The weather was cloudy and gray with an occasional spot of sun that teased away the melancholy. George and I along with ten other men made a trip on the New Haven Railroad to Bridgeport to get the horses ready for the trip west. Two days later George and I along with seven other teamsters boarded a New York Central Empire Limited in New Jersey and sped toward Indiana. We boarded the sick mare, the mares in fold, and the stallions in a stock car pulled with the baggage cars. We sat in the car immediately behind the horses so someone could easily check them.
Other teamsters had gone ahead to Rochester to get our rested horses ready for their trip east. I had called ahead to let Mother and Father know that George and I would be home for a night. Mother said Thad had called earlier in the day wondering if I had called. I assured her that I would call him immediately.
As soon as I hung up, I telephoned Thad at his apartment. No one answered, so I called Mother back and asked her to tell Thad I was coming home. I suspected another telegram had arrived. I thought about Rudi and Raina several times as we rumbled across Pennsylvania and Ohio. The men played cards, smoked, and said little about what they had done during the off-season.
When we arrived in Ft. Wayne it was cool and rainy. The men unloaded the horses and with rented livery horses drove them to the farm. I found Mr. Clark, who owned the taxi and negotiated with him to drive George and me to the farm for a dollar. The dust boiled up behind Clark’s taxi as we approached the turn into our yard. Mother stood on the porch waving anxiously as we drove into the driveway.
“Thad’s on the telephone from Muncie,” she said. “Hurry, its long distance.”
“Not even a hello to the son you haven’t seen in three months?” I mumbled. She didn’t respond.
George followed me inside with a saddle bag in one hand and a woolen valise in the other. He set them down on the worn gray carpet with a resounding plunk. He stood stiff as if at military attention waiting for his next order. I turned away to retrieve the receiver dangling down the flowery wallpaper. It swayed like a pendulum keeping time with the old clock on the mantle. I put the ear piece to my right ear.
“Hello.”
“It took you long enough. It’s my money. I’m paying little brother.” His tone irritated me.
“Sorry. There is so much affection in this family, it is alarming.” I said sarcastically. “What’s up, brother?”
“Cable came day before yesterday.”
“Well, what did it say?”
“I don’t know I didn’t open it up. It’s addressed to you.”
“Open it for Christ’s sake! Read it to me.” I snapped.
“Now don’t get smart with me, little brother. I don’t like this business at all. Leave it to the police.”
“Read the telegram! For your information, the U.S. Bureau of Investigation rather than the police are involved.”
“And that makes it better?” he snarled. ”Here’s what the cable says.” He paused for a moment. “’LF location unknown. Shipment of elephants leaving Marseilles, April 10. Do you know about them? MacDougall.’ What’s it mean?”
“Tell you the truth Thad, I know what the LF part means. I don’t know why he is telling me about a shipment of elephants.” We continued with small talk, mainly about him and Laureen, and then hung up. Mother was putting supper on the table. George stood uncomfortably with his hand on the back of father’s favorite chair. Father came in the back door in his work clothes as I walked into Mother’s tidy kitchen filled with the aromas of home food. Father was unusually cool. I watched him as he washed at the kitchen sink.
“OK Father, what’s the matter?”
Mother interjected with a protective verbal shield. “He’s worried about getting the planting done with you and Thad gone.”
“I told you there’d be money to hire someone,” I snapped, reaching into my back pocket for my wallet.
“I don’t need your money.”
I pushed my chair back and knocked over a white stoneware cup that clinked in its saucer. Stepping toward Father’s favorite chair, I laid three twenty dollar bills on the cluttered end table. I sat in my chair at the dining room table and motioned for George to sit where Thad usually sat. Father didn’t move toward the money nor did he say another word about it. A pall settled over the entire dinner. Small talk was strained, but I told them some of the details of my trip, which stirred many questions from Mother about Belgium and Hamburg. She asked if there was much in the newspapers about a politician named Adolf Hilter. I reminded her that the newspapers there were in German or French. After dinner, talk became easier. George and I helped Father repair and grease the corn planter. We curried and brushed Beth and Star. They seemed happier to see me than did either of my parents. By supper, Father had become civil but avoided all talk of the circus.
