Defiant Rose (49 page)

Everything was loud; everything glittered; everything was bigger and better than the previous year. The crowd was ushered into the big top, dizzy with expectation. They stared in amazement at the three rings, the lion in the center commanding their attention while a clown act evoked laughs from the first and a trapeze performer swung gracefully in the third. It was a Carney Circus without a doubt.

A woman sat alone in the first row, a bag of popcorn in one hand, a huge stuffed bear in the other. Ella Foster looked very out of place with her elegant clothes and her pearls, but she smiled when she spotted Lorac the Magnificent, with his colorful turban and Eastern air. He bowed to the people, then, to the woman’s amazement, began to juggle, tossing one ball after another into the air until it seemed he was framed by a multicolored wreath. The crowd applauded wildly, then Lorac caught the balls and took another bow, sweeping off his turban in the process.

He looked so young and so…carefree. Tears came to the woman’s eyes as she held the bear, and she grinned through them, delighted. He had always been handsome, but now he looked relaxed, content, and filled with joy.

Joy. It was a word she never thought she could apply to Michael Wharton, but there it was. Lorac took another bow, obviously enjoying the applause, then he turned and walked toward the tent flap as Biddle boomed.

“Ladies and gentlemen. I give you the clowns!”

Ella wiped her eyes, clapping in delight as a dozen clowns spilled into the ring and began to tumble through hoops, drink from a paper cup without a bottom, chase the barking circus dogs, and weep at the holes in their pockets. One little clown in particular caught her attention, and she leaned closer, watching intently as the redheaded imp entered the ring, pushing a beautiful satin and lace pram.

There was a baby clown inside, sucking a cigar and holding a balloon with a sour expression. It was obviously a midget, but the crowd roared with laughter as the poor bedeviled clown-mother tried to care for a child that obviously didn’t want any mothering. The baby popped the balloon with the cigar, stood up in the coach, then, reaching for the wheels, raced the pram around and around the ring while the mother ran after it, frantic.

The crowd loved it. Ella stood up with the rest of the people and gave the poor clown-mother a hand, while her precocious infant took the bows. Rose Carney doffed her wig, then, joined by her husband and her newborn baby girl, took a bow. The applause grew thunderous. No one noticed Ella crying as the toy slipped from her hands onto the straw below. Lifting her face toward the canvas roof, she smiled, envisioning a ruddy Irishman, his hair the color of brick, his eyes as green as an Irish meadow.

“See, Sean?” she asked, her face beautiful and filled with love. “It’s more than we ever dreamed.”