Freaks: Alive, on the Inside!

  “This would make a fine wagon for delivering eggs and milk,” I told Mr. Ginger, who concurred. I hoped the farmer would at least allow us a place to rest, even if he didn’t want to trade. Mr. Ginger closed the gate behind us before he hid inside the wagon.

  I caught Mr. Webster in the yard of his pretty wood-frame house as he was leaving from his midday meal. A plump Mrs. Webster stood at the door. Several small children peered from behind her skirts.

  “No, can’t say as I need a wagon,” said Mr. Webster as he walked around our conveyance. “Why would you be selling, young man? Won’t that leave you on foot?” He narrowed his eyes. “It is yours to sell, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir. Certainly, sir,” I answered. “However, I had in mind a trade for another wagon, not a sale. As you said, selling would leave us on foot.” I could have kicked myself for saying “us.”

  The dairy farmer examined the legend painted on the side. “Would any of these ‘monsters’ be aboard this day?” he asked.

  It seemed needless to lie. “Yes, sir, but they are shy. One suffers much cruelty in the world when one looks as they do.”

  “Why would you trade your show cart?” Mr. Webster’s eyes narrowed again. “Is there something wrong with it?”

  “No, sir. Not at all,” I said. “Except we are leaving this undignified business and going home, and we would not like to draw attention to ourselves.”

  Mr. Webster stroked his chin and considered a moment. “Tell you what,” he said. “If you could bring yourself to do one more show, I’ll give you some paint. That’ll solve your problem, won’t it?”

  What an idea. Paint. That would change our appearance. “Who would be our audience?” I asked. “A small group?” We couldn’t announce our presence far and wide if we desired to hide from Mink.

  “My family and the neighbors,” Mr. Webster said. “A show like yours sure would make Jim Tompson’s harvest hoedown look pale.”

  Mr. Webster had a rivalry going, it appeared. “You’d give us a sheltered place to paint?” I asked.

  “Got an empty new barn, painted with that same white that I bought too much of,” he said.

  After a brief conference inside the wagon, I climbed out and struck a deal. We would give a show the next evening. If we stayed out of sight, Mink would never know where we were. He’d think us vanished.

  We set up camp in the barn, away from prying eyes. We found the paint already there, along with brushes. The boys commenced a wild romp in the hay that lined stalls at the back of the building, despite the thick, sweet afternoon air. I threatened them with murder if they kicked up chaff anywhere near the wagon when we began our work.

  Minnie clambered from the wagon and ran to me crying. “My dolly, my dolly. Can’t find my dolly.”

  I enlisted Bertha’s aid, but we could find the corn doll nowhere.

  “It must have fallen out on our journey,” I said. “Never mind. I’ll make you a new one.”

  “Don’t want a new one,” Minnie wailed.

  I left Bertha to comfort her.

  Apollo helped me bring the rigid Tauseret out of the wagon. Even if she seemed lifeless, paint fumes couldn’t be good for her. She felt warmer and softer by the time we laid her in a brandnew empty water trough in front of the stalls.

  The boys gathered around her, chattering. As I left, Moses poked her with a stick. I glared at him, and he whipped his hand behind his back.

  “Mind yourself,” I said. “That’s a real person, not a parcel.”

  “And I know magic curses,” rasped a sinister, cracked voice, and the boys scattered, screaming. A husky chuckle came from the trough.

  “Are you all right in there?” I asked, bending over her.

  Tauseret’s eyes sparkled with happiness at the sight of me. Her skin softened as I watched, her face filled in around delicious cheekbones, and her plump lips curved. “Touch me,” she said.

  Her words sent my blood surging.

  She laughed again, softer and with more affection. “I take my strength from your hand and the ring. The more you touch me, the more I come alive.”

  I yearned to touch her but feared if someone saw, they would sense my desire and be disgusted. Even I found it hard to admit what I felt about someone referred to recently as the “beef jerky lady,” but despite her sallow flesh, I kept on seeing glimpses of the beautiful dancer of my dreams, and my whole being reached out to her.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mr. Bopp in one of the stalls, curled up like a pill bug, feigning sleep. He drowned in deep gloom, I knew. Apollo was already rounding the children up for a rehearsal. His facial hair bristled in a frown as they danced around him and refused to be hushed. Miss Lightfoot and Mr. Ginger talked by the wagon.