The light of Saturday morning was inviting. The trip to Rochester, Indiana in Clark’s taxi took about three hours and cost us three dollars plus gasoline. Bumping and swaying across central Indiana was comforting as we traveled southward.
The miles passed slowly as we watched the signs of spring at every new turn in the road. Farmers broke the clods left behind when the corn fields were turned in the fall. Daffodils rose through the earth, even though few of their golden trumpets had opened. Colorful crocus heads dotted yards as we slowed through a village.
I had encouraged George to sit in the front seat with Clark. I wanted to be alone. What did he mean about the shipment of elephants? I suspected that there was something more than elephants in the shipment from Marseilles. We arrived at the front gate of the Rawlings farm near Rochester about noon. There was plenty of activity to divert my attention from the cable. I was immediately drawn into the middle of the problems and questions from men about horses.
Horsemen said they were ready to drive the horses to the rail siding that afternoon so we could load horses and be ready to leave on the evening train. I quickly determined how many men we had and how we would keep the horses herded as we made the six-mile trip from the farm to the corrals in town. The Rochester men assured me that the stock cars were in place and ramps were set on the first two cars. A corral was built several years ago by Rawlings for this annual ritual of the coming and going of the circus baggage stock. I agreed but told the men that I had some horse business to attend to first. I had a lengthy conversation with Bud Jones, the farm’s foreman, about the sick mare we brought back from Europe. We concurred that it was probably fruitless to try to keep her alive. I told him that her disposition was poor and she didn’t eat well. I suggested we call Bridgeport and talk to Evans, the superintendent of the horse department, about putting her down. Bud Jones said that telephones made him nervous, so I made the call.
Evans was not immediately available having left for New Jersey, anticipating our arrival. I told his assistant, Jacob, about our recommendation. He said he would tell Evans next time they spoke and would make sure Evans got an decision to Bud.
I walked outside of the farm office and found George had saddled a big chestnut mare for me. I was hungry but no one else seemed to be so we started for Rochester and the waiting stock cars. I threw my saddle bag across the horse’s back and swung myself up. A tiny tinge of pain reminded me of last season’s accident. We moved the horses with Bud and me leading the procession, and eighteen men containing the herd.
The men worked as if they were going to receive a bonus for efficiency. We had ordered seven stock cars and we loaded one hundred ninety-seven horses. With each car capable of thirty-two horses, we had more than twenty extra spaces. One Rochester man was assigned to stay in each car. With the work completed, the men headed into town at a few minutes after six. I told them the train schedule and said we would leave them behind if they were late. I held the tickets and any man who was late knew he would have to pay his own way to New Jersey. No one argued. George and I went into the railroad station coffee shop for supper.
All the men made it to the train on time, including several who found booze and showed the effects of it. I rode in the old advance car. I had not imagined the confusion that greeted us when we arrived in New Jersey. Tents, seats, cookhouse, blacksmith wagon, commissary, and other loaded wagons were visible on a nearby siding. Freshly painted stock cars were ready for the horses. The horses from Bridgeport stood in temporary corrals. I knew the new horses had cleared quarantine. I spotted Avery’s smiling black face. He had halters for my team thrown over his shoulder and was claiming the horses. I was glad that I didn’t have to haggle with other assistants who claimed horses. Evans, the superintendent leaned against the fence watching.
Avery stopped me later.“Mister Seth, I mean Seth,” he said, “I can’t find Dolly.”
Dolly was our big, dependable black wheeler.
“I wonder if she had a foal and is in Indiana. I don’t remember her being ready to birth in November do you?” If Dolly was pregnant she kept it a secret from us. We were short one black Percheron. I looked around for the new horses and saw Evans leaning against the fence. I walked toward him.
“Need somethin’, Seth?” he asked.
“Yeah, a horse!”
