Bringing Ezra Back (5 page)

I'd never heard grown men carry on so, trading insults back and forth. I was trying to remember all they said, so I could tell Molly and Pa about it.

Honeywell turned to me and said, “You there, grinning like a roast possum, how'd you come to take up with a ne'er-do-well like Orrin Beckwith?”

Quick as I could, I explained about playing my fiddle so as to draw a crowd for Beckwith, and about Ezra and the traveling show I was in search of. “Have you seen or heard tell of such a show, Mr. Honeywell?”

Honeywell put his hands behind his head, stretched out his legs, and looked toward the sky. “My boy, in my travels I've seen exhibitions and performances of every sort and description. I've seen a creature called an Al-Bi-No, who had the palest skin you ever saw, and pure white hair, and pink eyes. I've seen Siamese twins, which is two whole people growed together as one. Here, look, I made a sketch of them so's I'd never forget the sight.”

Honeywell reached for his pack. There was a wooden stand tied to the outside, which I figured might be where he placed a painting while he worked on it. Inside were a quiver of brushes of all sizes, and rolled-up canvases. He unrolled one and held it up. It took me a while to make sense of what I was looking at, which was two men hitched together somehow so they had two heads but shared a body. It made my stomach feel a little funny, but I couldn't stop looking at it.

“Did you make that up or see it for real?” I asked.

“Oh, it was real as real can be,” Honeywell answered. “I've also seen an orang-u-tang, a mummy, a mermaid, a midget, a giant, a dwarf, and a lady with chin whiskers down to her waist. I've seen a man with no arms who played the fiddle better than you and shot arrows with his toes. I've seen pigeons, horses, dogs, and bears trained to sing and dance and count to ten. I've seen a two-headed calf, a five-legged pig, an Arabian camel, an African zebra, and a laughing hyena. Once I paid good money to a gypsy fortune-teller who looked at the flat of my hand and said I would die young but rich. Ha!”

He took another sip of coffee, spit into the fire, then added, “I did see a man in a show who was deef and dumb. Folks wrote down questions on a slate and he answered 'em in sign language like an Injun. I don't suppose that's who you're looking for?”

Feeling dazed, I shook my head. Could Honeywell be telling the truth? Had he really seen such things? The idea made my head swim. It sounded like there were all sorts of traveling shows, not just one, as I'd imagined. That made finding Ezra seem a lot harder.

And even though it shamed me, I was curious to see some of the things Honeywell had spoken of.

Right about then, I began to feel plain wore out from the travelin' and from all the talk I'd heard that day, first from Beckwith and then from Honeywell. I reckoned talking was about all they ever did.

I wrapped my fiddle in my pack, spread out my blanket, set Ezra's hat down alongside it, and said good night. Beckwith and Honeywell blathered for a right long time after that, I reckon. I heard part of a story about a catfish that walked on dry land and one about a man who came back to life when his coffin fell off a wagon and busted open.

It was no wonder I had some peculiar dreams. In one, that dead man from the wagon came right into our camp, sat down, and played my fiddle. In another, a trained bear talked in sign language and tried to put his paws around my neck for a dance.

When I woke in the morning, Beckwith was already talking. Or maybe he'd never stopped. He had fixed more coffee and beans, and he and Honeywell jawed about where they were headed next. Beckwith allowed as how we were going east, and suggested that Honeywell point himself to the west, north, or south. “No sense in folks having to choose between spending their money on my goods or yours,” he said with a shrug.

Honeywell appeared to agree. He shouldered his own pack and looked at me. “I hope you find the gentleman you're looking for,” he said. “In the meantime, if you get tired of listening to this rascal's lies, look me up. I'm a better cook, when I've got the fixin's, and I could stand the company.”

I was surprised by the offer, and even a little bit tempted. Honeywell came off a decent feller. But I needed to stick with Beckwith, who was headed east, toward Ezra. Beckwith was a scoundrel, but I'd be all right as long as I kept that in mind.

“Thank you, sir,” I told Honeywell. “I hope you find lots of folks who want their likeness made.”

He nodded. To Beckwith, he said, “How far's the next town west?”

“It seems farther than it is,” Beckwith said with a grin, “but once you get there, you'll find it ain't.”

Honeywell scowled. “Thank you kindly for that useful information. When I get there, reckon I'll sell tickets to your funeral and make me a bundle.”

Beckwith laughed and wished Honeywell luck, and then we went our separate ways. It wasn't till the sun was getting high overhead that I reached up to touch the pouch around my neck—and discovered that it was gone.

5

I CRIED OUT
in dismay, and Beckwith turned around to see what was wrong.

“My money!” I said. Too late, I remembered I didn't want to tell Beckwith I had money, but it didn't matter anymore. “My pa gave me a five-dollar coin, and it's gone!”

Beckwith looked at me and shook his head sadly. “I tried to warn you about Honeywell. Didn't I tell you to keep a sharp eye on your fingers and toes and whatever else you got?”

“You mean to say he took my money?” I asked. Then, before Beckwith could answer, I said, “No. He couldn't have. He didn't know I had it. The only one who knew was me.”

“Not true, Nathan,” Beckwith said solemnly. “
I
knew.”

I was almost too astonished to speak. “You did?” I shook my head in bewilderment. “But how?”

Beckwith gave a little smile. “I suspected it from the first, the way you were always foolin' with something hanging around your neck. I saw your sister give you that locket, but there was something else, too. Then last night around the fire I knew for sure. You practically came right out and made a pronouncement.”

“I didn't say any such thing!” I cried.

“You didn't have to,” Beckwith replied. “Honeywell asked if you had money and you said no. You're not a practiced liar, Nathan. Your face was enough to give you away to anybody who was paying attention. But your hand went to that string around your neck, and right then I knew not only that you had money but also exactly where you were keeping it. I've no doubt Honeywell saw the same thing.”

