Chapter 8

Phillip and Charity stared each other down for at least a minute, neither speaking. Eventually, Mr. Murray cleared his throat and broke the silence.

"Mr. Carlyle, I'll give you until nine a.m. to agree to remove the aerial acts from the circus. Otherwise, the Board is going to file an injunction to have the circus shut down," Murray stated.

"Remove?" Charity spoke up. She crossed the space between them and went on, "Remove the aerialists?"

Phillip met her eyes and nodded. "That's what the Board of Trade wants of us."

She cut her eyes to Murray. "But that's half our show!"

Mr. Murray sighed. "That's not my concern. I'm sure you can find work elsewhere, Miss…?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Charity Barnum. Mrs. Charity Barnum."

Mr. Murray looked genuinely surprised. He looked Charity up and down and said, "Your husband, he approves of these...activities?"

Phillip saw the panic in Charity's face. He stepped in and said, "P.T. Barnum knows exactly what he's doing. He has always kept all of us safe. And you should know, my wife is also involved in these activities."

Mr. Murray looked back at Phillip, frowned, and stated, "Nine a.m. Mr. Carlyle. I want an answer by nine a.m." Then he turned and left the tent.

Phillip dropped his shoulders in exhaustion. He looked at Charity, who stood with her arms crossed over her chest. He'd never seen this much of her, as the leotard left her arms and long legs bare. He was used to seeing Anne this way, but Charity had always been buttoned up in flowing dresses. She looked every bit the part of a dancer. He had to admit, she looked beautiful in the lyra. Not in a way that made him any less in love with Anne, but beautiful nonetheless. Still, she was Charity Barnum, and he had no idea what to say about this.

What came out was, "Isn't that Anne's costume?"

Charity hugged her arms around herself and returned, "Yes. An old one."

There was another long silence.

Phillip finally asked, "How long have you been…?"

"A year," Charity answered. "I've been sneaking in for a year. I watch Anne and the others, and then I come at night…"

"Does P.T. know?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Why not?"

Charity sighed. "I didn't want him to think he had to put me in the show. I just...didn't want anyone to think they had to tell me I'm good, because I've had no real training and I don't need to perform. I just...I love it. Caroline, she gets her love of dance...from me.

Phillip let the words process. "How's P.T.?"

Charity dropped her arms and said, "A little better each day. The wounds are almost healed. His back, though...he still can't sit up."

"And coming here, doing this, does it help?" Phillip didn't mean to be snarky, but he felt like he was carrying the weight of the circus on his shoulders and he couldn't imagine playing in a trapeze while everything felt like it was falling apart around them.

Charity understood his implication. "This is the first time I've come since the accident. I just needed a few minutes to myself, to let it go for a little while. Because…"

Her voice cracked, and suddenly Phillip was sorrying for being short with her. He also realized she'd just exposed a prejudice he didn't know he held, a sort-of reverse prejudice. He had no trouble convincing Anne that she belonged in his world, that she was just as much a lady as anyone else, but for Charity to cross into Anne's world seemed preposterous. And Phillip couldn't say exactly why.

Through tears, Charity continued, "I'm afraid Phinn's not going to get well. I'm afraid he'll be like this for the rest of his life and I think he's wondering the same thing, and I can see his spirit fading a little every day. It's killing him, Phillip. The fall didn't, but losing his life, as it was, is."

Phillip crossed to her and wrapped her in a comforting embrace, his previous frustration forgotten. "He's going to walk again, Charity. I know it. And he's going to walk in here and watch you do this."

She didn't respond, and Phillip hoped he had sounded more sure than he felt.

The next morning, Charity was as the hospital again. Dr. Warshaw had decided to try something new with Phinn. He was currently wrapping her husband's torso in layers of tight bandages.

"Sometimes," he explained, "the pressure helps with the pain. Helps patients move more easily."

Charity nodded and watched. She could see Phinn's discomfort. He had already been forced through the daily routine of having to sit up, and now he was holding onto the nurses' arms to keep himself upright. Charity couldn't help noticing how frail he looked. Phinn was used to working, to helping the roustabouts while telling ridiculous stories to make the work go faster. He was used to dancing every night, to earning every show with sweat and occasionally blood. Staying in the hospital bed had easily stripped him of ten pounds, perhaps more. Charity hated to see it, not that she loved him any less, but because it really was like watching a sky bird molt its feathers in anguish.

Once the doctor cinched the bandages tight, he instructed, "Now, see if you can sit on your own, even for just a minute."

Charity crossed the room and squeezed herself in between Margaret and the bed. She sat down on the edge, beside her husband, put her hands on his bare shoulders and said, "You can do this."

He met her gaze, and his usually bright, hazel eyes were full of uncertainty. But he nodded.

