Dumbo Read online

  If I met someone on my own terms, would it feel different? Penny wondered. Maybe if I sang to them, they’d actually look at me, not the shiny room around us. Maybe if we had something—anything—in common…She knew most men were only interested in her wealth.

  Up in her room, Penny wriggled free of her dress and ripped at the stays of her corset until it was loose enough for her to actually breathe. Throwing a robe around her shoulders, she sat at her mirror and began brushing her hair, tugging at the long, dark tresses.

  Without even thinking about it, she began to sing, notes cascading out of her, the music lifting her spirits.

  Tap, tap. She just caught the sound at her door as she paused between songs. It was too soon for her mother to have extricated herself from the embarrassment below, not that she’d knock in any case.

  “Come in, Helen,” Penny called.

  A cautiously optimistic face poked in, and then the maid entered, carrying a tray of biscuits and milk.

  “I thought you might like some refreshments, Miss Penny, since you didn’t have much of an appetite during Mr. Billings’s visit.”

  Penny smiled as she sat up and moved to the table and chair by the window. “It’s true, I’m always nervous during these meetings. Thank you, Helen.”

  As Penny dipped a biscuit in the milk and took a bite, she watched Helen tidy the room and turn down the bed. Penny often felt a stab of guilt as Helen did these menial tasks that Penny was perfectly qualified to do. Helen was up before dawn, stoking fires, scrubbing floors, chopping food, and doing whatever other task was called for that moment. She probably hadn’t sat all day.

  “Why don’t you get off your feet for a minute?” Penny gestured at the spare chair in the corner.

  Helen shook her head and kept fluffing the pillows. “No, thank you, miss. This is just the last bit before I turn in for the night. I’ll be resting soon enough.”

  Penny could hear the rumble of voices beneath them. She thought about her mother tutting at her all day, reminding her to sit up straight or commenting on how sloppy her needlepoint was—as if that even mattered. Lately every conversation turned into her mother trying to coerce her into a marriage of convenience. “I wish I could please her.” Penny sighed.

  “She has a high bar, miss,” Helen agreed.

  “Yesterday she told me I was a poor excuse for a lady and was better suited for a circus. She actually called me a freak.” Penny’s heart squeezed, remembering the disgust in her mother’s eyes. All because Penny couldn’t embroider in as tight a line as she could.

  “Oh, my lady, I’m sure she didn’t mean it.” Helen smoothed down the coverlet, then met Penny’s eyes. The maid’s eyebrows quirked up as she tried to lighten Penny’s mood. “Can you imagine—you, in a circus?”

  Penny smiled. “You don’t think I would make a lovely magician’s assistant?” she joked.

  Helen laughed and waved off the possibility, but something turned over in Penny’s mind. Was that idea so preposterous? She’d always loved when the circus came to town. The last time she’d been truly happy and relaxed with her parents was years ago, when they’d taken her to one. Fingers sticky from sugary treats, and dazzled by the music and lights, she had raced around, her parents following along indulgently.

  Maybe a circus troupe would be more forgiving of her flaws. She’d also get to travel, more than if she were married to some financier. She’d get to meet all kinds of interesting people and collect memories rather than trinkets for the mantelpiece. Shaking her head, she finished her milk and got ready for bed. If she were fast enough, she could pretend to be asleep before her mother barged in to scold her on yet another failure as a daughter.

  Once Helen had left her and Penny settled into bed, she allowed herself to sink back into what-ifs. If not the circus, maybe there was something else she could do—somewhere else she could go? But any relative would just cart her back to her mother. If she joined the circus, then even if her mother did track her down, she’d never ask her to return. She’d be too affronted. She’d probably spin some story of how Penny had caught pneumonia and perished rather than allow anything to tarnish the Davenport name.

  Penny would need some savings, as only the top-billed performers lived comfortably. She’d also need an act. Hmmm. Her voice was strong—that was one set of lessons she had enjoyed—but most circuses didn’t feature singers. Penny turned on her side, and her gaze caught on her bookshelf, where Hans Christian Andersen’s collected fairy tales jutted out from among the other titles.

