House of Mirrors (7 page)

He lost his place in the endless chatter he’d invented after listening to Grimstone’s spiel. He’d decided he hadn’t yet lost enough of his old self to lie, but he could bring himself to exaggerate.

“Enter a world of wonders.”
Yes, that is certainly true. This is an amazing world in which we live.

“New! Marvels like nothing you’ve ever seen before.”
Naturally the sight is new. Every soul I’ve met has been new and marvelous.

“Glory—”
No, that doesn’t fit. Not here
. “Glorious sights to amaze and touch the imagination.”

Touch brought something else to mind, and he raised his voice to thunderous heights to drown out the image of dark eyes burning and a mouth slightly parted with need as he stroked and touched and…

“Leave the workaday world behind to experience the amazing, the stupendous…” His voice faltered for a second.

How long had they been together in that wagon? Less than ten minutes, from closing the door to backing away from each other, finished.

He spread his hands wide and yelled the words, but his thoughts kept returning to that interlude in the wagon. He had to convince himself that the moments with Grimstone had been nothing more than a pleasant release of tension. A very pleasant release. Apparently such a short encounter wasn’t supposed to shift one’s entire life. Jonah should have learned this lesson already, for pity’s sake.

He would follow Grimstone’s lead and pretend nothing of any significance had happened. Perhaps the point of acting as if it meant nothing meant the sin couldn’t go soul-deep.

He had to smile at himself. What a strange, childish view of sin, as if he could strike a compromise with God:
let me dabble in murky waters, but as long as I don’t completely plunge in, I won’t be swimming against your will
. Such negotiations with the Almighty didn’t sound like something Grimstone would bother to indulge in. Trouble was, Jonah didn’t know what the man truly thought about what they’d done, except that it was clear Grimstone had decided nothing should happen between them again.

There were no customers around, so Jonah paused his patter, took off his cap, and rubbed his hand through his hair.

A man turned the corner by the House of Mirrors and stopped to stare at him. “You a freak?” the man shouted. “You look like ‘The Bruised Man.’”

“I dared to anger the strongest man on earth, and he knocked me over with a careless push of his pinky finger,” Jonah fired back.

Not a lie, since, after all, he had angered God. Or his father. The two had been entwined in his mind all of Jonah’s life. Of course he understood this was nonsense by the time he’d reached age twelve, but even the slightly more tolerant version of God he’d encountered in Bible college couldn’t seem to entirely reduce the power of his father’s word.

The mocking man laughed and handed over a nickel to enter the freak tent.

Jonah cleared his throat, glad he’d paid attention to the classes taught by Professor Blevit—or Professor Blowhard, as the seminary students had called the lecturer who taught public speaking. Even so, Jonah suspected he’d need one of Parinsky’s tonics for his throat by the time he finished.

“You won’t believe your eyes. You will marvel at the astonishing variety of life we boast in our show. Don’t miss this opportunity to view the strangest among us. Comical and poignant! Breathtaking and real! More real than reality itself.” Now that phrase didn’t quite work, he decided.

Jonah was beginning to enjoy himself, the phrases came faster and louder, the callouts to the crowd—“You, sir! Yes, you surely would enjoy sights to dazzle the eye!”—when he noticed a man who stood in front of him, unmoving. With a Stetson and a drooping white mustache, he looked more like an escapee from a Wild West show than a customer. The man didn’t offer money or interrupt. He merely waited.

Jonah broke off and looked down at him. “Sir?”

“Are you the man they call Rafe Grimstone? I was told to find him here.”

Jonah shook his head. The man had a British accent, an odd contrast with his Western-style clothing. His accent couldn’t be a coincidence—perhaps he knew Mr. Grimstone or was related to him. But there was something too stern about the man, too much like an outraged citizen looking for trouble, the type he’d heard about from Sam and Rafe. The older gentleman reeked of the righteousness Jonah had so often found in church and at school.

“No, that’s not me, sir,” he said.

“Can you tell me where I might find him?”

“Where you can find a Mr. Grimstone, sir?” He stalled and spoke louder. If Grimstone was listening, he might decide for himself whether he wanted to face the man.

The man tugged on the end of his mustache. “Yes, Grimstone, fool.” When he shifted from one booted foot to the other, his jacket opened, and Jonah saw the glint of polished leather at his hip and a large bulge resting there. A revolver.

