The Orphan's Tale

  “No, of course not,” he says quickly, unable to mask his disappointment.

  I cup his cheek. “In my heart, I am already married to you.”

  “Or we could leave,” he says. I am surprised. Peter had always rejected the idea before because there was nowhere else he could perform as he does here. But now with the prospect of a child, everything has changed.

  “I can’t leave,” I reply. “Here I can hide.” At least for now. Once I might have taken the chance and fled. This is about something bigger than just my own safety now, though. I touch my stomach once more. “And Noa needs me...”

  “The girl?” His expression is puzzled. “Why should she matter? I didn’t think you even liked her.”

  “No, of course not, but still...” It’s true, I admit. I disliked Noa from the first, and even more after she had gotten me pulled from the show. But she depends on me, as surely as Theo does her. “You could go if you really wanted,” I offer. The words hurt to say.

  He wraps his arms more tightly around me. “I will never leave you,” he says, and his hand lowers to my stomach. “Or our child.”

  Someone who will not leave me, I think, wishing for my younger self, the one who might have believed it. “It will be all right,” I say, pushing away my doubts.

  “Better than all right. A family.” I smile through my fears. Can such things possibly be? But my child will be Jewish. An image flashes through my mind of Noa making her way blindly through the woods in the snow with Theo before we found her. We are barely able to protect one Jewish child—how on earth would we ever protect two?

  14

  Noa

  “No, no!” Astrid cries during practice the following Sunday, her voice ringing so shrilly through the big top that one of the jugglers practicing below drops her silver rings to the ground with a clatter. “You must go higher!”

  I swing my legs harder as Gerda throws me back toward the bar, trying to heed Astrid’s command. But when I make it to the board and look down, her face is still dissatisfied.

  “You must get your legs above your head,” she scolds as I climb down the ladder.

  “But you said not to break the line of my body, so I thought...” I begin, then stop, knowing I will not win. Astrid has been ill-tempered these past few days, snapping at everything I say and berating me for the same routines that were just fine a few days earlier. Watching her lips curl with displeasure, I wonder if she is still angry about my part in having her removed from the show. She had seemed to forgive me nearly a week earlier but now I’m not so sure.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  She opens her mouth as if there is something she wants to say. “It’s nothing,” she replies finally, but she does not sound as though she means it.

  “Astrid, please,” I press. “If there is something, maybe I can help.”

  She smiles but there is no happiness in her eyes. “If only that were true,” she says, then walks away and starts up the ladder.

  So there is something wrong, I think, knowing better than to press. “Are we going to keep rehearsing?” I ask instead, dreading the answer.

  But she shakes her head. “We’re done for today.” She reaches the board and takes the bar, leaps without warning. Though she cannot perform in the show, this has not stopped her from flying, faster and fiercer than ever. She works without a catcher now, barely touching the bar, in a way that seems impossible even as I watch.

  I walk across the practice hall to Peter, who has stopped training to watch Astrid. “We have to stop her,” I say. “She’s going to kill herself.”

  But his eyes are a mix of admiration and futility and his posture resigned. “I cannot stop her from her greatness, being who she is.”

  “This is not greatness—it is suicide,” I retort, surprised that I dare speak so forcefully to him.

  Peter stares at me oddly. “Astrid would never kill herself. She has too much to live for.” There is an uneasy tone to his voice. Maybe he knows what is bothering Astrid. But before I can ask, he walks away.

  Taking a last worried look up at Astrid, I pull my wrap skirt and blouse on over my practice leotard. I walk from the big top and start across the fairgrounds. It is late afternoon on Sunday, a little over a week since we arrived in Thiers, and I want to feed Theo myself and spend as much time as I can with him before he falls asleep. Close to the tracks the water truck has pulled up and people are hurrying to fill their buckets at the back of it. There are endless buckets everywhere at the circus, for washing and drinking and other things. The first time I’d spied two with my name on them in the row waiting to be filled at Darmstadt, I’d known that I belonged with the circus just a tiny bit more.

