Ephemia Rimaldi, page 6
“If girls and ladies do the same work here as men, why won’t you let me help?” asked Effy.
Mr. Jefferson placed one hand on Effy’s shoulder and steered her back onto the midway. “Because—you’re the ringmaster’s daughter.”
Effy sighed. “Miss Mabel told me you’d find a fit for me here, that you found a fit for everyone.”
“Did she, then,” Jefferson chuckled. A wistful smile softened his grizzled face. “She’s a fine lady whom I wouldn’t want to disappoint. But I just don’t have the time to ponder. You’ll find work if you keep asking.” Effy strode through the circus grounds. But every time she approached someone, she was shooed away by a worker too busy to give her the time of day. She came to a crossroads between the midway and the caravans.
Effy sighed. “Miss Mabel told me you’d find a fit for me here, that you found a fit for everyone.”
“Did she, then,” Jefferson chuckled. A wistful smile softened his grizzled face. “She’s a fine lady whom I wouldn’t want to disappoint. But I just don’t have the time to ponder. You’ll find work if you keep asking.”
Effy strode through the circus grounds. But every time she approached someone, she was shooed away by a worker too busy to give her the time of day. She came to a crossroads between the midway and the caravans. Two makeshift trapeze swings rigged from poles swung about six feet above, and a tightrope stretched between two pegs was suspended close to the ground.
The boy who’d been wearing underwear when she’d first met up with Phineas was now dressed in a plaid shirt and trousers. He idly crossed the tightrope back and forth with his arms outstretched. The girl who had taken Effy’s water buckets had changed into a proper dress instead of tights. She swung back and forth on the low-rigged trapeze and stared sullenly at Effy.
Sitting on the caravan’s step, a woman with her arm in a sling eyed Effy. “And who is this, Jacque?” asked the woman.
“She’s none other than Miss Hoity-toity, the ringmaster’s daughter.” The boy spat on the ground when he jumped off the tightrope and glared at Effy.
“I can’t help it if I’m the ringmaster’s daughter.” Effy put her hands on her hips.
“Where are your manners,” the woman cautioned the boy, although, to Effy’s mind, not overly so. “I am Yolanda, and that’s Jacque and Madelene,” she gestured to her children, “of the Great Yolandas. What can I do for you?”
Effy glanced at the woman’s sling. “Perhaps you could use some extra help?”
“You want to be a trapeze artist?” Jacque laughed, and Madelene quickly joined in. It was as if he’d said the most hilarious thing in the world.
A trapeze artist—Effy’s jaw dropped. Hanging upside down, on a swing, way up in the air, wasn’t what she had in mind at all. She’d much rather climb rope ladders and tie poles. She was about to say so when Jacque snorted, “She’s no circus performer.”
Effy was tired of people telling her what she wasn’t. She decided there on the spot, whatever those two ruffians could do, she could learn. “Of course, I’m a performer.
I’m the ringmaster’s daughter. I can climb and jump. I used to jump off the barn roof all the time and fall onto the haystacks. And I have strong hands,” she pointed out.
Madelene stopped swinging. “You are injured, Mama.”
“No,” said Yolanda. “If I can’t perform, neither can you two.”
“Look,” argued Madelene, “No one has to do anything daring, no backflips or whips.”
Effy was about to say she’d done plenty of backflips off the bar roof, only they weren’t really back flips. She’d fallen backward onto haystacks, and she’d just done this a couple of times, and they were by accident.
“Mama, Jacque and I don’t want to sit out the performances because of your pulled shoulder.” Madelene jumped off the swing. “Phineas will give us other jobs. We’re the Great Yolandas, top performers. Would you have us cleaning cages and stables? This girl could stand on the aerial platform and push us back and forth or be a catcher.”
But I need to do more than that to impress Phineas, thought Effy. Swinging between platforms looked easy enough on the posters. All I’d have to do is hold on tight. The petals of an idea began unfurling in Effy’s mind,
Phineas had said, “You are no circus performer, and I am no father.” If she became an aerialist . . . was it possible that he could become a true poppa?
