Defiant Rose (30 page)

When the sickness passed, she sat on the edge of the cot, feeling completely miserable. How could this have happened to her? My God, she had gone from a completely celibate life to a whirlwind affair, then a pregnancy and marriage all within a few weeks!

She put her hand over her belly and felt a keen protective instinct toward the child. It didn’t matter that he was leaving. She would take care of this small being and from this day forth she would never be alone. Much as she wanted to regret this part of it, she just couldn’t. It was her baby, and she would raise her on sawdust and glitter, the best way she knew how.

And Michael Wharton could go to the devil.

She awoke a short time later when the fading sun was sending orange tendrils into her tent. The illness of the afternoon was completely gone, and she rose in confusion, judging the hour.

It must be nearly showtime. No one had thought to call her or to warn her that it was time to get ready, and she knew why. After the stunt they’d pulled with the wedding, they obviously had decided to let her alone until her anger passed. Everyone knew it just wasn’t smart to fool with a Carney.

Splashing cold water on her face, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and stared in surprise. My God, she looked awful. Her eyes were wreathed with circles, her face was pale…she looked like the time she had the flu when she was only nine and Sean Carney refused to let her out of bed. Thankfully, the clown makeup would hide most of that, and as she applied the thick clown-white, she felt grateful for the mask. She didn’t want anyone, especially Michael, to see her like this….

He would be leaving by dawn. She had only this night to get through, knowing that he was just ten feet away, in the next tent. And the best way she knew to do exactly that was to keep working, to keep any thought of him from her mind.

She pulled on the fluffy wig and strode toward the big top, grateful to see the lines of people. It would be terrible to work in there tonight and be reminded of that humiliating wedding that had taken place earlier. But she wouldn’t think about that. She had her act to worry about, and the show.

A small smile came to her face as a roustabout brought out her horse. She’d been practicing her double backflip for weeks now and was finally at the point where she could do it without conscious effort. There was only one man alive that could perform a triple, Joseph Grimaldi, and he was with Barnum. But a double was almost as impressive and should bring the crowd to their feet.

The calliope died down, and Biddle strode into the ring, speaking through a megaphone with his clipped, precise voice. Rosemary ran out into the ring with the other clowns, ignoring their look of surprise. As Griggs and Rags raced about watering paper flowers and helpfully guiding people to the wrong seats, Rosemary attempted to mount her horse and tumbled to the ground as the crowd roared. It would be a good night.

She could sense it already.

“She what!” Michael stared in shock as Zachery chewed a stalk of dried grass, then shrugged indolently.

“You know how she gets. The roustabout didn’t want to take on Carney, and so he let her have the horse. I don’t know much about human babies, but it ain’t good for animals to exercise too much when they’re carrying. I just thought I’d let you know.”

“Damn her! Doesn’t that act finish with her doing a backflip from that horse?”

“Yeah…” Zachery had a hard time talking with Michael shaking him furiously, but he managed. “It always did.”

“She doesn’t have the brains that God gave a fool. Wait until I get my hands on her.” Tossing down the ledgers he was packing, he turned a furious glare to Zachery and strode toward the exit of the tent.

“Get someone to finish her act tonight. By the time I get through with Rosemary, she’ll be bidding her audience farewell for a good long time to come.”

Michael stormed out, leaving Zachery inside chewing the weed, a broad grin crossing his face. Stepping through the flap, he nodded to Clara, who nodded to Leonardo, who nodded to William, but he couldn’t see.

Things were working out quite well at Carney’s, for everyone concerned.

It was time. Rosemary raced after the horse once more, acting the part of a drunken clown with sheer aplomb. The crowd roared as she leapt onto the horse, then rode it perfectly around the ring.

This was her moment of triumph. The applause of the crowd was heady and what she desperately needed now. One man may not love her, but over two hundred people did. Her confidence growing, she kicked off her clown shoes and stood barefoot on the horse’s back.

Her feet flexed instinctively, and she felt Shamrock’s muscles tense, waiting for her spring. The show horse was perfectly trained from birth and knew just when she would fall, when she would leap, and when she would land. The mare slowed her pace, allowing Rose the balance she needed to complete the stunt.

“Atta girl, we’ll show them.” Rosemary stooped down, patting the horse’s neck, then turned to face the rear. The crowd tensed, and Rosemary could almost feel them holding their breath. Springing into the air, she felt the rush of exhilaration, saw the sparkle of lights and the awestruck faces of the audience. Tucking her head neatly beneath her, she turned quickly once, then twice…

There was a rut on the circus floor. Shamrock stumbled ever so slightly, but in an act like this one, it was more than enough. Rosemary panicked as the ground came up hard and she was surprised at the stunning pain. Hot sparks danced through her and when she attempted to draw her breath, nothing came. Painfully she tried to rise but was smothered in cold blackness and from a distance heard someone shouting for help. The last thing she saw was Michael Wharton’s furious and frightened face leaning over her, and the reflection of the gaudy circus lights.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“G
RIGGS, GET A STRETCHER
. Use a blanket and two poles if you have to. Clara, go get the doctor. We paid his last bill, so he should come. Zachery, get everyone away from here.”

Michael leaned over Rosemary, fighting the panic inside of him. She looked so small and so pale…even with the clown makeup, she appeared abnormally fragile.

God, what could she have been thinking of? His stomach tightened, and he wouldn’t even allow the possibility that this had been deliberate, that maybe she wanted to rid herself of their child. That thought was followed by an infusion of old-fashioned guilt. He certainly hadn’t been much help. Could she have been so desperate as to consider something like this?

The idea was unbearable. While the troupe rushed to do his bidding, he placed a hand on her throat. He felt for a pulse, and although it was thready, it was there. Thank God she was still alive.

