Leaving Flat Iron Creek

CHAPTER ONE

“Thad, I’d like to go into town about nine o’clock,” mother said as we ate our last bites of scrambled eggs and fried sausage. With his enameled cup clasped between his fingers father stared out the window at the ominous gathering storm clouds without responding. Large globs of water began to fall.

Promptly at nine, Thad and Mother climbed into our new 1922 Ford Model-T truck and headed toward Flat Iron Creek. They hadn’t been out of sight thirty minutes when the sun broke through the clouds, and a soft southwesterly breeze dried the waving blades of grass. The clouds disappeared and a perfect summer day embraced our Indiana farm.

“Seth, you and me got to do the work of three.” Father lost no time and headed toward the barn. I followed clipping my freshly washed overalls. The fifty-yard walk suggested that the day was going to be hotter than late June should be. After watering I harnessed Beth, our seven-year-old Belgian with her sister, Star, three years old, and Tom Thumb, their four-year-old half-brother. Father hitched Martha and Sunny, our matched registered Belgian mares, to the hay wagon. My team dragged the hay rack up to the north field, where the morning burst of rain made the recently cut hay aromatic. No matter how much I switched Beth, she moved slower than Tom. We looked ragtag.

Father pulled the wagon under the hay rack, and we started around the perimeter of the field slowly feeding the alfalfa up the rack to have it cascade over the top like a waterfall. Within minutes, every piece of my clothing was soaked with sweat. We had Father’s wagon loaded in about forty-five minutes. I unhitched my team from the hay rack and swung myself up on top of Tom’s wide back. We headed toward the barn.

This was the first of four trips. We stopped briefly to eat a lunch prepared by Bernice, who worked for mother part-time.

We cleared most of the north field by three-thirty. We could have done more but it was too hot. Father and I had decided that Thad would unload the last wagon when he got home. Back at the barn we wiped, fed, and watered the horses after they cooled down. I decided to go for a swim and invited Father to come along. But he had settled into a high-backed oak rocker on our shaded front porch. With his methodical moving slowly backward and forward I knew he would be asleep in minutes. He declined my offer with a nod. I mounted Best, my Tennessee Walker, tied a scrappy piece of towel to the saddle blanket straps, and rode toward Flat Iron Creek.

I looked down into the clean pool directly beneath the bridge. I could hear soft crackling as a trickle slipped over the smooth stones as it left the pool. The pale green leaves of the popular trees that lined the creek banks moved nervously with the hot summer breeze.

I walked across the new concrete bridge with Best following me and turned left down a gentle incline that was marked by tire tracks. There wasn’t a sound other than our feet softly smashing the weeds. Two hundred yards upstream the bank got steeper and the tree branches reached across the narrow gorge to join those on the left bank. They made a canopy over a shimmering, silent pool. I dismounted near a spot where the water was disturbed only by water bugs scampering over the mirrored surface. No birds sweetened the air with their songs. It was too hot.

During my nineteen years, I had come here with friends to laugh and carouse. I dreamed of leaving my virginity on the banks of this exotic place. I tied Best to a bush, ensuring that she was in the shade, and lay down in the grass and mindlessly looked up at the leaves flapping back and forth thirty feet above me. Minutes passed before a fly settled on my left cheek and startled me into consciousness.

My boots came off first; then clammy white socks. I unsnapped the strap on my overalls and slid them off, folding them over my boots. My striped cotton shirt was ripe with the day’s sweat, and I would not put it on before laundering.

I stood naked on the creek bank for a moment and descended the makeshift stairs cut into the bank. The mud squished between my toes as I stepped into the stream. I dove toward a half-submerged log. The water was perfect. I turned over and floated on my back. With another stroke, I reached the log and propped myself against an exposed branch. From the middle of the pool, the view downstream was obscured by trees whose roots no longer held them upright. They had fallen over but continued to grow, providing a curtain for bathers. I heard a laugh and slowly swam upstream. I heard another shout and some laughter. I was sure I would know the people because I knew everyone in the vicinity who swam in the creek.

Without warning, a naked boy about twelve years old swung out on a rope over my head and dropped into the water. Then another boy my age and finally a muscular man in his forties flew over me. “Auf Weidersein,” hollered the man as he released the rope and dropped into the water.