  If Penny really wanted to cut ties with her family and upbringing, start fresh in a new world, wasn’t she like the little mermaid? Striving for something all her own? A new identity? It wouldn’t be a quest for love, though—quite the opposite: she’d be trying to escape the stuffy men and arranged marriages of her esteemed social circle.

  But just like the little mermaid, who hadn’t felt right in her scales and longed for human legs, no matter what she might have to suffer to get them, Penny was willing to make some sacrifices. She knew circus life wasn’t easy; living on the road couldn’t be, and she’d lose the comforts of her station. But that was a small price for the chance to be more herself. To move as she liked, without fear of destroying anything in a room full of ridiculously fragile tea sets. Nobody to tell her to walk more softly or she’d rattle them off their shelves. Nobody to try to squeeze the air out of her with a corset made for a younger Mrs. Davenport. “If it fit me at your age, it should fit you….” her mother had said.

  Maybe she could present herself as the voice of those whom legend believed to be lost to the sea—the citizens of Atlantis. She had secretly hoped they’d transformed into mermaids ever since first reading of the tragic fall of their empire in Ignatius L. Donnelly’s Atlantis: The Antediluvian World. Why not? If people could traverse snow and ice to reach the bottom of the world, who was to say the ancient Atlanteans hadn’t figured out a way to survive underwater?

  Penny fell into a restless sleep filled with dreams of mermaids and rolling country landscapes and brightly lit stages. And when the Medici Bros. Circus arrived in town two months later, she took the plunge.

  She dove from the tight-lipped, tight-minded upper crust into the welcoming arms of a band of misfits, and she never looked back. No matter how low the circus’s fortunes became. Not even when she ran out of savings, spending the last she had on medicine and blankets for her troupe. Her new family was worth it. And though she still couldn’t always shake her self-consciousness, they never judged her or made her feel inadequate. She was free to be whoever she wanted. And that was…Miss Atlantis.

  Milly turned to her final patient, stethoscope at the ready. She listened carefully, then pulled the tubes out of her ears with a satisfied nod.

  “Breathing normal, heart rate normal. You are cleared to perform!” Smiling, she set the mouse back inside its cage. He squeaked up at her, then tugged at the edge of his red ringmaster suit, almost as though he were adjusting it.

  Milly giggled. Timothy Q. was the most outgoing of the mouse trio, which was why he got to be the ringmaster in the “Greatest LITTLE Show on Earth!” His bossiness was also a factor—he was always chattering at his siblings, telling them what to do and where to go. Kids loved the miniature circus. It might not have been the biggest money earner in the Medici show, but Milly was proud of it.

  Picking up her notebook, she dutifully recorded Timothy’s health stats. A scientist (or doctor) needed to keep accurate data.

  “Milly!” Joe cried out as he catapulted into their small tent. His sides were heaving.

  As soon as she saw his face, she knew.

  “Another train!” he announced triumphantly.

  Milly leapt to her feet and the two kids flew through the tent flap. In the distance, they could see the smoke from the approaching train, and a long, shrill whistle blasted the morning air.

  “Niños!” Ivan shouted as Milly and Joe barreled past the magician and his wife in the middle of rehear
sal. “Wait! We’re coming, too.”

  Ivan hurried to free Catherine from the split box, but the children didn’t slow down.

  The Joplin train platform was crowded with people in their finest. Several locals drew away from Joe’s dirt-stained hands as he pushed through the throng, but others were too focused on the sleek black train that had just pulled in.

  Soldiers poured out of the carriages to find their loved ones, tears of joy glistening on everyone’s faces. Milly and Joe peered through the crowd as Ivan and Catherine joined them.

  Where is he? Milly felt a knot of anxiety in her chest. What if there’d been a mistake? What if he wasn’t coming home yet?

  A woman in an enormous emerald green hat let out a squeal as a young soldier picked her up and spun her in a circle. As he set her down and stepped back, Milly saw her father, Holt Farrier, emerge beyond them.

  “Dad!” Milly and Joe shouted together. They surged forward.

  He hadn’t shaved in a day or two, but his face was just as handsome as Milly remembered, his back maybe not quite as straight. But he was carrying a bag on his left shoulder, so perhaps it was heavy. Then he suddenly crashed to the ground, the bag sliding away from him.

