I was shaken awake as the train lurched to a stop. I grabbed my saddle bag and headed toward the door. With directions from the station master, I found the circus about a quarter mile from the station all set up as if it had been there for several days. I knew differently. I wandered around the lot for a few minutes wondering if I was doing the right thing. Across the midway I sawPRIVATE Williams. He stood next to his pinto talking to a heavy set man wearing a starched white shirt, tie, and vest with his coat casually tossed over his shoulder. I was happy Williams couldn’t see my wobbly knees as I walked toward him. He watched four men as they dismantled a small tent.
“Mr. Williams,” I said, waiting for him to turn.
I repeated his name, and he spat a wad of tobacco juice at me.
“Hold your horses,” he said in an annoyed tone. He didn’t recognize me, but he snapped. “Yes?”
“My name is Seth Newman. You offered me a job last night. I want to accept the job.”
“McCann’s team, right?” he said. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him. Come with me!”
He pointed to the empty pole wagon twenty yards away.
“Stow your gear in the front box behind the front wheel. That wagon will be one of the last ones off of the lot and so will you.”
My stomach muscles finally relaxed as we walked toward the main tent.
“Two dollars and fifty cents a week,” he said.
I broke stride and said, “No, sir, you said three dollars.”
“Three, you’re probably not worth it? But if I said it…”
I realized that the performance was concluding because I recognized the finale music from last night. It stopped and there was thunderous applause. We kept walking to the stairs of a wagon where two men stood inside silhouetted against a light. He had me wait at the bottom of the steps as he spoke to the two men. One of them, a heavy-set man with a mustache gave me quick glance. As I stood waiting I watched as ome men closed wagons while others opened wagon doors and loaded large, bulky trunks. Others stood around in groups, with Negroes on one side and whites on the other. They waited for something. When a whistle blew, they raced into the main tent, and I heard thunderous crashing and slamming sounds.
“Kid, what’s your name again?”
“Newman, Seth Newman,” I replied, annoyed that Williams couldn’t remember my name.
“I want you to meet Mr. Burns. He’s the timekeeper. You get your pay from him on Friday.”
Williams turned back momentarily in my direction.
“Go find McCann.”
“Got any suggestions where?” I asked, half not expecting him to answer.
“Try the menagerie.”
I turned and walked in that direction as adrenaline surged through my body. I was an employee of the Rawlings Bros. World’s Greatest Circus.
The sky began to darken just like yesterday. As I approached the menagerie, a strong acidy smell of wild animal urine stung my nostrils. I sneezed as the billowing tent fell to the ground and kicked up a cloud of dust
“Achtung, Gott bless,” someone said.
I stood motionless as men came out from underneath the canvas dragging poles. I saw an elephant and two men pulling up deeply embedded stakes. Men everywhere yelled, a totally chaotic scene. A crew pulled out the lace and rolled the tent onto a giant spool. I noticed McCann atop a wagon slowly encouraging his team to step back as men guided the tent onto the spool.
“Mr. McCann,” I shouted.
He glared at me, and I moved to the head of the team.
“Ted, Barney straighten out.”
Their ears peaked in my direction. Although they weren’t working as the wagon backed, the wheel horses certainly shouldn’t have to drag Ted and Barney along. All the big horses in front had to do was to keep slack in the chains and the poles on the ground.
The whole operation took fifteen minutes. I stood by Buster as the tarpaulin was secured over the rolled up tent.
“Seth Newman, get your tail up here beside me quickly. I presume you have talked to Mr. Williams?”
“Yes,” I said as I scaled the iron steps.
McCann extended his hand and shook mine.
“Welcome. Let’s move this load quickly,” he said. “Ted, Barney, step up. Step up!”
I immediately felt at home beside him as my hands held the cold metal brake wheel. He spoke as the horses momentarily strained to get our load moving.
“My assistant does exactly what I ask. You make no decisions. You may encounter some agitation because three fellows already asked for the job that Mr. Williams has given a ‘wet-behind-the-ears’ First of May boy. Where are you sleeping tonight?”
“I don’t have the faintest idea.”
“We’ll get you a blanket from Harold, our porter. Sleep under the wagons tonight. We’ll check on the alternatives tomorrow.”
On the first of four trips that night to the train, McCann had me jump down and get his horse, which was tied to the back wagon ring. I held the lead horses as McCann mounted his horse. The lines were coiled on Buster’s hames, and I mounted him and drove the team back to the lot. McCann rode along side, checking me out.
“Pull up on Molly’s right. Get Ted’s attention. You’re cutting too close,” he said.
On the lot, McCann asked Williams for instructions.