“Hello,” I answered as he swam away.

I sank into deeper water because I didn’t know these people. I was puzzled. I turned to get away downstream when the muscular man flew over me again. Seeing my imminent departure he yelled, “Nein, nein, kommen sie mit. Komm.” I paused. He motioned to me, and I followed him up the bank to a flat open space under a huge tree. The group included a girl I had not seen previously holding a naked baby to her naked breasts. Unconcerned the baby sucked hungrily. Everyone was blond-haired, blue-eyed, and very muscular. My puzzled look caused intelligible conversation until I caught the words “Rawlings Circus.”

“Aw, yes,” I said smiling, relieved to know something about these strange people.

“Sitzen, please,” the older boy said.

I immediately sat and arranged my hands over my private parts.

“Vatch.”

The three did a series of acrobatic tricks. After several beautifully executed flips and tumbles, the group dressed, talked loudly in their unintelligible language, and grabbed their bicycles.

As they prepared to ride the younger boy excitedly spat, “Drei and sieben in stadt. Kommen, bitte.”

I watched them walk their bikes up the incline by the bridge and turn south toward Ft. Wayne. As I dropped back into the grass, I was resentful of the intrusion of the foreigners. They were outsiders. This was my place.

I never invited a girl to this place even though my brother has. I have intentionally walked naked along the bank hoping I would accidentally be seen by girls. Instead of leaving they would look up from whatever they were doing and approvingly scan me from head to toe. People like to look at my tanned muscular torso marked by overall strap marks. I have a nice flat stomach. With my curly brown hair I look younger than I really am except my manhood is full grown just like my brothers.

The foreigners were indifferent and seemed uninterested in me or my body. The roar from a motor made me open my eyes. Thad drove up in our truck and yelled, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m thinking about the circus. Maybe even finding a job with the circus.”

“Sure,” sneered Thad.

As he stripped off his shirt he said, ”Lets get in the water and cool off. It sounds like you need it.” We lazed around and I told Thad about the intruders and the acrobatic performance they did for me. Simultaneously, we realized we had to run for supper. Mother sat on the back porch as I galloped into the yard. Anticipating her standard admonition, I mouthed her words as Mother said, “Wash up, we’re ready to eat.” I pulled the saddle off, flung it over the fence, and tied Best to the rail. I’d put her in the barn after supper.

As always, supper conversation was limited. Father reminded Thad that there was a hay wagon still waiting to be unloaded. I told him I’d help when we finished supper. Midway through the meal, I suggested going to the circus.

“Only after you get all the hay off the north field,” Father said. He and Mother showed no interest in joining us for a trip into town.

By the time Thad and I got the hay up into the loft, only a hint of light lingered in the western sky. We sat down on the concrete well cover to cool off and stared into the deepening dusk.

“Do you really think you’d join the circus?”

“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “It seems like my life is never going to change if I stay here. And I’m tired of being a virgin.”

“I can see that’s fixed, if that’s all that bothering you. Let me arrange a date between you and Molly.”

“No, I want to go places and see things. What do you want to do?” I asked even though I knew the answer. Thad was perfectly happy with the prospect of marrying Laureen, having kids, and staying right on the farm.

“Is Laureen going to be happy farming? She’s gone to college. What if she gets interested in some other guy?”

Thad spoke softly but with some concern in his voice. “She’s dating other guys; she told me she would. But I think she’ll come back…I really hope she does.”

The air cooled under the evening darkness. As we walked toward the house, the sweet aroma of freshly cut hay brought a pleasant end to our long day.

Mother and Father had gone to bed by the time we got to the house. We drank water from the kitchen pump before climbing the stairs. Although we tried to be quiet in our stocking feet, the risers squeaked as we made our way up the narrow steps that led to the attic room where we slept.

Thad pulled up the shade and yanked the window up until the tiny posts that held it up snapped into place. I sat on the edge of our bed and the moonlight caused the sheets to glow deep purple. I pulled off my socks and dropped my overalls, remembering that I had left my underwear in the laundry pile when I returned from swimming. I flopped on top of the sheets aware that my naked body radiated heat.

