GOODBYE, PHILADELPHIA
To My Dear Sweet Bessie,
I've been so much happier these past couple of days since I got your last telegram saying that you've forgiven me. I'm happy that you haven't stopped loving me. I was so afraid, Bessie. It's not that I don't trust you, but I'm so scared every single day that you won't love me anymore once you figure out that there's so much out there that's better for you than me. I hope that never happens, but just know that the only thing I ever want in this world is your happiness. And I would understand if that didn't include me. But you are my sweetheart and I love you so much and I will never stop loving you, no matter what life may bring to the both of us.
Today is our last day in Philadelphia and the money's been great, but I can't wait to see what New York has in store. I bought you a gift, included in the package with this letter. I hope you like it. It took me forever to find the perfect gift for you and I wish I had found this sooner. I'm sorry that it isn't exactly a Philadelphia souvenir, so I included a postcard in the book. I even wrote you a little note on it. I hope you like it.
Oh, Bessie, I miss you so much. I wish you were here with me. I wish you could see the things I'm seeing and I especially wish that I could see your face as you take in the many wonders that are found up here. The buildings in Philadelphia are magnificent and you can even touch the actual, real Liberty Bell here. How often do you get to touch such history? It truly is a remarkable thing.
I wish we could travel the world together, just you and me. I find myself fantasizing about this more and more frequently lately. I fantasize about picnics on the tops of mountains and taking photographs of you while you hug exotic animals and sometimes--well, sometimes I dream of you wearing a white dress and standing next to me in the most majestic of cathedrals. The largest and most extravagant in the world. And, still, none of those structures could ever compare to the beauty that is you. The walls would weep in your presence and the candles would dim to the light of your smile. Bessie. Sweet, beautiful Bessie. When I come home, you and I are going to have to discuss some things. Because after this trip, I flat refuse to be without you ever again.
Speaking of the trip, we're about to head to Coney Island and I have to admit that excites me because that's where all the money is this time of the year. It also means that we're nearing the halfway point of our trip. And while I'm on the subject of good money, I feel like I should tell you something and I don't want you to worry yourself over it. Taylor has rigged up a contraption for our act so that we can do something new and a little more daring to draw bigger crowds. It's nothing new, it's been done for years and years now and it is more or less common practice in the carnival and circus circuit, however it is new to our act and none of us have any experience with it. It seems, though, that he has volunteered me to perform the act, which consists of throwing knives at targets on a large, round, colorful spinning wheel. As I said, not to worry. The targets are fake and some are only painted up to look real. None of us are getting hurt in the act. I'm not even cutting my hands in the throwing!
While I'm on the subject of Taylor, I have to admit something that I don't feel like I can tell anyone else. Oh how I wish that you and I could speak and you could comfort me and tell me that I'm thinking too much into things like I always do. Tay has been quiet lately, more so than his usual. And you know my brother, it's nearly impossible for him to keep his mouth shut about anything. I try to talk to him, but he won't discuss anything. He only wants to talk about photography or new things we can do for the act. He won't even say Aishe's name. He won't discuss any personal feelings about anything. I don't know if I should be concerned or not, but I'll tell you that this isn't normal for him. He says he can't write her a letter because she can't read English. So that means no letters, no telegrams, nothing. I try to encourage him to send her a gift or something that doesn't require writing, but he always changes the subject. What do you think it means? Does he not love her anymore? Is he having second thoughts about the engagement? Why won't he talk to me? I feel so helpless.
I have to wrap this letter up now, as much as it pains me. I love you forever, each day more than the last.
Yours always,
Zac
"Zac," Taylor said as he carelessly stuffed his unmentionables into a small suitcase. "Where are you going?"
"Downtown," Zac replied, tucking his high ponytail into the wool cap that kept the sun out of his eyes.
"I'm pretty sure we don't have time for that," Taylor argued. "It's time to get a move on, half our troupe has left already, including Barney Harper!"
"So we'll show up an hour or two later than they do. So what?" Zac murmured. "I want to find a gift for Bessie before we leave here. Who knows when we'll ever come back?"
"Don't be such a pessimist," Taylor retorted. "When we're famous again, we'll be here all the time!"
Zac paused and looked his brother dead in his face. Surely he wasn't serious. Surely Taylor's never ending optimism hadn't finally gotten the best of him. He had to know, just as well as Zac and Isaac did, that this was it for them. This would be their last run with their act and they all knew it. Zac and Isaac had accepted it--or at least Zac was sure Isaac had accepted it. They hadn't really discussed it. But if they couldn't at least feel it, then they were fools.
Times were progressing fast. Vaudeville dissipated in favor of talking pictures, radio broadcasts were becoming more convenient for sitting at home, and they were finding that competing with carnival rides was becoming a struggle. Honestly, who was interested in a live show anymore if they weren't coming to see exploited human physical abnormalities?
The money was good, however. In fact, some days it was downright surprisingly fantastical. But nobody was coming to them and shaking their hands and offering them contracts of any kind. Nobody was promising to put in good words to influential people they knew or taking down their information. Nobody was falling all over themselves to get a piece of them. They were lucky when the spectators were extra generous. Didn't Taylor see any of this? Didn't he notice it at all?
Sometimes Zac appreciated Taylor's perpetual optimism. Sometimes it lifted his spirits and gave him the motivation he needed whenever the situation required it. But sometimes it could be more trouble than it was worth. It provided a sort of screen over Taylor's eyes--and even his judgment--that masked his reality. Sometimes Zac thought that Taylor used his overflowing optimism as an escape mechanism so that he didn't have to admit the truths that lay right in front of him.
It was unfortunate.
But today Taylor could say whatever he wanted to get himself through the day. All Zac knew was that he was on a mission and he intended to see it through before they left the Philadelphia city limits.
"Hey, get more paints," Taylor called out abruptly.
Annoyed, Zac furrowed his brow at him. "I already got you paints."
"We're going to need more. Quite a bit more. Same colors as before."
"Yeah, okay," Zac murmured, turning around to walk away.
Zac decided that he wouldn't rock the boat by taking the car downtown, especially since Isaac was busy alternating between tinkering under the hood and packing suitcases into it. Zac wasn't sure if Isaac's constant tinkering had to do with the fact that it actually needed tinkering, he liked tinkering, or he was paranoid that if he didn't tinker with it, it might croak. Whatever the case may be, he seemed to like taking up personal residence under that hood and Zac took prime advantage of it in order to slip off the fairground unnoticed by him.
It wasn't long before Zac regretted not swiping the car from underneath Isaac's nose. The fairground wasn't far from downtown, but in this midday heat, five minutes felt like a lifetime. After half an hour of walking, Zac finally found himself walking up a small side street that opened up into downtown Philadelphia. Pausing on the street corner and observing the loud and crowded bustle of the city, Zac retrieved his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat off his brow. The first thing he needed was water. Then he would find a gift for Bessie.
A short while later, after having sufficiently hydrated himself, he found himself sauntering down the street along a sidewalk, passing window after window of shops that offered everything from candy to jewelry to the latest summer fashions. He was beginning to grow frustrated with himself for not having a better plan for this before arriving, but when he passed a small drugstore's window, something compelled him to stop for a moment. The last place he'd wanted to get Bessie gift from was the drugstore. His ideal gift to her was from a gift shop of one of the many major tourist attractions, but he simply hadn't had the time. Maybe he would surely get her something in New York City, maybe if there was gift shop at the Statue Of Liberty...oh, Bessie would just love that! However, for now, he had his heart set on a gift to her from Philadelphia and, as it stood, he supposed she would just have to settle with a gift bought in Philadelphia, at least.
Opening the heavy glass door of the store, the bell ringing against the glass, Zac stepped into a room that was arguably smaller than Burt's feed store, the dark, hardwood floor lined on both sides with glass cases the length of the store. On the left was just enough counter space to boast a cash register and on shelves that reached all the way to the ceiling behind the glass cases sat merchandise as far as the eye could see. In the middle of the aisle that the glass cases created were several display stands that led to a few more in the back of the store. Fortunately, the store's merchandise was diverse, selling everything from pain remedies, to perfumed bath soaps, to small trinkets and greeting cards. Unsure of where to start, Zac nervously shoved his hands in his pockets and started down a line of glass display cases to see what the store had to offer.
