In Search of a Memory (Truly Yours Digital Editions) (16 page)

“Roland?”

“Cassie wants you to see her act.”

She saw now that Chester stood behind him, his face tense. “I’m going in there and try to talk her out of it. Fool girl’ll break her neck just to prove a point.”

He hurried toward the tent, and Angel looked at Roland. “The new stunt?” she whispered.

He nodded, and quickly she joined him. Chester’s words fed Angel’s fear; he seemed to know Cassie better than anyone, and if he was worried…

Angel offered a silent prayer for her stubborn friend, hoping she formed her words right, though she wasn’t on her knees, hoping God would hear her petition, hoping above all else that Cassie would be protected from danger.

Inside the huge tent, spectators sat on benches in graduated levels and watched the center ring with the thrill of excitement. Only Angel and Roland viewed the unfolding events with absolute dread.

Cassie’s mother stood with one foot atop each of two An-dalusians running side by side, while a man in a matching flashy silver and gold costume stood in the center and held a prod. Roland scanned the right side of the tent and found the person they sought.

“There she is,” he said to Angel, nodding to the closed-off area.

Beyond the gap of hanging tapestries, Roland spotted Chester, red in the face, looking as if he was giving his girl an earful. Cassie’s expression was just as obstinate. Roland noticed her father catch sight of them as he turned in time with the horses then did a quick double take. But he continued with the act while his wife switched to one stallion and did a handstand amid a burst of applause. Once she’d traveled the ring and lowered herself to both feet again, in one move jumping down to straddle the horse and bring it to a slow stop, her husband announced a short intermission before the next act, saying his wife would answer any questions. She looked at him oddly, and Roland assumed this wasn’t part of their show. But with an inviting smile she sat sideways on her horse and pointed to an eager youngster with his hand raised.

Her husband moved behind her to where Cassie now sat mounted while Chester firmly held the horse’s bridle and looked up at her. By their stiff features, nothing had changed.

Her father entered the fray. His displeasure at seeing Chester near his daughter soon turned toward Cassie as both men wore equal expressions of disapproval. Cassie’s jaw remained set. She shook her blond ringlets tersely and proceeded, urging the horse to the ring and cutting off further questions from the audience to her mother.

Roland felt Angel’s hands circle the muscle of his arm.

“She’s really going to do it,” she whispered in fear, and Roland grimly surmised the same thing. “Dear God, protect her.” He barely heard the words leave her lips.

Cassie’s mother rode out of the ring, clearly unaware of the tension or her daughter’s decision as she dismounted and started another lively record on the phonograph. Chester and her father stood side by side with hands clenched on the wooden bar that separated the ring from spectators, their looks of anxious worry matched, while Cassie blithely waved to the crowd and performed her first act. Her movements were graceful, limber as she brought herself to stand atop the cantering horse, as nimble as its rider. Steps and movements led one into another, so fluidly she executed what looked like an acrobatic ballet as she took turns moving to sit and stand atop the horse.

Roland was impressed.

“She’s really very good,” Angel related his thoughts in awe. Her grip on his arm relaxed.

Cassie again stood straight on one leg and toed her foot before her. Her mother had joined her husband, clearly curious why he left the ring. He spoke, and she swung around as if to rush forward and try to stop Cassie. Her husband’s hand on her arm stopped her.

Roland could almost tell how the young bareback rider judged her timing by the expression on her face, her smile not as bright, her features fixed as she stood, arms to the sides, and seemed to count.

“I can’t watch.” Angel turned her head into his shoulder. The feel of her nestled there brought a strong surge of warmth through his blood along with a desire to console. He cupped his hand to her head, her hair like silk beneath his touch.

Roland held his breath, also certain they would soon be carrying Cassie’s broken body from the ring. A quick glance toward Chester showed his face, now pale, his eyes wide and intent on the woman he loved. Not sure he fully believed in the intervening power of God, Roland found himself muttering the same prayer Angel had for the stubborn girl’s protection and for the trick to work.

Cassie suddenly vaulted into the air, bringing her legs up over her head in a graceful backward somersault. Her white and silver-sequined costume shimmered from the lights of many lanterns. In one breathless, heart-stopping moment it looked as if she might miss….

The crowd gasped, echoing Roland’s swift intake of breath.

She landed, finding solid footing near the back of the horse, and raised her arms high, her smile dazzling in her triumph.

The audience exploded with applause, many jumping to their feet. Chester whooped and threw his hat high. Her mother seemed to collapse against her husband, whose slow smile expressed grudging admiration for his daughter.

“She did it.” Angel’s words trembled, as if she might cry. “Oh Roland, she really did it!” She threw both her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely.

Her soft warmth unexpectedly pressed against him knocked Roland’s mental capabilities awry and didn’t do much for his spiraling emotions either. He couldn’t think of an answer to give, his tongue suddenly thick; if he did try to talk, he feared it would come out as gibberish.

She seemed to realize what she was doing and drew away, sending him a demure, embarrassed glance from beneath her lashes before turning her attention to the ring again.

“She truly is a wonder.”

Roland didn’t want to talk or think about Cassie or the performance. He would rather focus on the woman who’d just held him so tightly, maybe even take her somewhere quiet and give in to his desire to discuss a potential relationship—though what he really wished to do, he realized in the moment she embraced him, was kiss her.

