‘‘Eliza, please wait here for me,’’ Daddy begged on his way out the door. ‘‘Give me a chance to explain. Talk to your mother for a while. I’ll be back in half an hour, tops.’’ He took off with Charlie, running across the field toward the Big Top.
I waited until they were out of earshot. ‘‘Good-bye, Mama,’’ I said quietly.
‘‘No, Sugar, wait!’’ She tried to stand but she was too wobbly— too drunk—to chase me.
I calmly walked back to the women’s sleeping car, packed up everything I owned that wasn’t already in the baggage car, and gathered all the money I’d saved from working at the concession stand. Then I left the Bennett Brothers’ Circus for good.
The circus train was parked in a freight yard, so I had to walk almost a mile up the track through the rail yard to get to the passenger station. It was a huge, cavernous building, with so much space up by the ceiling that they could have had three or four trapeze acts and a couple of high-wire walkers up there at the same time. After living in cramped rail cars and tents all my life, I couldn’t understand the waste of such a building. It made me feel very tiny, the way poor Aunt Peanut must feel all the time, living in a big person’s world.
The station was a busy place, all lit up and bustling with people. Porters hauled huge carts of luggage to and fro, uniformed soldiers milled around looking lost, and exhausted families sat waiting on crowded benches, their babies wailing. I surveyed it all, wondering what to do, until I saw the window labeled ‘‘ticket sales,’’ and a knot of people lined up in front of it. My feet made a sharp tapping sound that echoed on the marble floor as I walked over to the window.
‘‘When does the next train leave?’’ I asked when it was finally my turn. The harried-looking agent behind the little window seemed distracted.
‘‘Uh...The next train to where, miss?’’
‘‘Anywhere! I don’t care. I just want the very next train.’’
He looked up at me for the first time and stroked his walrus mustache. ‘‘Listen, you look like a nice young lady. If you’re think-ing of running away from home, I’m sure that your family—’’ The word familymade me cold with fury. ‘‘I don’t have a family,’’ I said. ‘‘I’m not a child, I’m eighteen. Now please do your job and tell me when the next train leaves.’’
I realized after I had kids of my own that the man was just trying to keep me from making a big mistake, but at the time he seemed like a busybody. He took his time answering my question, stroking his mustache like he was petting a dog.
‘‘Well, the train sitting on track five leaves in ten minutes,’’ he said slowly. ‘‘It’s northbound for Memphis, Louisville, Indianapolis, and points north.’’
I laid some of my money on the counter. ‘‘Kindly give me a ticket for as far as this will take me.’’
The ticket agent did not look happy. He kept glancing up at me as if memorizing the details of what I looked like and how I was dressed in case someone sent the police after me. But I knew my daddy wouldn’t do that. The circus train would probably be in Arkansas before he even figured out I was missing.
‘‘Do you have any baggage to check, miss?’’ the agent asked.
‘‘I’d like to keep my suitcase with me, thank you.’’
I had already decided that I would watch out the window until I saw a town I liked and then just step off the train when it stopped there. It might be any one of the thousands of towns I’d traveled through over the years, towns I’d begged Daddy to settle down in. My dream house would be in a quiet little village where all my neighbors knew me and greeted me by name.
As soon as the agent handed me my ticket, I hurried down to track five and climbed aboard. I found my seat in the coach section and set my suitcase down by my feet, glad to see an empty seat beside mine. Five minutes later the train lurched forward, then slowly rolled out of the station. We passed The Bennett Brothers’ Circus train on a sidetrack a few minutes later and quickly left it far behind.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I think deep down I’d always known the truth—that my mother hadn’t died, but had abandoned me like a litter of unwanted kittens along a country road. I hadn’t wanted to face the truth. To admit what I was finally forced to face would have meant facing the why of it—why had she abandoned me? What was wrong with me that had made her turn her back and walk away from me when I was only four years old?