He could feel the store clerk's eye on him from behind his register, but Zac pretended to ignore him. He'd seen him when he'd walked in, the man's dark, slicked-down comb-over and his black vest and pants making him look exactly like every other shop keep he'd ever encountered. Immediately, he missed Burt and the feed store and the down-home, laid back feel of the atmosphere. Burt didn't run a store that was stuffy and uptight like this one. In Burt's store, everyone was family.
After a moment of perusing through the display glass, the shop keep finally spoke to him from behind his register. "Anything I can help you find today, sir?"
"I'm looking for a gift for my girl," Zac murmured, continuing to scour the cases. "We, uh, just got over a fight..."
"Ah, then you're looking for the flower shop!"
"Can't send flowers through telegram."
The store clerk took a moment and scratched his head before replying, "You got in a fight through telegram?"
"Mmhmm," Zac nodded.
"How do you, uh, how do you manage that?"
Zac lifted his eyes, arching a brow, unamused. "My girl lives in Oklahoma. She's good and she's sweet and she's devoted and I'm the stubborn hothead who jumps to conclusions."
The store clerk now scoffed a laugh. "Aren't we all?"
Except that Zac didn't want to be the "aren't we all" statistic, so he nodded silently as he continued about his shopping.
When the display cases didn't reveal the answer to him, Zac stood straighter and turned around, letting his eyes survey the store one more good time before he left the display case alone and glanced over at a couple of racks that stood solitary at the back of the small store just a few feet away. Had a hardback with a white jacket and a little color on the front not caught Zac's eye, he would have walked right out of the store. But instead, he was compelled to walk over to the rack and check out what was beckoning him so.
As he approached the rack and picked up the thin book, his heart skipped a beat. He could hardly believe his luck. He held a book--a reference book, it seemed--about wildflowers. Even better was that the inside held color illustrations and told of which region each flower could be found. Sure, he couldn't send her flowers via telegram. But he could send her an entire book of them, flowers that would never wilt or die and she could carry them around everywhere she went. It was brilliant!
The one dollar and fifty cents price tag made his stomach do a little flip flop, but he decided not to be bothered by the expense. He just had to have it for Bessie. It didn't say anything about being from Philadelphia at all, but he'd remembered passing a stack of postcards on the way in and decided he would write her a message and tuck it into the book. Now he couldn't wait to get to the post office and send off his gift!
As he took his prize to the register, the store clerk couldn't seem to leave Zac alone about his situation. "Well, then," he said as he looked over the price tag and charged Zac the dollar and fifty cents. "That's a mighty fine idea, there, sending her a book of flowers. I'd have never thought of that."
"I'm a magician," Zac replied. "I get paid to think on my toes."
"A magician, huh? That why you're so far away from home?"
"Yep," Zac muttered as he fished the money from his pocket.
"You in the fair?"
"Was. Our group travels around, we were there for a few days. Headed to Coney Island after I leave here."
"Coney Island. Going for the big bucks, huh?"
"That's the plan."
"Well good luck to you," the clerk said as he slipped the book and postcard in a paper bag and handed it across the counter. "Hate I didn't get to see your act before you left out. Maybe next time, right?"
"Sure," Zac nodded nonchalantly. "Next time."
As he walked out of the store and back into the downtown noise, he felt bad realizing how rude he'd been to the store clerk. He hadn't meant to be. But today he had a one-track mind and a time limit and he knew he needed to wrap up this trip. Now to find a post office...
**************
Two hours later, the three brothers were riding along a paved highway out of Philadelphia and heading for New York. The car was unusually silent. Isaac drove, Zac sat in the passenger street, and Taylor...well, he had seemingly turned the backseat into his own, personal art studio. Zac found himself glancing behind him from time to time to see what he was doing, with the mountains of papers he seemed to have strewn out all over the place and how he concentrated deeply on scrawling notes and sketches on various sheets.
When Zac had returned from the city, he had stopped short when he witnessed the oversized wheel that Taylor and Isaac were attempting to wheel up into the trailer. A large, solid, wooden structure that Zac was sure hadn't been in their possession when he left. Evident that it wasn't going to fit inside the trailer, with no time to ask any questions (though Zac was sure he didn't need to ask any at all), the three brothers finally had to rig up a way to tie the round board to the top of the trailer, cover it sufficiently enough so that it was protected from any possible rain, and be on their way. Now Taylor had traded being his normal, chatty self for being quiet and studious and, truth be told, as much as Taylor's mouth annoyed Zac at times, Zac found himself a little bored with the ride.
The ride wouldn't be long. Two and a half hours, at best, they'd estimated. But, yet, Taylor couldn't seem to wait that long. And Zac, unable to help himself any longer, had to turn around in his seat and peer over the leather upholstery. "Tay. What, pray tell, are you doing back there?"
"Planning," he muttered, never taking his eyes off of the papers. "We have to get this thing built and in working order the very second we anchor that trailer on Coney Island. If we're going to make any money off of it, that's where it's going to happen."
"How about, once and for all, tell us what the hell we have going on here?"
Finally, Taylor's eyes glanced up at Zac through the strands of blonde hair that had fallen in his eyes. "Ike already knows. You know, because he sticks around. While you're off escorting bearded ladies to dinner or mailing letters to Bessie or peeping in on girlie shows, the two of us are back home, working. If you'd stick around for five minutes, you'd know."
All right. So Taylor had a point. Admittedly, Zac had been on a mission to do anything and everything he could possibly think of to do to both ease the pain of missing Bessie and make the time pass faster. He supposed he hadn't realized that he was neglecting both his brothers and their act in the process. And to be honest, Zac knew he could brush up on a trick or two, himself.
"Fair enough," Zac said. "I'm here now. So out with it."
"Knife throwing," Taylor said nonchalantly as he continued with his sketching. "We've talked to the Natives and they've agreed to teach you to throw knives--"
"Me? Why me?"
"You already knew it was going to be you."
"I didn't know it was set in stone."
"Look at you, Zac," Taylor replied in frustration. "With your hair down to your shoulders and your skin a little more tan than ours, you just look like a knife-thrower. Naturally, it would be you. But it's going to take a lot of work to get it right, there isn't much trickery to this, it's pretty much all skill."
"Skill that probably takes weeks or months or even years--"
"Yeah. Well, we have hours. Maybe a day or so, at best. So you better be ready to devote some time to this act, once and for all."
Zac wasn't especially fond of Taylor's tone, but he decided to let it slide. He was right, after all, Zac's head hadn't been in the game too much. But it would be, from this day forward. "Okay. So I'm throwing knives at a circle..."
"We're going to paint it," Taylor continued. "Bright colors. That reminds me, did you get the paints I asked for?"
"Shit!" Zac hissed. "I'm sorry, I forgot. I got wrapped up in Bessie's gift--"
And, suddenly, out of nowhere, startling Isaac in the driver seat, Taylor's voice grew loud. "I asked you to do one thing!" He shot at Zac. "Just one damned thing for this act and you couldn't even get your head out of the clouds for five seconds to do it! This is ridiculous, Zac. Really. I knew we'd have to deal with your shitty pining for that girl back there, but I didn't think you'd spend the entire time moping around and screwing us over. You're either in this act or you're not, Zac! Which is it?"
"Tay," Isaac said from the front seat. "Can we not--?"
"Shut up, Ike," Taylor spat. "I'm sick of this shit. You and I have girls at home, too, you know. And we still bust our asses every damn day to do our jobs! What the fuck is Zac sitting around doing? Writing letters, sleeping until right before curtain call, and fucking dropping cards all over the place. And, you know, I haven't seen a flower trick once, and that would be perfect for the places we're going--"
"I promised Bessie that I was done with flower tricks and I intend to keep--"
"Oh, Bessie, Bessie, Bessie, Bessie, Bessie! If I hear that name one more time, God damn it, I swear, Zac, it's--I mean, do you really think you're the only man on Earth that's ever left a woman behind before? You think you're the only long-distance relationship there is out there? Get over yourself already!"
