Once Upon A Dyke Part 4

"What a strange woman," Claude said, as he carried her trunk across the carnival grounds.

"I suppose she is," Rosie said.

"Does she always make speeches like that?"

"Not always." Only when someone has broken her heart, Rosie thought.

They pa.s.sed Wilma and Stanley beside the candy apple stand. "Are you all right, Rosie?" Wilma asked. "When I saw that knife graze your arm, I thought I was going to faint dead away."

"I'm all right," Rosie said. "I'm leaving for a month or two, though. My father's had an accident."

Wilma said, "I hope he gets well soon," and Stanley said, "Take care of yourself, kid," but what Rosie heard them say as she walked away was, "Poor Josephine."

At the edge of the carnival, they ran into absolutely the last person Rosie wanted to see. Billy was in a dressing gown to cover the "half male/half female" bare chest he displayed in his show, but other peculiarities-the half made-up face, the long wavy locks on one side and the short mannish hair on the other-still made Claude stare slack-jawed.

Billy took in Claude, the trunk, and Rosie. "Leaving so soon?" Billy purred.

"Well-" Rosie began.

"This would be your boyfriend, I presume," Billy interrupted.

"No, my brother," Rosie said coldly. "My father has been in an accident. I need to go see him-"

"Yes, well, home and hearth always call your kind back one way or another," Billy sighed. "I expect I'd better go see to Josephine."

Claude made chit-chat all the way to the train station. Rosie knew he was probably talking about Helen and the baby and their home and his job. But she didn't hear a word he said.

Chapter 6.

The hospital in Rosie's hometown was a twelve-bed infirmary, with six beds in one room for female patients and six in another for males. When Rosie stepped into the men's ward to see her father, he lay on his narrow bed, casts on both legs and one arm. He was the only patient in the room. Rosie thought she had never seen anyone so alone and helpless.

When he saw her, he smiled. "Rosie, you came!" Rosie leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Of course I did. I just wish I had known sooner."

A middle-aged nurse bustled into the room, pretty and efficient-looking in her white uniform.

"Well," Mr. Bell said. "Judith here's been taking good care of me, haven't you, Judith?"

The nurse smiled as she fluffed Mr. Bell's pillows. "I've been doing my best. He's the only patient in the men's ward right now, but you'd be surprised how busy he keeps me. You must be Rosie."

"Yes, ma'am."

Judith smiled. "Your father talks about you all the time. He says no man ever had such a smart, beautiful, honest daughter."

The "honest" stung Rosie since she had been lying to her father about her job, but she forced herself to smile back at Judith anyway. Now was not the time to clear up misunderstandings.

Rosie sat with her father every day, reading him the newspaper in the morning and the cowboy novels he loved in the afternoon. Claude stopped by to visit but not often; clearly he thought that the responsibility of caring for a sickly parent should fall to a daughter, not a son.

But Rosie was not the only person caring for Mr. Bell. Judith was quite attentive, too. And Rosie was beginning to wonder if Judith's attentiveness went beyond the bounds of mere professional responsibility.

Once Mr. Bell had joked that the first thing he was going to do when he got his casts off was chase Judith around the room. Judith, with her salt-and-pepper hair and finely lined face, had giggled like a teenager.

Another time, when Rosie had gone outside for some fresh air, she had returned to find Judith holding Mr. Bell's good hand. She dropped it as soon as she saw Rosie.

One afternoon while Mr. Bell was napping and Judith was gathering the linens from the women's ward for laundering, Rosie asked, "Judith, could I speak with you for a moment?"

Judith smiled, but Rosie thought she saw some apprehension in her eyes. "Of course."

Rosie wasn't sure how to say what she wanted to say, but she decided to go ahead and blunder her way through it. "I couldn't help noticing that my father really seems to like you."

Judith became unusually absorbed in stripping the sheets from a bed. "Your father is a very dear man," she said without looking up.

"I know he is. And you're a very nice lady." Rosie touched Judith's shoulder. "Judith, what I'm trying to say is... if there's something between you and Daddy... something more than a nurse-patient relationship... nothing would make me happier."

Judith looked back at her, beaming. "Really?"

"Really. Dad's been so lonely since Mama died. I worry about him so much."

Judith sat down on the hospital bed and patted the spot beside her. "Rosie, I'm so happy ... and surprised ... to hear you say that. Your father didn't want me to tell you because he was afraid you'd think he was being unfaithful to your mother."

"He can't live the rest of his life being faithful to a memory."

"It's true," Judith said. "And I've been so lonely, too, these years since my husband pa.s.sed. Your father and I are both staring at old age, Rosie, and that's not a part of life you want to face alone."

"Well," Rosie squeezed Judith's strong hand. "I'm glad neither of you have to."

At the house that evening Rosie sipped tea and thought about the unexpected happiness that two broken legs had brought her father. For the first time since she had come home, she dared to think of her own chance at happiness. With Judith there to care for Mr. Bell once he came home, Rosie would be free to go back to the carnival and back to Josephine. But her heart hurt when she thought of Josephine's parting words to her. She would go back to Josephine, but only if Josephine would have her, if she could make Josephine believe that she would never leave her again.

Rosie's brooding was interrupted by a knock on the door. She opened it to find John, standing in the doorway, beaky-nosed and bespectacled. Had he always looked so much like a ferret, Rosie wondered, or had she just never noticed before?

"Hel... h.e.l.lo, Rosie," he stammered.

"h.e.l.lo, John," Rosie said, resisting the urge to slam the door and lock it.

"May I come in?"

"If you like."

John waited for Rosie to sit, and she chose the chair rather than the couch so he couldn't sit down beside her.

"How's your father?" he asked.

"Much better. The casts come off next week, and the doctor says he shouldn't suffer any long-term damage."