  I reached over and brushed Tauseret’s lips with my fingers. She sighed, and the rise and fall of her chest quite distracted me. I stroked her cheek, and she closed her eyes. I touched the one hand that lay free of her wrappings, and it grew less leathery. My heart beat faster. My hand caressed her shoulder, and warmth rose through the cloth. What had been bony became soft and round. With a tearing purr the ancient linen ripped apart at the juncture of her armpits as her chest filled out. My hand slowly followed my eyes, and my mouth dried. She did not complain or try to stop me. How could she? She was bound. This both appalled and excited me. I snatched my hand away.

  Her eyes opened and her mouth pouted. “Don’t stop.”

  “I must,” I said. The words came out as a squeak. “There’s work to be done.” How could this seem right and not right all at the same time?

  “Don’t neglect me,” she begged. “Come touch me often, that I might become a real woman again.”

  “You have no need to worry about that,” I promised before I left her side. I felt sure I could manage to get over my embarrassment with practice.

  “Are you well?” asked Miss Lightfoot as I passed. “You look quite flushed.”

  “Just a mite warm in here,” I said, tugging at my collar.

  Mr. Ginger and I set up as painters, with Moses as our assistant. I encouraged Apollo to continue with the other children. I couldn’t begin to think of how I’d wash paint out of his tawny pelt, and I knew he would splash it all over himself if I allowed him to help.

  I put my ring in a pocket to keep it safe from paint, but after a while I slipped it on again and went to see Tauseret. I couldn’t keep away. Her existence was too amazing. She greeted me with open eyes and a smile. I marveled at the way she changed even more as I touched her.

  “Lillie’s taking a nap,” Tauseret told me, “at the temple of love.”

  Mrs. Delaney’s bawdy house, I interpreted. “How can you know?”

  “She touched the ring, did she not?” said Tauseret. “I was able to control her then, and that gives me a path back to her.”

  Tauseret seemed so sure of herself.

  “I asked her to send help, but she laughed at me,” Tauseret said.

  “You were just a silly dream to her,” I answered, allowing myself to accept Tauseret at her word.

  “Perhaps, but I told her where to find money for a journey. That bully lost his purse behind the butter jars when you hit him.”

  I chuckled. That would serve him right if it was true.

  “The tiny woman at your home recognized me, however. I met her early this morning. Ah, that woman has powers.”

  “Miss Dibble!” I exclaimed. “She touched the ring when she told my fortune.”

  “Your colonel is looking for you,” said Tauseret. “Miss Dibble will send him a message by wires.” She looked puzzled by this.

  The colonel might be on his way? My spirits soared. “He must have guessed I’d try that circus,” I told Tauseret. I wanted this to be true so much that I pushed all doubts aside. “He probably looked up their schedule and went after them. I expect he keeps in touch with home, though. He has a business to run.” My words caught in my throat, and I hung my head. What a nuisance I had been. What a fool. I cou
ld add expensive telegraph messages to my debt, perhaps even telephone calls. “Well, thanks for helping,” I mumbled, and then realized I didn’t sound thankful at all. I glanced up and smiled awkwardly at her, in case she thought I didn’t appreciate her efforts.

  “Is she awake?” Moses asked when I came back, and I nodded.

  “Watch that can,” Mr. Ginger told him, and gave me an odd look.

  Moses tugged my sleeve. “Can I go talk to her too?”

  I glanced over at the water trough. The children and Apollo were gathered around it, all reaching in. Perhaps they thought their touches helped too. I hoped she was amused.

  “Go,” I said. “But be back soon, and tell them to leave her be if she asks.”

  “You act as if their game were real,” said Mr. Ginger.

  I smiled. He would find out for himself soon.

  On my third visit I was dismayed to find Miss Lightfoot perched on a bale of hay next to the trough, a basket of sewing at her feet. I had hoped to have Tauseret to myself.