By this time, Zac could feel the heat rising to his face. His nostrils flared and his breathing quickened and he forced himself to stay in his seat and not to jump over the seat and throttle his brother. "You know what? I'll live my life any way I choose to live it, I have that right--!"
"But you want to throw Ike and I to the wolves in the process," Taylor sneered through his teeth. "Your family, your own flesh and blood. You can't even pretend to care."
Zac furrowed his brow at Taylor and he sat back in his seat and looked over at Isaac as he concentrated diligently on the road ahead of them. "Ike?" Zac addressed him. "Is that how you feel? Because it sure sounds like you and Tay have had a lot to discuss."
"Hey. I'm just driving, here. Okay? You two...you know, do what you gotta do. But leave me out of it."
As Zac turned his attention back to Taylor, Taylor brushed the hair out of his eyes and shook his head, going back to his work. "I'm done with it," he murmured. "Just leave me alone and let me finish this."
Zac's eyes lingered on him for a moment before he finally decided to respect Taylor's wishes and keep his mouth shut. As the car returned to silence once more, Zac's brain went a mile a minute. The truth was, it was the most he'd heard Taylor say at one time outside of the act since they'd been on the road. The first day or so with him had been relatively jovial. But over time, he seemed to revert more and more into a silence that Zac was sure that even Isaac was noticing. And now this sudden outburst, openly resenting Bessie's existence? Zac was as confused as ever. Taylor loved Bessie, they got along so well. He valued her opinions, went to her for advice...to Taylor, Bessie was quite literally the sister he never had and he treated her as such. So what was the problem now?
Zac had a suspicion that the root of his problems had to do with Aishe and his engagement to her. After all, he'd said so himself that he couldn't communicate with her effectively. He couldn't send telegrams or letters because she wouldn't be able to read them. And even if he wanted to spring the money for a long-distance phone call, he couldn't, because she was nowhere near a telephone. So how did you deal with something like that? How did you get yourself a brand new fiancée and then have to turn around and leave her with no means of contact whatsoever? Zac had offered to help. He'd offered to send things for him, she could receive a gift without having to read anything. Bessie could take it to her, it wouldn't have been an issue. But Taylor insisted on leaving it alone. And Zac couldn't understand why.
"So that's it, then," Zac finally murmured. "We're just going to yell and scream and not get anything accomplished. Gonna waste another day. Brilliant."
"Just leave him be," Isaac said. "He's...hell, I don't even know what to say about it, but he seems to prefer to be left alone and I can only oblige him."
"I don't think he needs that," Zac whispered.
"I can hear you," Taylor deadpanned.
In a huff, Zac shut his mouth once and for all and looked out the window in silence.
They had driven for another half an hour or so, Zac focusing his attention on the long stretch of road ahead of them and the random billboards they would pass by every now and then, when something ahead in the distance caught Zac's eye and caused Isaac to noticeably reduce their speed. As they approached the structure, a white four-door hauling a trailer much like their own, Zac rolled down his window and craned his neck. "Is that--? Is that Barney Harper on the side of the road, there?"
"Looks like it," Isaac agreed. And then, without another word, Isaac pulled their car over onto the side of the road and slowed to a stop.
Isaac and Zac both got out of the car, leaving Taylor nearly oblivious to his surroundings in the backseat. Approaching the dark, cherry brown Ford, Isaac and Zac carefully rounded the front of the open hood, so as not to startle Mr. Harper, and the two brothers began instantly mimicking the troupe leader as they waved the billows of smoke from their faces that flowed out from underneath the hood of the car. Glancing up at them as he coughed out some of the smoke from his lungs, Mr. Harper croaked out, "Fancy meeting you fellows here."
"Had some business we had to wrap up back in Philly," Isaac replied. "Looks like you got yourself a problem here, sir."
"Yeah," the man lamented, stepping back away from the hood to find relief. "Smoke just started coming out the sides of the hood so I pulled over to see what I could see. Problem is, I can't see anything till it stops smoking."
Stepping off to the side, Isaac walked a step or two, examining the sleek, pristine roadster. "Model A, huh?"
"She's still practically brand new," Mr. Harper argued. "Only a couple years old."
"Bet she's seen a lot of the country, hasn't she?" Isaac replied.
"That, she has."
"Well, I gotta admit," Isaac pondered, stroking the small tuft of hair on his chin thoughtfully. "I don't have much experience with newer thirties models like this. But all ours is is a few years younger than this one, so there can't be much difference in the interior. You know what's wrong with it?"
"First time she's ever done this to me. I'm afraid I've overworked her. And I'm scared that trailer, there, might be too big for her to haul, after all."
"Nah," Isaac replied, waving him off. "Ours isn't near as new as yours and it takes to the trailer just fine. These things happen, though. Mind if I take a crack at it?"
"By all means," Mr. Harper said, motioning his invitation to the hood of the car. "Work some of that Hanson magic of yours, see what you can do."
Isaac and Zac stole a brief smile at each other before Isaac helped himself to the car's inner workings. The smoke had finally died down and it was easier to look around and, before long, Isaac was bent over inside the car, arms and body stretched out, seeing what he could see and inspecting what he could inspect. After about five minutes or so of fiddling around, Isaac finally rose from it, smudges of black and oil all over his hands. "Radiator's dry," he announced. "You're lucky, it could have been worse. All's you need to do is fill her with some fluid. Water'll do it. And then I suggest taking her to the next service station and having her serviced. The last thing you want is your oil to run dry in the middle of nowhere like this. I'd help you out and change it myself, but we don't have any extra supplies to do it with."
"Well, I'll be," Mr. Harper replied in awe, removing his hat and wiping his brow. "So you know a thing or two about repairing vehicles, huh?"
Isaac beamed proudly. "Repaired a popcorn machine not too long ago, too. I don't know what it is, I'm fascinated by mechanical things."
Matching Isaac's smile, Zac found himself with a proud hand on his brother's shoulder. "That's right. Why, if it weren't for him, we'd have never been able to travel the country the way we did all those years ago."
"Well," Isaac replied, sheepish and humble. "I'm not sure it was all because of me--"
"You know what, boys? I want to raise your cut of the ten-in-one profits to half a percent. What do you think of that?"
The brothers' eyes nearly bugged out of their heads with shock. "Really?" Zac squeaked. "What for?"
"Well, clearly you're worth more than I thought you were. You boys are an asset to this troupe--but I also wanted to show my appreciation for your help, here. Watched several of our very own ride on past without so much as a blink of an eyelash. Not sure if they recognized that it was me or not, but I'd like to think that if it wasn't me, you'd have stopped anyway--because you're good guys like that."
Zac knew that was probably true. The truth was, Isaac never could seem to wait to get his hands dirty and he'd involve himself with any broken down contraption he could get his hands on. But Barney Harper didn't need to know about Isaac's obsession. Not since he was feeling so generous all of a sudden. At this point, Barney Harper could have anything he wanted.
"Zac," Isaac said. "Why don't you go in the trailer and get a container of water--?"
"Nonsense!" Mr. Harper stopped him. "I've got my own water, there's no sense in wasting yours. After all, it's my automobile. Dorothy!" He called out, cupping his hand over his mouth. "Bring us a bucket of water out here, will you?"
Zac stood there beside his eldest brother under the heat of the summer sun, his mind easily starting to wander as the same brunette from the troupe leader's hotel room came stumbling out of the parked travel trailer, struggling with a bucket of water as it sloshed about and she tried to keep it from splashing out all over her dress and shoes. Zac hadn't realized how out of it he was until the sound of her yelp shook him out of his trance and it occurred to him that he should be a gentleman and retrieve the heavy bucket from her hands.
Trotting over to the back of the car, which were the only few small steps the girl was able to make with the bucket, Zac took the handle from her hand with ease and he barely heard her murmur a "thank you" before he quickly made his way to his brother to hand it over. As Isaac and Mr. Harper found themselves engrossed in the car's entrails once again, Zac stood in silence, contemplating getting back in the car and sitting in awkward silence with Taylor.
