Apollo hustled Minnie and Willie up to the hayloft to settle down for the night. Bertha and Moses went along to help, they said, but I could see they were exhausted. No one returned.
Tauseret lay down and closed her eyes.
“Are you well?” I asked.
“Tired,” she answered faintly.
For a while I talked with Miss Lightfoot and Mr. Ginger on how we would present a show, but I glanced repeatedly at Tauseret.
“Do you think she’ll be all right?” I whispered. “That’s the first food she’s eaten in centuries.”
Miss Lightfoot patted my hand. “If she’s lasted this long, I doubt a few scraps of chicken will hurt her.”
“She’s a miracle,” said Mr. Ginger. “I’m not sure miracles get sick.”
Soon Mr. Ginger’s eyes grew as droopy as those of his twin, and he excused himself to one of the stalls. That left Miss Lightfoot, applying cream to her cracked arms.
I fetched my jacket from the baggage piled near the wagon, and pulled out the documents in my inner pocket. I handed them to the alligator woman.
“What are these, sugar pie?” she asked.
“The legal papers for the children,” I replied. “See who is named guardian.” I opened the first document and pointed to her name.
Her eyes widened. “Land sakes!”
“Did you not know?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Honey love, my parents were too embarrassed to send me to school. I can’t read nor write. I can barely sign my name, and it was Mr. Ginger who taught me that.”
“What did Mink tell you when you signed the papers?” I asked.
“He said I was the witness. ‘Shut up and sign where I point,’ he told me. Usually a lawyer came, but I rarely saw any parents. I expect many of the documents are forged.”
“Why make you guardian?”
“I don’t know that I can speak for that devious little man,” Miss Lightfoot replied. “But he doesn’t always go by the name Lazarus Mink. Perhaps he used mine because he believed he could always produce me as his dupe.” She looked away from me. I wondered if she was hiding tears.
“I suppose it may have reassured parents that a lady would be responsible for their child,” I said.
“I’m not sure people who sell their children need reassurance,” she answered.
I remembered her situation and fell silent.
“I’ll excuse myself now,” she said, and took one of the two lanterns and left for the stall that she’d named her boudoir.
How relieved I was that Miss Lightfoot was innocent of all collusion. I had no doubt now that we were all united in our quest for safety. Everything had to turn out right. All I had to do was get everyone back to my home.
I leaned against the trough in the pool of lantern light, too exhausted to move. Out in the darkness were the snores of the sleepers and the rustle of mice in the hay; beyond those sounds were miles and miles of unknown. Home still seemed a long ways away.
“The clown is drunk.”
I started. Tauseret was awake. “What clown?”
“The clown I made throw you off the train,” she said. “The one who opened to me when he clutched your ring amidst the shirt at your throat.”
“Um, is this helpful?” I asked.
“We shall see,” Tauseret answered. “He’s telling everyone about a dream he keeps having. A Musky strumpet’ tells him over and over to rescue Abel at tomsjunction in the state that is Iowa. He thinks it’s because he feels guilty about what he did to you, but he’s too stupid and mean of heart to feel guilt.”
I was sure the clown’s carrying on like all possessed wouldn’t do me a bit of good, but I didn’t say so, I just put my face in my hands.
“Ankhtifi?”
I turned to her.
“Unbind my arms,” she said. Her voice trembled, but she tilted her chin up and tried to look proud. Well, I thought. If she is ready, then so must I be. There are no experts here, However, a horrid idea slipped through my mind—what if I removed the bandages, and her arm came off in my hand? I gulped.
Her arms were wrapped separately from her body. They stretched down her torso and were crossed and tied at the wrists below her waist. She wiggled the fingers that poked through the bandages. They were no longer clawlike, but long and elegant; the nails that had been yellow were still ragged but were now colored peach. This gave me faith. I tugged at the torn linen at her armpit and tried to unwind it, but her arm pressed too close to her chest. For a moment I was stymied, but then I pulled a serrated knife from one of the picnic hampers and used it to cut the old linen all the way down to her wrists, and I peeled the fabric away. Her limbs were plump and firm, and I exhaled in relief.
