eleven

 

 

AFTER ALL THE hubbub with the tramp gang coming in, most folks around the camp had some energy to burn. Thankfully there was still a wedding to be had. Martha took off in the big ol’ truck with a few others for the sake of stocking up her kitchen for the feast and to ward off any future famine due to another snowfall. While they was off running for supplies, there was still the fact of the bride and groom needing their carousel. Slaney, Diamond Joe and many of the strongest backs on the lot turned their attentions to the massive storage shed wherein the attractions of the Wonder Show slumbered. A couple of the show’s firebugs took it upon themselves to help clear the land by breathing like dragons over the snow. I don’t know that the act of breathing on it did any better a job of dispersing it than a simple campfire would’ve done, but the pyroheads seemed to enjoy themselves muchly. And I’ve found it best to let them have their fun lest I get scorched one way or another.

It was a lively day for our sleepy little circus. Lively indeed.

I looked in on my patient, to find Mr. Mars grumbling about the pain in his side, though I was pleased to see that his sutures were healing just fine. Just to be on the side of caution, I changed his dressings. Didn’t want him to come down with some smelly infection for his wedding.

Come mid-afternoon, the carousel’s skeleton—consisting of eight or so wedges meant to be put together like pieces of a pie, and a slew of rails, cables and poles—had been excavated from storage, and the woman of my heart returned to make everyone a hearty dinner.

Out by the fire that night, the dancing was infectious. Don’t know if the morning’s visit and subsequent brawl brought out the celebration in people, or if it was just a bug that longed for spring and warmer times, but everyone in the camp came out to revel in the joy of music and moonshine. I saw the Professor getting on with a bally broad, sharing a hip flask, and spinning her round and round to one of Crash’s gypsy reels. Maeve sat by the fire laughing with one of the younger jugglers, eating taffy from a tin he’d offered her. Hell, I even let Martha pull me up for a reel or two. We danced about as well as a one-legged man can with a comely dwarf, but managed not to fall over one another.

I laughed, whirling her around one more time. As I sat I brought her down on my lap. “You are light on your feet, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Oh, don’t start with the ‘missus’ again, Jim. I was getting to enjoy you calling me Martha.”

“You’ve never told me; where is ol’ Mr. Hudson?” I asked.

“Gone to Heaven with half his platoon.”

I nodded. “Long time,” was all I said.

“Long enough.”

Martha laid one on me then, full and slow. Her breath blew into me like the kiss o’ life, sweet and languid as warm honey. A minute or a year later, she pulled away, a smile twinkling in her eyes.

She slid off my lap and took both of my hands in hers. “Come on,” she urged.

We walked to her tent and she drew back the flap. Before I followed her in, I looked over my shoulder. Had anyone seen us? Did I particularly care? There, over the fire, I caught Crash’s eye. His grin was sad, but he gave me the barest of nods.

I dipped into the tent and let the flap fall behind me. In the weak light of a single lantern, I found Martha. My arms wrapped around her, hands feeling those soft curves, and we danced a different kind of waltz together, me and the missus.

 

 

SHAMBLING OUT OF Martha’s tent the next morning, I beamed brighter than sunlight. Martha’d been up and cookin’ for a bit already. Long enough that most of those not too hungover had made their way to the fire for breakfast. The lot smelled of eggs, bacon and a roast of coffee that set my mouth to watering.

Some of the roustabouts had come and gone from Martha’s cart. From across the camp I heard their hammering, the rhythmic chant-song as they worked on erecting the carousel. It was little more than a wide, fat pole sticking up from the ground yet, but already some of the sledge-gang worked to bring over beams and wires.

Anyone not working was by the cook fire. I looked around the assembled mass of folks and noted one conspicuous absence.

“Where’d Crash get off to?”

Martha passed me a plate, and nibbled on a square of toast. “He walked himself into town this morning.”

“He say why he was going?”

She shook her head, russet curls falling across her eyes. “Nope. And I didn’t ask. Might be trying to check up on our guests from yesterday. Or he might be puttin’ an ear to the ground to make sure them tramps don’t sully our good will with the town.”

“Alone? Man could get himself killed.”

“Ain’t you learned a thing about Crash yet, Jim?” Her smile twinkled over me. “No one but the Devil himself will take Crash Haus from this world, and even then he’d probably convince Ol’ Scratch to let him stay around for another song or two. He does this from time to time,” she assured me. “Wanders off for a night or a week. Always comes back nary a hair missing from his pretty little head.”

I looked down at my plate and for the first time in months I wondered if I’d done right, quitting my Pinkerton days and taking up with Sanford Haus and his travelling show.

“Always something new to learn, isn’t there?” she asked.

I nodded. “Just when I think I got it all figured out...”

Martha’s laughter was light and fresh. “Got the life figgered out? Or him?”

“The life. Him. Myself. Everything.”

“Jim Walker, you listen good to me,” she said, squeezing my shoulder. “You listening? Cause I’m about to lay the greatest secret on your ears, alright? This secret is so precious that it’s been sought after by the crowned heads of the world. Solomon kept this one locked in his deepest tunnels with a stockpile of gold and jewels. You ready? You listening?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She brought her lips to my ear, her breath fluttering over my skin. “No one’s got it figgered out, love.”

“That so?” I asked.

Martha dipped her forehead. “That’s so.”

I cast my gaze over the lot, thinking about the score of people I’d met and come to regard as friends. People who’d made room for me. Thrown punches for me. And this woman who held me together when I thought little else would.

“Y’all seem to have some wisdom that common folk don’t. And dammit all if you don’t seem happy and complete without even raising a finger to try.”

“None of us knows what we’re doing, Jim. We’re living the life because it’s the one that accepts us. A dwarf like me wouldn’t do well as a townie. Here, the folks don’t give a piss about my stature. They smile at me and are grateful when I serve up something hot.”

“But Crash...”

“Let me tell you summat about Sanford Haus,” she said. It was the first time I’d heard any of the crew call him by his given name. “He came to us a few years back, and though he never said as much to me, it was written plain as paint on his face that he felt like a fish out of water in the other world. The one with all the rules and taboos. The world that tells you who you can and cannot be, based on who you was born to, or how your skin looks, or if you measure up to some new meaning of ‘normal.’ He didn’t belong there and it ate at him. Like a poison. Made him sour. Until he did something about it. Sanford stepped off of the ride he was on and Crash jumped into a new one. One where he could decide for himself what kind of man he’d be, and what he’d do with the time given him on this earth.

“Here,” she continued, “no one gave a good goddamn if he had money or some high-and-mighty status. Only that he could carry his weight and offer something to the show.”

“And what do I offer?” I asked.

“Besides the sweetest ass this side of the Mississippi?” Martha pinched my cheek. “You’re a damn fine camp medic, Jim. And you pitch in when you can. Not to mention you’ve been a good influence on the Boss.”

“Really? He seems just as ornery as the day I met him.”

“He is at that,” she grinned. “But he’s happier. I think Crash sees some of himself in you. You come from the same world. While he’s made a good spot for himself with us, I think he gets lonesome from time to time. You help him out with that just by being your wonderful self.”

I brought her fingers to my lips and laid a whisper of a kiss over them. “You’re too good to me, Martha.”

“Darlin’,” she purred, “I ain’t begun being good to you yet.”