“Johnson’ has poles,” McCann explained, “and we have seats, which means Wagon 88.”
“That was last night’s problem. Now we have the heavy sucker,” I groaned.
“Point them toward New York,” McCann said, making a sweeping gesture with his arm. Unlike the previous trip, I positioned the team and was ready to hand over the lines when I noticed he was hooking the chains.
“Stay where you are. You’re driving.”
McCann rode close to Ted’s head and dropped back occasionally to give an order or make a comment. Once, while I listened to him, I let the team fade too far left and almost took out a hitching post near a corner.
“Seth Newman, I told you always keep you eyes on the leads. Never take your eyes off Ted. He’s got a mind of his own.”
We approached the loading area, and a knot formed in my stomach. I was perched above a massive load and had no brakeman. I instinctively pulled up
“What’s wrong?” Mr. McCann shouted.
“Need a brakeman!”
He smiled and returned with one, a kid with the blackest skin I had ever seen. He set the brake and then loosened it just enough so that the horses were actually pulling slightly downhill. The drop-off area was extremely tight, but the trainmaster waved us in. I was unsure that I could get the horses out without them stepping on a chain or a pole. So I backed Buster, Bane, and the others almost rump to nose, then eased Barney around to the right because there was no pole for them to worry about.
“Brake set,” I said to the boy who sat next to me.
I quickly climbed down with the coiled lines and swung myself onto Buster, taking the lines off the hames. My brakeman unhooked chains from the eveners and pole.
“Step up , Barney,” I said, “and do it slowly.”
I heard a chain dragging and thought it was Ted’s right chain because he was too far ahead of Barney. The assistant from Shorty’s wagon stood nearby.
“Could you do me a favor and hook the loose chain?” I asked.
He turned as if he didn’t hear me.
“Yeah, you in the blue shirt!. Sorry I don’t know your name. Would you hook the chain to the left front spreader for me? Thanks.”
He stepped in and hooked it but never looked at me. I drove to the horse’s stock car, with McCann riding beside me. As soon as our horses were in the car and tied, the train pulled out. I got a blanket from the porter, leaving my extra boots and saddle bag in the box under the pole wagon. I found a spot to sleep under Wagon 86 and brushed the rocks from the deck with my hand. The air was hot and sultry, and my body was sticky. I was too tired and too excited to worry about anything. The train slowly picked up speed, and a breeze made it perfect for sleeping. We headed toward Chicago.
The train jerked forward and backward several times the next morning before coming to rest on a siding with a view of Lake Michigan. I watched as the city of Chicago grew bold and fantastic before my eyes. I had not been in Chicago for several years and could not fathom the amount of construction visible from my vantage point.
We set the show up in the park named for President Grant. The main entrance faced a street named for another president, Van Buren. Crowds gathered the movement we unloaded. McCann reminded me to keep my eyes on the leads, not the pretty young ladies that had come to watch us. A group of five teenage girls followed my wagons, and I touched my hat to them on several occasions. I saw pain in McCann’s face several times that morning as he held his stomach. Later, he slumped over his saddle horn, and I jumped down to see if he was all right. He told me to mind my own business.
I loved Chicago because there was so much to see. Handsome young men with fashionably dressed ladies at their elbows stopped and watched me guiding McCann’s magnificent team. I liked being watched and longed to be sophisticated city person, not a farmer. I would quickly learn to walk and talk like city people. My stay in Chicago was cut short when Williams told me to accompany McCann to Indiana.
We were supposed to pick up new draft horses from an Amish dealer. McCann convinced Williams to let me come with him. I could tell McCann’s health problems were growing worse. He had bad stomach cramps and would often grab his gut and say, “Take the horses, Seth, I’m hurtin’ too bad to do anything.” I never spoke to anyone about these events, but I thought Williams suspected McCann was ill. McCann’s home was in Terre Haute, not far from where we were to pick up the horses.
We loaded harness for a team of six into a Ford Model A pickup truck that Williams had rented in Chicago. The rental agent gave specific directions for getting out of the city. We took Michigan Avenue south to South Chicago Avenue. After several turns in the Calumet area, we steered onto Indianapolis Boulevard which became U.S. Route 20 in Hammond, Indiana. McCann turned the wheel over to me in Hammond, and I headed south on U.S. Route 41. I was plenty worried about McCann. Even through deeply tanned hands and face, I saw life draining out of him. He knew it, too, and I was his fortunate audience as we traveled south.
I heard about his twenty-eight years with circus and listened without interrupting because I wanted to know as much as I could about the man who taught me about the circus and protected me for the past eight days. I liked his nature and the way his fifty-year-old body looked when we first met. He told me that he never married and had lived in, Terre Haute, Indiana, his entire life. His circus life started as a teamster on a smaller show and he moved up to the big show, after a merger in 1915. Every year he worked from mid-March until the show closed in November and returned to Indiana from Thanksgiving until early February.