  I fill my buckets, one for washing and one for drinking, and carry them to the train, eager to change and reach Theo. I climb the stairs of the railcar, taking care not to spill. The sleeper car, where I expected to find him waking from his nap, is empty. Theo is not there.

  Easy, I tell myself, starting back outside. Sometimes the girls who watch the children take them outside for fresh air. A few children are behind the train, rolling a ball, while the two girls meant to be watching them chat idly. Theo is not with them.

  Where is he? My heart pounds. Has he been lost? Taken? I start across the backyard to find Astrid again. She will know what to do. Then in the distance I hear a giggle. My eyes dart toward the pens where the animals are kept. Theo is near there, in the arms of Elsie, one of the girls who minds him. I relax slightly.

  But as I start across the grassy field, Elsie walks toward the lion’s cage. I see her talking to Theo, pointing as they near one of the animals. The cage here is flimsy—a few metal bars, spaced too widely apart—nothing separating Theo from the fierce beast. Elsie is casual and unafraid as she walks Theo right up to the cage. His hand reaches out as if patting a dog.

  “No!” I cry, my voice lost in the wind. Theo puts his hand through the cage, his fingers just inches from a lion’s mouth.

  “Theo!” I run toward him, feet pounding against hard earth, kicking up bits of grass and dust.

  I reach Theo and grab him from the girl’s arms. The lion, startled by my sudden movement, lunges at the bars with a roar, swiping the very spot where Theo had been.

  I leap back, tripping and stumbling to the ground. Theo lets out a wail. A sharp rock cuts into my palm as I break my fall, but I hardly notice. I clutch Theo to my chest, shielding him. I breathe hard, not getting up, trying to comfort Theo, who is more upset than I have ever seen him. Another second and I would have been too late.

  “Shh,” I soothe, studying Theo. Though his face is red from bawling, he does not seem to be hurt. Then I stand, brush the dirt from my knees. “How could you?” I berate Elsie, whose face is pale.

  “W-we were just playing,” she explains, flustered. “I wanted to show him the lion up close. I meant no harm.”

  But I am still furious. “That animal—he could have killed Theo. And this outfit...” Holding him close, I notice then Theo is dressed in a sequined leotard, too large and hastily pinned to fit. “What on earth is he wearing?”

  Over her shoulder, I see Astrid coming from the big top. She strides across the field, her face a mix of anger and concern. “What’s the commotion?”

  “She was holding Theo right up against the lion’s cage,” I say, my voice rising as I relive my terror. “He might have been killed!”

  She takes Theo from me and he stops crying, but gulps for air as he recovers. “He seems fine. Was he hurt?”

  “No,” I admit, swatting at one of the flies that buzz perennially around the animal cages. I had expected her to side with me, even through her anger. How can she not be troubled by what Elsie had done? “But look at his clothes!”

  “Pretty soon he’ll start training,” she observes mildly.

  “T
raining?” I repeat, puzzled.

  “To perform,” she replies. Though we have never discussed Theo joining the act before, Astrid speaks as though it is a given.

  I stare at her, caught speechless. I had not imagined Theo performing, or thought about a future for him with the circus at all. “He’s just a baby,” I say. Theo squawks, also seeming to protest.

  “I was on the trapeze almost before I could walk,” Astrid says. “Of course it was a fixed trapeze.” I shudder. In Astrid’s world, it is perfectly normal for children to perform. Theo will not learn the trapeze, though, or any other circus act. His life—our life—will be somewhere else.

  “He’s too young,” I insist, not mentioning the fact that I will never let him perform at all.

  Astrid does not respond. She is looking over my shoulder, squinting at something across the field that leads to town. “Someone’s coming.” I turn and follow her gaze.

  “Luc,” I say aloud, more to myself than Astrid. It has been nearly a week since the night he came to the circus. I thought after that he had given up, or was scared away. I had not expected to see him again.

  That might have been for the best, I think as he nears. He is the mayor’s son and, as Astrid had made clear, not to be trusted. “What is he doing here?” she asks, her voice curling with displeasure.

