Authors: Colleen Quinn
The street was cold, the cobbles frigid. Trees poked frozen branches into the air like stabbing fingers, their trunks slick with ice as if they’d been dipped in rock candy. Everything was gray, from the bleak Philadelphia sky to the granite buildings edging each other on the side of the street, to the frozen ground below.
Rosemary sighed and snuggled more closely into the carriage robes. She missed the great plains of the West, when winter descended on the land and frosted everything with a white mantle of snow. There was something about that empty vastness, marred only by the curious murmurings of a snowshoe rabbit or a hungry fox, that felt so much more like home than the city. By now they would be heading south, and every day was a story. They’d meet miners on the way, lumberjacks and woodsmen, trappers and hunters. They’d pass villages and Indian camps, the single column of smoke known as a greeting everywhere to come share a fire. A pang started deep within her as she thought of old Griggs, Biddle, Leonardo, Zachery, Rags, and all the others. God, how she missed them.
The carriage slowed to a halt before a white stone mansion with a gray metal fence. Rosemary glanced outside, an odd feeling of recognition sweeping over her. Something about the place was eerily familiar. She struggled to recall if Michael had driven past it or had pointed out this home the day they’d gone shopping, but the street and the surrounding neighborhood looked strange and far from the mercantile district.
“Is this correct?” Rosemary asked the driver, indicating the address. “Are we on the Main Line?”
“Yes, madam.” The carriage driver, a dour-faced old man, indicated the house with his horsewhip. “Would you like me to wait?”
“Please.” Rosemary disembarked, swallowing her apprehension as she walked through the gate. Even the doorknocker looked familiar. It was as if she’d dreamed this place, though why she ever should have was a mystery. Raising her hand to the brass lion’s face, she clanged the metal ring clenched in his teeth, a sense of wonder filling her.
At once a servant appeared, looking unsurprised at the visitor. “Do you have a card, madam?”
Rosemary stepped into the hallway, fishing through her pockets. Producing the newly inked card, she waited while the butler placed it on a silver tray, then disappeared into the dark hall. Whistling loudly to dispel her tension, Rosemary glanced around, the hair prickling on the back of her neck.
She’d never been here, but she knew that the stairway would be white. And that the parlor would contain a gray marble fireplace with a picture of a woman over the top. And that the wallpaper would consist of trailing arbor roses, much like blots of blood on the wall. She’d never been here, couldn’t have known this, and yet, she couldn’t stop the memories from flooding through her. Yet how could she remember…?
“Rosemary.” The widow appeared, looking pale and beautiful in a silvery dress, her face both delighted and apprehensive. She extended her hands, taking Rose’s in her own, then indicated the parlor. “Come with me, I’ve ordered tea. I’m so glad you came. I wanted to apologize for the way I’d behaved, it was so silly…”
Wave after wave of emotion flooded Rose. She stood in the parlor, remembering herself as a little girl, standing in the exact same place. Turning, she saw the doll she knew would be behind her, sitting on the shelf, waiting for a little girl to pick up and cradle, the china eyes staring back as they had over ten years ago. She had been here once before, Sean brought her here, the only time Carney’s had played Philadelphia. Tears stung her eyes, and she turned toward the widow, who was watching her with mounting fear…
“My God,” Rosemary whispered, tears choking her throat. “It’s you! You’re…my mother!”
T
HE WIDOW’S FACE PALED
at Rosemary’s words, and she nodded, tears misting her eyes.
Somehow, Rosemary lowered herself into a chair. Her legs seemed like lead, and there was a faint humming in her ears. Yet the widow’s acknowledgment only verified what she’d known all along herself.
It was her mother. Through a haze of emotion, Rosemary stared at the face that her father had never forgotten and saw that it had once been beautiful. The delicate bone structure was still easy to see, the slight tilt of her nose, and the sparkle in her clear green eyes was still much as it had once been. When Rose looked even closer, she could see a faint resemblance to herself, not in overall color or features, but subtle things, like the curve of the woman’s mouth and the arch of her brows. Even her scent, lavender and vanilla, was familiar.