He drove for the local livery at home. His position with the circus gave him celebrity status when he was home. He was known as the eight-up driver, referring to his team of matched black Percherons. Near the end of his winter respite, he traveled alone to Florida visiting friends in the Miami Beach area.
I drove carefully, avoiding as many pot holes and sharp turns as I could. In early evening, Mr. McCann told me to find a cottage or cabin for us. It was dusk when I started looking for a place. On our fourth stop, I found a truckers’ camp that had a vacancy. McCann’s pained face showed the distress he felt and would not speak about. I lent him a shoulder to steady him as he got out of the truck. Once inside the eight foot by eight foot space, he sat on the edge of the bed. The windows were open but the room smelled like dirty socks and filled ashtrays. Cigarette smoke had yellowed the curtains and flowered wallpaper. The place was tired and worn out.
From his spot on the bed, McCann looked up and said, “Seth, this is my last trip for the circus. When we get the horses squared away, please take me home.”
I looked into his weary eyes and knew he was telling the truth.
“Mr. McCann, I’ll get us some food. What would you like?”
He sprawled out on the bed and said nothing. I grabbed a sandwich at a nearby diner and hurried back to the room to look after McCann.
That night I slept little, listening to his labored breathing. Every cough or gulp caused me to jump. He survived the night, and in the morning he seemed miraculously revived. Before we left Danville, we stopped for breakfast at a shabby, green wooden diner frequented by truck drivers and farmers. McCann ate scrambled eggs and toast and drank coffee heavily laced with cream and sugar. As we left the diner, I assumed my position in the driver’s seat.
McCann stopped momentarily and starred at his reflection in the window glass. Solemnly and sadly he said, “Seth Newman, I want to apologize that you have to look at my fallen-away body.”
He examined his wrinkled hands and turned to look at me.
“I was good looking like you once upon a time. My illness has stolen thirty or forty pounds from me and has left me with these sunken checks.”
He paused as I looked at his coal black wavy hair from which grew mutton chop sideburns last fashionable in 1910. He had a distinctive split between his two front teeth that caused him to say certain s words like “strong” with a whistle.
“Seth,” he said softly, “tell me what its like to be intimate with a woman. I never had the opportunity, and I want to know before I die.”
“That won’t be anytime soon.”
“Whenever.”
My eyes focused on the road ahead as I honestly responded to his question.
“It’s not like I’ve had that much experience, but I’ll tell you.”
I blushed as I described a girlfriend named Shelly, who I dated for a while in high school.
“First, we walked across the lush green grass to a spot high above Flat Iron Creek. The clear water sparkled as Shelly and I smoothed our blanket. We sat down, and I pulled her down next to me. A sweet aroma escaped from her hair as I muzzled into it. I wrapped myself around her body as we snuggled and kissed. It was wonderful. I wanted to marry her at the time.”
McCann had closed his eyes and put his head back on the seat. I detected a tiny smile on his gentle face as he rested. I didn’t tell him I was still a virgin.
Later in the morning, McCann talked about his life as a loner. He said that the circus was the perfect place for someone like himself because people leave you alone if you minded your own business and you did your work. McCann suffered physically, but his mental health was fine. He delivered many practical instructions about horsemanship and life. I carefully listened to the fatherly advice.
McCann startled me as we turned south in Sterling. “Seth, do you believe there is a God? he asked but didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m afraid I will go to hell when I die because I haven’t gone to church very much. Getting to church when you work for the circus is quite difficult. Don’t get me wrong, Seth, I believe in God, but I’m not really sure if there is a heaven or hell. I am certain that God sent you to me to bring me home. I knew it the night of the storm. You’re doing a good job, but you have to remember to drive the horses don’t just ride along. You are their leader, don’t forget that.” His words conveyed a feeling that we had been close friends for a long time.
As if this was his last opportunity, he launched into McCann’s driving rules, all of which I had heard before. He repaid God by giving me these moral and practical compass marks. “Always keep your eyes on the lead team,” he said. “Measure your words. Keep your nose out of other people’s business. Know you are smarter than the bosses but don’t be arrogant… I’m proud to know you, Seth Newman.”
The circus had been a cruel mistress for McCann. The damp, cold nights had taken their toll on his knee and hip joints. His skin was leathery and brittle. He had severe arthritis. When he was in pain, McCann put some kind of white powder in his tea. He kept the substance in an inside pocket of a scruffy canvas coat that hung over the Buster’s hames. McCann had stomach problems that he referred to as ulcers and caused severe abdominal pain.
