Chapter 20
Clayton come to our performances regularly. Each night, after they ended, Papa give me money and allowed me and Laci to walk around with him for a little while. This was a freedom I’d never had before, and though I wanted to spend time with Clayton by myself, I figured Papa won’t never going to allow it. Two girls walking around with a boy won’t the same as only a boy and a girl walking around.
The very first night we rode the Ferris wheel, Clayton said, “Let Laci ride in the middle.”
It kind a hurt my feelings when he suggested the seating arrangements.
My face must have showed disappointment, because he quickly said, “In case she gets scared, she’ll be between us.” When we stopped at the top, he said, “This is about as high up as the pole I climb to do my dive.”
Off to my right, the twinkling lights of the carnival below reminded me of a night sky in reverse, almost like how the stars shone over the ridges of Cherry Gap and Cullowhee.
I pushed the thought away and turned to Clayton. “What did you think first time you stood there and looked down?”
“I was more afraid of not having a job. Considering all, I’m lucky to have had a way to work all this time. If I’d not joined the show, I was picturing myself in a soup line.”
“Least you’d a had the soup line.”
Our turn of hardship was still fresh in my mind, and I didn’t ever want to be that hungry again, if I could help it. The smell of funnel cakes, hot dogs and all sorts of other smells followed us everywhere we went. It was odd, but even with all this food available, I always seemed hungry. After the Ferris wheel we usually rode the swings, and only once did we climb onto some contraption what spun us in circles and plumb turned my stomach inside out. When I was finally able to get off, my ever-present appetite sank somewhere down into the bottoms of my legs. I tried to laugh it off like nothing was wrong, only I ended up sitting on a bench nearby. It took me several minutes before I felt better while Laci won’t phased at all. Clayton hurried off to buy me a Pepsi. I sipped on it, and eventually my stomach quit flip-flopping like a fish on the ground. We avoided that ride from then on.
That night a wave of homesickness bore down on me heavy as a sack full a grain, and for the first time in a while, I thought of Joe Calhoun and wondered what he was doing. How his boy, Lyle, and little Josie was getting along without their momma. Had he fixed his little cabin up, and what they might do for Thanksgiving and Christmas without a momma there to cook for them, to make their presents, to decorate a tree? My homesickness usually cropped up during quiet times, when we won’t busy, and so I tried to get real tired such that I wouldn’t have time to think sad thoughts of home.
Most nights we watched the crowd play games, or we’d go see the strong man lift the bar said to weigh two hundred pounds straight over his head, and ended most evenings by getting some spun sugar. I loved watching the man take a paper cone and swirl it around and around inside a barrel of sugary fluff being heated by some sort of special blower—as Clayton explained. You could see remnants of cottony-looking pieces floating inside it, while the smell of sugar wafted around us like the scent of honeysuckles, reminding me of spring in the mountains. Clayton would hand me the cone with a huge amount spun around it big as a beehive. We shared it by plucking pieces off and popping them into our mouths, savoring the sweetness.
Those was the good times.
Then there was confusing times when Clayton would get to asking questions about Laci. I tried to ignore that twisty sort a gut feeling I had, an idea he was starting to like her, maybe even better than me. It tried to eat its way into me like a worm into an apple. I argued with myself as to why, while simultaneously holding on to the fact he’d kissed me, after all, and most likely only wanted to know about the one person I spent the most time with.
Clayton’s questions was mostly about her musical ability. “How’d she learn to play all of them songs?”
I told him about being in the church years ago, and how she’d watched a lady playing piano, then played the song from memory.
“Somehow she does it. She hears it played once or twice, and she can play it.”
Clayton was intrigued, and he stared at Laci with a hint of awe. On a different night he tackled another topic.
He said, “Laci’s never talked? At all?”
“ No. ”
“Since she was born?”
“That’s right.”
“What you reckon is wrong with her? She’s got to be real smart, playing music, and all.”
“She is smart. Smarter than most. You know, Clayton. She’s sitting right here. Ain’t like she can’t hear us.”
“Oh, right.” He leaned over and whispered in my ear. “What you reckon caused it?”
I sighed. “The granny woman said she was the color of a blueberry when she come out.”
“And it caused her to be like that?”
“I guess so.”
Another night, he suggested asking her questions.
“What for?”
“Just to see.”
“To see . . . what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she’ll say something.”
These conversations frustrated me. “Why would she all the sudden talk? I’ve talked to her every day since I can remember and she ain’t never spoke a word to me. Besides, she ain’t some experiment. She ain’t one a them sideshow freaks.”
His mouth dropped open, and then he shut it, and his face turned red.
“I didn’t mean nothing by it.”