He was surprised when his thoughts were interrupted by Dorothy, who had seemingly materialized beside him, as she seemed to have managed to sneak up beside him without a sound. "Thank you for helping me," she said quietly.
"Uh, sure," he replied, glancing at her quickly before turning his attention back to the hood of the car. "You're, uh, you're welcome."
"My name is Dorothy," she replied with a smile. Then her smile widened. "You can call me Dot."
"Well, then, uh...Dot," he smiled. "It's good to have finally met you. Officially, that is. Been on the road nearly two weeks but we've only really been familiar with your husband--"
"Oh, heavens, no!" She giggled, shaking her head. "He isn't my husband. He's my father. Gee, could you imagine someone as old as him being married to someone my age?"
Zac's eyes widened both in surprise and humiliation. He wasn't going to dare open that door of invitation and ask her how old she was, but he was dying of curiosity. To stave off the burning question, he cleared his throat and glanced back over at the older troupe leader. "Oh. Well, uh, I apologize for the mistake."
"It's all right. Everybody makes the same assumption. He and I travel alone because my mother stays behind with my sick brother. He can't be left alone and he can't travel. So we go on the carnival circuit and Daddy sends them money every week until we come home."
"Ah," Zac nodded. "So...what do you do in the carnival?"
Dorothy sighed and crossed her arms over her chest as she gazed at her father alongside Zac. "I'm not in the carnival. Daddy won't let me. I've dreamed up several thrilling acts that would be sure to draw a crowd, but Daddy says that the carnival life is no place for a young woman, but there are all kinds of women in the carnival, so I don't really see his point. But no matter. I just sit there and count boring old money every night. Keep the books. That sort of thing. 'Carnival Secretary,' I suppose."
'Daddy won't let me.' 'Daddy says.' As Zac stood there and listened to her talk, he swallowed hard, a harsh wave of familiarity washing over his body. Daringly, he looked over at the girl and his heart sank with a mixture of pain and anger. Dorothy reminded him of Bessie. She was older than Bessie, clearly, with shorter, darker hair just above her shoulders. She wore a short-sleeved, floral print day dress and her facial features were slightly sharper than Bessie's, not quite as soft and dainty. Dot was an attractive young woman, but she was nothing compared to Bessie--and the way she reminded him of Bessie regardless was enough to nearly make Zac physically sick.
"I've seen your act a few times," she said, breaking the silence as she crossed her arms over her chest. "It's really good."
"Yeah?" He said, his gratitude coming across a little more genuine than he'd intended. "Thank you, I'm glad."
"I like to watch you the most, though," she admitted.
Zac's heart sank. There was no way this could be kept completely neutral, could it?
"Is that so?" He murmured, his eyes boring into the hind end of his brother as he stood, bent over the side of the car's hood and spoke with Mr. Harper about what was going on underneath it.
"Oh, yes," she replied earnestly. "I think the way you handle those cards is quite fascinating--"
"Well, that's really Ike's department..."
"And you're so funny!" She giggled. "I always anticipate what's going to come out of your mouth next."
"You and me, both," he muttered.
The pair stood in silence, Zac now as uncomfortable as he'd ever been. He attempted to take a few steps through the grassy dirt trails along the side of the paved road toward his brother, but Dot stayed right at his side. Looking around at the empty land around them, watching the occasional car pass by, he felt trapped. Stuck between a rock and a hard place. Did he choose to be rude and ignore her and head for the car, subsequently leaving his eldest brother to the wolves in the hot sun? Or did he stand there and be uncomfortable and supportive? After all, she was the troupe leader's daughter. She probably wasn't one of the people you wanted to upset when you were fifteen hundred miles from home.
Interrupting his thoughts, as she seemingly did best, he saw her turn to face him out of his peripheral. "Anyway, I just want you to know that your act should do just splendid at Coney Island, despite the bankruptcy. Not to worry."
Zac felt the blow to his chest as if a thousand of Billy Connors's football chums all took turns beating him--and that would have felt better than how he felt now. His jaw dropping, he finally turned to look at the brunette, whose eyes squinted against the sunlight. "Excuse me?" He nearly squeaked out.
"You didn't know?" She asked earnestly. "Luna Park is currently in bankruptcy. That's where we're playing, you know. But the owner is speaking to lawyers and clearing it up and we're playing the park's grand reopening week. It's expected to be a huge turnout!"
Zac was speechless. His brain couldn't function well enough to form words, even with his best efforts. The only thing his brain could muster up was his desperate need to hit something. Hard. He needed violence. He craved it. He ached with need for it.
And he needed to get out of there before his confrontational nature ended up with Barney Harper sprawled all over the ground.
Now feeling no remorse for ignoring Dot at all, Zac took long strides toward the car, leaving the girl in the dust. "Ike!" He called out. "Gotta hit the road, let's wrap this up!"
Isaac straightened his spine and turned around to face Zac, his expression filled with annoyance. "How far are we gonna get without Mr. Harper, anyway? What's the rush?"
"Interesting question," Zac spat. "If you're through, we gotta get going. We all have a schedule to abide by and we," he motioned to himself and his brother, "have to discuss our act. Plus, Tay's probably dying in the heat in that car right now."
"Yeah, you're probably right," Isaac murmured. Then he turned to Mr. Harper, wiping the sweat from his brow. "If it's all right, it might be a good idea to stay close together until we reach Coney Island in case something like this happens again."
"Oh, I think that's a swell idea, Daddy!" Dot exclaimed gleefully.
Zac huffed and turned his head so that he could roll his eyes in private. Somehow, he knew that might be her reaction.
"Well I'd appreciate that very much, thank you," Mr. Harper replied.
Zac didn't stick around to hear the closing of the conversation and he knew he was being rude by ignoring Dot on the way to the car, but he didn't care. He was ready to go.
Several minutes later both vehicles, each pulling their own travel trailers, headed back down the road. After a couple of minutes of silence, Taylor finally managed to ask, "So what was it?"
"Dry radiator. Needs to be serviced," Isaac replied. "They're lucky it wasn't anything worse. Oh, and guess what? He's giving us a raise."
"A raise?" Taylor replied with surprise. "Really?"
"Yep. Bumping our cut of the ticket sales to half a percent of profit. He says because we're worth it."
"Yeah, for being his own, personal grease monkey," Zac scoffed.
"So?" Isaac argued defensively. "At least I was out there making myself useful. What were you doing over there, connecting the Dots?"
"Very funny," Zac spat.
"Connecting what dots?" Taylor asked blankly.
"Apparently Zac is growing a little tight with Mr. Harper's daughter, Dot."
"What is it with you and picking up girls with daddy issues?" Taylor asked Zac.
"You know, why don't you guys connect these dots?" Zac shot at them. "It's a good thing Barney Harper can afford to raise us, however he failed to mention that the part of Coney Island that we're playing is currently going through a bankruptcy. So nice of him to inform us of that before we decided to trek fifteen hundred miles from everything we know and love, huh?"
"What?" Taylor cried incredulously.
"Where did you get that information?" Isaac asked, his level of shock matching Taylor's. "From his daughter?"
"Yep. Dot."
The car was silent, obvious that the three brothers had each fallen into deep contemplation. Hell, if they were getting screwed over on Coney Island, Zac could only imagine what awaited them in the big city. Opening up for a talking picture? The nerve.
Out of nowhere, Taylor threw his torso over the seat and tossed a pad of paper and some pencils into Zac's lap. "Here. That's how you can make yourself useful. Draw a dummy. A life size one, one that we can build. We'll make it a woman. Make her look real."
"What?" Zac objected. "I'm not sitting here and drawing dolls--"
"Not just any doll," Taylor interjected. "Your target. For the knives. Then make a list of materials we'll need to build her. We'll have to do this at lightning speed if we ever hope to make any money this week. Our act has to be bigger and better than ever. Starting with the knife-throwing."
And with that, Taylor was back to his old, workaholic self. Their fighting was met with an unspoken apology and Zac begrudgingly picked up the pencil and started to jot down a list of materials. "I just want to go home," he murmured to himself.
