“True enough,” Auntie says. She picks up her basket. “Come along now, Gretel, and we’ll see what’s to be done about your brother.”
O’Neill’s note crinkles inside my pocket as I cross the kitchen to refill the teapot, a secret treasure hidden among the folds of my everyday garment. If I must go to the show, I will carry it with me.
It is a more than adequate consolation.
A section of farmer Pinkney’s field is marked off with flaming torches, each as tall as a man. Within this boundary, rows of benches face a raised stage. Above the stage, lanterns hang from a wire and cast a warm glow on the plank floor.
The villagers gather at the boundaries, seeming to hesitate, as if going any farther would be equivalent to entering a fairy circle or haunted place. Only a few young people venture to the benches. They are wearing their best clothes, and so is Maren—whether it’s to impress one another or in honor of the rare event, I do not know.
Maren pulls me by the sleeve of my second-best dress until we reach the center of the third-row bench. Immediately, Simon Shumsky and Daniel Roberts take seats beside us. Daniel sits close enough to me that I can feel the warmth of his thigh through the fabric of my dress and petticoat. His breath makes no secret of the fact that he had onions for supper, washed down with beer. I slide closer to my sister and make use of my fan.
Simon flirts with Maren, and she flirts back. She is only playing, but he has asked her to marry him at least three times this year. He is neither very bright nor very handsome, but he is rich and determined. I wonder if she would have said yes to him someday—for all the wrong reasons—had she not been destined to become a mermaid.
The thought of Maren’s future form sends a shiver of dread through my body. How long will she be able to remain with us on the mountain? And who will take her to the sea when the time comes? I could never be brave enough to take her there alone. I have heard far too many stories of perilous roads and dangerous strangers. And beyond that, how could I keep her safe and hidden? Perhaps with O’Neill’s aid . . .
I stare at Maren’s pretty profile and try to comfort myself with the truth: my sister is not afraid of becoming a mermaid. She has spoken of it since we were very young, and never with dismay. Quite the opposite, in fact. I think the romance of life in an underwater kingdom appeals to her greatly.
If I were more like her, I might relish the thought of the feathers and wings I will grow one day if or when I become a stork—instead of accepting my possible fate without joy, as I do now.
The music of a flute wafts over the crowd and distracts me from my woeful reverie. Finally, the villagers dare to step into the bounds of the show, finding seats and shushing noisy children and spouses. Near the back of the platform, a red velvet curtain parts, and a woman walks to center stage. Her skin is the color of caramel, and her small, lithe body is wrapped in a sunset of silks. Gold rings adorn her ears and a diamond sparkles on her nostril. She spreads her arms wide and begins to sing.
She sings in deeply accented English, a song about a caged bird’s longing for freedom. Her voice soars and dips like a swallow in flight. Suddenly, or so it seems, the song is over. The audience applauds and cheers. Beside me, Daniel Roberts whistles—and then looks at me sheepishly and apologizes.
A short, stout, impeccably dressed gentleman takes the stage. He sweeps his top hat off his balding head and bows low. Then he says, “Ladies and gentlemen! I, Dr. George Wilhelm Hieronymus Lewis Balthazar Phipps, welcome you here tonight. You have just had the great privilege of hearing the beautiful songstress Madame Soraya of Gojanastani, the darling of the crowned heads of Europe and Asia. And now I present to you the handsome, the masterful, the celebrated Jasper Armand and his captivating violin!”
Dr. Phipps steps behind the curtain. He is replaced on the stage by a tall young man with a boyish face and a mop of brassy curls. He has the same eyes as the singer: golden-brown, like those of a mountain lion. He lifts the violin and, as promised, the audience is captivated.
Jasper plays with abandon, his face changing with each melody’s mood. He moves from gentle lullaby to mournful ballad to rollicking jig. The jig brings the crowd to their feet and into the aisles. Simon and Maren twirl and canter and laugh. I am pulled and spun about by Daniel until I am quite dizzy.
“Take your seats, if you please,” Dr. Phipps calls out when the music ends. “The great Jasper Armand shall entertain you again momentarily,” he says. “First, I must deliver unto you a message of the greatest import. As a practitioner of the medical arts, I am bound by conscience to speak to you plainly, to reveal the deep secrets of healing I have gathered. Open your ears to the sound of my voice, ladies and gentlemen.”
Dr. Phipps paces like a wildcat and extols like a preacher. “Have you aches and pains? Anxieties or doldrums? Skin rashes, stomach ailments, or digestive weakness? Have you women’s problems? Coughs or colds? Wheezes or sneezes? Palsies or poxes? Poor memory or trouble sleeping? Would you like to feel young again? Behold, I bring you glad tidings! I, Dr. George Wilhelm Hieronymus Lewis Balthazar Phipps, possess the miracle you have been longing for. For every health issue you might be facing, I have developed an effective curative.”
He pauses for a moment, using a bright-blue silk handkerchief to dab his damp brow. “How, you might ask, could one man find the cures for every sickness known to humankind? Well, my fine folks, I have consulted with physicians, scholars, shamans, wise men, wizards, scientists, and men of faith from across the globe. And the fruit of these studies is what I offer you here tonight: Dr. Phipps’s Special Formulas. I offer you balms, elixirs, pills, and syrups—each suited for your specific affliction, and priced fairly so that I can help as many folks as possible.” His expression of earnestness is every bit as theatrical as his speech.
He spreads his hands in a gesture of appeal. “Do not suffer another day, I beseech you. Visit the tables behind the stage after the show and purchase your new, healthy life tonight. We also offer fine soaps, tooth powders, painted fans, and gifts from faraway lands. Now, do not hesitate, my dear friends! Your miracle awaits you!”
I know he is a liar, for Auntie has warned us well of such men. But he is a skilled liar, and there is no way that I can stem the tide of customers rushing to buy his sham cures. As if to contrast the hectic movement, Jasper plays a mellow tune on guitar.
Simon takes Maren by the gloved hand. “I’ll buy you something pretty, Miss Maren. Whatever you choose.”
“That is very kind of you,” she says. My sister is never one to refuse a gift.