"That's excellent news."

"Yes, it is," Rosie said, but what she really wanted to say was, what in die name of heaven are you doing here?

"Rosie..."John fiddled with the hat he held on his lap.

"Yes?" Rosie knew her voice sounded impatient, but she didn't especially care.

"I just wanted you to know that I think it's wonderful how you came back here to care for your father. It shows how sensible and mature you've become-"

"I love my father. Of course I came back to look after him."

"See? Sensible and mature, just like I said. And I... I want you to know that I forgive you for what happened that night at the carnival."

Rosie's spine stiffened. She didn't like where this was going. "Thank you, John. It's very kind of you to forgive me."

"And-" He looked down and fiddled with his hat some more. "Now that you've obviously changed... matured, as I said, I'd like to make you the same offer I made that night."

Rosie sprang from her seat in shock. "John, are you asking me to marry you again?"

"Yes. As I said, I forgive you, and I'm prepared-"

Rosie's arms were folded tight across her chest, and her eyes flashed with anger and exasperation. "Honestly, John, how many times does a girl have to say no to you?"

"I just figured you'd had time to do some thinking.

"I have. And running away from you that night was the best decision I've ever made."

He stood and slapped his hat onto his head. "Well, if that's the way you feel, I might as well leave. I was just trying to do you a favor, you know. To save you from spinsterhood." He stood in the doorway, then turned around. "Think about it, Rosie. Your last chance is about to walk out the door."

"My last chance? For what?"

John looked at her as though he was regarding a none-too-bright three-year-old. "For happiness."

Rosie laughed. "What makes you think you hold the key to my happiness? There are other ways for a girl to be happy than having a husband and a houseful of kids."

"Well, there may be," John said. "But they're not normal ways... not respectable."

"Well, maybe having a husband and children isn't normal for me," Rosie snapped. "And maybe I can find ways of being happy such that I can still respect myself."

Standing in the doorway, John shook his head as though Rosie had just said the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. "Well, whatever those ways are, I hope you find them."

Rosie thought of her days with Josephine, of their nights on the shoved-together cots. "I already have."

Judith became the second Mrs. Bell in a quiet ceremony the day after Mr. Bell returned home from the hospital. Rosie cried at the ceremony-both for their happiness and for her uncertain future. She knew she was free to go back to Josephine, but she couldn't help replaying Josephine's words in her mind-"Why choose to live in a family of freaks when you have the luxury of walking down the street without people screaming or fainting? Normal people choose to live normal lives because they can."

Josephine had been so hurt and betrayed so many times by the normal world that Rosie feared she would never be able to fully trust a girl such as herself... a girl who could always choose to run away and find acceptance in the larger society.

Then it came to Rosie what she must do.

Chapter 7.

It took Rosie nearly three months to complete the task she had set for herself. Like any heroic task, it was long and painful, but even in her most difficult moments, she bore the pain by closing her eyes and picturing Josephine. And then she had an even harder task ahead of her.

With today's technology it is alarmingly easy to find someone you're looking for. In Rosie's day, this was not the case. She traveled through small towns in Virginia, North Carolina, and Tennessee, sometimes stopping to do a day's work apple picking or dishwashing to earn more train fare, always asking when the carnival had last been to town. If a carnival had been there in recent memory, she always asked a second question: Had there been a bearded lady? All too often, the answer was no.

In Georgia, though, she felt she might be getting the scent of a trail. An old man picking peaches beside her said that a carnival had been to town two weeks before. "There was a bearded lady, too," he said. "Woulda been right pretty if it wasn't for the whiskers. Called herself Madame something. Started with a J, I think."

"Josephine?" Rosie asked, squeezing a peach so hard that juice dribbled down her wrist.

"That sounds right. My brother lives in Versailles, the next town north of here. Said the carnival was there last week."

So they were moving north. At the rate the carnival moved-one town per week-they should be in the next town up from Versailles, Rosie thought. She thanked the old man and announced that she was through picking peaches.

Rosie made it to the carnival in time for the last show of the night. Wearing a long black dress and long black gloves despite the heat, she bought a ticket from a seemingly normal man she didn't recognize and crowded in with the rubes inside the tent.

When Josephine took the stage, Rosie was shocked by her appearance. The once snug-fitting emerald green gown she favored for performing now hung loosely from her narrow waist and hips. Had heartbreak made her so thin? Tears pooled in Rosie's eyes.

"I come from the backwoods of Kentucky," Josephine was saying automatically. "When my mother was still expecting me she was frightened by a wild boar that came charging out of the woods-" Suddenly Josephine was silent, and her eyes met Rosie's.

After a full minute of silence, Wilma nudged Josephine, who said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, everyone. I was just thinking about... the past. But you don't care about my story anyway, do you? You just wanted to see me. And you have. And now you must excuse me."

She stepped off the stage and walked through the audience toward Rosie. The rubes parted, as if afraid that brushing against Josephine might make them freakish, too.

"Rosie?" Josephine said, as the rubes stared at them.

"Yes." Try as she might, Rosie couldn't read the look on Josephine's face.

"How is your father?"

"Recovered... and remarried."

"Rosie," Josephine said again.

"We can't talk here," Rosie said, feeling the dozens of pairs of eyes on them. "Take me to your tent. I have something to show you."

In her tent, Josephine hugged Rosie so tight she could scarcely breathe. "I never thought I would see you again."

"I told you I'd come back."

"And I wanted to believe you. But I couldn't because they... they never do." Josephine let Rosie go. "And even though you have come back, how do I know you'll stay? If you left again, Rosie, I couldn't endure it. The normal ones always choose to leave because they can. They-"

"I'm not a 'they,' Josephine." Rosie took Josephine's hands in hers. "I am me. And I'm not like all the other rubes. I am one of you."