“If I perform, your children don’t have to give up their act. This will be good for the circus,” Effy said in her most convincing voice.
Yolanda said nothing. Effy shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot, staring at Madelene’s calculating smiles. She wasn’t sure if she wanted Yolanda to agree or not.
“You know Jacque and I will be fine, Mama,” said Madelene.
“We do need the higher pay,” said Yolanda, “And the ringmaster did send her here to us.”
Effy saw no point in saying that she’d sent herself.
“We don’t need her.” Jacque jabbed a finger in Effy’s direction,
“Ah, but you do, even if she only passes the swings to you both,” said Yolanda. “All of you, change out of your street clothes and start rehearsing.”
As Yolanda left, Jacque turned to his sister and smirked, “Well, you heard her; she’s very good at falling off the roof. I’m sure we can help her with that.”
It was clear to Effy that Jacque would like nothing better than dropping her on her head. She said, “Don’t forget, I am the ringmaster’s daughter.” She grinned wickedly as Jacque pressed his lips into a thin white line and stomped away. At least now he had a reason to dislike her.
Madelene frowned. “Drat, I had my weekly bath already. Now I have to get all sweaty again.”
“Why don’t you take another bath after rehearsal?” Effy ventured.
“Two buckets a week, that’s all any of us get. Water is always in short supply in a circus.” Madelene smiled. “And you’ve already used up your buckets.”
Circus life was most disagreeable, indeed. It only got worse when Effy followed Madelene into her family’s caravan, where she opened a trunk, unfolded lavender-scented tissue paper, and pulled out skimpy tights.
“I . . . I can’t wear that.” Effy’s face felt as if it was on fire. She stared at the leotard.
“Trust me, you need to be able to stretch and move.” Madelene tossed the outfit to Effy.
Effy willed herself to put it on, but she just couldn’t. “People would see my limbs and my . . . my . . . ”
“Fine, shrinking Violet.” Madelene shrugged. She dug deeper into the trunk, under more layers of tissue. “If you’re so shy, this might suit you. Only we’re supposed to save these outfits for performances, so don’t tear this or get it dirty.”
Madelene handed Effy a satin camisole with matching lace-trimmed short pants. At least the pantaloons would reach down to mid-thigh. And she could still wear the costume over her leotard so she wouldn’t feel quite so . . . undressed. No one would see naked skin.
Not to mention, the outfit was a shimmery white with silver spangles. She rather liked it. But once she’d put it on, she could almost hear Miss Letitia Nettles say, look worse than a dancer in the Moulin Rouge.”
Aunt Ada wouldn’t have objected to the idea of wearing pantaloons on the outside, or at least, not in principle. She’d always said women’s long tight skirts were ridiculous for walking.
But as for the short length of these bloomers . . .
. . . Effy could only imagine poor Aunt Ada spinning in her grave.
Chapter 10: The Language of Flowers
Effy and Madelene spent the entire afternoon swinging back and forth on the low-hanging trapeze. Jacque never returned for the rehearsal, and Effy felt all the better for it. She began her lessons by balancing on the narrow fly bar of the trapeze as she swung back and forth. That was no more difficult than when she’d walked across the top fence rung of the pigpen on the farm, or when she’d scaled the picket fence back home when Aunt Ada wasn’t watching.
Only . . . fences and pigpen rungs were stationary. Swinging made all the difference. Madelene told her to hang upside down by her knees as Madelene pushed the swing from behind. All the blood drained to Effy’s head, but Madelene kept her swinging. Still, Effy refused to quit, even when she’d become dizzy, and the backs of her knees ached. Then sweat on the backs of her knees caused her legs to slip.
“Careful,” said Madelene. “If you fall, you’ll get your costume dirty. Now reach out and grab the other swing.”
So she could slide off and hit the ground? Madelene wouldn’t care If Effy cracked her skull, except for the blood that might stain her outfit, of course. The truth of it: Effy was no aerialist. She couldn’t imagine swinging upside down when the trapeze was positioned twenty feet in the air.
That is, until Madelene said, “You better just push us back and forth. You’re not showing any talent. Besides, aerialists require courage.”
