So sorry for the delay. This is a busy time for me at work. I've been writing all along, but I haven't had the time to do the editing and publishing. However, because of that I have already written the next chapter and part of the next. So more will come quickly. Thanks for hanging in there and I would love to hear your thoughts.
Chapter 12
Charity woke before the sun broke the horizon. The rain had moved on, leaving the sky streaked purple and crimson. As sleep fell away, she registered Phinn's body next to hers, warm and solid. They were both still naked, but the door was also still latched. She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, allowing herself to pretend, for a few minutes, that the accident and his recovery had been a dream. Lying still, like this, he looked well. If she ignored the scars, she could pretend their life had not taken this turn. She laid her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her palm.
Before last night, It had been a little over ten weeks since they'd last made love. Ten weeks, because they'd been preoccupied the week before his accident with extra rehearsals. Last night, ten weeks had felt like a lifetime. Charity understood, however, that desire clouds perception. In the light of morning, things felt less urgent, and they had certainly waited longer for one another before.
She let her mind wander back to finishing school, when she'd been in her upper levels and Phinn's letters came every week or so. He was on the railroad by then, and there was a year when his words changed from the excited musings of a brilliantly creative young boy to a passionate young man. She remembered when she felt the first spark of real desire, the first grown-up longings to see him again, to kiss him in a less than chaste way.
She had waited for him through the end of school and after she moved back into her parents' house. She'd begged to go to college, but they had scoffed at the idea. Then they berated her as her friends married and started families. Still, Charity waited for Phinn. She waited until she was twenty-two, when he'd finally appeared on her father's doorstep, all polished and trying to look worthy of her.
She waited for him for three more weeks after that in the tiny apartment he'd secured in the city. That waiting had felt the longest, the most agonizing, as he insisted on buying her a ring and making their marriage official. Even now, in the hazy dawn of the present, she could remember their first night together. It was worth the wait.
In turn, Phinn waited for her after Caroline was born, a year after their wedding. There was a different mood to the waiting, then. It was tempered by exhaustion and the fullness of new life. It felt softer, less urgent, and more about wanting to celebrate what they had made, together. They tried to hold out for the amount of time Dr. Warshaw recommended, back when he had a full head of dark hair and didn't need his spectacles. But after eight weeks, they gave in. And Charity was sure the doctor knew, as she had turned up pregnant again just three months after Caroline was born.
When the time came for Helen to be born, Charity wasn't worried. Caroline had come easily, and by then she was a chubby one year-old who slept all night in her second-hand cradle. So Charity was ready when the pains came.
Helen's labor lasted three grueling days.
On the morning of the third day, on a dawn much like the one Charity was watching out of her apartment window now, Helen had finally emerged, feet-first.
The next week was a blur for Charity, as she had drifted in and out of awareness and the doctor wore a tight, unreadable expression, much as he had the night Phinn fell from the rigging. After a week, however, Charity recovered. She finally held Helen, a tiny blonde thing who startled easily.
They waited much longer for each other, after Helen. But the reunion was sweet.
Two years ago, Charity had waited for Phinn while he toured the country with Jenny Lind, worrying for the first time in her marriage whether he still wanted her, whether she was enough. That waiting had been agonizing and slow, with no sure end in sight. But he came home, and they rebuilt what they had lost. She remembered the day they secured their new apartment in the city and signed the papers to buy the land for the new circus. She had waited for Phinn to come home that night after he wrapped up loose ends with Phillip. She had waited for him naked and reclaimed the man she loved.
This morning, she felt a similar sense of satisfaction. Phinn was hers, no matter his struggles. His body, his brilliant mind, his insatiable creativity, it was all hers, and she would not let him fade away. She was not convinced that one night of lovemaking would bring him back from the dark place his mind seemed to hover lately, but she would not let him wallow in sorrow. They had lifted each other out of so much, walked through so much. This would not beat him. Not on Charity's watch.
In the quiet, she let her fingers gently trail over his chest and then up to his neck. She pulled closer, letting her hand slide up into his hair. She tried to let everything go for a few minutes, to rest in the quiet, knowing that the sun would rise and their family was complete for another day. She studied Phinn's face, from the sharp line of his nose to the laugh lines around his eyes. Phinn's smile was infectious. Charity loved to see his whole face light up, whether it was at a shared secret between Helen and himself or when he stepped out in front a crowd of hundreds. His smile was always genuine, always luminous, so full of hope and promise. Charity reached up and touched his face, longing to see that smile again. She pulled closer and very gently kissed his lips, her breasts pressed against his solid chest. He stirred, but did not wake.
As the sun finally broke the horizon, she pulled herself carefully out of the bed. Arranging the covers over her husband, she went to the wardrobe and pulled on undergarments and a basic house dress. She sat down in front of her mirror and brushed out her pale hair until it shone in the soft light. Then she went back to the bed.
