to his head with a thump, straightened his bow tie, then brushed off his lapels before stepping inside the canvas tent.
It was an impressive space. For all its size, it didn’t sway overmuch in the wind. Perhaps if the roustabouts who raised the tent had used a few more ropes it wouldn’t sway at all. If William had been in charge of things, he would have—
Done nothing different. Even though his mother lived twenty-five miles away and he hadn’t seen her in months, her narrowed eyes and firmed lips appeared in his mind. Her voice whispered as clearly as if she had been standing beside him.
“William Byron English, you do not need to be in charge of everything.”
Maybe not, but still he wondered if heavier wood should have been used on the risers where folks would sit.
Letting go of control was a lesson he’d been trying to learn since the time he was a boy and had decided that the fire in the hearth would be better with six logs rather than the two the butler had put in.
It had taken a week before his mother would smile at him and a week after that before the stench of smoke cleared out of the house.
Gazing at the two brightly painted rings used for performing, William couldn’t think of a way to improve them. That was a relief, and good enough to send his mother’s voice home to Cheyenne where it belonged.
He’d heard that P.T. Barnum had three performing rings, but Tanners Ridge was not a big enough town to attract that man’s attention.
Hell, it wasn’t even big enough to attract a reliable sheriff.
“Halloo!” came a voice from the far side of the tent.
He turned toward the voice to see a short man, his belly round as a ball, step from behind a curtain. The fellow waved his arm, indicating that William should cross to where he was.
The crossing took some time because the tent was large.
While this circus production was not as grand as some, it was the most exciting thing to come to Tanners Ridge in a long time, so he’d been told. Having only been mayor here for six months, there was much he was still learning about his new home.
“Halloo to you, sir.” The man extended his pudgy hand. “I’m Frenchie Brown, owner of this fine production.”
“William English.” He shook Frenchie Brown’s hand, surprised to find so much strength in that soft-looking fist.
“Ah, the mayor!” The man nodded vigorously. He had no hair and the smooth skin of his head glistened in a ray of sunshine that cut through a gap in the tent. “I ought to have known who you were by the fine cut of your clothes. Welcome, Mr. Mayor.”
Back home in Cheyenne no one ever remarked on his wardrobe. Gentleman ranchers of the area dressed the same way.
“I just came down to see how you folks were faring in the wind. It’s blowing like the devil outside.”
“We’ve held up fine in worse than this.” His grin was wide, exposing a gold front tooth. The stench of strong cologne trying to mask the scent of cigars and clothes that hadn’t been washed in some time made William back up a step. “Come, I’ve something special to show you. Tonight, folks will have to pay to see her but being that you are the mayor—well I’ll give you a peek at her for free.”
A free peek at a woman was not something that William figured he really wanted. But in case the lady was in need of help, he followed Frenchie around the curtain.
“Meet Gloria.” Frenchie stroked the curve of a huge gray hip. William backed up several paces. “The only taxidermized pachyderm known to the civilized world.”
The creature’s trunk was lifted high as though she were trumpeting, her tail was also lifted, forever proud.
“During her lifetime this good old girl earned me plenty of money.” With what appeared to be a loving embrace, Frenchie stroked her ivory tusk. “Couldn’t see any reason that should change.”
“No...” William glanced about, wondering if the skeleton of a three-headed dog would come bounding by chased by a sword-swallower, his foil aflame. “I imagine not.”
* * *
Agatha noticed the spider in its web a second before it saw her.
The startled bug scrambled across the delicate threads it had spun between the spindles of the porch of the trailer that she shared with Laura Lee. The small arachnid disappeared nearly as fast as she spotted it.
How she envied that quick little creature. Spiders were not required to face the world beyond the shadows.
Agatha closed her eyes, took a deep breath, feeling the wind buffet her hair, tug at her hat.
As much as it frightened her, she did have to face the world. She had spent most of her life shut away. Not by choice—far from it. She hadn’t even known that she had a choice.
“Good day to you, Miss Agatha,” greeted Hugo Fin as he passed by carrying a ladder.
Hugo was the boss canvas man in charge of raising the big top and keeping order among those who worked for him. As rowdy a bunch as the roustabouts were, no one dared step out of line with Mr. Fin’s leveled stare upon him.
A frizzle of apprehension shot up her neck but she forced a smile and returned his greeting.
After he rounded the corner of the next trailer, she wrapped an imaginary cloak of confidence about her shoulders and walked down the stairs. In her mind she tugged it tight.
Without thinking she turned toward the path leading to the chuck wagon. It would be less traveled. She stopped so suddenly that a cloud of dust puffed about the toes of her shoes.
She was behaving like the spider when she needed to act like Leroy. The circus lion was always assured of his status as king of the beasts.
Spinning about, she strode purposefully along the more populated path.
Several yards ahead of her three women, two of them brave aerialists, had stopped to talk. Their skirts blew madly and they held their hats to their heads.
Instead of walking wide around them like her feet itched to do, she approached them.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted, noticing that her hand had broken into a sweat. What must they think of her just marching up and boldly beginning a conversation.
“You’re our new kitchen girl!” the youngest of the three declared.
“Agatha, isn’t that right?” asked the one who was known as the Fat Lady. “I hope you are more talented than the last girl we had. Her cooking was so bad that I began to waste away. You’d think butter and sugar were short of supply. Lands of glory, I was close to losing my job.”
“I hope I am more talented, too, ma’am.” She surely did. She did know for a fact that there was plenty of butter and sugar in the larder.
Too bad it was Laura Lee who was the cook. Her friend had worked in the kitchen back home on the Lucky Clover under Mrs. Morgan’s skillful guidance. Laura