“Looks right to me,” Thad laughed as he crawled into his side of the bed. “Just don’t think I’m a girl.”

All too soon, I felt the light of the sun creep across my shuttered eyelids, and the bed moved. I knew Thad was about to get up. I slowly opened my eyes and turned in his direction. He leaned on his left elbow with his hand cupped under his chin.

“I thought you were strange when you were going to sleep naked. One night and I’m convinced that I’ll never go back,” then added laughing. “But it is impossible to hide the morning woody.”

“Yep, It’s the only way, I always sleep this way when you’re gone,” my froggy vocal cords growled.

“Get up, I hear Mother,” Thad ordered. “We’ve got a lot to do before we leave for town.”

He climbed over me to get to the floor. Thad was twenty-one, and I was his younger brother.. We were still sleeping together in the same bed. Thad gave my butt a smack and said, “Let’s go.”

I planted my own feet on the cool, polished floor and stood up. The sun’s fingers reached for the wispy orange clouds that seemed just out of their reach. I turned to see Thad snap the right shoulder of his overalls to the bib. His messy hair, tattered short-sleeved shirt, and overalls with patches in every weakened spot caused me to sputter, “Good morning, Mr. Scarecrow.”

“Shut up, Greek god,” he shot back. “Put your pants on.”

“Am I turning you on?” I laughed.

“Shut up. Having sex with girls is too much fun. But you wouldn’t know.”

I reached for my boxers on the floor. As I bent over Thad goosed me. “OK, OK, I’ll ask Molly for a date Friday night and get it over with,” I said unconvinced that I really would.

“This is Friday,” Thad said sarcastically as he stomped down the stairs.

As quickly as breakfast could be finished, we headed to the north field. Not a single cloud gave any relief from the unrelenting sun. We wore full-brimmed straw hats to give us some protection. Sweat streamed down my face. The salty flow stung my eyes. By overloading two wagons, we got all the remaining hay off the field, and Father decided that we should drive through the flat open field just to the north to eliminate the risk of hay falling off the wagon.

Since both horses and men were hot, we took it slowly. Thad dragged the hay rack to another field with his team while Father and I carefully moved the hay over the gently undulating ground to an open wooden gate. We were ready to cross the road when a loud Model T Ford clattered down the road, stirring up a cloud of dust that was visible a half-mile away. Father tightly held the reins to Martha and Sunny, but they were unperturbed. My horses, Tom Thumb and Star, fidgeted but didn’t try to break away. I spoke reassuringly and constantly to them. They quieted down.

Father, Thad, and I were unloading the second wagon when Mother sounded the lunch bell. Already dripping wet and ripe from hard work, we decided we could finish the job in fifteen minutes so we pitched the hay with abandon. Bernice had set the table in the front yard under a giant maple tree whose branches shaded seventy-feet across. When I sat down, I gulped two glasses of iced tea before dinner. The cucumber and sliced onion salad finally got rid of the gritty taste that a hard morning’s work in the hay field left in my mouth.

Father announced half-way through lunch that he was not going out into sun again and said he was going to repair something in the tool shed. I figured he was giving us permission to go to Ft. Wayne for the afternoon performance of the circus. Thad and I had decided to ride in for the seven or eight o’clock show, so we did not pick up on what Father meant.

Mother was more direct. “Are you boys taking the truck to town?”

Thad told her that we had decided to ride into town.

“You’re not going into Ft. Wayne this afternoon?” Father asked.

“Yes, but later,” Thad explained.

“You can go whenever you want to,” Father said. “We’re done for today. We’ll be back at it tomorrow.”

Thad looked at me and said, “Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute! I’m not going into town looking like a farmer. I want to get cleaned up.”

Father shot a nasty look at me. “Something wrong with looking like a farmer?”

Sensing an opportunity to argue with Father, Thad jumped in to defend me. “Father, give him a break. He’s been working hard. I happen to agree with him. Who wants to look like a farmer, especially when we’re going to Mildred’s?”

Thad, knowing he had insulted Father, turned to me. “Take some clothes, and we’ll stop at Harsh’s Pond to clean up. Put your clothes in that saddle bag I gave you last Christmas.”

