Perilous Pleasures (24 page)

 
But not enough to live with the danger day... after day... after day.

She'd somehow shove thoughts of him beyond her mind's reach. In less than nine months she'd be busy with his child and that would keep her mind occupied.

As she snapped the latch on the first trunk, knocks on the door startled her. She opened it to find Stefan standing in the doorway.

He scanned the piles of clothing on the bed. "What are you doing?"

"Packing." As she said the word, her hands began to shake, not noticeable at first, but a slight tremble that she stopped by clutching a garment and flattening it inside a trunk. As the silence stretched, the trembling moved up her arms and spread, seeming to follow the course of their love—slight at first, then growing stronger, until her body felt achy and a tightness gripped her chest as if trying to squeeze out her heart...

"Why?"

"I'm not renewing my contract. I'm leaving Porter Brothers when we get to New Orleans." A long silence hung, and Joanna knew Stefan was trying to digest that fact. She returned to her packing. Although her back was to him, she felt his eyes on her.

He remained in the doorway, making no attempt to take her in his arms. It was as if a wall had dropped between them. "I didn't think you'd really leave," he said at last.

"I have to."

"It's that easy? Just turn your back on what we have together... and walk away?"

Fighting the impulse to rush into his arms, Joanna continued packing. "I can't live the life of a gypsy, constantly on the move," she said, attempting to hide the shakiness in her voice. "I want a home and a family. And you can't settle down to an ordinary job—I'd never expect that."
 
She looked up at him. "And I can't watch you go into that cage with the cats. I can't go through what your mother went through with your father, and one day see you killed too."
 
She wrapped her silk stockings in tissue, the hasty movements helping to steady her shaking hands.

Stefan studied her slender figure bent over the trunk as she packed her clothes. The scene was so like the one with Claudia shortly before she left. But with Claudia, the issue had not been as complex. She'd loved the wandering life, the close-knit ties of performers. Her family had been in vaudeville and she'd grown up with that life and never wanted to leave. His cats had been the wedge between them.

But with Joanna it was more. She shared Claudia's fear of his working with the cats, but she was also a woman who needed to put down roots. To settle in one place. If he could lock up the love he felt for her and bury it... If it were only that simple... But with Joanna, the love would find its way back to his heart. Before she came into his life he'd simply wanted to move with the shows, meet each day as it came, work through it and let life go on. But when he met her, life as he'd known it ceased to exist. He wanted to stop and savor the love she offered him, hold it, cling to it, immerse himself in it... And now, she was simply... walking away.

He reached down and wrapped his fingers around her arm, pulling her up. Turning her to face him, he said, "What if I leave the show and give up the cats?" But when she looked at him, he saw the resolve in her eyes.

"I vowed I'd never ask you to choose between me and your career," she said. "It didn't work with your father and it won't work with you. You're a gypsy, a wanderer, a man with experience in only one field. Training big cats."

"I'm strong. I could learn another trade."

She shook her head. "Right now I want time to get my life together. Maybe later..."

Stefan somehow knew Joanna would respond as she had. He also knew that if he gave up his cats, with time, he'd hold it against her. Dropping his arms to his sides, he said, "Then I guess this is how it ends."

"Yes," she replied, "I guess it is." She reached behind her neck and unclasped the chain holding the sapphire. She took his hand and turned it palm up. "Here," was all she said, as she placed it against his palm. Then she bent over her packing and continued without looking at him.

Stefan looked at the sapphire and the delicate star it held, reflecting on the expression he'd seen on Joanna's face when he'd draped it around her neck. He could almost feel the fire in her eyes as he'd hung it between her breasts...

 
I'll wear it always, she'd promised.

How short
always
was. It seemed so easy for her. Terminate the act, terminate their marriage and never look back. But theirs was not a true marriage, not in the legal sense. But in the traditional sense, she was his wife, because the night he came to her stateroom, he did not come to her as a means of taking care of his physical need. He came to her because he wanted her for his wife, and the moment he'd become one with her, his fate was sealed. In his heart, and in his soul, she was his wife. And every time they'd made love after that, at the peak of their passions, he'd silently reaffirmed his unspoken vows.