By late morning, we made it to the junction of U.S. Highways 40 and 41. McCann told me the horses were to the east and Terra Haute was to the west.
“Seth, please take me home,” he said softly.
I turned the truck west over the rolling hills of western Indiana. We drove over the Wabash River bridge, and McCann asked me to stop so we could watch kids swimming and fishing on this ideal summer day.
“I did that once when I was a young boy,” he recalled.
We drove into Terre Haute through downtown and proceeded several blocks to reach his mother’s tidy brick bungalow on Arthur Street where he had lived his entire life. I helped Mr. McCann get to the front door. His mother and sister were surprised at our unannounced arrival and shocked by his appearance. I had been around both my grandparents when they were dying, so I knew he didn’t have very long to live. His mother called the doctor and asked me to get him. As the doctor and I drove toward the house, the doctor asked me to describe McCann’s symptoms and replied with affirmations or more questions.
The doctor went inside to see McCann, and I sat on the front porch deciding what I should do. I needed to let Williams know about the situation. Should I accept delivery of the horses? I didn’t know if they were already paid for or if I was authorized to buy them. The chains that held the porch swing with its upholstered cushions creaked as I pushed myself back and forth. I decided to leave for the Amish farm that afternoon, and I started to get up when McCann’s mother brought a large glass of lemonade for me.
She talked to me the way my mother did.
“Seth, Travis wants you to stay for dinner and stay overnight before you go.”
“Travis,” I mumbled.
I didn’t know McCann’s first name nor had he ever invited me to address him as anything except Mr. McCann. It was strange because I had worked with this man night and day for more than a week , and I didn’t even know his first name. Mrs. McCann stood close to me with her hand on the back of the porch swing waiting for a response. I nodded affirmatively, not knowing what else to do.
After dinner, Mrs. McCann made a bed for me in the living room on the scratchy wool couch. I sat with Travis for a few minutes, and he gave me instructions about what to look for in horses. He told me to ship them by rail on the Pennsylvania Railroad to Effingham, Illinois, where I could transfer to the Illinois Central.
“You’re a fine teamster, Seth,” he said, “one of the best youngsters I’ve ever worked with. But always keep your eyes on the leads.”
I was proud to have worked with him.
“Mr. McCann, I want you to know how much I appreciate your orientation to Rawlings.”
He extended his shaky hand over to the bedside table near his left shoulder and retrieved his brown, crumpled Fedora, a small picture of himself, and two coins.
“Seth, I want you to have my hat and think of me every now and again. This is a picture of me when I was younger and healthier.”
I took the hat and the picture, looking at a handsome, erect young man with wavy black hair sporting mutton chop sideburns in a jaunty stance looking straight into the camera. He continued, “That was me when I was your age. I want you to take these two silver dollars and put them in a private place so you will never be without resources.”
Our fingers touched as he laid the coins in my palm. Tears welled in my eyes, but I didn’t want him to know I thought he was going to die. I looked away as he closed his eyes. I slowly backed toward the door. I knew I was about to lose my one true friend on the circus. I cried and stopped in the bathroom to compose myself.
His mother and sister sat on the front porch when I came out.
“Did he tell you he has stomach cancer?” Mrs. McCann asked.
“No, ma’am.”
“The doctor told us this afternoon that’s what he suspects,” she whispered. “It’s only a matter of time.”
“Yes, ma’am, I understand.”
We sat quietly for a while as the porch swing chain squeaked. At eight-thirty, we went inside to bed. I stretched out listening to the noises of the night and didn’t remember anything after the ticking mantel clock chimed nine times.
Pale light crept through the front windows the next morning when McCann’s sister, Ruth, gently touched my arm.
“Seth, he wants you. Come quickly.”
I stood up with only my boxers and an undershirt on and followed her into his room.
“He’s almost gone,” Mrs. McCann said.
I stood together with them as we watched the last breaths pass out of his lips. The ladies cried softly as I looked at his shuttered eyes. I cried for a man who had given me so much in such a short time. I almost felt closer to him than my own father.
Mrs. McCann called the funeral home shortly after seven. I told her that I had to get going but that I would be back for the funeral the next afternoon.
I stopped at Western Union and sent Williams a telegram: “Mr. Williams, Rawlings Circus. McCann died of cancer. Funeral Tuesday Terre Haute. Contact you when horses ready. S. Newman.” The telegram cost twenty-five cents, and I counted each word carefully since I didn’t have much money.