I had heard that he was pleased with the new breeding stock. He laughed and spoke directly to me for the first time since I had returned from Europe.
“Boy, youse no’d yer horse flesh. Them Perch’ron stallions er fine specimens. Mares in Rochester prob’ly being served as we speak. Foals should be strong youngsters.”
His praise relented and I explained that Dolly, our black wheel, was missing.
“Take any horse. Nothing spoken fer in this pen.” He said that he was keeping the Belgians together. Avery walked up with George as the three of us conferred about which mare we wanted. “We can do you a fine eight hitch with these horses,” I said.
Evans surprised me.
“Seth, pull’em out, and we’ll see.” We pulled two black mares and a good sized white stud colt was the horse we selected on the last day at Wolf’s estate. By the time we got our three, a crowd gathered around Evans. Avery haltered the horses, and we moved out.
While I never looked for Ralph, I knew that I had not seen him around all day.
“Seen that bastard Ralph around?” I asked George in the late afternoon.
“Yes, he was driving a fuckin’ red truck.
“So he left the horses for a red truck.” At that moment, I realized that trucks were going with us. I wondered.
We worked all afternoon securing the harness and lines for a team of eight. We really couldn’t work with the team because all the heavy wagons were loaded on the train. We waited until the next day. We were ferried over with our horses from New Jersey to New York. Evans sent twelve teams to move baggage wagons with ring gear and costumes and the cage wagons from Madison Square Garden to the freight yards on the West Side of Manhattan near Sixth Street and Tenth Avenue. From there the loaded railroad cars and the teams were floated back across to New Jersey.
When we returned Williams gave out car assignments. He gave us space for eight and said nothing more. George and Avery were pleased we were going to be an eight, but to me that meant just more work. I was pleased that Mr. Evans had confidence in my ability. His decision made me the youngest driver of a big team.
My mind was totally on horses when Evans walked up with two men in brown suits. I recognized them immediately but acted like I didn’t.
“Seth, this is Sargent Brown and Inspector Bosco from the United States Department of Agriculture. They got questions fer ya.”
I tensed up because I didn’t want George to accidentally say that we knew the men. He remained quiet. Evans noticed my stiffness.
“Seth, relax. You dinnit do anythin wrong.”
He smiled, turned away to answer someone’s question about something, and retreated.
Brown seemed older, maybe fifty, and shorter than I remembered him in our Manhattan hotel room. Bosco was taller, leaner, and couldn’t have been older than thirty.
“Newman can we go somewhere a little more private?” Brown grunted.
George got the hint.
“I’ve got to get water for the horses.”
“Son, you know why we’re here?”
“Elephants?” He appeared surprised.
“You’re right. How’d ya know. We received a cable in our New York office from your friend, Inspector MacDougall from Scotland Yard.”
“Yes.”
“Well, apparently he knows one of our bosses. Anyway, the cable said…Let me read it to you. Some of it we didn’t understand.” He began, “Jock, that’s our guy…suspects a major dope shipment, maybe heroin or cocaine with elephants from Marseilles on or about May 15. Find Seth Newman on Rawlings Circus and tell him LaFevre is dead. Tell him to watch himself. MacDougall.”
He stopped and looked at me.
“What we don’t understand is,” Bosco said, “who is LaFevre? What do you know about the elephants?”
“I know a few pieces, but I don’t understand the entire cable. I briefly recounted a few that I had told them in the hotel room the week before last and I told them about LaFevre and his role as my interpreter. I told them about his main job as Rawlings talent agent in Europe and I recounted the episode during the storm at sea where I observed Juno plunge a needle into the sick horse’s neck. They asked me if I had seen Juno or the Janssens. I told them that I had not, but said Juno was suspicious from the beginning because LaFevre had been so confident that he could work with horses. I told Brown and Bosco that I could not figure why he pretended not to speak English and then became fluent by the time he arrived in New York.
“What about the elephants?” Brown asked.
“I got a cable from MacDougall.”