To My Dear Sweet Bessie,
I've been so much happier these past couple of days since I got your last telegram saying that you've forgiven me. I'm happy that you haven't stopped loving me. I was so afraid, Bessie. It's not that I don't trust you, but I'm so scared every single day that you won't love me anymore once you figure out that there's so much out there that's better for you than me. I hope that never happens, but just know that the only thing I ever want in this world is your happiness. And I would understand if that didn't include me. But you are my sweetheart and I love you so much and I will never stop loving you, no matter what life may bring to the both of us.
Today is our last day in Philadelphia and the money's been great, but I can't wait to see what New York has in store. I bought you a gift, included in the package with this letter. I hope you like it. It took me forever to find the perfect gift for you and I wish I had found this sooner. I'm sorry that it isn't exactly a Philadelphia souvenir, so I included a postcard in the book. I even wrote you a little note on it. I hope you like it.
Oh, Bessie, I miss you so much. I wish you were here with me. I wish you could see the things I'm seeing and I especially wish that I could see your face as you take in the many wonders that are found up here. The buildings in Philadelphia are magnificent and you can even touch the actual, real Liberty Bell here. How often do you get to touch such history? It truly is a remarkable thing.
I wish we could travel the world together, just you and me. I find myself fantasizing about this more and more frequently lately. I fantasize about picnics on the tops of mountains and taking photographs of you while you hug exotic animals and sometimes--well, sometimes I dream of you wearing a white dress and standing next to me in the most majestic of cathedrals. The largest and most extravagant in the world. And, still, none of those structures could ever compare to the beauty that is you. The walls would weep in your presence and the candles would dim to the light of your smile. Bessie. Sweet, beautiful Bessie. When I come home, you and I are going to have to discuss some things. Because after this trip, I flat refuse to be without you ever again.
Speaking of the trip, we're about to head to Coney Island and I have to admit that excites me because that's where all the money is this time of the year. It also means that we're nearing the halfway point of our trip. And while I'm on the subject of good money, I feel like I should tell you something and I don't want you to worry yourself over it. Taylor has rigged up a contraption for our act so that we can do something new and a little more daring to draw bigger crowds. It's nothing new, it's been done for years and years now and it is more or less common practice in the carnival and circus circuit, however it is new to our act and none of us have any experience with it. It seems, though, that he has volunteered me to perform the act, which consists of throwing knives at targets on a large, round, colorful spinning wheel. As I said, not to worry. The targets are fake and some are only painted up to look real. None of us are getting hurt in the act. I'm not even cutting my hands in the throwing!
While I'm on the subject of Taylor, I have to admit something that I don't feel like I can tell anyone else. Oh how I wish that you and I could speak and you could comfort me and tell me that I'm thinking too much into things like I always do. Tay has been quiet lately, more so than his usual. And you know my brother, it's nearly impossible for him to keep his mouth shut about anything. I try to talk to him, but he won't discuss anything. He only wants to talk about photography or new things we can do for the act. He won't even say Aishe's name. He won't discuss any personal feelings about anything. I don't know if I should be concerned or not, but I'll tell you that this isn't normal for him. He says he can't write her a letter because she can't read English. So that means no letters, no telegrams, nothing. I try to encourage him to send her a gift or something that doesn't require writing, but he always changes the subject. What do you think it means? Does he not love her anymore? Is he having second thoughts about the engagement? Why won't he talk to me? I feel so helpless.
I have to wrap this letter up now, as much as it pains me. I love you forever, each day more than the last.
Yours always,
Zac
"Zac," Taylor said as he carelessly stuffed his unmentionables into a small suitcase. "Where are you going?"
"Downtown," Zac replied, tucking his high ponytail into the wool cap that kept the sun out of his eyes.
"I'm pretty sure we don't have time for that," Taylor argued. "It's time to get a move on, half our troupe has left already, including Barney Harper!"
"So we'll show up an hour or two later than they do. So what?" Zac murmured. "I want to find a gift for Bessie before we leave here. Who knows when we'll ever come back?"
"Don't be such a pessimist," Taylor retorted. "When we're famous again, we'll be here all the time!"
Zac paused and looked his brother dead in his face. Surely he wasn't serious. Surely Taylor's never ending optimism hadn't finally gotten the best of him. He had to know, just as well as Zac and Isaac did, that this was it for them. This would be their last run with their act and they all knew it. Zac and Isaac had accepted it--or at least Zac was sure Isaac had accepted it. They hadn't really discussed it. But if they couldn't at least feel it, then they were fools.
Times were progressing fast. Vaudeville dissipated in favor of talking pictures, radio broadcasts were becoming more convenient for sitting at home, and they were finding that competing with carnival rides was becoming a struggle. Honestly, who was interested in a live show anymore if they weren't coming to see exploited human physical abnormalities?
The money was good, however. In fact, some days it was downright surprisingly fantastical. But nobody was coming to them and shaking their hands and offering them contracts of any kind. Nobody was promising to put in good words to influential people they knew or taking down their information. Nobody was falling all over themselves to get a piece of them. They were lucky when the spectators were extra generous. Didn't Taylor see any of this? Didn't he notice it at all?
Sometimes Zac appreciated Taylor's perpetual optimism. Sometimes it lifted his spirits and gave him the motivation he needed whenever the situation required it. But sometimes it could be more trouble than it was worth. It provided a sort of screen over Taylor's eyes--and even his judgment--that masked his reality. Sometimes Zac thought that Taylor used his overflowing optimism as an escape mechanism so that he didn't have to admit the truths that lay right in front of him.
It was unfortunate.
But today Taylor could say whatever he wanted to get himself through the day. All Zac knew was that he was on a mission and he intended to see it through before they left the Philadelphia city limits.
"Hey, get more paints," Taylor called out abruptly.
Annoyed, Zac furrowed his brow at him. "I already got you paints."
"We're going to need more. Quite a bit more. Same colors as before."
"Yeah, okay," Zac murmured, turning around to walk away.
Zac decided that he wouldn't rock the boat by taking the car downtown, especially since Isaac was busy alternating between tinkering under the hood and packing suitcases into it. Zac wasn't sure if Isaac's constant tinkering had to do with the fact that it actually needed tinkering, he liked tinkering, or he was paranoid that if he didn't tinker with it, it might croak. Whatever the case may be, he seemed to like taking up personal residence under that hood and Zac took prime advantage of it in order to slip off the fairground unnoticed by him.
It wasn't long before Zac regretted not swiping the car from underneath Isaac's nose. The fairground wasn't far from downtown, but in this midday heat, five minutes felt like a lifetime. After half an hour of walking, Zac finally found himself walking up a small side street that opened up into downtown Philadelphia. Pausing on the street corner and observing the loud and crowded bustle of the city, Zac retrieved his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat off his brow. The first thing he needed was water. Then he would find a gift for Bessie.
A short while later, after having sufficiently hydrated himself, he found himself sauntering down the street along a sidewalk, passing window after window of shops that offered everything from candy to jewelry to the latest summer fashions. He was beginning to grow frustrated with himself for not having a better plan for this before arriving, but when he passed a small drugstore's window, something compelled him to stop for a moment. The last place he'd wanted to get Bessie gift from was the drugstore. His ideal gift to her was from a gift shop of one of the many major tourist attractions, but he simply hadn't had the time. Maybe he would surely get her something in New York City, maybe if there was gift shop at the Statue Of Liberty...oh, Bessie would just love that! However, for now, he had his heart set on a gift to her from Philadelphia and, as it stood, he supposed she would just have to settle with a gift bought in Philadelphia, at least.
Opening the heavy glass door of the store, the bell ringing against the glass, Zac stepped into a room that was arguably smaller than Burt's feed store, the dark, hardwood floor lined on both sides with glass cases the length of the store. On the left was just enough counter space to boast a cash register and on shelves that reached all the way to the ceiling behind the glass cases sat merchandise as far as the eye could see. In the middle of the aisle that the glass cases created were several display stands that led to a few more in the back of the store. Fortunately, the store's merchandise was diverse, selling everything from pain remedies, to perfumed bath soaps, to small trinkets and greeting cards. Unsure of where to start, Zac nervously shoved his hands in his pockets and started down a line of glass display cases to see what the store had to offer.