Five miles outside of Terre Haute I found the Amish farm. Amos Brotgrader came in from the field to meet me. Little more than formalities were accomplished that first morning. His wife, in heavily German-accented English, invited me to have dinner with them. Apparently, I surprised Brotgrader because McCann was supposed to have sent word so the farmer could assemble the horses. He owned horses and brokered for several farmers. I apologized, explained the situation, and said I’d be back after the funeral to start working the horses. That seemed to surprise him. His long gray beard, stern face, and harsh words could have been intimidating, but I spoke with authority.
“I pay for no horses until I’ve driven and worked them.”
He agreed that we would see each other again on Thursday after persistently trying to convince me that McCann not himself was the reason he didn’t have the horses ready. I thanked Amos for dinner and drove off with no place to go. I did not want return to McCann’s because I wasn’t family. I drove slowly toward Terre Haute. The day was hot and still. Dust billowed up behind the truck even at a slow speed. I got to the Wabash River, pulled into a field, and followed a meandering trace beside the river. I only planned to go a few hundred yards, but ended up following the trail about a mile through the swishing willows and flapping ash and poplar. I was at home but lonely in these surroundings.
I pulled the Model A under the sweeping branches of a giant poplar. The tree stood sixty or seventy feet back from the steep banks of the river. I laid down in the grass and stared up at the pale green leaves that fluttered in the breeze, wishing for a big soft quilt that Mother had handy for picnics and socials. I just removed my shirt, leaned against the truck, and pulled off my shoes. Then I spied a blanket flung over a shrub bush as if drying. Seeing no one around, I figured that I could use it until the people who left it came back. I spread the multi-colored coverlet beneath the umbrella created by the giant poplar. This was the first time I had been alone since the day Thad found me swimming in the creek near home. The hush of the afternoon was intoxicating, and I fell soundly asleep.
I stirred only when a ray of sun light found an opening in the leaf canopy and beamed squarely into my eyes. As I turned to escape the intrusion I saw a man and boy standing directly over me. I was groggy but quickly rose to return the blanket to them.
“We didn’t mean to disturb you,” the man said. “I just mentioned to Joshua that we should all sleep so well.”
The man offered me a Mason jar full of iced tea. I took a long leisurely drink. The cool liquid felt wonderful trickling down my parched throat. He proceeded to take off his shirt, shoes, socks, and pants. He wasn’t wearing any underwear, which surprised me and the boy. The teenager walked toward a steep path that led to the river’s edge and announced he was going swimming.
“I’ll join you,” the man replied.
“Me, too,” I said.
Joshua undressed with his back toward us, slipped out of his briefs, and ducked down the slope out of sight.
As we walked toward the water, the man asked what I was doing here since he saw the Illinois license plate on the truck. I told him about McCann’s funeral. He said he didn’t know the family and abruptly changed the subject.
“I’m forming a group of men and women who like to be in nature.”
“Be in nature, what does that mean?” I asked.
“As nudists,” he said. “We love the feeling of freedom without the restrictions of clothing. I brought Josh out here trying to get him comfortable with himself. You know thirteen- year-old boys are pretty shy about their bodies.”
“Let’s join your son,” I said without revealing my own feelings. As we climbed down the slope I told him about Flat Iron Creek and my personal swimming hole. At the edge of the river we found the boy sitting in the mud throwing gobs of the muck into the river. We swam, splashed, and had a good time in the murky brown water of the Wabash. After our swim, I shook out the blanket and spread it out in the grass. The sun streamed down on the three of us, and Josh started to dress.
“Josh, for God’s sake don’t worry. It’s natural,” Jesse said. “A man’s dick goes up and down completely out of his control.”
“But I feel embarrassed.”
“Sit down and relax. Look, Seth is in the same situation that you are. He’s not concerned.”
I was and hadn’t even noticed.
“I want to be open with my boys some day,” I said.
We relaxed in the sun and talked about baseball and horse racing as we drove back to town. They had hiked out and appreciated the ride back to their house.
“Seth, if you would like a place to stay tonight, come over. It may be more comfortable out of the press of visitors and McCann’s family,” Jesse said as I dropped them off at home.
“I may.”
Then I headed to the Western Union office. As I pulled up in front of the shop, I noticed a “Closed” sign in the window. It swung from side to side, brushing and bumping the glass on the front door. I jumped out of the truck, ran up to the door, and rapped on the window. The door was locked, but I saw the operator inside. He seemed annoyed and pointed at the sign. I asked if a telegram had arrived for Seth Newman. He shook his head and walked to the ticker. Turning to me, he motioned for me to stay. He came back and opened the door.
“It’s for you, Newman. Any identification?”
