THE COST OF LOVE
MY BESSIE
I'M SORRY I HURT YOU STOP I NEVER WANT TO HURT YOU STOP I LOVE YOU STOP I ALWAYS WILL STOP I MISS YOU TERRIBLY STOP I WAS AFRAID WHEN I SENT THAT TELEGRAM STOP I SHOULD HAVE NEVER SENT IT STOP PLEASE FORGIVE ME STOP ON ANOTHER NOTE MAYBE WE SHOULD TAKE INTO CONSIDERATION THE NATURE OF OUR TELEGRAMS TO EACH OTHER STOP YOUR LAST ONE WENT TO SOMEBODY ELSE BY MISTAKE AND NOW EVERYONE KNOWS THAT I'M THE MORON WHO MESSED UP WITH HIS GIRL AND HURT HER FEELINGS STOP I LOVE YOU WITH ALL MY HEART STOP PLEASE FORGIVE ME STOP
LOVE FOREVER
ZAC
Sighing as he slid the change across the counter, Zac wondered if he and Bessie should cease all telegram contact at all. As much as the idea pained him, he could only imagine what the one he had just received had cost her and the ones he was sending seemed to only be getting longer and longer. They were growing costly and if he kept spending his hard-earned money on telegrams then he wouldn't have enough to carry home with him and, damn it, he was going to carry money home with him if only to make this entire month-long inconvenience worth it.
Earlier in the morning, Zac had awoken to a stiflingly warm trailer, with the sun peeking in through the curtains and the birds singing in the trees just outside of it. It was as if yesterday's torrential rains had never existed and that the entire day was nothing more than a nightmare.
Except that he knew he couldn't get that lucky.
With it being only their second day in Philadelphia, it felt like it had been a week already. Surprisingly, though, he'd slept better that night than he had in awhile, without the assistance of any illegal beverages. For the first time in over a week, he felt rested, energized, and ready to take on the day. He was especially grateful for the plate of breakfast that had been brought back for him from the cook tent that was owned by Barney Harper and traveled around with the ten-in-one.
Stretching and yawning, he pulled himself out of the bed and munched on the food from the plate as he gathered clean clothes, bit by bit, and prepared to clean himself up in the trailer's tiny bathroom. He made a mental note that they would have to wash laundry in a day or two and he occupied his mind with how they were going to pull that off as he polished off his breakfast and disappeared into the bathroom.
After having washed up and shaved his face, he couldn't help but overhear the excessive amount of murmuring that seemed to escalate outside the trailer. When the murmurs didn't die down after a minute or so, he sloppily buttoned up the short-sleeved white shirt he wore and stepped outside, ignoring his bare feet.
It seemed that activity ran high around the camp that morning as carneys took ample advantage of the early morning sunlight and dry grounds beneath their feet. People hollered across the camp to each other, acts were being rehearsed all around, props being built or repaired, and costumes being carried from one temporary dwelling to the next. It dawned on him that his own trailer had been empty and, curiosity getting the best of him, he set off to find his older brothers. After all, he had a hankering to rehearse this morning. And he knew he could use the practice.
As he walked through the camp, he seemed to catch everyone's eye as he darted his own around in search of familiar faces. He couldn't help feeling uncomfortable, unable to pinpoint exactly why, seeing as he was no stranger to this type of atmosphere and certainly no longer a stranger to this traveling group. However, the traveling group was just what it was and they'd been forced to set up camp along with the rest of the fair's more stationary sideshow carneys, who were committed to the fair for the entire length of the run. That being said, it was noted that the acts associated with the ten-in-one would most likely be "strangers" throughout this entire tour. Realizing this, Zac felt better about the curious stares and the smirks as he continued to search for his brothers.
He had gotten halfway through the camp when he was stopped by a tall, skinny man with leathery tan skin and a nearly-empty mouth that Zac recognized as a carny who ran a ride that resembled a train that ran in circles along a track. His brown hair was bleached from excessive sun exposure and he stood around in a pair of overalls with no shirt underneath. According to rumor, he was a sleaze of a guy, constantly making passes and crude gestures at the females who boarded the ride he operated. He was notorious for making women uncomfortable and their men angry and had been reprimanded on more than one occasion for improper operation of an attraction. He'd been moved from the dunking booth to the water boat ride to the shooting game and how he was then allowed to operate a motorized attraction, Zac had no idea. But what he did know was that he wasn't a very popular individual and Zac and his brothers made sure to keep their distance.
Unfortunately, keeping distance was futile that morning as Samuel, the carney in question, smiled sickeningly at him and got his attention. "Hey, lover boy," he drawled. "Looking lost this morning."
Zac had no desire to stop and converse with this man. Unfortunately, he had every desire to locate his brothers. So he begrudgingly came to a halt and acknowledged him. "Guess you could say that," he replied, squinting the sun out of his eyes.
Samuel looked him over and then propped himself up against the trailer door that he stood outside of. "Saw you at the girlie tent last night."
Rolling his eyes, Zac ran a hand through his hair. "That doesn't surprise me," he murmured.
"Get you a good eyeful?" Samuel smirked. "Or did Miss Greta get herself good and full?"
"Nothing happened," Zac spat. "Mind your own business."
"Sure, sure. I shouldn't pry, that's rude. However, it's also rude to go visiting girlie shows while your girl's waiting on you back home, ain't it? I mean, if I were her, I'd be pretty hurt by it."
At this point, Zac's blood boiled, and it had nothing to do with the heat of the July sun above them. He felt his temper rising up in him fast and he swallowed and took a couple of deep breaths to suppress it because he promised himself that he would work on his temper and he also knew that Samuel had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. He was just trying to get a rise out of Zac and Zac wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.
