Summer Magic (9 page)

She leaned into him, kissed him back, immersing herself in his tempting nearness.
 
The kiss deepened.
 

Foolishly her emotions carried her away.
 
Yes, it had to be magic.
 
Not merely the night sounds, the moonlight, or the stars tracking the heavens.

The magic was Michael.

Chapter Five

The first part of July arrived hot and sultry. The circus had journeyed farther south, then crossed Texas through wide-open spaces dotted with cattle ranches and rolling plains that gave way to mountains and pine forests.

Time alone with Michael had been limited, just as he'd forewarned.
 
Many nights after the last show, Lisa met him at the stabling quarters where she helped him feed, exercise, and groom the horses.
 
On a few occasions, they'd fixed a simple late-night meal inside his trailer, or ate with Mrs. Figaro in the motor home.

But early each morning when they'd continued their travels, she rode with Estelle--not Michael.
 
Somehow, she'd sensed that arrangement suited Michael too.

Then there were her twelve hour work days, one calamity after another.
 
As each day wore on, she found herself closer to the brink of exhaustion.

One morning, she’d forgotten to check the latch on a cage.
 
Three feisty chimps escaped and took refuge atop a palm tree.
 
To make matters worse, these chimps were the star performers in a highly publicized clown act and the show was starting in less than an hour.

The keepers and Lisa tried everything imaginable to get the chimps down.
 
Nothing worked.
 
The clowns were upset, making Lisa even more flustered.
 
Dr. Woodstock only stood wordlessly by, shaking his head with disgust.
 
Finally, a mere five minutes before curtain time, one of the riggers emerged on the scene with a tall extension ladder.

"Everyone stand back," he'd ordered.
 
"I'll take care of it."

Take care of it, he did.
 
He captured the chimps.
 
But they were still so riled up after their escape, the clown couldn't get them to cooperate and the act was a big flop. All because of Lisa.

Yesterday had turned out equally disastrous.
 
Forgetting that camels have a predisposition for spitting, she'd let her guard slip.
 
While she was helping Dr. Woodstock pour medicine down a camel's throat, the animal got upset and started spitting.
 
The vet managed to duck clear in the nick of time, but not Lisa.
 
Before she realized what had happened, she was half covered with the most horrid-smelling acidy liquid.

Today Jessell and Stern was set up in a vacant lot not far from Galveston.

"Miss Prentice, get a move on!" Dr. Woodstock barked the minute she'd reported to the clinic.
 
"We heed to examine the elephants.
 
Go fetch the treatment cart.
 
The smaller one will do."

"Right away, Dr. Woodstock."
 
She wished he would call her Lisa instead.
 
That might take the edge off their professional relationship.
 
Doc Largent always had called her by her first name, but of course, he'd been not only her boss, but a good friend too.

The cart, which was sandwiched between a metal file cabinet and small bookcase, had two shelves with compartments for first aid supplies.
 
Quickly she retrieved it and steered it down the ramp that angled off the front steps of the motor home/clinic.

"Several elephants have foot problems," Dr. Woodstock said in his usual no-nonsense way as he trailed close behind her.
 
"Walter, the elephant trainer, will be helping us. Your job is to hand me the medication and make note of it in the records."
 
He paused, narrowing his dark brown eyes on her.
 
"Elephants can be extremely dangerous.
 
But Walter's the best.
 
He knows exactly how to handle them."

She nodded, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

she thought.
 
She dreaded facing him.
 
Michael had been right.
 
He and the other trainers had taken a dim view of her.
 
More than once she'd overhead Walter referring to her as unskilled and clumsy when he was talking with the other animal trainers.
 
Maybe she
was
nothing more than an amateur, she told herself dolefully.
 
Maybe they were right.
 
But no, she mustn't believe that, no matter how discouraged she became. She couldn't let her confidence wane.

Dr. Woodstock must've sensed her misgivings, because over the rattle of the treatment cart, his voice grew less gruff.
 
"Don't worry about the elephants, Miss Prentice. They seldom suffer from a major illnesses.
 
They usually have small things go wrong."

"Like what?"

"Mostly foot infections and sore cuticles.
 
I have the keepers tend to the daily treatments.
 
But once every week, in order to assess their overall condition, I do it."

As they drew nearer, she spied Walter.
 
Tall, bronze-skinned, he was talking to one of the massive creatures. Each was chained to a ring in the ground by one front foot and one hind leg.

Walter held a stick about the size of a broom handle. He called it an elephant hook, explaining that elephants and their assistants use it to gently prod the huge animals into following directions.

"Thatta girl, Rosy," Walter said in a firm voice.
 
"Good Rosy."

The elephants were lined up like mammoth beady-eyed soldiers standing very close together, Rosy up front.
 
Their massive gray bulk fascinated Lisa.

"Is something wrong with Rosy's trunk?" she asked the veterinarian.
 
"She's not moving it like the others are."

"Her trunk's paralyzed," he answered.
 