As I stared out of the train window that long, lonely afternoon, I was determined to put the past behind me forever. I would begin a new life and never look back. I convinced myself that I was just like the brave heroines in Betsy Gibson’s books. They were often orphaned and stepping out in the world on their own, but I had a big advantage over them because I had ‘‘been around the block,’’ as they say, having traveled with the circus. It didn’t scare me one bit to travel by train across an unknown land. And I couldn’t get homesick for a home I never had, could I? I didn’t know the name of the town I was searching for, but I was sure I would recognize it as soon as I saw it.
I searched all that first afternoon with no luck, then slept on the train that night, the motion rocking me to sleep as it had for most of my life. I kept watching out the window all the next day, too. Then late in the afternoon on the third day, we finally began passing through little villages like the one I had dreamt of for years. In between these towns were farmland and fruit orchards and fenced pastures with dairy cows. I saw trees for my children to climb someday and country lanes to stroll down with the man I loved on Sunday afternoons.
When the train rolled into Deer Springs, I grabbed my suitcase and stepped off. I later learned that the passenger train only stopped there twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so it was really my lucky day to be on one of the very few trains that stopped. The little town looked perfect, even before I saw the ‘‘help wanted’’ sign in the window of the diner across from the railroad station.
I didn’t waste any time at all crossing the street and heading into that diner. I walked right up to Ethel Peterson, who sat at the cash register, and said, ‘‘I see by the sign in the window that you’re looking for help.’’
Ethel was nearly as large as Gloria the fat lady had been, so I was counting on her to be just as jolly. But she eyed me suspiciously. ‘‘Well, that depends,’’ she said. ‘‘Who might you be?’’
‘‘My name is Eliza Rose Gerard, ma’am, and I just moved to town. I’m looking for work.’’
‘‘You have kinfolk here in Deer Springs?’’
That’s when all the lying began. I knew that if I told the truth about growing up in the circus, I would be branded a wild woman with loose morals, because that’s the reputation circus people had. If I told them my daddy was a clown and my mama was a drunk, I would never have a chance for the respectable life I dreamed of having. I made up my mind to lie—and once you start lying, you can never stop, of course.
‘‘I don’t have kinfolk anywhere,’’ I said, in a pitiful sort of voice. ‘‘My mama, daddy, and two sisters all died in the influenza epidemic last fall. In fact, I pretty nearly died myself. I decided to move somewhere and start a new life because the memories were just too painful to bear. I could really use the work, ma’am, if you’re still looking for somebody.’’
I knew I had to change the subject fast before she had a chance to ask where my home had been. Fortunately it was close to suppertime and the restaurant started getting a little busy just then, so Ethel didn’t have a lot of time to question me.
‘‘How’re you at figuring?’’ She handed me a pencil and one of the waitress’s receipts to add up. I had always been good at arithmetic, thanks to my daddy, so there was nothing to it.
‘‘It comes to one dollar and thirty cents,’’ I told her, adding it in my head.
She opened the cash drawer and pointed. ‘‘Suppose a customer gave you two dollars. Can you make change?’’
This was easy, seeing as I had sold cotton candy and peanuts from time to time. I ma
de change so quickly and confidently that Ethel was impressed.
‘‘Do you know how to wait tables?’’ she asked.
‘‘Oh yes, ma’am,’’ I lied. ‘‘Of course I do.’’
‘‘See that fellow in the suit, sitting at the counter? Go on over and take his order. I’ll be watching to see how you do.’’
A dapper-looking man in his late twenties sat all alone at the counter, drumming his fingers and staring down at the menu like he was trying to make up his mind. He was dressed like a cityslicker in a plaid double-breasted suit, and he looked out of place among the plainer folks in the diner. I noticed a large square sample-case by his feet and guessed that he was a traveling salesman.
It’s all an act,I told myself as I took the order pad from Ethel and walked over to him. That’s what Aunt Peanut had told me often enough. ‘‘Make people laugh even when you’re sad, act entertaining even when your heart is breaking. The show must go on.’’I would simply play the part of a waitress.
‘‘Hi, there,’’ I said with a smile. ‘‘What can I get for you today, sir?’’
My smile was wasted on him. He had his nose stuck in the menu and didn’t even notice that I wore the same skirt and blouse I’d worn for three days instead of a pink-and-white uniform like all the other waitresses. He didn’t seem to notice me at all, in fact.
