The Wild in her Eyes Page 3

  Babe glanced over her shoulder, scanning the stragglers. Will was only just turning away when she called out to him, “Will, be a dear and fill the tub in my tent, would you?”

  Will stopped on a dime and tipped his head in her direction. “I’m on it, Babe.” He was back in motion before finishing his sentence and disappeared behind a cluster of circus equipment Annis couldn’t begin to identify.

  While everyone else went back to work preparing for that night’s show, Annis followed Babe with shaky steps as her adrenaline released its final surges. Annis’s mind still lagged from trying to process her new surroundings and the lovely, strange, extraordinary people who occupied them. She kept her head down as she walked behind Babe, forcing herself to keep her eyes on the only familiar sight in her vicinity: the dirt beneath her feet. When they’d arrived at a small tent that extended out from one of the train’s cars, the swish of fabric drew her attention back upward. Babe held back a bundle of violet satin that served as a door and used her free hand to gesture for Annis to step inside.

  Inside the tent, lanterns hung from a multitude of hooks attached to every pole, support beam, and other available structure in sight. A different colored satin sheet adorned each wall in a delightful rainbow of deepest plum, light rose, earthy sage, and cornflower blue. Standing in the center of the tent was a vanity, complete with a large mirror and basin filled with clear water and fresh wash rags. Beautiful gowns of silk and lace were strung up from one corner to another like dancing maidens standing shoulder to shoulder in a fabulous kick line. Annis felt dreamy as she looked around Babe’s colorful oasis, filled with all the riches she’d likely collected on her travels. Handmade quilts hung draped over a rustic wooden bench, strange paintings and sculptures like nothing Annis had ever seen before were scattered about, some leaning against furniture, some displayed from hooks nailed into the tent poles. Quiet music hummed in the background and everywhere her eyes touched she saw color. Babe seemed to have an affinity for flowers. The small space was littered with vases, small and large, some luxurious crystal, some no more than an empty can that was once used for beans. Each one was filled with a different collection of wildflowers, all at varying stages of their life cycle. While some were freshly picked, with tight cusps still waiting to bloom, others had long since seen their days of blossoming and been left to live in glory forever, dried and dead, though still perfectly intact. Together they all emitted the loveliest potpourri, which wrapped Annis in the sweetest symphony of scents. However, she was certain she must really be dreaming, or maybe hallucinating—which was certainly possible, considering her exhaustion and dehydration— when her gaze landed on a hammock, in which sat a very large, striped cat. Though she’d never seen one before, Annis was certain it was a tiger. She had seen many a house cat—and this was no house cat.

  “Magnificent, isn’t he?” Babe said, admiration shining from her eyes as she looked at the giant feline. “Can you believe someone thought it wise to keep him chained in a cage? A beautiful creature like this?” She shook her head and furrowed her brow.

  “He’s not...” Annis paused, not wanting to say anything offensive to Babe, who had been nothing but kind despite Annis’s suspicious, sudden arrival and unkempt appearance. “...Dangerous?” She wasn’t sure why she was asking. Massive though he was, he was also majestic. He carried a sage wisdom in his aura that left Annis feeling more drawn to him than fearful.

  “Basileus? Dangerous?” Babe laughed heartily. “Not in the least. I think you’ll find most creatures, big and small, will respond according to how you treat them. You show them respect, they’ll respect you in return. You love them, honor them, care for them, and the loyalty returned to you will abound.”

  “Basileus,” Annis whispered his name, the feel of it on her tongue making her smile. It was unlike any name she’d heard before. “What does it mean?”

  “It’s means ‘king’ in Greek,” Babe answered. “Suits him, don’t you think?”

  “Very much,” she agreed, still unable to take her eyes off the tiger who seemed unperturbed by their intrusion.

