“What happened then?” asked Moses.
“The circus folk had to bury the elephants right there, they were too big to move.” I thought of the giant. “Perhaps you saw the mound we drove by.”
Willie nodded, although there had been no such thing.
I leaned forward and lowered my voice to a hush. “Now, they say, on lonely nights, when the prairie winds blow, you can hear ghostly elephants trumpet in the distance.”
There was silence inside, but outside the wind hissed, and I swear I almost heard elephants myself, even though I’d made most of the story up.
“Do you think the giant will make ghostly noises?” asked Willie.
“Probably puking sounds,” said Moses.
“Moses!” Bertha chastised.
But the frog boy wouldn’t be quelled. “I expect when Earle dies, we’ll hear ghostly farts.”
There went the mood entirely. Even Apollo cracked a smile. Bertha took the chance to comfort him. “You know, your fur will grow back,” she
told him.
Apollo’s smile faded. “I hate him,” he snarled. It pained my heart to see him so angry.
“We all do,” Bertha said, and held out her stumpy right arm to show the dotted scars. “He burns me, all the time, just to laugh at the way I jump.” I swallowed a groan. I had made myself believe they were bug bites like she’d told me. Nobody had to ask who Bertha meant by “he.”
“That’s horrible,” said Apollo, distracted from his own plight.
“He knocks me around something fierce, but he can’t hurt me,” said Moses. “I’m gonna smack him the next time he hits me.” He threw punches at the air.
I knew how he felt. I wanted to punch Ceecee too. Willie stared at the ceiling. His voice was small. “He twisted my arm and made me lick his boots. I cried.”
“Not me!” snapped Moses. “I don’t cry.” He pushed by me and out the door.
“Don’t pay him no mind,” said Bertha. “He gets like that.”
My heart went out to Moses and all the children. There was so little kindness in their lives. I was more determined than ever to get them all to safety. “Let him have a few moments,” I said when Apollo moved to fetch Moses back. “I’ll check on him soon.”
“That’s the way of the world, though,” said Bertha. “You gotta put up with the grown-ups if you want to eat.”
How tired and ancient she sounded with her jaded wisdom. “No, it’s not, Bertha,” I said through clenched teeth. “It doesn’t have to be.”
She shook her head as if I were a fool.
“What about you, Minnie?” I asked, and cuddled her close. “Does Ceecee hurt you?” I swore if she said yes, I would drag him out of wherever he lurked and beat him myself, even if he cut me with a razor.
“No,” Minnie said, and her head wobbled with the effort of talking.
“He’s afraid of her,” said Bertha. “One day she said to him, bold as brass, ‘You’re dead in a barn, soon.’ You should’ve seen the colors he turned.”
I snorted with laughter, taken by surprise. “Good for you, Minnie,” I whispered, but the weight of the little girl against me, and her even breathing, told me she was asleep. “I’ll go see if Moses is all right,” I said, and laid Minnie on a bottom bunk.
Before I found Moses, however, I was intercepted by Gunther Bopp.
“You seen Bess?” he asked.
“Not since this afternoon,” I answered.
“I’m worryin’,” he said.