Effy summoned all her grit and determination. “Start the other swing.”
When the other trapeze crossed within her reach, Effy didn’t hesitate. She reached out and grabbed the bar. Then she promptly slid off the swing, one hand hanging on, her other arm dangling uselessly beside her as her slippered feet hung above the sawdust.
“Try it again.”
It appeared Madelene was determined not to stop until Effy broke her neck. But Effy did try it, again and again, and again, until she could time the swing of the bar, grasp it with both hands, and transfer from one swing to another.
The sun began sinking below the golden tree boughs. When the rattling of banging pans swept across the circus grounds, Madelene wiped sweat from her brow as if she’d been the one working non-stop on the trapeze. “That’s the call for supper. Come on, I’m starved.”
At the cook wagon, the long benches were set up under a wide tent. Effy noticed that the trestle bench where the boss-handler sat was the only one decorated with a mason jar used as a vase. It held a single red carnation. Miss Mabel stood over Mr. Jefferson, clearly waiting to see if he noticed his flower. It appeared to Effy that he only noticed his plate of steaming food.
“A red carnation means my heart aches for you,” Effy pointed at the vase. Madelene shrugged her shoulders and lined up in front of the cook.
“Ah, you understand the language of flowers,” said the tiny woman standing behind Effy. She was the one Miss Mabel had called Miss Dot.
“Do you suppose Miss Mabel is dropping a hint to the boss-handler with that flower?” Effy bent over and whispered into Miss Dot’s ear. “I’m not sure Mr. Jefferson understands.”
Miss Dot reached up and patted Effy’s hand. “I think you’re right; he is clueless about carnations. And yet,” she paused, “I think he is sweet on Mabel as well. I can’t be sure, Too bad, as nothing would make Mabel happier.”
Miss Dot sighed, and then looked into Effy’s eyes, “Lots of folks can’t express their true feelings, and it gets them into all sorts of misunderstandings.”
Effy couldn’t help but wonder If Miss Dot meant something more than the boss-handler and Miss Mabel’s romantic difficulties, Miss Dot was the one who’d proclaimed Effy had a bone to pick with Phineas. Actually, Effy calculated, she had a whole boneyard to pick with him.
“Beans again?” A circus hand slammed his tin plate back on the table. The plate rattled and spun onto the ground.
“Don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it,” grumbled Mr. Jefferson.
“We’ve been havin’ beans for lunch and supper every night,” said another man. A few others joined in with their complaints,
“When’s the last time we’ve been fed a bit of meat?”
“Or saw a big bowl of potatoes?”
*Or ate anything besides molasses, beans, and cornbread?”
More circus folk murmured their agreement.
“If you don’t appreciate Cook’s food, or for that matter, Mabel’s fine dinners, then you best keep it to yourself,” the boss-handler warned them.
Effy noticed the happy blush on Miss Mabel’s cheeks from Mr. Jefferson’s praise. She turned to see if Miss Dot had noticed, but she had already joined another table and was fully into another conversation.
“Phineas had best turn more profit soon,” Madam Vadoma said to Miss Mabel. “Circus folk don’t appreciate this skimping on their food.” More people came and sat on benches. Diners reached for forks as they swatted away ornery wasps and slow-moving blue bottle flies.
“I don’t mind beans,” Effy told Madelene as she took her second helping that day. She sat on a bench, wishing there was more cornbread left to scrape the plate clean. “These are truly tasty.”
“Jacque also loves beans,” said Madelene. “But beans give him dreadful wind, and when we’re on the trapeze, and he’s dangling from his knees”—she shook her head—“he lets out a colossal toot. Your eyes water like you’re peeling onions. Trust me,” Madelene added. “When he toots and you’re on the trapeze, you won’t be able to hold on.”
That bit of information did not help when Effy and Madelene returned from supper, only to find Jacque waiting for them. As if he’d overheard Madelene, Jacque said, “Myself, I feel I’ve eaten too much. Don’t you find it hard to turn away from a delicious plate of beans and molasses?”