I was conflicted, wanting to spend time with him as long as I could while at the same time I wanted him to stop asking questions about Laci, especially with her sitting right there. What did we know about what she might think or feel? And why didn’t he ever ask anything about me, about what I liked to do, and about what I wanted?
One night, after he’d started the questions about Laci again, I jumped up and said, “We got to go.”
Clayton said, “Tomorrow?”
I acted like I didn’t hear him and walked away, Laci’s cool, dry hand stuffed inside my sweaty one.
He called out, “Wallis Ann? Wallis Ann!” and I kept right on going.
That night I wrestled the sheet on my cot into a ball of worry over how rude I’d been.
* * *
I wanted to go find him the next morning, let him know I was sorry, except right after we had breakfast, Papa said, “We’re going into town to get a few things.”
I tried to look for him as we walked to the other side of the carnival to get the truck. We passed by his small tent near his diving pole, and the flap was pushed aside, but he was nowhere in sight.
Papa drove to Tucker’s Branch, a typical little town with a few houses set on the hillside looking over the railroad track that followed along a road barely big enough for two cars to pass on either side. There was a small store similar to Dewey’s, the sort of store what had everything. Farm supplies, food, tools, whatever they could get by train, I suppose. Papa pulled out some money and counted a few bills.
He said, “Time you girls had you some shoes and new dresses.”
This was another experience we’d never had, store-bought dresses, so this was a new and exciting thing what lifted my mood some.
Momma, worry making her words sharp, said, “We ought not spend our money so soon. We ought to save it and get ourselves back home where we belong.” Then she glanced at mine and Laci’s bare feet, and sighed, softening. “I reckon these girls need shoes, though.”
Papa said, “It’s all right, Momma, everything’s gonna be fine. We’ll make the money back.”
Not only did we get new shoes, we got two new dresses each. I tried mine on, the first one a navy blue and green plaid, and the other a bright red with a black collar. I felt like a brand-new person, like I’d shed my old skin the way a snake does. I couldn’t deny I hoped the dresses would catch Clayton’s eye. After I’d finished trying mine on, Laci tried on hers. One was a deep green with a white collar, a color what brung out her eyes and hair. Laci looked right pretty in it, but it was the other dress what made me go still. It was lavender, a fetching color for Laci, only it was the way it fit her frame and it give me the thought I would never look like that in a dress. My dresses lost some of their appeal.
Even Papa said, “Hooey! I don’t know if I ought to buy that one or not. Might get them young bucks too riled up.”
Momma looked hesitant, then she said, “Our Laci’s turned into a young lady, and it’s high time she looked it.”
Momma picked out two for herself, both flowered. Papa got two shirts and a pair of coveralls. She picked out a pair of shoes, and Papa looked at a shotgun, hefting it to his shoulder and peering down the barrel. His decision made, he took all the items to the front to pay while we went outside to wait for him in the truck. It was a pretty day, hard to believe it was almost Thanksgiving since it felt warm, with the previous cold we’d experienced on Stampers Creek a long-ago memory. Papa come out of the store with the packages all wrapped in paper, and tied with string.
Momma said, “I can’t remember last time we had boughten clothes from a store,” as if she was sad about having to do so.
Papa said, “I think it’s been since the first year we got married. Before I bought you the sewing machine for Christmas.”
Momma nodded. “I think you’re right.” She sighed. “Hard to believe we lost so much in that awful flood.”
Papa said, “Now, Momma.”
When we parked in the dusty lot beside the row of tents, I thought on Stampers Creek, the taller peaks and valleys, and the early morning mist settling in the hollers, created a feeling similar to the sensation I got riding on the downward turn of the Ferris wheel. We got out of the truck, and all of us stood a moment as if to prepare ourselves. I could hear workers shouting, the clanging of somebody hammering and the screams of people riding rides. We walked slow, like we was dreading the chaos. It was hard getting used to the traveling show when we was mostly familiar with the soft rush of a creek, birdsong, and the lowing of cattle in pastures.
Before the show that evening, all of us took care bathing. Momma had found an old cast-off galvanized tub what used to be used for the elephants, and asked if she could have it. She set it in her and Papa’s tent and filled it with warm water. We took turns washing like we used to do at home on Saturday nights. We put on our new clothes and our new shoes, turning out fresh as if we was off to church. We stood admiring each other before we went to the tent cookhouse. I was feeling proud of my appearance, even more so when old Paulie noticed and smiled at me.
As I reached for a plate of food he’d fixed, he said, “Well, hey now, look at you, girlie! Ain’t you all gussied up?”
I inspected my dress and shiny shoes.
“I guess I am. Thank you,” I said.