"Yeah, well, I only went in to listen to the music play. Don't plan on going back again."
"That's smart," Samuel nodded. "Don't wanna add fuel to the fire."
Zac's nostrils flared and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Look, I'm just trying to find my brothers, okay? You seen them around here?"
"Your brothers? Yeah, sure. Down there hanging around with them natives," Samuel replied, pointing down the lot. "I don't trust them weirdos down there. Always running around with their weird voodoo and speaking in tongues..."
Zac fought the urge to tell Samuel what everyone really thought of him, complete with colorful expletives, and instead nodded at him and thanked him for his help.
"Hey," he called behind him. "You know what happens when you assume, right?"
Letting out an annoyed huff, Zac turned around. "What?"
"Hurt feelings," Samuel smirked. "See you 'round, lover boy."
Zac was thoroughly disgusted as his breakfast churned in his stomach. Walking with purpose down the lot, he ignored the twigs and the rocks that stabbed the bottoms of his bare feet until he reached a collection of four or five teepees surrounding a small fire. Zac shook his head as he approached. Samuel was a moron. Not that that was any big secret, but he supposed that living with the gypsies had opened his heart and his mind to other cultures. He shuddered to be reminded of the horrible history behind the Native Americans versus white Americans and the struggles he knew the race still faced. So this particular group took their medicine shows and their powwows on the road. The Native Americans had to get by, too. And he hoped that the general public who paid to watch their acts appreciated the culture they were willing to share. He knew that the rest of the carneys around them probably weren't quite as open-minded to the Native Americans' presence, but Zac was comfortable with it. It almost reminded him of being back home on the gypsy camp.
Which, in turn, made him think of Bessie.
And now he sighed as his heart hurt.
The "chief" of the traveling tribe, who they called Running Bear, had just stepped out of one of the teepees in a large, feathered headdress and white beads across his chest. He smiled as Zac approached. "Welcome."
"Uh, hello," Zac replied nervously. "Someone, uh, someone told me my brothers were here?"
"Ah," Running Bear nodded. "They were. But they're gone now."
Zac huffed a frustrated breath. "Any idea which way they went?"
Running Bear extended his arm and pointed behind Zac. Following his arm, Zac turned around and was faced with an entire campground, all the way in the opposite direction. His face fell with disappointment at the lack of help. "Well. Thank you."
As he turned to leave, Running Bear caught him. "Young gentleman. You are troubled."
Turning back around, he looked the old Indian in his soft, dark eyes and furrowed his own brow. "What makes you think I'm troubled?"
"Your eyes. And your heart. I feel your trouble, young gentleman."
Turning his entire body around to face the old man now, Zac's skepticism and annoyance began to surface once again. "Yeah? Where's your wife?"
"Inside our teepee."
"Then you don't feel my trouble. You wouldn't understand my trouble. Nobody does."
"You are mistaken."
"Pretty sure I'm not."
"You have trouble with trust. And confidence."
"There is nothing wrong with my confidence," Zac spat. "You don't even know me. And I only came here to find my brothers, not to stand here and be judged by strangers."
"No judgment, young gentleman. Only trust. I trust you. But you must trust yourself and you must truly believe in order to find confidence and true happiness."
"I am happy--"
"But your eyes are miles and miles away. Along with your confidence."
Zac swallowed a lump that had unexpectedly formed in his throat and he cleared his throat to get rid of the remainder. "I'm going to find my brothers," he said quietly. "Have a nice day."
Turning on his bare heel, Zac took long strides through the grass and past the strings of camps occupied by carneys. As his hair flew back off his shoulders, he fought to forget the chief's words. What did he know, anyway? He knew nothing. Absolutely nothing. And what was all that business about trust? He had hit way too close to home and Zac didn't like it.
As he neared his own trailer, his heart leapt as he spied Miss Thelma Mae Little stepping up into hers. Trotting over there, he reached up and held her door open as she slowly made her way inside. "Why, thank you, Zac. You sure do know how to make a lady feel special."
Rolling his eyes, he shook his head and followed her inside her trailer. "Yeah, well. I might know someone who thinks differently," he muttered.
Settling herself into her regular chair, she smoothed down her pink, floral dress and looked up at Zac, her eyes full of sympathy. "I know," her light voice said.
Shaking his head slowly, he went over the past couple of days in his mind. "No..." he replied thoughtfully. "I don't remember having that conversation with you..." Then his face lit up. "Hey, where were you coming from, anyway?"
"The cook tent," she grinned. "That boy, Charlie, cooks up the best bacon over there." Then she giggled and she blushed. "He always makes extra just for me."
"Hey, there," Zac grinned. "You've been visiting the cook tent all by yourself! See, I told you all it took was to put yourself out there. Making friends is easier than you think. And everyone sees just how lovely you are--"
Miss Thelma's eyes hardened. "Don't change the subject, Zac."
"There's no subject to change."
"We were talking about you and your Bessie."
Zac's cheeks grew hot all of a sudden, while his chest grew unnaturally tight. "We were not discussing me and Bessie..."
"We were," Miss Thelma nodded. Then she pointed to the purse she had laid down on the table that she now couldn't reach. "Will you hand me my purse, there?"
Temporarily distracted, he did as she asked and she reached in and pulled out a slip of paper. "This came this morning," she said softly. "Apparently it got delivered to that cretin, Samuel, by accident, who was much too happy to receive it. Then it got passed around the camp until someone recognized where it was supposed to go. I ended up with it in the cook tent after I overheard your name come out of people's mouths that I didn't recognize." Then she paused and she blushed. "Then I, um, I mustered up the courage to interrupt because they were saying things about my friend. And I told them that I knew you and so they gave me this to give to you. Said people have been trying to figure out who it belongs to all morning." Offering him the paper, she cleared her throat. "I promise I didn't look at it. Because it's none of my business. I just know it belongs to you."