He could feel the store clerk's eye on him from behind his register, but Zac pretended to ignore him. He'd seen him when he'd walked in, the man's dark, slicked-down comb-over and his black vest and pants making him look exactly like every other shop keep he'd ever encountered. Immediately, he missed Burt and the feed store and the down-home, laid back feel of the atmosphere. Burt didn't run a store that was stuffy and uptight like this one. In Burt's store, everyone was family.
After a moment of perusing through the display glass, the shop keep finally spoke to him from behind his register. "Anything I can help you find today, sir?"
"I'm looking for a gift for my girl," Zac murmured, continuing to scour the cases. "We, uh, just got over a fight..."
"Ah, then you're looking for the flower shop!"
"Can't send flowers through telegram."
The store clerk took a moment and scratched his head before replying, "You got in a fight through telegram?"
"Mmhmm," Zac nodded.
"How do you, uh, how do you manage that?"
Zac lifted his eyes, arching a brow, unamused. "My girl lives in Oklahoma. She's good and she's sweet and she's devoted and I'm the stubborn hothead who jumps to conclusions."
The store clerk now scoffed a laugh. "Aren't we all?"
Except that Zac didn't want to be the "aren't we all" statistic, so he nodded silently as he continued about his shopping.
When the display cases didn't reveal the answer to him, Zac stood straighter and turned around, letting his eyes survey the store one more good time before he left the display case alone and glanced over at a couple of racks that stood solitary at the back of the small store just a few feet away. Had a hardback with a white jacket and a little color on the front not caught Zac's eye, he would have walked right out of the store. But instead, he was compelled to walk over to the rack and check out what was beckoning him so.
As he approached the rack and picked up the thin book, his heart skipped a beat. He could hardly believe his luck. He held a book--a reference book, it seemed--about wildflowers. Even better was that the inside held color illustrations and told of which region each flower could be found. Sure, he couldn't send her flowers via telegram. But he could send her an entire book of them, flowers that would never wilt or die and she could carry them around everywhere she went. It was brilliant!
The one dollar and fifty cents price tag made his stomach do a little flip flop, but he decided not to be bothered by the expense. He just had to have it for Bessie. It didn't say anything about being from Philadelphia at all, but he'd remembered passing a stack of postcards on the way in and decided he would write her a message and tuck it into the book. Now he couldn't wait to get to the post office and send off his gift!
As he took his prize to the register, the store clerk couldn't seem to leave Zac alone about his situation. "Well, then," he said as he looked over the price tag and charged Zac the dollar and fifty cents. "That's a mighty fine idea, there, sending her a book of flowers. I'd have never thought of that."
"I'm a magician," Zac replied. "I get paid to think on my toes."
"A magician, huh? That why you're so far away from home?"
"Yep," Zac muttered as he fished the money from his pocket.
"You in the fair?"
"Was. Our group travels around, we were there for a few days. Headed to Coney Island after I leave here."
"Coney Island. Going for the big bucks, huh?"
"That's the plan."
"Well good luck to you," the clerk said as he slipped the book and postcard in a paper bag and handed it across the counter. "Hate I didn't get to see your act before you left out. Maybe next time, right?"
"Sure," Zac nodded nonchalantly. "Next time."
As he walked out of the store and back into the downtown noise, he felt bad realizing how rude he'd been to the store clerk. He hadn't meant to be. But today he had a one-track mind and a time limit and he knew he needed to wrap up this trip. Now to find a post office...
**************
Two hours later, the three brothers were riding along a paved highway out of Philadelphia and heading for New York. The car was unusually silent. Isaac drove, Zac sat in the passenger street, and Taylor...well, he had seemingly turned the backseat into his own, personal art studio. Zac found himself glancing behind him from time to time to see what he was doing, with the mountains of papers he seemed to have strewn out all over the place and how he concentrated deeply on scrawling notes and sketches on various sheets.
When Zac had returned from the city, he had stopped short when he witnessed the oversized wheel that Taylor and Isaac were attempting to wheel up into the trailer. A large, solid, wooden structure that Zac was sure hadn't been in their possession when he left. Evident that it wasn't going to fit inside the trailer, with no time to ask any questions (though Zac was sure he didn't need to ask any at all), the three brothers finally had to rig up a way to tie the round board to the top of the trailer, cover it sufficiently enough so that it was protected from any possible rain, and be on their way. Now Taylor had traded being his normal, chatty self for being quiet and studious and, truth be told, as much as Taylor's mouth annoyed Zac at times, Zac found himself a little bored with the ride.
The ride wouldn't be long. Two and a half hours, at best, they'd estimated. But, yet, Taylor couldn't seem to wait that long. And Zac, unable to help himself any longer, had to turn around in his seat and peer over the leather upholstery. "Tay. What, pray tell, are you doing back there?"
"Planning," he muttered, never taking his eyes off of the papers. "We have to get this thing built and in working order the very second we anchor that trailer on Coney Island. If we're going to make any money off of it, that's where it's going to happen."
"How about, once and for all, tell us what the hell we have going on here?"
Finally, Taylor's eyes glanced up at Zac through the strands of blonde hair that had fallen in his eyes. "Ike already knows. You know, because he sticks around. While you're off escorting bearded ladies to dinner or mailing letters to Bessie or peeping in on girlie shows, the two of us are back home, working. If you'd stick around for five minutes, you'd know."
All right. So Taylor had a point. Admittedly, Zac had been on a mission to do anything and everything he could possibly think of to do to both ease the pain of missing Bessie and make the time pass faster. He supposed he hadn't realized that he was neglecting both his brothers and their act in the process. And to be honest, Zac knew he could brush up on a trick or two, himself.
"Fair enough," Zac said. "I'm here now. So out with it."
"Knife throwing," Taylor said nonchalantly as he continued with his sketching. "We've talked to the Natives and they've agreed to teach you to throw knives--"
"Me? Why me?"
"You already knew it was going to be you."
"I didn't know it was set in stone."
"Look at you, Zac," Taylor replied in frustration. "With your hair down to your shoulders and your skin a little more tan than ours, you just look like a knife-thrower. Naturally, it would be you. But it's going to take a lot of work to get it right, there isn't much trickery to this, it's pretty much all skill."
"Skill that probably takes weeks or months or even years--"
"Yeah. Well, we have hours. Maybe a day or so, at best. So you better be ready to devote some time to this act, once and for all."
Zac wasn't especially fond of Taylor's tone, but he decided to let it slide. He was right, after all, Zac's head hadn't been in the game too much. But it would be, from this day forward. "Okay. So I'm throwing knives at a circle..."
"We're going to paint it," Taylor continued. "Bright colors. That reminds me, did you get the paints I asked for?"
"Shit!" Zac hissed. "I'm sorry, I forgot. I got wrapped up in Bessie's gift--"
And, suddenly, out of nowhere, startling Isaac in the driver seat, Taylor's voice grew loud. "I asked you to do one thing!" He shot at Zac. "Just one damned thing for this act and you couldn't even get your head out of the clouds for five seconds to do it! This is ridiculous, Zac. Really. I knew we'd have to deal with your shitty pining for that girl back there, but I didn't think you'd spend the entire time moping around and screwing us over. You're either in this act or you're not, Zac! Which is it?"
"Tay," Isaac said from the front seat. "Can we not--?"
"Shut up, Ike," Taylor spat. "I'm sick of this shit. You and I have girls at home, too, you know. And we still bust our asses every damn day to do our jobs! What the fuck is Zac sitting around doing? Writing letters, sleeping until right before curtain call, and fucking dropping cards all over the place. And, you know, I haven't seen a flower trick once, and that would be perfect for the places we're going--"
"I promised Bessie that I was done with flower tricks and I intend to keep--"
"Oh, Bessie, Bessie, Bessie, Bessie, Bessie! If I hear that name one more time, God damn it, I swear, Zac, it's--I mean, do you really think you're the only man on Earth that's ever left a woman behind before? You think you're the only long-distance relationship there is out there? Get over yourself already!"