Obviously she had not taken the commitment to heart as he had. "That's it then?"

Her back still to him, she said, "Right now there's no other way. Now please, just go. I'm very busy." Pulling open the bottom drawer to the small dresser, she reached for a pair of stockings and tucked them into a trunk... then another... and another...

She heard nothing, and when she finally dared to look around, Stefan was gone.

Peering through window, she saw him heading across the deck. She also noticed Sally approaching.
 
Sally's head cocked around as Stefan stalked past without noticing her. Moments later, Sally appeared in the doorway. "What's going on? What happened?"

Joanna wiped a finger beneath each eye, brushing the tears from her cheeks. "It's over," she said feeling her throat constrict.

Sally rested her hand on Joanna's arm. "I'm sorry. I know how you must feel. At least I know what I'd feel if it were Randolph and me."

Joanna swallowed to ease the tightening in her throat. "Stefan's a gypsy," she said in a wavering voice, "and he'll—" the words caught and she waved a hand toward Sally as she shook her head. She cleared her throat and tried again. "He'll never stop wander—"
 
She blinked and looked at Sally. "Gypsies have to wander, you know."

"But that's not the problem, is it?" Sally said. "If you love him the way I think you do, you'd follow him anywhere."

"I can't keep working with Gene," she said. "It's just impossible now."

"No one's asking you to work with Gene. You could work on the rope—" she smiled "—be a mime. But that's not the answer is it? It's Stefan's cats."

Joanna looked at Sally through a blur of tears. "I can't watch him go in that cage knowing each day could be his—" she couldn't say the word that put finality on Stefan's life. She dabbed the tears and shoved her handkerchief in her pocket. "I'd better finish the mess I've started here."

With Sally's help, they had Joanna's clothes packed by late afternoon. As soon as they would arrive in New Orleans, she'd locate a livery and make arrangements for a wagon to be delivered shortly before the final performance so she could load her trunks and be ready to leave right afterwards. Since the steamer would be departing upriver for Memphis that same night, she planned to stay in a hotel in New Orleans before taking the train to Vicksburg the following morning. With one last glance around her stripped quarters, she crossed the deck and headed down the gangway toward her dressing wagon, deliberately avoiding the menagerie tent where she knew Stefan would be.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

New Orleans, Louisiana

Joanna drifted through the next two days in a blur of emotional upheaval, thoughts shifting between Stefan's absence from her life and the upcoming performance without nets. Somehow, with Stefan no longer being a part of her life, flying without nets seemed of less concern. To add to her somber mood, from the time they arrived in New Orleans, tropical rainstorms rolled in one after another. She kept up her schedule, attended practice, taught her acrobatics class, and managed to complete five of the six performances. But by the afternoon of the final show, the grounds were a quagmire from continued rains, and a storm front was moving in. Rumors spread that the last performance might be canceled, which meant she would not have to fly without nets. But Karl announced that afternoon that the show would go on, as scheduled.

Two hours before show time, as Joanna stood on the platform checking the rigging, a gust of wind whooshed through an opening in one side of the pavilion, sending it puffing up like a giant balloon. Feeling the platform sway, she grabbed a rope to steady herself. All around she heard the fluttering of canvas, the singing of the tall masts, the wailing of guy wires. Outside, roustabouts beat a steady rhythm, driving spikes deeper while tightening cords, tackling, and guy ropes. Below, the pavilion superintendent yelled for roustabouts to hold fast the flopping canvas flaps to keep the wind from rushing in. The pavilion swayed, and taut cables slapped against canvas as the storm assailed the frail shelter.

Seeing Karl enter the pavilion, Joanna cautiously climbed down the swaying ladder. But once on the ground, she rushed over to grab his arm as he marched across the arena. "I can't believe you'd insist we go on in this weather," she said.

Karl looked at her with indifference. "It costs upwards of twelve thousand dollars to cancel a show, at least two full houses to make up the difference and turn a profit, and we won't have any more chances."