Taking the paper from her hand, he saw immediately that it was a telegram from Bessie. His hands trembling, he sank down in a chair across the table from her, holding his breath as he read Bessie's words. Words that had already been read, words that were meant only for him. His own private relationship with the woman he loved was now exposed for all of these strangers to see. And as if he didn't feel like he'd failed Bessie enough, this was the ultimate failure, he was sure of it.
He couldn't help himself when he broke down in front of Miss Thelma. He knew it wasn't appropriate for men to cry, but ever since he'd left Tulsa, his emotions had been completely haywire and he couldn't stop himself. He sniffed hard and ran his palm over his face as he hung his head over the telegram that trembled in his hands. "I hurt her, Thelma," his voice cracked. "I never meant to hurt her. I love her. How could I do that to her?"
Thelma was silent for a moment while Zac cried. Then, carefully, she asked, "Were you untrue to her?"
He shook his head and wiped his nose with his arm before he looked over at her. "No. But I accused her of being untrue to me."
"Um, well..." her tiny voice mused. "Did you have reason to believe that she was?"
"No," he shook his head again. "No, never. She's the truest, most kind-hearted, sweetest...just...she would never. She would never."
"Then why would you--?"
"There's this guy back home. He hates me and I hate him. And she had lunch with him because he wanted to apologize to her about the way he's treated the both of us. And I'm just...he's rich and he's handsome and he's everything that a girl like her should be with--"
"But he's a jerk."
"The biggest."
"And she loves you?"
"She does. I can't believe she still does."
"So then why did you accuse her of something so horrible?"
"Because I got impatient and I got mad when she didn't respond to my telegram." He reached over the table and thrust the telegram at her.
"Zac, I can't." Thelma shook her head and raised her palms to reject it. "I can't read your personal business."
"Here," he urged, further thrusting it at her. "Read it. Read how big of a bastard I am and how I never deserved her to begin with. Go on. Read it."
With regret in her eyes, Thelma hesitantly took the paper from him and read it over. After a minute or two, she silently slid the paper back across the table and folded her hands in her lap. "Oh, Zac," she whispered.
"I know," he spat.
"This must be so difficult for you. For the both of you."
"How could I be so selfish? I feel like--like I can't stop sitting here and wallowing in my own self pity. I never knew any of that, I never took into consideration the impact that my leaving would have on her, it's like--I kicked her while she was down, you know? She's back home...patiently waiting for me and loving me and--and losing sleep over me and I sit back here and worry about myself. I am such a bastard, Miss Thelma. She deserves better than me."
"Don't be so hard on yourself, Zac," she said softly.
"Did we read the same telegram?" He asked in disbelief. "Did you read the parts where she thinks I'm rude and disrespectful and where she doesn't want me to contact her again?"
"I read a telegram from a young woman who loves you despite your faults. I read a telegram from a young woman who respects you enough to let you know when you're wrong instead of pretending everything is peaches and cream. Would you rather she lie to you and take whatever you said to her lying down? Is that the kind of woman you want? Because that's apparently not the woman you ended up with."
"I miss her so much."
"I say you have two options here, Zac. I say you either turn tail and run home. Or you finish out this month and see what you can make out of yourself. You have a chance coming up in the big city where you could really be something again. And that would be one hell of a future for a small town girl from Tulsa, Oklahoma. I don't know what kind of life you had back home, but I guarantee you weren't making that kind of money."
Zac looked over at Thelma, his tears having dried, and he blinked at her in disbelief. "Are you suggesting that I not go home to her?"
"I'm suggesting that whatever decisions you make from now on, you do it with her best interest in mind. Sure, this is your life, but if you want a future with this young woman, there are two of you to consider now. You're not alone anymore, Zac. And it's high time that you lifted your chin up, puffed out your chest, and remembered that. You know what you're doing right now? Sitting here fifteen hundred miles away in Pennsylvania?"
"Living in hell?"
"Bringing home the bacon. And that will be your role for the rest of your days if you want it to be. You bring home that bacon for her, for you, and for all the future babies the two of you will make. You got that? Don't you dare give up a good thing. Not when there are those of us out there who are without."
Zac sat back in his chair and looked at Thelma sympathetically. "Miss Thelma..."
"No, sir," she shook her head defiantly. "This isn't about me, this is about you. Stop wallowing and go earn your dough. Take it all back home to her, start a life, have a future. Appreciate that you have her back home, buck up and do it for her. You have a purpose here, Zac. Work for it."
His face fell as his eyes landed on the telegram in his hands again. "I'm scared, Miss Thelma."
"She didn't say she didn't love you," Thelma replied. "She said she wasn't going to tolerate your shit anymore and that you better not write her if you're in a sour mood."
Zac could only stare and blink at Thelma's blunt words.
"Imagine what that would have been like had she done it in person," she continued.
He smiled sheepishly, running a hand across the back of his neck. "Believe me, it's not fun. I've been on the receiving end of it several times."
"And she didn't stop loving you then, did she?"
"No," he admitted quietly, shaking his head.
"Well, then, there you have it," Thelma smiled brightly. "Anyway, you probably ought to run along. Your brothers have been back and forth all over camp this morning hauling all kinds of things this way and that. It's been exhausting me just watching them."
"You've seen them?"
"Yeah, I've seen them. Never stay in one place for long, but whatever they're doing, they're hard at work doing it. Can't wait to see what's up their sleeves."
Standing up, Zac leaned over and placed and appreciative kiss on Thelma's cheek, causing her to blush and giggle and he thanked her before walking out the door.