By this time, Zac could feel the heat rising to his face. His nostrils flared and his breathing quickened and he forced himself to stay in his seat and not to jump over the seat and throttle his brother. "You know what? I'll live my life any way I choose to live it, I have that right--!"
"But you want to throw Ike and I to the wolves in the process," Taylor sneered through his teeth. "Your family, your own flesh and blood. You can't even pretend to care."
Zac furrowed his brow at Taylor and he sat back in his seat and looked over at Isaac as he concentrated diligently on the road ahead of them. "Ike?" Zac addressed him. "Is that how you feel? Because it sure sounds like you and Tay have had a lot to discuss."
"Hey. I'm just driving, here. Okay? You two...you know, do what you gotta do. But leave me out of it."
As Zac turned his attention back to Taylor, Taylor brushed the hair out of his eyes and shook his head, going back to his work. "I'm done with it," he murmured. "Just leave me alone and let me finish this."
Zac's eyes lingered on him for a moment before he finally decided to respect Taylor's wishes and keep his mouth shut. As the car returned to silence once more, Zac's brain went a mile a minute. The truth was, it was the most he'd heard Taylor say at one time outside of the act since they'd been on the road. The first day or so with him had been relatively jovial. But over time, he seemed to revert more and more into a silence that Zac was sure that even Isaac was noticing. And now this sudden outburst, openly resenting Bessie's existence? Zac was as confused as ever. Taylor loved Bessie, they got along so well. He valued her opinions, went to her for advice...to Taylor, Bessie was quite literally the sister he never had and he treated her as such. So what was the problem now?
Zac had a suspicion that the root of his problems had to do with Aishe and his engagement to her. After all, he'd said so himself that he couldn't communicate with her effectively. He couldn't send telegrams or letters because she wouldn't be able to read them. And even if he wanted to spring the money for a long-distance phone call, he couldn't, because she was nowhere near a telephone. So how did you deal with something like that? How did you get yourself a brand new fiancée and then have to turn around and leave her with no means of contact whatsoever? Zac had offered to help. He'd offered to send things for him, she could receive a gift without having to read anything. Bessie could take it to her, it wouldn't have been an issue. But Taylor insisted on leaving it alone. And Zac couldn't understand why.
"So that's it, then," Zac finally murmured. "We're just going to yell and scream and not get anything accomplished. Gonna waste another day. Brilliant."
"Just leave him be," Isaac said. "He's...hell, I don't even know what to say about it, but he seems to prefer to be left alone and I can only oblige him."
"I don't think he needs that," Zac whispered.
"I can hear you," Taylor deadpanned.
In a huff, Zac shut his mouth once and for all and looked out the window in silence.
They had driven for another half an hour or so, Zac focusing his attention on the long stretch of road ahead of them and the random billboards they would pass by every now and then, when something ahead in the distance caught Zac's eye and caused Isaac to noticeably reduce their speed. As they approached the structure, a white four-door hauling a trailer much like their own, Zac rolled down his window and craned his neck. "Is that--? Is that Barney Harper on the side of the road, there?"
"Looks like it," Isaac agreed. And then, without another word, Isaac pulled their car over onto the side of the road and slowed to a stop.
Isaac and Zac both got out of the car, leaving Taylor nearly oblivious to his surroundings in the backseat. Approaching the dark, cherry brown Ford, Isaac and Zac carefully rounded the front of the open hood, so as not to startle Mr. Harper, and the two brothers began instantly mimicking the troupe leader as they waved the billows of smoke from their faces that flowed out from underneath the hood of the car. Glancing up at them as he coughed out some of the smoke from his lungs, Mr. Harper croaked out, "Fancy meeting you fellows here."
"Had some business we had to wrap up back in Philly," Isaac replied. "Looks like you got yourself a problem here, sir."
"Yeah," the man lamented, stepping back away from the hood to find relief. "Smoke just started coming out the sides of the hood so I pulled over to see what I could see. Problem is, I can't see anything till it stops smoking."
Stepping off to the side, Isaac walked a step or two, examining the sleek, pristine roadster. "Model A, huh?"
"She's still practically brand new," Mr. Harper argued. "Only a couple years old."
"Bet she's seen a lot of the country, hasn't she?" Isaac replied.
"That, she has."
"Well, I gotta admit," Isaac pondered, stroking the small tuft of hair on his chin thoughtfully. "I don't have much experience with newer thirties models like this. But all ours is is a few years younger than this one, so there can't be much difference in the interior. You know what's wrong with it?"
"First time she's ever done this to me. I'm afraid I've overworked her. And I'm scared that trailer, there, might be too big for her to haul, after all."
"Nah," Isaac replied, waving him off. "Ours isn't near as new as yours and it takes to the trailer just fine. These things happen, though. Mind if I take a crack at it?"
"By all means," Mr. Harper said, motioning his invitation to the hood of the car. "Work some of that Hanson magic of yours, see what you can do."
Isaac and Zac stole a brief smile at each other before Isaac helped himself to the car's inner workings. The smoke had finally died down and it was easier to look around and, before long, Isaac was bent over inside the car, arms and body stretched out, seeing what he could see and inspecting what he could inspect. After about five minutes or so of fiddling around, Isaac finally rose from it, smudges of black and oil all over his hands. "Radiator's dry," he announced. "You're lucky, it could have been worse. All's you need to do is fill her with some fluid. Water'll do it. And then I suggest taking her to the next service station and having her serviced. The last thing you want is your oil to run dry in the middle of nowhere like this. I'd help you out and change it myself, but we don't have any extra supplies to do it with."
"Well, I'll be," Mr. Harper replied in awe, removing his hat and wiping his brow. "So you know a thing or two about repairing vehicles, huh?"
Isaac beamed proudly. "Repaired a popcorn machine not too long ago, too. I don't know what it is, I'm fascinated by mechanical things."
Matching Isaac's smile, Zac found himself with a proud hand on his brother's shoulder. "That's right. Why, if it weren't for him, we'd have never been able to travel the country the way we did all those years ago."
"Well," Isaac replied, sheepish and humble. "I'm not sure it was all because of me--"
"You know what, boys? I want to raise your cut of the ten-in-one profits to half a percent. What do you think of that?"
The brothers' eyes nearly bugged out of their heads with shock. "Really?" Zac squeaked. "What for?"
"Well, clearly you're worth more than I thought you were. You boys are an asset to this troupe--but I also wanted to show my appreciation for your help, here. Watched several of our very own ride on past without so much as a blink of an eyelash. Not sure if they recognized that it was me or not, but I'd like to think that if it wasn't me, you'd have stopped anyway--because you're good guys like that."
Zac knew that was probably true. The truth was, Isaac never could seem to wait to get his hands dirty and he'd involve himself with any broken down contraption he could get his hands on. But Barney Harper didn't need to know about Isaac's obsession. Not since he was feeling so generous all of a sudden. At this point, Barney Harper could have anything he wanted.
"Zac," Isaac said. "Why don't you go in the trailer and get a container of water--?"
"Nonsense!" Mr. Harper stopped him. "I've got my own water, there's no sense in wasting yours. After all, it's my automobile. Dorothy!" He called out, cupping his hand over his mouth. "Bring us a bucket of water out here, will you?"
Zac stood there beside his eldest brother under the heat of the summer sun, his mind easily starting to wander as the same brunette from the troupe leader's hotel room came stumbling out of the parked travel trailer, struggling with a bucket of water as it sloshed about and she tried to keep it from splashing out all over her dress and shoes. Zac hadn't realized how out of it he was until the sound of her yelp shook him out of his trance and it occurred to him that he should be a gentleman and retrieve the heavy bucket from her hands.
Trotting over to the back of the car, which were the only few small steps the girl was able to make with the bucket, Zac took the handle from her hand with ease and he barely heard her murmur a "thank you" before he quickly made his way to his brother to hand it over. As Isaac and Mr. Harper found themselves engrossed in the car's entrails once again, Zac stood in silence, contemplating getting back in the car and sitting in awkward silence with Taylor.
