The Virgin Cure (44 page)

The Circassian Beauty is a creation of her own making. Rinsing her hair with copious amounts of beer, she lets the frothy liquid dry in her tresses and then combs it into the messy, unkempt style that is the hallmark of her appearance.

Tossing aside her given name (which is often as simple as her origins) she replaces it with a moniker such as Zoe, or Zelda, or some other name more fitting for a woman of myth, magic and wonder.

Peering inside the trunk I saw the dress she’d given me to wear at Mr. Dink’s. I’d made a practice of leaving it at the museum each day, as it had been too difficult a task to take the cards on and off of it. Miss Everett had never liked the looks of the dress. She said it was out of fashion and that she didn’t approve of me wearing it on the street.

“I’m glad it’s here,” I told Dr. Sadie, stroking the soft folds.

“Mr. Dink returned it to me a little while ago.” she said. “He was terribly sad when Miss Everett sent word you wouldn’t be coming back to the museum.”

I’d often wondered if he really meant what he’d said about taking me on as one of his own. I couldn’t imagine that he’d have me now that I’d actually become a whore. Even if he was willing to take me back, after what had happened with Mr. Wentworth I wasn’t sure I could stand there each day, with so many men near to me.

“He’s a thoughtful man,” I told Dr. Sadie.

“One of the best I’ve ever known,” she agreed.

Taking the picture cards one by one from the bottom of my pillowcase, I laid them on top of the dress. When I got to the Circassian Beauty, I stared at the card, wondering if the woman was as strong and defiant as she seemed.

Curly locks, Curly locks
,
Will you be mine?
You shall not wash dishes
Nor yet feed the swine;
But sit on a cushion
And sew a fine seam
,
And feed upon strawberries
,
Sugar and cream
.

F
or weeks I did little but sit by myself and try to forget. I slept each night in a cot Dr. Sadie had borrowed from the infirmary and set close to her own bed. She cooked simple meals for us—soup and bread, eggs and sausage, porridge with milk and honey.

My body healed where Mr. Wentworth’s lust had made me bleed and where he’d dug his fingers into my arms. My spirit, however, was slow to mend, and my memories were bleak. Some small consolation came from finding he hadn’t left me with any illness or disease.

“You’re a good, beautiful girl,” Dr. Sadie said time and again. “A girl with much promise.”

She made mention of a school nearby where I could take lessons in arithmetic, literature and penmanship, but I told her I wasn’t interested.

“I understand,” she said as she mended the string on one of her aprons, letting the idea fade into the quiet of the evening.

Some days I went with her on her rounds, but most days I didn’t. When she asked if I’d like to pay a visit to Miss Tully, I declined. I knew it was wrong of me, but I couldn’t bring myself to go with her.

“I’ll be home soon,” she said, and then left me to mind the fire.

I wondered how she could be so patient with me. Sitting there alone, I also wondered, as I had many times in the past days and weeks, why Miss Everett hadn’t come to Dr. Sadie’s door and insisted on taking me back. Dr. Sadie had told me that I was safe with her and that I would never have to see Miss Everett again, but in all the times she’d reassured me, she’d never bothered to explain why she was so certain of it.

After Dr. Sadie changed the calendar on her wall to a bright, unmarked F
EBRUARY
1872, I decided I would go to see Mr. Dink. Worried that I had overstayed my welcome in the good doctor’s home, I wanted to speak with him about gaining a position at the museum, perhaps assisting Miss LeMar and Miss Eva with the costumes in the rooms under the theatre. Even with Mr. Dink watching over me, I didn’t want to risk Mr. Wentworth seeing me there.

“Do you think he’ll have me?” I asked Dr. Sadie, hoping she might put in a good word on my behalf.

“I do,” she said. “But I’d like you to let me dress you for the occasion.”

Thinking my walking suit better than any other choice she might have in mind, I said, “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Do you trust me?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

As soon as I’d given her my reply, she sat down at her desk to pen a letter, sending word to Miss LeMar and Miss Eva Ivan to ask if the two ladies might be willing to “assist a young girl in making a bit of magic.”

“Two thousand dollars,” I said, looking across the table at Mr. Dink.

Deep in thought, he stroked his chin.

I was about to take it back and tell him he could make me an offer instead, but Miss LeMar, who was sitting to my right, gave me a stern look as if to say
hold your ground
. Miss Eva, who was on my left, did the same.

My costume was made from fine, embroidered silk. The skirt had several rows of ruffles, and I wore a robe that went all the way down to the floor. The sideshow ladies had used beer to fashion my already unruly hair into the full mane of a “moss-haired girl.” I was now a Circassian Beauty.

“Seventeen hundred,” Mr. Dink countered.

“That’s an insult,” Miss Eva said, crossing her arms. Miss LeMar whispered, “Tell him you’ll go to Barnum.”

“Two thousand and not a penny less,” I said. “Any respectable impresario or curiosity hunter will offer me at least that.”

