Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
All my illusions
Projected on her
The ideal, that I wanted to see
The next day of traveling brought them to the outskirts of Crown City, and their excitement built with the upcoming summer solstice performance for the Watchmaker. Before they arrived in the zoned city area, where they would require permits, the carnies camped in an open field near one of the steamliner rails. They would put on one last show before their grand performance in Chronos Square.
His companions were hard at work, oiling and polishing the components of the Ferris wheel and the whirling rides, topping off the hydraulics in all the machinery, wiping down the game apparatus, repainting the gypsy fortune teller’s red booth. The equipment had to be spotless, every act flawless for the solstice show. The Watchmaker would expect nothing less. From the way César Magnusson spoke of the Watchmaker, it was as if he had some sort of personal affinity for the carnival.
While the carnies were focused on the grand show, Owen found it hard to concentrate. He wandered around carrying a stack of freshly printed broadsheets to celebrate the Chronos Square performance, but found no place to post them. He didn’t realize that his giddy mood was so obvious to the others until Tomio and Louisa stopped him.
The bearded lady sounded sincere and caring. “Be careful you don’t get in over your head, Owenhardy.” He didn’t know what she was talking about.
“It’s not his head he’s thinking with.” Tomio let out a good-natured snort. “Francesca is my sister, and I know her well. Take care for your own sake. She’s one of us—independent, full of life, passionate. Don’t expect her to think like a girl from a quiet, small town.”
Owen grinned, unable to help himself. He couldn’t disagree with Tomio’s characterization of her as passionate. “Francesca . . .”
Letting out a concerned sigh, Louisa shook her head. “I doubt there’s anything we could say that’ll reach him.” Tomio shrugged, and they left him to wander about with his broadsheets. He paid little attention to what they had said to him, and in less than an hour he forgot the conversation had even occurred.
Owen came upon César Magnusson sitting outside the carnival’s main office tent, poring over lists of towns, marking destinations on a map of Albion. He joined the ringmaster, curious to look at all the names of places he had never thought he would see.
“It’s been a busy season,” Magnusson said conversationally. “We have to fit in as many villages as possible before we go up the coast for winter.”
Owen studied the marked route, the list of towns Magnusson had compiled—and his heart leapt when he saw that Barrel Arbor was one of their upcoming destinations. After such a long time away and everything he had experienced, he was going to go home. He laughed out loud at the thought of seeing everyone again, and he realized that he could have everything a man could ever want.
When the ringmaster didn’t understand why he was chuckling, Owen said merely, “Yes, the Watchmaker does have a perfect plan.”
Even though the carnival was set up on the outskirts of the city, a surprisingly large crowd came out to see them. By now, every newsgraph office had carried the announcement that the Magnusson Carnival Extravaganza would perform for the summer solstice, but since most people could not get tickets for the show in Chronos Square, they came to watch this local performance instead.
Owen felt happier than he had ever been, still enchanted from his night with Francesca. Now he knew that she was, indeed, his true love. They were connected, as if magnetic field lines bound them together. Lavinia could never hold a spark to Francesca! How he had fooled himself back in Barrel Arbor.
During the afternoon performance, he walked through the carnival crowd as if floating. Even though he fumbled his apples more than usual, he laughed at himself, and his lovestruck grin was so bright and charming that no one seemed to mind.
Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed someone who looked familiar—the nameless stranger who had pulled him aboard the steamliner. Before Owen could turn, the man melted into the crowd so quickly that Owen thought he must have imagined him.
Half an hour later, though, he found Tomio, obviously unsettled. “D’Angelo Misterioso was here—the one I told you about.”
“Oh, I know who you mean! Maybe he came to see the show.”
“Maybe, or maybe he was up to no good.” Tomio’s expression was grave. “Keep alert. If you see him, come and find me.”
The rest of the show passed without incident, however, and Owen noticed very little—beyond occasional glimpses of Francesca. When she performed her act on the trapeze, he felt he was witnessing a miracle. No wonder the Watchmaker embraced perfection in all things—but had even the wise old man seen perfection to match Francesca’s?