  “I have lived among marvels for a fair number of years now, but I have never come across anything quite as strange,” said Miss Lightfoot. “She is filling out like a soaked bean.”

  Tauseret’s eyes were closed, but a smile lingered on her lips. I touched those lips, and her eyes opened.

  “Good heavens!” exclaimed Miss Lightfoot.

  “This is Ruby Lightfoot,” I said. “It’s all right to speak to her.”

  Tauseret stared past me. “Ah, the woman touched by Sobek, the crocodile,” she said in her whispery voice.

  Miss Lightfoot pressed her hands to her mouth to cover her astonishment.

  “Yes, Minnie’s story was true,” I said.

  Miss Lightfoot lowered her hands. She leaned over the trough, and her look of consternation transmuted to one of wonder.

  “I believe Miss Lightfoot would enjoy making your acquaintance,” I told Tauseret.

  “I have not the strength yet to speak much when Abel is not here,” said Tauseret, “but I would be glad of company. Would you tell me about yourself and the world I am to live in?”

  “Why, you darling, I would be delighted,” answered the alligator woman.

  “Is Miss Lightfoot talking to herself?” asked Mr. Ginger, frowning with concern. He had been glancing in her direction with more and more agitation. “I thought she was playing with the children at first, but she’s talking into that trough even when they aren’t around.”

  “Why don’t you go and ask?” I said, unable to hide a grin.

  He protested at first, but it didn’t take much to convince him. As I’d guessed, he welcomed any excuse to talk with her. I watched with amusement as he made his way over. I couldn’t wait for his exclamation of surprise.

  Mr. Ginger was addressing Miss Lightfoot, his hands clasped behind his back, when he abruptly stopped. He glanced around, a puzzled expression on his face, and then looked into the trough.

  He crumpled to the ground.

  25

  MISS LIOHTFOOT WAFTED SMELLING salts under Mr. Ginger’s nose while I checked him over for broken bones. The children clustered around us.

  “Is he dead?”

  “Is it the fits?”

  “Dang, did you see him drop like a girl?”

  The little twin attached to his forehead sneezed, then Mr. Ginger groaned and opened his eyes. “Oh, my.”

  “Now, now, children,” said Miss Lightfoot. “Even the best of us will succumb to shock, and Mr. Ginger truly is the best of us.” She stroked his cheek with a lacy handkerchief, and Mr. Ginger closed his eyes again, but now he had a smile upon his face.

  “Are you all right?” I asked Tauseret. It may have been a blow to her pride to make a grown man faint.

  She grinned. “Ah, it has been a while since men swooned at the sight of my beauty, but I think I shall enjoy it once more.”

  I grinned back. I was seeing more and more of her sense of humor, and I liked it.

  “I’ll leave you in Miss Lightfoot’s care until you are well enough to paint again,” I said to Mr. Ginger, and hurried the children off. I felt sure Miss Lightfoot could introduce him to Tauseret successfully.

  Moses and I made good progress with the paint and had only one interruption, when a trio of Webster children tumbled through the barn door squealing in fear, Willie behind them cheering.

  “They was peeking through the door crack,” said Willie. “I climbed out a window and scart them.”

  The youngest Webster—about five I’d guess—blinked in astonishment at piebald Willie, her thumb poised halfway to her mouth. The middle child craned his neck, eager to see what he could see in the barn, and the oldest, maybe ten years old, glared at me. “We came to see how many to make supper for,” she said, tossing her curls.

  Mr. Ginger and Miss Lightfoot had retreated into the shadows. I didn’t know where the others hid. “Thank you very much,” I said. “That would be four adults, one big lad, and four children.”

  Bertha’s voice echoed from the loft, “I’m a big girl.”

  The younger Webster started, and the middle Webster searched the rafters for the owner of the voice. “Thank you,” the eldest said stiffly. She grabbed the sleeves of her siblings and hurried them out. On the way she poked out her tongue at Willie.

  “She likes you,” Moses crowed, and Willie punched his arm.

  At suppertime Mrs. Webster and a sturdy kitchen girl brought several large baskets of fried chicken and biscuits with all the fixings. They knocked on the barn door, and I sent all the children, except for Moses, to hide in the hay. We didn’t want to spoil the surprises of the show. Mr. Ginger stayed in a stall while Miss Lightfoot and I greeted the ladies.