“Nossir,” Jonah said. “I can’t say I know the man.” Another of those nontruths that wasn’t exactly a lie, for after all, he knew very little about Grimstone. Jonah was getting as slippery as an eel. Too bad he hadn’t learned prevarication earlier in his life. Lying might have helped save him a great deal of trouble.

The man left without speaking another word. Jonah watched him stalk away and considered finding Grimstone and informing him of the man looking for him. He had no notion what the man’s business could be, but that grim air did not bode well. That was worth the risk, so he jumped down and hurried through the crowd in search of Grimstone, leaving the freak tent unattended.

In the main tent the dog and pony act was about to start. Perhaps he’d find Grimstone there, drawing in the crowd while Jack Treanor worked those already in their seats inside the tent. Treanor’s act in the carnival was as a sad-faced clown with incredibly bad luck. He did some juggling and dancing as well.

Jonah found the ringmaster helping Miss Jamie check the harnesses on the ponies. “Mr. Grimstone, a man is looking for you, an older gentleman with a big white mustache and an accent sort of like yours. He sounds British.”

Grimstone straightened. “Where?” He sounded calm but scanned the area the way Jonah used to look for bullies lying in wait after school. Then he focused on Jonah. “Here now, Talbot. Did you abandon your post?”

“This seemed more important. He didn’t strike me as friendly, and he has a gun.”

Grimstone seemed more annoyed than frightened. He handed his whistle to Jonah. “Give this to Parinsky. He’s been longing for it, here’s his chance. But it’s a loan. Tell him two minutes to show time, and he’s the ringmaster for the night. He’s not selling his poison at the moment, so you’ll likely find him drinking it in his wagon. I’ll have Jack perform for a few minutes longer than usual. Go on now.”

“What’ll you do?”

But Grimstone had already vanished.

Jonah found Parinsky and delivered the message as he handed over the brass whistle.

Parinsky turned it in his deft fingers. “He hurt or something?”

“No.”

“Why’d he take off with so little notice?”

“He didn’t say.” He was becoming proficient with these half-truths. “Perhaps you should get going, sir?”

“Damn. Two minutes! You’re right.” He went into his wagon, slammed the door, then came out less than a minute later shoving his arms into a bright blue jacket with a military cut and huge gold epaulets.

Jonah watched him hurry off, then made his way back to the freak tent. He climbed up on the platform and began his shouting, but with less vigor.

He didn’t think Grimstone had recognized the man he’d described, yet he seemed to know someone would be coming after him. Did it have to do with the show, or his past life? Perhaps the reason he’d left the British Isles had to do with a crime.

Jonah could believe Grimstone had broken the law. Not something truly heinous like murder, but Rafe Grimstone had a mysterious, slightly dangerous air that was a large part of his attractiveness. Jonah wouldn’t be surprised to learn he’d stolen, cheated, or assaulted someone, or perhaps simply angered some official who’d forced him to flee the country.

“Mister, those ain’t no natural wonders, but a waste of a hard-earned nickel,” a man coming out of the freak tent blared loud enough to be heard by everyone nearby.

Jonah remembered Rafe’s advice about soothing disgruntled customers and beckoned the man over. “I wouldn’t want anyone to leave our show dissatisfied. Unfortunately I don’t have the authority to refund your money. But let me give you a free pass to another sideshow. There’s a caged lion or some amazing acrobats”—he paused—“also a dancing girl.”

“Dancing girl?” The man’s interest was piqued.

Jonah had no ticket to give the man, so he jumped down from the platform. “I’ll take you there.”

As he led the man through the crowd, Jonah thought of procurers and prostitutes. He wasn’t certain he was entirely comfortable taking this man to gawk at a nearly nude lady while she shook her assets. Besides which, he hoped the customer wasn’t equally disappointed in the dancer, who must be well over fifty.

Finished with his knife wielding, “Signor Signortori” had changed out of his costume and was selling some of Parinsky’s tonics as well as directing customers inside the girlie tent to see the “shimmering loveliness of a spring day.” The coupling of patent medicine sales with a nearly topless dancer wasn’t as odd as it might sound, since Henry Fisher assured his strictly male audience that the “restorative, invigorating, and strength-building tonic” would give “increased stamina.” Likely many of these men, aroused by viewing a belly dance, would turn to their wives tonight with renewed and ardent vigor.