“…couldn’t resist the opportunity to see you. I never thought you’d come out this way. You’re so much like your father, Rose, just as I knew you would be. You even look like him.”
The widow was crying, delicately daubing her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Rosemary struggled to make sense of it all, even as the butler brought the tea and discreetly departed.
“Then you knew? When you came to the seance, I mean?”
The older woman nodded, giving Rose a tremulous smile as she poured the steaming liquid. “I know it must be hard to understand. But I hadn’t seen you in so many years! When I heard that Michael Wharton had married a circus girl, the temptation was just too great, especially when I heard her name was Rosemary. You father picked that name. It suits you.”
Rosemary gulped the tea, barely aware that it stung her tongue. A thousand questions flooded her mind, along with a torrent of emotion. She didn’t know whether to be happy at the revelation or sad, or overwhelmingly angry. Still in a state of shock, she shook her head in denial.
“Ella Foster. It can’t be! You’ve been gone for so long. Surely I would have heard something about you in all this time….”
“I tried to write.” The woman’s eyes brimmed with tears, making them softer and bluer. “Your father didn’t permit me. He thought it best if I stayed out of your life altogether, to avoid confusion. Actually, I think he couldn’t bear the thought of you and I having a relationship after I left him.”
“So you’ve been here all this time? In Philadelphia?”
Ella nodded. “Clara’s kept me informed, begrudgingly, but I’ll always be grateful. And I’ve seen the show whenever you’ve come to the area, though Carney’s was always loath to play the cities. I suppose it’s one of Sean’s traditions that you kept.” She was smiling as she placed the teacup aside. “You’ve grown up so pretty, Rosemary. And such a lady.”
Rosemary cupped the slight roundness of her belly. She thought of her own child, and the newly protective feelings she had for the unborn babe. Pain tore at her, and she stared unflinchingly at the widow. “How? How could you have done that? Whatever your problems were with my father, how could you just leave me?”
The widow’s tears dropped steadily, and she extended a hand that Rosemary refused. Embarrassed, she folded her fingers together in her lap and looked beseechingly at the young woman before her.
“Try to understand. I know it’s hard, but you see, I wasn’t able to adapt to that life. I fell in love with the glitter of the circus, the glamour and the applause of the crowd. Your father seemed so handsome, so young and masterful! I’ll never forget the first time I saw him.” She smiled faintly at the memory. “I was away at boarding school in Boston when the show came to town. I, of course, had never seen anything like it. Oh, I’d been to plays, concerts, and stage shows, but the circus!” Ella’s eyes warmed visibly. “The circus was larger than life! First it was the elephants, huge creatures that I’d never been able to imagine. Then the clowns, dressed in those funny costumes. Then the trapeze performers, glittering in spangles. Finally your father walked out into the center ring.”
Ella brought out a picture, which she gave to Rose. Glancing at the creased and faded daguerreotype, she saw Sean Carney mugging at the camera, unbelievably young and handsome. Dressed in a top hat and silk coat, he looked charming, wonderfully appealing, and happier than Rose had ever seen him. Ella nodded as Rosemary stared at the picture.
“I carried that with me for years. It wasn’t until after the show that I contrived to meet him, though my friends were horrified.”
Rosemary looked up, finding it hard to imagine the widow as a young woman, laughing and giggling over a circus performer. But Ella nodded ruefully, sitting back in her chair with a wistful sigh.
“You have to understand that my background was very different from Sean’s. I was one of the Fosters, my family expected me to marry well, to live in the city, to enjoy what money they’d earned from the shipping business. I was rebellious at that age, and to me, the circus life seemed exciting and free. I didn’t think ahead to the reality of it all, to the tents that leaked when it rained, to the cold winter winds that made my fingers ache, to the endless work. All I saw was the sparkle.”
“So you ran away with my father,” Rosemary said quietly, knowing what was coming next.