  “I declare. Fried chicken,” said Miss Lightfoot. “How kind.”

  The farm women smiled politely and tried not to stare.

  “Plenty of milk, too,” said Mrs. Webster, nodding at the jugs. “We sell cream to the Osceola Creamery—send it up by flatcar from the train station. They make a fair bundle when they sell it on as butter to New York.”

  “Is there any place near here called Toms Junction?” I couldn’t help but ask about the place in Minnie’s prediction. If it was real, it could be our doom or our deliverance. Mink had to be following us. How close was he? I prayed that we were well hidden.

  Mrs. Webster shook her head. “Toms Junction? No, can’t say as there is. There’s a Tompson’s Dairy down the road, though.” She sniffed in distaste. “Word has it they paid off the railroad so the milk stop would be nearer their barns.”

  That must be the same Tompson of the harvest hoedown, whom Mr. Webster wished to outshine, I guessed. I tsked and shook my head in sympathy, and Mrs. Webster beamed at me.

  After the farm women left, we set up for dinner on various bales, buckets, and stools next to the water trough. Tauseret had become quite flexible, so I helped her to sit upright. She felt as if she was warm and soft beneath the crackling bandages she wore, and I felt a pang of anticipation. I looked forward to seeing her garbed in more-attractive clothing. I hoped she would consider her body sound enough soon.

  You would think having a mummy to dinner the most natural thing in the world, to judge from the children, who ate like little savages. Only Mr. Bopp refused to eat. He had a quick look at Tauseret, muttered something that sounded like “Bugger me,” then went back to his nest in the straw, after Mr. Ginger had helped him with some necessaries.

  “How did you get to be a mummy lady?” Bertha asked, which had the other children clamoring for a story.

  Tauseret told a shortened version of her tale as we ate.

  “I lived as a happy, pampered only child, protected by spells and amulets, and given the finest of linens and perfumes to wear,” she began. “I loved poetry, music, and dancing, so when I was in the first flower of my womanhood, my parents encouraged me to enter the service of the goddess Hathor. I was beautiful. When I danced for the goddess at festivals, all eyes followed me.”

 
Thank goodness she didn’t go into detail about our past connection except to say we fell in love and angered her husband. This was still enough to make Apollo roar with laughter. I didn’t know why he should find that funny.

  “How romantic,” said Miss Lightfoot, her eyes full of dreams.

  “More than one has waited forever for the person he loves,” said Mr. Ginger to Miss Lightfoot.

  “But I do believe this lady has the record,” she replied. I sensed she had missed his point, or avoided it.

  “Sounds like humbug to me,” said Apollo. “She’s just practicing her act.”

  Tauseret didn’t seem bothered by his assessment. “I think I could take some sustenance,” she said. Her eyes followed my hand to my mouth.

  “Oh, give Lady T. some chicken,” said Minnie.

  “Let me, let me,” volunteered several of the children.

  I would have to take her word that she could eat. I held a tender piece of chicken to her lips. All eyes were upon her. Her teeth were now small and white but appeared a little worn. I wondered if the desert sand had gotten in her food and ground them down. She took the chicken in her mouth, grazing my fingers with her teeth as she did. I could see from her eyes this was deliberate, and the tingle of that gentle abrasion shot from my fingers to distant parts. Tauseret took a few more morsels this way and a sup of milk from a tin cup. She licked her lips with a pink, wet tongue, and I forgot there were others there.

  “I’m taking the young ones to bed,” said Apollo. “Or are you too busy with that girl to care?”

  “Oh.” I looked at the others, feeling foolish. Mr. Ginger and Miss Lightfoot glanced at each other and smiled. I hoped they weren’t laughing at me. The children slumped against one another like tired puppies.

  “That’s a good idea, Apollo,” I said.

  He rolled his eyes.

  Minnie tugged at my sleeve. “The bone man’s coming,” she whispered.

  I stroked her curls. “Don’t worry, Minnie. We’ll keep ahead of him.” I hoped I was right.