Now, Lilly sat in the rectangle of sunlight coming in through the open window of the sleeper car and looked over at her twelvemonth-old daughter napping in her cushioned crib.
In her deepest fears during pregnancy, Lilly worried her baby would be born with some kind of abnormality, either albinism or something else. She’d been lucky enough to fall in love and get married, but would she be fortunate enough to have a normal, healthy child too? Every day while waiting for the baby to arrive, she became more and more certain she’d only be allowed one of those things, not both. She never thought she’d be this happy, let alone content with this strange circus life that had been forced on her. Was it possible to be doubly blessed? Then Phoebe was born with delicate blond curls covering her little head, perfectly normal pink baby skin, and cobalt blue eyes, like Cole’s, shining like opals above her chubby cheeks. It felt like a miracle, almost too good to be true, and sometimes Lilly woke up in the middle of the night, panicked and terrified none of it was real.
After Phoebe was born, Cole bought a camera in a red case, and the walls of their car were filled with photos—Phoebe sitting on Pepper with Lilly, Phoebe having her face painted by clowns, Phoebe perched on Brutus the Texas Giant’s shoulders, Phoebe sunbathing on a blanket with Cole. On her first birthday, Lilly made Phoebe a stuffed elephant out of yellow and pink calico print, with button eyes and blue yarn for a tail. It was Phoebe’s favorite toy, and now, it lay beside her in her crib.
Lilly watched her daughter sleep, wishing she could skip this afternoon’s performance. Today was going to be even hotter than yesterday, and she wanted to let Phoebe play in a cool bath. She didn’t want to miss a second of her daughter’s life, but knew she didn’t have a choice. When Glory showed up to babysit in a few minutes, Lilly would go to the dressing tent and get ready to perform. After all, the show must go on.
Later that afternoon, while the animals and performers lined up behind the big top before the grand parade, the air seemed saturated with an eerie yellowish-green glow. The distant clouds grew dark and the wind picked up. The flags fluttered, the tents rocked and rolled, and the ropes stretched left and right. The monkeys whined and the hyenas howled, and the normally lethargic cats snarled and growled and paced back and forth inside their dens. The horses whinnied and danced restlessly in their hitches while the drivers held tight to their reins and tried talking them down. The handlers did their best to keep the animals under control, but it didn’t help. Even Pepper couldn’t stand still. Lilly told her to calm down but had to keep repositioning herself on her back every time she moved. Cole got down from JoJo, took him out of the lineup, and led him in circles to distract him. Hank tried to calm Flossie and Petunia by rubbing their legs and scratching their trunks. It was normal for the animals to get restless during bad weather, but Lilly had never seen them act like this.
“What do you think has them riled up?” she asked Hank.
“They sense a storm coming,” he said. “Hearing them snarl and whine and bellow makes you feel kind of funny in the pit of the stomach, don’t it?”
She nodded. “You mean a thunderstorm?”
He scanned the horizon. “At least that. But it smells like tornado weather to me.”
Lilly drew in a sharp breath. “Do you really think it’ll get that bad?”
“More than likely. When I first started out with a show in Hutchinson, Kansas, a twister just missed us. I won’t ever forget the way that air smelled. We didn’t have much warning, but we all saw the black-green cloud with its trailing funnel comin’ at us.”
“What did you do?”
“The roustabouts got busy grouping the loose equipment and lashing everything together with ropes and chains. We covered the animal wagons and dropped all canvas flat to the ground, striking all poles. A few seconds later, the twister was upon us, cuttin’ a swath right through the center of the lot. We were lucky, though, because nobody got hurt and we didn’t lose anything.”
Lilly gripped Pepper’s headpiece tighter. “Maybe I should go back to the car and check on Phoebe,” she said.
“She’ll be all right,” he said. “If there’s a storm, she’s safer on the train than we are out here.”
Lilly pressed her lips together and looked at the sky, worry knotting her gut.
Mr. Barlow appeared and walked up and down the line, shouting orders, his face dark and brooding. One of the lions reached through his cage and swatted at him with a clawed mitt. Mr. Barlow turned, outraged, and dragged his riding crop along the bars. The lion snarled and reached for him again. Mr. Barlow cussed and gave the cage another whack, then marched into the big top.
Cole brought JoJo back into line and climbed on.
“Your father thinks there might be a tornado,” Lilly said to him.
Concern lined Cole’s face, but before he could respond, Mr. Barlow’s whistle sounded inside the tent and the parade began. While the band played the grand march, the big top leaned and twisted, the great canvas ceiling and walls billowing up and down and side to side like a giant handkerchief. The majority of the rubes were oblivious, applauding and spellbound by the clowns and zebras and elephants circling the hippodrome. But some looked up and frowned.
When Pepper and Lilly reached the halfway point on the other side of the hippodrome, a smattering of heavy raindrops drummed on the tent ceiling. At first, the sound was barely audible above the music, but then it began pouring. Sheets of rain beat on the canvas like a hundred galloping hooves. The light outside the entrance turned leaden and the canvas ceiling grew dark. Lilly glanced at Cole, struggling to push down the panic rising in her chest. He nodded once as if to tell her everything was okay, and she forced herself to keep smiling and waving. Then she saw something move near the bale rings and her heart stopped.
Three birds had flown into the tent and now they circled the center poles, franticly darting back and forth, searching for a way out. A bird in the big top meant death for a performer. And there were three of them. Lilly’s smile faltered and she checked to see if anyone else had noticed. One of the female trapeze artists was staring up at the dreaded flying omens, along with the lion tamer and three tightrope walkers, all with ashen faces.
Nerves prickled along Lilly’s skin and it was all she could do to keep her arm in the air. She glanced at Cole again and said his name. He didn’t hear her.