"Phinn?" she whispered, kissing his forehead delicately. "The girls will be awake soon."
He stirred, and his eyes fluttered open. His brow furrowed, and he slowly raised his right arm to his head. He pushed his hair back, and then rubbed his eyes. "Charity. I had the most wonderful dream…"
She smiled, softly kissed his mouth, and then said, "It wasn't a dream."
He raised one eyebrow in that teasing, skeptical expression he had perfected over the years.
She giggled and kissed him again, like they were newlyweds, and confirmed, "Not a dream."
Then she went and unlatched the bedroom door.
A half-hour later, both of the girls were dressed for school. Betsy, the housekeeper, nanny, and the only servant the Barnum's employed, was making them toast and fruit for breakfast. While they waited, both Caroline and Helen climbed onto their parents' bed. Charity had helped Phinn back into his nightshirt and into a sitting position.
"Daddy," Caroline said, hazel eyes sparkling. "Madame Arnette gave me the solo in winter performance."
Phinn's face lit up, and Charity felt something in her hitch. Every tiny smile was a victory.
"Of course she did! You are, and always have been, the best dancer on that stage." His words were full of certainty.
Caroline smiled demurely. "She said I have pretty feet."
Helen laughed, but not unkindly. "Pretty feet? Dance is so weird."
Charity laughed as well. Her younger daughter demonstrated more and more of Phinn's sense of humor as she grew older. For Charity, Helen was like looking in a mirror, whereas Caroline had Phinn's eyes and thick, dark hair. However, Caroline was quiet and graceful, with a steady temperament like Charity. Helen, however, was proving to be her father's daughter. The older she got, the more messy and impulsive she became. Her eyes would often light up with mischief, much like Phinn's, as she told wild, complicated stories. She'd also taken to drawing and painting with a ferocity that surprised everyone. Helen, who had followed her sister for so long, who had gladly put on a tree costume at Caroline's first recital, was now making suggestions on how to paint the murals behind the dancers. She was coming into her own, and it was wonderful.
Caroline rolled her eyes at her sister's commentary about her feet. "You're the one who's weird."
Helen smirked. "I'm going to ask Amani to braid my hair after school. I want lots and lots of braids, like hers."
Caroline's eyes widened. "Isn't that a little…?"
"I'm not weird," Helen stated emphatically. "I'm an original, irreplicable, amazing human being who deserves to be seen."
Phinn chuckled. "I assume you've been spending time with Lettie, rather than on your literature assignments? Those sound like her words."
"I like her," Helen stated defensively. "And she helps me read, too."
"Lettie is an amazing lady," Charity conceded, "but both of you have school in a half-hour."
Helen groaned. "I'm smart. Why do I need so much school?"
"Because you can always be smarter," Phinn returned.
Helen kissed him goodbye and hopped off the bed. Caroline followed. She kissed her father on the cheek and whispered, "I love you, Daddy. I pray for you every day." Then she followed her sister.
When Charity returned from walking the girls to school, she found Phinn had pushed aside the breakfast tray Betsy had brought him. He had managed to sit all the way up, and his long legs dangled over the side of the bed. Charity stood just outside the bedroom door, so that he couldn't see her watching him. Alone, he struggled to pull on a housecoat against the chill in the air. Charity was about to make her presence known and help him, but she hesitated. Once he had the housecoat on, her husband placed both of his hands on the mattress and planted his bare feet on the hardwood floor. To Charity's surprise, he very slowly stood up. She could see the pain in his face and the trembling in his body, even from across the room. Still, he stood up. He slowly reached over and retrieved one of the crutches Margaret had left by the bed for him.
We'll work up to these, soon, she had said.
Leaning on the crutch to support his right side, he took a shuffling, painful step forward.
Quietly, so she wouldn't startle him, Charity entered the room. "Phinn?" she asked gently.
He turned and tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.
She crossed the room and stood in front of him. Gently taking his left hand to steady him, she pressed, "What are you doing?"
"I have to walk, Charity. I cannot stay in this bed any longer. I'm going crazy."
"Okay...but you're supposed to wait for the doctor."
"No. I have to try to get around on my own. I cannot be an invalid any longer. And Dr. Warsahw said to try." Phinn argued.
"I know," Charity looked up at him, "but I don't think he meant alone."
Phinn bristled. "I haven't done anything alone in weeks. It's suffocating."
Charity was hurt. "I've only been trying to give you the best care possible."
His shoulders slumped. "I know. I know. But you know I can't stand to be needy."
She squeezed his hand. "You're not needy, Phinn. You were gravely injured. You still are."
He let go of her hand. "No. I'm not. The wounds have healed, and it's time to get back to my life."
Charity again felt the sting of his words. "The circus isn't your whole life, Phinn. Being able to spend time with the girls this morning, that's your life. Me and you...last night...that's our life."