And I'd thought Honeywell was a decent feller. I was too disgusted with myself to speak.

Beckwith went on. “People tell things about themselves without meaning to, Nathan. When you're living by your wits, you learn to read people just like you read a book. You hear the things people don't know they're saying.”

To heck with reading people like a book, I thought. You could pretty much count on them being low-down and shifty.

Beckwith gave a little shrug. “Honeywell's no different from most men. He saw an opportunity and took it.”

In my mind, I was remembering my dream. Someone
had
been reaching around my neck. It wasn't any trained bear, though, but Honeywell. Now, because of my stupidity, Mama's gold piece was gone. Pa could have used it to buy himself some spectacles, but he'd given it to me and told me to use it wisely. My belly ached.

Beckwith had resumed walking. He called back loudly, “Come along, Nathan, time's a-wasting. Look at it this way: you learned a valuable lesson today, one you're not likely to forget.”

I forced my feet to follow along behind him, although my mind was filled with fury at Honeywell, and at myself, and at Beckwith, too, for his cheery advice about learning lessons.

We kept on, heading pretty near due east. I reckon I wasn't very good company. The knowledge of Honeywell's trickery gnawed at me. I wanted to go after him, grab him by
his
neck, and get back my money.

Then I'd think of Ezra, and make myself keep going. But something had changed. Having Mama's gift next to my heart had made me feel strong and confident, and without it I felt shaky and unsure. I touched Molly's locket, and thought longingly of her and Pa and home.

*   *   *

As we worked our way east, we began to travel through more settled areas. Where Pa and Molly and I might go weeks without seeing another soul, Beckwith and I began to meet up with folks quite regular. Beckwith tried to make a sale to everyone we saw, and almost always made one. Every farm we stopped at made me more homesick, and I wondered how Pa was making out without me.

I looked hard at every tall, dark-haired man to see if he might be Ezra, but he never was. I asked everyone we met if they'd come across a traveling show of monstrosities, curiosities, and whatnot, but no one had. Then, on the fourth day, as we reached the outskirts of Tullyville, we came to a handbill tacked onto a tree. It wasn't the same one Beckwith had brought to our cabin, but it had the same flavor about it. It read:

Then, in real small print, it said:

•
ATTEND AT YOUR OWN RISK.
•

ALL PRECAUTIONS WILL BE TAKEN TO PROTECT THE AUDIENCE
.

Funny, but it was that last part written small that tickled my imagination the most. For the first time since it happened, I quit brooding about the loss of my money. Feeling curious, I asked Beckwith, “What kind of critter you reckon it is?”

He chuckled and said, “Likely a bear or a wildcat they got tricked out to scare folks. Could be they added horns or feathers or whatnot. Could even be a person wearing a fur skin, I suppose, if they got clever enough.”

“You mean to say it ain't for real?” I asked.

“I'll sprout wings and fly to France if it is,” Beckwith answered.

He spoke so sure of himself, it was downright annoying at times. I thought it likely there could be a beast he hadn't heard of. “You ever been to this Borneo place?” I asked him.

“No,” Beckwith answered. “But I don't need to see a rat to smell one.”

Well, maybe so. But, still … The truth was, the idea of that Devil-Beast had got me wound-up.

“Nevertheless,” he went on, “it's bound to be an entertaining spectacle. And that, Nathan, is bad luck for us.”

“How so?”

“People love a spectacle. They're sure to be handing over money to see this beast tonight. What we've got to do is see how many of their dimes we can get to first.”

I couldn't help thinking about the Devil-Beast of Borneo as Beckwith and I walked the rest of the way into town and up the dusty main street. The handbills about it were posted on every storefront and hitching post. People gathered around to read them, pointing and speculating. It seemed every snatch of conversation I overheard was about the upcoming show. Everybody appeared to be as excited as I was. None of them talked about it being a trick, so what made Beckwith so almighty sure of himself?

We walked down the main street until we came to a tavern called the Spotted Hog. Here Beckwith took off his pack and said, “Start playing, Nathan. Something lively. And loud.”

This was the first town we'd come to. It was the moment I'd been secretly dreading. I'd never played in front of folks before, only just Molly, Pa, Eli Tanner, and Beckwith. I'd heard good fiddlers and knew I wasn't one of them yet. There was so much feeling in Eli's music that it made folks weep. So far I had to work hard just to get the notes right. Eli said the feeling would come later. I hoped so. At the moment, I was more than half afraid people would laugh or even jeer.

After I tuned and rosined, I began to play, though my hands were shaking some. Beckwith did a little jig to catch folks' attention, and to my surprise people began to drift our way. Soon there was a fair-sized crowd gathered around, mostly ladies and children. Beckwith gave me a sign to stop, and he started talking. Just as he had with Molly, he opened by asking a riddle.

“I have a question for the smartest youngster in the crowd,” he called out.

Three young boys and one girl all stepped up. The girl hollered, “That's me!”

“If three crows are sitting on a fence and you shoot one and kill it, how many are left?”

“Two!” shouted the children.

“Not at all!” cried Beckwith. “For the other two would fly away!”

Laughter and groans came from the crowd, and Beckwith tried a couple of the same riddles he'd used with me and Molly. It made me feel a little better that nobody else figured out the one about the cow turning grass to milk and butter, either.

Then he asked, “What has four legs up and four legs down, is soft in the middle and hard all around?”

The little girl who had spoken up before shrieked and said, “The Devil-Beast of Borneo!”

Everyone had a good laugh about that, and then a boy about my same age called out, “I know that one. The answer's a bed!”