‘‘How’s the special tonight?’’ he asked without looking up.
My confidence teetered and swayed like a dizzy aerialist. I didn’t know what a ‘‘special’’ was. I took a deep breath and smiled to push back my tears, then spoke softly so Ethel wouldn’t hear me.
‘‘Listen, mister. I don’t know anything at all about tonight’s special. I’m not even sure I know what you’re talking about. I’m new in town and I need a job. That lady over there told me to wait on you and if I do a good job I think she might hire me. Could you please help me out and pick something easy? It would mean a lot to me.’’
His head jerked up as I spoke and I hoped that Ethel couldn’t see the astonished look on his face. It took a moment for him to digest all that I’d said, but when he’d finally sorted it all out he gave me a great big smile.
‘‘Sure thing, doll face,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ll have the meat loaf dinner with mashed potatoes. Just write number two on the order slip, then take it over to the window behind you and stick it on one of those spikes. The chef will dish it up fast because the meat and potatoes are already cooked. In the meantime,’’ he continued, turning his coffee cup over, ‘‘you can pour me a cup of coffee from that pot right over there, and pass me the cream pitcher and the catsup bottle.’’
‘‘How can I ever thank you?’’ I said when I returned to fill his cup, my hands shaking.
‘‘Whoa, take it easy, doll face. Pour slowly so you don’t spill any. There you go. You’re doing just great.’’
I set the coffeepot back on the hot plate and fetched him the catsup bottle and the cream pitcher, just like he told me to. ‘‘Do you think she can tell I’m nervous?’’ I asked.
‘‘Naw, you’ve got such a pretty smile on your face...and people don’t usually smile if they’re nervous. By the way, my name is Harry Porterfield. What’s yours?’’
‘‘Eliza Rose Gerard.’’
‘‘That’s a real pretty name, just like your smile. All right, Eliza, turn around like you’re watching for my food and you’ll see the cook set my plate up there in another minute or two.’’
I glanced casually over my shoulder just in time to see the sweating, red-faced cook set a plate in the little window between the counter and the kitchen. It had meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans on it. I picked it up with two hands and carefully carried it over to my new friend.
‘‘Now how did you know it would be there?’’ I asked as I set it in front of him. He laughed.
‘‘I eat here every time I come to Deer Springs on my sales route. Hey, don’t look now, doll face, but here comes Ethel. Good luck to you.’’
She waddled over to me on legs the size of an elephant’s. Her shoes looked much too small for her swollen feet. ‘‘The job is yours if you want it,’’ she wheezed. ‘‘You can start with the breakfast shift tomorrow morning. Be here at five A.M. sharp.’’
I felt so happy I floated out of the diner on wings, then stood outside for a moment gazing at my new hometown. All kinds of people walked up and down the sidewalks, hurrying in and out of stores, driving past me in wagons and cars—but still, Deer Springs seemed quiet and peaceful compared to the noisy hullabaloo of the circus. When I spotted a bench in front of the train station, I crossed the street to sit down on it. I felt so happy to be ‘‘home,’’ I would have been content to sleep right out there on the bench in front of the train station all night.
I was still sitting there, happy as pie, when Harry Porterfield crossed the street and sat down on the bench beside me. ‘‘Congratulations, doll face. I heard Ethel say you got the job.’’
‘‘I’m very grateful for your help, Mr. Porterfield.’’
‘‘Hey, call me Harry. And she would have hired you even without my help. A pretty new face like yours will be good for business, don’t you know?’’ I felt myself blushing. ‘‘Say, doll face, you going to sit right here until the diner opens tomorrow morning?’’
‘‘I might have to unless there’s a hotel nearby that doesn’t cost too much.’’
‘‘Why didn’t you tell me you needed a place to stay? There aren’t any hotels in Deer Springs, but Miss Hansen down on Willow Avenue lets out rooms. That’s where I always bunk. Come on, I’ll show you.’’
He picked up his sample case and valise in one hand and my suitcase in the other, then motioned with a tilt of his head for me to follow him.
