Sweeter than Birdsong Page 10

  But the music was not delivering Ben, despite its rare virtuosity. Cornelia’s long fingers sent the notes out effortlessly, her head first lowered and then lifted, her body swaying ever so slightly with the undulating rhythm. An admirable musician, she held the rest of the audience spellbound in her sensitive hands.

  Even this fine music could not move him until he knew about the letter and his deeper purpose here.

  He should not have left Joseph’s Nelly in captivity for so long on the assumption he could do nothing. The scripture would not let him rest. Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me. There must have been a greater reason for why Joseph had died at their home—a chance to bring good out of tragedy. He could not bear the thought of anything less.

  When Cornelia finished her first selection on a resonant final chord, Ben took advantage of the applause to move to the parlor door. Its bronze knob was warm against his palm as he slipped out into the hallway, where sound from the parlor melted away into red-and-cream carpet and dark wood walls. Cornelia began her next piece: Mozart.

  He would go downstairs and inquire again for his mail with the hotel clerk. By the time he returned, she would be finished with the Mozart and he could rejoin the audience.

  The staircase was as empty as the hallways as Ben went down to the front foyer. The clerk, a runty man with mustache waxed to points, sat on a stool and scrawled figures in a ledger.

  He looked up and rose at Ben’s approach. “Good evening, sir.”

  “Good evening. Have you any mail for me? I am Benjamin Hanby, guest of Mr. Neil.”

  Recognition sparked in the clerk’s eyes. “Yes, sir. One moment, please.” He pushed through the swinging double doors behind the clerk’s desk and returned with an envelope in hand.

  “My humble apologies, Mr. Hanby.” The clerk bowed. “It appears the envelope has been damaged in the post.” He placed it in Ben’s outstretched hand.

  One half of the envelope was mangled, with a jagged tear as if it had caught on the projecting spur of a careless express rider. But that was mere fancy, as the mail had surely come by stagecoach.

  Ben maneuvered the letter from the envelope and opened it to inspect the damage. Good. It was all still legible. He folded it again. “No serious harm done. The letter itself is mostly intact.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The clerk was visibly relieved. Perhaps other guests were not so understanding.

  Ben shoved the letter in his inside pocket and mounted the stairs again. A few yards down the wide hall, a chair nestled in a secluded alcove. He made his way to the nook and sat down to read the letter in private. The Mozart tune still rippled, muted, through the closed double doors of the parlor. He had a minute or two before it ended.

  The paper was crumpled and torn on one side, but he smoothed it back together.

  John Parker

  Ripley, Ohio

  May 23rd, 1855

  To Mr. Benjamin Hanby

  In care of the Neil House

  Columbus, Ohio

  Dear Mr. Hanby,

  Ireceived your letter yesterday and made inquiries. The errand you wish is possible. The woman in question is still at the plantation across the river. Meet me at The Red Stag in Cincinnati on Friday the first of June, at the noon hour.

  Cordially,

  John Parker

  Ben read it once more to be sure he had the details by heart. He refolded it slowly, then placed it back in his pocket with a rush of exhilaration.

  Now, at last, he could go enjoy the music.

  Thirteen

  TODAY WOULD BE THE DAY KATE ESCAPED TO A NEW future. Her hands moistened inside her light gloves with each twinge of nerves.

  She stood on the walk in front of a canvas tent the size of a cathedral, supported by a tall center pole and tethers. Bright square banners announced delights within: Circus and Menagerie, Elephant Show, The Oldest Woman in the World, Lovely Equestriennes.

  Whatever had inspired Mrs. Lawrence to suggest a trip to the circus, there could be no more perfect venue for Kate to lose herself in a crowd and simply fail to return. She had given up on the idea of taking her valise, but her one gold necklace lay warmed by her skin under her high collar. Luck or Providence had brought her to Columbus and granted her free lodging. Now she would have to rely on the price of the necklace and her ingenuity to take her to Cincinnati. Her heart thumped under her bodice. She must not think of all this yet. The perfect moment would be after the show, when the crowd streamed out en masse. Her companions would assume they had been separated by accident and would not sound the alarm for at least half an hour or more.

