I am so flooded with shame my consciousness flickers. After the urge to faint passes, I stare at the ground, sure I’ll never bring myself to look anyone in the eyes again.
THE FOX BROTHERS train has been moved off the siding, and the hotly disputed elephant car is now hitched directly behind our engine, where the ride will be smoothest. It has vents instead of slats and is made of metal. The boys from the Flying Squadron are busy tearing down tents—they’ve already dropped most of the larger ones, revealing the buildings of Joliet in the background. A small crowd of towners has gathered to watch the activity.
I find August in the menagerie tent, standing in front of the elephant.
“Move!” he screams, waving the bull hook around her face.
She swings her trunk and blinks.
“I said move!” He steps behind her and thwacks her in the back of the leg. “Move, goddammit!” Her eyes narrow and her enormous ears flatten against her head.
August catches sight of me and freezes. He drops the bull hook to his side. “Rough night?” he sneers.
A blush prickles up the back of my neck and spreads over my entire head.
“Never mind. Get a stick and help me move this stupid beast.”
Pete comes up behind him, twisting his hat in his hands. “August?”
August turns, furious. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. What is it, Pete? Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“The cat meat is here.”
“Good. Take care of it. We don’t have much time.”
“What exactly do you want me to do with it?”
“What the hell do you think I want you to do with it?”
“But, boss—” says Pete, clearly distressed.
“Goddammit!” says August. The vein on his temple bulges dangerously. “Do I have to do every damned thing myself? Here,” he says, thrusting the bull hook at me. “Teach the brute something. Anything will do. As far as I can tell, all she knows how to do is shit and eat.”
I take the bull hook and watch as he storms from the tent. I’m still staring after him when the elephant’s trunk sweeps past my face, blowing warm air into my ear. I spin and find myself looking into an amber eye. It blinks at me. My gaze shifts from that eye to the bull hook in my hand.
I look back up at the eye and again it blinks. I lean over and lay the bull hook on the ground.
She swings her trunk across the ground in front of her, fanning her ears like enormous leaves. Her mouth opens in a smile.
“Hi,” I say. “Hi, Rosie. I’m Jacob.”
After a moment’s hesitation, I extend my hand, just a bit. The trunk whooshes past, blowing. Emboldened, I reach out and lay a hand on her shoulder. Her skin is rough and stubbly and surprisingly warm.
“Hi,” I say again, giving her an experimental pat.
Her windsail of an ear moves forward and then back, and the trunk returns. I touch it tentatively, and then stroke it. I am entirely enamored, and so engrossed that I don’t see August until he comes to an abrupt stop in front of me.
“What the hell is wrong with you people this morning? I should fire every goddamned one of you, what with Pete not wanting to take care of business and you pulling a disappearing act and then playing kissy-face with the bull. Where’s the damned bull hook?”
I lean over and retrieve it. August snatches it from my hand, and the elephant’s ears settle back against her head.
“Here, princess,” says August, addressing me. “I have a job you might be able to handle. Go find Marlena. Make sure she doesn’t go behind the menagerie for a bit.”
“Why?”
August takes a deep breath and grips the bull hook so hard his knuckles whiten. “Because I said so. All right?” he says through clenched teeth.
Naturally, I head behind the menagerie to find out what Marlena’s not supposed to see. I round the corner just as Pete slits the throat of a decrepit gray horse. The horse screams as blood shoots six feet from the gaping hole in its neck.
“Jesus Christ!” I yelp, taking a step backward.
The horse’s heart slows, and the spurts weaken. Eventually the horse drops to its knees and crashes forward. It scrapes the ground with its front hooves and then falls still. Its eyes are open wide. A lake of dark blood spreads from its neck.
Pete glances up at me, still leaning over the twitching animal.
An emaciated bay horse is tethered to a stake beside him, out of its head with terror. Its nostrils are flared, showing red, its muzzle straight in the air. The lead rope is so taut it looks like it’s going to snap. Pete steps across the dead horse, grabs the rope near the bay’s head, and slices its throat. More spurting blood, more death throes, another collapsing body.
Pete stands with his arms slack at his sides, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, still holding the bloody knife. He watches the horse until it dies and then raises his face to me.
He wipes his nose, spits, and gets back to the task at hand.
“MARLENA? YOU IN THERE?” I say, rapping on the door of their stateroom.
“Jacob?” calls a small voice from inside.
“Yes,” I say.