Thad often knew what I was thinking before I did, and that bothered me. I kept my irritation to myself. Mother wanted the argument concluded and began telling Father about the church social on Sunday. Upstairs, I grabbed the saddle bag off the hook where it had hung since Christmas. I dusted it off with the inside of my right sleeve and flopped it on the bed. Out of the middle drawer of our chest, I pulled on a pair of blue jeans and a long-sleeved Western style blue-stripped shirt with snaps on the pocket flaps. I also grabbed the leather belt with my name hand-tooled in the middle of its back. Carrying the boots would be a problem, but I found a piece of string and tied two pull-up loops together so I could hook the boots over the saddle horn.

“This is a lot of extra trouble,” I said to Thad as he reached the top of the stairs. “Why don’t we just dress here?”

He ignored the question, but it did not matter because I admitted to myself what was really happening: I really might leave home and join the circus. Trying to avoid the issue, I hurriedly picked up three sets of underwear, a comb, and my wallet. I must have been shaking my head because Thad asked, “No, what?”

“Nothing,” I snapped. He did not question me further and rolled his shirt and pants in a towel and changed into different boots. Downstairs, I grabbed my toothbrush from a glass on the window sill above the sink.

We saddled Best and Marla, our two chestnut mares, and rode back into the yard. Mother and Father had moved into two oak rockers on the front porch. Thad told them we might stay in town at Aunt Mildred’s.

“We’ll leave the horses there and walk to the circus,” he continued. “It’s so hot it’ll take us two hours or so to get to town.” Thad gave much more explanation than they had expected, considering that they had not uttered a single word. I noticed he was edgy.

“Sure you don’t want to take the truck?” Mother questioned.

“No,” Thad said abruptly. “Horses are easier today.”

I had gotten off Best to tighten the cinch. I went over and gave Mother a hug. She smiled and gently acknowledged my unspoken farewell. As I followed Thad out of the yard, I gazed back at Mother because I wanted to remember her if I didn’t come back.

Gertrude Meyers Newman was five feet, seven inches tall, which was tall for a woman, and her amber eyes were her outstanding features. Stately and subdued, Mother was round-shouldered from years of hard work on the farm. She and Father had worked side by side while she watched her two sisters, Mildred and Iris, marry men who were more financially successful.

Father always called his wife Gert. She found intense comfort in church, the First Methodist Church of Flat Iron Creek. She participated actively in the quilting guild, visited shut-ins, and was the first to volunteer to work in the church kitchen at the Friday night socials.

Mother always pulled her long, glistening chocolate hair away from her face and twirled it into a bun that sat below her crown. When we were younger, Thad and I sat on our parent’s bed and watched Mother comb and prepare her flowing hair. She, on rare occasions, would let us comb it. She took Thad and me to church even though Father rarely accompanied us. He dropped us off and picked us and attended Christmas and Easter services without complaint. When we refused to attend Sunday service at ages twelve and thirteen, Mother tried to persuade us to continue but eventually backed off.

She rarely left the farm for more than a few hours and had never been away more than a day or two as far as I know. She indulged herself with few worldly pleasures but she had passions. She loved to know from a distance what was going on in the world so she constantly read current events. As long as I could remember, she voraciously read newspapers--The Flat Iron Creek Weekly, The Indianapolis Star, and once a month we received a package of old New York Heralds from Aunt Mildred.

Mother devoured the papers when she rested after dinner. Thad and I learned early not to disturb her. She constantly told us about what was going on in England, Italy, or Germany. When we didn’t know a place in the world she was talking about, Mother pulled out a finger-worn globe and directed us to search until we found the place. She loved it when we found an obscure mountain range or speck of a country. As a result, Thad and I did well in geography.

As much as she loved current events, Mother was more passionate about poetry and fancied herself a poet. She often sat with us--one on each side of her--on Grandmother’s horse hair sofa and recited Shakespeare, Tennyson, Edna St.Vincent Millay, and many others. My favorite was Alfred Lord Tennyson’s The Charge of the Light Brigade, especially when Mother dramatically read the words “and into the valley of the ten thousand…”

She wrote poems in her quiet time but rarely read them to us because Father told her writing poems was frivolous. Mother never got mad at him. She just stole away and wrote in a linen-covered notebook that she kept in the bottom drawer of the breakfront cabinet, where she kept white Havilland china that we used on holidays. Mother never forced her interests on us, but she never permitted three males in her family to steal her life.