Joanna glared at him. "Weather like this can kill attendance... turn the show into a bust anyway. So what's the point?"

Karl turned his back on her. "Drop this section," he yelled to the men guarding the canvas flaps. Quickly, the roustabouts pulled out some of the side-wall poles and dropped the section of canvas facing the wind. "Set up the bleachers behind the band," he called out to the men, "and you drivers bring the wagons around."

Drivers hurried to hitch up teams to move the troupe's fleet of wagons around the exhibition pavilion to form a windbreak and prevent a blowdown.

Joanna looked to where the big cage should have been set up by now and saw instead, sections of bars stacked to the side of the exhibition area. Always before, the cage would be assembled by now, since Stefan's act opened the show. Had his performance been canceled? Please, she prayed, let that be so.

The ground shuddered, and in the distance came the raucous trumpeting of elephants. She ran to the entrance of the pavilion and looked toward the menagerie where handlers were rushing the huge
pacaderms
outside. Fearing there might be trouble with Stefan's cats, she ducked into the rain and dashed over to where a crowd was gathering. But when she attempted to cross to the menagerie, a roustabout grabbed her arm. "Stand back," he said. "They're bringing the elephants out."
 
Inside the
pacaderm
tent, the elephants began trumpeting.

The elephant keepers rushed the huge beasts out of the tent and lined them up with their heads toward several large wagons. But while they were chaining them in pairs so it would be harder for them to stampede, a crowd of townspeople with pitch forks and clubs gathered.

"Pack up those elephants and leave or you'll find this fork in your gut," one of the men shouted to a handler leading an elephant.

"Get the hell out of here or you'll stampede these animals," the handler yelled.

"We're not leaving until you load those elephants on the barge. We heard what they did in Kansas."

"Get the hell out of here," the handler shouted again, when the man attempted to prod the elephant with a pitch fork.

"No, you get the hell out of—"

The man's words were cut short when a roustabout toppled the protester from behind, dislodging the pitchfork and grabbing it. Gripping it in his hands, the roustabout jabbed at the crowd of angry men, ushering them back. The elephant became agitated, trumpeting and bracing itself, jerking and pulling its leg chains, stretching them taut while the handler, wielding his hook, jabbed at the elephant, attempting to subdue it.

Joanna watched in horror, knowing that if the elephants panicked and stampeded they could pull down the menagerie tent in seconds and smash the cat cages. The cats would be all over town, terrorizing people, and the elephants could easily demolish homes and buildings. They'd done it before.

With a sharp snap, one of the elephant's leg chains broke.

"He's loose!" someone yelled. "Grab the chain."

"Stand back," the handler warned. "Anyone who grabs that chain is a dead man."

The elephant whirled the loose chain around his foot and slapped it with his trunk. Then he turned around and started rocking the wagon, charging it with his head and battering it with his tusks. Wood splintered as the elephant demolished the vehicle.

"If that other chain breaks loose," yelled one of the handlers, "shoot to kill."

Then to her horror, Joanna saw the big bull elephant turn on its handler, lash out with his trunk and send the man flying through air. Before the man could get to his feet, the elephant seized the man's leg with his trunk, pulling him face down. As the man twisted to be free, giant tusks grazed his chest, and a huge foot thudded to the ground. The elephant raised his head, tusks poised for the final thrust. But as he plunged downward, the man rolled to the side, and the ivory shafts sank into the ground with such force it took the elephant a moment to free himself. In the interval, the man grabbed the elephant's ear and hung on. As the animal lifted his head, the man shouted into the animal's ear. The elephant, startled to hear his handler's voice, stood still.

"Down! Come down," the handler yelled into the elephant's ear. The animal lowered itself to the ground and fell over on its side. The handler sat on his haunches by the elephant's head, offering gentle words of assurance until another handler refastened the chain. Standing, the handler called to the elephant, "Come." With his elephant hook, the handler lead the elephant to where the others stood, and chained it to an anchor elephant.