*
Julia spent the following week in the barn feeding the orphaned filly—she had named her Molly—every two hours. She picked up Molly’s bony, wiggling body and hugged her to her chest like Fletcher had taught her—one arm around her front, the other around her tail—so Molly would think Julia could lift her no matter how big she grew. Then she lifted Molly’s legs one by one to get her used to having her feet picked up to trim her hooves. In between feedings, Julia spent time getting to know the other horses and cleaning out stalls.
Whatever section of the barn she was working in, Claude stayed on the opposite end. He was civil and polite, but it was obvious he was avoiding conversation. Julia left the barn long enough to shower, change, and get something to eat, but her first priority was taking care of Molly. Everything else, the house, the questions about her dead sister, and any other secrets her parents had been hiding, would have to wait. Near the end of the second week, Molly started nibbling hay and playing with Samantha and the other foals in the turnout pen, and Julia nearly burst with pride.
The following Monday, Julia was cleaning out Molly’s stall when Fletcher leaned in and held out a yellow envelope. “I stopped by the drugstore today,” he said.
Without missing a beat, she yanked off her gloves, snatched the envelope out of his hand, pushed open the stall door, and handed him the pitchfork.
He jumped out of the way. “You’re welcome.”
She hurried along the aisle toward the door, the envelope gripped in her hand. “Sorry,” she called over her shoulder. “Thanks.”
Ten minutes later, she was at the kitchen table, the yellow envelope on the tablecloth in front of her. Nerves fluttered in her stomach. What if the pictures showed her father in the arms of another woman? What if they were photos of her dead sister? What if they were a record of the sin committed by her parents referenced in her father’s journal? What if they were more pictures of horses and she had gotten herself worked up over nothing? No, that wouldn’t make sense. If they were horse photos, the camera wouldn’t have been locked in a drawer. She took a deep breath, picked up the envelope, and tore it open.
The first black and white image showed a circus tent surrounded by circus wagons and draft horses hitched to drays loaded with poles and rope. The second photo was of a circus midway, crowds of people shoulder to shoulder between a row of freak-show banners and a line of striped tents with signs that read: COTTON CANDY, SALT WATER TAFFY, AND CANDY APPLES. The women and girls were in light summer dresses, and the men and boys wore white shirts, straw hats, and newsboy caps. A water tower rose in the background and the air looked filled with dust. The grainy scene reminded Julia of old photos in her high school history books. She squinted to read the words on the big top in the distance, and could only make out: BIG SHOW and MAIN ENTRANCE.
The next picture showed the interior of an enormous three-ring big top, with tall poles and rigging and ladders leaning left and right from the ground up through the canvas roof, like the colossal masts of a giant ship. Thousands of people filled the bleachers, and a man in a white suit stood frozen mid-step in one aisle, a tray around his neck like a cigarette girl. Four elephants lay on their sides inside the center ring, and zebras, llamas, and camels circled the other two. Men in dark suits gripped long sticks beside the animals, ready to keep them in line. What looked like the ringmaster in a jacket and top hat stood near the center ring, his back to the camera, one arm in the air.
There was another shot taken inside the big top, this one with empty bleachers and an informal gathering of performers posing here and there in separate groups. Six men in band uniforms holding clarinets, a tuba, French horns, a trombone. A group of clowns made up of midgets, children, and adults, in white faces, hobo clothes, bald caps, ruffled collars, dunce caps, police uniforms, and firemen’s hats. Four pale women in grass skirts, flower leas, and bikini tops. A line of girls in long dresses holding their sequined skirts out like fairy wings.
The next photograph showed a group of freak-show performers. A man wearing nothing but shorts and socks, his wrinkled skin covered in dark scales. A fat woman in a silk dress bunched at the top and bottom like a drawstring bag. A giant man in a cowboy hat. Several midgets in tuxedos and evening gowns. A woman with no arms or legs on a pedestal. A man as thin as a skeleton. A woman covered in tattoos.
The fifth snapshot was of a pale woman in a leotard and ballet slippers standing between two elephants. One of the elephants looked like it had been painted white, and the woman resembled the albino in the article Julia had found earlier. Her curled white hair ended at her waist, and her porcelain skin looked flawless. With one hand on the elephant’s trunk, she looked at the camera, her smile soft and content. If Julia was right and this woman was her father’s mistress, she could understand why he was drawn to her. Seeing her in an actual photograph instead of a grainy newspaper clipping or hand-drawn circus poster proved she was a stunning, almost ethereal beauty, with huge, soulful eyes and a heart-shaped face.
The next picture was the same albino woman in a lace dress and a man in a suit and tie. Performers from the other pictures surrounded them, holding up bottles and glasses and smiling at the camera. It looked like the woman and man were kissing—she was standing on her tiptoes and they were holding hands—but the giant man behind them playfully held a straw hat in front of their faces. Julia squinted at the photo and examined the man’s hands to see if they looked familiar. She couldn’t tell.
Hoping the next picture showed their faces, she held her breath, expecting to see her father looking back at her. But it was another group shot featuring tight rope walkers and pretty girls on horses, children in clown and cowboy costumes, girls playing drums in skimpy sailor uniforms. The last picture showed the albino woman with a plump, white-haired baby on her lap. This time she was in normal, everyday clothes, and the baby, who looked to be about three months old, was laughing and holding a patchwork elephant in her chubby little fists.
Julie gasped.
It looked like the same calico elephant on the shelf in her old bedroom upstairs.