“All is well,” Tauseret said. Was it me she reassured or herself?
I set to unwrapping her fingers, but my hands trembled, for if I slipped, I might touch her in a personal place—a place I imagined to be no longer arid as the desert, but as hot and moist as the Nile Delta. I bit my lip. I fumbled. Sweat beaded on my brow. When I pulled the tube of fabric from the final finger, she took my hand with a strength I didn’t expect and pressed it close to what I had carefully avoided. I flooded with warmth.
“Free my wrists,” she whispered, and let me go.
I sawed at the bonds in a slipshod hurry and tried not to think of the tightness in my loins.
She raised her arms and examined them. She turned them this way and that, bent them at the elbow, flexed her fingers, opened and closed her hands. “I never thought I would do that again,” she said. She held her arms out to me, and I pulled her to a sitting position. Her skin was soft.
She loosened the wrappings around her neck, then ripped the remnants of linen back from her skull like an offending cap and tossed them aside. Dark hair, matted and dusty, fell past her shoulders. She shook it around her, creating a cloud of particles in the air. She sneezed and laughed. “I had a shaven head when they wrapped me,” she said. “How odd.” She tugged at her locks and grimaced. “I may shave it off again.”
“Wait,” I said, and retrieved my brush. I sat behind her on the edge of the trough and smoothed the tangles from her hair. Her tresses were thick, with a slight wave, and under the dust had a sheen that defied reason. She leaned her head back and made a throaty sound like a purr. I knew that movement, I knew that sound, and my body responded so fiercely that I had to bite back a moan. I bent and kissed her by her ear, and she uttered something guttural and encouraging in a language I didn’t know.
The kiss left grit on my lips, and this brought me some sort of sanity. I wasn’t sure what I made love to, nor what the consequences were. I stood.
“Won’t you help me with my legs?” she asked.
“It doesn’t seem right,” I said.
“Why?” she asked. “You are my lover.”
“I don’t remember that,” I answered, half lying.
“Then, it’s time to give you new memories,” she answered, and smiled sweet enough to melt any man’s resolve. That face! I had seen that face before I ever met this woman in the flesh. She truly was the woman of my dreams.
She braced herself on the sides of the trough and raised her lower limbs with newfound strength. I cut the fabric above her knees and wound the linens that bound her legs together down toward her feet. Sometimes the material frayed and came apart, and I had to pick at the ends to get it started again. There were many layers, and soon the bottom of the trough was littered with ancient yellow cloth, like an untidy nest. I peeled the last layer away to the tops of her thighs with growing wonder.
I had seen many showgirls in my young life, and most had had sturdy and shapely limbs, but I don’t think I had ever seen legs as perfect as hers. She raised them one at a time and bent them at the knee. She stretched them and curled her toes. I wanted to kiss and worship them and damn the dust. I choked and realized my mouth hung open. I snapped it shut and hoped she hadn’t seen.
She hadn’t. She was too intent on worryi
ng the wrappings at her chest. Perhaps they squeezed her now she had filled out. She freed an end and passed the shreds around her, hand to hand.
“What are you doing?” I gasped.
“Finishing,” she said as if I were foolish.
I wanted to tell her to stop, I thought I should run and find her a sheet, I knew I should turn my head away, but I stood there too hypnotized to move.
And she kept on unwinding.
And unwinding.
Until the last thin band of gauze that covered her breasts slid down the tawny stem of her like the skin of an asp to reveal the most perfect, ripe fruit.
She cupped her breasts happily in her hands.
I was lost, wanting the taste of them. I went to her as her slave and knelt at her side, and she wound her arms about my neck. I lifted her out of the trough and onto my lap. Her fingers tangled in my hair, and she drew me to her and captured my lips with hers. My tongue explored and found no resistance, and I took her mouth as mine. She tasted of exotic nectars and smelled of spices. I wanted to dissolve and be a part of her.
“Rid me of the rest of these rags,” she breathed against my lips.
I heard pounding. For a moment I thought that sound was my heart, but then the source became clear. Someone was beating on the door.