He was surprised when his thoughts were interrupted by Dorothy, who had seemingly materialized beside him, as she seemed to have managed to sneak up beside him without a sound. "Thank you for helping me," she said quietly.
"Uh, sure," he replied, glancing at her quickly before turning his attention back to the hood of the car. "You're, uh, you're welcome."
"My name is Dorothy," she replied with a smile. Then her smile widened. "You can call me Dot."
"Well, then, uh...Dot," he smiled. "It's good to have finally met you. Officially, that is. Been on the road nearly two weeks but we've only really been familiar with your husband--"
"Oh, heavens, no!" She giggled, shaking her head. "He isn't my husband. He's my father. Gee, could you imagine someone as old as him being married to someone my age?"
Zac's eyes widened both in surprise and humiliation. He wasn't going to dare open that door of invitation and ask her how old she was, but he was dying of curiosity. To stave off the burning question, he cleared his throat and glanced back over at the older troupe leader. "Oh. Well, uh, I apologize for the mistake."
"It's all right. Everybody makes the same assumption. He and I travel alone because my mother stays behind with my sick brother. He can't be left alone and he can't travel. So we go on the carnival circuit and Daddy sends them money every week until we come home."
"Ah," Zac nodded. "So...what do you do in the carnival?"
Dorothy sighed and crossed her arms over her chest as she gazed at her father alongside Zac. "I'm not in the carnival. Daddy won't let me. I've dreamed up several thrilling acts that would be sure to draw a crowd, but Daddy says that the carnival life is no place for a young woman, but there are all kinds of women in the carnival, so I don't really see his point. But no matter. I just sit there and count boring old money every night. Keep the books. That sort of thing. 'Carnival Secretary,' I suppose."
'Daddy won't let me.' 'Daddy says.' As Zac stood there and listened to her talk, he swallowed hard, a harsh wave of familiarity washing over his body. Daringly, he looked over at the girl and his heart sank with a mixture of pain and anger. Dorothy reminded him of Bessie. She was older than Bessie, clearly, with shorter, darker hair just above her shoulders. She wore a short-sleeved, floral print day dress and her facial features were slightly sharper than Bessie's, not quite as soft and dainty. Dot was an attractive young woman, but she was nothing compared to Bessie--and the way she reminded him of Bessie regardless was enough to nearly make Zac physically sick.
"I've seen your act a few times," she said, breaking the silence as she crossed her arms over her chest. "It's really good."
"Yeah?" He said, his gratitude coming across a little more genuine than he'd intended. "Thank you, I'm glad."
"I like to watch you the most, though," she admitted.
Zac's heart sank. There was no way this could be kept completely neutral, could it?
"Is that so?" He murmured, his eyes boring into the hind end of his brother as he stood, bent over the side of the car's hood and spoke with Mr. Harper about what was going on underneath it.
"Oh, yes," she replied earnestly. "I think the way you handle those cards is quite fascinating--"
"Well, that's really Ike's department..."
"And you're so funny!" She giggled. "I always anticipate what's going to come out of your mouth next."
"You and me, both," he muttered.
The pair stood in silence, Zac now as uncomfortable as he'd ever been. He attempted to take a few steps through the grassy dirt trails along the side of the paved road toward his brother, but Dot stayed right at his side. Looking around at the empty land around them, watching the occasional car pass by, he felt trapped. Stuck between a rock and a hard place. Did he choose to be rude and ignore her and head for the car, subsequently leaving his eldest brother to the wolves in the hot sun? Or did he stand there and be uncomfortable and supportive? After all, she was the troupe leader's daughter. She probably wasn't one of the people you wanted to upset when you were fifteen hundred miles from home.
Interrupting his thoughts, as she seemingly did best, he saw her turn to face him out of his peripheral. "Anyway, I just want you to know that your act should do just splendid at Coney Island, despite the bankruptcy. Not to worry."
Zac felt the blow to his chest as if a thousand of Billy Connors's football chums all took turns beating him--and that would have felt better than how he felt now. His jaw dropping, he finally turned to look at the brunette, whose eyes squinted against the sunlight. "Excuse me?" He nearly squeaked out.
"You didn't know?" She asked earnestly. "Luna Park is currently in bankruptcy. That's where we're playing, you know. But the owner is speaking to lawyers and clearing it up and we're playing the park's grand reopening week. It's expected to be a huge turnout!"
Zac was speechless. His brain couldn't function well enough to form words, even with his best efforts. The only thing his brain could muster up was his desperate need to hit something. Hard. He needed violence. He craved it. He ached with need for it.
And he needed to get out of there before his confrontational nature ended up with Barney Harper sprawled all over the ground.
Now feeling no remorse for ignoring Dot at all, Zac took long strides toward the car, leaving the girl in the dust. "Ike!" He called out. "Gotta hit the road, let's wrap this up!"
Isaac straightened his spine and turned around to face Zac, his expression filled with annoyance. "How far are we gonna get without Mr. Harper, anyway? What's the rush?"
"Interesting question," Zac spat. "If you're through, we gotta get going. We all have a schedule to abide by and we," he motioned to himself and his brother, "have to discuss our act. Plus, Tay's probably dying in the heat in that car right now."
"Yeah, you're probably right," Isaac murmured. Then he turned to Mr. Harper, wiping the sweat from his brow. "If it's all right, it might be a good idea to stay close together until we reach Coney Island in case something like this happens again."
"Oh, I think that's a swell idea, Daddy!" Dot exclaimed gleefully.
Zac huffed and turned his head so that he could roll his eyes in private. Somehow, he knew that might be her reaction.
"Well I'd appreciate that very much, thank you," Mr. Harper replied.
Zac didn't stick around to hear the closing of the conversation and he knew he was being rude by ignoring Dot on the way to the car, but he didn't care. He was ready to go.
Several minutes later both vehicles, each pulling their own travel trailers, headed back down the road. After a couple of minutes of silence, Taylor finally managed to ask, "So what was it?"
"Dry radiator. Needs to be serviced," Isaac replied. "They're lucky it wasn't anything worse. Oh, and guess what? He's giving us a raise."
"A raise?" Taylor replied with surprise. "Really?"
"Yep. Bumping our cut of the ticket sales to half a percent of profit. He says because we're worth it."
"Yeah, for being his own, personal grease monkey," Zac scoffed.
"So?" Isaac argued defensively. "At least I was out there making myself useful. What were you doing over there, connecting the Dots?"
"Very funny," Zac spat.
"Connecting what dots?" Taylor asked blankly.
"Apparently Zac is growing a little tight with Mr. Harper's daughter, Dot."
"What is it with you and picking up girls with daddy issues?" Taylor asked Zac.
"You know, why don't you guys connect these dots?" Zac shot at them. "It's a good thing Barney Harper can afford to raise us, however he failed to mention that the part of Coney Island that we're playing is currently going through a bankruptcy. So nice of him to inform us of that before we decided to trek fifteen hundred miles from everything we know and love, huh?"
"What?" Taylor cried incredulously.
"Where did you get that information?" Isaac asked, his level of shock matching Taylor's. "From his daughter?"
"Yep. Dot."
The car was silent, obvious that the three brothers had each fallen into deep contemplation. Hell, if they were getting screwed over on Coney Island, Zac could only imagine what awaited them in the big city. Opening up for a talking picture? The nerve.
Out of nowhere, Taylor threw his torso over the seat and tossed a pad of paper and some pencils into Zac's lap. "Here. That's how you can make yourself useful. Draw a dummy. A life size one, one that we can build. We'll make it a woman. Make her look real."
"What?" Zac objected. "I'm not sitting here and drawing dolls--"
"Not just any doll," Taylor interjected. "Your target. For the knives. Then make a list of materials we'll need to build her. We'll have to do this at lightning speed if we ever hope to make any money this week. Our act has to be bigger and better than ever. Starting with the knife-throwing."
And with that, Taylor was back to his old, workaholic self. Their fighting was met with an unspoken apology and Zac begrudgingly picked up the pencil and started to jot down a list of materials. "I just want to go home," he murmured to himself.