Bringing Ezra Back (8 page)

“I will,” I said. “Soon as I've got Ezra.”

That afternoon a lady had paid for her ribbons and comb with fresh-made biscuits and butter, a pot of jam, and some bacon.

“I earned that food, too, by fiddling,” I reminded Beckwith. “So make sure it doesn't disappear down your gullet before Ezra and I get back.”

Beckwith and I had fallen into the habit of trading insults back and forth, the way he had with Honeywell. But he didn't offer a smart answer this time. He only gave me a nod and a peculiar look. I figured he was wanting to say something, but biting on his tongue not to.

I left my pack behind at camp, but made sure I was wearing both Ezra's black hat and the locket he'd given to Molly, so he'd see them right off. I pictured his face lighting up when he saw me, and the way his ears wiggled when he smiled real big, and I nearly laughed out loud.

I made sure my gold piece was way down in my boot and my knife hung at my side. I was ready.

Farther along the river and closer to town, I came upon a couple of horses, hobbled so they wouldn't range off too far, munching on the thick grass. Soon I could see three show wagons set in a half circle by the river. They had canvas sides rigged on 'em, so I couldn't see inside. There was lettering on the canvas saying pretty much the same things as the handbill, except that the names of the owners of the outfit were added: Hiram and Lovey Trask.

Between the wagons and the river was a clearing. A fire with a big pot hanging over it sent up a lazy twist of smoke. Clothes and a couple of blankets were drying on a rope tied between two trees.

At first I didn't see anybody, but then I heard a high-pitched giggle and looked around. Two people sat on the back of one of the wagons, their legs hanging down. Two of the legs hung low and two dangled short. As I approached, it didn't take me long to figure I had to be looking at Calvin Edson, the Human Skeleton, and Little Miss Mary. Edson wasn't only the skinniest man I'd ever seen, but also the tallest. And Little Miss Mary was just what the handbill had said, a grown lady only two feet tall.

It was Little Miss Mary who was doing the giggling.

“Hey, there!” she called to me. “You can't come looking around here any time you want. You have to pay good money to see monstrosities like us!” She poked the man next to her with an elbow, kicked her short legs, and gave a hoot of laughter. Then she took a long swig from a bottle she held in her hand.

“Don't let her scare you off,” said the skinny man I'd figured was Edson. “Little Miss Mary's been tippling, and it always makes her a bit…” He paused, thinking.

Little Miss Mary piped up, “Ornery?”

“No, I was about to say
feisty,
” answered Edson. “Or perhaps
outspoken.
Never would I call such a lovely lady as you
ornery.
”

“Why, thank you, Calvin. May I say it's a pleasure to pass the time of day with a true gentleman such as yourself.” She giggled again and moved her eyelashes up and down at Edson. “Seeing as we're so suited to each other, how about we get married? The Trasks could charge admission to the ceremony. What a ‘curiosity' that would be! And our children! Why, Lovey and Hiram could make a bundle. What do you say, Calvin, shall you and I get married?”

Little Miss Mary enjoyed her joke so much she fell into a laughing fit, and Calvin Edson had to pat her back to keep her from choking. When she'd recovered herself, she looked me over and said, “So, young man. Did you come searching for a job? World's Dirtiest Boy, perhaps? I'm afraid the position of wild savage is already taken.”

She stared at me and waited for my answer. I'd never heard a voice quite like hers. It was pitched high, the same as her laugh, and sounded
little,
somehow, like the rest of her. I didn't quite know how to take her. Truth to tell, I found her frightening, though I couldn't have said just why. She was laughing fit to die, but she seemed angry about something, instead of happy, which made me wonder if she was in her right mind.

I didn't have time to think about it just then. “I—I'm looking for somebody,” I said. “A friend. I think he might be the savage you're talking about. The one you call the White Injun. Is he here?”

Calvin Edson and Little Miss Mary stared at me like maybe
I
was on display in a show.

“You say you're his friend?” Calvin Edson asked after a minute had gone by with them both looking at me, their eyes and mouths wide open.

“Yes,” I said.

Miss Mary and Edson glanced at each other, and I could have sworn something passed between them, though I was puzzled as to what it might be.

