Ephemia Rimaldi, page 7
“I don’t, not particularly, unless of course it’s a suffragist march. I was in one the day dear Aunt Ada . . . “
“There you are,” said Mr. Jefferson. “Mabel has me looking all over for you. I’m supposed to give you this.” He climbed a step and handed Effy her embroidered bag. “Come and get settled for the night.”
“I assumed I’d be staying with my . . . ” Effy heard the click of a latch and turned her head. Phineas had already gone back inside.
The boss-handler didn’t meet her eyes. He cleared his throat and said softly, “He’s a busy man. We won’t see much of him before the first show.”
“Everyone keeps telling me he’s busy,” Effy said. “He keeps telling me that. But I haven’t seen him do anything.” That didn’t sound right. “I mean . . . ”
“Thinking is what your pa does most around here,” said Mr. Jefferson. “Balancing books and acts, and running numbers, and finding a way to keep us going one more season—and to do that, he doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”
“We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot.” Effy sighed. “Perhaps I could stay with Miss Mabel?”
Jefferson chuckled as he shook his head. “Madam Vadoma is her bunk mate, and you’ve definitely got off on the wrong foot with her. For not being raised by him, you and Phineas are a lot alike.”
She felt as alike to Phineas as a cat to a watermelon. As the boss-handler bid her follow, she asked him to wait a moment. Effy walked to the edge of the field next to the caravan and picked a handful of carnations someone had planted there.
Strewing the flowers across the ringmaster’s steps, Effy then hurried after Mr. Jefferson. Looking over her shoulder, she wondered if Phineas understood the language of flowers.
Yellow carnations: You have disappointed me.
Chapter 11: Almost Everyone Loves a Parade
Effy and Mr. Jefferson approached a caravan painted almost as exotically as Phineas’s quarters. Mysteries of the Orient were stencilled in bold black letters across the side. Dancing above the letters like sugar plum dreams, or perhaps nightmares, was a steaming cauldron with ghostly, devilish spirits. What would Aunt Ada have thought? Effy shook her head. The truth of it: Effy was in such a different world now, she was on her own. Aunt Ada could no longer guide her.
Mr. Jefferson climbed two wooden steps and pushed open the caravan’s door. Inside, the wood floor gleamed shiny and clean, but Effy had to shove her way through diabolical-looking curios, including small sarcophagi and mummified rabbits. Effy imagined if she entered a crypt, it would have the same dry, old smell. A wood cot was built into the back of the caravan.
“I tidied this prop wagon for you,” said Jefferson.
Tidied? Effy lifted a wooden puzzle box off the bed and placed it next to what she hoped wasn’t a real monkey sitting on a shelf.
Effy jumped back. “Is that a coiled serpent in the corner?”
Mr. Jefferson followed her gaze but didn’t appear alarmed. “It’s stuffed,” he said.
Effy tried not to shudder as she used her foot to push the leathery diamond-back snake further into the shadows.
“Careful there, it’s considered bad luck to touch other people’s circus props.” Mr. Jefferson directed her to the cot. “Try not to disturb things.”
Herbs hung from the ceiling. Dried flowers filled dusty mason jars—ingredients fit for a hag’s cauldron. This caravan was nothing like her own cozy room at Aunt Ada’s, but it was . . . interesting. Also on the shelf was a single slim book. Effy reached over. “I’m supposing this book isn’t a prop.” She smiled and said with amusement, “Unless it’s a grimoire of magic spells.”
Mr. Jefferson chuckled and placed her bag on the floor. He reached over and lit a kerosene lantern. The flickering yellow light cast dancing shadows of monkeys and mummies and snakes.
Effy gazed at the shadows and decided if she didn’t want nightmares, she should keep her eyes on the book. Although Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s Book of Poems did not entice Effy at first. This was the only book? She frowned.
Truth be told, Effy was to poetry as Aunt Ada had been to whale books. Generally speaking, Effy steered clear. A poem was usually mushy romance or glorified battles. Or a poem was really good, but over, just as it had whetted her appetite. Effy flipped open the cover, wondering If she should reread one of her own books, Then she read the first page and sank onto her bunk.
