Earthly Astonishments (13 page)

“Perhaps,” continued Mr. Walters, stroking his handsome moustache, “perhaps you expect to be Alarmed
or Frightened or Horrified. That’s as it should be, Ladies! Even your husbands will be a little of all these things.”

Right at the front, just below the edge of the stage, was a row of identical straw hats. Each had a royal blue ribbon and a badge on the front. Josephine couldn’t read the gold letters from where she was, but, having stitched every badge in place herself, she knew what they said:

“But!” Mr. Walters’s voice now dropped to a confidential whisper. “It is my dearest hope that you will go home with a shudder of contentment. That you will witness the Amazing and be satisfied that you are Plain and Ordinary, of no Interest to Anybody. Be content that you are not an Earthly Astonishment!”

Josephine clutched the curtain, feeling as though a hundred horses were galloping through her skull. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would make the audience disappear. But when she looked again, she could identify the faces tipped up to watch Mr. Walters, mouths agape with fascination.

Catherine’s hat was crooked, as usual. Harriet’s spectacles were smeared, and Anne’s teeth poked out like those of a beaver. Nancy’s lips were rimmed with chocolate, Charlotte’s face was as blotched as ever, and Felicia’s ringlets were limp in the heat.

And Emmy, dear Emmy, standing plump and awkward in their midst, looked suddenly to Josephine like the dearest friend she’d ever known. As a group, however, the Fine Girls of MacLaren Academy looked like hungry frogs, greeting a cloud of gnats descending on a pond.

She should have known that meeting Nancy and Charlotte was a bad omen, not a prank. If only she’d paid better attention to Emmy’s letter! She’d almost sent a warning!

Josephine felt a nudge from behind.

“Go on! It’s you! He’s done your bit twice!” It was Charley, poking her.

Josephine realized that the thundering in her head was actually the drumroll announcing her arrival onstage. She untwisted the curtain and tumbled forward across the boards, tripping on the hem of her Mary Lincoln ball gown and only just managing to stay upright.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Little Jo-Jo!” Mr. Walters held out his palm in presentation and then strode over to stand next to her. The audience wheezed a sigh of awe, as it did every day, when it saw that Josephine’s face was not much higher than the tall man’s knee.

“It’s her! It’s her! I said it would be! I knew it was!” A chorus of excited squeals rippled through the schoolgirls. Josephine did not dare to look down at them, nor up at Mr. Walters. She stared instead at the sign hanging over the door at the back of the hall:

“Girls! If you please!” It was the voice she dreaded most. Quite against her intentions, Josephine glanced toward it and was met with the drilling gaze of Miss MacLaren.

Later she could not remember having done her act. She could not remember parading costumes of the Great Women of History, or tapping her tambourine as a dancing Gypsy Queen, under the shrewd and steady eyes of her former employer. But her body must have performed while her mind felt frozen in panic, like a rabbit facing a rifle.

As Josephine fumbled her way off the stage, accompanied by the usual stomping cheers, she came nose to nose with Marco and Polo, who were entwined around Filipe’s hips, awaiting their dramatic entrance.

The flicking tongues up close were suddenly terrifying. She had contained her fear of the wicked woman in the front row, but now she screamed, and then screamed again. When Filipe pushed past her and strutted across the stage, the whole audience screamed in a delighted echo.

Josephine, trying to swallow air, raced for the little dressing room she shared with Rosie.

“Nelly? Where’s Nelly?” she cried at the door.

Rosie was heating her comb over a candle flame.

“I hasn’t seen her, Jo-Jo. She wasn’t mine to mind.”
Rosie chuckled at her own wit and began to curl her beard.

Josephine paused in the hallway. Which way? What to do? Hide? Or run away? Her breath was coming in puffs like a toy steam engine.

“What’s got into your drawers today?” Charley appeared from the wings, his pink eyes puzzled. “First you miss your cue, which is certain to tweak Mr. Walters’s nose, and then you go off screaming like a brand-new baby! Do you need a tonic, Jo?”

“It’s—I’m in trouble, Charley!”

“Well? Spit it out!”

“I was—the school I ran away from?” Josephine was panting. “She’s here, Charley!”

“Who, Jo?”

Why couldn’t he understand?

“Start again, Jo. You’re not making sense.”

“Then listen!” Tears were hovering. “The headmistress who hates me, she’s sitting in the front row! I can’t stay here! She’ll find me!”

“Jo.” Charley knelt in front of her, holding her shoulders. “Calm yourself. You can’t go running off anywhere. You stand out like an oyster on a plate of cabbage. Why don’t you just tell the old dame that you work here now, and she can jump under a horse bus for all you care?”

He didn’t know about the five gold dollars. What would he think of her if he knew she was a thief?

Josephine stomped her foot. “But I’m not!”

Charley looked startled. She had spoken aloud.

“Oh, Charley,” she faltered. “There’s more—” She broke off as the clamor of applause from Walters Hall informed them that Filipe’s turn was over.

“Yikes! I’m next!” Charley put his hands on Josephine’s shoulders and whispered quick instructions.

“Just hide till she’s gone, till the show’s over. Tuck your wee self into a crack and wait for me.”

Charley and Filipe jabbed elbows as they passed in the narrow hallway. Josephine was relieved to see that Marco and Polo were well out of reach, resting across Filipe’s shoulders.