  “I don’t know,” I say, suddenly defensive. It is not as if I’ve done anything to encourage him. My heart lifts in spite of itself as Luc comes toward us, a small bunch of daffodils clutched in one hand, his black hair lifted by the breeze. “But I’ll find out.” I look down at Theo, hesitating. I do not want to let him go so soon after finding him in danger, or give him back to Elsie to watch. I hate asking Astrid for anything right now, but I am too curious. “Will you mind Theo for a bit?” I muster, knowing how she will respond.

  “I’m already your trainer—now I’m supposed to be your nursemaid, too?” she snaps. I do not answer. She is annoyed, but also she adores Theo and cannot deny him. “Oh, fine, if I must. Go. Don’t be gone long.” She takes Theo from my arms and starts back toward the train.

  I hang back as Luc approaches. “You again,” I say, trying to sound offhand. I am suddenly mindful of my hair, hastily pulled back, and my cheeks, too red from the strain of rehearsing. “You keep turning up.”

  Luc hangs back for a second, looking nervously over my shoulder at Astrid as she walks away with Theo. “I hope it is okay that I’ve come.”

  “I suppose,” I say matter-of-factly.

  “I didn’t think you’d want me to,” he says. “You didn’t meet me after the show. I came as I promised and I waited to see you after for as long as I could. You never came.”

  “I couldn’t after everything happened with the police,” I say. “Besides, we had a curfew. People were watching. I couldn’t get out to tell you.”

  “That’s all right,” he says, forgiving me instantly. “I brought you these.” He thrusts the flowers at me awkwardly. Sweet fragrance wafts over me as I take them, fingers brushing his. I put one in my hair and a second in the top button of my blouse.

  “Walk with me?” Luc starts away but I stand, feet planted. Not following. He turns back. “You’re not coming?”

  “Your father,” I say.

  A look of realization comes over his face. “What about him?”

  “He’s the mayor. Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

  “Because it didn’t come up,” he replies uneasily.

  “How could it not come up?” I ask. “You’re the mayor’s son.”

  “You’re right, of course,” he admits, his voice contrite. “I should have said something, and I would have if I’d gotten the chance to meet up with you. I guess I was just hoping that it wouldn’t matter.” Or maybe because he knew it would matter a lot. “Does it?” he asks. “Matter, I mean.”

  I hesitate, considering. I don’t care that his father is the mayor, not in the way that Astrid and the others do. If his father is a Nazi sympathizer, though, then what does that make Luc? He seems too nice to possibly be that way himself.

  Luc is still watching me with worried eyes, seeming to care very much about my answer. “I suppose not,” I concede finally. “But it would have been better to know.” Somehow, it is the not telling that matters more. But I have my own secrets, so who am I to judge anyone on that?

  “No more secrets, I promise.” I hold my breath. I can hardly promise the same. But he reaches out his hand. “Now can we walk?”

  I look uneasily over my shoulder. I shouldn’t go with him, I think, hearing Astrid’s admonition that getting to know Luc could bring danger. And I want to get back to Theo quickly. “I’m hardly dressed,” I say, feeling the still-damp leotard clinging to my skin.

  Luc smiles. “Then we won’t go anywhere grand.”

  “All right,” I relent. Despite my reservations, I’m curious about him—and eager to escape the chaos and intensity of the circus for just a bit.

  He leads me toward the edge of the woods, the same path Astrid had shown me the day I went into town. I follow him hurriedly from the circus grounds so as not to be seen. I look back over my shoulder in the direction of the train car, imagining Astrid putting Theo to sleep. I do not want to burden her and I barely had the chance to see Theo at all. “I’m afraid I only have a few minutes.”

  “The others, they don’t want me around, do they?” he asks.

  “It isn’t that.” The truth, that they think he somehow brought trouble with him, seems far-fetched and too hurtful to share. “They’re just a little nervous about outsiders. I suppose everyone is these days.”