Effy became so engrossed in the ghostly tale of a cursed sailor, she never noticed Mr. Jefferson leave. “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” definitely wasn’t bedtime reading, After ten pages, she buried herself into her bunk, twisted the knob on the kerosene lamp, and the flame winked out.
The caravan was less spooky without the dancing shadows.
“Curses aren’t real, curses aren’t real,” she whispered to herself in the pitch dark. “And superstitions are nonsense.” Those thoughts didn’t help her drift into a sweet and peaceful sleep.
Instead, Effy dreamed she was on a ship of living corpses, just like in the poem. The cursed albatross that hung around her neck had a face resembling Phineas’s. By the time sunlight spilled through the cracks of the window shutter, Effy’s bedcovers were twisted in knots. Her bangs stuck to her sweaty forehead. For one second, she thought she was still in the middle of her nightmare, and this was the hold of a cursed ship.
Then the door to the caravan banged and a voice said, “Hurry, everyone is already lining up for the circus parade.”
Miss Mabel stuck her head through the door. “I see you’re not an early riser. You’d best get dressed in your costume. Madelene says you’re riding with the trapeze acrobats.”
Miss Mabel frowned. “Watch your back with those two hooligans.” Then she left.
Effy shook off the dreams that clung to her like sticky cobwebs. Yawning, she changed into the dratted trapeze costume with its leotard and spangled bloomers. A pair of wooden clogs sat outside her door, and she put them on to keep her acrobatic slippers clean. In the warm morning air, she crossed the circus grounds to the cook tent. Only Miss Mabel lingered.
“Sorry, dearie, you missed breakfast, but I managed to keep this for you.” Miss Mabel was decked out in bright-coloured clothing and had oiled her beard until it gleamed in the morning light. She handed Effy an apple, paused, then reached into her apron and produced an orange. “This is from my private treasure—as valuable as gold in these parts.”
Effy thanked her and tucked the fruit in the front pockets of her fancy spangled pantaloons. Then she hurried off to join the wagon train. The front of the lineup was already moving. As she passed a circus wagon near the back, Madelene waved her over.
“Get up here,” she said with a sly smile. “You’re riding with us.”
After Effy climbed aboard the wagon, it occurred to her that while no one in the circus gave her costume a second glance, the town’s folk would be a different story. Her heart began sinking as she thought about parading around town in her skimpy outfit. The horse-drawn wagon lurched forward and out onto the path.
Effy gripped the sides of the wagon. She had never stood on a moving wagon before. It was harder than it looked. The parade line snaked and twisted ahead as men in red coats marched, carrying trombones, trumpets, and a tuba. They wore large hats with plumed feathers, and the man at the rear beat a giant drum. Behind him marched acrobats tumbling cartwheels, and a strong man hoisting barbells. Then followed a blue and gold painted wagon pulled by a white horse. Standing on top of the horse with her arms outstretched was a rider in a netted skirt and purple tights. More circus performers rode inside the wagons or hung off them.
Effy spotted two people in the audience who made her heart sink to her clogs. Sofia and Mrs. Winterbottom stood behind a white picket fence that lined an elegant home. They waved lace hankies to keep the dust from their fancy frocks. While they gazed at white horses and acrobats, Effy ducked and dropped to the floor as the wagon lumbered past.
She heard Madelene say to her brother, “She thinks circus folk are not proper.”
“No,” Effy explained. “I’s just that . . . I’m not used to parading around in my underthings.”
“I see.” Madelene hung her head. “You’re just like those awful people in the other town. You think someone like me doesn’t even dress decently.”
“No . . . ” Effy struggled to explain. “It’s just that I met that girl and her mother on the train, and I don’t want them to know . . . I don’t want them to think . . . ”
“ . . . That you belong to the circus,” snapped Madelene, “because circus folk aren’t respectable.”
The wagon rolled and lurched, and after they passed the next twist of the path, Jacque hauled Effy to her feet. He leaned in and whispered into her ear.
