Ellen held the letter in her trembling hand. Her face turned as white as the sheet. The paper floated to the ground.
Will picked up the page. Did it contain terrible news? “What’s wrong? What did it say?”
Ellen stared straight ahead, not blinking.
Though he didn’t want to violate her privacy, he did want to help her. Something he couldn’t do unless he knew the problem. He scanned the letter until he found the reason for Ellen’s shock.
Mama is not responding to the medication. The doctor recommends a sanatorium, though how we will pay for it is a mystery only God knows the answer to. Thank you for what you send to us each month. We could not get along without your help. You are a blessing to us. Perhaps we’ll be able to save some of your contribution and send her there in time. Please continue to pray for her. She is very weak.
Will shivered, a memory of the cold chills that had racked him when he’d looked at his mother’s lifeless body. “I had no idea your mother was ill.” Will drew Ellen into an embrace, her muscles taut.
She whispered into his shoulder. “Take me to the train.”
He released her. “Sure. Lucy, can you please meet Constance at the five and dime and tell her what happened?”
“Of course.” Lucy nodded, the flower on her hat bouncing. “Everything will be fine. Trust and believe that.”
“Thank you.” Ellen’s soft voice held no trace of emotion.
They wove their way through the throngs of circus goers, the festive party out of place with the news she’d received.
“How can I help?”
“Unless you have the money for the sanatorium, there isn’t much to be done. My immigrant parents have small resources and five mouths to feed beside their own. Poppa works hard, but because of Mama’s illness my siblings are his responsibility. What am I going to do? How can I pay for what she needs? I have little enough.”
He stopped. “Look at me.”
She gazed into his eyes. Without words, she pled with him for a solution.
He didn’t have one. “I’ll pray for you. And her.”
“What if He takes her away?”
“It’ll be hard. God says to trust Him.” But had Will trusted the Lord since his mother’s death?
“Easier said than done.”
“That’s true. I lost my own mother when I was ten. In a circus accident. She fell from the trapeze.”
“Oh, Will, how awful. I’m so sorry.”
“So you see, I understand your struggle. I know what it’s like to lose a parent.” They resumed their walk.
“I can tell myself to trust God when the trunks float away or when I can’t find a costume. When it comes to my mother’s life, that’s harder. When God doesn’t act, I have to.” Her staccato words matched the rhythm of her feet.
They returned to the Alvena. “Why don’t you lie down? A bit of rest will do you good. You’ve been fiendish in repairing and replacing the costumes.”
“I have to sew. When difficulties come, I block them out by stitching.”
“Stay on the train. The peace and quiet will do you good.”
She nodded and slipped off her gloves before climbing the steps. “Thank you again. You’re a dear friend.”
His heart tripped over itself. She considered him a friend. “I’m glad I could help. That’s what friends do.” But this fluttering, somersaulting, diving sensation in the pit of his stomach had to be more than friendship.
She disappeared into the compartment, then appeared at the window, waving. He sauntered across the grounds, the fragrance of the cook staff’s stew mingling with that of elephant dung and popped corn. The unique smell of the circus.
His hunger pains evaporated when he thought of Ellen. He ached for her. He knew what it was to lose a mother. He would have done anything to save his.
How could he help her? As trainmaster, he earned a decent wage. To pay for a sanatorium, though, was beyond his means. Did they take charity cases? Could he help them find a good low-cost facility?
Yes, of course. And he would. Des Moines had a large enough population to support several doctors. One of them had to know the answer.
He turned toward town. If he hurried, he could ask and be back in time to load the train. Little sleep for him tonight, but when he thought of Ellen’s sad, green eyes, it spurred him on.
Until a hyena-like scream erupted from the wardrobe tent.
“Ellen, hurry. Come to the wardrobe tent.” Lucy’s breathless voice broke Ellen’s concentration as she stitched spangles onto the elephant’s headdress.
“What’s wrong? Can’t it wait until I’m finished?” The heaviness in her heart weighed down her entire body. Even lifting a needle took enormous effort.
Lucy dragged her to her feet. “There’s an emergency. With Constance.”
Lord, give me strength. “What now? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
She followed Lucy across the grassy lot. After a moment to adjust to the tent’s dim interior, she discovered the reason for the pandemonium.
Contortionist, acrobat, and equestrian outfits lay strewn about the dirt floor. She bent down. Cut. Slashed. Ruined. The lot of them.
“And all of them my creations.” Constance stood over her, her legs akimbo, a scowl marring her flawless features.
Sweat covered Ellen’s palms. “You don’t think—”
“I certainly do. You came back ahead of the rest of us.” A glint shimmered in Constance’s eye, almost triumphant.
“Ida.” Ellen nodded in the direction of one of her assistants. “Were you here the entire time?” The girl did a very good job, but she sewed slower than anyone. She often worked while the rest of them went to town.
“No, ma’am. I had coffee with Renee in the dining tent.”
Constance tilted her chin and stared at Ellen. “You had the time to come in here and destroy all of my work. Do you know how many hours I labored over them? Gone. You’re jealous of my relationship with Will. You want me fired so you can have him.” Her neck muscles tightened. “Well, it won’t work. We all know who did it, don’t we?”
Constance scanned the crowd of seamstresses and performers gathered near the tent flap.
They all stared at Ellen. Their glares drove her down like a tent peg into the soft sand. “You can’t believe I had anything to do with this. Where’s Mr. Jorgensen? He can attest to my whereabouts.”
He popped through the crowd as if she’d produced him by magic. “What on earth happened?”
“Someone destroyed Constance’s costumes.” She held up one of the aerialist’s leotards.
“Who would do this?”
Constance nestled against Will. “I’m glad you’re here. She’s the only one who could have ruined my work. The other girls were in town or the dining tent. You left her alone, and this is what happened.”
“She didn’t have time. I left her only ten minutes before you screamed.”
“Plenty of opportunity.” Constance crowed and harrumphed.
A murmur rippled through the spectators.
“Why would I wreck my assistant’s work? Her claims on Mr. Jorgensen are in her imagination, so I heard. This makes more work for all of us. The real culprit needs to be stopped.”
The crowd cheered. Were they turning against her? She fought for breath. She couldn’t lose her job. Not now. Not ever.
One of the men Ellen recognized from the big top crew stepped forward and apprehended her. “We know who’s behind this mischief. I’ll sit on her meself, so’s to stop it.”
Her chest squeezed.
A sideshow man wrested her away. “You’re talking crazy. We know Miss Constance. She set her sights on me two years ago. Looks like she’s aiming higher now. Let the mistress go. I’d bet my last dollar she didn’t do it.”
Will stepped in front of her, forcing the man to release his hold. She rubbed her painful wrists.
“No one is apprehending anyone. Miss Meyer is innocent. I’ll attest to it myself.”
“How can you side with her?” A perfect tear clung to Constance’s blond lashes. “Why can’t you see her for what she is?”
The tent walls closed in. The room spun.
In her haze, Ellen spotted a man in the crowd. His thick mustache gave him away. Al Ringling.