House of Mirrors (4 page)

Jonah wondered what was so different about the show now, because he’d seen posters for some of those same acts on the midway last night.

“What’s your name?” Sam asked.

Jonah opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. He didn’t have to be Jonah Talbot anymore if he didn’t want to. But he didn’t know if he’d remember to answer if they called him anything else. Perhaps he wasn’t adventurous enough to invent a completely new identity. “Jonah.”

Sam stuck out a large hand to grasp his and pumped it. “Pleased to meet ya, Jonah.”

Mindy grunted and started to walk away. “I got things to tend to. Not all of us have time to stand around and gab.”

Sam stared after her. “She’s a real firecracker, that girl.”

Sour as a green apple, Jonah would’ve said, but it was pretty clear Sam was smitten with Mindy.

“How’d you happen to join the carnival?” Jonah asked as they strolled between the bare spots where tents had stood.

“I’m from Duck Holler, Kentucky. Couldn’t see no future there. Didn’t fit in nohow.” His accent grew more pronounced as he spoke about his home state. “I took one look at the freaks in Grim’s traveling show and knew this was where I belonged. Ain’t regretted it once.”

Jonah nodded. He wondered how old Sam was. It was hard to tell from his appearance. He could’ve been anywhere from eighteen to twenty-eight. Surely no older than that. But Jonah wouldn’t ask. He’d finally learned the first rule of the code—don’t ask questions that could be considered too personal.

“So, how does this place work?” He changed the subject. “It looks as if everyone knows exactly what they need to do.” In fact, the place reminded him of a Chinese puzzle box, each segment fitting together precisely.

“Sure.” The giant gave a deep laugh, followed by a loud cough. “We set up and set down a thousand times or more. Too bad you missed the best of the takedown.”

Jonah recalled the whistle blasts and chanting.

“All of us can do it in our sleep. I been ailing, so the boss told me to take it easy. And it’s no big hurry today, ’cause we’re not so close to town here. It being the Lord’s Day, no one wants to see us.”

Sunday. The very first Sabbath in his life that he wasn’t in church at worship. A sharp pang of guilt lanced through him. Would God forgive him for that, or for any of the things he’d done? Another rope tying him to his old life was cut. He would float away into a void. The thought made him walk faster, his leg aching from a boot that had raised a knot on his shin. The pain was good because it anchored him to the earth.

A man on horseback rode by, waving a hand in the air with a flourish before taking off at a gallop. He wore a bright red coat and looked like a magnificent soldier from an imaginary, extravagant army. His saddlebags were crimson and gold. He looked slightly ridiculous yet heartening.

“Who’s that?”

“Our advanceman. He makes sure arrangements are settled and plasters the next town with posters. Usually he hangs about the place, drumming up business.”

At the site where the main tent had stood, three men coiled ropes expertly, looped them in a knot, and flung them in a waiting wagon. One of them caught sight of Sam and shouted a good-natured insult about lazy tree stumps. The broad-shouldered bald man noticed Jonah and scowled. “That our helpless baby?” He turned his back before Jonah could introduce himself.

Sam chuckled and coughed again. After they resumed their slow walk, Sam jerked his thumb back at the bald man. “That sweet-talker is Dimitri, our strongman.”

“I thought he was a, um, a roustabout.” Jonah was proud to recall the word.

“In a small outfit like this, we all got more than one role. Even the artistes have more’n one job.” He pointed at some men tossing knives back and forth. “They’re supposed to be helping Pete get the animal carriages ready, but no one’s going to start yelling ’less the rain starts. Told you it was a lazy sort of a day. Grimstone ain’t the sort to push when he don’t need to. He’s a good boss, best I’ve ever worked under. Mysterious as the devil, but, like I said, all of us got our secrets to hide.”

Those were the truest words Jonah had heard in a long time. And it was right then that he was sure he’d found a place where he might belong.

Chapter Four

Despite Sam’s assurance that the takedown was slow-paced, the carnival was packed into wagons faster than Jonah imagined possible. He looked around at the trampled grass and tried to recall how it had all looked set up, but could only conjure a nightmarish jumble of bright colors and noises in the dark. And that elegant face looming over him.