“That’s highway robbery, my dear girl!” he exclaimed.

“Two thousand,” I repeated to Mr. Dink with a smile. “And you’ll also have my undying loyalty.”

He gave me a big grin and stuck out his hand. “It’s only because you remind me of a girl I once knew,” he said as we shook to seal the bargain. “Miss Fenwick I believe was her name,” he added with a wink.

After discussing a few more details, he said I’d need to get my picture taken as soon as possible, so he could put my image on a
carte de visite
. “Mr. Sarony is a magician with that camera of his,” Mr. Dink said. “He makes stars out of sunshine, silver nitrate and glass.”

The photographer’s studio was in the top of a building on Union Square. All the notable actors and actresses of the day went to see Mr. Sarony there: Mr. Joseph Jackson, Miss Lotta Crabtree, Mr. George Fox, Miss Susie Lowe. Mr. Dink said that their fame had come soon after Mr. Sarony made their portraits and that he expected the same would happen to me.

He arranged for me to stay at the Astor Place Hotel the night before I was to see the photographer. He said it was important that I feel comfortable and have all the necessities at my disposal. “Please think nothing of the cost.”

Dr. Sadie stayed with me in the suite, and we ordered milk and cakes to be sent to our room before bedtime. I called for the maid three times more, just so I could have three extra pillows for my head. I didn’t want my curls to lose their shape overnight.

In the morning Mr. Dink and I travelled by private carriage to the studio. Mr. Sarony’s reception room was filled with all sorts of unusual things, almost as strange as those Mr. Dink had in his museum. There were paintings and pictures hung all over, of angels and saints and ladies with nothing but flowers in their hair. There were shields and swords leaning along the walls, and animal heads, open-mouthed and staring from every corner. A crocodile, just as pale and white as Miss LeMar, was suspended from the ceiling.

Before long, a lovely woman with a long striped scarf around her head came down the stairs. She motioned for me to follow her. As I approached the staircase, I made room for an earlier client, a gentleman, who was making his way out carrying another man on his back. The second man had his arms draped over the first man’s shoulders and was holding tight as the first gentleman took one careful step at a time. As they passed me, I could see that the man being carried had no legs.

Both stopped to look at me and smile. “He’s Jerome,” the first man said of the man on his back. “He don’t speak.”

Jerome had dark eyes that made me think of Cadet and I hoped that he might be set to appear at Mr. Dink’s, and that I’d see him again.

“Mr. Dink’s beauty to see you, sir,” the woman said when we finally entered the studio.

Hearing her words, I found it wonderful, even unbelievable, that she could be referring to me.

Mr. Sarony was something of a spectacle himself. Dressed in a bright red jacket, he wore a soft velvet fez on his head. His hands moved constantly as he talked and every so often he’d reach up to his head and take the fat tassel that was hanging from his fez and flip it over to the other side.

“I’ve been waiting for you!” he cried as he took my hand and kissed it. “This is your first picture ever?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said, looking me up and down, tilting his head back and forth.

The sun was filling the room through a large slanted skylight, making the blue paint on the walls appear to glow. Mr. Sarony hurried to the corner of the room closest to the window and began moving things around. After spreading out a beautiful rug woven with patterns of ribbons and flowers, he brought out several vases, a large stringed instrument and six tambourines. In the middle of all that, he put a chair. It was covered in green velvet and the wood on the arms and legs had been carved into lovely flowing scrolls.

Patting the cushion, he said, “Please, come sit.”

After I was seated, he came to me with a mirror in his hand. “What do you want people to see?” he asked, putting the mirror in front of my face.

“I don’t know. I thought that was up to you.”

“No, no, no,” he said, shaking his head so hard he set the tassel on his hat to swinging. “You can’t leave that up to me. When I look through my box, you’re far away, upside down. It’s you who has to make the picture. You decide.”

I paused for a moment, but nothing came to mind. “I can’t think of anything,” I replied, wondering if I’d come so far only to disappoint Mr. Dink, and myself.

“Lady Mephistopheles,” he said, making more gestures with his hands. “She thinks of fire, of course. Miss Suzie Lowe, she thinks of love. Miss Lotta Crabtree, she won’t say, she keeps it a secret. You see?”

“I think so,” I said, still without any idea of what to hold in my thoughts while he was behind the camera.

Bringing three metal contraptions over to me, he said, “Head and arm clamps. They keep you still while I take the picture. It takes a bit of time.”

I pulled away as he stretched the clamp for my head up the length of my back and nestled its cold tines against the back of my skull.

“You must relax,” he scolded.

I tried my best not to flinch as he worked to get me into the position he wanted. As I breathed in, I could smell lavender oil mixed with the strong sweet stink of something else I couldn’t name. It reminded me of Dr. Sadie and the way she sometimes smelled after coming back from the infirmary. I wondered to myself what Mr. Sarony would think if I asked him to take the lady doctor’s portrait with her skeleton.