Jacque promptly sat on the trapeze, and swung upside down with his rear end swinging back and forth, too close for Effy’s comfort. “What are you waiting for,” he said. “Lean forward and give me a push.”
As he broke a loud toot, Effy scrambled backward and plugged her nose.
“Jacque, you’re not funny.” Madelene also plugged her nose.
Jacque slid from the swing and broke into howls of laughter. “You know what would be much funnier—if we were swinging twenty feet in the air.”
Effy gulped. She needed to convince Phineas to send her away to school . . . and soon.
*
Lanterns lit the caravans as most circus folk deserted the midway for the comfort of their beds. Some workers bunked under wagons. Jacque, Madelene, and their mother piled into a red caravan and left Effy standing by the trapeze rigs, wondering where she’d sleep. Shrugging, she set out for Phineas’s wagon.
When she passed the menagerie, she heard the restless pacing of Balally in her pen. Effy approached the bay-strewn ground, but stopped in her tracks and took several steps backward, In the murky dark, she spotted the shadowy outline of a great beast standing under the lantern pole. The elephant’s foot was chained to a stout post. The chain strained as she paced back and forth. The water-boy made soothing noises until the elephant settled. He began rubbing the elephant’s leg, which was thick as a tree stump.
“There, there, girl, I know you miss your elephant friends. It has been lonely for you since we joined this circus. Tell you what,” he whispered to the elephant, as If he was confiding in a person. “I’ll give you extra hay for your breakfast.”
The elephant chirped softly. Effy watched in astonishment as the elephant reached into the boy’s pocket with the tip of her trunk and plucked out an apple. The boy chuckled.
“Yes, that is your special treat, but I was saving it until after our goodnight song.” The elephant had a different opinion. She tipped her trunk into her mouth and snapped the apple in a single crunch.
Never before had Effy seen such an enormous creature. Yet how gently Balally raised her trunk and stroked the boy’s head, making clicking sounds, like a mother sending her child off to bed. Then she used the tip of her trunk like fingers and plucked a single strand of straw from the boy’s hair.
The boy rubbed Balally’s trunk as he sang her a soft lullaby in a language that sounded both beautiful and strange. The elephant’s enormous ears twitched, and she swung her trunk in Effy’s direction. Feeling like an eavesdropper, Effy backed away.
A roar made her jump. She spun around. A woman stopped a circus worker and said, “Could you move our cage away from the midway? My tiger’s agitated being so close to the elephant pen.”
“Not now,” said the worker. “Everyone else is already bunked down for the night. Cover up its cage, and we’ll get onto it in the morning, right after the parade.”
“Be sure you do,” said the woman. “I don’t fancy working with a nervous tiger in my act.”
Effy gaped in wonder. “A woman tiger tamer,” she whispered, as if to make herself believe it. How could Aunt Ada disapprove of a circus where women did things most men wouldn’t dare?
Effy made her way between the last rows of caravans before she stood outside the ringmaster’s wagon. Not ringmaster, she told herself, father She climbed two steps and banged on the door.
“Go away, I’m busy,” shouted Phineas.
She knocked again.
“I said, go away,”
“Excuse me, sir,” Effy gulped, “but we need to talk.” The door flew open and Phineas stepped out. He no longer wore his red coat, but stood in white shirttails that hung past his knees. Dark circles smudged his eyes, and he rubbed his ink-stained fingers into his hair. “What are you doing here? I thought I sent you back on the train.”
“First, there’s only one train, and it’s pulling out of the station as we speak,” Effy felt compelled to explain. “Besides, remember, Madam Vadoma bid you let me stay.”
Effy hoped Phineas didn’t check in again with Madam Vadoma. She was pretty sure the mystic would tell him to send her packing.
“I thought you didn’t like dresses, Why are you dressed up?” Phineas pointed to Effy’s trapeze costume.
Effy felt her cheeks heat up as she tugged her baggy bottoms closer to her knees.
“Careful you don’t tear that leotard,” warned Phineas, “I suppose you wanted a costume for the circus parade.” Then he said in a weary voice, “Everyone loves a parade.”
