no. Marriage to Agatha was out of the question. While she was a sweet and docile girl who touched his heart with her shy smile, she would never be able to stand up to the rigors of political life.
It had been a good while since he’d seen her. He had not visited the Lucky Clover since Ivy turned down his marriage proposal.
He did wonder about Agatha from time to time. What had become of her? He hoped that Ivy had managed to restore her to health. He prayed that she had not become addicted to laudanum again.
Had life treated her differently, she might have been as bright and sparkling as her twin sister. That night he’d carried Agatha about the dance floor, he’d seen a spark of joy in her eyes.
Somehow, that brief encounter had left him feeling tender toward her. She had gazed up at him as if he were her hero. It could not be denied that he’d looked down at her, warming to the role.
“If we were to marry, William,” Aimee began again. He did not recall encouraging her to call him by his given name. “When do you think it would be?”
In a hundred years was what popped into his mind, but he needed to be careful not to say something to alienate her, or the votes her family might cast for him when he at last ran for governor.
A noise interrupted his thoughts.
“What was that?”
“We were discussing our wedding date?”
“I thought I heard a scream.”
“Well, my dear, this is a circus after all.”
“I’m sorry, Aimee. You’ve gotten the wrong idea about—that was a scream.”
Very clearly a woman was in distress. The trouble sounded like it came from the area where the cannon was.
The cannon that was due to spew a human being out of it.
That was one circus act he would ban when he had the power to do so.
He ought to bid Aimee farewell and send her back to her friends, but the cry was becoming more urgent.
Surely others would arrive to help before he got there, but regardless, he turned his back on Aimee and ran full out.
A few men had arrived before him. Judging by their manner of dress, they were employees of the circus. Unbelievably they shifted from foot to foot, watching silently while Frenchie Brown tried to stuff a small woman down the mouth of the cannon.
A dog latched its teeth into the leg of Mr. Brown’s pants. Luckily the critter was agile and avoided the circus owner’s attempt to stomp on it.
But the woman was not faring as well. She was no match for the brute strength being forced upon her.
While she cursed at Brown, he caught the back of her long red hair, wound it around his fist, then yanked downward, forcing her further into the cannon.
“Mr. Brown!” William shouted. “The lady is unwilling!”
“This is circus business, Mayor. You have no say-so here.”
“When I catch you trying to force a woman, it damn well is my business.”
“Boys?” Frenchie Brown stared at his men. “The show will go on. Escort the mayor to an appropriate area.”
“Where’s Mrs. Otis?” one of the fellows asked.
“Packing her bags as you’ll be doing if you don’t obey me.”
“I don’t think this here tiny lady will survive being blown out of Old Bessie,” the youngest of the men said.
All of a sudden Frenchie yelped. Blood welled from his fat hand.
It seemed the tiny lady in the cannon had taken that moment of distraction to bite him.
He lifted his bleeding fist, balled it up. William caught it on the downswing and shoved him backward.
The woman scrambled out of the cannon then crumpled on the ground, shaking.
“William?” her voice quavered under the fall of red hair that hid her face.
She knew him? There was something familiar about her voice—he couldn’t place—
“Help me up, William.” She lifted her hand toward him. Her pale fingers trembled.
He squatted beside her, drew the hair from her face.
“Agatha Magee? Is that you?”
“He’s on the ground, boys! Get him.”
Feet shuffled in the dirt. Glancing up, he gathered Agatha closer to his chest.
Two of the roustabouts were walking away, but the other two advanced, bulging arm muscles glistening, flexing.
“Oh, my word!” A woman’s gasp drew Frenchie Brown’s attention to the shadows.
William recognized her and her young fellow when they stepped into the lantern light. They had both attended today’s meeting.
“Nothing to be alarmed at folks. All a part of the cannon act.” Frenchie Brown’s voice was suddenly friendly as a slice of peach pie. “Naturally the lady was fearful, it being her first flight. But this act is widely known to be safe.”
Hell, the man lied as easily as most of William’s fellow politicians.
William stood up, keeping Agatha close to him. She was breathing too hard. Reminded him of a small bird he’d rescued once.
Scooping her up, he backed away.
“Take my girl and you’ll hear from my lawyers!”
“She’s no longer your girl.” He’d never had reason to growl, but now he thought he did it as well as the circus owner.
Frenchie Brown made a motion to run his hand through his hair, but given that he was bald, he only slapped his scalp.
“Fetch me another girl,” he said to the single remaining roustabout.
“Shut down the cannon attraction,” William ordered.
“You have no rights here!” Frenchie Brown insisted, his belly jiggling in outrage.
Maybe he did not, but he wasn’t going to take Agatha away only to have some other unfortunate girl take her place.
“Find Mrs. Peabody,” he said to the young couple. “Tell her the circus folks have gone mad in the wind. Let her know to spread the word to everyone that they should seek the shelter of their homes.”
If there were no customers, no one would be shot out of the cannon.
He strode away, hugging Ivy’s sister tight, hoping that she was strong enough to withstand what she had been through, that she would not lapse
