think he owes you all a wagon and horses at least—that’s not stealing.”
“I can’t, honey bun,” said Miss Lightfoot. Her voice trembled. “What if he catches us? What then? He’s a cruel man, Abel.” Her fan twitched in her other hand as if with a butterfly mind of its own.
“I’m taking the children, whatever you say,” I told them.
Miss Lightfoot sighed. “And so you must, the poor, dear mites.”
“Where?” asked Mr. Ginger.
“We’ll make our way back to Maryland somehow,” I said. “My family lives in a resort where there’s lots of room for children and plenty of people who will care for them—love them, even. We’re all show folk. We take care of one another.” I hoped that didn’t sound like a criticism.
“Why on earth did you leave?” asked Miss Lightfoot.
I couldn’t answer that without sounding like a selfish child. “Will you come, Mr. Ginger?” I asked.
He cleared his throat and wouldn’t look at me. “Oh, I don’t think I could stand the strain,” he said. “I’m in delicate health.”
Ruby Lightfoot paid considerable attention to fanning herself.
“There’s room for you both if you change your minds,” I said. Part of me was relieved. I worried that the more people we took, the harder it would be to get away.
“You are most kind,” Miss Lightfoot said, and honored me with a gentle smile. I thought her done, but she took a deep breath and continued urgently. “Sugar, you’d best retrieve those papers from Dr. Mink’s wagon,” she said. “The ones that give him guardianship of those children, else he’ll have the law on his side when he comes after you.”
The curtain parted and fear of discovery jolted my guts, but there stood wide-eyed Minnie. She took her corn dolly out of her mouth long enough to speak. “I’ve got a story,” she said in her wispy little voice.
“Well, come tell us, sugarplum,” the alligator woman invited, and reached out her scaled arms.
“Thank you for the advice, ma’am,” I said to Miss Lightfoot. “Have you a hairpin I might borrow?” Without questioning, she fumbled in her chestnut curls as I shook Mr. Ginger’s hand. I left Minnie with them and went back to my duties in the exhibit tent.
After the shows were over, the center tent packed, and the horses hitched up, I gave Apollo his orders. “Get the children into the wagon and tell them to settle down and be quiet. Ill meet you there.”
Daylight had almost gone by the time I wrestled my suitcase from behind my driver’s bench in the other wagon. I strapped the bandolier that held my throwing knives over my shoulder— I couldn’t lose them, whatever happened—and I threw my jacket over the top, despite the heat. I hadn’t gone far in the summer dusk when Billy Sweet called my name. I tossed my suitcase into the shadows under a wagon and waited, heart thumping.
“Hey, Dandy,” he said. “I’m goin’ to town to visit the ladies. Want to come and make yerself a man?”
I stammered my refusal, and he brayed like a donkey.
“Well, stay and read yer Bible, then,” he said. “I’ll be back before the late show ends to help you pack up the babies and the beef jerky lady.” As soon as he left, I breathed a sigh of relief and retrieved my bag.
“Listen,” I told the children as I stowed my suitcase under a bunk. “We’ll travel to where we sleep between towns, like always, but once the others are asleep, we’ll move on by ourselves.”
The children exchanged excited looks. Bertha pressed her wide hands over her mouth as if she was suppressing an explosion of glee.
“Moses,” I said, “you’re in charge.” The frog boy pushed out his chest.
“Hey!” Apollo yelped.
“Come on, Dog Boy,” I said. “We’ve got a job to do.”
Apollo’s protests died in his throat.
The summer night was sprinkled with distant, careless stars. Flickering torches cast uneven light and caused the shadows to constantly mutate. The crooked shades of men jerked into the latenight show, and I knew that Apollo and I were out there alone.
“You’ve been inside his wagon, where does he keep his papers?” I asked, and Apollo told me what he knew. I appointed him watchdog and climbed the creaky steps to Mink’s front door.
One learns many skills when one lives with show folk, and it didn’t take me long to trick the lock with Miss Lightfoot’s hairpin and a technique I’d learned from a world-renowned escape artist. Once I’d lit an oil lamp and turned it down as low as I could, the hairpin gained me entrance to the lockbox I found chained to the frame of the wagon.
Inside were papers aplenty, rolls of coins, and a fat wad of bills. I squinted to read the documents in the sooty light, and I finally spotted a familiar name—Moses Quick. I sucked in a breath. The guardian named was not Lazar
us Mink, as I had expected, but Ruby Lightfoot. I dropped the papers as if they had burst into flame, and glanced over my shoulder. Had she duped me? Could this be a trap? All I heard was the distant sound of sinuous pipe music. I picked up the spilled papers again with trembling hands and examined them. There, at the bottom, was scrawled Miss Lightfoot’s signature, shaky and childlike, and Dr. Mink’s name as witness. Why had she said these papers gave Mink guardianship?