“So, you think my sister isn’t respectable?”
Effy shook her head. “That’s not it. The Winterbottoms think I’m off to an academy. Circus life is only temporary, a necessary step so Phineas will help me get back to my proper life.”
After she’d said it, Effy realized that didn’t sound quite right, either. The other two stared straight ahead as they all rode in grim silence.
Two wagons ahead, she spotted the elephant boy riding astride Balally. His uncle led the great beast. When the parade steered onto the main street, Effy gaped at all the people who had lined up to watch. It looked like the whole town had emptied its homes and businesses onto the main street.
She looked down once more at her pantaloons and leotard and felt her face heat up. She didn’t crouch but edged further back in the wagon. Jacque looked at her scornfully and laughed.
The circus calliope broke into a steam-powered tune. Effy held tight as the wagon moved along the dirt road. A tiger roared, and when she turned and glanced at the cage rolling behind her, she felt a firm shove against her back. The next thing Effy knew, she was flying through the air.
Then everything went dark.
*
“I’ve got another one!” shouted a man. Effy opened her eyes and stared at a pair of dusty boots. The man leaned over her. His rumpled hat matched his wrinkled brown suit. “Smelling salts over here for the little lady who fainted,” he shouted.
Effy’s body ached from her toes to the tips of her hair. She gasped for air like a goldfish that had jumped its bowl. Then she groaned, “I didn’t faint. I fell.”
Had she? Or had someone pushed her off the circus wagon. She angled her head. A giant pile of elephant dung lay steaming on the dirt path a few feet away. This could have been a lot worse.
Effy lay on her back as another black cloud flooded her vision, but this time it was a murder of crows thick as a rain cloud. They flew overhead, chasing after an even bigger flock of sparrows. Conversations began ringing in her ears, and she could hear the calliope and the brass band in the distance. Her wagon was far ahead, and she’d been left behind in the dust.
“Fool parade,” muttered the man in the brown suit. “All sorts of people are fainting from shock at seeing an elephant.” His voice trailed off as he looked down at Effy. His face reddened and he turned his head, “Quickly, please, bring some smelling salts over here!”
Effy lifted herself up on her elbows to see a woman in a long grey dress and a white starched apron rush toward her. The woman’s hair was covered by a white frilly cap. She reached down, took the stopper out of a tiny cobalt bottle, and waved it under Effy’s nose. Effy choked over the sudden sharp stench of ammonia.
“Ugh.” Effy batted away the blue bottle.
The man in the brown suit hoisted Effy to her feet. She swayed. “Poor lamb, are you all right?” he asked. “Did the elephant scare you?”
“Gracious, child,” said the woman. “I don’t think you are here to watch the parade, not dressed in those immodest clothes.” Her lips thinned in disapproval. You better hurry back to your circus troupe where your, ah, wanton attire is deemed more appropriate.”
The man in the brown suit pointedly looked away, and moved a few feet toward another figure on the ground.
“You thought hiring a nurse for the parade was a waste of money,” the woman called after him, “but clearly all this excitement shows I’m needed here. Why, I myself almost swooned at the sight of that gigantic beast.” She shook her head and hurried toward another bystander who had crumpled to the ground.
“Well, shucks, I certainly couldn’t imagine the size of the elephant from a little-bitty page in a picture book,” commented the man.
Effy dusted herself off with all the dignity she could muster. Several other people gaped at her in open curiosity. Her face burned as she watched the disappearing parade.
A long line-up of people had gathered along the grass-trampled trail at the end of the street. Near the end of the parade was Balally. On only slightly shaky legs, Effy followed the elephant.
When she finally caught up, the parade had emptied into the raised red-and-white striped circus tent. Only the elephant handler stood outside the entrance, leaning against the canvas tent, catching his breath.
Effy hurried inside the big top where the tidy parade line fell apart as the wagons pulled to a stop. Performers emptied into the arena. Effy kept moving across the sawdust, as flying splinters of wood poked through her stockings and inside her clogs. The back of her neck also felt prickly—the way it did when someone was staring at you. She turned around and saw two performers smirking at her.
