Now, Julia couldn’t decide if the bedroom looked like it belonged to a religious fanatic, or someone who made her living in a brothel. Everything was red except the furniture—the flocked wallpaper, the curtains, the rugs, the shams, the bed skirt and duvet. Maybe it was decorated that way to match the blood of Jesus. Maybe red was Mother’s favorite color. If she had a favorite anything.
Julia shook her head to clear it and made her way over to an armoire. Who cared why the bedroom was decorated in red? As soon as she could, she was getting rid of all of it. Besides, there was no time for reflection now. The horses needed her. Thankfully, the armoire was unlocked. She shined the flashlight inside. Dresses and minks and trousers and jackets hung in a neat row, as if their owners had put them there yesterday. Surprised to find more of her father’s things, she pushed the clothes along the hanging pole until she found his heavy barn jacket. She took it out, threw it on the bed, and opened the drawers of the gentlemen’s dresser to search for trousers and a heavy sweater. Traces of her father’s aftershave drifted out from neatly folded undershirts and monogrammed handkerchiefs.
She could still picture her father coming in from the barn, hanging his cap and coat in the mudroom, taking off his boots, and stretching his tired feet. She used to watch him in silence, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence. How she had longed for him to ask about her day, or tell her something about his. But every night it was the same. First he washed his hands in the water closet next to the mudroom; then he patted her head and trudged into the dining room to pour himself a whiskey or brandy. No “Hi, how was school?” or “What did you do today?” Right up until the day he died, he never took the time to find out who she was and what she cared about. And it broke her heart.
She could see him sitting at the table, waiting for Mother to appear with dinner and her steely glare. She remembered the time Mother told him to go back outside and park the old tractor behind the barn so passersby would only see the new one. The time she found out he had sold a colt five hundred dollars below the asking price to one of his friends. The time she wanted to press charges against one of those “wretched wandering bums” for stealing water from a horse trough. “They spread disease,” she said. Without a word, Father got up and refilled his glass, listening to Mother go on and on while Julia ate dinner in silence. Sometimes she wondered if she were invisible.
In the second to the last bottom drawer of the gentlemen’s dresser, she found a stack of wool sweaters. She chose the thickest one, tossed it on the bed with the jacket, then opened the deep bottom drawer. Inside were the flannel-lined trousers Father wore out to the barn in winter. She pulled them out and held them up one by one, trying to figure out which pair would fit over her pants without falling off. When she took out the last pair, a yellowed newspaper page came out with them. It fluttered to the floor and slipped beneath the dresser as if blown by an unseen breeze. She got down on her knees and reached for it, dust and cobwebs sticking to her hand, then gently pulled it out and sat up to read it.
Then she saw the book at the bottom of the trouser drawer.
It had a plain leather cover and a brass clasp to keep it closed, like a logbook or diary. Julia dropped the newspaper, lifted the book from the drawer, and touched the dry leather. A shiver ran like a current down her spine. What was it? And why had her father hidden it in his dresser?
She took a deep breath and opened the book to the first page. In her father’s handwriting, the first words read:
We have buried our firstborn. May she rest in peace. God speed her soul to heaven. And may God help us for what we have done.
Julia gasped. Our firstborn? God help us for what we have done? Who was her father talking about? Her parents never mentioned a sister. And what on earth had they done?
She quickly turned the page and read the next entry.
I can’t bring myself to write the words. It’s too difficult. The only thing I can do right now is ask God for forgiveness.
“Forgiveness?” Julia said into the silent room. “Forgiveness for what? What did you do?” She flipped to the next page, desperate to read more.
Someday, I’ll record the truth. But not now. Not today. It’s too raw, too soon, too painful.
She looked through the rest of the book. The pages were blank. She reread the first entries, then groaned and put the book back in the drawer. With confusion spinning in her head, she got up and looked around, suddenly overcome by the feeling that she was in a bad B movie. She had a sister. A sister who died. And her father blamed himself and Mother for something to do with her death. It seemed impossible. Unbelievable. And yet. And yet. Maybe that was why her parents were so unhappy. Maybe that was why Mother prayed and Father drank. Maybe that was why they acted like she didn’t exist unless she was getting into trouble. Maybe they didn’t want to look at her because she reminded them of her dead sister.
She scrubbed her hands across her face. My God, what other secrets did Blackwood Manor hold? What other lies had she been told? She picked up her father’s clothes and left the bedroom. Whatever sins had been committed in the past would have to wait. Right now, the horses—her horses—needed her.
CHAPTER 15
LILLY
A week after Lilly’s father showed up in The Albino Medium’s tent and Merrick beat her with a riding crop, The Barlow Brothers’ Circus set up near a farming town outside of Des Moines. Word among the performers was that it was the hottest week on record in Iowa’s capital city, and the air was breathless. When Lilly passed the menagerie on her way to the dressing tent before her first opening of the day, she noticed the sidewalls were rolled up and Cole and his father were carrying water buckets around to the animal cages. Rivers of sweat slicked their red faces and plastered their shirts to their chests.
Watering the animals was the roustabouts’ job, along with circling the lot with the water wagon to fill the performers’ wash buckets, spray the ground to keep the dust down, refill the drinking barrels, and hose off the elephants. She went inside to see what was going on. The big cats were panting harder and faster than usual, and flies swarmed around the horses, chimpanzees, and bears.
“What’s happening?” she asked Cole.
“Mr. Barlow refuses to bring in extra water,” he said. “So we’re hauling in as much as we can from a nearby pond.”
Lilly wanted to hug him. One of the things she loved about him was that he cared about the animals as much as she did. “I’ll help you after the show’s over.”
“Thanks,” he said. He mopped his brow on his shirtsleeve and refilled the water trough in the bear’s den. “But between me, my father, Dante, and Leon, I think we’ve got it.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded. “You’re going to be exhausted after spending all day in that hot tent. I’ll make sure you’ve got an extra water bucket in the dressing tent when you shut down for your break.”