  Milly started.

  Where his left arm should have been was just…air. His uniform sleeve had been pinned up neatly under his shoulder, as though the army couldn’t allow sloppiness, not even for a missing limb.

  Beside her Joe gasped, pausing just feet away from their father, who appeared to have fainted. As Ivan and Catherine came up behind them, their father stirred.

  His beautiful blue eyes blinked open and his gaze slowly focused on them.

  He scanned their shocked faces, then mustered an empty smile as he staggered to his feet.

  “I meant to tell you—in the letter,” Holt said, nodding toward the space where his arm should’ve been. His voice was raspy from disuse. “I just didn’t know how.” When the kids didn’t move, he gestured them closer with his one remaining hand. “C’mere. Hey, it’s me.”

  “Is the fighting all done? Did we really win?” Joe asked tentatively.

  “The country did. A lot of good men didn’t.” Holt’s eyes grew distant, and then he focused back on his son, a glow of pride lighting his face. “Look at you, growing like a weed. C’mon, you remember me, dontcha?”

  This time Joe didn’t hesitate. He flung himself at his dad, who tucked him in close and then turned to Milly. Her brown hair was longer, woven into two braids, and she was wearing a jumpsuit he didn’t recognize, gray with pink cuffs.

  “And you—you’re just as pretty as your mom.” Sadness spread over his face. “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t here.”

  Milly nodded, her fingers moving of their own will to the key she wore around her neck. “So was she,” she said softly.

  Her father turned away, his eyes brimming. She moved to his left, fitting herself into the empty space at his side and wrapping her arms around his still-solid frame.

  “We missed you,” she added.

  “Missed you, too,” Holt said. He gazed down at his kids, wishing with all his heart he could have been with them, with Annie. And wishing that he knew what to do now. Raising his face to the other performers, he nodded. “Ivan, Catherine. Thank you for looking out for them.”

  “Of course, Captain Farrier,” Ivan said.

  “It’s Holt. Just Holt,” he replied firmly. His cavalry days were over now. He spotted the colorful sprawl of the circus in the distance. “Don’t worry,” he whispered to his kids. “Everything’s gonna be like it was before.”

  Maybe things couldn’t be exactly as they were before—not without Annie. But Holt owed it to his kids and the circus to try. He’d spent long nights in the hospital and long days journeying home, all the while thinking up new tricks he could perform one-handed.

  As they entered the camp, things seemed the same at first. The sideshow booths and food stalls were still laid out around the main tent like flower petals, only now they were spread out, many missing altogether. Signs for the menagerie directed visitors to the back so they’d have to walk past all the other delights. And, of course, the main attraction—the Big Top tent—rose above everything like a palace. But somehow, it seemed smaller. Of course, it wasn’t; it had the same red-and-white striped fabric as always. Holt was the one who’d changed.

  Troupe members hurried over as word of Holt’s return passed like a wave through the camp. But their joy drooped at the sight of him. Holt awkwardly tried to duck his left shoulder, as though that would make a difference.

  Pramesh stepped to the front, embracing Holt tightly.

  “The very best journey: the road that leads home. Welcome home!” he cried. The large python wrapped around the snake charmer’s neck slid forward onto Holt.

  “Uhh, no hugs!” Holt told the snake as he wriggled away from them both. “Pramesh, I missed you, too. But what’s going on? Camp’s half the size it used to be.”

  “Hard times, my friend. For everyone.” Pramesh shook his head sadly. The snake coiled around his neck, its tongue flicking out in agreement.

  “Aaaaaargh!” An enraged yell broke the moment. The caboose door flung open and a barrel-shaped man emerged, his ruby velvet robe flapping around his ankles. Dark brown eyes glared out at the staff from under two bushy eyebrows and a dramatic top hat.

  “Attention, you hapless harebrains,” the man bellowed. “Why is rule number one called rule number one? Because ‘keep the cages locked’ is the most important rule there is!”

  The circus director peeled back his robe to show them the claw mark ripped across his shirt. At that moment, a small monkey face popped out of the lid of the top hat, grinning at the audience.