  “Of course, you’d never have known by the sight of him when we first found him,” Babe said, reminiscing out loud. “His coat was dull and matted with bare spots where the shackles had rubbed him raw and bloody. Skin and bones, he was. Refused to eat in the state they kept him in. Hugh wasn’t sure it’d be humane to keep him going, the way he was. Said he was too far gone. Had given up. But then,” she paused, touching Annis lightly on the arm to draw her attention. “His eyes. They told us. He’d seen things. Terrible things. All the worst the world had to offer...” she trailed off. “But,” she continued, “he was still there. Alive. On fire. Wild with an unbridled courage, as though he knew they’d done all they could to him, and he’d survived anyway.”

  “He hadn’t given up,” Annis whispered.

  “Never.” Babe gave her a bittersweet smile. “The wild ones never do.” She began to turn away but Annis stopped her by touching her arm, grazing ever so lightly with her fingertips, surprised she’d been bold enough to reach out at all.

  “Babe?”

  “Yes, Tulip.” It wasn’t a question. “Your eyes tell it too,” she said.

  A warm wave of gratitude swept through Annis. She knew Babe would never ask to know the worst of what Annis had seen before finding herself here in this unexpected oasis of salvation. Annis, who’d spent her first life an invisible bystander, a mere shadow hidden in the tapestries of life, had come back a girl who could be seen, a girl whose eyes told stories she hoped her mouth would never have to repeat. Maybe it would be the death of them, or maybe those stories would live on, trapped inside her. All she knew for now was that they wouldn’t stop her from having hope anymore. There would be new life after the old. And in this one, she would do more than simply serve as a lovely backdrop in someone else’s story.

  “Why don’t you have a seat right here,” Babe said, indicating with her hand that Annis should sit at the vanity. “We can start by undoing the mess in your hair while we wait for Will to finish preparing the tub.” Annis did as she was told while Babe turned away to fetch the water she had promised.

  The vanity chair was made of a soft, comfortable, purple velvet. Annis struggled to keep her eyes open. “You just relax and let me take care of things,” Babe said, seeing Annis’s efforts to stay awake as she placed a full glass in front of her. But Annis was unable to surrender to her exhaustion, no matter how heavy her lids or how achy her body. Her mind, still wired for survival, would not allow it.

  She clung to conscious thought but let her eyes rest, dropping their lids halfway. A sliver of light was all her mind needed to illuminate her rambling trains of thought about tigers and bearded men in dresses, about sisters whose two bodies lived as one, about men who were unusually tall and others who were unusually tiny, about strong men and large men, about women who’d been shunned by society for being something other than timid or chaste or white. What did those supposed virtues matter if you could command a crowd? If you could dance across a tightrope, certain you would never fall? If you could sing or fly or bend beyond the fear of breaking?

  Annis was told all her life that she had lived in the presence of greatness, of remarkable and important people. After meeting this band of circus misfits who inspired awe and wonder wherever they went, however, she questioned affixing such grand labels to the people she had known before. What had they ever offered the world besides judgement, snobbery, and division? Rare had a been a kind word, yet they were all quick to point out differences as unacceptable flaws of inferior folks. Never once had she witnessed a welcome quite like the one that she’d received here. A stranger, unannounced with nothing to offer would never have been invited in by any of those men and women she’d known before. Annis saw nothing great or remarkable in that.

  Mind ablaze with exciting new truths, her squinting gaze slipped along the lanterns near the opening of the tent just as Will was lifting the corner of a
satin sheet to poke his scruffy, red-haired head inside.

  “Tub’s filled, Babe. You ready for it?” The sound of his voice brought her mind back into the present.

  “I do believe we are,” Babe answered, placing a handful of pins onto the vanity in front of Annis, who reached up to touch her hair.

  “You untangled it?” she asked, combing her fingers through the long, wavy strands. Only this morning she’d been certain she would have to cut the mass of matted knots from it.

  “We’ll give it a good wash and it’ll be soft and shiny again in no time,” Babe assured her, gently squeezing Annis by the shoulders and helping her out of the velvet chair. “You’ll find a dressing gown just inside there.” Babe oriented Annis’s shoulders in the direction of the train car attached to the tent. “Give Will a minute to set everything up in here and then you can come back for your bath.”