  “My goodness, a real elephant,” Mrs. Hanby said, leaning forward for a better look at the strange creature whose head dominated the center of one banner.

  “And Royal Roman Hippodrome with Other Singular Curiosities,” Cornelia read from another sign. “Oh, I can hardly wait.”

  “Endorsed by the clergy, to boot.” Mrs. Lawrence pointed to a third, the feather on her hat bouncing as she nodded in satisfaction.

  Cornelia took Kate’s hand. “Let’s go in, shall we?” At her motion toward the entrance, Ben moved ahead to clear the way through the thick crowd gathered. Maybe it was his gentlemanly appearance, but the mob was remarkably polite, as several people stepped to the side to let their small party through.

  Ben stood in the cavernous entrance and surveyed the interior. “This side of the ring looks more genteel.” He removed his hat. “Perhaps up there?” He indicated an open space high in the steep tower of wooden seats.

  When his mother agreed, he led them up the stairs. The stands were rickety, and Kate lifted her skirts to clear each worn plank step without revealing an ankle, ignoring the curious stares of some of the spectators. At the top, she turned and seated herself beside Cornelia on one of the wooden folding chairs. Now she could sit back and enjoy the view, as jugglers performed for the crowd. Her spirits lifted like the pins that flew high in the air, each suspended for a heartbeat above life’s cares and even what the future might hold. She had never been to the circus. She wanted to see at least a little of it before her escape.

  An organ grinder stood with his cart at the end of the ring and cranked the handle with vigor. His jaunty march played at a breathless pace and occasionally twanged out of tune. Visible behind the others’ backs, Ben leaned back in his seat. He winced and squinted his eyes as a jarring flat note pinged at the top of the organ’s range. When she flinched in tandem with him, he turned toward her, amusement flaring in his brown eyes. Another sour note sounded and her shoulders hunched in discomfort before she forced them back down. His mouth curved—it was almost a smile—and she wanted to laugh. She would be gone soon—the strangeness of it made her light-headed and almost carefree in his presence.

  The organ grinder finished and pulled his cart out the side exit. The seating was filled to capacity, ladies and gentlemen, children and roughnecks elbow to elbow. All around the tent, men shrugged out of their coats as the temperature rose with the body heat of the spectators. Ben kept his coat on, but dampness edged his hairline.

  It was better to be seated here at the top edge of the stand, where one could breathe. Ben had chosen their location well.

  Cornets blasted a salute. A band in blue, brass-buttoned uniforms strutted into the tent. The audience clapped and whistled with the blare of their music.

  Kate peered around in the murky dimness of the spectator area. People still trickled through the entrance below her and to her left. A cooling breeze blew in from that direction.

  A big man strode in through the wide door, casually inspected a pocket watch, and then dropped it back in his waistcoat pocket. He did not remove his silk hat and stood off to one side. But she knew that gray hair and stout build. It was Mr. Jones, and Frederick behind him. They turned into the stands and sat in the lower tier.

  It would have been polite to invite them along, Kate supposed, but she was glad the Lawrences had not done so. Fre
derick’s clear courtly interest made her nervous, but with the Hanbys and the Lawrences, conversation was less loaded. She glanced at her companions, but they were rapt in the charge of six white horses across the ring. Women in vivid red costumes stood on their backs as if it were the most natural thing in the world, their slippered feet secure in two small rings over the horses’ withers.

  The equestriennes vaulted from one horse’s back to another, changing places with astonishing precision. A clergyman had endorsed this act, with women in their knee-length tutus and exposed legs in tights? It was no different from the ballet, she supposed. Nonetheless, she sensed Ben’s shyness from the determined set of his head, as if he dared not even glance at any of his lady companions while such a display of limbs occurred—not just ankles, but entire calves, practically even knees when the tutus bounced.

  Still, something called to her in the boldness of the equestriennes. What would it be like for a woman to stand atop two horses as a Roman rider? Exhilarating, quickening the senses. And they traveled from town to town across the entire country, seeing all the lovely and strange sights of America.

