CHILD PRODIGY MISSING. STATEWIDE SEARCH UNDERWAY FOR MYLES VAN HUYSEN, MUSICAL STAR, read the headlines of the August 21 edition of the city paper. A passerby stepped on the newspaper where it lay crumpled beside the tent door, and a breeze lifted the top page, sending it drifting across the midway.
A boy glared at the paper from beneath the brim of his cap, hoping his prospective employer had not read it closely. Why did Gram have to make such a big deal about everything?
“You say you’re willing to work hard, kid? How old are you, anyway?”
“Eighteen. Ain’t got no family.” He struggled to sound illiterate yet mature enough to merit the two extra years he claimed.
“Kinda puny, ain’t ya?” The owner of the traveling circus chomped on his unlit cigar. “You’re in luck, Red. One of our fellas went down sick a week back, and we’ve been struggling since. It ain’t easy work, and the pay is peanuts, but you’ll get room and board, such as it is. Go see Parker in the animal tent and tell him I sent you.”
“Yes, Mr. Bonacelli. Thank you, Mr. Bonacelli.”
“You may not be thankin’ me when you find out what you’ll be doin’. What’s yer name, Red?”
“Myles Trent.” It was his name minus its third element. If he so much as mentioned “Van Huysen” the game would end for certain.
“Hmph. I’ll call ya Red.”
Visions of becoming an acrobat or animal trainer soon vanished from Myles’s head. During the next few months, he worked harder than he had ever worked in his life, cleaning animal pens. It was nasty and hazardous work at times, yet he enjoyed becoming friends with other circus employees. Whenever the circus picked up to move to the next town, everyone worked together, from the clowns to the trapeze artists to the bearded lady. It wasn’t long before Myles began to move up in the circus world.
Bonacelli’s Circus made its way south from New York, then west toward Ohio, playing in towns along the highways and railroads. During the coldest months, the caravans headed south along the Mississippi; spring found them headed north. Months passed into a year.
Lengthening his face to minimize creases, Myles wiped grease paint from his eyelids. Behind him, the tent flap was pulled aside. Someone came in. “Antonio?” he guessed.
“Hello, Myles.”
His eyes popped open. A handsome face smiled at him from his mirror.
Myles froze. His shoulders drooped. He turned on the stool. “Monte.”
The brothers stared at each other. Monte pulled up a chair and straddled it backward. “I caught today’s show. Never thought I’d see my musician brother doing flips onto a horse’s back. You’ve built muscle and calluses. Look healthier than I can remember.” There was grudging admiration in his voice.
“The acrobats and clowns taught me tricks.”
“I’ve been hanging around, asking questions. People like and respect you. Say you’re honest and hardworking.”
Myles’s eyes narrowed. “I love the circus, Monte. I like making people happy.”
“You’re a performer. It’s in your blood.”
Myles turned to his mirror and rubbed blindly at the paint. “Why so pleasant all of a sudden?”
Monte ignored the question. “Gram wants you back. She’s already spent too much on detectives. I’ll write and tell her I found you before she fritters away our fortune.”
“I’m not going back.”
“I didn’t ask you to. The old lady sent me to keep an eye on you. She never said I had to go back…at least not right away.” One of Monte’s brows lifted, and he gave Myles his most charming smile. “The Van Huysen Soap Company and fortune will wait for me. No reason to waste my youth in a stuffy office, learning business from a fat family friend. I think I’d rather be a circus star like my runny-nosed kid brother.”
“You’ve seen me. Now get lost.” Hope faded from Myles’s eyes. “You’ll spoil everything.”
“Believe it or not, I do understand. That was no life for a kid. I’ve often wondered how you endured it as long as you did. Getting out of that Long Island goldfish bowl is a relief. Always someone watching, moralizing, planning your life—whew! You had the right idea. I could hardly believe my luck when Gram sent me after you.”
“She trusted you,” Myles observed dryly. “What are you planning to do?”
“Does this circus need more workers? I’m serious. This looks like the life for me.”
Myles huffed. “Nobody needs a worker like you, Monte. Why don’t you go find yourself a gaming hall and forget you ever had a brother?”