  Annis started toward the car to get undressed, then hesitated. “Am I really going to take a bath with Babe in the tent?” she wondered to herself. “Am I going to let a man help me wash?” Dress or otherwise, Annis was convinced that underneath it all he wasn’t really a she at all. He felt like one, though, and maybe that was enough to accept him as such. As if Babe could sense her concerns, she added, “I’ll be waiting outside myself. Give me a shout when you’re under the suds and I’ll be in to help with whatever you need.” Annis nodded, grateful to her. Her. Babe was a her, whether Annis could form the right thoughts to explain it to herself or not.

  The train car door, unlike every other part of the tent, was hard and heavy, made of solid wood with a metal frame. For a moment, Annis struggled to garner the strength to close it. Her first instinct was to ask for help. Her second, much stronger impulse denied that instinct. Taking a deep breath, she squeezed her fists as tightly as she could, channeling every last bit of strength she had in her, and then, with both hands, she pushed, sliding the door back into place. It had barely shut behind Annis when she heard the squeaking tires of a wagon rolling into the tent. Then she heard wooden slats sliding over each other in a smooth motion, followed by a light thump and water splashing. Will was preparing the bath water.

  She closed her eyes and took a breath, inhaling the scent of lavender and peppermint, both of which had been freshly picked and placed in small vases on a table near the door. The car itself was hardly furnished. Aside from the table, there was a small bench along one side and a makeshift curtain hung across the corner to create a space for dressing.

  As she made her way to the dressing corner, her feet felt light —not numb or tingly, but as though the weight of her soul wasn’t fully tethered to her body. Maybe it hasn’t settled on living over dying just yet, she thought. Or maybe it’s starting to return after abandoning me in that river. Or maybe it’s detached itself and will never fully fall back into place. Light footsteps—that’s all I’m capable of anymore.

  She untied the belt of her coat as she pondered the meaning of her bodily sensations, surprised that the lightness of her feet concerned her more than the emptiness of her stomach. Her fingertips slid gingerly over the dress’s buttons, undoing each as she went until she felt the rough linen begin to glide from her skin and down her body. Stepping out of the heavy skirt, Annis reached for the dressing gown suspended from a hook an arm’s length away. The gown was soft against her, which she relished after the harsh conditions of recent days. She hung her clothes on the same hook and then, opening the door just a crack, she checked that Will had left the tent before making her way back inside to take her bath.

  Chapter Three

  THE RIDER

  After she emerged from having her bath, Annis’s skin felt smooth and soft except for the parts now scabbed and calloused by the days spent wandering the wilderness. Stepping out of Babe’s tent, taking in the sunlight and fresh air, Annis reveled in her new, fresh self. She now wore a pair of purple trousers, a flashy red corset, and a short-sleeved white bodice, all freshly laundered and gifted to her by Babe who’d insisted her previous ensemble was no longer fit for wearing and thus would not be leaving her car on Annis’s body ever again. Annis had been more than happy to agree with her in order to shed the last layers of her past as she prepared to embrace her new future.

  More important than the clothes she wore, though, were her light, wavy locks that fell loose past her shoulders. Babe, unlike Annis’s mother, had refused to do more than brush Annis’s blonde hair. Once confined to being pinned snug against her scalp and curled into perfect ringlets, her hair had been set free by Babe, who insisted the wind would know best what to do with it. She was right. Now it shone gold in the sunlight and lifted on the breeze.

  Babe had told her exactly where to find Momma T and a proper meal, and yet Annis wandered aimlessly, her arms light at her sides and her hair floating out behind her. She took in all of the circus sights as she walked. To her left was the train, composed of a mismatched collection of patchwork carts, many pieced together from scrap metal and reclaimed lumber, then adorned with unexpected details like stained glass windows and wildly colored doors. Babe had told her all about the day she and Hugh had acquired the engine (“sheer luck alone,” she’d said) while she’d been washing Annis’s hair. She’d gone on about how it put an end to the years they’d spent traveling the country in a horse and carriage caravan and Annis had soaked herself in the stories much like her bath, allowing a temporary escape from reality. From the stories Annis learned Hugh and Babe had continued to add carts based on need and ability, creating a small but mighty train that had as much character as the passengers themselves.

