“What happened?” Lily felt certain she didn’t want to know, but she had to ask.
“At first, nothing,” said Star. “He treated us all very well. My mother had her own wagon. Moth and I had one too.” Star hesitated a moment. “The one you and your mother are in now,” she said.
Lily felt her stomach tighten. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
“I wasn’t sure at first,” Star said. “But then I saw the marks that Moth carved into the wood over the door. They were supposed to keep him out.”
“Everyman?” said Lily, already suspecting the answer.
“Sometimes he would come at night,” Star explained. “He said it was to make sure we were all right. He would sit on the edge of the bed and read to us from the book. I never liked that, but Moth pretended to be interested because it made him happy.”
“Did your mother know he came to you?” asked Lily.
“Not at first,” Star answered. “Moth said not to tell her. She had enough to worry about, telling fortunes all day. We didn’t want to trouble her. Besides, at first all he did was read. But then one night I woke up because I heard Moth make a sound. When I opened my eyes, he was on top of her. I screamed for him to stop, and he said he was just trying to comfort her because she was having a nightmare. I knew he was lying, but Moth looked so frightened that I didn’t say anything. Not then, anyway. But in the morning, I told my mother.”
“And what did she do?” Lily asked.
“She went to him.” Star’s voice turned hard. “She made a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“He didn’t come to our wagon again,” Star said. “Instead, he went to hers.”
Lily knew something about the ways of men and women. Enough that she understood what Star’s mother had done to protect her daughters. But she’d heard the Reverend say many times that such a thing was a sin. Part of her wondered if Star might not be mistaken. But the anger in her words told Lily that she believed what she was saying.
“It was just after the new year when she began to show signs of a baby,” said Star. “She hid it as long as she could, but when she started to refuse him, he figured out why. Then he beat her to make her lose it. But she knew how to brew teas and make potions to keep the little one safe. She threatened to curse him if he came near her, to make his manhood shrivel up.” Star laughed bitterly. “He believed her, at least long enough for her to have the baby. It was a boy.”
“What happened to him?”
“My mother knew it wasn’t safe for him in this world. She made another deal. This time with the old ones. She exchanged her child for one of theirs. It was an ugly thing. When the preacher saw it, he accused her of lying with the Devil. When she told him that the child was his and his alone, he struck her. She fell and hit her head. She died two days later.”
“Why didn’t you and Moth leave then?”
“We were going to,” Star said. “But before we could, he took Moth. He’s had her ever since. And he told me that if I didn’t do as he demanded, he would hurt her.”
Now the story was out. Having heard it, Lily was unsure how to feel or think. Star had no reason to lie to her. And it was clear that she believed what she was saying. Yet it was difficult to accept that the Reverend could do what she claimed he had done. She remembered waking up to find Lester’s hand on her leg, and the memory sickened her. Was Everyman capable of the same treachery, and worse?
She had many questions, and she could ask Star none of them. The bond between them was still fragile. She feared that testing it would change things irreparably, and that as a result, the vision she saw whenever they touched would change as well. She had not yet told Star what she saw in their joined future. She was afraid that, as Everyman believed, the outcome could be altered if one or both of them made different choices.
This was her great shame: She had not told Star about the curse that was upon her. When asked how she and her mother had come to join the Caravan, Lily had found herself lying. She’d told Star that the Reverend’s interest was in her mother, and that the whisperings of the clowns about her own worth to him was simply idle gossip. Star, removed from the larger world of the Caravan, knew no better.
Now the weight of the unspoken truth was becoming difficult to bear. Lily knew that she had to tell Star about herself. She had already revealed as much as she dared, including her life in the village and the death of her father. But she couldn’t bring herself to reveal her curse.
She hoped that she would be rid of it soon, and that it would no longer be a problem. Day after day, she was continuing to do God’s work. The Reverend was pleased with her. Just that morning he had told her that he sensed a change in her, a step forward on what he assured her was the path to salvation. All she had to do was continue down it.
But if what Star told her was true, then the preacher’s word was not inviolable. She didn’t want to believe this. Even if she didn’t fully understand God, even if she sometimes doubted, she needed to believe that the Reverend was a trustworthy instrument of the Lord.
“We need to find Moth.”
Star’s words broke through her thoughts, scattering them like leaves.
“Yes,” Lily agreed. “I’ve been looking.”
The fact that she could find out nothing about Star’s sister worried her. She knew that the girl had to be somewhere in the Caravan. Yet her attempts to locate her all resulted in dead ends. It was frustrating, particularly for Star.
“Can you find some way to ask the preacher?” Star said. “When you’re alone with him the next time?”
Lily hadn’t the heart to tell Star that she’d tried several times to inquire about Moth. Always she couched it in questions about sin and its consequences, asking the Reverend to recount the story of the witch’s daughter more fully. But when he’d suggested that her interest in the girl’s fate was unhealthy, she’d stopped.
The clowns were no more useful. All she got from them was leers and cruel laughter. She would have to find another way to discover where Moth was. But now she answered Star’s request with, “I’ll try.”