Slowly, Margaret and the other nurse released him, letting Phinn take his own weight. To Charity's surprise, he held himself there. She could see his breathing quicken, meaning he was fighting the pain, but he held himself up. He seized Charity's arms and kept his eyes on her. After a moment, for the first time in three weeks, he smiled. For the first time since she was sure she'd lost him, he looked like himself, like her Phinn. Then, he glanced away, and she could tell it was too much for him.

Dr. Warshaw helped him lie back against the pillows and said, "That's wonderful. That's exactly what we hoped for."

Phinn shook his head and said, "It's been a long time since anyone was this thrilled at me simply sitting up. Next thing you know, you'll be clapping because I ate solid food."

Charity laughed, because he sounded like himself, too.

"Now," the doctor went on, "let's see about that leg."

Phinn had been consistently able to move his left foot for the past two weeks, but his right leg was in worse shape. The outside wounds were healing nicely, but inside, there was obviously much more damage. Dr. Warshaw pulled the blankets back and revealed Phinn's leg. The wounds were now deep reddish purple, the stitches having been removed. The bruising was mostly gone, but Charity knew the bones were still struggling to heal. Dr. Warshaw run a small stick up and down Phinn's leg. He flinched, which he'd been doing for a least a week now.

"Now," the doctor instructed again, "let's move those toes."

Charity held her breath.

After a moment, to her absolute surprise, Phinn moved them. She squealed and had to restrain herself from hugging him. Instead, she carefully leaned in and kissed him. This time, unlike over the past three weeks, he returned her enthusiasm. She felt his hand cup the back of her head and, for just a moment, the familiar heat flickered between them. Then she pulled away, knowing the doctor and a room full of patients were watching.

Before she could move completely out of his grasp, Phinn said lowly, "I love you, Charity Barnum."

She kissed his cheek and returned, "I love you, Circus King."

Then she sat up and faced the doctor. Just behind him stood Phillip. He motioned for her to come out into the corridor.

As Charity walked away from the bed, Phinn called out, "I knew you'd try to steal her away from me one day, Phillip Carlyle."

Charity turned back, and they could both see he was teasing. Her heart felt full at seeing her husband in such a jovial mood.

Once in the corridor, she turned to Phillip and said, "I wish you could've been here a few minutes earlier! He was able to sit up at last! And he's moving both of his feet now! Dr. Warshaw says his vision is clear again. Phillip, I have no idea how it's possible that he's done this well, but I thank God or whomever for giving him back to me, if a little at a time."

Charity stopped talking long enough to realize Phillip wasn't sharing her joyous expression. His face was somber.

"What is it?" she finally asked.

Phillip looked away. "I gave in to Murray. I told him we would take out the aerial acts."

She stepped back. "What?"

Phillip shook his head. "We can't win against them, Charity. They'll shut the whole thing down."

Charity's former excitement was replaced by something close to rage. "No. We can't give in to him. That's...half our performers! What are we supposed to tell them? Go back to performing on the streets? Do you want that for Anne?"

Phillip's eyes flashed. "First, Anne will never be on the streets again. Ever. Second...there's nothing else I can do."

"Yes you can!" Charity was nearly shaking. "Fight for it! Make them file the injunction!" She pointed toward the door to the ward. "He would fight for it, and you know it!"

Phillip shook his head again. "No. I won't risk the whole circus."

Charity aimed her finger at him, now. "Then you will be the one to tell Phinn."

Then she stormed off to find some fresh air, too angry to stay in the corridor any longer.

Three hours later, Phillip stood backstage in the circus tent, facing the entire cast. He took a deep breath. Anne stood next to him, holding his hand but looking just as concerned as everyone else in the room.

"Just tell us the news, boss," Lettie spoke up, per usual.

"We can tell it's not good, so just tell us," Tom added. Tom, who was born Charles, had embraced his new identity to the point of forgoing his given name.

Phillip took a deep breath. He sensed Anne's anxiety and he hated what he was about to say.

"Murray, from the Board of Trade, was here again last night. And, I'm afraid, effective today, we have to remove all of the aerial acts from the show."

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then, the room exploded with voices. Amani and Jacinta, the girls from the West Indies, started yelling in a language Phillip couldn't understand. J.D. started hollering obscenities, and Lara and Mara, the albino twins who had just started learning the trapeze, held each other and cried. Lettie looked like she was pleading for answers, but Phillip couldn't hear her over the din. The worst sight of all, however, was Anne. She backed away and gave him a look that rivaled the night, more than two years ago, when she'd said they could never be together. Then, she walked away without a word. And her silence hurt.

Phillip dropped onto a hay bale in defeat.

Three days later, Dr. Warshaw decided it would be best for Phinn to complete the rest of his recovery at home.

"The wounds are mostly healed, and there's no sign of infection," he explained. "The only thing to do now is rest, and wait for the bones to heal as they will."

Charity helped arrange a special carriage to take her husband home, and she planned to make the journey at dusk, when most everyone was either at home having dinner or out on the town. She also knew that most of the press would be at the circus, looking for more material for scathing articles. She had been following the show in the papers for three days and, true to her word, she still refused to tell Phinn about Phillip's decision. She would make Phillip explain himself to her husband's face if it was the last thing she did for the circus.