“I have a billfold. It has a name card in it,” I said, hoping that would be good enough. He looked at it and then handed me a ten dollar bill and the message. The glue was still wet where he had stuck the ticker strips to the yellow paper. I thanked him and turned away to read the message: “Newman. Expense money, $10 authorized. Sorry about McCann. Don’t contract for horses until we talk. Be at telephone office 4pm Friday. I’ll call. Williams.”
My time with the McCanns was limited. They insisted that I stay for supper, and Mrs. McCann showed me the beautiful, huge bouquet of roses in the shape of a horseshoe that circus had sent. Its generosity in death exceeded what it provided in life. I laughed to myself about the minimal pay workers got for their work and knew Travis McCann now drove a team of horses in a far better place. I was at peace with the situation and assured Mrs. McCann that I would attend the funeral.
At eight, I pulled into Jesse’s driveway and stopped the truck. His white house occupied the center of a large lot and was separated from the neighbors on both sides by tall hedges. I stood by the truck ready to walk up to the front porch when Jesse came around from the back of the house.
“Hi, Seth, we are sitting in the backyard. Come join us. We’re talking about our naturalist club. Actually, we have our uniforms on. Join us if you’d like.”
I went inside the house with him, and he showed me to a bedroom.
“You can sleep in the spare bed.”
Jesse stripped off his shorts and waited while I undressed.
The temperature hovered at eighty-five degrees, so getting clothes off felt great. But I shivered.
“Something wrong?” Jesse asked.
“I just met you,” I said sheepishly, “and I’m standing naked in your house. Is this right?” Jesse didn’t say anything, turned, and led the way through the dimly lit house. It suddenly dawned on me that the we sitting in the backyard may be more than Jesse and Josh. My premonition was correct. I met five people--two women and three men. One woman was Jesse’s wife but not Josh’s mother.
They welcomed me and made me feel comfortable. The only other person completely naked like Jesse was an older man with a heavy Germanic accent. He told me he and McCann had worked together thirty years ago. I was amazed at how relaxed I felt. The flickering light from the two lanterns hanging from the tree branches danced on our faces.
The older German gentleman explained to the group the naturalist movement and how people would go to a camp on a farm and enjoy the outdoors in the nude. I couldn’t imagine me being in a group of attractive young men or women and not sporting a monster hard-on the entire time. Even though he said that the human body comes in all shapes and sizes and usually isn’t very sexy, I couldn’t accept his logic but kept my opinions to myself as others expressed theirs. The German said there were nudist camps on the East Coast that were family oriented and growing in popularity and told Jesse that he hoped to find a place in Indiana where he could open such a camp.
Jesse doubted if he could get authorities to approve the enterprise. My eye lids drooped as Josh came to the back door an hour later and asked whose clothes were in his room. He spotted me.
“Seth, they’re yours?”
I used the intrusion as an excuse to go inside. Josh went the bathroom and walked into the bedroom as I was pulling my boxers up.
“That’s my bed,” he said firmly.
“Sorry, I thought your father meant for me to sleep here. I’ll move my stuff.”
He turned off the lights and slipped into bed.
“What’s it really like working in the circus?”
A gentle breeze came into the room through the open window and brushed across my body as I told Josh about my work. I stopped when I realized that he had fallen asleep.
After the funeral the next afternoon Mrs. McCann insisted that I come back to the house. The funeral and the burial had been attended by twenty family members and me. The service was quick and simple, the way Mr. McCann would have wanted it. Teary eyes and weepy noses quickly cleared as people from the funeral returned to the McCann house to celebrate his life. Since I wasn’t family, I had planned to leave from the cemetery, but Mrs. McCann insisted that I come back to the house.
Bright red geraniums lined the front steps. Zinnias and marigolds filled the flower beds with brilliant, iridescent colors as the late afternoon sun shown on their faces. When I approached the house she appeared on the porch and indicated that I should wait for her in the porch swing. The house was full of the laughter and noise of family and friends. I sat dutifully waiting for her return.. With tiny tears in her eyes, she handed me an envelope.
“Travis asked me to give this to you. Travis was the happiest when he was traveling with the circus. His body may be buried in Terre Haute, but his soul will be on the road with you.”
Tears formed in my eyes as I agreed with her. I silently hoped he would be sitting beside me reminding me to keep my eyes on my leads. I tore open the envelope and read the scrawled note on a single sheet of paper: “Dear Seth, Thank you for bringing me home. You are a special young man, and I know you will do great things. May All Your Days Be Circus Days. McCann.”
Tears streamed down our faces as she took my hand and thanked me again for bringing Travis home. She moved to the door.
“Mrs. McCann,” I said softly, “Travis was the best teamster I have ever known.”
The screen door popped closed, and she disappeared.