Star, for her part, had become more docile when dealing with the Reverend and the clowns. Lily had, quite rightly, convinced her that this was the most likely way to get what she wanted, or at least to win a measure of peace. And it was working. Failing to enrage her made her less interesting to them, and now they led her to and from the stage for the daily performances but otherwise left her alone.
“The Reverend is asking for you.”
Lily whirled around, startled by the unexpected voice. Behind her, Sims stood with an expression suggesting that he was hardly surprised to find her there. Lily wondered how long he had been there, and whether this was the first time he’d seen her standing on the crate beneath the truck window.
She jumped down. Her heart raced as she waited to be scolded. But Sims said only, “He’s in his wagon.”
Lily nodded. She feared what would happen to Star once she left, but she had little choice. Now that they’d been found out, refusing to answer the Reverend’s summons could only make things worse. Her best chance lay in going to him as quickly as she could and praying that Sims would say nothing.
He didn’t follow her as she ran to where Everyman’s wagon was parked. As always, it was situated away from the others, in the quietest part of the field where he would not be disturbed. By the time she got there, she was out of breath, and so before knocking she paused on the set of wooden steps that sat in front of his door.
As she waited, she heard a noise, a kind of low moan, as of someone in pain. It grew louder, and was accompanied by angry grunts. Concerned and curious, Lily tried the handle of the door, and found it unlocked. She pulled, and a sliver of the inside of the wagon came into view. She could see a bed, and on it her mother. She saw too the back of the Reverend, who was between her mother’s spread legs. He was thrusting back and forth.
Lily knew what she was seeing. Knew too that she was n
ot meant to see it. She very quickly shut the door, turned, and ran away from the wagon. She ran until she escaped the lights of the Caravan and was hidden by the dark, stopping only when she came to a tree whose branches were low enough that she could climb into them. Then she kept climbing, moving higher and higher until she found a place where she could sit, surrounded by leaves, and think about what to do.
Not more than a minute later she heard her name being called. “Lily! Lily, where are you? I know you came this way.”
It was her mother. Her voice was shrill with anger. Or was it worry? Lily, terribly afraid of being found, was unsure. She held her breath, fearful that even the slightest rustling of the leaves would betray her hiding spot.
“Lily! Answer me at once!”
Her mother was beneath the tree. Lily shut her eyes and willed her to go away. Her mother carried a lantern, and the light filtered through the leaves as she turned in circles. Lily pulled her feet up in an attempt to make herself even smaller. As she did, one of her shoes caught on a branch and slipped off. It tumbled down through the leaves.
Below her, her mother let out a startled gasp. Then the lantern was raised, and she was peering up into the branches. Lily could see her face illuminated by the light.
“Lily, come down,” she said. “I want to talk to you.”
Lily shook her head, although her mother could not see this. But she recognized her daughter’s silence as refusal, and so tried again.
“If you don’t come down, I’ll come up,” she said. “I’m not so old that I’ve forgotten how to climb a tree.”
She waited until it was clear that Lily wasn’t going to do as she’d asked, and then she began to climb. Lily watched, terrified and fascinated, as her mother rose branch by branch into the tree. She would never have thought her capable of it. But there she was, ascending slowly but inexorably through the leaves.
With nowhere to go, Lily pressed herself tightly against the bole of the tree and prepared herself for the inevitable arrival. She had nothing to say to her mother, and didn’t want to hear anything her mother might have to say to her. She wanted only to be left alone, to forget what she’d seen and stop thinking about what it might mean. But her mother was determined.
She had been forced to leave the lantern behind, but had hung it on a lower branch so that a bit of light still rose up from beneath her, illuminating her in such a way that her shadow grew to monstrous size. Lily shrank back from the seemingly giant arms and legs that moved, spiderlike, against the scrim of leaves. Her mother reached the branch upon which Lily sat. They faced one another in mute confrontation.
Her mother spoke first. “Lily,” she said, using the voice she adopted when she was trying to hide her annoyance. “You’re being very disobedient. Don’t you remember what the Reverend says about children who refuse to honor their mothers?”
Lily stared at her mother’s face. She imagined the moaning sounds escaping from her mouth, which now was set in a tense frown. She pictured her mother’s body, now covered by a silk robe, patterned with roses, that Lily had never seen before, and saw it naked and glistening with sweat. She saw the parted thighs, the Reverend pushing between them. She heard once more the grunts and groans, so heated and hungry.
“You’re going to come down from here.” Her mother’s voice was stony. “You’re not going to ruin this for me.”
Lily covered her ears with her hands. Her mother, seeing this, lost her patience and, forgetting herself, reached out. “Come down at once,” she said as her hand began to close around Lily’s ankle.
Then she remembered the curse, and her hand retreated.
“It’s your father’s fault,” she said. “He made you think you’re something special. Well, look where that got him.”
Lily felt her heart catch fire, as if someone had held a match to tinder. Anger flared in her, and before she knew it she had reached out and grabbed her mother’s wrist. Her mother tried to snatch her arm away, but Lily’s fingers clutched.