“You gonna work with the elephants?”
“No, the show will be on the road by the time they arrive. You suspect dope came over with us,” I said.
He didn’t answer just asked:“Who works with the elephants?”
I told Brown to ask Evans instead of Williams. I was concerned that Williams might suspect that I knew something.
“I’ve one other fact that may relate to your suspicions. While I have only seen Ralph a few times since I got back from Europe, he had been flashing a big wad of cash. He hasn’t had a job for the last four months.
George returned and I said. “More questions about Europe.”
George softly spoke words that McCann had drilled into my head.
“Seth, keep your nose out of police business. It could mean more trouble for you.”
I draped my arm over George’s shoulder. “You are right. I’ll watch myself. But you keep an eye on me as well” He looked at me like he didn’t understand. I smiled at my keeper.
Officers Brown and Bosco disappeared to search for Evans. George and I went back to our new team tied outside car 141. We fed and watered each horse. George, Avery, and I tried several different lineups as we moved back and forth from Madison Square Garden. We were not completely satisfied with the results.
From the moment we finally loaded in Newarkit rained buckets. We were hours late onto the lot in Washington, D.C. We were even later in Baltimore. The curse of a big team was that heavy wagons became our assignment. The pleasure of the big team was seeing the team pull with massive shoulders hard against the harness digging massive hooves in for traction. Their equine muscles tensed and their power flowed through the lines into my hands. Our big team pulled and strained plenty the first week. The constant exertion caused their coats to glisten.
My bunk assignment on the train had been advanced several notches because of my status as an eight driver. The people around me were top drivers. I had a lower bunk near the door, which made coming and going much easier. The car was crowded with forty horsemen so the aroma hadn’t changed much since last year, but I was closer to the door and didn’t have to struggle to open the window. The storage locker for gear was nearby. The porter allowed me to select George as my bunk mate, even though he really didn’t rate the location. George acted nonchalant but I could tell he was impressed.
Avery was with us constantly except to sleep and to eat. He never complained about the conditions and seemed happy to be working with us. On the fourth night, I heard agitated voices. Arguments usually happened outside. I opened the curtain. I saw Avery standing there confronted by the porter.
“Why you’se here, niggar?”
“Got a metsage fer Seth,” Avery sheepishly said.
“Mr. Newman to you, boy.”
Avery just lowered his eyes in deference to his black superior.
“Avery, I’m over here. Wha’da’ya have?”
“Seth,” he said softly stepping my direction in his muddy pants and perpetually wet work shirt. “Mr. Williams give me dis metsage to give to ya’.”
He handed me a rumpled piece of paper with ink smudged words that were barely legible.
“Avery, when did he give this to you?”
“Sorry, Seth, I dropped it.” Avery confessed. “Mr. Williams give it to me jist a liddle while ago.” My irritation disappeared as I stared at the rain-streaked words on the yellow paper. ‘Seth, call Brown in New York #3567.’
The next morning four sections of the train were spotted in Philadelphia, the rain had finally stopped. We would be in Philadelphia for almost a week. I would have plenty of time to make a long distance telephone call. I knew that Willams had read the message. The call didn’t happen on the first day because getting onto the lot went slowly. We drew the big top pole wagon and didn’t try to move the monster onto the lot without two other teams. We hooked Shorty’s and another team of eight to each side ring and pulled the poles with twenty-four horses.
Later George and I spotted the shop wagon near the blacksmith’s wagon, and I watched a brigade of men and boys unfurling the great tent. They steadily and smoothly unwrapped the giant canvas bales and stretched them on the ground. Men followed stitching the sections together before the massive cloth was raised on four center poles.
The matinee started late, at almost four. With a stiff warm breeze gently moving the banners, I began to dry out.
Morning came and the weather was better. Wagons that had mired down the day before were moved to firmer ground. The sun was shining gloriously. After lunch, I looked for a telephone. I changed clothes into some was only slightly less muddy than what I took off. Ten days of rain left all my clothes caked with mud. Robert, our porter, couldn’t keep up with the mud. I would try to take my clothes to a Chinese laundry and use that as my excuse to leave the lot.