  The act ended with a human pyramid of three young girls perched atop the shoulders of the women as the horses raced side-by-side around the perimeter of the ring. The crowd rose to its feet, cheering and stomping on the planks of the stand. Kate’s companions stood up to maintain their view over the shoulders of the people in front of them, so she rose as well. The equestriennes took a triumphant lap around the ring.

  The vibration from the stomping sent shivers up from the soles of her boots. She sat down with relief when the cheering finished. It was exciting, to be sure, but so loud. Now the music gentled into a waltz.

  A huge beast shambled into the ring, its long trunk curled up to its forehead. The crowd fell silent. What a sight—she had never seen an elephant save in pictures. The elephant’s keeper raised his arm, and the gray giant reared on its hind legs and trumpeted. Again, the crowd to her right rose to its feet and yelled and stamped on the wood.

  A sharp crack echoed like a gunshot through the cheering. Kate jumped and grabbed Cornelia’s arm. The noise had issued from directly beneath them.

  “What was that?” The whites of Cornelia’s eyes showed in the half-light, her nails digging into Kate’s hand. Others around them looked down and jabbered in shrill voices. The brass instruments blared on, their sound adding to the din.

  Another sharp report. The platform beneath her groaned and then fell away.

  Screams sounded in the blur of motion. Cornelia’s arms held tight around Kate, who clung to her friend as they fell. A shattering boom like a cannon mingled with the shrieks.

  They hit the ground hard, the concussion knocking them apart. Pain shot up Kate’s legs and she collapsed on the splintered wood beneath her.

  Dazed, she sat motionless, struggling for breath against her corset.

  A horde of people sprawled on top of one another, to her right, in the wreckage of the stand. Screaming continued, along with cries of pain. Kate scrambled backward on her hands, away from the heaving pile.

  “Kate, thank the Lord!” Mrs. Hanby ran up and knelt by her, hair disheveled, tiny creases by her eyes smeared with dust. “Are you injured?”

  “I don’t believe so.” Her voice came out faint—it was still hard to catch her breath.

  “Let me help you.” Mrs. Hanby took her beneath the shoulders and raised her carefully to her feet. “There. Can you walk?”

  Kate tested a few steps. “I’m all right.” She almost had to shout to be heard in the horrific ongoing clamor. People rushed all around them from the other side of the tent. Most seemed to be running away in panic, though a few stopped to help the groaning victims. She was afraid to look at them too closely, afraid of what horrible sight might print itself on her memory.

  “Where are the others?” Kate asked.

  “I haven’t found them.” Mrs. Hanby’s reply sheared off. She seemed remarkably level-headed, but her hand trembled as she lifted it to rub her eyes.

  Together they edged closer to the mass of wood. Some people were crawling away. At least no one appeared to be buried under the heap.

  “Ben!” Mrs. Hanby jumped into the fragmented pile and began to pick her way across. A few yards away, she slipped and her hat fell off.

  Kate gasped, then called out, “Mrs. Hanby, be careful!” Ben’s mother paused only long enough to cram the hat back on her head. She clambered a few feet farther, then crouched down.

  Kate could no longer see her. She could not remain here while her friends might be injured ahead. A sour taste in the back of her throat made her swallow hard.

  She hoisted herself up into the splintered chaos and followed. A man grabbed her skirt, crying for help, blood running down from his scalp and into the furrows of his forehead. She paused. What could she do? She forced down a throb of nausea. “Mary, Mary, stay with me,” he said to Kate, his eyes unfocused.

  This was no time for weakness. She knelt and rummaged in her pocket. All she had was a handkerchief, but she gave it to him and helped him press it against the wound. Pity rose up in her and she kept her hands still and gentle against the man’s brow. But as soon as she lifted her gaze to the confusion around them, her horror returned in force, like a gust of wind pushing her off balance, making her fight for every small motion. She dropped the reddening kerchief and had to shake it off before reapplying it to the man’s blood-wet hair.

  “Thank you, miss,” a middle-aged woman said as she climbed next to them. “Charlie, do you know me?”

  “Mary.” He stretched a hand toward her. The woman took over his grip on the handkerchief and applied more pressure.