“Jo-Jo! That scream was an inspiration! Like lighting a match underneath them. Will you do it for me every time?”

She forced a smile up at him. “If you like, Filipe. If I’m still here. I mean, if Mr. Walters says I may.”

“Come and help me settle the fellows for their nap,” invited Filipe.

“Oh, I don’t think—” Josephine hesitated. The snake cages were in Mr. Walters’s office. No one would think to look for her there.

“Well, all right, Filipe.”

She followed at a distance. The snakes were draped across Filipe’s back, their scales glinting slightly. Her own legs were only half as thick as the pythons’ coiled necks.

Mr. Walters’s summer office was simply arranged. He had a desk and a chair and an oil lamp, but otherwise it
was crowded with wooden packing cases. The only window provided a stream of sunshine, lighting a portable wardrobe full to bursting with his splendid coats.

Josephine halted on the threshold, her mind still in the front row of the tent. Charley said to hide. She must hide.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said, as Filipe opened one of the cages that sat against the far wall.

“Next time then.” He was busy unwrapping the snakes and looping them into their separate berths.

He did not notice Josephine slip behind a trunk and crouch out of sight.

hen Filipe left, whistling, he closed the door behind him. Josephine could hear a slight, snakey rustle as Marco and Polo rearranged themselves. She stood up. Maybe she could be hidden better. The row of coats hanging in the open wardrobe invited her to step inside and nestle invisibly amongst them.

A faint patter of applause told her that Charley had just finished, with his sweeping bow. That left only Eddie, exposing his peeling hide, before the finale. The finale! They were all meant to appear together at the
end! She was supposed to go on again, riding on Barker’s back!

But she couldn’t. She just couldn’t go out there. She buried her face in the soft, dark coat next to her. Hopefully, Miss MacLaren would take the girls home, and Josephine would never again have to look at her quivering neck or pouchy cheeks or beady eyes.

She imagined those eyes right now, inspecting poor, reptilian Eddie, telling her fine girls to cover their faces, pronouncing it a disgusting display. She thought of Charlotte’s hateful sneers, and Nancy whining because she couldn’t see properly, and then finally of Emmy’s timid sympathy. She wished she could sneak out and meet Emmy somewhere before she had to go home on the train. If only they could play on the beach! Or have sweet corn and candied apples!

Josephine wished she had answered Emmy’s letters. She’d been so busy and so happy, not wanting to think of MacLaren Academy. How unfair to Emmy, who must be so lonely. Josephine would write today and tell her that she’d seen her in the audience. Emmy would understand why she’d had to hide. But maybe she’d come back another time, with Margaret and My Bob; they could have a picnic, and chase the waves.

Another flurry of applause signaled Eddie’s exit. By now, he would be in the wings, tearing off his yellow trousers and pulling on the red ones. They all wore red for the finale. Even Charley changed his cravat.

Rosie would have Barker in from the kennel by now.
She would look around as she buckled on the tooled leather saddle, expecting Josephine to be ready. She would send Charley to fetch her, as the music stirred into their farewell march.

What would Charley do? He might say she was sick, or he might pretend to look for her. He wouldn’t have time to do much; here was the music now. She could hear the booming bass drum, even from deep in the folds of Mr. Walters’s summer tweed.

Would the audience notice? Where’s Little Jo-Jo? Mr. Walters would certainly notice, but he was smooth. He would drop her name from his closing salute and send the customers away, disbelieving their own eyes.

Moments later, Mr. Walters’s voice raged down the corridor, accompanied by his pounding stride. Someone (was it Charley?) was trying to speak, but the master was overruling all other opinion.

“There is no excuse! I want her in my office in two minutes or she will be back in the gutter. Find her, now!”

I’m already in his office!
Panic and giddiness were fighting each other inside Josephine. She was tempted to step out as the door sprang open, to see if Mr. Walters might faint with shock. But the crash with which he shut the door made her content to wait, well hidden, until the thunderstorm had passed.

Josephine could see only Mr. Walters’s back from her place between the coats. It went rigid at the sound of a grating voice on the other side of the door.

“I’ll thank you to tell Mr. Walters that I am here to see him.” Josephine’s neck prickled in recognition.

The response was muffled, but Josephine knew it was Nelly, trying to waylay Miss MacLaren.

“If he does not oblige me with an interview”—the headmistress was used to being obeyed—“I shall be compelled to call in the constabulary.”

Mr. Walters turned. Josephine could see his hands freeze in midair, then clench into fists, as if preparing for battle.

There was a light tapping on the door, followed by another outburst from Miss MacLaren.

“Knock as if you mean it, you stupid woman! Is he there or not?”

“You’ll be keeping a civil tongue or not taking another step, ma’am.” Nelly’s tone had sharpened too.

For one moment, Josephine smiled with pride, but shuddered when Mr. Walters called out, “Come in, then.”

Josephine shifted slowly and slightly so that she could see a little more of the room. Nelly stood at the door, holding it open for Miss MacLaren to push past, followed by the girls in their uniform blue.

Miss MacLaren had chosen to wear a flowered dress with several flounces and was armed with a ruffled, pink parasol. Josephine thought briefly of a fat goose with a gaggle of goslings.

“Good afternoon, Madam!” Mr. Walters’s voice
dripped like maple syrup, dismissing his anger temporarily. Perhaps he thought she was here to fill the position of Fat Lady.