After walking west for blocks on South Street, I turned north on Eleventh Street, which was paved in brick and had street car tracks running down the middle of it. South Street began just across the railroad tracks that separated the old part of the city from the Delaware River.
I walked through the neighborhood of old brick row houses and thought about Philadelphia and its circus roots. I had heard that the first American circus performance was in Philadelphia before 1800. The performances were in a building not a tent. I wondered if that building was still standing. I stumbled on the uneven sidewalk and almost knocked over a Negro maid pushing a pram into the street. I apologized and returned my attention to my mission.
I found a laundry a few blocks away. A short Oriental woman with wispy gray hair and thick glasses greeted me as I dropped my clothes on the counter. She disrespectfully lifted my clothes with the tips of her index fingers and her thumbs. That annoyed me but not as much as her telling me I had to pay in advance.
I spoke English slowly hoping she understood that I needed my clothes tomorrow because I worked for the circus. The word ‘circus’ prompted her to stare but she said nothing else.
I asked the woman about a telephone and she said in a thick accent that I should go to main post office at Market and Ninth.I left walking in front of the French provincial city hall. The imposing structure of gray granite and red roof tiles was the hub. Streets spooked out in all directions linking the city neighborhood to its political center. Several blocks later, I reached the “United States Post Office” emboldened cornice.
As I stood outside, someone bumped my shoulder as I gawked. Once inside, my boots clicked across the terrazzo floor toward the telephone sign at the far end of the main room. The four box booths were tucked away, suggesting that spoken communication had little place in a building designed for communicating with letters, magazines, and newspapers.
Inside each booth an occupant was clearly visible and appeared ready to be mailed. I smiled. Two other people waited impatiently with me, a short man in a crumpled business suit and an older man in a tweed jacket who fidgeted nervously. When one man had his weight centered on his left foot, the other seemed instinctually to shift to the right. A booth finally opened and the short man started toward it.
“Sir, I believe I was here before you.” Without a look or a word, the he stopped. Once seated inside the box, I realized that the light was off. I looked around for a light switch as the door that separated me from the fidgety little man stood open. I fumbled with the piece of paper that held the smudged telephone number. Unable to find the light, I memorized the number.
To my surprise, a light came on as soon as I closed the door. I felt stupid but brushed it off. I picked up the receiver and waited for an operator. She spoke with a noticeable nasal twang.
“Number, please?” I told her I needed long distance to New York City.
“Just a moment, please.” She told me to deposit thirty-five cents but I had only two quarters. She informed me that I would get credit if I spoke longer than three minutes. A man answered on the third ring.
“Bureau of Investigation, McGeorge speaking.”
I politely asked for Inspector Brown. McGeorge said he wasn’t in. My heart sank. How was I ever going to catch up with him?
McGeorge caught my frustration.
“Can I tell’im who called?”
“Yes, tell him Seth Newman called.”
“Son, he told me to tell you that he needs to talk to you. Can you call back in two hours?”
“No. There just aren’t telephones on every corner.”
“Can I tell him a particular time when you might call back?” he asked.
“This time tomorrow afternoon.”
He politely thanked me and hung up. Remembering my credit I stayed on the line intending to call Thad in Muncie to see how things were going in Indiana. The operator allowed me twenty-five cent credit but wanted a dime more to place the call. I heard the telephone ringing as I dropped two nickels into the slot. Laureen answered, and we spoke briefly.
A moment later, Thad’s voice resonated in my ear.
“Your timing is perfect. In bed and ready…my little brother calls.”
“Sorry, how could I know? It’s the middle of the afternoon. Anyway, you probably do it every day so I’m only sorry a little.”
“I wish,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Just called to see how things are going back home and see if there are any more cables from overseas.”
“Things are fine here. Helped Father get the corn in last Saturday. Mom’s got a bad cold. She didn’t look or sound very good. I told her she needed to see a doctor. There is another cable. It came yesterday.”
