The headline of the article read: CIRCUS COMES TO LANGHORNE, PENNSYLVANIA. Below the headline, grainy black and white pictures showed two men in tuxedos and two women in evening gowns holding the halters of four white horses. In the middle of the horses, a man in a top hat and long fur coat smiled at the camera. Julia scanned the article. Why had her father felt the need to hide an article about a circus? She picked up the next item. It was a ticket stub from The Barlow Brothers’ Circus. She looked at the article again. It was the same circus.
The next clipping featured a photo of what looked like a pretty white-haired woman in a white dress and pearl choker. Her hair was swept back with pearl barrettes and she looked off in the distance, her mouth in a thin line as if she were trying not to cry. The caption below read: THE ALBINO MEDIUM. Another article announced the circus was coming to Saratoga, New York, and pictured what looked like the same woman sitting on the curled trunk of an elephant. This time she was smiling, one bejeweled arm in the air, her ballet-slippered feet pointed downward. There were more articles and ticket stubs from different towns in New York, Pennsylvania, Vermont, and Connecticut, all to The Barlow Brothers’ Circus.
Julia’s mind raced. Her father never her took her to the circus. So where did all the ticket stubs come from? Why was he so interested in this particular circus? And why did he feel the need to hide these articles and ticket stubs? Why did it seem like most of the articles featured the pretty albino woman? Was it a coincidence? Did they have an affair? Is that why he went to the circus so much? Was that why he drank, because they couldn’t be together? Was his transgression, coupled with the loss of their first child, the reason behind Mother’s misery?
Julia put the clippings and ticket stubs back in the book, shivering and more confused than ever. She wanted to stay in the den to keep searching for clues and the key to the locked drawer, but it was too cold. She needed to get back to the fireplace. Not only that, but she hadn’t eaten since morning and her stomach cramped with hunger. She left the book on the desk, grabbed the lantern, and headed into the hall.
In the living room, she knelt in front of the fireplace, trying to get warm and staring into the flames, thinking, thinking. A quiet desperation gathered beneath her ribs. She had to know more. About her dead sister. About her father’s secrets. About her parents and what they had done. A piece of burning bark stuck to the grate in the fireplace, turning gray and curling toward the chimney, hypnotizing her.
Three insistent knocks on the mudroom door made her jump. She got to her feet. Who could possibly be at the door at this hour, and in this weather? Claude had left hours ago. Maybe someone’s car had broken down and they wanted to use her telephone. Three more knocks, louder and more demanding with every blow. She hurried across the living room toward the kitchen, then stopped, suddenly nervous. If someone needed help, they’d be at the front door, not the side door. And she was alone in the house, two miles from the nearest neighbor. She blew out the lantern and waited to see if the person would give up and go away.
“Julia?” a man’s voice called.
It was Fletcher.
She let out a sigh of relief. “Coming!” she called out, feeling a little foolish. She relit the lantern, went to the mudroom, and unlocked the door to let him in. He blew into the house and stomped his boots on the rug, his face ruddy below a fur-lined aviator hat. He smelled like winter and hay and woodsy cologne. Julia’s heart lifted at the sight of a friendly face.
“What are you doing way out here at this hour?” she said. “Did you stop by the barn? Is everything all right?”
“The horses are doing great,” he said. “But I wanted to make sure you’re okay too.”
She smiled. “I’m fine, thanks. A little cold, but fine.”
“Do you have the fireplace going?”
“Yes.”
He hunched his shoulders and shoved his gloved hands in his coat pockets. “Brrr. It’s freezing out there. Is there anything I can do for you? Bring in more firewood? Check the faucets?”
She frowned. “Check the faucets? For what?”
“You should let them drip so the pipes won’t freeze.”
“Claude didn’t tell me that.”
He grinned. “I told you, Claude doesn’t talk much.”
“I know, but I specifically asked him about the pipes freezing.” She briefly considered asking if he knew anything about her dead sister, then remembered he’d only been working at Blackwood Manor a few months before her father died. Fletcher hadn’t spent enough time with him to learn anything about her family. “I was glad Claude made it over here to check on the horses, though.”
“Yeah, you can always depend on Claude for that.” He took off his gloves, went into the kitchen, and turned on the faucet just enough to make it drip. Then he looked at her and waited.
“What?” she said.
“Do you want to show me where the rest of the faucets are?”
She thought about showing him the eight bathroom faucets, but changed her mind. If all she had to do was make them drip, she could handle it. “That’s all right, I can take care of them.”
He shrugged. “Okay. What about wood, do you have enough?”
“I think so.”
“Try not to open the fridge too much,” he said. “Your food will stay cold longer that way.”
She glanced at the refrigerator. “Okay.”
“Of course you can always set it out on the steps, it’s certainly cold enough out there.”
“The refrigerator? I don’t think I can lift it.” She smiled and he laughed.
“Ah, that was a good one,” he said. “You got me.” He put his gloves back on and went to the door. “Well, I guess I better get going. It’s going to be a treacherous drive home.”
She thought about asking him to stay for a while, but didn’t want him to think she was flirting. After all, he could be married for all she knew. But then he started to open the door, and she realized she didn’t want to be alone. The words came out before she could stop them. “Why don’t you come in and get warmed up before you head back out? There’s food if you’re hungry, and brandy.”
He grinned, closed the door, and took off his gloves again. “Brandy sounds good.”
“Okay.” She went to the cupboard and grabbed two juice glasses. “I’m not sure where the snifters are.”
“No worries. I’m a vet, remember? I’ve been known to drink out of cow troughs if I’m thirsty enough.”
She made a face. “Yuck.”
“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. It’s especially good when it’s been sitting in the sun for a few days. Gives it that little extra zing.”
Shaking her head and laughing, she led him into the living room. The fire was dying down. She set the juice glasses on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Would you mind throwing on a few more logs while I get the brandy?”
“Not at all.”
She hurried toward the den to fetch the brandy, surprised at how happy she was to have a visitor. After the ice storm, worrying about the horses, finding out she had a sister, and the mysterious discoveries in her father’s den, maybe having company would get her mind off things for a little while. When she came back into the living room, Fletcher was leaning back on the couch like he belonged there, relaxed and enjoying the fire, one ankle crossed over his knee.
She held up the brandy bottle and smiled. “It’s old, but it should be fine.”