Read Online In Search of a Memory (Truly Yours Digital Editions) by Pamela Griffin - Free Book Online
Authors: Pamela Griffin
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can find, and one of the top acts the carnival can boast. A member of the family checks in a few times a day, usually Cassie. I guess you could say Mahoney & Pearson counted themselves lucky when the Hollars signed on. They’re one of the star attractions of the carnival.” The wistful note to his voice led Roland to believe Mahoney wasn’t the only one counting himself lucky.
“You about finished here?” Chester asked.
“I have no idea where to start. Mahoney just said to bed the animals down for the night.”
“I grew up on a farm, so I’ll give you a hand. Mama Philena usually comes to help out. Been with the carnival over thirty years. Mahoney’s mama and like a mama to us all. She’ll turn up eventually and show you the ropes.”
Roland worked alongside Chester, grateful for the man’s help and company. He didn’t have friends or, rather, those associates he would call friends: men and women who were honest, loyal, and honorable. Most of the moral class, once they learned his name, assumed his family reputation went along with the label, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Rather than destroy a possible friendship before it had a chance to build, Roland chose to keep silent about his identity. Angel knew, but he didn’t think he’d have a problem convincing her not to share what she’d discovered.
That was, if she would talk to him at all once she realized he was here.
five
Angel woke up, found herself alone, and hurried to dress.
She met Cassie on the midway. “Sorry I overslept.”
“That’s okay,” her bunk mate effusively greeted her. “Come on, I’ll take you to the cookhouse tent.” Soon they approached a structure composed of a canvas roof tied to poles. Two long tables stretched beneath, where the workers ate their meals.
“This is Angel,” Cassie said in introduction to the few clusters of people who’d taken seats along the benches. “Say hi, fellow showmen and carnies, but you better be nice since she’ll be preparing your breakfast in the future.”
A sudden thumping shook a screen of canvas hanging beyond the tables as if a spoon had been whacked against it. “I’m still here, too, ya know!” came an unseen woman’s grumpy voice.
A few of the men laughed. “As if we could forget,” one of them muttered dryly. “Hello, Angel,” more than several intoned, like a classroom of obedient schoolchildren.
“Hello,” she said a bit shyly, darting a curious look toward the suspended canvas.
“Angel, my dear girl,” a man said in a heavy British accent. “What a lovely name for a lovely face. As you are the latest connoisseur of food preparations, I should like to mention that I prefer my toast deeply browned and not blackened as the last girl chose to make it. I prefer the black to remain in my name.”
A pretty, thickset woman with bleached hair and dark roots lightly slapped the wisecracking, balding man on the skull. “Be nice, Blackie. You heard Cassandra. She’s new to the family.” The woman turned a big, toothy grin Angel’s way. “Hiya, honey. I’m Ruth, and this here’s my ball and chain, Blackie Watson.”
“Now there’s a spectacular idea, Buttercup. Incorporating a ball and chain into the act. A balloon that looks like a cannon, perhaps? Yes? Or even better, one bigger than a cannon. I would carry it like a deadweight then throw it at the children and set them to squealing.”
“Whatever you think, dear.” Ruth shook her head in mock exasperation, holding her hand straight out beside her mouth as if in confidence to Angel but hardly whispering, “Anything sets him off. Be careful what you say.” She winked and lowered her hand. “We dress as clowns and perform up and down the midway, selling balloons to the kiddies.”
Angel smiled in reply at the outgoing couple. Cassie took her beyond the sheet of hanging canvas that hid where food was being prepared. The
“You about finished here?” Chester asked.
“I have no idea where to start. Mahoney just said to bed the animals down for the night.”
“I grew up on a farm, so I’ll give you a hand. Mama Philena usually comes to help out. Been with the carnival over thirty years. Mahoney’s mama and like a mama to us all. She’ll turn up eventually and show you the ropes.”
Roland worked alongside Chester, grateful for the man’s help and company. He didn’t have friends or, rather, those associates he would call friends: men and women who were honest, loyal, and honorable. Most of the moral class, once they learned his name, assumed his family reputation went along with the label, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Rather than destroy a possible friendship before it had a chance to build, Roland chose to keep silent about his identity. Angel knew, but he didn’t think he’d have a problem convincing her not to share what she’d discovered.
That was, if she would talk to him at all once she realized he was here.
five
Angel woke up, found herself alone, and hurried to dress.
She met Cassie on the midway. “Sorry I overslept.”
“That’s okay,” her bunk mate effusively greeted her. “Come on, I’ll take you to the cookhouse tent.” Soon they approached a structure composed of a canvas roof tied to poles. Two long tables stretched beneath, where the workers ate their meals.
“This is Angel,” Cassie said in introduction to the few clusters of people who’d taken seats along the benches. “Say hi, fellow showmen and carnies, but you better be nice since she’ll be preparing your breakfast in the future.”
A sudden thumping shook a screen of canvas hanging beyond the tables as if a spoon had been whacked against it. “I’m still here, too, ya know!” came an unseen woman’s grumpy voice.
A few of the men laughed. “As if we could forget,” one of them muttered dryly. “Hello, Angel,” more than several intoned, like a classroom of obedient schoolchildren.
“Hello,” she said a bit shyly, darting a curious look toward the suspended canvas.
“Angel, my dear girl,” a man said in a heavy British accent. “What a lovely name for a lovely face. As you are the latest connoisseur of food preparations, I should like to mention that I prefer my toast deeply browned and not blackened as the last girl chose to make it. I prefer the black to remain in my name.”
A pretty, thickset woman with bleached hair and dark roots lightly slapped the wisecracking, balding man on the skull. “Be nice, Blackie. You heard Cassandra. She’s new to the family.” The woman turned a big, toothy grin Angel’s way. “Hiya, honey. I’m Ruth, and this here’s my ball and chain, Blackie Watson.”
“Now there’s a spectacular idea, Buttercup. Incorporating a ball and chain into the act. A balloon that looks like a cannon, perhaps? Yes? Or even better, one bigger than a cannon. I would carry it like a deadweight then throw it at the children and set them to squealing.”
“Whatever you think, dear.” Ruth shook her head in mock exasperation, holding her hand straight out beside her mouth as if in confidence to Angel but hardly whispering, “Anything sets him off. Be careful what you say.” She winked and lowered her hand. “We dress as clowns and perform up and down the midway, selling balloons to the kiddies.”
Angel smiled in reply at the outgoing couple. Cassie took her beyond the sheet of hanging canvas that hid where food was being prepared. The
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