“What’d it say?”
“It’s in my pants, which I do not have on as you might imagine. Hang on while I find them.” There was a pause and the operator came on to warn me that I had one minute left. I only had three pennies in my pocket.
“Had to kiss Laureen, sorry.”
“Hurry up, your love life is costing me money.”
“It’s costing me more, so shut up and listen. ‘Seth, spoke to VL before he died. Fired off Rawlings because they found heroin. He was framed. Rigging deliberately cut. LF dead. Watch yourself, MacDougall.’”
When I didn’t comment, Thad said, ”You all right?”
“I heard all of that from another source. Yeah, I’m fine. See you later. Say hello to Mother and Father for me.”
I hung up and slowly pushed open the door. It squeaked as the wooden runner slid over the sill. No one was waiting so I sat in the darkness momentarily thinking about what Thad had read to me.
The cavernous main room of the post office was cool and gray. The heels of the patron’s shoes clicked as they stepped across the terrazzo. The noise from the mixture of clicking heels, voices and mail boxes closing was suddenly deafening. I wanted to scream. I burst out of the building and ran back to the circus grounds. The supper bugle sounded first call.
The sultry wind whipped trash and debris around the pavement as I walked toward the post office the next day. I passed people walking dogs, people strolling arm-in-arm intently conversing with one another, and plenty of folks sitting on stoops. I stopped briefly to retrieve my laundry, which was wrapped in brown paper tied with multiple wraps of white cotton string.
I hurried in a trance to the scene of yesterday’s frustration. I dripped with perspiration, and my undershirt stuck to me. A chill flashed through my body, and I stopped momentarily to catch my breath.
I entered the empty telephone box and closed the door. The tiny bulb ignited. I knew that Inspector Brown knew about LaFevre. He wouldn’t have called unless there was more information. I asked the operator to connect me to number 3567 in New York. Warm, sticky perspiration ran down the side of my face to the corners of my mouth. My eyes stung from the salty liquid. I wiped the sweat on my sleeve. I looked out through the glass door as the telephone rang. I felt self-conscience, as if I was on display in a department window. “Division of Investigation, Brown speaking.”
“Seth Newman, officer.”
“Seth got another cable from MacDougall. The guy LF is dead.”
“You told me before and I got a cable at home yesterday. I talked to my brother after I tried to reach you.”
“The Stromboli is due in New York tonight. We will be watching for the elephants,” he went on. “Anyone missing from the lot?”
“How would I know with twelve hundred people working for the show? You mean the usual suspects?”
“Notice when you go back if obvious people are missing.”
“OK.” The operator came on to tell me my money was almost used up. Brown told me he would call me right back and I hung up.
The telephone rang. “Seth, if you see anything unusual call me.”
“How?” I snapped. “There aren’t telephones close to the lot. I’ll call if I can but I have a question for you. If I help you catch the dope dealers, will you help me find out who killed Haskins?”
“Son, how can I help you do that? Murder is police business, not what the United States Bureau of Investigation is about.”
“But if the same people are connected to the dope business, can we go after them?”
I squirmed inside the telephone box and sweat dripped down both sides of my face. Impatient people waited to use the telephone.
“We believe Williams knows allot more than he’s saying,” Brown concluded. “Watch yourself around him.”
I didn’t want to believe what the detective said. I pushed the squeaky folding door to one side and ran out of the post office. My head felt funny. Outside the front door I slumped down on a ledge surrounded by evergreen hedges. I put my head in my hands and sat for awhile.
I felt a gentle tap on my right shoulder and saw a tall man wearing a blue stripped seersucker jacket. He asked if I needed assistance. I shook my head and he offered to get me some water. I didn’t respond. He moved away only to return a few minutes later extending a scratched glass toward me. I gulped the water. When I started to rise, the gentleman told me to sit for a few more minutes.