The next morning I was up before anyone, ready to leave Jesse’s house by six to return to the Brotgrader farm. Josh watched me with his head propped on his hand.
“Where you going this early?”
“I’ve got horses to buy,” I sarcastically replied. “Remember, I work.”
“Hey, Seth would you pick me and my friends up at the river when you come back to town?”
“If you’re up on the road at three-thirty, I’m not coming to look for you. I have to be back at the telephone company by four.”
I pulled on my boots on and walked toward the bedroom door.
“We’ll be there, I promise.”
When I drove into Brotgrader’s yard, I saw significant horse flesh. At least a dozen horses stood in a stockade between the tidy, white clapboard farmhouse and the not so freshly painted barn. Brotgrader was no where in sight, but his wife and two young children shyly waved at me from the front yard.. The air was still and hot at seven o’clock. With little breeze, the flies swarmed around me as I walked across the yard. I was nervous but determined to get the deal done to Williams’ satisfaction.
Amos emerged from behind the house and said he needed to get to the field. I told him firmly that I wasn’t authorized to consummate the deal until I had driven the horses. My instructions were to buy only “broke” horses. Even though the Amish are respected breeders and trainers of draft horses, Father taught me that “Amish broke” could mean the horse had a bit in its mouth once or the horse could be worn out from years of field work. I wanted to assure myself that each one was fit to drive.
“Pick the best four horses,” I told Amos, “and hitch’em.”
He seemed annoyed and apprehensive.
“Your man didn’t say these horses had to be team ready,” he stammered.
“He did to me.”
Amos wasn’t up to the chore of harnessing as he mopped his brow with a oversized red bandanna. He sent his eldest daughter to get her brothers. Two skinny, barefooted teenagers with classic bowl haircuts ran to the stockade and stood at attention as their father he told them to harness the four horses he picked out of herd. They grabbed the jumbled mass of harness out of the back of a truck and laid the collars, lines, and harness on the ground to see what they had. Amos strung a tie-line between two trees. He led a big, black Percheron mare, maybe seventeen hands, to the line.
“She’s four years old and nothing but power.”
“Show me a match,” I said.
He brought another black female along side. Neither appeared to be in foal.
“OK, the match is fair but not great. Let me take a look at them working.”
I stepped away as the boys struggled to get the collar over the head of the big black mare.
Walking among the other horses, I spotted a white mare who kept her head up and pranced as she stepped.
“How about her?”
“I don’t know that horse,” Amos said. “She came from a neighbor.”
“Let’s try her.”
I led the white mare out and handed her off to Amos. I stopped to examine another black. I ran my hand down each leg and thought I detected ring bone but said nothing.
We put together a four-up of two blacks and two whites and drove them around the front yard. The boys got excited when they found the horses were going to the circus and insisted hitching them to a wagon. Their father was annoyed, scowling and remarking about the time they were taking away from field work. I reminded him this was a big decision for the circus. As I was drove the team toward the road, I watched as the boys identified another well-matched team of whites that they probably had raised. I felt comfortable that we had at least two broken teams. The boys had harnessed a third team by the time I got back.
The morning slipped away. At the dinner bell a harnessed team was left in the shade. I asked Mrs. Brotgrader to make sure I was on my way by three because I expected a telephone call from the circus. After eating a hearty simple meal we went back to checking, hitching and driving. I discussed and got reluctant concurrence from Amos that we had a four-up that might be right for the circus. We had another six horses that were green but sound. I rejected two because of their disposition. They were just too jumpy when I approached them. I left the farm at three and told Amos I would be back in the morning. He never smiled and stiffly walked toward the house.
A couple minutes after four I stood near a wood telephone booth in the lobby of the Terre Haute Telephone Company. The big wooden ceiling fan turned slowly overhead. I knew I smelled from the day’s hard work, and the fan did little to cool me. I shifted nervously from foot to foot as I waited for the telephone to ring. On the second ring, I picked the receiver off the cradle.
“Seth, is that you?”
“Yes, sir,” I stuttered.
Williams still intimidated me.
“Sorry to hear about McCann. Did you know he was sick? I mean that sick?”
“He told me he had been having stomach problems the last few months, but I didn’t suspect it was life-threatening”
There was no response.
“Where are we with the horses?” Williams finally asked. “You ever bought horses before? From the Amish?”
I waited for him to stop, but he didn’t.
“Well, boy, speak up!”
“Mr. Williams, I’ve seen the horses, driven some of them. And I have watched my father and grandfather buy and trade with the Amish. I’m driving as many as Mr. Brodgrader will let me. I just got back ten minutes ago. I’m going again in the morning.”
“Well, what do we have? How many? How much?”
