I ran and swept Minnie off the ground.
Ceecee changed his aim. Apollo yelped and was knocked to the ground.
I thrust Minnie into Miss Lightfoot’s embrace and rounded on Ceecee, ready to strike, fear clawing my throat.
Ceecee pulled out his razor and flicked it open.
“Abel, stop!” cried Mr. Ginger.
I froze.
Everyone around me stared at Ceecee as if he were Medusa and had turned them to stone. Even Minnie was silent.
Ceecee yanked Apollo to his feet by his hair. The boy’s eyes were wide with terror, his hands curved into rigid claws as if he were clutching at far-flung safety.
I had to do something. Apollo was about to be scalped. Or worse. Just then Al Bonfiglio came out of the woods with his shotgun over his meaty shoulder. He took in the scene with a glance and immediately lowered the gun at Ceecee. “Let the boy go, you pervert.” I relaxed. I could see the pleasure in his eyes at the thought of shooting Ceecee.
Ceecee spat out a curse. He slashed at Apollo, and I choked on a cry. The blade sliced through Apollo’s locks, and the boy fell back to the ground. Ceecee kicked the lad once and retreated, a clump of hair in his fist.
“I give shaves, too, Bonfiglio,” he snarled over his shoulder. “Nice close shaves.”
Bonfiglio sneered, shouldered his weapon again, and walked off with no mind to Apollo whatsoever.
I rushed to the dog boy. He moaned, clutching his side where Ceecee had kicked him.
“Ceecee killed him, too!” shrieked Minnie. What terrible things she must have seen. Miss Lightfoot hushed and rocked her.
“It’s okay now,” I reassured Apollo. “Ceecee’s gone.” Inside I fumed.
Bertha took one of Apollo’s hands, and Willie patted the dog boy’s shoulder. Moses helped me pull Apollo to his feet and dust him down. Apollo shrugged us all off and ran to the safety of the children’s wagon, shutting himself in, but not before I saw the tears in his eyes.
I was surprised that Dr. Mink hadn’t emerged with all the noise, but hours later, as dusk fell, he walked in from the road to town swinging his death’s-head stick, and I realized he hadn’t been home at all. I wondered if I should tell Mink what Ceecee had done, but would he even care?
Apollo eventually emerged from the wagon, but he was silent and sullen for the rest of the day. He had run away from a father who beat him, and now he was beaten anyway. I guessed he was angry and probably frightened, too. The children were quiet and careful about him. Perhaps they believed he’d be mean to them in turn. I figured I’d better keep a closer eye on them this day if Apollo was too upset to do it himself.
“How about a story?” I offered when I rounded them up for the night and shooed them toward the caravan. I had always liked a story at bedtime when I was a child. “Come on, Apollo. You curl up too.”
A prairie wind had arisen. It cooled the air and swept the nearby trees into a rustling orchestra. Apollo obediently joined the children inside and snuggled silently into his top bunk. When I settled onto the floor, Minnie climbed into my lap with her doll. “What sort of story would you like?” I asked them.
“A ghost story,” said Moses with relish, and all except Apollo clamored agreement.
I would have thought they would want a more comforting tale, but since it was their request, “You know that last railroad crossing we passed?” I said, remembering a story I’d heard on the circus train.
The children nodded. They were all my willing accomplices in the telling of the tale.
“Well, fifteen years ago there occurred a terrible accident at that place.” No one asked how I would know. “A circus train was coming down the tracks. The night was dark and an early frost iced the rails. A farmer was riding home late from market, and his wagon wheel became stuck in a rut between the tracks. The engineer tried to stop, but the engine couldn’t grip the rails. The impact made the tender leap the tracks, and the rest of the train followed in an accordion of doom.”
Most of the children stared at me wide-eyed, but Minnie had a skeptical little smile on her face.
“The train went up in flames,” I said. “People and animals died in agony. But the elephants were heroes.”
Apollo leaned over the side of his bunk. “Rosie would be a hero,” he said, referring to his favorite circus elephant and partner in crime.
My heart lightened at this sign of interest. I told how the elephants had pulled away burning wreckage to free the trapped performers. “Even after their keeper was crushed by an iron wheel, they knew their duty and carried on. They worked all night and one after another succumbed to poisonous smoke and terrible burns. In the morning the heroic pachyderms had saved many who would have perished, but most of the elephants lay dead by the side of the tracks.”
“Ahhhhhh,” sighed Bertha.
“All except the biggest, smartest female elephant,” I added hastily for Apollo’s sake.