Jonah explained the situation to Fisher, who scowled but let the customer in, then Jonah started back toward the freak show yet again, walking slowly, as he was exhausted and in no hurry to get there.

“You. Johnny Hayseed.”

A hand grabbed his elbow, and Jonah realized the words were addressed to him. He instinctively flinched away from the hand and turned to face a slender woman with long golden ringlets framing her face. Miss Jamie, he guessed, although he’d not been introduced to her yet.

“Where’s Grimstone? I need to speak to him.”

“I have no idea.”

“You’re staying with him aren’t you? In his trailer.”

“Not anymore. I’m with the rest of the rousties now.” And the ground was much harder and colder than Grimstone’s floor had been. He’d thought of the warmth of that snug little trailer as he tried to sleep last night while listening to Crooked Pete’s whistling snore.

“If you see him, tell him Miss Jamie would like a few moments of his precious time if he can be bothered.”

“Yes, miss.”

She started to turn away, then stopped and looked him in the eye. “You should know that Rafe Grimstone has a short attention span. He likes new things but doesn’t stay interested in them for long.”

She walked away, her bottom swaying. From her tone of voice, it sounded as if she was speaking from personal experience—and as if she still had a strong dose of Rafe Grimstone in her system. She was evidently infatuated with him.

In a flash, Jonah’s perceptions shifted. What did this mean? Did the carnival owner play games with all his employees—or at least the young and fairly attractive ones? If he’d been with Miss Jamie, it meant he liked both women and men. Giving and taking physical pleasure was only sport to him and meant nothing. Which he’d made perfectly clear when he’d fastened his fly and left Jonah standing with his trousers around his ankles.

Jonah really was a hayseed, a wet-behind-the-ears child, to imagine there’d been anything more than a bout of pleasure between them. Just as with Rev. Burns, he was allowing his feelings to take over and tell him lust was something deeper and more profound. Sex was sex. That was all.

Fool. Naive idiot. Well, people could change, and he’d grow out of these romantic illusions if it killed him. He’d run to the carnival to escape his past and reinvent himself. So he would do it, become self-sufficient and lose the false stars in his eyes created by the flash of spangles.

Charged by this decision to turn over a new leaf, Jonah finished his evening of calling for the freak show with renewed loquacity. He spun sugar candy tales of exotic delights to be seen inside the tent, and kept the till ringing with the
plink
of coins.

At last the lights dimmed, signaling the carnival was closing for the night. The crowds had thinned to a few stragglers: lovers bumping hips as they strolled along, groups of pimple-faced youths jostling around the hoochie-coochie tent, daring each other to try to buy a ticket. Meanwhile, grown men, having seen their womenfolk safely home, returned to take furtive advantage of the opportunity to see a half-naked dancing girl. It had soothed Jonah’s conscience to learn that the females in the carnival weren’t even close to naked—they wore fleshings.

The flap of the freak tent opened, and Claudia poked out her head, her moon-wide face shining in the dim light. “Time to close up. You can turn in your box to Grim and take a breather. You done good. Although God knows there wasn’t much of a show for the folks tonight with that son of a bitch midget gone and Sam down sick.” She chuckled. “Hell, ‘The Great Claudia’ probably ain’t no fatter than some ladies around these parts, and the two-headed chicken’s fallin’ apart. Looks more like a jar of chicken stew than an attraction.”

Jonah grinned. “Good night, Miss Claudia.”

He jumped off the makeshift stage for the last time and went to give his money box to Grimstone, steeling himself to remain detached and not think of what they’d done together—what he’d like to do with the charismatic man tonight. But when he finally found Grimstone, Parinsky was with him.

The ringmaster barely glanced at Jonah as he accepted the money box. Jonah decided not to mention Miss Jamie had been looking for him. She’d probably talked to Grimstone by now, and Jonah really didn’t care to be her message boy. He left the two men, who were arguing about something, and headed toward the wagon under which he’d slept the previous night.

On the way, he passed Sam’s wagon and decided to stop by and see if he was feeling any better. He knocked on the door and waited for Sam’s, “Come in.”