I tried again. “Is he here?” I asked.

“You say you're looking for the White Injun?” Edson said slowly.

“It's what you folks call him, anyhow,” I said. “His real name's Ezra Ketcham, and he ain't an Indian or a savage, either.”

“You'll have to talk to the Trasks,” Miss Mary said. Her lips were set in a straight line. She appeared to have sobered up right quick.

“They're the folks who own the show?” I asked.

“That's their wagon,” she said, pointing. “And listen here. Don't tell them you talked to us, understand?”

I shrugged. “Sure,” I agreed. “If you say so.” I started to walk away. Then I turned back and said, “Ezra—he
is
here, right?”

“Ask the Trasks,” said Miss Mary. She was hopping down off the back of the wagon as she spoke, which was a pretty far ways for someone as little as she was. Edson put his feet down and stood up, and they both hurried off and disappeared behind one of the other wagons. It struck me as mighty peculiar behavior.

There didn't seem to be anything to do but find the Trasks. I headed toward the wagon Miss Mary had pointed out, and heard voices coming from inside. I wasn't exactly trying to listen in on somebody else's talk, but I couldn't help it.

“Soon as we get back to South Carolina for the winter, I say we buy us a new act, something folks out here can't even imagine. If we could find one as good as the Injun, we could get rid of some of the others.”

There was some mumbling I couldn't understand, then the same voice, which sounded like a woman's, answered back.

“By next season, or the next, people will be tired of fat ladies, skinny men, and midgets. We need something that'll make people come to us from miles around.”

The other mumbly voice asked a question, sounding irritated.

“What, have you gone dim-witted? Why, Amelia alone is eating up half our take every night. We get rid of her and some of the others, we've got fewer mouths to feed. Less expense, more profit.”

I was real interested and wanted to listen more, but I was getting nervous. What if they looked out and saw me, or threw open the wagon flaps sudden-like and found me there? I decided I needed to speak up and state my business, especially since it appeared they planned to head off as far as South Carolina.

I cleared my throat real loud and said, “Pardon. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I'm looking for Mr. and Mrs. Trask.”

The wagon's canvas door flew open, and a woman peered out. She looked at me narrow-eyed and suspicious. “Who are you?” she asked. “And how long you been standing there? Don't you know better than to sneak up on folks?”

I took off my hat and held it in my hand. “Hello, ma'am. My name is Nathan Fowler and I wasn't sneaking, only wanting to talk to you.”

When she kept scowling at me without speaking, I hurried on. “I mean to say I wanted to talk to Mrs. Trask. And Mr. Trask, too.”

I stopped as a rifle barrel appeared, followed by another face, this one a man's. He didn't speak, either, just stared at me like I smelled bad. Maybe I did, at that, but he hardly seemed close enough to tell. Anyhow, it wasn't what I'd call polite, even though he did lower the rifle after a minute or two.

Finally he said, “I'm Trask. We're not hiring, if it's a job you want.”

“No, sir. I'm not looking for work. I got a farm to get back to. A friend of mine is part of your show here, and I came to get him and take him home with me. His name's Ezra Ketcham.”

The woman, who I figured for Mrs. Trask, said, “There's no one here by that name.”

“Well, I reckon he didn't give his name, seein' as he doesn't talk and he's shy of folks for the most part. But he's the one you call the White Injun,” I said, pointing to the side of the wagon with the writing on it.

Mrs. Trask let out a little gasp, and Mr. Trask glared at me hard. Then Mrs. Trask spoke again. “You say you're a friend, not kin, is that right?”

I nodded. I was about to add that the only kinfolk of Ezra's I knew about had been killed by Weasel, but something stopped me. I wasn't going to tell them Ezra's business when they hadn't told me a darn thing so far.

“Where is he?” I asked. “I'd sure like to see him.”

“Well, dearie,” began Mrs. Trask, “I'm afraid that won't be possible.”

All of a sudden she was smiling and her voice had changed, too. It had a tone to it I recognized, though it took me a minute to figure where I'd heard its like before. It was the way Beckwith talked when he was trying to sell something to somebody.