“Do you want to know what I see?” Lily asked.
Her mother cried out. “Let me go!”
“Do you want to know?”
Her mother said nothing.
“Leave me alone,” Lily said. “Leave me alone, or I’ll tell you.”
She released her mother’s wrist. Her mother hesitated a moment, and then began to descend through the leaves, back the way she’d come. When she reached the bottom, she took the lantern from the branch. Lily waited until the light had retreated fully and she was once again in darkness. Only then did she allow the tears to come.
T W E N T Y - E I G H T
“WHY DID YOU DO IT?”
Sims, startled, looked with surprise at Baba Yaga, who seemed to have appeared out of thin air in front of him. Which, in fact, she had. His mind quickly told him that she must have just stepped out from behind a tent.
“Do what?” he asked.
“Tell the girl to go to the preacher’s wagon,” said Baba Yaga. “I assume you knew what she would find there.”
Sims nodded. “I did,” he admitted. He didn’t know why he was telling the strange old woman his secrets, but somehow he thought it was best not to lie to her.
Baba Yaga cocked her head and squinted her eyes in a manner that had been known to unnerve even the hardiest souls. “Why?”
Sims only shrugged his shoulders.
“Listen,” said Baba Yaga. “I enjoy a good plot twist as well as the next person. Probably more. But I like to know the reason. So out with it.”
“I’m dying,” Sims said.
“So I’ve heard,” said Baba Yaga. “That hardly seems a good reason for giving the girl such a shock. In case you hadn’t noticed, she’s not as worldly as some.”
“I joined the Caravan because I believed God’s work was being done here.” Sims looked defeated. “I no longer believe that.”
“Ah,” said Baba Yaga, making connections. “Revenge. The oldest motivation there is. You want to see the preacher fall.”
Sims shook his head. “I want to see the girl rise.”
Baba Yaga cackled joyously. “Oh-ho! Even better. You want her to be his undoing.”
“I want her to see him as he really is,” said Sims. “What he makes people become. I thought if she saw him with her mother, it would show her what he is.”
Baba Yaga picked her nose and wiped it on her sleeve. “The mother is hardly an unwilling participant.”
“True enough,” Sims agreed. “But her sins are her own. His are against God.”
“You still believe in your god?” asked Baba Yaga. “After everything? Your sickness and all of this?” She indicated the carnival and made a rude gesture.
“I do,” said Sims. “He’s here. Even now.”
“Then why doesn’t he do something about it himself? Why leave it to you to accomplish?”
“He created us to do his work,” Sims told her. “That’s our purpose.”
Baba Yaga yawned. “Seems a bit lazy. Then again, none of the gods I’ve met are much for doing their own laundry or sweeping their own parlors, so I suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise that this one is no different.”
“I don’t understand you,” Sims said.
“I don’t imagine you do,” said Baba Yaga. “I often don’t understand myself. Never mind. You’ll forget all about me as soon as I’m gone. Now, don’t ruin the story for me, but what do you expect the girl will do now?”
Sims sighed. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “That’s up to her. All I can do is show her the truth.”
“Well, part of it, anyway,” said Baba Yaga. “And as you know, the truth is not often a welcome gift. She could very well refuse it. We’ll see about that. What will you do now?”
“Leave,” said Sims. “Find somewhere to do God’s work until he calls me home.”
“To your great reward, I suppose.”
“Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will re
ceive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him,” Sims said.
“Oh, dear,” said Baba Yaga, scraping the inside of her ear and inspecting the blob of wax on her finger. “Not more crowns. That didn’t work out terribly well the last time. But have it your way.”
She decided that the man was foolish and honest. This was a regrettable combination. Fools could often manage, as long as they kept out of the way, but honest men always made enemies. If he was lucky, the sickness inside him would take him first.
“Well, good luck.” Then, because she felt a crumb of regret for the joke she’d played earlier, she added, “You ought to take the monkeys with you. I don’t think they’re suited for this life. Maybe you can find some peach trees to leave them in. I’m certain that God said he would like that. His will and whatnot.”
Sims, bewildered by the encounter, nodded and resumed walking. He had already packed his suitcase. He had only to retrieve it and walk to the road, where he would wait for someone to give him a ride. God would provide.
By the time he reached his wagon, he had forgotten all about the peculiar old woman.
T W E N T Y - N I N E
AFTER THE CONFRONTATION with her mother in the tree, Lily worried that she would be punished for her disobedience. But if her mother told the Reverend about what had happened, he gave no indication of it when next he saw Lily. This occurred a day later, when in the afternoon she was summoned by one of the clowns to appear in his tent. She went anxiously, wondering both what had become of Sims and what would become of her. Coupled with her ongoing fears about Star and Moth, her mind had become a briar patch of worries.
Everyman, however, greeted her as effusively as he ever did. No mention was made of her mother, whom she had not seen since their encounter. Nor did he in any way suggest that he was displeased with her. This relieved her fears somewhat, but she was still cautious. She hadn’t forgotten the story Star had told her, and as she listened to the preacher speak, she thought about the fortune teller and her lost child.