No opportunity presented itself for further conversation or a second daring demonstration on his part, for as Roland looked past the ring to the spectators, he caught sight of an oxlike man in a pin-striped suit, a smaller man dressed in a similar manner beside him. Neither seemed interested in the performance, both intently scanning the crowds.

“Angel,” he said just loudly enough so she could hear above the frenzied clapping. “I want you to walk away from me now, turn around, and leave the tent.”

“What? Why?” Instead of doing as he asked, she looked to where his gaze was fixed. She gasped, and he knew the moment she realized new danger, as she again grabbed both his arm and his hand, intent on pulling him with her.

“It’s them, isn’t it? You have to get out of here, too!” Whether it was Cassie’s bold defiance to do what no one expected she could, or her earlier thoughts of this man that spurred Angel’s own courage, she didn’t know or care. But she wasn’t about to flee two gangsters while leaving Roland to their doubtful mercy. “Come on!” She persistently tugged, refusing to let him go. He had no choice but to follow or bring attention their way by attempting to break contact.

“Angel, this is crazy,” he muttered once she pulled him out of the tent.

“No crazier than you thinking you have to become a sacrifice for your family’s sins! Let’s tell Mama they’re here. She’ll know what to do.”

He hesitated, and she thought she might have to pull him bodily down the midway. He was lean but hard and muscular, she’d learned during her spontaneous embrace, while she was slight of build but determined. “They might step outside any second. Do you really want to stand here and argue about this and risk them finding both of us?”

Her words snapped Roland out of his indecision. Grimly he nodded, and they hurried down the midway. They found Mama at Jabar’s act and filled her in on the news.

“I see.” Her usually merry eyes became grim. “Well then, we should teach those two that their type isn’t welcome here. Jabar…” She turned to the boy who sat atop his elephant. “I think Jenny would like a walk.”

He grinned and nodded.

Angel and Roland watched curiously.

“We’ll make one stop at Corinthos’s tent. I think that should be enough of a welcome committee, don’t you?” Her smile was sly.

Angel couldn’t help but grin. The Snake Man wore his pet boas around his shoulders, chest, and arms. Every time she saw him thus embellished, it gave her the jitters.

Roland caught on with a slow smile. “Come to think of it, I seem to remember Giuseppe has a fear of reptiles.”

“Good. You two stay out of sight. No use letting them know you’re here. Jenny and the snakes are just an… added precaution?” Mama smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

Once she left with Jabar and Jenny, Roland looked at Angel. “I’ve got to see this.”

“You’re not leaving me behind!” She grabbed his arm again, rather beginning to like the connection.

“No, I didn’t think so. Let’s go then. We can watch from a distance.”

They followed, taking note of how quickly Corinthos agreed to Mama’s request. He informed his audience he would return soon. Some of the crowd followed the foursome down the midway, curious to see an elephant with a small Arab boy in a turban perched atop, a silver-haired wraith of a woman in a sky blue satin dress leading the way like an aged warrior princess, and a tall, brawny man wrapped in snakes walking alongside the elephant.

Roland suddenly tensed beneath Angel’s hold and brought his hand across her chest to grab her shoulder in warning, moving with her to a shielding tent. She caught sight of the gangsters, who stood out in the crowd. Their manner of doing business also garnered attention. The huge one had his meaty fist bunched around the shirt of one of the carnies, smaller by half, as he threatened him with his raised fist.

Mama calmly walked up to the men. “I don’t allow any violence at my carnival.” Her voice came out quiet, authoritative, and Angel admired her daring.

“Is that a fact? So, maybe we won’t have to knock any heads together,” the smaller man said. “Just tell us where to find Roland Piccoli.”

Angel’s shoulders stiffened at hearing his name, and she tightened her hold around his arm, afraid he might actually step forward and reveal himself if things grew too heated. His absentminded pats to her hand did little to comfort.

“Piccoli… Piccoli… Corinthos, you know anyone by the name of Piccoli?”

The Snake Man stepped out from beyond the elephant and into sudden view of the pair. The two gangsters jumped back, clearly disturbed at the sight of the spotted reptile that slowly moved in layers of coils around the man. Angel felt the quiver of Roland’s chest as he quietly chuckled.

“No, Mama,” Corinthos replied in an articulated accent, almost British like Blackie’s but not quite that, either. His deep voice sounded both distinguished and sinister. His steady eyes settled on the gangsters. Even without the snakes, the dark-skinned man stood tall, formidable, and well muscled.

“Look here, we don’t want no trouble,” the bigger of the two gangsters said, his wide eyes never leaving the snakes.

“But we’ll give it, if that’s what it takes.” The smaller man reached into his suit coat for what was undoubtedly a gun, and Angel saw the flash of metal. Roland hissed between his teeth, taking a quick step forward. Angel held his arm in a death grip, keeping him back.

“Jenny,” Mama said quickly, pointing to the gangster, “find the peanut!”

Jenny’s trunk eagerly swept up the man’s shirtfront, and he let out a terrified howl. “Get that thing off me!” Jenny’s trunk found his hand with the gun. As if realizing danger, she squeezed around his wrist. The man let out a yelp of pain, his weapon falling to the ground.

“Jenny, release.” The elephant dropped her trunk away at Jabar’s order. The man clutched his wrist. Jabar moved Jenny forward a step, and her foot, the size of a small tree trunk, stepped squarely on the weapon.