  To her right, Annis noticed a great deal had changed since her arrival. While she’d soaked in the suds, everyone else had worked to complete and secure the circus tent. It was hard to imagine the dazzling tent not standing there an hour ago, and harder still to believe it would no longer stand there tomorrow. Making her way around the massive structure, Annis passed by dainty Bess rehearsing her number on a tightrope rigged only a few feet above the ground. Bess moved over the rope—backwards and forwards and even jumping in pirouettes—as gracefully as if she were dancing on solid ground. Annis continued to meander around camp with her mouth agape, in awe of the gifted group that now surrounded her. She listened as the three singing sisters all warmed up their vocal chords, creating a rainbow of sound in which each voice echoed brighter than the one preceding it.

  Then the sound of many hooves thundering toward her snapped her out of her listening trance. A herd of at least a half-dozen mustangs ran straight for the tent’s opening, each one a different color, some painted in two or three. From snowy white to charcoal black, and every shade of brown, from creamy blonde to warm chestnut, the rich array coated their stunning muscular bodies in a velvety coat that shimmered in the sunlight. Their long manes and tails flowed behind them. A rider atop a pitch-black horse galloped in behind the herd. He used no reins or saddle.

  Annis broke into a run to catch up with them.

  A wall of thick, hot air hit her as soon as she stepped inside the tent and reminded her that summer was coming. It seemed odd, the recognition of season, the return of time. She realized she’d expected to find all had passed faster in her absence. And she had felt absent, secluded in the woods, in a universe all to herself. It felt to her as though the world could have elapsed into another year or another decade entirely. It hadn’t. The earth had spun at the same speed it always had even though Annis’s experience of time had warped while in isolation.

  Though the horses had settled in the tent, the dust had not. It tickled her nose, causing her to sneeze. She froze. The tent wasn’t nearly as empty as Annis had expected and she wasn’t ready for any more attention today. She noticed Hugh, Will, and Francis arranging the rows of benches for the audience later that night. Nearby, Caroline’s bright red hair drew Annis’s attention. She watched as Caroline bent over backward and curled into a human hoop, through which Homer tossed knives and caught them as they arced back around to him. In the midst
of all this, no one noticed her sneeze. Annis sighed with relief and continued deeper into the tent’s interior.

  Still sniffling from the sneeze, Annis twitched her nose back and forth, trying to help ease the introduction of new scents that seemed to multiply the longer she stood inside the tent. The sunbaked earth at her feet. Stale popcorn and sweets. Fresh hay, and an unfamiliar musk she assumed came from the horses, who now stood at the center of the ring.

  Some pawed at the ground while others paced. One even dropped into the dirt and rolled around until his white coat turned a dark shade of grey. Its sheer delight and the carefree ways in which it moved, with complete disregard to cleanliness or propriety, were contagious and Annis giggled at the sight. She’d read books about horses from the time she was old enough to read and daydreamed about meeting one, but she had never been allowed to visit with them, let alone to learn how to ride, even though her father had kept a stable at the edge of their property. Only ballet had been deemed an appropriate pastime, according to Annis’s mother, who’d loathed dirt and animals alike.

  The herd parted down the middle to make a path for the rider, now on his feet. The young man, with skin tinted red by his ancestors and kissed golden by the sun, wore his long black tresses braided in some small sections and falling loose in others, with feathers and beads twisted throughout. Mischief rested on his dark lips as he took in the herd around him. He took his steps slowly and with great care to respect the space of each animal he passed. He engaged with each of them along the way. A tender palm moving down the forehead, a firm pat on the neck, a scratch above the withers. Quiet whispers and unspoken greetings as he exchanged small bursts of breath in keeping with the horse’s natural means of communicating.