Clutching the telegram in his fist, he walked into his trailer to find it still empty. Letting out a breath and rolling his eyes, he tied his hair back off of his neck, put on a cap to tuck it up into, and reached into a box underneath his bed and shoved a handful of change into his pocket. As he stood up, the change jingled as the trailer door burst open.
Turning around, Taylor looked back at him breathlessly. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Where the hell have you been?" Zac countered.
"Ike and I have been gathering supplies. Where are you going?"
Zac picked up his vest and slid his arms through, buttoning it up around his chest. "Into town. Taking the car."
"Tell me not another telegram."
"Yep. Gotta apologize. I hurt Bessie's feelings. Can't sit there and let it fester."
"Zac," Taylor lamented. "You can't keep spending all your money on telegrams."
"I know," Zac spat. "Anyway, I won't be gone long. Got some rehearsing to do."
"While you're in town, pick up some paints."
"What?"
"Paints," Taylor repeated. "Bright colors, several different ones. And brushes, too. And hurry back. If we do this in enough time, we'll be able to rehearse this act and debut it on Coney Island."
"Fine," Zac murmured. Making a mental list in his head, he knew what had just happened. He'd been silently volunteered to paint whatever it was Taylor needed painted. A long time ago, he had been designated as the group's "artist." He hadn't had to paint anything in a long time. Something told him he didn't want to know what he was painting this time.
__________________________________________
"Beatrice," her father said to her. "I received a phone call today."
Bessie stood next to the wall by the staircase with the phone's receiver glued to her ear, twirling the cord around her fingers nervously. It wasn't often that her father phoned home in the middle of the workday unless he needed to go over some plans with her mother. And he certainly never phoned home to talk to Bessie. "Yes, Daddy?" She replied, her voice tiny.
"The telephone company felt the need to contact me at my office--to review some recent Western Union charges--"
"Daddy, I had to!" She burst out, suddenly on the defensive. "Zac and I had a disagreement, we had to get it cleared up!"
"You had a disag--? How on earth do you manage to have a disagreement when you're not even near each other?"
"Because sometimes Zac is a conclusion-jumping hothead," she pouted.
"Yes, well." The judge cleared his throat. "Whatever you and Zac have going on is between you two, it's none of my business. But the telephone bill IS my business. And, sweetheart, I love that you're able to communicate with him in a manner such as this, but it really is a costly way to communicate--"
"Daddy, I can't mail him letters, they won't get to him in time!"
"I understand that. But he's only going to be gone a few more short weeks. If you want to continue to communicate through telegram, then you will either need to limit it to once a week on a need-to-know basis or you're going to have to find yourself some work in order to pay for all of these messages. But I can't continue to rack up this ridiculous bill."
Bessie's heart sank as tears threatened to spring to her eyes. Turning her body, she rested her back against the wall and forced her voice not to crack. "But, Daddy, there's no work out there for women my age. You know that."
"I wish I knew how to help you, princess. You know, you're very lucky to have the luxury to communicate in such a way these days. Your mother and I had no choice but to wait on the mail, slow as it was. But, as you know, convenience comes with a price. And times like right now, well...if times were like they used to be we wouldn't be having this conversation. You understand that, don't you? And think about Zac. Do you really think he can afford to reply to all your telegrams all the time?"
Suddenly she felt as if she'd been very selfish. And perhaps she was, charging her personal telegrams to their telephone bill. It was just so easy to march right down to the telegram office and get a message to Zac in a matter of an hour where she couldn't mail him a letter at all. Having the convenience helped ease the pain. The telegrams made it feel like he wasn't a thousand miles away. Maybe she was being selfish. But what else could she do?
However, she knew her father was right. She sucked in a breath, peeled her back off the wall, and held her chin high. She was a grown woman now. A grown woman who needed to handle her beau's prolonged absence with maturity and poise and grace. And trust. Always trust.
"You're right, Daddy," she said quietly. "I should be more considerate. I apologize for being so careless."
"That's my girl," the judge replied warmly. "I'm happy we were able to discuss this like adults." Then he sighed. "Wow. Hurts your old man's heart to say that, you know that? You'll always be my little girl."
"I know," she whispered.
"Anyway," he said, his voice brightening. "Time to get back to work. Gotta settle a neighborly dispute in a few minutes. See you at supper. Can't wait to see what you and your mother are whipping up tonight."
"You're going to love it!" She grinned.
As she hung up with her father, she looked at the telegram that rested on the table next to her and snatched it up into her hand. She read Zac's words over once again, having only received this telegram an hour earlier. Biting her lip, she looked toward the front door and recalled the conversation she'd just had with her father. Then she glanced at the telegram one last time and made a beeline for the front door. One more. Just one more telegram and then she wouldn't send any more. She promised.
