“How could you?” she demands. “How could you do it?”
She has somehow learned my secret. About the German soldier. About the baby.
“I know the truth,” Astrid snarls, coming at me. I freeze. “How could you?”
Astrid nears, arms raised, as though she intends to strike me. I step back, tripping over the edge of a steamer trunk sticking out from beneath a berth.
Astrid’s face is inches from mine and I can feel her hot breath and spittle. “He’s pulled me from the act.” I realize she is talking about the fact that I had told Herr Neuhoff someone had recognized her at the show. She does not know my secret.
This is almost as bad, though. All of the trust I have worked to build with Astrid is gone. Her eyes glower like hot coals. “No!” I blurt. Despite his promise, Herr Neuhoff had revealed that it was me who told him after all. Now Astrid is out of the show.
“You’re a liar,” she says, fists clenched.
“There, there,” Peter murmurs to Astrid, putting a hand on her shoulder to calm her. But he does not step between us or hold her back.
“Astrid.” Herr Neuhoff steps forward, trying to intervene. “It wasn’t Noa...”
But she moves around him, still coming at me. “Are you trying to replace me, you little demon?”
The idea is so far-fetched, I could almost laugh aloud—if Astrid was not so angry. “Not at all,” I protest quickly. Her distrust cuts through me like a dagger. “I would never do that. I was worried about you.” I had thought I was doing it for her own good, but I see now how it must look to her. A few of the other girls have gathered in the door of the carriage, and they whisper, eyeing me with unmasked hostility. Performers do not tell on one another. I had broken a cardinal rule—and risked the show. One of the girls is holding Theo and I take him from her, clutching him close to my chest like armor.
Then I turn to Peter, who has been watching the fight. “She was in danger. You know that.”
He shrugs, unwilling to side against Astrid to help me. “You shouldn’t have done it. The secret was hers to tell or not.” But his voice carries no force. Deep down, he knows I had done it to protect Astrid where he had not dared—and is silently thanking me for it.
“I kept your secret,” Astrid growls in a low voice. I glance over my shoulder where Herr Neuhoff stands just behind me, praying he has not heard.
“This is different,” I whisper. Can’t she see that? I told in order to protect her. I hold my breath, waiting for her to tell the others that Theo is not my brother. But she turns away, still shaking with anger.
“We’ll need to fix the damage and take precautions,” Herr Neuhoff interjects, his voice more authoritative than I have heard. “Astrid will sit out the show for the remainder of our performances in Thiers.”
“But Herr Neuhoff...” Astrid begins to plead her case anew. Then she stops, seeing that she has lost.
“Can she rejoin us in the next town?” I ask hopefully.
“We’ll see,” Herr Neuhoff replies, unwilling to promise even that much. “Meanwhile you need to prepare for the show without Astrid. Gerda will catch for you.”
“But I can’t,” I protest. I’ve barely managed to fly with Astrid; there is no way I can trust anyone else. “I need Astrid.” I look from Herr Neuhoff to Astrid desperately, but she simply turns away.
“Prepare them for the next show,” he instructs Astrid. She has been removed from the act, but not absolved from the responsibility of having me ready. Astrid does not answer him, but turns and stares daggers at me, still not speaking.
“Come,” says Gerda firmly. “We must rehearse.”
I duck away and follow her from the train, grateful to escape Astrid’s wrath.
*
The next night, I stand alone in the dressing car, apart from the other girls. Astrid is not there and, despite the warmth and noisy chatter, the carriage feels empty without her. She has not spoken to me since the previous day, even at practice. She did not sleep in our carriage, going instead, I imagine, to Peter’s. When I passed her in the train corridor, I’d wanted to say something to make it better. But I couldn’t find the words and she’d walked past silently, averting her eyes.
I do everything myself now, the makeup and the chalk and the tape, my hands moving where Astrid’s had before. When I am fully dressed and ready, I start away from the train car in the direction of the big top. I scan the program posted at the entrance. My act has been moved to the first half of the show in order to give Gerda more time to cover both Astrid’s role and her own. As I read the program with no mention of Astrid, the events of the previous day and her rage at my betrayal crash down upon me anew. She had been removed from the show—because of me. My stomach leadens, first with guilt, then dread. How can I possibly perform without her?
As I start around the big top to the backyard, I see someone lingering by the edge of the fairgrounds. A man stands separate from the rest of the gathering spectators, kicking his foot against the dirt. Luc, I realize. I stop with surprise, jumping back around the corner. What is he doing here? He had mentioned possibly coming to the show but I never expected him to actually do it. And in my worry about Astrid being removed from the act, I had nearly forgotten.
But now here he is, standing just feet away from me. My heart skips with more excitement than it should. I start toward him, then stop. He is a stranger, and one who makes me uncomfortable at that. I step into the shadow of the big top once more. Wearing a crisp dress shirt, dark hair damp and freshly combed, he looks even handsomer than when we met. He seems uncomfortable, though, keeping his head low and taking in the scene from the corner of his eye. Out of his element, not at all like the confident boy I’d met in town. I want to go to him. But there is not enough time and we cannot be seen together.
The other performers are making their way to the backyard and as they assemble, Luc slips from sight. As he disappears into the crowd, I feel a slight pang, and I fight the urge to go after him. What if he realizes that coming was a mistake and decides not to stay after all?