Owen thought beyond the big show in Chronos Square. Since the carnival’s route would take him back to Barrel Arbor, like the weighty pendulum of destiny, he had so much to plan. He had the printed congratulatory card the Watchmaker had sent him in preparation for his birthday, promising him happiness. A life perfectly planned. Now, the unexpected prospect of returning home was a sign that told him all was indeed for the best.
An adult, like Owen, was supposed to become betrothed to his true love; he had never questioned that, but he had been too calm and accepting, waiting for life to happen to him. He had almost made a terrible mistake with Lavinia, because she had been there in Barrel Arbor, and the obvious choice. Fortunately, life’s roundabout journey had conspired to bring him to Francesca instead—and that was exactly what he needed.
She was engaging, independent, alive in a way that made Owen feel alive. She would crook her finger, beckon him across the tightrope of his own future, and he would meet her there halfway . . . not over a precipice, but high in the air. Like the Angels. He couldn’t stop smiling as he thought of the comparison.
He would walk across that tightrope for her.
Late that night, after the show had wound down and the crowds wandered home, Owen screwed up his courage, drew a deep breath. He knew what he had to do. He took out the now-dried rose that he had kept for months, and it still had a faint beautiful smell that, for him, was inextricably connected with Francesca. He found his resolve, reminding himself of what Golson had told him about confidence being his greatest weapon.
He made his way to Francesca’s tent, each step careful, precarious, as if there were a terrible fall on either side. But he focused ahead, cleared his mind . . . called out her name.
She opened the flap of the tent and met him with a smile full of hints and meanings, enough to make Owen imagine his own love poetry. She teased, “Hmm, and what could you be here for, young man? I don’t believe I extended a permanent invitation.”
Owen’s throat went dry, but he lifted his chin, just as Tomio would have done. “You’re the one who taught me to bring my own ticket even if I wasn’t given one.”
She chuckled. “Aren’t you cocky!” She held open the tent flap.
Instead of entering, Owen dropped to his knee and extended the dried rose. “You gave me this when I first saw you. I kept it.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and for a moment she seemed embarrassed, surprised.
He continued in a flood of words he had practiced too many times. “I’ve been in love with you every second I’ve known you, and I hope you’ve come to love me as well.” He swallowed hard and continued. “After I left Barrel Arbor, saw Crown City, and joined the carnival, it was all a bright, dizzy dream. And now the show route is going to take us back to Barrel Arbor. Back home. You and I are like two gears fitting together, perfectly matched. I . . . I joined your life, now will you join mine?”
He held out the rose. “When we get back to Barrel Arbor, will you stay with me? I have a cottage there. We can be married, have children, tend the apple orchard.” He heaved a pleasant sigh. “As it should be.”
He expected her warm laughter, then an embrace; she was supposed to hold him close, give him a long kiss. Maybe tears would even come to her eyes as she nodded yes. He had so much to offer her, and he knew that the two of them were meant to be together.
Instead, she drew back in disbelief. “Oh, Owen, you’re sweet, but I’d never let myself be trapped like that!” Her laugh was quick and loud, and she tried to brush his question aside. She held the tent flap open wider. “Now, let’s have no more of this foolishness.”
Her words were dismissive, and he heard them as hurtful, a betrayal. She thought he was joking! He had the card from the Watchmaker—everything was supposed to go according to plan.“But, that’s not the way—”
She chuckled again. “Now, Owenhardy, you should know me better than that!” Her words thrust like Tomio’s sword, straight through his heart. She faltered, as if she didn’t know what to say, “How can you even imagine—”
He dropped the dried rose on the ground and turned, blinded by the tears that sprang to his eyes. He stumbled into the night, running away as far and as fast as possible.
He didn’t think he could bear to hear Francesca’s voice again, but it hurt him even more when she didn’t call after him.