want to jump into its waters.
Hands come down on my shoulders.
I turn sharply. Madame Celia stands behind me, darkness pooling in the crevices of her face. "Where are you off to, child?"
The men stop, placing their hands up as though to guard themselves from Madame Celia. They retreat to the ship.
“You’ve been following me,” I tell her. “I see you in the circus and around the grounds.”
“I wanted a chance to speak with you again.”
"Stay away from me. Grandfather says you're a witch. He says some people are so jealous of other's good fortunes that they make up the most outrageous lies about them.”
Her eyes grow sad. "I only speak of what I see."
“Well, what you see isn’t true. Those stupid cards are just cards. Pictures and nothing more.”
“It is little to do with the cards. It is me. Since I was small, I have seen things. I saw the horrors that were coming. I just didn’t know when or who would bring them. Now I know. I see a tree, and the tree is spreading its roots all over our world, strangling it.”
I shake my head wordlessly, my throat caught up and dry.
“I see it in your eyes, Cherie. You speak of lies, but you have witnessed a small part of what I am telling you. I know that you know something. And perhaps you are the only one in this world who can stop your grandfather. You are the only one close enough to him. You must not allow him to collect the item he seeks. If you cannot stop him, then you must destroy this thing. Wipe it clean from the earth!”
I tear away from her, the heels of my new shoes echoing in hollow staccato on the pavement.
13. OF PARADISE
The train rattles through the green plantations of Louisiana. The circus trailers are loaded into the back cars of the train and the animals secured in their cages. I hear the baying of the elephants. I sense the restlessness of the lions and tigers. The train rides are hard on the animals.
I lean my head back and watch gray clouds swarm and roll across the sky. A deep rumble sounds. A thunderstorm is coming. Beyond everything, I can hear the last notes of a piano recital, like the last stop in a funeral march.
I detest the long stretches between destinations. They are like death, snatching away parcels of your life. My fifteenth birthday is mere months away. The train takes me further towards adulthood, racing towards that bitter day. Grandfather barely speaks to me these days—and refuses to speak more of that conversation in his tent.
The memory of a morning at Orlando five years ago slips into my mind. The sky is the color of my dress—a powdery blue. I am ten. Heat rises from the pavement—making transparent wavering lines in the air. We are not here to work. The Ringling Brothers circus is in town and the Fiveash circus cannot compete with them. No, it is one of the rare times we are simply visitors. An ice cream is put in one of my hands and my father holds my other hand. I think I cannot get any happier. Then grandfather says he has a surprise for the family. He takes us to see the foundations of an enormous house not far from Orlando. We drive across a bridge to an island. The island is mostly just dirt and coconut plantations. A few houses have been built, but not many. Grandfather pulls up the car beside the sprawling foundations of a new house.
“This will be our home,” he says proudly. “When we are not travelling with the circus, this is where we’ll live.”
Mother, daddy and I step from the car in wonder. Miss Kitty follows, clucking in astonishment. I dash forward and almost fall into a deep, long hole.
“Hold on there, it’s not ready for a swim yet,” grandfather chuckles.
I turn back to grandfather with my mouth hanging open. The hole runs half the length of the house—it seems far too big to be a private swimming pool. My gaze travels to the shining lake beyond the pool.
“It doesn’t look like much now,” says grandfather. “But when everything is finished and the lawns and
Hands come down on my shoulders.
I turn sharply. Madame Celia stands behind me, darkness pooling in the crevices of her face. "Where are you off to, child?"
The men stop, placing their hands up as though to guard themselves from Madame Celia. They retreat to the ship.
“You’ve been following me,” I tell her. “I see you in the circus and around the grounds.”
“I wanted a chance to speak with you again.”
"Stay away from me. Grandfather says you're a witch. He says some people are so jealous of other's good fortunes that they make up the most outrageous lies about them.”
Her eyes grow sad. "I only speak of what I see."
“Well, what you see isn’t true. Those stupid cards are just cards. Pictures and nothing more.”
“It is little to do with the cards. It is me. Since I was small, I have seen things. I saw the horrors that were coming. I just didn’t know when or who would bring them. Now I know. I see a tree, and the tree is spreading its roots all over our world, strangling it.”
I shake my head wordlessly, my throat caught up and dry.
“I see it in your eyes, Cherie. You speak of lies, but you have witnessed a small part of what I am telling you. I know that you know something. And perhaps you are the only one in this world who can stop your grandfather. You are the only one close enough to him. You must not allow him to collect the item he seeks. If you cannot stop him, then you must destroy this thing. Wipe it clean from the earth!”
I tear away from her, the heels of my new shoes echoing in hollow staccato on the pavement.
13. OF PARADISE
The train rattles through the green plantations of Louisiana. The circus trailers are loaded into the back cars of the train and the animals secured in their cages. I hear the baying of the elephants. I sense the restlessness of the lions and tigers. The train rides are hard on the animals.
I lean my head back and watch gray clouds swarm and roll across the sky. A deep rumble sounds. A thunderstorm is coming. Beyond everything, I can hear the last notes of a piano recital, like the last stop in a funeral march.
I detest the long stretches between destinations. They are like death, snatching away parcels of your life. My fifteenth birthday is mere months away. The train takes me further towards adulthood, racing towards that bitter day. Grandfather barely speaks to me these days—and refuses to speak more of that conversation in his tent.
The memory of a morning at Orlando five years ago slips into my mind. The sky is the color of my dress—a powdery blue. I am ten. Heat rises from the pavement—making transparent wavering lines in the air. We are not here to work. The Ringling Brothers circus is in town and the Fiveash circus cannot compete with them. No, it is one of the rare times we are simply visitors. An ice cream is put in one of my hands and my father holds my other hand. I think I cannot get any happier. Then grandfather says he has a surprise for the family. He takes us to see the foundations of an enormous house not far from Orlando. We drive across a bridge to an island. The island is mostly just dirt and coconut plantations. A few houses have been built, but not many. Grandfather pulls up the car beside the sprawling foundations of a new house.
“This will be our home,” he says proudly. “When we are not travelling with the circus, this is where we’ll live.”
Mother, daddy and I step from the car in wonder. Miss Kitty follows, clucking in astonishment. I dash forward and almost fall into a deep, long hole.
“Hold on there, it’s not ready for a swim yet,” grandfather chuckles.
I turn back to grandfather with my mouth hanging open. The hole runs half the length of the house—it seems far too big to be a private swimming pool. My gaze travels to the shining lake beyond the pool.
“It doesn’t look like much now,” says grandfather. “But when everything is finished and the lawns and
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