"Still she's learned to compensate.
 
As you can see, she manages to feed herself by throwing back her head and catching her food in mid-air."

"That's amazing," Lisa said.
 
She pulled back the white towel that covered the treatment cart and took a quick inventory.
 
Yes, it was all there, everything from the assorted bottles, vials, and syringes, to the scissors, gauze dressings and other odds-and-ends.

Immediately they set to work.
 
Using the hook, Walter nudged Rosy to lift her foot while Dr. Woodstock examined it.

"Doesn't the hook hurt them?" she asked.
 
She was taking a chance by asking, she knew.
 
Walter might take her question as a personal affront.
 
But she was concerned for the elephants.
 
She had to know.

"Not at all, miss," the trainer answered agreeably. "The hook...” He nodded to the curved piece of metal on the end of the stick.
 
“It's quite dull, really.
 
It simply lets the elephant know what I expect it to do."

As they worked, unexpected satisfaction filled her. What had caused this turn- around?
 
She and the two men were actually carrying on a congenial conversation.
 
Moreover, Dr. Woodstock was treating her as a colleague.
 
Even Walter seemed to respect her.

Rosy passed the foot inspection successfully.
 
But when they came to the second elephant, Dr. Woodstock noticed a badly inflamed cuticle that was oozing pus.
 
"Hand me that bottle with the spray top," he told Lisa.
 
"Next I'll need the Silvadene ointment."

"Right here," Lisa answered efficiently as she opened a large plastic jar and passed it to him.
 
They continued in that manner, moving from one elephant to the next.
 
Finally they came to the end of the line.
 
The last two elephants, Mildred and Bessy, were younger than the rest.
 
Lisa remembered Estelle telling her they'd come recently to the circus all the way from Indonesia. With rapt attentiveness, Lisa watched them trunking up and munching a fresh supply of timothy hay.

Dr. Woodstock shook his head as he probed Bessy's front foot with a gloved hand.
 
"For crying out loud, Bessy, when are we ever going to get that sore healed?
 
And Walter, we simply must find time to shorten Bessy's and Mildred's tusks. We've put it off far too long."

"You're right, Doc," he replied.
 
"How about today after the matinee?"

"Good idea.
 
Let's plan on it."

"Why do you shorten their tusks?" Lisa asked. The vet pointed to a gauze pad on the treatment cart before answering.
 
Deftly she handed it to him.

"We perform that simple operation to make the elephants less dangerous to work with," he explained.
 
"Usually it's done as soon as they come into the circus, but as you know, time has been scarce lately."

"Also, elephants sometimes break their tusks," Walter pointed out.
 
"So shortening them makes good sense for two reasons."

"Do you have to give them any anesthetic?" she asked him.

"Not under usual circumstances.
 
A lot of people don't realize that elephants don't have any feeling in their tusks. All we normally use is a simple hacksaw."

She peered again at the young elephants and smiled. They were adorable with their small pink mouths and glittering dark eyes.

"Miss Prentice, hand me the Coppertox," Dr. Woodstock said.

She reached for the bottle, gripping the spray top handle.
 
A stream of liquid shot out, barely missing the top of her head.
 
Instantly she released her grip.
 
The liquid kept spurting.
 
What was wrong? she wondered frantically. Why didn't it stop?
 
By now half the stuff on the treatment cart was soaked!

"I can't believe this!" Lisa cried.
 
"The release valve must be stuck!"

"For crying out loud, give me that bottle," Dr. Woodstock fumed.
 
“
I'll
fix it."

She moved towards him, stumbled and fell hard against the cart, dropping the spray bottle.
 
The cart crashed to the ground.
 
The medical supplies scattered.
 
Then a brown jug flipped on its side and started rolling directly towards Bessie.

In one quick motion, the elephant bobbed her head, let out an ear-shattering squeal and lunged forward.
 
The vet and trainer sprang out of her way.

Lisa cringed, squeezing her eyes shut.
 
The sound of Bessie's tusk as it struck a large metal drum thundered in her ear.

Slowly she forced open her eyes.
 
She blinked, paralyzed with disbelief.
 
There on the ground next to the emptied spray bottle lay Bessy's broken-off tusk.

Silence.
 
An eternity of silence.
 
At least Bessy had calmed down.

Gathering her courage, Lisa finally looked at Dr. Woodstock.
 
The artery in his neck throbbed.
 
His face was crimson with anger.

"Miss Prentice!"

"I'm sorry," she gasped.
 
Tears prickled her eyes, but she blinked them back.
 
No.
 
She would absolutely not let them see her cry.

"I've already told you the first day you came, you never startle the animals!"

"That's right!" Walter jumped in.
 
His voice trembled with controlled anger.
 
His eyes flashed.
 
"You could've gotten us all killed!"

"I'm sorry," she stammered again, willing her hands to stop shaking.
 
"It was an accident.
 
I...I don't know why that spray bottle got stuck."