I didn’t waste time wondering. I tucked every paper with a child’s name on it into my jacket—and, after hesitation, some of the cash, too. A quick survey of the wagon found me a sheaf of writing paper. I padded the documents left in the box so the theft wouldn’t be evident right away. I hoped that Mink wouldn’t notice when he stowed the night’s receipts.
I extinguished the lamp and groped my way to the door. I peeked out, and when I got the nod from Apollo, I slid through and fiddled the lock closed. As we crept by Mr. Bopp’s wagon, elation surged through me. We were on our way home.
“I reckon it’s lucky that I stepped outside for a piss,” said a voice from the shadows. “Yiss indeedy.”
Mink! My stomach shriveled to a knot. Had Miss Lightfoot betrayed us?
“What were you sneak thieves up to in my wagon?” he snapped.
“Nothing,” squeaked Apollo.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I said, which was a lie, although he weighed less than half of me.
“Are you not?” he said. “This lad is.” Mink stepped out of the dark, and Willie shuffled before him, his eyes stricken with terror. Mink held a derringer pistol to his head.
Apollo ducked behind me.
“You may be fool enough to risk your own life,” said Mink, “but I’d bet my last gold dollar you’re too noble to risk this pickaninny’s life. Empty your pockets or I’ll snuff him like a candle.”
Moses ran around the wagon with Miss Lightfoot in tow. They skidded to a halt when they saw us. Miss Lightfoot looked too shocked for me to believe her a conspirator with Mink.
“Me and Willie followed, and the bone man grabbed Willie,” said Moses to me.
I shot him a look, and he lowered his eyes in shame.
“Lazarus,” pleaded Miss Lightfoot. “Let the little boy go.”
“Why should you care, Ruby? Your family kept slaves, did they not? But then, they tried to sell you off like a slave too, didn’t they?”
Miss Lightfoot cried out, “They did not. I went willingly like a lamb to slaughter. You seduced me away.”
Mink laughed. “Only because your bankrupt father asked me for money for you. That’s why I had to romance you and lead you off in the middle of the night.”
She tottered backward and covered her face with her hands. Something ripped. I fancied it Ruby Lightfoot’s heart, but a shape like a sack of potatoes flew though the air and hit Mink in the head. It was Mr. Bopp. He’d somehow escaped his crate prison and torn through the wagon cover. Mink stumbled. His hat went flying. The gun fired skyward, jerked from Mink’s hand, and thumped to the ground. Mink landed on his rump with a scream of rage. Mr. Bopp jackknifed on the turf and tried to reach Mink with his teeth, spitting between each curse.
Customers boiled out of the performance tent like ants, pulling their collars up to hide their faces and looking around for the law. Bonfiglio followed them, craning his neck to see what mischief was afoot.
“It’s Dandy, you fool!” Mink screamed at Bonfiglio. “Stop him!”
“Grab Mr. Bopp and get to the wagon,” I yelled to Apollo.
It took all three boys to wrestle the human torso up and away.
I took off toward the exhibit tent. The bulky form of Bonfiglio pounded my way. I hoped I could toss Tauseret over my shoulder and still outrun him.
I reached the tent. I dug my arms under the mummy and hefted her to my chest. She was stiff again and unwieldy as a log. I staggered and tried to keep my purchase. I’d never get out of the door with her placed this way. I swung her under my arm and almost toppled the jars. Bonfiglio burst through the tent flap, with Mink behind him.
“Give me my money,” Mink cried. Bonfiglio advanced, his fists like hams. I felt Tauseret begin to warm and relax in my arms. I had to get out of there before Mink guessed her secret, but Mink had found his gun. All was lost.
Mr. Ginger came through the other door and found himself face-to-face with Mink. He clutched an oboe in white-knuckled fingers as he edged forward, Ruby Lightfoot timidly shuffling behind him.
“Get back,” I cried, not knowing what Mink would do.
“Pay him mind,” snarled Mink, waving his pistol, and Mr. Ginger froze at the table with the jars.
It may have been deliberate. Miss Lightfoot dodged out from behind Mr. Ginger, lifted the nearest pickled baby, and heaved it at Bonfiglio. Who would have known a lady would have such strength and aim? She hit him in the head. The jar shattered and he fell into Mink, shaking the glass from his bleeding brow and sending the waxy stillborn twins into the face of the showman. Mink howled and covered his eyes. Two with one blow! The air stank of formaldehyde.
“Give me her feet,” cried Mr. Ginger, tucking his oboe under his arm. Did he notice the mummy sagged in the middle and had the weight of a living girl? Together we ran with the mummy as fast as we could, Miss Lightfoot in the rear. I prayed that the second Mr. Ginger wouldn’t open his eyes.