  Kate stood again and walked on. She grabbed a jagged spur of wood for balance. A streak of pain lanced through her palm—when she turned it upward, a thick, needle-length splinter stuck out of it. Even the pain did not dispel her sense of walking through a dream. It seemed as if it were not Kate herself but some other young woman who grasped the splinter, jerked it out, and continued.

  Mrs. Hanby knelt next to Ben, who was sitting up. He was pale, but not bloodied. A warm flood of relief poured through her, dissolving the strange dissociation of the moment before.

  But one of Ben’s feet was trapped under the broken planks, from the ankle down. She must get over there to help. Her pulse quickened as she looked for a path across the wreckage.

  “Kate!” The call came from behind her. The Lawrences. They stood dusty but apparently unharmed beyond the edge of the collapsed stands while people hurried around them. Thank goodness. Her knees weakened and she blinked back the pinprick of tears. No time for that, not with Ben still pinned in the mess and perhaps hurt.

  “Find a doctor,” Kate shouted, hoping they would hear her. “Mr. Hanby is injured.” They seemed to understand, for Mrs. Lawrence grabbed Cornelia’s hand and led her out of the tent.

  Kate picked her way across the buckled wood until she reached the Hanbys.

  “I can’t get my foot out of the shoe, so that won’t help.” Ben spoke to his mother with the halting rhythm of pain as he tensed the trapped leg and pulled at it.

  “How can we manage this?” Mrs. Hanby inspected the tangled pile of boards. They were woven together like reeds in a basket.

  “Perhaps if we move this one?” Kate pointed, then grabbed one end of the board and hoisted it with all her strength. It heaved up, but not enough. Mrs. Hanby sprang to the other end and disengaged it from another piece of the stand. They both pulled, Kate straining her arms as her corset bit into her sides, until her end of the plank slid two feet to the side, and Mrs. Hanby did the rest.

  Now just the one board remained on top of his leg. Kate went back to him. It was a larger beam, perhaps a support beam. “I don’t think I can lift it,” she said to him. A stab of anxiety made her want to sit down next to him and catch her breath. But she must not.

  Streaks of perspiration ran down the side of his face. “Will you bring me a pie
ce of wood about the length of my arm, if you can find one?” he asked.

  She nodded and cast about, narrowly avoiding a fall into a hole between boards. There. A plank two inches by four inches, and a couple of feet long. She wrenched at it hard until it came free from the one nail that still held it. At least she could do that much—she carried it over with a tiny surge of satisfaction that vanished at the sight of his pain-whitened face.

  “Here.” She poked it at him awkwardly. He inserted it under the board, in a crevice just beyond the tight vertex that trapped his ankle.

  He looked up. “Now place your hands next to mine and we will both push on the count of three.”

  She did as he said, conscious of the nervous dampness of her hands, hoping they would not slip.

  “Wait.” Mrs. Hanby positioned herself next to the wedged foot and laid her hands around her son’s trouser leg, very gently just above the ankle. “In case you cannot lift it out yourself.”

  “Good.” He held Kate’s gaze. “One, two . . . three.”

  He bore down on the lever and she leaned on it with all her weight.

  The beam shifted, only a fraction.

  Mrs. Hanby pulled the foot hard. Ben bit his lip and grimaced without sound, but his leg slid out from the trap.

  Blood covered the ankle below the fabric of his trousers and smeared his shoe.

  Kate’s head swam. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Surface cuts, I think.” He shifted to his knees and bore down on the good leg to stand up. “You see?” He looked triumphant through his pallor. Then he tried to step on the other foot and staggered. Mrs. Hanby seized him by the coat and helped him regain his balance.

  “Lean on my shoulders and we will walk out of here.” Mrs. Hanby still had to raise her voice over the shouts and pleas for help.

  “You are too small to bear my weight.”

  “We must leave so we can get you to a doctor.”

  “I will help.” Kate walked to them and stood at Ben’s other side. He braced himself on his mother’s support, then hesitantly laid his arm across Kate’s shoulders. The warmth of his half embrace seeped through her daze. It should not be pleasant, under the circumstances, and yet it was, sending a flutter like birds’ wings inside her. He began to limp forward bearing most of his weight on one foot.