He asked questions. I told him I was a teamster on the circus. He seemed to want to know my whole life story. I told him I felt better and needed to get back for supper. He steadied me as I got to my feet. I was real shaky.
“Young man, do you mind if I feel your forehead to see if you have a fever. I’m a physician.” I gave him permission as I sat back down on the ledge.
“Young man you have a very high temperature. Are you going back to the circus now?”
“Yes,” I said.
He offered to drive with me and I accepted.
“No, let’s stop at my house. It’s on the way. You can rest there. Does the circus leave today?”
“No, sir.”
“Good, you can stay a while. Let’s get this fever under control.”
He ordered me to stay seated on the ledge while he went into the post office. When he returned, he clamped his massive left hand onto my arm and he lifted me upright. He flagged for a taxi at the corner. The odor of the exhaust smoke and the roar of the engine were extremely obnoxious. Once inside the taxi the doctor gave an address on South Street.
In the charcoal gray of the night, my eyes opened. I focused on a small spot of light across the room and detected a small lamp illumining flowered wall paper. I moved my arm and I hit the doctor’s knee. He removed a wet cloth from my forehead. My hand must have jarred him awake because I heard drops of the water falling into a metal pan.
“Take it slow and easy. You had a rough time. Feeling better?” I grunted. I tried to lift my head but felt a terrible pain.
Later I sat up slowly on the side of the cot. I saw a kitchen through an open door. I wanted to get up and go. The doctor watched and didn’t assist as I stood up. I was shaky, but I remained upright. He reached out and put one hand on my forehead and the other on the back of my neck. “Better, but not completely gone,” he said softly. “Son, there’s still a fever--not as high as last night. I think it was a touch of influenza or maybe food poisoning. You were quite sick. You feel up to a bath? It will help bring the temperature down…”
I smelled from a week on the road. Looking at myself I realized that all I had on was an undershirt and shorts that I didn’t recognize.
“Yes they’re mine. Yours are drying. They’ll be ready when you are. Son, what’s your name?”
“Seth Newman.”
“You were very delirious for a long time last night. You used plenty of names.”
“Did I say anything wrong?”
“Well that is none of my business. You did say that Ralph tried to kill you, and he’ll try again. You said it many times. Is that true? You also mentioned Wolf and you wanted him to hold you. Is he a brother?
I didn’t answer just followed him. Barefooted we went through the kitchen into a long hall. Vague silhouettes of chairs and lamps on tables marked the darkness as we stepped onto a long oriental runner that lead to the bottom of the stairs. As we started up the stairs, he indicated that I should go ahead of him. He followed behind, probably to catch me if I started to fall backward. I had a major headache. I slowly climbed the stairs, grasping the banister. I wavered about midway up to the second floor but made it safely to the top.
The bathroom was to the right at the top of the stairs. Lacy curtains covered a glass window. A great porcelain bathtub stood centered on the wall left of the window. I stood at the door in amazement at the size of everything. The commode was anchored to an adjoining wall papered with gaudy flowers. The sink sat atop a pedestal next to the commode. The doctor gently pushed me into the room.
He turned the porcelain handles in the tub. Each squeaked with a different tone. The water sputtered, the pipes clanked, and water dribbled out.
“Attend to yourself and I’ll be back when you’re finished.” I heard the doorbell jingling.
“Thanks, when you are finished come back. I’d like to know what I said last night.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I waited until the tub was half-full and then slipped into the soothing water. The spigots poured until I was completely covered by water up to my chin. I dropped my head back and closed my eyes. I fell asleep. The squeak of the doorknob woke me. The doctor stood quietly across the room in the doorway, not wanting to disturb me. He deposited my clothes on the lid of the closed toilet seat, pulled a chair from the wall and sat down.
“Clean clothes just arrived,” he said. “When did you break your leg?”
“Which time?”
“The last time. I noticed it last night.”
“When Ralph and his thugs threw me off of the train.”
At that moment, I realized that I had missed the docking of the Stromboli and I needed to leave.
“Doctor…”
“Selkirk,” he replied.