. . . Madelene and Jacque . . .
Effy’s blood began to boil.
Chapter 12: Not Just a Knockabout Act
Performers hustled out of the big top. Effy and the trapeze hooligans paid little notice as they stood and glared at each other.
“Don’t you know it’s bad luck to look behind yourself in a circus parade?” Jacque scoffed.
“Why do I think I see bad luck right in front of me,” said Effy. “Or more like I see a couple of bad eggs.”
“How do you expect to balance on a trapeze when you can’t even stand in a wagon?” Madelene shook her head.
“No one can stand in a wagon if someone pushes them,” said Effy.
Madelene’s eyes widened and she glanced at Jacque. The two of them exchanged a look that Effy didn’t understand. Then without another word to her, the two raced off to rehearse once more before the first performance.
Effy wouldn’t be left behind. She arrived at the trapeze rigging and grabbed a trapeze swing. She swung, switched bars, and grabbed the other trapeze swing. Madelene and Jacque pretended not to notice.
When Effy crossed onto the other platform, Madelene wouldn’t move out of the way. Instead, she crossed her arms and said, “Go away. We don’t need you.”
“You do need me,” Effy said evenly. “Or your mother won’t let you perform.”
Jacque laughed. “By the time Mama notices you aren’t with us, she won’t be able to stop our act. Then she’ll see we’re fine by ourselves.”
“But you just watched me. I can swing from one bar to the other,” Effy argued. “Besides, I’ve done dangerous things before. I dodged mounted police in a suffragist march.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot how important you are.” Madelene rolled her eyes.
“You never intended letting me perform, did you?” Effy accused.
Jacque grabbed a bar and swung off the platform. Madelene dipped her hand in a bucket and rubbed rosin onto her hands.
Effy refused to be ignored. She placed her hands on her hips. “I am a circus performer. Please get out of my way.”
“You might be a rich girl and the ringmaster’s daughter, but you are no aerialist,” said Madelene.
Jacque swung lazily back and forth on his swing. He hung upside down on the bar and grabbed the rig Madelene pushed to him. He crossed back onto the low platform, which was now too crowded for Effy’s liking.
“Go sit in the audience with your snooty friend and her mother,” said Jacque. He made like he was about to give her a little shove. When she backed away, he laughed. “You’ll be more comfortable sitting in the bleachers with the rubes, and not up on the platform with a couple of carnival ruffians. You won’t have to wear a costume then. You’ll be able to wear your fine and fancy dress.”
“How can you thrill the audience with only the two of you?” Effy’s mind raced. “I heard your mother. She said you weren’t allowed to use any acrobatics without her.”
Phineas had said Effy could be no performer and he could be no father. She had to perform. What could she say to convince these two that they needed her and not the other way around?
“For your act to be worthy of the Great Yolandas,” said Effy, “you’ll need to make the audience gasp in delight. How will you do that with a few simple swings on the fly bar?”
Madelene bit her lip. “This snobby girl has a point.”
Jacque glared at them both. “She can barely hang onto the rigs. Her hands aren’t even calloused.”
“I’m standing right here.” Effy was about to say her hands used to be plenty calloused on the farm. But Jacque’s gripe about her good clothes had sent her thoughts spinning. He’d given her the kernel of a grand scheme. Why, with this spectacular plan, she wouldn’t even have to wear an embarrassing leotard.
“What if . . . ” Effy rubbed her hands together. One of her fingers did so have a callous. “ . . . What if, in the middle of your act, you pluck an unsuspecting girl—me,” she said, in case this wasn’t clear—”from the audience. You take me up onto the platform. Pretend you whisper in my ear what to do. Imagine how the audience will shout in trepidation. And when I stand on the bar and begin swinging, everyone will fall out of their seats in terror.”
Jacque cocked his head. He was listening. Madelene gave the slightest of nods. Effy had best drive her point home. “This way, the audience gets thrills and chills, and when we take a bow, the audience will realize it’s all part of the act.”