I loved the time she read books to me. Her voice was soft as a purple Iris in the spring and comfortable as the woolly socks in winter. As she read, I stroked her worn cotton dress and inhaled the light floral scent I saw her splash on each morning by the sink. I loved my Mother.

Her other passion was William Shakespeare, whom she constantly read aloud to us. We listened reluctantly. She insisted that Father take her to plays by the author whenever an itinerant group of actors came to Flat Iron Creek or Ft. Wayne. Father never resisted and attended the performances even though he never understood the plays. I felt it was his way of showing love for Mother.

I looked toward the road, gave Best’s rein a gentle tug to the left and she turned toward Ft. Wayne. As I looked at Mother in the rocker, I saw wiry, gray strands of hair framing her drawn face. When I had hugged her she was stiff, but that was normal because she did not show emotion easily. I never saw displays of affection from Mother toward Father or vice versa. The word “love” had never been used in our house. About a quarter-mile up the hill, I turned one last time and looked at the farmhouse that had been my home for more than nineteen years.

Mother and Father watched us leave. I saw Thad about fifty yards ahead and urged Best to step up. Each hoof caused a small explosion of dust as she moved along the road. The house disappeared, and I wondered if I’d be back tomorrow. But the thought was immediately washed away by the perspiration running down my nose.

We let the horses set their own pace. An hour later and two miles from the edge of Ft. Wayne, we turned onto a one-lane track to our right that was marked by rusted farm machinery in the corner of a field. The slightly ascending trail not more than a quarter-mile led to a beautiful, eighty-acre crystalline glacial lake.

Fed by multiple springs that never seemed to dry even in the driest summers, the pond was always fresh and cool. It was great for swimming and picnics because great oak and willow trees hid it from the main road. Several large elephant-shaped boulders provided natural diving platforms at one end and doubled as great spots for sunning.

After dismounting, we gave the horses a short drink of water but decided it would be better if they waited until we got to town for a real drink. We shook dust off of every piece of clothing. We took off our boots, piled our clothes beside them on the ground, stepped down to a gravel shelf, and slowly slipped into the cool water. I saw my toes even though I was waist-deep in the water.

Thad stroked toward the center of the pond, and it struck me how lucky we were to be good swimmers. Uncle Clem, Father’s younger brother, had been in the U.S. Navy, and while at home on leave he taught us to swim. I dove into the water and followed Thad. We swam toward a platform that was anchored in the southern end of the pond. We splashed each other and tried to pull the other underwater unaware we were being watched.

As we neared the platform we heard squeals of laughter. I hadn’t heard a sound or seen splashing before we started swimming. As we neared two guys and a girl pushed off in the opposite direction.

The blond girl I had seen yesterday called, “Wei gehts?” Their bare bodies were clearly visible below the surface. She hesitated and then swam toward the athletic torso ahead of her.

“Do you know her?” Thad asked.

“Let’s say we’ve seen each other before.”

“Where?”

I decided to leave him wondering and quickly swam off toward the horses. He tried to catch me, but I was a faster swimmer. When I stepped out of the water, he caught my arm and jerked me toward him.

“Who are they?”

“I’ll tell you later,” I said as convincingly as I could without smiling. “You’ll be surprised.”

He persisted. “When will you tell me? That wasn’t a virgin’s look she gave you.”

“Shut up.”

I dressed quickly in clean clothes, stuffed the dirty ones in my bag, and tied my work boots with the saddle bag behind the saddle. We rode into town

Aunt Mildred and Uncle Harry lived in a big house on Washington Street in Ft. Wayne. They had two daughters, Eileen and Hope, four and two years older than Thad. Aunt Mildred, a woman bigger than our Mother, was more open and expressive. In fact, Aunt Mildred had always been more outwardly affectionate toward us than our own Mother. She still hugged and kissed us whenever we arrived and left.