MY DEAREST ZAC
I FORGIVE YOU STOP I LOVE YOU TOO MUCH AND I WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY STOP I DON'T WANT TO FIGHT STOP I KNOW YOU DIDN'T MEAN THE THINGS YOU SAID STOP I KNOW YOU LOVE ME AND YOU TRUST ME AND BEING APART IS JUST AS HARD ON YOU AS IT IS ON ME STOP JUST REMEMBER WE'RE IN THIS TOGETHER JUST YOU AND ME STOP I'M SORRY MY TELEGRAM FOUND THE WRONG HANDS STOP MAYBE YOU'RE RIGHT ABOUT SENDING TELEGRAMS STOP DADDY JUST TOLD ME THAT THE ONES I'M SENDING ARE COSTING TOO MUCH MONEY SO I HAVE TO QUIT SENDING THEM OR SLOW DOWN STOP I DON'T WANT TO BE INCONSIDERATE STOP I CAN'T WAIT FOR YOU TO COME HOME STOP I LOVE YOU SO MUCH STOP
FOREVER YOURS
BESSIE
MY BESSIE
I'M SORRY I HURT YOU STOP I NEVER WANT TO HURT YOU STOP I LOVE YOU STOP I ALWAYS WILL STOP I MISS YOU TERRIBLY STOP I WAS AFRAID WHEN I SENT THAT TELEGRAM STOP I SHOULD HAVE NEVER SENT IT STOP PLEASE FORGIVE ME STOP ON ANOTHER NOTE MAYBE WE SHOULD TAKE INTO CONSIDERATION THE NATURE OF OUR TELEGRAMS TO EACH OTHER STOP YOUR LAST ONE WENT TO SOMEBODY ELSE BY MISTAKE AND NOW EVERYONE KNOWS THAT I'M THE MORON WHO MESSED UP WITH HIS GIRL AND HURT HER FEELINGS STOP I LOVE YOU WITH ALL MY HEART STOP PLEASE FORGIVE ME STOP
LOVE FOREVER
ZAC
Sighing as he slid the change across the counter, Zac wondered if he and Bessie should cease all telegram contact at all. As much as the idea pained him, he could only imagine what the one he had just received had cost her and the ones he was sending seemed to only be getting longer and longer. They were growing costly and if he kept spending his hard-earned money on telegrams then he wouldn't have enough to carry home with him and, damn it, he was going to carry money home with him if only to make this entire month-long inconvenience worth it.
Earlier in the morning, Zac had awoken to a stiflingly warm trailer, with the sun peeking in through the curtains and the birds singing in the trees just outside of it. It was as if yesterday's torrential rains had never existed and that the entire day was nothing more than a nightmare.
Except that he knew he couldn't get that lucky.
With it being only their second day in Philadelphia, it felt like it had been a week already. Surprisingly, though, he'd slept better that night than he had in awhile, without the assistance of any illegal beverages. For the first time in over a week, he felt rested, energized, and ready to take on the day. He was especially grateful for the plate of breakfast that had been brought back for him from the cook tent that was owned by Barney Harper and traveled around with the ten-in-one.
Stretching and yawning, he pulled himself out of the bed and munched on the food from the plate as he gathered clean clothes, bit by bit, and prepared to clean himself up in the trailer's tiny bathroom. He made a mental note that they would have to wash laundry in a day or two and he occupied his mind with how they were going to pull that off as he polished off his breakfast and disappeared into the bathroom.
After having washed up and shaved his face, he couldn't help but overhear the excessive amount of murmuring that seemed to escalate outside the trailer. When the murmurs didn't die down after a minute or so, he sloppily buttoned up the short-sleeved white shirt he wore and stepped outside, ignoring his bare feet.
It seemed that activity ran high around the camp that morning as carneys took ample advantage of the early morning sunlight and dry grounds beneath their feet. People hollered across the camp to each other, acts were being rehearsed all around, props being built or repaired, and costumes being carried from one temporary dwelling to the next. It dawned on him that his own trailer had been empty and, curiosity getting the best of him, he set off to find his older brothers. After all, he had a hankering to rehearse this morning. And he knew he could use the practice.
As he walked through the camp, he seemed to catch everyone's eye as he darted his own around in search of familiar faces. He couldn't help feeling uncomfortable, unable to pinpoint exactly why, seeing as he was no stranger to this type of atmosphere and certainly no longer a stranger to this traveling group. However, the traveling group was just what it was and they'd been forced to set up camp along with the rest of the fair's more stationary sideshow carneys, who were committed to the fair for the entire length of the run. That being said, it was noted that the acts associated with the ten-in-one would most likely be "strangers" throughout this entire tour. Realizing this, Zac felt better about the curious stares and the smirks as he continued to search for his brothers.
He had gotten halfway through the camp when he was stopped by a tall, skinny man with leathery tan skin and a nearly-empty mouth that Zac recognized as a carny who ran a ride that resembled a train that ran in circles along a track. His brown hair was bleached from excessive sun exposure and he stood around in a pair of overalls with no shirt underneath. According to rumor, he was a sleaze of a guy, constantly making passes and crude gestures at the females who boarded the ride he operated. He was notorious for making women uncomfortable and their men angry and had been reprimanded on more than one occasion for improper operation of an attraction. He'd been moved from the dunking booth to the water boat ride to the shooting game and how he was then allowed to operate a motorized attraction, Zac had no idea. But what he did know was that he wasn't a very popular individual and Zac and his brothers made sure to keep their distance.
Unfortunately, keeping distance was futile that morning as Samuel, the carney in question, smiled sickeningly at him and got his attention. "Hey, lover boy," he drawled. "Looking lost this morning."
Zac had no desire to stop and converse with this man. Unfortunately, he had every desire to locate his brothers. So he begrudgingly came to a halt and acknowledged him. "Guess you could say that," he replied, squinting the sun out of his eyes.
Samuel looked him over and then propped himself up against the trailer door that he stood outside of. "Saw you at the girlie tent last night."
Rolling his eyes, Zac ran a hand through his hair. "That doesn't surprise me," he murmured.
"Get you a good eyeful?" Samuel smirked. "Or did Miss Greta get herself good and full?"
"Nothing happened," Zac spat. "Mind your own business."
"Sure, sure. I shouldn't pry, that's rude. However, it's also rude to go visiting girlie shows while your girl's waiting on you back home, ain't it? I mean, if I were her, I'd be pretty hurt by it."
At this point, Zac's blood boiled, and it had nothing to do with the heat of the July sun above them. He felt his temper rising up in him fast and he swallowed and took a couple of deep breaths to suppress it because he promised himself that he would work on his temper and he also knew that Samuel had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. He was just trying to get a rise out of Zac and Zac wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.
"Yeah, well, I only went in to listen to the music play. Don't plan on going back again."
