Earthly Astonishments (20 page)

“That’ll be something to consider, Jo,” said Nelly. “Not many children in the world get offered such comfortable prospects.”

“Do you think that Emmy is very rich, Nelly?” asked Josephine.

“Richer in money than you or I could ever guess, Jo. But likely, parts of Emmy’s life feel poor to her.”

Josephine already knew, as she folded the letter, that her future would not be as companion to Emmy St. James, however much she loved her.

Further news of Miss MacLaren arrived through Nelly. She came back from work just bursting with it.

“Set yourselves down! I’ve such news as you wouldn’t guess till a month of Sundays has gone by.” She was grinning all over her face. She had stayed late, to polish the glass display cases as she did once a week.

Josephine and Charley were already tucking in to Hilda’s clam pie.

“What is it, Mumsy?” asked Charley. They could both tell it was something big.

“The reason Mr. Walters wasn’t there today—”

“I was just telling Jo, he was off this morning dressed like a dandy—”

“The reason he went into the city today was to attend the hearing of Miss Ethelwyn MacLaren at the courthouse. Constable Beale advised him of the time.”

“And?”

“What happened, Nelly?”

Nelly’s eyebrows twitched, and she imitated Mr. Walters’s voice. “The judge ruled that Miss MacLaren be confined while awaiting trial. The school will be closed pending an investigation. And then—”

Nelly’s voice now tightened with glee. “Mr. Walters asked special permission to address the judge, in the name of civic duty, saying that he could offer a program of hard labor to assist the prisoner’s rehabilitation!”

“But what does that mean?”

“It means that Miss Ethelwyn MacLaren will be cleaning the cage of the Genuine Hippopotamus every day for a year!”

Well, Charley and Josephine laughed about that until they got the hiccups. Hilda cleared away the supper for fear they would choke.

he day arrived that Josephine had to return to the Museum of Earthly Astonishments.

She walked with the O’Dooleys in the morning, as if she were going to work like any other day of the summer. She wore her green linen dress, which Nelly had laundered and carefully pressed after its dunk in the salt water. Sadly, somewhere along the sand during his chase after Miss MacLaren, Charley had dropped one of Josephine’s custom-made buckled shoes out of his pocket. She was back to wearing her oversized lace-ups, with balls of newspaper in the toes.

The sky was sheeted in cloud, with no hint of blue. They avoided the beach, and stayed on Surf Avenue. The hoopla of the day was just beginning. Vendors vied for position with their wagons, and the smell of their wares vied for first place too. Sausages cooking, clams frying, chowder warming, waffles crisping, corn-on-the-cob steaming.

Charley was already ready for lunch when he’d just finished breakfast. They turned up 8th Street to reach the museum.

“I’ll come with you to find Mr. Walters,” offered Nelly.
“Charley can watch the door for a bit. There aren’t so many people here in the morning.”

“No, Nelly, but thank you.” Josephine knew she had to meet with him alone.

As she passed through the main promenade, Josephine greeted Rosie and Eddie with true affection. She even scratched Marco’s belly when she said hello to Filipe.

“Don’t get too friendly.” Charley laughed at her side. “I’m sure he’d still like a wee nibble out of you.”

“It’s as though I’ve been away three months instead of just three days,” sighed Josephine, glancing around at all the familiar props. The chair on her platform looked forlorn, like a plump spinster awaiting an invitation to dance.

“Did you see the new Curiosity?” Charley spoke quietly. “I didn’t like to mention it before.”

Josephine followed him to the glass case. He lifted her high enough to peek in, to see her own pearl-studded Mary Lincoln shoes, sitting between Paddy Parker’s handcuffs and the horn of an African Rhinoceros. The card, hand-lettered in Mr. Walters’s fine script, read:

Josephine felt a shiver race up her neck.

“Is he saying he knows I’m leaving? That I won’t be needing those slippers anymore?”

Charley shrugged.

Does he know that it’s his own fault anyway, for being so callous, she thought silently. Every time she remembered Mr. Walters pushing her into the cage, she got hot about the ears.

“Jo, he’s not a bad man. And he’s been kind to you, like it or not to recall.”

“I do remember, the very first night, how he tucked his handkerchief into my collar while I ate my bacon and potatoes, as if my raggedy dress was something to be protected.”

“You see? Not all bad. Now, go and get it done with, before you change your mind.”

Charley went off to find his cravat.

Josephine watched him, thinking of the journey to meet Charley for the first time, sitting astride Mr. Walters’s shoulders, with her hands folded on his silky top hat.

She paused in her own dressing room. Barker shambled over and nosed her gently. She ruffled his fur and tugged on his ears the way he liked. His tongue swiped her face like a wet cloth. She pulled back, laughing, drying her cheek with the back of her hand. She would miss old Barker.

But she was avoiding what she was here to do. She took a deep breath and sauntered down the corridor as if she had nothing more in mind than a how-de-do. She found Mr. Walters in the performance tent, behind the museum. He was examining the curtain where it was worn right through.

He stood up straight when he saw Josephine, towering above her.