Aunt Mildred and Uncle Harry had taken their daughters and us many places that our parents could never afford. In the past summers, we picnicked at the river near their cottage and gone to Stardust Amusement Park. They bought us bicycles when we got older. Before the war started in 1914 they took us to the Hagenbeck and Wallace Circus.

They lived in an enormous white house set fifty yards back from on a maple tree shaded street. A grand, sweeping porch surrounded the front of the house. We could see three people sitting behind the screen when we rode into the yard. They looked up momentarily and unconcerned returned to their conversation.

“Hello, Aunt Mildred,” I called.

She turned and waved, not rising immediately as if she was expecting us. We hoped that would be the case since we wanted to be invited for supper. We also hoped that we would be invited to stay overnight. When we got up to the house and dismounted, Aunt Mildred stood at the bottom of the steps and gave us a bear hug. I liked to feel her big breasts up against me. I blushed. Uncle Harry and another man stepped off the porch behind her.

“You boys in town for the circus?” Uncle Harry asked.

Thad answered for us. “Yes, sir, we are. We hoped to leave the horses until we’re ready to go home later tonight.”

“Do you have to go home tonight?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, just plan to stay overnight.”

Aunt Mildred said, “Hurry and get washed up. Supper’s almost ready.” Turning back toward the porch, she added, “We’re going to the circus, too. We’ll drive over together. Hurry along.”

We mounted and rode around the house to the carriage barn. Instead of horses and a wagon, Uncle Harry kept a new Studebaker in the barn. We opened the doors for ventilation. “What a gorgeous automobile!” Thad said under his breath. After taking the saddles and bridles off of the horses, we carried water from the back porch to give the horses a proper drink.

Aunt Mildred, Uncle Harry, and the stranger were seated when we entered the dining room. The candle flames reflected on the polished table top and the ceiling fan caused them to flicker nervously. Aunt Mildred had not polished the table nor cooked the savory meat. She employed a housekeeper-cook. Uncle Harry was ready to carve. Mildred looked lovely at dinner with dark auburn hair pulled away from her face. The yellow-flowered, full-skirted dress she wore had a frilly white collar that made me think of a clown.

As we pulled chairs away from the table, Aunt Mildred stopped us. “Have you washed up?”

We hadn’t, and she knew it. She talked to us like we were twelve years old, and we responded as if Mother told us to wash before returning to the table.

At dinner, we sat across from the gentleman we had seen earlier. Uncle Harry immediately began his favorite Lutheran prayer, “God is Great, God is Good…” When he concluded, he said, “Boys, this is Dr. Alfred Gallagher. He was a college classmate of mine, and he’s the veterinarian with the Rawlings Show.”

My face must have shown too much excitement because Dr. Gallagher asked if we had been to the circus before. Thad told him we had been four or five years before but hadn’t seen a performance since then.

From then on, there was only a little light banter because Aunt Mildred made it clear that we needed to be on our way. Somewhere near the end of the main course Aunt Mildred decried, “No dessert tonight. Let’s get in the car.” Everyone quickly took a last bite or two and pushed themselves up following her lead.

As we walked through the kitchen Uncle Harry said, “Thad, ever drive a Studebaker?”

“No sir, but I’d love to some day.”

“Today’s the day,” Uncle Harry said, smiling. “Go get her started. The Ford has a magneto and the Studebaker has a different kind of starter switch that you turn on before you crank her up. The switch is to the right of the gasoline lever. Give it a try, I’ll be right out.” Thad loosened the hand brake, and the two of us rolled the Studebaker out of the barn so the noise would not startle our horses. We eased the machine into the yard, and Thad took his place behind the wheel, flipped the starter switch, and started the car. It was only then that I noticed that the Studebaker had huge headlights because they came on when the motor started.

Thad reached for the switch when Uncle Harry walked up.

“No, no,” he admonished Thad, “We need the switch on to keep the lights shining.” Dr. Gallagher and Aunt Mildred climbed into the back seat with me as Uncle Harry sat next to Thad. My brother eased his foot off of the clutch causing a slight lurch.

“You’ve got it!” Uncle Henry said. “But remember one other thing. She has four forward gear positions. Reverse gear is the other lever. Don’t worry about that now.”