“Gram would never forgive me if I returned without you.”
“You could tell her I’m dead.”
Monte pondered the idea in mock gravity, dark eyes twinkling. “Tempting, but impossible. Family honor and all that. You’d show up someday, then I’d look the dolt at best, the knave at worst. Part of the family fortune is yours, you know. I wouldn’t try to filch it from you. I’m not as rotten as you think, little brother. I do feel some responsibility for my nitwit prodigy sibling.”
The next morning when Monte left his borrowed bunk, Myles was gone. No one had seen him leave. Running a big hand down his face, Monte swore. “Gotta find that crazy kid!”
“Are you here with good news or bad, George Poole?” the old lady grumbled from her seat in a faded armchair. A few coals glowed upon the hearth near her feet. “I trust you have disturbed my afternoon rest for good reason.”
“Yes, Mrs. Van Huysen. You may see for yourself.” He thrust a newspaper into her hands and pointed at a paragraph near the bottom of the page. “An associate of mine in Milwaukee—that’s a town in Wisconsin—heard of my quest, spotted this article, and mailed the paper to me.”
“Kind of him,” Mrs. Van Huysen said, fumbling to put on her glasses. Holding the folded-back paper near her face, she blinked. “For what am I looking?”
“This, madam. The article concerns a small-town farmer who, years ago, served a prison sentence for robbery and murder. Last summer, new evidence was discovered and the man’s name was cleared of the crimes. Judging by the article’s tone, this Obadiah Watson appears to be a fine Christian man. It is a pleasure when justice is served, is it not?”
“Yes, yes, but what has this to do with my grandsons?” Virginia Van Huysen struggled to keep her patience.
“Let me find the line…ah, right here. You see? The article mentions a certain Myles Trent, hired laborer on Watson’s farm.” Poole’s eyes scanned his client’s face.
“I fail to see the significance, Mr. Poole. You raised my hopes for this?”
“Don’t you see, madam? Your grandson’s name is Myles Trent Van Huysen. Oftentimes a man in hiding will use a pseudonym, and what could be easier to recall than one’s own given name?”
“Have you any proof that this man is my Myles? And what of Monte? There is no word of him in this article. The last I heard from the boys, they were together in Texas. Isn’t Wisconsin way up north somewhere? Why ever would Myles be there?” Pulling a lacy handkerchief from her cuff, Virginia dabbed at her eyes. “In Monte’s last letter he told me that he had surrendered his life to the Lord. Why, then, did he stop writing to me? I don’t understand it.”
Poole tugged his muttonchop whiskers. “I cannot say, dear madam. The particular region of Texas described in your grandson’s most recent letters is a veritable wasteland. Our efforts there were vain; my people discovered no information about your grandsons. It was as if they had dropped from the face of the earth.”
“Except for the note your partner sent me about the game hunter in Wyoming.” Virginia’s tone was inquisitive.
“An unfortunate mistake on Mr. Wynter’s part. He should have waited until he had obtained more solid information before consulting you. Be that as it may, madam, unless this Myles Trent proves to be your relation, I fear I must persuade you to give up this quest. I dislike taking your money for naught.”
“Naught?” Virginia lifted her pince-nez to give him a quelling look.
Poole nodded. “We at Poole, Poole, and Wynter are ever reluctant to admit defeat, yet I fear we may be brought to that unfortunate pass. It has been nine years since Myles disappeared and nearly six since Monte’s last letter reached you. If your grandsons are yet living, they are twenty-five and twenty-eight now.”
“I can do simple addition, Mr. Poole,” Virginia said. “Have you given up entirely on that hunter?”
“The fellow disappeared. He was probably an outlaw who became nervous when Wynter started asking questions. You must keep in mind that your grandsons are no longer children to be brought home and disciplined. They are men and entitled to live the lives they choose. I fear Myles’s concert career will never resume.”
Virginia clenched her jaw and lifted a defiant chin. “I would spend my last cent to find my boys. Look into this, Mr. Poole, and may the Lord be with you.”