In spite of all her planning, there were still reporters outside when they left the hospital. Charity was imagining the stories the next day, complete with sketches of her husband as he was wheeled out of the building. It took at least four members of the hospital staff to help him into the carriage, which was designed to allow a patient to lie down for transport. Charity rode next to him, holding his hand and grateful to leave the reporters behind.

Once they arrived at home, it took an equal number of people to help get Phinn up and into their apartment as it had to get him out of the hospital. The nurses and male staff members hauled him up three flights of stairs as delicately as possible. Charity could see the pain and exhaustion in her husband's face during the entire ordeal. When he was finally settled into their bed, with the pillows stacked to support his back, Margaret removed his bandages for the last time. She gave Charity a few instructions and promised to be back each day to check on her patient. Then, she gave Phinn a generous dose of morphine.

Outside the bedroom door, Margaret turned back to Charity and said, "I want to see him well almost as much as you, Mrs. Barnum. I love the circus. It's like nothing else in the city. It's just...magical."

Charity sighed. "Well, I'm afraid it's a bit less magical these days."

Margaret gave her a confused look.

Charity shook her head. "You'll read about it soon enough, I'm sure."

Margaret gave her a compassionate look and promised to be back the next morning.

Three hours later, after allowing the girls to spend a few minutes with their father before they went to bed, Charity and Phinn were alone. For the first time in almost four weeks, there were no other patients or visitors looking at them curiously. There would be no nurses coming in at all hours to check on Phinn. It was quiet, with only the light of one lamp and the muted sounds from the street outside. Very carefully, they had managed to organize the pillows so that Phinn could rest his weight on Charity, with the pillows cushioning his lower back. With the morphine still in his system, the position was tolerable. So Charity leaned against the headboard of their bed, with her husband in her arms for the first time in weeks. She had her left arm wrapped around his torso, and she could feel his warmth through the thin nightshirt. With her right hand, she mindlessly mussed his hair, trying to stay away from the healing scar on the back of his head.

In a low voice, Phinn said, "I don't think there's any medicine on this earth as good as your hands."

Charity smiled and leaned in to say softly, "If only that were true, you would be back in the ring already."

He grew quiet again, and Charity could sense his pensive mood.

"You know," she ran her left hand over his chest, "you're going to get there. You'll be back in the ring and they'll be cheering twice as loudly."

Phinn sighed, winced, and said, "I wish I could believe that right now. But I just feel broken. I feel like a man who tried something incredible and failed magnificently."

Charity continued to stroke his hair as she said, "You're not a failure, Phinn. It's not your failing that the ropes broke. It was a terrible accident."

"It's my circus," he argued. "Every bit of it is my responsibility. If they fly, it's my success. If they fall, if any one of them is hurt, it's my failure. I asked them to leave their lives behind to join my circus. The least I can do is keep them safe."

"But you have!" Charity countered. "You have kept all of them safe. It was just an accident. Anyone could've been in those ropes."

"Exactly," Phinn stated.

Charity thought about Phillip and his decision to give in to Peter Murray and the Board of Trade. Per the newspapers from the past few days, the circus simply wasn't the same without the aerialists. The critics knew it. She was sure Phillip knew it. Now she wondered if that's what her husband actually wanted—to ground the circus. But even if it was, she still refused to be the one to tell him what Phillip had done. Then, she felt a bit two-faced, considering her own secret that she was harboring from him.

Leaning in to kiss him just behind his left ear, Charity said, "Let it go for tonight, Phinn. You can't change what happened, and you can worry about what to do about it tomorrow. For now, just be with me."

Shifting in the bed and wincing again, he said, "I would love nothing more than to be with you, Charity, but life has seen fit to deny me of that, as well."

Understanding his meaning, Charity kissed him behind the ear again and softly said, "Time, Phinn. We just need time."

He sighed, but she could feel his impatience. Phineas Taylor Barnum had never been one to be told to wait. He was a force, a man in constant motion, and she could nearly feel the hum of impatience in him. She closed her eyes and suddenly remembered the night after his first performance to a sold out circus crowd. That night, he had taken her with a fierce passion, with the driving desire of a man with a million dreams and not enough lifetimes to see them all brought to fruition. That night was the perfect example of why she tolerated his crazy ideas, his grandiose plans, and his constant risk-taking. He always came back to her. Phinn could fly far away, chasing a dream, and whether he soared to the sky or crashed, he would always land back in her arms. And when he came back to her, he always left her breathless.

So she held him in her arms and sang softly to him:

However big, however small

Let me be part of it all

Share your dreams with me

You may be right, you may be wrong

But say that you'll bring me along

She sang to him until he could no longer stay upright, and then she helped him lie down. Charity fell asleep curled up beside him, with her hand resting so she could feel his heartbeat, the rest of the world momentarily forgotten.