"That's smart," Samuel nodded. "Don't wanna add fuel to the fire."
Zac's nostrils flared and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Look, I'm just trying to find my brothers, okay? You seen them around here?"
"Your brothers? Yeah, sure. Down there hanging around with them natives," Samuel replied, pointing down the lot. "I don't trust them weirdos down there. Always running around with their weird voodoo and speaking in tongues..."
Zac fought the urge to tell Samuel what everyone really thought of him, complete with colorful expletives, and instead nodded at him and thanked him for his help.
"Hey," he called behind him. "You know what happens when you assume, right?"
Letting out an annoyed huff, Zac turned around. "What?"
"Hurt feelings," Samuel smirked. "See you 'round, lover boy."
Zac was thoroughly disgusted as his breakfast churned in his stomach. Walking with purpose down the lot, he ignored the twigs and the rocks that stabbed the bottoms of his bare feet until he reached a collection of four or five teepees surrounding a small fire. Zac shook his head as he approached. Samuel was a moron. Not that that was any big secret, but he supposed that living with the gypsies had opened his heart and his mind to other cultures. He shuddered to be reminded of the horrible history behind the Native Americans versus white Americans and the struggles he knew the race still faced. So this particular group took their medicine shows and their powwows on the road. The Native Americans had to get by, too. And he hoped that the general public who paid to watch their acts appreciated the culture they were willing to share. He knew that the rest of the carneys around them probably weren't quite as open-minded to the Native Americans' presence, but Zac was comfortable with it. It almost reminded him of being back home on the gypsy camp.
Which, in turn, made him think of Bessie.
And now he sighed as his heart hurt.
The "chief" of the traveling tribe, who they called Running Bear, had just stepped out of one of the teepees in a large, feathered headdress and white beads across his chest. He smiled as Zac approached. "Welcome."
"Uh, hello," Zac replied nervously. "Someone, uh, someone told me my brothers were here?"
"Ah," Running Bear nodded. "They were. But they're gone now."
Zac huffed a frustrated breath. "Any idea which way they went?"
Running Bear extended his arm and pointed behind Zac. Following his arm, Zac turned around and was faced with an entire campground, all the way in the opposite direction. His face fell with disappointment at the lack of help. "Well. Thank you."
As he turned to leave, Running Bear caught him. "Young gentleman. You are troubled."
Turning back around, he looked the old Indian in his soft, dark eyes and furrowed his own brow. "What makes you think I'm troubled?"
"Your eyes. And your heart. I feel your trouble, young gentleman."
Turning his entire body around to face the old man now, Zac's skepticism and annoyance began to surface once again. "Yeah? Where's your wife?"
"Inside our teepee."
"Then you don't feel my trouble. You wouldn't understand my trouble. Nobody does."
"You are mistaken."
"Pretty sure I'm not."
"You have trouble with trust. And confidence."
"There is nothing wrong with my confidence," Zac spat. "You don't even know me. And I only came here to find my brothers, not to stand here and be judged by strangers."
"No judgment, young gentleman. Only trust. I trust you. But you must trust yourself and you must truly believe in order to find confidence and true happiness."
"I am happy--"
"But your eyes are miles and miles away. Along with your confidence."
Zac swallowed a lump that had unexpectedly formed in his throat and he cleared his throat to get rid of the remainder. "I'm going to find my brothers," he said quietly. "Have a nice day."
Turning on his bare heel, Zac took long strides through the grass and past the strings of camps occupied by carneys. As his hair flew back off his shoulders, he fought to forget the chief's words. What did he know, anyway? He knew nothing. Absolutely nothing. And what was all that business about trust? He had hit way too close to home and Zac didn't like it.
As he neared his own trailer, his heart leapt as he spied Miss Thelma Mae Little stepping up into hers. Trotting over there, he reached up and held her door open as she slowly made her way inside. "Why, thank you, Zac. You sure do know how to make a lady feel special."
Rolling his eyes, he shook his head and followed her inside her trailer. "Yeah, well. I might know someone who thinks differently," he muttered.
Settling herself into her regular chair, she smoothed down her pink, floral dress and looked up at Zac, her eyes full of sympathy. "I know," her light voice said.
Shaking his head slowly, he went over the past couple of days in his mind. "No..." he replied thoughtfully. "I don't remember having that conversation with you..." Then his face lit up. "Hey, where were you coming from, anyway?"
"The cook tent," she grinned. "That boy, Charlie, cooks up the best bacon over there." Then she giggled and she blushed. "He always makes extra just for me."
"Hey, there," Zac grinned. "You've been visiting the cook tent all by yourself! See, I told you all it took was to put yourself out there. Making friends is easier than you think. And everyone sees just how lovely you are--"
Miss Thelma's eyes hardened. "Don't change the subject, Zac."
"There's no subject to change."
"We were talking about you and your Bessie."
Zac's cheeks grew hot all of a sudden, while his chest grew unnaturally tight. "We were not discussing me and Bessie..."
"We were," Miss Thelma nodded. Then she pointed to the purse she had laid down on the table that she now couldn't reach. "Will you hand me my purse, there?"
Temporarily distracted, he did as she asked and she reached in and pulled out a slip of paper. "This came this morning," she said softly. "Apparently it got delivered to that cretin, Samuel, by accident, who was much too happy to receive it. Then it got passed around the camp until someone recognized where it was supposed to go. I ended up with it in the cook tent after I overheard your name come out of people's mouths that I didn't recognize." Then she paused and she blushed. "Then I, um, I mustered up the courage to interrupt because they were saying things about my friend. And I told them that I knew you and so they gave me this to give to you. Said people have been trying to figure out who it belongs to all morning." Offering him the paper, she cleared her throat. "I promise I didn't look at it. Because it's none of my business. I just know it belongs to you."