I pulled away, confused, shaking, guilty—found out in my sin.
“Open up in the name of the law,” demanded a stern voice.
26
PAY HIM NO MIND,” GRUMBLED Tauseret. She reached for me, but I held back. A whimper came from the hayloft. I felt like whimpering too. Did Mink stand outside with the sheriff?
Miss Lightfoot appeared beside me. Without batting an eye, she helped Tauseret off my lap to a seat on the side of the trough. She took a garment from her shoulder and laid it in Tauseret’s arms. “Honey pie, I do believe you are in need of this.”
My cheeks flamed.
Tauseret exhaled audibly and rolled her eyes. She held up the offered chemise to examine it. Sleeveless, shapeless, and white, it did not appear the garment of her dreams.
“Open the door, Abel,” Miss Lightfoot said. “We must deal with this inconvenience.” I could tell from the fear in her eyes she expected Mink to be outside, but she pressed her lips firmly together and helped pull the shift down over Tauseret’s head.
I tugged the barn door open, my innards in shock at my rapid change of emotions. An annoyed man, a silver star on the lapel of his tightly buttoned blue jacket, with nightshirt cuffs apparent under the sleeves, walked inside. Mr. Webster, with a lantern, entered behind him, accompanied by his wife, clad in a voluminous wrapper, her children clustered around her. Mr. Webster shot me a look that accused me of betrayal, and I felt ashamed and injured.
I looked beyond our visitors but saw neither Mink nor any of his henchmen. This had to be his doing, however. Had he bribed this lawman to be his dupe? A sense of doom suffused me.
A row of scared faces now peered down from the hayloft— some little, some big, one hairy. Mr. Bopp had either not heard the ruckus or ignored it.
Mr. Ginger joined us. He appeared rather odd in his underdrawers and a hastily donned hat. “What is your business here, Officer?” he asked.
Tauseret favored the sheriff with a radiant smile from her perch on the trough. The sheriff smiled back, then examined his boots, cleared his throat, and took on an official glower once more. “There’s a feller at my office claims you stole his wagon and a valuable exhibit, and abducted children in his care.”
“Would that be a Dr. Mink?” Mr. Ginger asked.
“That would be the feller,” agreed the sheriff. He looked like he had smelled something bad when he said it, and my hopes returned.
“Dr. Mink owed us salary, Officer, and refused to pay,” I explained. “We decided that we had better seek our fortunes elsewhere. A wagon hardly covered what he owed us.”
The sheriff nodded as if he could well see our case. I could tell he didn’t like Mink at all. “But there’s a matter of a …” He paused, as if what he had to say was too unbelievable. “An Egyptian mummy,” he concluded.
Mr. Ginger glanced at Tauseret, now a stunning little beauty in a long white chemise. “Search the whole place, if you like,” he said. “You will find no dried-out ancient lady here.”
“Go ahead, Eli,” said Mr. Webster. “Might as well.”
The sheriff poked in corners, turned over hay, and examined the inside of the wagon. At one point he let out a yelp that sounded most undignified. A familiar growl followed his cry, and I knew he’d found Mr. Bopp.
My heart thumped when he approached the water trough. What if he found the wrappings? The sheriff might overlook the wagon, but if we proved to have taken something else, the situation might not go well for us. Tauseret chose that moment to slide backward into the trough and recline. She yawned like a cat and patted her mouth with her fingers most prettily.
“Sorry to disturb your night’s rest, young lady,” the sheriff said, and turned away, looking flustered.
“Well, I see no sign of antiquities here,” said the sheriff, “but what about the children?” He looked up. “Mink says you kidnapped them.”
“I beg to differ,” countered Miss Lightfoot, and swept to where I had laid the legal papers. “I think you will find that I, Ruby Lightfoot, late of Poeville, South Carolina, am the legal guardian of these dear children and am sworn to protect them from evil men such as Dr. Mink.” She handed the papers to the sheriff with a flourish.
“Well, well,” said the sheriff. “I will suggest, then, that Dr. Mink pull foot before I arrest him for wasting the law’s time.”