Griggs rushed back with the makeshift stretcher, while Rags positioned himself at her feet. The crowd was hushed, and held back by Zachery, but he could hear their whispered comments.

“The clown! Is he alive?”

“Took a bad fall. Wouldn’t want to be in that lad’s shoes.”

“Hope the boy’s all right.”

“It’s a girl!” Michael snapped, then tore his attention back to Rosemary. Rags began to move her small body toward the stretcher, but Michael stopped him quickly. “No, you don’t move a fall victim like that. I have to check her first.”

Running a hand along her neck and back, Michael tried frantically to remember what his father would have done. Think! he commanded himself, recalling something about the spine, about misplaced bones and damaged arteries. Thankfully, nothing seemed out of place; there were no jarring bumps or odd bleeding that might indicate trouble.

Rags sneered, not bothering to hide his animosity. “We’ll take care of her. You wanted to leave—why don’t you? What right do you have to interfere?”

“A husband’s,” Michael said coldly. His eyes locked with the clown tramp’s. Rags mumbled something to himself, but did not interfere. There was something about Michael’s forbidding manner that did not encourage argument, and for Rosemary’s sake, it wasn’t worth it.

“Let’s move her one small bit at a time and gently, so we don’t cause more damage. We’ll get her to my tent and have the doctor sent there,” Michael said.

Rags nodded, his objections effectively silenced. He and Michael, followed by Biddle, carried her into the shelter and placed her carefully on Michael’s cot amid his packed boxes and bags. Rosemary still did not stir. She seemed asleep, her eyes closed, her breathing abnormally light.

“I’ll go see what’s keeping Clara.” Rags, unable to bear the sight of her, retreated, leaving Michael and Biddle to wait for help.

Biddle started to pour himself a drink but on second thought handed it to Michael. The banker declined, taking up a seat opposite Rose, watching her carefully for any change. She looked so small, so helpless, her body lost in the voluminous clown-suit, her eyes closed. A thousand memories welled up inside of him as the little clown lay unconscious: Rosemary kicking him, teasing him with that mischievous sideways glance; Rosemary taking a bath, her skin glistening in the candlelight; Rosemary gazing at him with an adoration that nearly broke his heart.

“I have something wonderful to tell you.”

Fresh pain choked him as he gazed at her. No, this couldn’t happen. The world needed Carney, needed the bright spark of color and laughter that was uniquely Rosemary. Sure, she was a prankster, obstinate, and with a temper that could be formidable. But she was alive, living life joyously, bringing her special brand of mirth to hundreds of work-weary miners and farmers who spent their last pennies to see the circus. Rosemary was Carney’s, but more important, she was a woman, a woman he had come to cherish.

That thought stunned him, but he was so overcome with emotion that he couldn’t sort it all through except to curse himself for being ten times a fool. Rosemary Carney had loved him with all the urgency that her small, whimsical body was capable of, and he had scorned that love. She’d presented him with the possibility of a child, his child, and he’d coldly rejected her, reminding her in a not too subtle way that she wasn’t good enough for him. He, who’d done nothing more important than balance the world’s books! It was incredible, but that was the truth.

“Don’t take it so hard, Wharton.” Biddle, angry as he was, was moved to compassion by the look on Michael’s face. “It wasn’t your fault. Nothing could have stopped Rosemary. You know that.”

“Thanks.” Michael covered his face with his hands, unable to bear her silent, painted visage. When he removed them, he seemed more under control, but the pain in his eyes was devastating. “I had no idea she’d do something like this. If I had thought for a moment—”

“I know.” Biddle stared at the young girl before him, his own throat closing. “I’ve known her since she was so little. Even then there was something about Rose that made you smile. She could have been a trapeze artist, or one of the glamorous side acts, but not Rose. She would be a clown—she wanted to make people laugh.”

They gazed together at her still form. Rosemary just had to be all right. But deep inside they both had the same fear. There were some things even a Carney couldn’t fight. And death or injury was one of them.

“It’s all right, she’ll be fine. She’s taken a nasty fall, and there’s a bump on her head, but no other damage.”

The ruddy-faced doctor rose from the cot and gave the troupe a broad smile. “Looks like the little lady has quite a few friends.”

Michael nodded shortly. “Are you certain she will be all right?”

“She’ll have a nasty headache when she comes to, which will be soon if I’m not mistaken. And it’s important that you keep her awake and mobile. We don’t want to have a concussion on our hands.”

Michael nodded grimly. “And everything else…?” It was a question he was almost afraid to ask, and from the look on the physician’s face, his fear was justified.

“It’s hard to tell. There is no bleeding, no sign of any problem. But with a pregnancy this new, there may not be. I will pray to God that everything will be fine. She’s a strong young woman, and that should help. But she needs to be more careful, to eat well, and to take better care of herself and the child.”

The physician packed up his instruments and started for the tent opening while Biddle and the clowns questioned him further. No, there wasn’t any sign of danger. Yes, she would awaken soon. No, there were no broken bones…

Michael heard the whispered questions even as relief washed through him. She would be all right. Somehow, miraculously, they’d been given a second chance. Grimly he thought back to the doctor’s words. Rosemary would have to take it easy. She’d have to eat right, take care of herself, cut back on her responsibilities…

There was no way that would happen. Michael knew that, as sure as he knew the sky was blue. Sure, the clowns loved her and were frightened for her now, but they wouldn’t countermand a Carney, no matter what. And in a few weeks, when one of the acts failed to show and this incident was forgotten, Rosemary would teasingly remind them that she was the boss and would climb on a horse and do it all over again. And next time the result could be a lot more serious.

There just couldn’t be a next time. The decision was made before Michael could give it conscious thought. For the sake of the little clown lying before him and his unborn child, he’d have to assume responsibility. He’d have to take charge, or the catastrophe that was averted today would be a reality.