We reached the paneled wagon. I passed Tauseret into the children’s hands. Miss Lightfoot and Mr. Ginger followed her up. I wrestled the creaky doors closed behind them and joined Apollo on the driver’s bench.
As we picked up speed, the children laughed and jeered. I leaned out to see two figures running after us: Mink, waving his arms like a crane fly, and Ceecee, clutching a flimsy wrap and tripping on his ladies’ slippers. Bonfiglio was nowhere to be seen. I thanked the carnal lusts of the absent Billy Sweet. We just might get away.
24
HYAH! HYAH!” I SMACKED THE reins and urged the horses on. Apollo jounced beside me on the driver’s bench. “How far behind do you think they are?” I yelled above the rumbling of the wheels.
“We unhitched the other horses,” cried Willie gleefully from the back. “They’d have to hitch ’em back up.”
“And he wouldn’t leave those tents,” added Bertha. “He’s much too cheap.”
“He’d wait for Sweet, too,” called Mr. Ginger. “He’s a braver man with thugs to back him up.”
Perhaps we had a better lead than I’d thought. I eased up some on the horses.
“I’m glad I sent the boys to grab some of their bags while you played tag with Mink,” said Apollo, gesturing back at Miss Lightfoot and Mr. Ginger. “That was smart of me, wasn’t it, huh, Abel?”
“You took a chance,” I said. “What if they hadn’t come?”
“Aw, I knew they were coming,” he said with all the assurance of hindsight.
I handed the reins to him and let him drive for a while. He stuck his tongue between his teeth with the effort, which kept him mercifully quiet.
“How is the mummy?” I called behind me. Did Tauseret even know we were on our way?
“That’s a damn funny question,” said Mr. Bopp, peering through the slats behind the driver’s bench.
I guessed she had lapsed into dormancy once more. “How did you get out of the crate?” I asked Mr. Bopp.
“Chewed me way out,” said the human caterpillar.
I took him at his word, since he still had a splinter stuck to his lip.
“Won’t we be conspicuous on this road once the sun rises?” asked Mr. Ginger from behind Mr. Bopp.
“Like a wart on a snake’s belly,” I heard Moses say.
They were right. I wondered where amid these cornfields we could hide.
“Might we trade this wagon for another?” asked Miss Lightfoot. “It’s a sound conveyance.”
“Except for ‘Dr. Mink’s Traveling Monster Menagerie’ being painted along the side,” said Mr. Ginger.
“All the more reason to get
rid of it,” I said.
“You’ll have to make the deal, sugar pie,” said Miss Lightfoot. “None of us will suit.”
I wished to ask her about the papers on the children, but I didn’t want to yell the question over my shoulder; I wanted to see her face so I could judge her answer. I couldn’t believe she had acted maliciously; was she merely embarrassed to be party to Mink’s infamy?
In the gray light of dawn Mr. Ginger took a turn at the reins, his cap pulled down over his twin in case we met strangers. Apollo joined the children sleeping in the back. “I have an idea,” Mr. Ginger said, waking me from a doze.
At the first crossroad I unloaded the passengers and we created wheel tracks east with the help of water from a nearby stream.
“He won’t be fooled by that, will he?” I asked.
“Could it hurt?” asked Mr. Ginger. “And it raises the spirits.”
He was right. The children had great sport running backward behind the wagon with branches to sweep away their footprints and our real tracks in the dust of the northbound road. Even Bertha lumbered along like a bear at play on her short, bowed arms and legs.
They were exhausted by the time Apollo ordered them back into the wagon.
“The lady’s still sleeping,” said Bertha, peeking in a lower bunk.
“When’s she gonna wake up?” asked Willie.
“What you been telling these kids?” growled Mr. Bopp.
“How did you know I’d go to get the mummy?” I asked Miss Lightfoot as I handed Minnie up to her.
“Minnie told me a story about it,” Miss Lightfoot said, and gave the child a kiss on the head. “She said you wanted to save it.” She paused and examined me. “You don’t believe it’s real, do you?”
“I’m not mad,” I said. “You’ll have to wait and decide for yourself.”
I took the reins again. The sun beat down. I removed my jacket and knife bandolier, and Mr. Ginger held them. More than once I jerked awake, the reins slipping from my fingers. The road widened, and farms and villages multiplied. We passed by several apple orchards. I should have pity on those trapped inside the wagon and find a shady place to stop and eat. My stomach rumbled agreement. The cornfields made way for pastures where cows grazed. We came to a wide dirt road with a fancy white sign at the gate painted with the words WEBSTER’S DAIRY.