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The new day started with the application of another coat on the wagon. Tauseret wanted to paint, but I assured her that she would help more if she told the children stories to amuse them. They were restless and fragile and needed distraction. She was bound to have a store of new tales, and Apollo must be plumb out of them. Tauseret sniffed at this suggestion, but Miss Lightfoot came to the rescue with her sewing kit and a shirtwaist she proclaimed would “do a treat for our new friend.” Tauseret, entranced by the calico, was lured away, and the children had to settle for one of Apollo’s games.
“Come to me often,” she ordered.
I suspected she was accustomed to obedience. No wonder that husband of hers had annoyed her. It was the nicest sort of order, however, I thought, and she deserved attention after all those years alone.
“I don’t think Dr. Mink will waltz into this farm in broad daylight,” said Mr. Ginger. “But maybe we should keep a watch just in case.”
He was right. I didn’t know what tricks might be up the skeleton man’s sleeve. I sent Bertha to watch through the loft ventilation slats.
Moses and Willie scrounged up poles from a shed, and I helped lay them across the rafters. We tied rope through the eyelets in two canvas tarps we found in the loft, and hung them from the poles to make curtains. They wouldn’t swing open, but the performers could hide behind them and come out front for their acts.
“They have no pictures of you on them,” said Tauseret to the assembled company. “In my dream walks I saw cloth with effigies.”
“We had to leave them behind,” said Mr. Ginger.
This distressed her. “But how will your ka be preserved after death?”
“No one is dying,” said Miss Lightfoot. She sounded a little shrill.
Mr. Ginger patted Miss Lightfoot’s shoulder. “There, there, that’s not what she means,” he said. “I can paint more,” he told Tauseret.
I hugged Tauseret to reassure her, and did so frequently all morning.
There was chicken again for luncheon, this time cold, accompanied by big, crusty loaves of farm bread and fresh churned butter. I called Bertha down to eat. Tauseret once more partook of the meal, sitting so close to me I felt electric shocks each time our thighs touched. The curious children watched each bite she took. “Careful she don’t spring a leak,” cried Moses when she swigged some milk, and even Tauseret laughed.
In between bites she endeavored to answer all the questions the adults had for her. Miss Lightfoot was delightfully scandalized by what Egyptian ladies didn’t wear, and Mr. Ginger was excited by the idea of Egyptian poetry and confused by their religion. I had to agree with him.
“Was there people like us, back in them days?” asked Mr. Bopp.
“Even among the gods,” she answered.
“People with alligator skin?” asked Miss Lightfoot.
“Sobek the crocodile,” said Tauseret.
“I’m a froggie god,” Moses crowed, and popped his eyes.
“Me, me, I’m a bear goddess!” cried Bertha, jumping up to do a little dance that had the other children almost crying with laughter.
“Perhaps not frogs and bears,” said Tauseret gently. “But there is a dwarf god called ‘Bes.’” She looked kindly at Mr. Bopp. “I thought it odd that one among us should share that name and shape. Perhaps she walked on Earth awhile and has gone back to the stars and lives there yet.”
Mr. Bopp looked away and didn’t answer, but he didn’t curse, either, so perhaps he accepted her compassion. I loved her for it.
“About the show,” said Apollo impatiently. “You have to be our talker, Abel, since you don’t have anything interesting about you.”
Apollo had brought lack of tact to a high art.
“So I shall,” I answered, laughing. “And we’d better begin setting up.”
The afternoon became a blur of activity as we rehearsed our acts. Willie and Moses took turns in the loft lookout post, and I noticed I wasn’t the only one who nervously glanced at the barn doors too often. I wished we could forget the show and leave as soon as possible, but we had promised a performance, and we would be good to our word.
Tauseret seemed quite happy to fetch and carry, and everywhere she went, at least one child trailed behind her. I was preoccupied with the creation of my patter, and I didn’t touch her as often as I had promised, although I did notice she wore her new calico unbuttoned a little farther than was necessary and undulated as she walked. “Look at this needle,” she exclaimed as I passed where she was helping Miss Lightfoot with costumes. “Isn’t it cunning? I never saw one as fine. What is this metal?”
“Wait until she sees a sewing machine,” said Miss Lightfoot.
“Abel!” Apollo ran over. “Can you be the first act?”
“Finally, appreciation,” I said.