We turned left out of the driveway onto Washington Street, making our way to the circus grounds about a mile and a half due west. As we got closer, we encountered congestion with pedestrians, riders, horse carriages, and more automobiles. We drove onto the lot and parked in a special area for automobiles and trucks.

As we walked through a side entrance of the massive white tent, most greeted Dr. Gallagher with “Hi, Doc.” All except a well-dressed man who called, “Evening, Fred.”

“Good evening, Charlie,” the veterinarian responded. After we were seated, Gallagher told us that Charlie was Charles Rawlings, owner of the circus and one of the richest men in America.

We sat in a reserved section in the middle of the tent on the third row enabling us to see in all directions without looking around poles and wires. The lights, music, and performance transported the audience away their everyday life into a dream world. We turned our heads from side to side constantly trying to catch all the action.

The show had more galloping horses, ponderous elephants, and glorious costumes than I remembered from the previous circus performance. Acrobats concluded the first half of the show. They bounced and flew from the floor to the shoulders of others like they had springs in their legs. One man caught and balanced three other troupe members on his shoulders, and the audience responded with deafening cheers.

The second half began with eighteen gleaming black horses elegantly performing without riders to the commands of an equestrian master in the center of each of the three rings. Later, twelve Bengal tigers responded to their trainer’s whip with rolls and jumps through flaming hoops. Then the mood changed dramatically with a drum roll. The lights were dimmed and the ringmaster announced, “Ladies and gentlemen may I direct your attention to the center ring. From the Kaiser’s own circus, the great von Leuvenfelds.”

On the far side of the tent, heavy red velvet curtains parted. A troupe of six athletic aerialists--three men, two girls, and a boy of twelve or thirteen ran into the center ring with royal blue and gold capes flying behind them. Each graciously bowed to one part of the audience or another. The brawniest man grabbed a white rope and hoisted himself up to a swing while the others climbed ladders that dropped down from a platform forty feet above the floor.

I waited for Thad to say something, but he was too entranced by the trapeze artistry. The crowd applauded each somersault and dramatic catch. The tempo increased, and the music from the band changed as the bass drum began a throbbing cadence. Then a snare drum added to the frenzy. The ringmaster announced that the two female aerialists would attempt a double fly-away. He said the trick had never performed by females in an American circus and ordered the crowd to remain quiet.

The audience hushed, and the drumming intensified. From a board several feet above a platform forty feet in the air, a petite blond aerialist leaped to a swinging bar. She released it and was caught by another aerialist hanging upside down with his feet wrapped around the catcher’s bar. With their swinging arch finished, the first flyer released and another with dark brown hair turned a somersault and exchanged places with her in mid-air. The movement did not stop as they repeated the trick. When the aerialists safely returned to the platform, the audience sighed with relief and gave the performers a thunderous applause. One by one, the troupe dropped into the net and somersaulted onto the ground to waiting capes and clogs.

“That’s her!” shouted Thad.

I felt his look but didn’t take my eyes off the guy I first saw at the creek. On his first bow to our side of the tent, I don’t think he saw me. But the second time our eyes locked briefly. He winked, turned, and ran through the velvet curtains with the others.

Thad pushed my arm with his elbow and persisted, “Did you recognize her? That’s the girl from Harsh’s Pond.”

“I know, I know.” I mumbled but puzzling at the way the guy looked not at me but into my head. I shivered and wondered why I had such a reaction.

In the grand finale, we saw the girl again dressed as a Roman goddess. She wore a wig with a long braid and a short white skirt showing off her muscular legs. She may have glanced my way as she walked past, but I wasn’t sure. For sure her partner dressed in a white centurion skirt and bare-chested looked my way. His penetrating stare troubled me.

When the performance ended at ten-fifteen, the crowd poured out into the sultry night. We talked with Dr. Gallagher as the crowd thinned. He graciously thanked Aunt Mildred for dinner and said good-bye, departing to attend a baby elephant that had been born a couple of months earlier but suffered from skin lesions. The new-born would be sent to a circus facility in central Florida as soon as she could be weaned from her mother.

We walked toward the main entrance through a barrage of vendors hawking balloons, pin wheels, clown dolls, and one more cone of cotton candy.

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