Taking the paper from her hand, he saw immediately that it was a telegram from Bessie. His hands trembling, he sank down in a chair across the table from her, holding his breath as he read Bessie's words. Words that had already been read, words that were meant only for him. His own private relationship with the woman he loved was now exposed for all of these strangers to see. And as if he didn't feel like he'd failed Bessie enough, this was the ultimate failure, he was sure of it.
He couldn't help himself when he broke down in front of Miss Thelma. He knew it wasn't appropriate for men to cry, but ever since he'd left Tulsa, his emotions had been completely haywire and he couldn't stop himself. He sniffed hard and ran his palm over his face as he hung his head over the telegram that trembled in his hands. "I hurt her, Thelma," his voice cracked. "I never meant to hurt her. I love her. How could I do that to her?"
Thelma was silent for a moment while Zac cried. Then, carefully, she asked, "Were you untrue to her?"
He shook his head and wiped his nose with his arm before he looked over at her. "No. But I accused her of being untrue to me."
"Um, well..." her tiny voice mused. "Did you have reason to believe that she was?"
"No," he shook his head again. "No, never. She's the truest, most kind-hearted, sweetest...just...she would never. She would never."
"Then why would you--?"
"There's this guy back home. He hates me and I hate him. And she had lunch with him because he wanted to apologize to her about the way he's treated the both of us. And I'm just...he's rich and he's handsome and he's everything that a girl like her should be with--"
"But he's a jerk."
"The biggest."
"And she loves you?"
"She does. I can't believe she still does."
"So then why did you accuse her of something so horrible?"
"Because I got impatient and I got mad when she didn't respond to my telegram." He reached over the table and thrust the telegram at her.
"Zac, I can't." Thelma shook her head and raised her palms to reject it. "I can't read your personal business."
"Here," he urged, further thrusting it at her. "Read it. Read how big of a bastard I am and how I never deserved her to begin with. Go on. Read it."
With regret in her eyes, Thelma hesitantly took the paper from him and read it over. After a minute or two, she silently slid the paper back across the table and folded her hands in her lap. "Oh, Zac," she whispered.
"I know," he spat.
"This must be so difficult for you. For the both of you."
"How could I be so selfish? I feel like--like I can't stop sitting here and wallowing in my own self pity. I never knew any of that, I never took into consideration the impact that my leaving would have on her, it's like--I kicked her while she was down, you know? She's back home...patiently waiting for me and loving me and--and losing sleep over me and I sit back here and worry about myself. I am such a bastard, Miss Thelma. She deserves better than me."
"Don't be so hard on yourself, Zac," she said softly.
"Did we read the same telegram?" He asked in disbelief. "Did you read the parts where she thinks I'm rude and disrespectful and where she doesn't want me to contact her again?"
"I read a telegram from a young woman who loves you despite your faults. I read a telegram from a young woman who respects you enough to let you know when you're wrong instead of pretending everything is peaches and cream. Would you rather she lie to you and take whatever you said to her lying down? Is that the kind of woman you want? Because that's apparently not the woman you ended up with."
"I miss her so much."
"I say you have two options here, Zac. I say you either turn tail and run home. Or you finish out this month and see what you can make out of yourself. You have a chance coming up in the big city where you could really be something again. And that would be one hell of a future for a small town girl from Tulsa, Oklahoma. I don't know what kind of life you had back home, but I guarantee you weren't making that kind of money."
Zac looked over at Thelma, his tears having dried, and he blinked at her in disbelief. "Are you suggesting that I not go home to her?"
"I'm suggesting that whatever decisions you make from now on, you do it with her best interest in mind. Sure, this is your life, but if you want a future with this young woman, there are two of you to consider now. You're not alone anymore, Zac. And it's high time that you lifted your chin up, puffed out your chest, and remembered that. You know what you're doing right now? Sitting here fifteen hundred miles away in Pennsylvania?"
"Living in hell?"
"Bringing home the bacon. And that will be your role for the rest of your days if you want it to be. You bring home that bacon for her, for you, and for all the future babies the two of you will make. You got that? Don't you dare give up a good thing. Not when there are those of us out there who are without."
Zac sat back in his chair and looked at Thelma sympathetically. "Miss Thelma..."
"No, sir," she shook her head defiantly. "This isn't about me, this is about you. Stop wallowing and go earn your dough. Take it all back home to her, start a life, have a future. Appreciate that you have her back home, buck up and do it for her. You have a purpose here, Zac. Work for it."
His face fell as his eyes landed on the telegram in his hands again. "I'm scared, Miss Thelma."
"She didn't say she didn't love you," Thelma replied. "She said she wasn't going to tolerate your shit anymore and that you better not write her if you're in a sour mood."
Zac could only stare and blink at Thelma's blunt words.
"Imagine what that would have been like had she done it in person," she continued.
He smiled sheepishly, running a hand across the back of his neck. "Believe me, it's not fun. I've been on the receiving end of it several times."
"And she didn't stop loving you then, did she?"
"No," he admitted quietly, shaking his head.
"Well, then, there you have it," Thelma smiled brightly. "Anyway, you probably ought to run along. Your brothers have been back and forth all over camp this morning hauling all kinds of things this way and that. It's been exhausting me just watching them."
"You've seen them?"
"Yeah, I've seen them. Never stay in one place for long, but whatever they're doing, they're hard at work doing it. Can't wait to see what's up their sleeves."
Standing up, Zac leaned over and placed and appreciative kiss on Thelma's cheek, causing her to blush and giggle and he thanked her before walking out the door.