Miss Hansen was a tall, stringy woman with an unpleasant frown. ‘‘I don’t want any hanky-panky in my establishment, Mr. Porterfield,’’ she said when she saw the two of us. ‘‘I appreciate your business, as always, but I won’t be a party to any hankypanky.’’
‘‘Why, Miss Hansen! I’m hurt that you would think such a thing of me—let alone think it of this fine young woman here.’’
She snorted just like the horse Daddy used to ride in his act. ‘‘Humph! What kind of a respectable young woman runs around with a traveling salesman?’’
‘‘But I just met Mr. Porterfield in the diner a few minutes ago,’’ I said in my own defense. ‘‘I asked him if he knew of a place to stay.’’
Apparently my answer made matters worse. Miss Hansen snorted again. ‘‘What kind of a respectable young woman travels all alone without a chaperone?’’
They both looked at me, expecting an answer. All I had to do was mention the circus and any doubt about my respectability would fly right out the door—with my suitcase and me flying right out behind it.
‘‘I’m an orphan, ma’am,’’ I said, looking sad. ‘‘My family died in the influenza epidemic and I’ve been living with my maiden aunt ever since. But when she died in a fire a few weeks ago, I just couldn’t bear all the painful memories back home and so I came here to start a new life. I just got a job at the diner. I start tomorrow morning and—’’
‘‘That’s true, Miss Hansen,’’ Harry said. ‘‘I ate dinner there tonight and I heard Ethel say the job was hers.’’
Miss Hansen reluctantly showed me to my room. I gasped in astonishment when I saw it. ‘‘Oh, it’s beautiful! And it’s so big!’’
I’d been squeezed like a sardine into a tiny train compartment with my daddy for most of my life, and I’d had even less elbow room in the women’s sleeping car. I couldn’t get over all the wide open space between the bed and the bureau, between the bureau and the door, between the bed and the wall. There was even a pretty little dressing table with a ruffled skirt and a big square mirror that I’d have all to myself. Miss Hansen eyed me very curiously as I gazed around the room as if it were a palace.
‘‘It’s not a big room,’’ she said. ‘‘I have much bigger ones?
?? for couples, you know.’’
‘‘This is beautiful. Thank you so much, Miss Hansen.’’
She put Harry in a room upstairs and me in a bedroom right next door to her own. I think she stayed awake all night, listening for hanky-panky. My bed was huge and comfortable, but I barely slept. Except for the winter months, this was one of the few times in my life I hadn’t slept on a moving train and I couldn’t get used to the stillness. I missed the comforting clatter of the wheels on the rails, the gentle rocking from side to side. I refused to cry over my treasonous parents, but I did weep for Aunt Peanut—and for Sylvia and Lazlo, and for the Gambrini family, and for Charlie and Zippy, and all the other people in my circus family. But when it was time to get dressed and go to work at the diner the next morning, I dried my eyes and began the first day of my new life in Deer Springs.
Harry showed up for breakfast around seven-thirty and gave me a boost of confidence right when I needed it. ‘‘You’re doing great, doll face...and you look like a million dollars in that uniform.’’
‘‘I never knew there were so many different ways to cook an egg,’’ I told him. ‘‘Seems like everyone I’ve waited on this morning has wanted theirs a different way.’’ I started to say that the circus cooks only knew how to make scrambled eggs, but I caught myself just in time.
‘‘May I treat you to dinner tonight?’’ Harry asked when I brought him his check. He was a nice-looking man and smartly dressed, but he seemed a bit flabby compared to the well-muscled acrobats and aerialists I’d grown up with. Even the roustabouts and razorbacks had more going for them than poor, pasty-skinned Harry did.
‘‘Thanks, Harry, but I don’t think—’’
‘‘Please? I know you don’t know a soul in this town and I hate the thought of you eating all alone.’’
I finally agreed, mainly because I didn’t know how to refuse. We ate at the diner of course, since it was the only decent place in town. I could tell that Harry was already getting sweet on me when he tried to hold my hand as we walked back to the rooming house. I shook my head and stuck my hands in my pockets. When we reached the front porch he asked me to sit down with him for a few minutes.