“I’m very, very sorry,” I professed to Mr. Webster when the sheriff was gone. “We didn’t mean to put you to this inconvenience.”
“Now you know why we are leaving this business,” added Miss Lightfoot. “We want no more truck with vermin like Dr. Mink.”
Mrs. Webster shivered. “He must be a bad egg, that one,” she said. “Bearing false witness. Kidnapping children. As savage as a meat ax, indeed. Come on, chickadees, let these good people go back to their rest. My, my, you poor dears.” She hustled her children off, and I didn’t know whom she considered the “poor dears,” them or us.
“Did Mink say how he found us?” I asked Mr. Webster.
“Heard one of the neighbors who was at the tavern up in town boast about the show,” said Mr. Webster. “Went straight to the sheriff. Banged on his door until he got out of bed.” Mr. Webster shook his head and left.
“They’re all gone,” Willie called down from where he perched like a squirrel on the ledge of an air vent.
“Did you see Billy Sweet or Bonfiglio out there?” I asked. Mink may have stayed at the sheriff’s office, but it would be like him to set a tail on the lawman.
“No, just the sheriff and the Websters.”
“Maybe they split up to search for us,” said Mr. Ginger.
“Maybe they are guarding what is left of Mink’s show,” said Miss Lightfoot.
Wherever they were, I had a horrible feeling that they would be here soon. Mink had tried bluffing with the law and it hadn’t worked, but he wouldn’t give up easily. We hadn’t seen the last of him.
I’d had enough for that night, however. I now wanted nothing but sleep.
Miss Lightfoot must have seen the exhaustion on my face. “You take the far stall, Abel,” she said. “I’ll keep this lady company.”
I might have been put out if I’d had an ounce of energy, but Tauseret acted unperturbed. “Take your rest,” she said. “You will need it.”
I wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but I was quite content to drift off to sleep in the scratchy hay, imagining.
In the morning Tauseret greeted me warmly as I woke. “Welcome to the day, my love. It waits for you.”
She leaned over me, her dark hair tumbling around her lovely face, her full breasts threatening to escape the neckline of her cotton chemise. I blinked and wiped the grit from the corners of
my eyes.
“We must touch often,” she whispered, and tumbled down beside me, enfolding me in her arms. “I am afraid if we don’t, I will shrivel again.”
“You needn’t worry,” I said, trying not to breathe in her face. “I will endeavor to touch you as much as possible, I promise— after I have washed.” What would the others think if we were found in this embrace in broad daylight? I extricated myself from her arms and sat up. “How go the messages to our rescuers?” I added to distract her.
“I haven’t been able to enter Lillie’s dreams,” said Tauseret. She leaned back on her elbows and watched me brush the hay from my clothes, a slight frown on her beautiful features. “I don’t think she sleeps.”
“Perhaps you put her off sleep,” I said.
“Or she is traveling,” Tauseret answered, looking triumphant.
I chuckled. How wonderful it must be to be so sure of oneself. “Well, I hope Mr. Northstar came back before she left and she told him where I went.”
Tauseret raised her eyebrows in question.
“That is Willie’s father,” I told her. “Remember, Mink stole Willie, too. We sure could use Mr. Northstar’s help.”
Tauseret spat out a puff of air. “Then, I will try harder. The clown still hears me and raves to the world about it,” she added, and grinned.
It wasn’t a mean-spirited clown or a lady of the night I counted on, however. It was the colonel. Could he find us before we came to Toms Junction, wherever that was, or would Mink and his bullyboys corner us first? I bit my lip. Did I set my hopes on pure fantasy?
The new day started with the application of another coat on the wagon. Tauseret wanted to paint, but I assured her that she would help more if she told the children stories to amuse them. They were restless and fragile and needed distraction. She was bound to have a store of new tales, and Apollo must be plumb out of them. Tauseret sniffed at this suggestion, but Miss Lightfoot came to the rescue with her sewing kit and a shirtwaist she proclaimed would “do a treat for our new friend.” Tauseret, entranced by the calico, was lured away, and the children had to settle for one of Apollo’s games.