I told him my conclusions, but it was quite clear he didn’t have the patience for the details.
“We haven’t talked money,” I said. “I thought they were all contracted for.”
“We never set the price until we see them. You have to negotiate with the guy. Son, that’s part of the job.”
“Mr. Williams, give me some guidelines.”
“OK, four hundred dollars a head. Up to eighteen horses.”
“Whole lot, sixty-four hundred,” I said in response.
“Boy, you’re good with your numbers,” he quipped. “No more than five thousand for the whole lot. Do you want someone to drive over from Rochester to help you finish the deal?”
“I don’t need anyone. Are we going to talk again?”
“Probably not. Send me a telegram. I’ll wire you the money. Do you need cash for expenses?”
“No,” I said, “but I assume you want me to stay with the horses on the trip back to Chicago. How are we getting the truck back?”
“Hire someone. Tell them you’ll give’em free tickets to the circus in Chicago, an overnight in a hotel and free train tickets back to Terre Haute if they’ll drive the truck.” I immediately thought of Jesse and Josh and that made me happy. I’d have an opportunity to thank them for their hospitality.
The conversation concluded by me telling Williams to expect us next Tuesday or Wednesday. I told him that I would hire a few helpers in Terre Haute to ride with me to Effingham to make the transfer from the Pennsylvania Railroad and I reminded him that I would need several helpers to get the horses to the grounds from the Illinois Central yards. He said he would put in an order for the Illinois Terminal Railroad to bring the stock car close to the circus lot. He told me to telephone and said that the circus closed in Chicago within a week.
“Son, you’re doing fine,” he added. “Glad you’re with us.”
That made me feel good. It was the first and only positive acknowledgment that I had received.
After the telephone conversation with Williams, I realized just how hot and dirty I was and decided to stop by Jesse’s to see if the boys had gotten home. They had not been at the road when I drove into town. If they were not at home, I would go back to the river. Jesse and Nadine, his wife, sat on the porch when I pulled in.
“Seen Josh?”
They shook their heads slowly from side to side. Nadine’s long auburn hair was tied carelessly on the back of her head so her head movement made her appear as if she really didn’t care.
“Want to go with me to the river to get them?”
“Weren’t they on the road at three like they were supposed to be?” Jesse asked.
“No, but that doesn’t matter to me. I really want to swim.”
“It matters to me,” Jesse muttered as we walked toward the truck.
“Is this only a boy’s thing or can I come?”
Jesse and I beckoned her to join us.
“Do you want some iced tea or water?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wait a minute.”
Jesse walked into the house and returned with a jar full of tea with ice clicking against the side. He also carried towels and a quilt. On the trip the bridge, I told Jesse about my plan to get the truck back to Chicago. He seemed interested and said he would drive the truck to Chicago if he could get off work. I suspected that he would. He said he’d let me know tomorrow. We crossed a concrete bridge, pulled off onto the dirt trace, and drove slowly down to the giant poplar tree where we met the day before.
“They’re here,” Nadine said. “I see their clothes under the bushes.”
We stripped to the skin without inhibitions and made our way down the makeshift steps when the head of one of Josh’s friends met Nadine’s breasts head on.
“Whoa,” he yelled as he slipped down the hill with two friends trying to catch him. All three ended up in the mud at the bottom of the incline.
“You all right, Mark?” she called after him.
“Yes, I’m fine,” he said sheepishly.
The boys laughed and one of Josh’s friend said, “Boy, my mom would never be naked outside.”
We stayed for an hour or so before returning to town. The boys kept their distance because Josh tried to keep his friends from seeing Nadine. We laughed, splashed, and lounged on the blanket.
On Sunday, I practiced negotiating and had mentally rehearsed how I was going to reject the two horses with ring bone. The problem solved itself the next day. Both horses had disappeared and been replaced by two considerably younger blacks, perhaps three years old. Brotgrader understood he was dealing with someone who knew horses.
“Amos, I’m offering seven hundred and fifty dollars of each of the three teams we had in harness the other day,” I said.
His face brightened.
“One thousand dollars for the four young white mares and a thousand for the rest of the lot.”
He scowled.
“That’s forty-two hundred and fifty dollars for the lot,” I said with assurance.
Amos turned away and walked among the horses as I put my hand on one of the replacement animals.
“That horse is worth more than two hundred and fifty dollars,” he said.
“Maybe so, but not to us. I want to hitch her and her partner,” I said, pointing to the other new addition.
“Five hundred dollars for the pair and one thousand for the remaining six,” he said.
“Seven hundred fifty, and it’s a deal,” I countered.
He nodded affirmatively, and then we shook hands to conclude the deal.