“Because I want you to know if you try to run away, chances are you’ll end up starving and homeless, and the cops won’t waste any time sending you to a place like that or worse. That’s the first thing you need to remember. The second thing you need to remember is that I visit orphanages and asylums all the time looking for my next act. Kristi the pinhead came from the Waverly Hills Sanatorium in Kentucky, and I discovered Aldo the Alligator Man in Willard State. So if you give me a hard time about doing what you’re told, having you committed would be a piece of cake.”
Lilly said nothing and stared out the window. It was pouring outside, the green and brown smudges of trees and electric poles blurring past the rain-streaked glass. The clouds hung low and heavy, like ashes in the sky. She tried counting the trees along the side of the road but couldn’t see past her tears. The world was nothing like she imagined, and she would have given anything to be back in her attic room, even if it meant dealing with Momma. A surge of homesickness plowed through her, so strong it nearly made her cry out.
Later that night, as Merrick snored in the bedroom, Glory and Lilly sat on the couch, talking about the visit to the hospital.
“He’s right,” Glory said. “You’re better off with us, even though it’s not the easiest life sometimes. With the circus, at least you’ll have a place to lay your head at night, three square meals a day, the chance to see the country, and friends who look out for you.” She gave her a smile that looked sad and forced. “And for the most part, you’ll be treated like a person.”
Lilly was glad that Glory was trying to make her feel better, but she couldn’t push the images of the women in gray nightgowns out of her head. Visiting the hospital was going to give her nightmares for sure. “What kind of place was that? What was wrong with those women?”
“Danvers is an asylum for crazy people. You know, people who don’t know the difference between what’s real and what’s not? But some people are sent there because their families want to get rid of them, like my brother, Viktor. My parents put him a place worse than that.”
“Why? Is he crazy?”
Glory shook her head and began picking at the tiny balls of fuzz on her skirt. “No, he’s not. My parents left him there when he was five because some people think when a person looks different on the outside, they’re different on the inside too.” She looked at Lilly. “But we know that’s not true, right?”
Lilly nodded.
*
After showing Lilly the breadlines, the hobos, and Danvers State, and making sure she understood what would happen to her if she misbehaved, Merrick allowed her to walk the lot alone in the evening, when the shows and concession stands were shut down and the big top was empty. But only if the train wasn’t loading up to move on to the next destination, and they were far enough away from the nearest village so the townies wouldn’t see her for free. Glory thought it would be a good time for Lilly to start making new friends, because once the business of the day was over, everyone was ready to unwind and have fun. Maybe she could visit Mrs. Benini, or ask Penelope to introduce her to Elizabeth Webb’s children. But Lilly had other plans. She wanted to find the animal tents, or what Merrick and Glory called the menagerie.
On her first night of freedom, after Merrick and Glory took a cab into town to go to a club, she stepped out of the sleeper car wearing a pleated dress and black Mary Janes—one of several outfits from the Monday man. The sun was setting in the August sky, coloring the clouds purple and pink and orange, and the first stars appeared in the distance. Crickets chirped in the long, dry grass surrounding the dusty lot, and the dark shapes of birds flitted through the dimming light. It felt strange and a little scary to be outside without Glory or Merrick, so she stayed near the car for a few minutes to build up her courage.
Outside the neighboring passenger car, four men in polo shirts and pressed trousers set up a table and chairs while a pretty blonde came down the steps carrying a deck of cards and two bottles of brown liquid that looked like whiskey. Another woman called out from an open window to ask how many glasses they needed. The men and women were thin and beautiful and graceful, like the ballerinas Lilly used to read about in her books. Glory said they were the trapeze artists.
When Lilly felt brave enough, she moved away from the car and made her way along the length of the train. After passing the trapeze artists and another passenger car, she stopped to pet three goats nibbling on weeds near a telephone pole. Were they the goats from the boxcar where Merrick had locked her in a cage? Had they heard her screaming and crying? One of the goats lifted its head and rubbed its face against her hip, then went back to eating. Another came over and nibbled gently on the edge of her dress, wagging its short tail. The third one sniffed her shoes and socks and legs, then licked her hand with its scratchy tongue. It was almost as if they were saying, yes, we know who you are.
Glory said the goats were allowed to wander the lot during off hours because, according to Mr. Barlow, they brought good luck. She also said circus people believed the color green and whistling in the dressing tent were bad luck, a bird flying into the big top meant death for a performer, and the trapeze artists and tightrope walkers sewed crosses into their costumes to keep from falling. Lilly wondered what Momma would think of the circus performers using crosses that way. Momma said people were put on earth to serve God, not the other way around. So why did the performers think He would keep them safe?
Thinking of Momma made her stomach hurt, so she pushed her from her mind, gave the goats another scratch, and kept going. What seemed like a thousand different noises floated out the open train windows, each sound changing and blending into the next as she passed, until it faded and dissolved all together—a tinny voice on a radio, someone singing, people arguing, a harmonica, a man yelling, a dog barking, coins clinking, laughter, clapping, triumphant shouting.
Farther along the tracks, a scratchy, up-tempo tune came from the open doorway of a boxcar, the loudest music Lilly had heard so far. She slowed. Was someone having a party? Dolly the World’s Most Beautiful Fat Woman and Penelope the Singing Midget sat on wooden crates inside the boxcar, laughing and fanning themselves with paper fans. Wearing a feathered headband and a sequined blouse, Dina the Living Half Girl smoked a cigarette on top of an overturned wine barrel while talking to Spear the Living Skeleton. Ruby and Rosy laughed and danced with Aldo the Alligator Man, and two midgets, all four drinking from brown bottles. The twins wore long, beaded necklaces, grass skirts, and nothing else, their bare breasts bouncing up and down in time with the music. Lilly dropped her eyes and walked faster, hoping no one noticed her.