“Maybe he’s not really magic,” Jack offered tentatively.
“How can you say that?” Finney squeaked in astonishment. “Sumbitch, didn’t you see what he did? He turned into a flaming bird, he floated through the air, he became a bolt of lightning.” He leaned against the silent calliope. His brows lowered with his voice. “Oh, he’s magic all right. So it stands to reason he couldn’t be sick.”
He looked at Jack, certainty dark in his eyes. “Something very fishy is going on around here.”
They both nodded, slowly and solemnly.
Inside the tent, the curtain opened and Henry stepped out in his Henry-etta regalia. “Thank you, Louis, you darling boy,” he said, but worry dulled his voice. He spoke almost mechanically, neither flirting with the audience nor leering erotically at Louis. “Ladies and gentlemen, your master of ceremonies tonight was Louis Ortiz. Give him a big hand for doing a wonderful job.”
Louis bowed tersely to the sparse applause of the handful of people still there and hurried through the curtains. Henry watched him curiously, wondering what was going on, wondering what was wrong with Angel; he’d never been sick or missed a performance before. Then he began his spiel, but his heart wasn’t in it.
Louis walked quickly to Haverstock’s wagon and tapped lightly on the door. “It’s Louis,” he said softly. He heard a muffled summons from inside and opened the door.
Haverstock sat at the desk, leaning back in the chair, smoking a cigar with clear satisfaction. Tiny Tim sat dejectedly on the desk, as far from the covered birdcage as he could get.
“Did you find out anything?” Louis asked with conspiratorial glee barely suppressed in his voice.
“Of course,” Haverstock answered expansively. Louis had never seen him in such a good mood, as if he too were enjoying an adrenaline surge at the sudden departure from normal routine. “How did the hayseeds take Angel’s absence?”
“They weren’t happy.”
“Ah, well.” Haverstock grinned. “Life is full of little disappointments, isn’t it, Tim?”
Tim didn’t look at him.
“It seems that Tim and Angel went fishing this morning and met a girl. A very pretty town girl. Her name is Evelyn Bradley and she lives a couple of miles the other side of the bridge. Angel may or may not have gone there, but Tim tells me he was very taken with her. Go out and have a look.”
Louis nodded and the smile hovered over his lips. Haverstock waved his hand negligently at the birdcage. “On your way, dump Tim’s friend somewhere. We won’t be needing him again, will we, Tim?”
“No,” Tim said softly, fear and shame coloring his voice.
“Very well,” Haverstock said crisply. “Pull yourself together. You have another show to do in a little while. Louis, take Tim back to the tent.”
Louis picked up Tim and the birdcage. The smile settled on his lips like a moth.
23.
Evelyn Bradley got in the line that had formed for the second performance of the Wonder Show. It wasn’t very long; people were drifting away rapidly, looking at the sky with frowning faces. Already the wind had risen, blowing little spasmodic puffs of air that died as quickly as they were born. Then more people left, men holding their hats and women clutching at their skirts.
The calliope began to play and Henry came around the side of the tent in his green dress and ridiculous orange wig, carrying the cash box and a roll of tickets. He mounted the stool at the ticket stand and began accepting half dollars. He didn’t look at the faces as he handed out tickets, only the hands and the coins.
When Evelyn reached him, he tore off a ticket and pushed it toward her. She put her hand on the stand, but there was no money in it. His eyes rose and looked into hers. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes grew wary.
“I have to talk to you,” she said, but the calliope drowned out her words.
Henry’s shoulders slumped slightly. “Miss Bradley, please…”
She half heard his voice and half read his lips. “I know where Angel is,” she said.
“Angel?” his mouth formed the word. He looked around him quickly, then at the people in line behind her. He frowned and thought for a second, then said, “Wait for me at that house across the road.” He nodded his head toward old Miss Sullivan’s place. “By the trellis.” Then his expression dismissed her. He reached for the half dollar in the hand of the person behind her.
Evelyn left the line and found herself looking around, as nervous as Henry had been. The only person she saw was the handsome young man taking tickets, the same one who had been there the night before, the one who had flirted with Rose. There had been a break in the line entering the tent and he had looked up. He was watching her. He nodded and then began taking tickets as the line resumed.
Evelyn watched him for a moment, but he seemed to be taking no further interest in her. She turned and crossed the street, then stood in the gloom behind old Miss Sullivan’s trellis, which leaned with the weight of a massive trumpet vine. She watched Henry sell tickets until the line had disappeared. There weren’t many, not nearly enough to fill the tent. Then Henry looked across at her, though he couldn’t see her in the shadows. He picked up the roll of tickets and the cash box and hurried around the side of the tent.
The Wonder Show was deserted. Even the mass of flying insects was gone. The torches fluttered in the intermittent gusts of wind and the electric light bulbs bobbed spastically on the wire. The sign stretching across the entrance popped as it ballooned, then sighed as it settled back. Evelyn nervously plucked a long red-orange bloom from the vine and twirled it absently between her fingers. She couldn’t see Henry anywhere.
Then he spoke behind her and she jumped.
“Oh!” she said. “I didn’t see you come across the street.”
“I hope no one else did either. What do you mean, you know where Angel is? I don’t understand.”
She was confused. “I… I took him to Dr. Latham’s. He said it Was only exhaustion. He didn’t think it…”
“What was Angel doing with you?” Henry’s voice was bewildered and angry.
Then she understood. “You didn’t know? Angel ran away.”
Henry stared at her, a little moan escaping his throat. He sat on the edge of the porch. “Oh, God,” he said in a soft whisper. “Oh, my God.”
“Angel is all right. He’s not hurt,” she said quickly. “Dr. Latham said it was only exhaustion.” She didn’t know what else to do to ease his pain.
Henry didn’t say anything for a long time. He looked at nothing, his mind far away. A gust of wind rattled the trumpet vine. Then Henry looked at her. “What happened?” he said.
“I found him on the road. I was coming into town to go to a party. He stepped out in front of the car and I almost hit him. He was very frightened. He said he had run away from the…”
“He said?”
“He wrote it in the dirt with his finger.”
“Did he tell you anything else? Why he’d run away?”
“No. He just said that you and Tiny Tim were the only ones he could trust. And he seemed very afraid of Mr. Haverstock. He was so weak he could barely stand up, so I took him to the doctor. He didn’t want to go, but I promised him no one would tell where he was.”
“What about the doctor?”
“He promised not to tell. He said Angel was just exhausted and would be all right after a good night’s sleep. The doctor examined him.” She felt a hurting in her throat. “He has no vocal cords.”
“What?”
“Angel has no vocal cords. That’s why he can’t talk. He was born that way.”