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We arrived at the next town, rattled and damp, early enough to set up the tents on a patch of common land between a wheelwright shop and a lumberyard, but too late to round up an audience for a show.
The next day was Sunday, and there would be no show, for the law said we were to rest whether we wanted to or not. I decided that throwing a knife for my own pleasure did not count as work, and I went off into the trees that bordered the river beyond our campsite to practice. It felt good to have my knives back in my hands. I took joy in the thunk of the blades hitting the stump I chose as my target.
Rustles and giggles from the nearby bushes alerted me that I wasn’t alone. The children must have thought they were fine fellows to spy on me. It didn’t take me long to find where they lurked, although I couldn’t see their faces. I pivoted and sent two knives smack into the tree above their heads.
They screamed, and instead of our children, two boys I didn’t know ran hell for leather.
“Oops!” I said. Then I couldn’t stop laughing.
When I came back, I found our children and Apollo gathered around Miss Lightfoot while she bleached a white patch into Willie’s hair with peroxide.
“This completes the Piebald Boy’s look, does it not?” she said to me.
I said I would allow that it gave a dash to his appearance.
I went to stow my knives and fetch the corn shucks I had put aside, after which I begged some thread from Miss Lightfoot and some stage makeup, if she pleased. As I twisted and tied the corn, I told the children about the incident in the woods, exaggerating the dismay on the faces of the locals and the screams they made. Much to my pleasure, the children found my tale riotously funny. I daubed little dark eyes and a tiny cherry mouth on the bundle in my hands and, at the end of my tale, handed Minnie her very own corn doll.
Minnie squealed with delight.
“Now you have a doll the right size to talk to instead of the mummy lady,” I explained.
Minnie blinked. “But she won’t stop talking to me. I should talk to her if she talks to me. That’s manners. She’s sorry the bad men hurt you, Abel.” Minnie stared off into space and hummed, then she sang the end of a nursery rhyme. “‘Here comes a candle to light you to bed, and here come a chopper to chop … off … your … head.’”
For a moment I saw an exotic garden, felt the grip of strong hands on my arms, and saw a glittering sickle blade swing toward me. I shuddered. How could she know my dreams?
“Are you all right, Abel?” asked Miss Lightfoot.
“Someone walked on my grave,” I said, repeating one of my mother’s expressions, and tried to laugh off the fear that surged through me. “I’ll make something for you next time,” I told Bertha, trying to push Minnie’s words from my mind. “And maybe the boys.”
“Not a doll!” exclaimed Moses.
“Not a doll,” I agreed.
Ceecee languished on the grass in the shade of Mink’s paneled wagon, once more in his flowered wrapper and turban. The smirk he wore on his face made my skin crawl. When Bess emerged from her wagon with a basket full of towels, he writhed to his feet and approached.
“Nice coiffure,” Bess said to Willie.
“Ceecee had the peroxide,” said Willie, pouting.
“Miss Tuggle, dearest,” Ceecee interjected. “I purchased a gift for you as well.” When she turned from him and wouldn’t take the bottle he offered, he dropped it into her basket.
She glanced at the bottle, then grabbed it and flung it at his head. He shrieked with laughter and ducked. The bottle landed at my feet. I tried to read the label, but it had landed facedown.
“And what else did you pick up at the drugstore, Theodore Spittle, you geek?” she asked. “Was it perhaps in a green bottle?” The smile died on his lips. Did laudanum come in a green bottle? I wondered.
“I’m headed to the river for my weekly whether-I-need-it-or-not,” Bess told Miss Lightfoot, and took her leave.
I didn’t think it wise to tip her hand like that. What had annoyed her enough to be so rash?
I picked up the bottle Bess had thrown. KOSMEO DEPILATORY, the label announced. NO BLEMISH SO TERRIBLE TO A PRETTY WOMAN AS SUPERFLUOUS HAIR UPON THE FACE.
Ceecee snatched it from my hand. “My dear,” he said. “You are the last person to need this.”
His comments stung. I stomped off, too busy stewing to see Apollo approach. He grabbed me by the arm as I reached my wagon. “What do you mean by telling the children you’ll take them away?” he demanded. He looked as stern as anyone could with tufts of hair quivering in his ears.
“Keep your voice down,” I said, looking around for Dr. Mink or one of the drivers. None was in sight.
“Bertha told m