  “I don’t want to cause problems for you,” he says. “Perhaps I should have stayed away.”

  “No,” I reply sharply. “That is, I can make my own decisions.”

  “Then let’s go,” he says. We continue silently through a break in the trees that forms a small grove. Soon we reach the far side of the forest. We skirt the edge of the stream, this time headed away from the town, which looms behind us, seeming to watch with disapproving eyes. I had wanted to be alone with Luc, but now that it is just the two of us, it is awkward, almost uncomfortable.

  He stops and sits on a bit of ground that juts out over the stream like a bluff, then clears some reeds and smooths a spot for me to join him. I drop to the damp ground, feeling the chill that has formed in the air now that the sun has fallen low behind the distant hills. “I brought you this.” He pulls an orange from his pocket.

  I have not seen miraculous fruit like this since before the war. “Thank you,” I say graciously. How had he gotten it? Because of his father’s position as mayor—a position that hurts others. I hand back the tainted fruit. “I can’t accept it, though.”

  As I hand the orange to him, I notice that his index finger is bent at a crooked angle, somehow deformed. He puts the orange back in his pocket, his face crestfallen. Then he holds out something else wrapped in brown paper. “Take this, then. I bought it with my ration cards, honestly.” I open it to reveal a piece of hard Cantal cheese between two slices of brown bread. I falter. Refusing food for myself is one thing, extra sustenance for Theo quite another. “Thank you,” I say, moved by his generosity and selflessness for me, a stranger. I rewrap the food and stick it in my pocket.

  A sound interrupts us from behind, the rumble of a truck, growing louder on the road. I stand up hurriedly, not wanting to be seen. “I have to go,” I say, panicking at the questions that will arise if I am seen with Luc.

  But he takes my hand, stopping me. “Come.” He leads me swiftly back into the woods, following a path that shoots off in a different direction. We slow as we reach a clearing and he looks around. “All clear,” he says.

  Still my heart races and I am reminded of every reason I should stay away. “Those police who came to the show to arrest the man and the girl...t
hey work for your father, don’t they?”

  “Yes.” He lowers his head. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea that was going to happen. I’m sure it was ordered from somewhere much higher up. He must not have had a choice.”

  “There is always a choice.”

  He keeps his eyes low, not meeting my gaze. “If you don’t want to see me now because of everything that happened, I understand.”

  “Not at all,” I reply, too quickly.

  “Then come.” My fingers warm to his touch as he takes my hand once more and continues to walk.

  Soon the forest ends, and across an open field, a barn appears darkly silhouetted against the dusky sky. Luc starts toward the barn.

  “Luc, wait...” I say uneasily as we near the door of the barn. Going for a walk together is one thing. But going inside with him seems like something more, a step too far. “I have to get back,” I say. I imagine Astrid, knowing exactly where I am, watching the clock angrily.

  “Just for a few minutes, so we are out of sight,” he cajoles.

  The wood door creaks as Luc pulls it open. He steps aside, gesturing for me to enter first. Inside, the barn is empty, the air thick with the smell of rotting wood and damp hay.

  “How did you find this place?” I ask.

  “This is the very edge of my family’s property. Don’t worry,” he adds, seeing my alarmed expression. “No one ever comes out here anymore but me.”

  He gestures upward toward the loft. “No one will find us here.”

  I look up dubiously, suddenly mindful that it is just the two of us alone, far from the circus or anywhere else. “I don’t know...”

  “We’re just talking,” he says, his voice challenging. “What harm can that do?”

  Luc climbs up to the loft then and helps me, fingers moist on my wrist. It is a small rectangular area, maybe two meters by three, close to the sloped A-frame roof of the barn. Rough wood boards are covered in hay that tickles my legs beneath my skirt. Luc slides back a slatted wood window panel to reveal the rolling hills that lead to the village, patchwork fields broken by mossy farmhouse roofs. Lights sparkle in some of the windows before blackout curtains fall, seeming to snuff them out like candles. It is peaceful—and so pristine, it is almost possible for a moment to forget about the war.