“Doctor Selkirk, what is the time?”
He retrieved his watch from his vest pocket.
“About nine-thirty.”
“I’ve got to get going,” I said straightening myself in the tub. He didn’t move so I stood up.
He offered me a hand to steady my step onto the floor.
“Don’t move too fast.” He stood motionless as I dried and quickly dressed. I could tell he liked looking at my fit young body. He smiled.
“Breakfast?” he said as we walked back through the long front hall toward the kitchen. “Coffee is ready. There’s some oatmeal. It may be a little dry.”
“Fine. I’m starving.”
I sat down on white wooden chair nearest the door and put my shoes on. He got me a cup of coffee and set it down on the counter near me.
“Cream and sugar?”
“Both.”
He set the cream pitcher down, walked across the room to a pantry, and picked up a cream colored bowl with a spoon handle sticking out. Before he set it down, he stopped to pick up a cereal bowl.
“Move over here.”
I sat down across from him and he watched as I shoved the first spoonful of oatmeal into my mouth.
“Seth, I don’t want to embarrass you but I am interested to hear a little more about this Wolf fellow. You seemed to be totally smitten by him.”
I took several bites before answering. “Well, I guess you can call us very close, as close as two men can be. I don’t see him much because he lives in Belgium.”
“How did you meet?”
I proceeded to tell Dr. Selkirk the story and I told him everything. “Maybe what happened is wrong but I really would like to be with him now.”
“My interest is more than that of a physician. I, too, like the company of men.” There was a pause and Dr. Selkirk said, “I think I’ll go to the circus today. What do you think?”
“Fine,” I shrugged distracted by the thought that I missed the ship’s docking.
“I haven’t been to one in quite a few years. With my girls grown and my wife gone I don’t have an excuse anymore. I think I’ll just go.”
I pushed my chair back as I swallowed the last bite of oatmeal. I sat impatiently as he talked.
“Can you wait fifteen minutes while I change? I’ll take you to the lot in a taxi.”
“The show doesn’t start until three.”
“How about if I just follow you around. I won’t get in your way.”
My face probably revealed my concern. What would people think of this well-dressed guy following me around? Circus people are suspicious. I didn’t encourage him, but I knew he was coming along.
I waited forty-five minutes, dozing off until he was ready. He handed me my unopened parcel of clean laundry. A taxi waited as we opened his front door.
As I expected, neither Ralph nor Williams were around. We ran into Rawlings as we walked into the horse tent. He didn’t seem to remember me but graciously acknowledged my guest.
“Doctor, any chance you could travel with us for a couple of weeks. Dr. Monk, our regular doctor, had to leave to attend to his mother in Connecticut. Are you retired?”
Dr. Selkirk appeared surprised at the request.
“I am semi-retired. I do some teaching at Jefferson Medical College. I could come along. My wife died last year. I decided that I had enough full-time practice. I really have no firm commitments until the first of July.”
“Good, I’ll tell Mr. Wells that you’re coming along. Bring your things over to the red wagon. Wells will introduce you to the head porter and get you set up.”
Rawlings then realized who I was.
“Seth, fantastic horses you brought back.” He turned and left.
“Well, Seth, what do you think? Can I handle the work?”
“You’re going to see a lot of stuff. Can you just leave like that? Don’t you have sick people to take care of?”
“Right now I can leave. In fact, I was about to leave for the Jersey shore for a vacation when I bumped into you on the post office steps. I really didn’t want to go alone but as of yesterday none of my friends could come. The shore is still pretty quiet this time of the spring. Did you hear the doorbell when you were taking a bath? Well, a friend of mine named Peter Ahern stopped by and said he was ready for a few days at my shore place. I’ll have to tell him we can’t go because I like this alternative much better. I need to get home and get some things pulled together.”
“Doc, we aren’t leaving Philadelphia for four days. No hurry.”
“You’re right, Seth,” he said. “No hurry.”
“I still want to you to tell me what I said in my sleep.”
He smiled without speaking.