"It's not enough, Charity," he snapped. "I need to be in the ring. I thought you understood by now how much it means to me."
Charity's breath caught. She knew he was struggling with a lot of emotions and a lot of pain, and that he might not be entirely rational, but his words stung. All she heard was "it's not enough." It made her feel inadequate and small, and a little used. What had felt like a beautiful reunion the night before now made her feel as though she wasn't enough.
Taking Phinn's arm, she stated flatly, "You have to sit down."
Out of sheer exhaustion, he complied.
The following night, Phillip was making the rounds of the circus tent, making sure all the entrances and exits were tied shut from the inside and that the valuables were secured. Now that he knew Charity and Anne liked to work in the lyra at night, he let them come in the staff entrance. Tonight, however, they were both at home. Making his way back out of the main tent and into the backstage area, he scanned the space for mislaid props or costumes. Finding one of Tom's riding coats, he picked it up and carried it past all the prep areas where animals were held before entering. He lit a lamp and made his way into the crowded dressing areas, which were simply curtained partitions. Finding Tom's, he hung the coat over a wooden chair. As he turned to leave, he heard a rustling.
Alarmed, Phillip followed the sound.
At the end of the row of partitioned spaces, he stopped. Following his ears and his instinct, he pulled back a curtain to reveal a dressing space filled with sequined costumes. He was just about to chalk the noise up to a rat, when he caught a glimpse of flesh among the costumes. Pushing back garments from a rack, he found Ema asleep on a couple of hay bales.
"Ema?" Phillip's question was louder than he intended.
She sat up abruptly, pulled a knife from under her makeshift pillow, and whipped it towards him.
He jumped backward. "Whoa! It's me, Ema! It's Phillip."
She pushed her hair back from her face, looked him over, and relaxed her arm. Her hair, which was usually tied back, was a cloud of dark waves and curls that tumbled down her back and over her shoulders.
Phillip reached out and took the knife from her. "I sincerely hope this isn't something you ever plan to actually use."
She stood up and said, "You never know. Might not be you the next time. Now gimme my knife back."
Phillip looked at the knife and then at her. "Who exactly do you think might be coming in here looking for you?"
She shrugged. "You never know. People don't need a reason to be snoopin' or stealin', or just being mean."
"We pay for security outside the tent, Ema. We have since the fire two years ago. So you're safe in here."
Ema shrugged again. "If you say so."
Phillip sensed Ema's fears might be rooted in something deeper than random thugs sneaking into the circus tent, but he didn't push. Instead, he asked, "Ema...you've been a cast member for a month. Why are you sleeping in the tent?"
She looked away. "I ain't got nowhere else to go."
He had a flashback to Lara and Mara three years ago, who had shown up to audition with a small satchel of costumes and nothing more. Charity had bought them clothes and first suggested turning the back of the circus facility into makeshift housing. When they bought the land and put up the new tent, Phinn had insisted on building real housing for the cast who wanted to live on site, with bathrooms and clean beds. Lettie lived there now, along with the twins and several others. They paid for the privilege of living there by keeping the place clean and in good condition.
Phillip started, "You can't sleep in the tent, Ema…"
He saw her defenses go up.
Before he could finish, she snapped, "I told you, I've got nowhere else to go! And you wanted me in your show. So to do that, I've got to sleep here." She paused, and he saw her mind working. "And if you won't let me, I'd be willing to bet there are some people out there who would love to know that P.T. Barnum's wife is here at least one night a week, wearing a skimpy costume and swinging from a lyra. All while he's laid up in bed at home. And I know she ain't told him. Overheard that myself."
Phillip's face registered shock, and then settled into understanding. "Are you bribing me, Ema?"
She cocked her head. "I just need a place to sleep. Call it what you like."
Phillip pulled over another wooden chair and sat down. He stared at Ema for a long time as she stood there, arms crossed over her chest. Her hair was wild and dark, her eyes piercing. She wore a shapeless nightdress that was gray and worn, but still couldn't hide her long legs. She was beautiful, but not in the delicate way of most of the women he'd been around most of his life. He was fairly certain Ema could kick his ass if she really wanted to. He imagined her life couldn't have been easy, to this point.
Just like P.T.
Phillip couldn't help making the comparison. P.T. had lived on the streets for years. But Ema was a woman, and he knew that must have made things even harder.
After a long, heavy silence, Phillip finally said, "You don't have to bribe me, Ema. I know about Charity already. And we have housing for cast members. All you had to do was ask."
Ema's face showed confusion and then surprise. For the first time since she'd come to the circus, she was speechless.
"Come with me," Phillip instructed. "And bring your things."
Ema picked up a small duffle bag and followed him out of the tent.