Clutching the telegram in his fist, he walked into his trailer to find it still empty. Letting out a breath and rolling his eyes, he tied his hair back off of his neck, put on a cap to tuck it up into, and reached into a box underneath his bed and shoved a handful of change into his pocket. As he stood up, the change jingled as the trailer door burst open.
Turning around, Taylor looked back at him breathlessly. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Where the hell have you been?" Zac countered.
"Ike and I have been gathering supplies. Where are you going?"
Zac picked up his vest and slid his arms through, buttoning it up around his chest. "Into town. Taking the car."
"Tell me not another telegram."
"Yep. Gotta apologize. I hurt Bessie's feelings. Can't sit there and let it fester."
"Zac," Taylor lamented. "You can't keep spending all your money on telegrams."
"I know," Zac spat. "Anyway, I won't be gone long. Got some rehearsing to do."
"While you're in town, pick up some paints."
"What?"
"Paints," Taylor repeated. "Bright colors, several different ones. And brushes, too. And hurry back. If we do this in enough time, we'll be able to rehearse this act and debut it on Coney Island."
"Fine," Zac murmured. Making a mental list in his head, he knew what had just happened. He'd been silently volunteered to paint whatever it was Taylor needed painted. A long time ago, he had been designated as the group's "artist." He hadn't had to paint anything in a long time. Something told him he didn't want to know what he was painting this time.
__________________________________________
"Beatrice," her father said to her. "I received a phone call today."
Bessie stood next to the wall by the staircase with the phone's receiver glued to her ear, twirling the cord around her fingers nervously. It wasn't often that her father phoned home in the middle of the workday unless he needed to go over some plans with her mother. And he certainly never phoned home to talk to Bessie. "Yes, Daddy?" She replied, her voice tiny.
"The telephone company felt the need to contact me at my office--to review some recent Western Union charges--"
"Daddy, I had to!" She burst out, suddenly on the defensive. "Zac and I had a disagreement, we had to get it cleared up!"
"You had a disag--? How on earth do you manage to have a disagreement when you're not even near each other?"
"Because sometimes Zac is a conclusion-jumping hothead," she pouted.
"Yes, well." The judge cleared his throat. "Whatever you and Zac have going on is between you two, it's none of my business. But the telephone bill IS my business. And, sweetheart, I love that you're able to communicate with him in a manner such as this, but it really is a costly way to communicate--"
"Daddy, I can't mail him letters, they won't get to him in time!"
"I understand that. But he's only going to be gone a few more short weeks. If you want to continue to communicate through telegram, then you will either need to limit it to once a week on a need-to-know basis or you're going to have to find yourself some work in order to pay for all of these messages. But I can't continue to rack up this ridiculous bill."
Bessie's heart sank as tears threatened to spring to her eyes. Turning her body, she rested her back against the wall and forced her voice not to crack. "But, Daddy, there's no work out there for women my age. You know that."
"I wish I knew how to help you, princess. You know, you're very lucky to have the luxury to communicate in such a way these days. Your mother and I had no choice but to wait on the mail, slow as it was. But, as you know, convenience comes with a price. And times like right now, well...if times were like they used to be we wouldn't be having this conversation. You understand that, don't you? And think about Zac. Do you really think he can afford to reply to all your telegrams all the time?"
Suddenly she felt as if she'd been very selfish. And perhaps she was, charging her personal telegrams to their telephone bill. It was just so easy to march right down to the telegram office and get a message to Zac in a matter of an hour where she couldn't mail him a letter at all. Having the convenience helped ease the pain. The telegrams made it feel like he wasn't a thousand miles away. Maybe she was being selfish. But what else could she do?
However, she knew her father was right. She sucked in a breath, peeled her back off the wall, and held her chin high. She was a grown woman now. A grown woman who needed to handle her beau's prolonged absence with maturity and poise and grace. And trust. Always trust.
"You're right, Daddy," she said quietly. "I should be more considerate. I apologize for being so careless."
"That's my girl," the judge replied warmly. "I'm happy we were able to discuss this like adults." Then he sighed. "Wow. Hurts your old man's heart to say that, you know that? You'll always be my little girl."
"I know," she whispered.
"Anyway," he said, his voice brightening. "Time to get back to work. Gotta settle a neighborly dispute in a few minutes. See you at supper. Can't wait to see what you and your mother are whipping up tonight."
"You're going to love it!" She grinned.
As she hung up with her father, she looked at the telegram that rested on the table next to her and snatched it up into her hand. She read Zac's words over once again, having only received this telegram an hour earlier. Biting her lip, she looked toward the front door and recalled the conversation she'd just had with her father. Then she glanced at the telegram one last time and made a beeline for the front door. One more. Just one more telegram and then she wouldn't send any more. She promised.
MY DEAREST ZAC
I FORGIVE YOU STOP I LOVE YOU TOO MUCH AND I WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY STOP I DON'T WANT TO FIGHT STOP I KNOW YOU DIDN'T MEAN THE THINGS YOU SAID STOP I KNOW YOU LOVE ME AND YOU TRUST ME AND BEING APART IS JUST AS HARD ON YOU AS IT IS ON ME STOP JUST REMEMBER WE'RE IN THIS TOGETHER JUST YOU AND ME STOP I'M SORRY MY TELEGRAM FOUND THE WRONG HANDS STOP MAYBE YOU'RE RIGHT ABOUT SENDING TELEGRAMS STOP DADDY JUST TOLD ME THAT THE ONES I'M SENDING ARE COSTING TOO MUCH MONEY SO I HAVE TO QUIT SENDING THEM OR SLOW DOWN STOP I DON'T WANT TO BE INCONSIDERATE STOP I CAN'T WAIT FOR YOU TO COME HOME STOP I LOVE YOU SO MUCH STOP
FOREVER YOURS
BESSIE