The aches threatened to overcome him, and he gasped a little with each step. His swollen eye socket throbbed, and he suddenly longed desperately to be in his own bed, with his mother applying a cold compress to his face. She would flutter and cluck like a worried hen as she always had when he was ill. But no. Not anymore. Her horrified expression when she’d last looked at him was actually more painful to remember than his father’s verbal condemnation.

Sam didn’t seem to notice Jonah’s limping or his withdrawal into silence. Or perhaps it was all a part of not prying into anyone else’s business.

The field dampened the sound of boot steps, so Jonah didn’t hear Grimstone approach until a rich voice spoke just behind him. “If you’re so determined to help, I could use a driver whilst I do some work.”

God help him, why did his heart beat faster at the tenor of that deep voice? Unlike the enchantment of the carnival, the charisma of the man remained intact in the light of day.

“Climb up on my rig. It will be behind the red wagon.”

The pain in Jonah’s side actually seemed to decrease. The dizziness faded, or rather, turned into something more interesting. How astonishing that a voice could be so soothing while the rising desire accompanying it was anything but. Jonah had half hoped that sin had been beaten out of him.

“The wagon’s not really red, although it’s traditionally called that,” Grimstone added. “It’s the main ticket wagon, the one with the canvases of acrobats on the side.”

Jonah followed the boss’s directions to Grimstone’s simple yellow wagon—though the cheery canary color wouldn’t be considered plain in any other assemblage of carts. It had been moved into place behind the lead in the caravan set to head out. Jonah removed the wooden chocks behind the wheels, loosed the brakes, then climbed up onto the high seat to wait.

One by one the wagons slowly pulled into the line.

The lion grumbled and paced in its cage as the rig rumbled across the field to the road. Then the cart Jonah was to follow, depicting the smiling beauty in tights, balancing on a horse’s bare back, lurched into motion. He clucked to the horses and shook the reins. Each jolt made his back hurt. Jonah already knew there was some bad bruising. This rough ride wasn’t going to help. He sucked in a long breath, held it, and willed the pain away.

Gritting his teeth, he concentrated on guiding the docile horses onto the road. Men shouted and wood creaked. He stopped behind the not-red wagon, slumped in the seat as he waited, and fell into a doze.

“You’re in bad shape, poor lad.” That voice again, sympathetic and ever so slightly amused. The wagon leaned and shuddered slightly as Grimstone climbed onto the bench next to him.

Jonah’s eyes flew open. “No, sir. Mr. Grimstone, I’m fine.”

Grimstone grunted his disbelief as he put a brass box on the seat. He vaulted to stand on the bench, balanced easily, and looked up and down the line of twelve vehicles. Then he pulled out a big brass whistle and gave a loud blast. Horses snorted and whinnied, the monkeys chattered, and two wagons ahead, the cat gave a coughing snarl. Grimstone gave two short blasts then, and the carnival rolled down the road.

The carnival owner settled on the bench and leaned back to scan the sky. “I’ve thought of getting a few train cars and conducting this business properly, and when I see gray skies like this, I wish I hadn’t been so devilishly cautious about it.”

“Sam says you’re a good manager,” Jonah said.

The craggy features looked even more predatory and sharp when Grimstone smiled. “’Tis good to hear, but Sam is fond of every one of God’s creatures. You might ask Parinsky what he thinks of me.”

Jonah recalled one of the many faces Sam had pointed out to him during their tour of the carnival. Dr. Saul Parinsky was a magician, patent medicine salesman, and sometimes ticket seller at the front gate. “Oh? He dislikes you, sir?”

“Perhaps not me in particular. He has a problem with authority and would hate anyone in my position. Or perhaps I’m wrong and he loathes me.” He sounded entirely unconcerned. “As long as he does his job, I’m not going to poke back at him.”

“And he does his job?”

“Very well indeed, when he hasn’t been drinking that foul liquor he makes and sells as a cure-all.”

Jonah shifted his gaze to the back of the wagon ahead of them. Cheaters and other sinners. He didn’t want to learn that his father’s reasons for forbidding his flock to attend the carnival were justified.

“You don’t approve of snake oil liniment?”

“It’s not my place to approve or disapprove.” He hoped he’d managed to quash the condemnation he felt.

“Ha, you’re not a hard man to read, Talbot. Even with that shiner, your face is an open one. You should learn to hide your emotions.”