“I’ve been wondering when you might find time to come around to see your benefactor.”

“Thank you for the chowder and the root beer, Mr. Walters.” Josephine stretched her neck back to see his face. It was hard to begin her speech.

“And thank you, uh, thank you also for the opportunity of being Little Jo-Jo.” She stopped. Mr. Walters had arched one eyebrow.

“But,” she went on in a hurry, “if being Little Jo-Jo means getting stuffed in a cage like a pickpocket, well, I’ll be Josephine from now on.”

Mr. Walters sat down, his legs dangling over the edge of the stage. He patted the floor next to him, but Josephine stayed where she was.

Mr. Walters sighed.

“Josephine,” he began. “I am compelled to adjust your thinking.”

Josephine folded her arms across her chest and quietly tapped her foot.

“You missed an appearance,” he said, ignoring her glare. “It is not permissible to miss an appearance.”

Josephine tapped her foot more quickly.

“I have every right to keep things running smoothly on the premises, using whatever method is required.” His manner was cool, but he watched her closely, as if waiting for something.

She could not remember the words she had practiced.

“Well, it wasn’t nice, is all.” Josephine faltered. It wasn’t nice. But Mr. Walters would never see that it was wicked either. To him, it was business and nothing more. “What I mean is, I can’t be Little Jo-Jo anymore.”

Mr. Walters sighed a second time and shook his head back and forth.

“We have an arrangement, Josephine. I paid off your debt to that ridiculous schoolteacher. There can be no question that you work for me. There are painted advertisements all over the resort, enticing people through the museum doors to see you.”

“I don’t think people will be too happy, sir, paying to see Little Jo-Jo in a cage. Because that’s where you’ll have to keep me, screaming and scratching in a cage. I don’t want to work here anymore.” She could feel the cage around her as she spoke, making the skin on her arms prickle with gooseflesh.

“Is that the trouble? The cage?” He used his warmest voice. “Ah, Josephine. Perhaps the cage was a mistake.”

“Perhaps?”

“The cage was a mistake. It was expedient. I do not like being crossed, and the punishment was at hand. But I was protecting you too, from the bellowing harridan. Remember that.”

Mr. Walters extended his arm, but Josephine pretended not to see. He withdrew his hand.

“If you choose not to repair the rent, Josephine, you will wear a shabby coat.”

“I just think it’s time for me to leave, is all.”

“Do we have to go over this again, Josephine?” Irritation clipped his words. “I made an enormous investment in you—”

“Are you trying to flimflam me, Mr. Walters? Didn’t you make your money back that you spent on me? The clothes and shoes added up together couldn’t be more than a week’s admission prices, the crowds we’ve been getting all summer.”

“As a matter of fact,” said Mr. Walters, “the take at the door has subsided considerably in recent weeks.”

Josephine knew that wasn’t true. She’d been there every day except the last three, and the hall was always full.

“I’m pretty fair at calculation, and I don’t think you’ve been cheated out of your investment.”

“We’ll be heading back to the city soon,” said Mr. Walters. “There are always extra expenses at moving time.”

“I’m not feeling sorry for you, sir. You’ve made plenty more dollars than I have this summer.”

And she’d done just fine, she reminded herself. “But the master is always better paid than the servant; I’m not complaining. I’m used to that.”

She smiled at him, wanting to convince him now.

“I do think you deserve it,” she added, finally sitting down a few feet away from him. “You hired me to change your fortune, and I’m glad that I did.”

He glanced at her with suspicion.

“Only now it’s time to make my own fortune.”

“You’re not so much of a novelty anymore, Josephine. People lose interest after a while. Who cares to pay twice to gawp at the same thing?”

“I’ll go far away, where people haven’t seen me yet.”

Mr. Walters acted as though he wasn’t listening. He shrugged his enormous shoulders and spoke to his own hands. “I’ve been looking for a new act anyway. I’ve hired a family of Eskimos to join the museum in the autumn. As soon as I can keep ice for more than an hour at a time.”

“Oh, Mr. Walters!” He looked tired to her, with smudges beneath his dark eyes. She didn’t want to tell him the next part.

“You won’t like this,” she said quietly, “but Nelly and Charley are coming with me.”

“What!?”

Josephine watched him, finding that she didn’t like to hurt him.

“It’s time for all of us to move along.” It came out in a whisper.

Mr. Walters gazed at her, slowly running his fingertips along his grand moustache. Finally, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the folding measuring stick.

“I did warn you,” he said in a steady voice, “that if you grew, I would consider your contract terminated.” He held the stick straight against her back.

“I don’t think I grew in inches, Mr. Walters.” Though
certainly she’d grown in what she knew about things.

“On the contrary.” Mr. Walters refolded the stick. “You are nearly twenty-nine inches,” he announced.

“That’s it, then,” agreed Josephine, suddenly understanding. “I’ve grown.”

Mr. Walters reached out and shook her small hand, like a businessman closing a deal.

“Josephine? You may as well take your dresses with you. They won’t fit anyone else.”