After we got our food, we sat at our usual table and although no one else said anything about our crisp-looking clothes, a few of the working men cast looks our way, mostly on the sly at Laci, who ate intently, entirely unaware of the attention she was attracting in her lavender dress. It was hard not to notice how quiet it got when we stood to leave. I looked behind me as we walked out and every single man had set their eyes on her exiting the tent. Some leaned in, whispering to one another and pointing at her. Papa noticed too.
He muttered to Momma, “They better keep their eyes in their heads, or else. Not one of them is good enough for either of my girls.”
Momma said, “Maybe you should think twice about them rambling around this place, then, hm?”
I hoped Papa wouldn’t pay the comment no mind. At the arena a crowd was already starting to gather for the seven o’clock show. Soon the benches was full, as they had been since the first night. We didn’t waste time and got started, Papa queueing Laci to play something we hadn’t done before, one we could clog to. There was plenty of room on the stage to move about, so while Laci fiddled, and Momma sang, me and Papa showed the crowd how it was done where we come from. Our feet in our new shoes beat out a steady rhythm on the wooden platform, in perfect time to the tune.
We started with a basic step, the double toe shuffle, and then did a chug, and then added in other steps like wring the chicken’s neck, broken wing, and rabbit dance. Soon it turned into a variation of our own intricate steps, with some improvisation, a competition between me and Papa. We always had us good time, one trying to outdo the other, and the crowd began to clap in time. Some was familiar with our type a clogging and joined in at the front of the stage. Eventually we had to stop because we was getting out of breath and wouldn’t be able to sing a lick if we kept at it. After an hour, we come to the end of the show and Mr. Cooper who’d heard all the hooting and hollering from inside the arena tent come over and took Papa aside.
Mr. Cooper pointed my way and said, “Girl’s got some fast feet, but, I tell you what”—and he pointed at Laci—“that one there? She could be a real showstopper. I’ve seen the crowd watching her. There’s something special about her. She draws the eye.”
I was glad Clayton won’t around to hear his praise of Laci. I got to looking for him, and didn’t see him in the usual spot he watched our performance. And Mr. Massey said nothing to the crowd about “step outside and see our next exciting act.” Clayton had always performed every night, right after us, yet Mr. Massey had made no announcement.
I interrupted and asked Mr. Cooper, “Ain’t there any high dive show tonight?”
He said, “Young Clayton seems to think we’ll get bigger crowds if he only performs a few nights a week, instead of every night. We’ll have to see.”
I wanted to ask where he was, only I didn’t dare in front of Momma and Papa.
Mr. Cooper looked at his watch and said, “I got to go see about some of the exhibits.”
He handed some money to Papa and left. Papa jingled the coins in his hand, and as if remembering what Momma said earlier, he pocketed the money without offering me any. I told myself I really didn’t want to walk around the carnival anyway, yet the change of plans spoiled my mood. I was feeling the pinch of regret even more about the way I’d acted toward Clayton, now that I couldn’t fix it. I went into mine and Laci’s tent and flopped facedown on the cot. Laci followed me and sat on the edge of hers, holding her fiddle and plucking at the strings. I turned on my side, facing away from Laci, wondering where he was and what he was doing.
I hadn’t realized how tired I was until I jerked awake feeling like I’d been asleep for a while. Everything outside was quiet. The shows usually shut down around ten o’clock, and the stillness told me it was well past that. Also, there was no glow against the pale canvas sides reflecting lights from the rides. From some distance away, I heard laughing, and the high strains of an instrument. I slowed my breathing and concentrated. It sounded like a fiddle, yet different. Could somebody else play? I reached over to Laci’s cot. My fingers felt her sheet, a blanket, and nothing else. I leaned over even further, my hand moving along, up and down, expecting to touch her warmth. The bedding was cold to the touch.
Laci won’t here. She was gone, yet I lay there as if needing to persuade myself because she’d not done this in such a long time. Seconds later I drew the flap aside and looked towards Momma and Papa’s tent. Their own flap was down and tied tight. I could hear Papa snoring. I ducked back inside and pulled on my shoes. Luckily, I still had on my dress from earlier, so I didn’t have to light the lantern to see to put on my clothes. After I slipped on my shoes, I left the tent again, and stood outside for a moment, listening. The music sounded like it was coming from the other end of the tent area, closer to where Trixie and her family stayed, as well as Darren, and La Diablo. I hurried through the maze of tents, my ears tuned in and following the odd tune.