The cast member housing was just across the property from the tent, closer to the river. The residents lived two to a room, with common washrooms. Phillip had a room in mind for Ema. Once inside the two-story building, he made his way to the end of the hallway on the first floor. Ema followed. Stopping in front of one of many plain, brown doors, he knocked. After a minute, it opened slowly.
"What is it?" Lettie asked sleepily.
Phillip smiled, trying to force positive energy onto Lettie. "I'm sorry for the late call, but I've brought you a roommate."
Lettie stared at him, and he couldn't read her expression.
"What?" she finally asked dryly.
He leaned in and said softly, "I found Ema sleeping in the circus tent. She needs a place to stay."
Lettie raised an eyebrow, crossed her arms, and said, "I snore. I thought you understood that."
Phillip remembered, but he was also fairly certain Lettie's "snoring" was just a way to keep from acquiring a roommate. Until now, he was ok with accommodating her, but her extra bed was the only one left in any of the female rooms.
"Lettie," he pressed, "she was sleeping in her dressing area." He gave her his most pleading look.
She heaved a sigh and opened the door all the way.
"Ema," Phillip gestured toward the room, "your new home."
She looked almost as wary as Lettie as she entered the room and looked around. Lettie had decorated the space in bright colors, with beads and scarves hanging from the walls and ceiling. Old posters of Lettie and the other oddities hung on the walls. She had several of Helen's drawings tacked up as well. In one of them, Lettie was mid-song during a show. In the others, the twins were dressing for the show. Phillip realized he could tell that Mara was the one demurely applying her makeup, while Lara had her head thrown back in laughter.
Ema dropped her satchel on the empty bed, turned back to Phillip and said, "Can I have my knife back now?"
Lettie looked from her to Phillip in alarm.
He begrudgingly reached into his pocket and produced the offending item. Handing it to Ema, he warned, "No more threatening anyone. No one here plans to hurt you."
She nodded and snatched it from him.
"Phillip? A word?" Lettie indicated he should follow her into the hallway. She closed the door behind them and said, "Who was she threatening with a knife?"
Phillip sighed. It was now after midnight and he was exhausted. His head ached and he longed for sleep. "Me. I scared her and she pulled out the knife."
Lettie looked ready to murder him as well.
"I think she's had a hard life. And I know you did, too. I'm not belittling that. But I think hers might have involved personal violence. Or at least living somewhere at some point where she needed to sleep with a knife under her pillow. So...maybe we give her the benefit of the doubt?"
Lettie sighed and replied, "Fine. At least for one night."
Phillip was too tired to argue anymore.
"I've already told you three times. I'm fine. Really...fine."
Anne was staring at her husband, and she did not look convinced.
Phillip was getting ready for the weekly rehearsal, held on Thursday morning, just over a week after leaving Ema with Lettie. His headache from that evening had turned into a sickness he could not shake. Anne insisted it was because he was overworked and exhausted, and he knew she was right. But he refused to admit it. The couple of times he'd seen Charity over the past week, she'd looked tired as well, and she was very tight-lipped about her husband. He sensed something was off with both of the Barnums, something beyond the obvious injuries, recovery, and caregiving, so he didn't want to burden Charity with his health. He had been trying to keep his sickness from Anne, as well, but she was too keen to be fooled.
"Phillip Carlyle. Sit down. Take off the coat and sit down." Anne, all hundred pounds of her, was not to be crossed today.
Out of sheer exhaustion, he complied. Phillip draped his Ringmaster coat over the chair in his dressing area and dropped into it.
Anne gently touched his face and said, "You're burning up. You need to go home and let the doctor look at you."
He shook his head. "The show must go on. You know that as well as I do. We coined the phrase."
"Well, tonight it's going to go on without you," Anne insisted.
"And how do you propose that's going to happen?" Phillip demanded.
"There has to be someone else who can introduce the acts," Anne mused.
Phillip looked at her incredulously. "There's more to it than that, Anne."
"I know…." She chewed her lip and Phillip could tell she was struggling with something.
"What is it?" He sighed.
With her dark eyes wide, she asked, "What about Ema?"
Phillip snapped to attention. "What about her?"
"She could do it," Anne returned softly.
"No. She won't."
"Why not, Phillip? She's capable. You saw her. It bothers me more than a little that you seem to hate the idea of a woman going on for you. Let her do the rehearsal and put her in tonight."
Phillip's head throbbed, and his frustration mounted. "P.T. hasn't seen her. What would he think of it?"
Anne's expression softened. She came closer and pushed his hair back, feeling his forehead again. Her touch instantly calmed him. "I would like to believe that P.T. Barnum would think she's magnificent. That she is different. And that different is beautiful. But even more than that, I think he trusts you to make the right decisions when he can't."
Phillip felt his resolve crumble. Anne was right. He was sick and Ema was more than capable. The audience would love her, and as for the critics, they had never mattered much before.
So he gave in.