“Why ever not, Mrs. Trask?” I asked.

“You call me Lovey, now, won't you?” she said, again with that smile that didn't reach her eyes. “And this here's Hiram.”

I didn't say anything to that, not being accustomed to calling grown ladies by their first names. Lovey didn't strike me as a proper name, anyway, and it surely didn't suit the hard edges and sharp eyes of Mrs. Trask.

“You see, Mr. Ketcham has left us. We're good friends of his, too,” she went on, “so when we saw an opportunity for him to rise in the world, we encouraged him to take it. As I said to Hiram, we could probably have talked Ezra into staying with us, but we knew he could make a lot more money if he traveled to the big cities with that other outfit. We didn't want to hold him back, the poor dear. His life has been so unfortunate, how could we deny him the chance to better himself?”

She paused, appearing quite pleased with herself, and looked from me to Mr. Trask and back. Mr. Trask, who was also smiling now, nodded.

“You mean he's not here?” I asked dumbly, not quite taking in what I was hearing. I tried to remember exactly what I'd overheard them saying. There'd been something about “the Injun,” I was sure.

“Not anymore, dearie,” said Mrs. Trask, pulling a mournful face. “We did what was best for him, with no thought at all for ourselves. He was our biggest draw, you see. It wasn't easy for us to let him go, you can believe that.” She sighed, and gave a little shrug.

But the thing was, I
didn't
believe her. Ezra was there, I knew it. I could feel it. Was I reading Lovey Trask right? I thought I was. So I said, “But I've come from Vestry and he was with you then. That was just three days back.”

“Oh, yes, indeed, he was still with us then,” she said. The sharp look had come back to her eyes. “But, you see, it was in Vestry that the other show folks saw your friend and made their offer. So we parted ways there, wishing him Godspeed and good fortune. And here we are, without our main attraction, but happy in the knowledge that Ezra is headed for bigger and better things.”

“Perhaps,” Hiram Trask added, “if you left right away, you could catch up to them. They were going northeast toward Boston, I believe.”

“I reckon I'll do that,” I said. “Northeast, you say?” I pretended I was thinking it over. “Yes, I believe I'll try and catch up. Thank you kindly for the information, Mr. and Mrs. Trask.”

“Oh, shush, it was nothing,” said Mrs. Trask. “And it's Lovey and Hiram, remember? Any friend of Ezra Ketcham's is a friend to us. Do give him our best, won't you? We thought of him as family, Hiram and I did.”

I started to go, then turned back like I'd just thought of something. “Too bad I'll be on the road tonight,” I said. “I'd have liked to see the show. What time does it begin anyhow?”

“Eight o'clock,” said Hiram. “But you'll be well on your way by then, I imagine.”

“I reckon so,” I said. “I aim to go a good distance before nightfall.”

“Safe travels, dearie!” called Lovey.

“I thank you!” I called back.

Beckwith had told me I wasn't a good liar, and maybe I wasn't. I'd have to have a lot of practice to be as good at it as the Trasks. But I figured I'd done all right.

11

MY HEAD WAS BOILING
like a tub on washday as I ran back to where Beckwith had set up camp. I was near as mad as I'd ever been in my life. It had taken every bit of my will to hold back from running to the other wagons and searching them till I found where they were keeping Ezra.

I'd stopped myself, and it wasn't only 'cause of Hiram's rifle. I aimed to get Ezra free of the Trasks, and I needed to think out a plan. Already one was starting to take shape in my mind.

Beckwith was washed and dressed and slicking back his hair with a comb when I showed up. Like the show folks, he had a line hung up with some clothes airing, and a fire going. I poured out the whole story of what I'd seen and heard.

“So I figure we'll go back there tonight, when the Trasks will have Ezra out in plain sight for the show,” I went on. “They can't say he ain't there in front of all the other folks who'll be looking right at him. And, anyhow, soon as he sees me, that'll be the end of it.”

“Those Trasks stated clear that he wasn't there,” Beckwith said. “What makes you so sure he is?”

“If you'd been there, you'd have known those Trasks were lying. They only want Ezra to stay so's he can make more money for them. It was plain as the nose on your face!”