After breakfast in the cookhouse, Merrick took her over to the sideshow to see the new canvas banner being hung outside the freak-show tent to announce her act. When they arrived, Mr. Barlow—in a top hat and jacket—and Alana—in a powder blue dressing gown—were there, watching the painter put the finishing touches on the giant image. Merrick swore under his breath when he saw it.
Lilly stared up at it, not sure what to think. In the image, she was ten feet tall, with her chin held high and her pale hand around a sparkling staff, like a white version of the bad queen in Sleeping Beauty. A winter scene surrounded her as she stood in front of an icy spaceship and an igloo. She couldn’t imagine why Mr. Barlow wanted people to think she was from another planet. What was she supposed to do and how was she supposed to act? And what happened if everyone found out they were lying? She thought about asking Merrick, but changed her mind. She’d ask Glory later.
“It’s perfect, don’t you think?” Mr. Barlow said to no one in particular.
Alana stood beside him, her fingers and neckline dripping with jewels. She hooked an arm through his and twisted her red lips, staring up at the canvas. “I don’t know, darling,” she said. “It seems kinda. . . what’s the word . . . off.”
“No, no,” Mr. Barlow said. “It’s just what I wanted.”
“For my show,” Merrick said.
Mr. Barlow kept his eyes straight ahead. “Yes, it’s just what I wanted on my banner, on my tent, on my circus lot.” He swore under his breath, then turned on his heels and walked away, swinging a silver-tipped cane and taking Alana with him. “Come along, darling. Let’s celebrate with a little champagne.”
Merrick watched him go, his face growing crimson. Then he grabbed Lilly by the arm and dragged her toward the sideshow performers’ dressing tent. “You better pull this off, or you’ll pay for it.”
Now, the freak show was starting in a few minutes and she stood trembling in her undergarments in front of a mirror inside the dressing tent while Glory fastened a fake diamond crown on her head with white bobby pins, then tied beads throughout her hair. Her hair was freshly washed and curled, and it spilled over her shoulders like a wedding veil.
“Your dress will be here any second,” Glory said.
“What am I supposed to do in the show?” Lilly said, her teeth chattering.
“Just stand there and let the rubes look at you,” Glory said. “That’s all. I’ll be in the booth right next door and the only thing between us will be a canvas curtain. If you need anything, I can be there in two seconds flat.”
Lilly wanted to ask what she might need, but she couldn’t find the right words. She stared at her reflection, trying to remember how to breathe. Everything about her was white or silver—her hair, the beads, her skin, the crown on her head. The only color was in her eyes, which looked like blue stones in snow. Behind her in the mirror, the canvas flapped open and a dwarf came into the dressing tent, a pair of high-heeled shoes in her hands, a shiny dress draped over her shoulder. Her hair was as white as Lilly’s, her face thick with beige makeup and pink rouge.
“Merrick sent these over,” she said, showing Glory the shoes. “He wants her to look taller.”
“Lilly,” Glory said. “This is Penelope Dupree, our very talented seamstress and sideshow performer extraordinaire.”
Lilly tried to smile at Penelope. It felt more like a twitch.
“Ah, yes,” Penelope said. “I’ve heard about you, Lilly Blackwood. Mrs. Benini, who owns the snow cone and cotton candy stand with her husband, Tony, wants to have you over for a home-cooked meal some evening. Elizabeth Webb, who runs the grease joint, says you can play with her kids anytime. And Madame Zelda, otherwise known as Mrs. Daisy Hubert from Queens, our gypsy fortune-teller, says you’re a Leo, and you’ve got wonderful things in store.”
Lilly tried to smile again, but she didn’t know what to say. The woman, like everyone she’d met besides Merrick, was being so nice. And all she wanted to do was go home, back to her room and Abby.
Glory and Penelope helped her into the dress. It was silver and white, with long, beaded sleeves and a billowing hoop skirt. Glory buttoned up the back, and Lilly pushed her feet into the shoes, holding on to the vanity to keep her balance. She had never worn high heels before, and when she straightened, she nearly fell.
Glory caught her by the arm and grinned. “You’ll get used to them,” she said.
“Never did like the things, myself,” Penelope said, lifting her skirt to show Lilly her feet. Her long red toenails hung like claws over the front edge of brown sandals. Lilly gaped at her, speechless. She didn’t think Penelope could wear regular shoes, let alone heels. Penelope laughed and dropped her skirt, then got on her knees to check the hem of Lilly’s dress. When she got up, she said, “You look beautiful, just like a princess.”
Lilly gazed at herself in the mirror. Despite the fact that her hands were sweaty and her stomach felt full of rocks, she decided Penelope was right. She looked like a princess from a fairy tale. But what would the people from town think—What did Glory call them? Rubes? Townies?—when they saw her white skin and spider-web hair? Would they be afraid? Would she make them sick? Would they hate her like Momma and Daddy did? She touched her thumbs to the tips of each finger over and over and over—one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four.
“Now remember,” Glory said. “We’re on until the show opens in the big top. The circus performance lasts about two hours. Then we do another show after it closes for the people who didn’t catch us the first time around.”
Lilly nodded and followed Glory out of the dressing tent and across the back lot, trying to breathe normally and walk without twisting her ankles in the high heels. Behind the big top, the circus performers and animals were getting ready for the show. Women in tutus and pink tights, men in red jackets or white leotards with gold-lapeled shirts. White-faced clowns in bald caps and oversized shoes, firemen’s pants and suspenders, hobo hats and patched trousers, their orange and red hair sticking out in all directions. Women and girls in sequined costumes practicing atop white horses with plumes of pink and white feathers between their ears. Draft horses harnessed to parade wagons, dancing nervously in their hitches. Llamas and zebras and animal handlers, lions and bears and monkeys in cages, leggy giraffes and elephants with tasseled headgear. The boy who waved at Lilly was there too, dressed in a tuxedo and standing next to the baby elephant.
Despite her nerves, Lilly slowed, unable to pull her eyes from the spectacle. The sun reflected off the sparkling sea of glittering jewels that seemed to cover everyone and everything. It was like a picture book come to life, but a thousand times brighter. Then she noticed the boy in the tuxedo staring at her and she looked away. What did he think when he saw her dressed like a princess and heading over to the sideshow? Did he think she looked pretty, or more like a freak? Why couldn’t she be like him and the rest of the big-top performers, beautiful and normal, admired for what they could do, not judged for what they looked like?