  Muffled laughter ran through the crowd as Max Medici continued to rail, oblivious to Barrymore’s presence. Miss Atlantis hid her smile behind her hand, but Catherine giggled openly and Pramesh’s eyes were twinkling merrily. Puck was the only one who looked nervous, shifting from foot to foot and scratching the back of his neck. The organ-grinder was responsible for Barrymore, after all.

  “And when I find that fugitive scalawag who woke me from my nap—” Medici cut himself off, as his troupe clearly wasn’t taking this seriously. “Rongo!”

  “Yes, Max?” Rongo asked calmly, stepping forward.

  “Who’s heading camp management?”

  “I’m the strongman.” Rongo’s voice was droll.

  “Yes, and we’re all wearing multiple hats.” Medici tore off his own hat, but the monkey swiftly transferred to the back of his robe. Medici spun, but didn’t spot him.

  Turning, Medici pointed a stern finger at Rongo, ignoring the clowns, who were doubled over in laughter. “You’re in charge of accounting and budgets and inventory, and that means animal whereabouts. I want you to track down that monkey.”

  Rongo eyed the mischievous Barrymore. The monkey had hopped down and was scurrying into a box Puck held open for him behind Medici’s back. “I’ll have a look around.”

  “Okay, back to work, everyone,” Medici proclaimed, setting his hat back on his head. The circus director stopped, his eyes widening. “Holt?”

  Holt nodded, a genuine smile on his face as he took in the familiar hubbub and banter, and Medici happily beckoned him up into the caboose. Milly and Joe trailed after their father into the small office. As Medici settled into the chair behind his cluttered desk, the Farriers perched on stools.

  “This winter the influenza hit us like a hurricane. Natalya, Vincenzo, the Vanderjees…and then poor Annie. She fought hard.” Medici tugged out a dusty handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes. “She was the best of us, Holt.”

  Determined not to let his emotions get the better of him, Holt straightened his shoulders. “I know. So to honor her, let’s have our best season yet. Now, where are my horses?”

  “Ah, funny story about that.” Medici leaned back, steepling his fingers over his stomach, his gaze traveling to the ceiling.

  “Funny how?�
�� Holt asked.

  “He sold them,” Milly and Joe piped up in unison.

  Holt stared at them. They had to be joking. But Medici wasn’t denying it. Holt pinned Medici with a disbelieving stare.

  Medici shifted uncomfortably, reluctantly meeting his gaze. “You were off fighting Kaiser Wilhelm. Lord knows I’ve been busy, too—battling radio and motion pictures. There used to be a hundred traveling circuses; now we’re among the very last.”

  “Our act was the soul of this show!” Holt exclaimed.

  “And first we lost you, and then Annie, to ride them. If only Milly had learned the trade—”

  “I don’t want to be a show-off in your circus,” Milly said firmly. “Riding sidesaddle, juggling plates—” Her father turned to study her, trying to hide his hurt.

  “See, she’s still impossible.” Medici shrugged.

  Milly lifted her chin. “I want to make scientific discoveries. I want to be noticed for my mind.”

  “Then learn clairvoyance or telepathy! Something I can use!” Medici waved his arms.

  Joe interrupted the familiar argument. “I can do a handstand for almost ten seconds,” he cut in.

  “‘Child Does Handstand.’ We’ll be bankrupt by July,” Medici said.

  “All those hours teaching you to ride,” Holt began, staring at Milly.

  “No, really, Dad, watch!” Joe leapt up and turned onto his hands, but he toppled over almost instantly. Sliding closer to the wall, he tried again.

  “I love him, Holt,” Medici muttered as they watched Joe collapse in a tangle of limbs. “But he did not get your athlete genes.”

  Holt turned back to Medici, his eyebrows furrowed.

  “Hang on, without horses, what the heck is my act? I can still ride,” he insisted. He instinctively tried to lift his arms and found himself raising only the one. He was doing those types of things a lot lately. Attempting to shrug it off, he continued. “We may have to forget the rope tricks, but the barrel jumps, speed runs…I had some ideas for new spins….” His voice trailed off at Medici’s dubious expression. “The crowds come to see me.”