The older woman nodded. “I thought I loved him, and for a while I did. We were married quietly, by a minister passing through town. But the excitement soon wore off. It was a struggle just to pay the bills. No one knew where the next meal would come from, or even how the next show would fare. We lived a dime to a dollar, with no end in sight.”
The widow sighed softly. “My family, of course, disowned me. At sixteen that also seemed adventurous at first, but very quickly I missed them. I think I would have left that summer, except something happened that none of us had planned.”
“Me,” Rose guessed, fighting the pain and outrage that filled her.
Ella nodded. “I couldn’t leave then, not pregnant with Sean’s child. I was hoping for the best, but the things that tore us apart only got worse. I loved you and wanted you as no mother ever wanted a child, but daily the troupe life wore on me. After you were born, there was but one way out.”
“So you left.” Rosemary put down the cup with a cold clink.
Ella’s eyes closed as if shutting out some terrible picture, then she opened them and gazed at Rosemary. Her chin lifted slightly, and she nodded, almost defiantly.
“Yes. It was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make, and one I wouldn’t wish on anyone. There was no question of taking you with me; my family would have never accepted me back with a child, and Sean wouldn’t hear of it. He told me quite emphatically that while I could leave, I wouldn’t take his darling Rose from him. I did the only thing I could have done. God forgive me.”
The ticking of the polished cherry clock on the mantel was the only sound in the room. Rosemary looked at the elegant furnishings, the good pictures, the crystal chandelier overhead and felt suddenly ill. She’d been traded for these things, she and her father. Sean’s outrage suddenly became very clear, as well as his desire to protect her from ever knowing the truth. It was little wonder why he shunned this woman’s letters, as well as any physical reminders of her.
Getting to her feet, Rosemary visibly withdrew as the widow attempted to embrace her. Stung, Ella bit her lip and trembled as Rosemary took her cloak from the butler and fastened it without looking up. She turned to leave, wanting to be alone, wanting to be anywhere but here. It hurt too much to be close to this woman, her mother.
“Please,” Ella said softly. “Don’t leave like this. I just wanted to know you and—”
“Why?” Rosemary glanced back with a sarcastic expression. “So you can see me now, when it’s easy and safe? You made your decision, and you’ve gotten what you wanted. My father was right. It would have been far better if I’d never known you.”
Ella held on to a chair for support, and she looked at Rosemary with tearful eyes. “Please don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” Rosemary asked, choking down her tears. “This, the money and possessions, meant more to you than me. You want me to understand that and forgive it?” Rosemary wiped her eyes on her sleeve, determined not to cry. “I’m sorry, but that’s asking too much. I never should have come here. No wonder you reacted the way you did when Sean’s ghost spoke.”
“Rosemary.” The widow’s voice was firm. “I know it must be hard, but you should try to see it my way. It will hurt less if you understand. I felt I had to leave to survive. You and Sean were content in that world—I wasn’t.”
Rosemary forced a grin. “It doesn’t matter how you want to justify it. I couldn’t have done that to someone I loved.”
“No?” Ella smiled softly. “How happy are you here, in this life? I’ve watched you grow up, Rose, even from a distance. Even after returning here, remarrying after your father’s death, and becoming a widow, I’ve known all about you. You are Sean Carney all over. You love the circus the same way he did, and you’ll never be truly happy away from it. You both live and breathe for opening night, think in terms of popcorn and carnivals. Do you think this life, with its rules and unforgiving customs, will ever suit you?”
“I don’t want to hear anything else,” Rosemary said, walking toward the door. The widow’s voice, calm and pleading, sounded behind her.
“You know I’m right, Rose. Please, don’t repeat the same mistakes your father and I did. Please.”
She had to get away from here. Quickening her step, she almost ran to the door, bolting past the surprised butler and waking the carriage driver from his nap. She wasn’t able to think until the coach rumbled away from the house with its elegant landscaping and beautiful surroundings. It was only when the house had faded securely behind them that she broke, letting the tears flow unchecked down her face. Pain enveloped her, and she huddled into a corner, sobbing, unable to stop the tears.