Jonah risked looking at him. “I do mean it, sir. That it’s not my place. I am grateful to be here and would never pass judgment on you.” He was the very last person to throw stones. The very last man on earth.

“Kind of you, I’m sure.”

Jonah felt himself grow hot at the ironic tone. What could he say to reassure Mr. Grimstone?

But apparently the man wasn’t truly insulted. “I’d wondered if that naive country-bred look of yours was honest, and now I know. Lordy, I’ll have to put you on display in the show. Step right up, ladies and gents, and see the last innocent adult on earth.”

Jonah held the reins in one hand and rubbed the side of his head, embarrassed. He didn’t answer. Why bother? If this sharp-eyed man of the world could read his face, he’d keep his mouth shut. His boss’s teasing manner befuddled him. He wasn’t certain how to respond to his strange manner without giving offense.

Grimstone gave a soft laugh. “I can see why patent medicines might make a man starch up. But you keep in mind every carnival has a few thousand gaffes—extra tricks to fool the audience and make the whole thing better. Our public expects trickery.”

Jonah remembered a word he’d overheard. “They’re rubes.”

His companion smiled. “Or marks, yes.”

“Hicks.”

“Hayseeds.” Grimstone seemed to be fighting a smile. “Gawks, rustics.”

Jonah grinned though it hurt his mouth. “You win, sir.”

The smile won. “And what did I say about you calling me ‘sir’?”

“That you don’t like it. S—ir.” Jonah drawled the title, making it something other than a term of respect. What on earth was he doing? It felt dangerous and enormously fun too.

Suddenly Grimstone shook his head, his smile gone. Was he really upset? “Get the horses moving faster, Talbot. They’re well trained once we get underway, but keep in mind we stay in a tight line.” And Jonah realized he’d been staring at his traveling companion instead of the wagon ahead of them.

He fell silent and concentrated on the road for a little while, but after a few miles tried to make some conversation. “I wonder if you could tell me a few things.” He swallowed the “sir” that almost made its automatic way to his mouth. “Like the word ‘staub.’ What’s that?”

Grimstone didn’t look up from an account ledger he’d taken out of the brass box apparently. “Staubs are wooden stakes for the tents.” He sounded short. Not rude, but uninterested in conversation. He glared down at the book, a stub of a pencil poised in his hand.

Another couple of miles passed, and Jonah glanced over at him. He didn’t know the man, but he would swear that something about the rigid set of his new boss’s shoulders showed he was uncomfortable. And with each passing moment, the discomfort apparently grew. Grimstone shoveled the papers away into the box and stared off ahead of them. When he met Jonah’s eyes for a moment, his returning gaze was bleak. Condemning.

Oh Lord, please, no, Jonah prayed. But the scowling man next to him made that now familiar sensation start, and shame filled Jonah again. Grimstone must know about him. He’d figured out the truth somehow.

Jonah hadn’t understood the depths of his own depravity simply because he hadn’t comprehended the full profoundness of his wrongdoing with Rev. Burns. He sighed and shifted on the seat. Thinking back, he recalled the perverted excitement at the very bottom of his belly as he’d accepted the man’s caresses, that twisting excitement mingled with—perhaps even born from—shame. He’d known while he did them that his actions weren’t decent, no denying that. But no one spoke of such matters outright, so the utter sinfulness of it hadn’t really struck him until he’d been confronted by his father. And all those words.

Jonah drew a long breath and thought of Ezekiel Burns, his father’s guest who’d come for an extended visit. He’d been Jonah’s mentor, so comforting and warm and…so on. If he was honest, Jonah
had
known it was a sin. Delights of the body always were, since they distracted a man from the straight and narrow path to heaven.

But he must not revisit those moments. The whole matter was over and done with, along with his old life. Except, if the silent and disapproving Grimstone guessed at his perversion, Jonah must say something. If he was going to be left on the side of the road, it would be better if they were close to an inhabited area.

Grimstone was looking at him. “I hadn’t known a man could toss and turn while he was awake. You’re positively writhing. Are you in pain?”

This wasn’t the sort of thing a man who was about to throw him off the wagon would ask. He felt the return of faint hope. “No. No, si—Mr. Grimstone.” He cleared his throat. “Your account books. Do they contain bad news?”

“No, not at all. We’re not swimming in cream, but we’re solvent.”

Time to be direct. “Then are you regretting allowing me to join you?”