The first thing I seen was a campfire. And around the campfire was a circle of workers, men and women alike. I drew closer, unable to see who played this sort of music I’d never heard played before. It was different from the usual folk or gospel tunes we was used to and I began to feel scared. This couldn’t be Laci, and if it won’t her, where was she? I stopped and stood listening to the haunting, slow, pure quality of the music, so unusual and intriguing. One of the workers seen me standing a few feet from them, and he stepped back and I caught a partial glimpse of Laci, still in the lavender dress, and barefoot. The soles of her feet was dirty black, like she’d spent some time walking around. She was half hid by the others entranced by her playing and hadn’t noticed me there. She even moved different as she played this strange song, sort a swaying back and forth, her hair flowing like the music, as her fingers went up and down the neck of the fiddle. I come closer, and a few more people turned, poking at the person next to them, whispering and gesturing at me and moving off to the side to let me through.
Then I seen who was sitting right beside her. Clayton. He smiled at her as she played, watching her every move, occasionally looking at the faces around them, like he was so proud. Clayton’s gaze circled the crowd and come to the spot filled in by me. It did my soul some good to see him almost jump, and then look guilty and embarrassed. I didn’t acknowledge him, smile or make any move. I let Laci finish the song, and when she put the fiddle down, everyone clapped except me and Clayton.
Abruptly he stood and pointed at Laci with excitement. “Wallis Ann! I know. I know. I’m sorry! I’m sure you’re wondering how Laci come to be out here. It was by accident.”
I frowned. “An accident.”
He pointed to the fire eater, Diablo. “He found her. She was standing outside his tent. He has a phonograph and plays classical records all the time. He was playing Bach’s chaconne. She must have heard it and it drew her to his tent.When I seen her, she was standing with her fiddle to her chin, and sort of following along soft like.Then Diablo took the record off and she sat down where you see her sitting now, and she started playing it, over and over. We’re all out here listening because, I’m telling you, Wallis Ann, it’s unbelievable what she done!”
Mr. Cooper come from out of nowhere and said, “He’s right. Like I told your pa earlier, she’s got something extraordinary. I’d like to make her a solo act. Been thinking about it some days anyway, and now? After what I seen here tonight? It would be crazy not to do it.”
I couldn’t see Papa agreeing to this, and I said as much. “He won’t agree, Mr. Cooper. Laci . . . needs people who understand her, how she is. She’s used to performing with us, she’s never done it any other way. She’s particular about who she’s with, who touches her. He won’t allow it.”
“Seems like she’s doing all right, look at her.”
I glanced at Laci, who remained seated, the fiddle resting in her lap. She looked like she was quietly listening. Clayton sat back down beside her, grinning while a slow anger heated my chest, and flashed over me quick as a lightning striking in the summertime.
“Papa ain’t gonna agree to it.”
Mr. Cooper continued, “You leave everything to me, young lady. You’re not in the position to make decisions, you don’t know what I got worked out with your pa.”
“No, but I know my sister.”
Mr. Cooper’s eyebrows rose and his tone turned persuasive. “New experiences might be good for her. She’s been sheltered in them mountains all these years.”
What he said won’t true. Laci hadn’t been sheltered any more than me. I held my hand out to her. She looked at me, and I felt an unfamiliar sense of panic, remembering her unexpected moments of stubbornness. My hand, suspended in the space, shook slightly. Everyone looked from her to me.
Mr. Cooper said, “See, she’s . . .”
Laci stood and tucked her hand into mine, and I was so relieved my legs felt as weak as when I’d first climbed out of the Tuckasegee. Likely I’d only imagined the hesitation, but I was grateful any doubt on my face was hidden by the fact there was only a campfire for light. I led her away, saying not one word to Clayton, or anyone else.
As we walked to the tent, I was in a state of disbelief. Back at our tent, Laci laid down, and I crawled onto my own cot and turned on my side facing her. I reached out, touching her shoulder, waiting to see if she would brush her fingers down my arm. She didn’t. I listened as her breathing slowed down, becoming an easy in and out of a deep sleep. It was only then I closed my eyes, except sleep was nigh on impossible. My thoughts swarmed like gnats driven crazy by summer sweat, and I come to a peculiar conclusion. Lots of folks had paid Laci attention in the past, and it had never mattered to me much—not until Clayton showed up.
I’d thought of him as mine, and mine alone. I hadn’t wanted to share his attention from the beginning because his interest towards me at the waterfall showed he was truly liking me for me. He’d made me think maybe I was pretty, and maybe he’d like me in that way, the way I’d started to think after he’d told me I reminded him of that girl, Janie Mae, and how he’d pressed his mouth to mine. My thoughts had stayed on him, and the possibilities of our friendship more than anyone before—ever. I’d liked a boy here and there in my class at school, but not like Clayton. It dawned on me then, the reality of my situation. How was anyone ever going to notice me when Laci was always beside me?