So sorry it's been a bit. I had some surgery May 25 and didn't bounce back nearly as fast as I thought I would. Then, this week, my cousin passed away. But I finally got this one complete. So I hope you enjoy and send me some thoughts.

Chapter 16

"How many times have I told you, Charity? I'm not an invalid. I won't be!"

Charity heaved a sigh. It was Friday, the second of November, and she had presented Phinn with a nearly-new wheelchair, compliments of Dr. Warshaw.

Phinn had snorted. "Compliments, indeed."

"Phinn," Charity tried again, "It's just to make things a little easier while you heal. It's not forever. If you could just get used to the idea..."

He snapped his head around to look at her. "If I get used to that, I may as well give up."

"I think we both know good and well that you will never give up. I don't think you know what those words mean."

Phinn smiled, just slightly, and Charity saw her window.

"Come on. Just try it out."

Phinn sat motionless on the living room sofa.

"Phinn?" Charity pushed harder.

Crossing to sit beside him, Charity tried a different approach. "I thought, even though it's temporary, this might be a way for you to finally...visit the circus."

She had his complete attention.

"This chair would make it possible for me to take you. You know you can't walk that far, even if we take the carriage, and I know how much you want to…"

He cut her off, "They can't see me like that."

"What?"

"Charity." His eyes were intense. "I can't have everyone see me pushed around, literally. They would lose what little faith they have left in me!"

Charity countered, "The only way you could lose their faith is if you gambled away their home again. No one in the cast thinks for a second that you aren't invested in the success of the circus. Your physical condition won't make them love you any less. The ones who have visited here, they love you just as much as they always have."

Phinn shook his head. "And what about the audience?"

Charity threw up her hands and said, "You know as well as I do that scandal sells tickets. Announcing you'll be returning, even to watch, will sell out a crowd."

"So I'm just another sideshow freak?" He scoffed.

"I thought you said you would never call them 'freaks'?"

Phinn was obviously remorseful. "You're right. I didn't meant that."

"Phinn." Charity gently touched his jaw. "I know you want to go back, and this is the way right now. What anyone thinks or says, if they haven't walked in our shoes, it doesn't matter. What matters is you're still here, that you have the chance to go back."

He looked away. "That may be true, but it's not enough for me.

Charity was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

Still pensive, he answered, "It's not enough just to be alive, Charity. Even though there might be some lovely sentiments to that effect."

Charity frowned. "You survived, Phinn. You survived something terrible. Are you saying that's not enough?"

After a beat, he nodded. "I have to have the show in my life. I have get up in front of an audience and have that give and take. That rush. It's part of who I am now."

"But two years ago…"

"I know. I know," he conceded. "I needed balance. But balance implies there are two sides to the scale. A complete lack of performing means tipping the scale the opposite direction. I cannot live that way."

"So we'll visit the circus. We'll go every night if you want," Charity stated matter of factly.

"It's not enough," he snapped. "Not if I can't do the show."

Taking his hands in hers, Charity studied her husband's fingers. They were long, graceful, and yet strong. Phinn could've held his weight the night he fell, if he'd been able to seize one of the ropes. She was sure of it. Phinn was strong. He was stubborn and fiercely driven. But balance had always been his weakness. His Achilles heel had always been his inability to moderate his responses, to hold back and not play his whole hand immediately, to understand that he was human and some things were, in fact, impossible.

Still holding her husband's hands, Charity, on impulse, sang in a soft, sweet soprano:

All the shine of a thousand spotlights.
All the stars we steal from the night sky,
will never be enough. Never be enough.
Towers of gold are still too little.
These hands could hold the world but it'll
never be enough. Never be enough.

She couldn't belt to the rafters like Jenny Lind, but Charity's voice was pure and true.

He looked at their entwined hands and said, "Don't sing her song to me, Charity. Don't open that wound."

"You walked away from her, Phinn. You walked away from her and her song because you finally heard it. At some point, you stopped hearing just her voice and heard her words—the life you have has to be enough."

Charity could tell from the way his jaw was set that Phinn knew she as right. He understood, but understanding did not erase his pain.

After a long, heavy silence, he finally stated, "I'll go back. But I will walk into that tent."

Charity knew there was little she could do to change his mind.


The following evening, Charity sat in the stands again with Ema and Anne after the show. She yawned widely and tried to roll the ache out of her shoulders. She knew she should be at home, sleeping off this persistent feeling of illness instead of chatting with her friends. Her girls already had one parent who spent most days in bed or in a chair. They didn't need to be left completely in the care of Betsy. But she couldn't make herself go home yet.

"Would you consider adoption?"

Charity snapped back to attention. Ema had asked the question of Anne.

Anne, who was picking at the edge of her costume mindlessly, answered, "No. Not yet. I can't give up hope yet. It's only been a little over a year."

Ema tipped her head. "You should never give up hope. My parents never did. But they only ended up with me. And I know I'm glad they took me in."

Anne smiled. "Well, if someone leaves a baby on my doorstep, I will most certainly consider taking it in."

Ema returned, "I just mean...there's a lotta kids out there living in terrible conditions. Especially...the ones who aren't so...white."

"You mean like me?" Anne snapped.

"I mean it's unfortunate that the darker the baby, the more likely it is to end up in The New York Foundling Hospital." Ema stated.

Anne leaned in. "Believe me, I know all about what happens to brown and black babies. I was born in Georgia, on one of those huge plantations. My mother was an "employee" of the house. My father owned the house. Needless to say, when I was born and his wife found out, we were no longer welcome. They beat my brother's father to death in front of mother, so she ran off with me and my brother. Joined the only place that would have us...traveling acrobats. It's the only life we've ever known. And my brother would kill for me for sure. He still keeps an eye on Phillip. He's always been protective.

Ema listened, wide-eyed. Charity knew Anne's story. She'd finally gotten the courage to ask about it right before her and Phillip married. None of them were strangers to people with difficult stories. Charity had heard enough of them since they started the circus to fill a novel. Still, she hated that Anne's happy ending wasn't turning out as perfect as she'd wanted. Charity certainly understood that it's hard to tell the heart what it should want.

"I've thought about adoptin' someday. 'Cause it's not likely I'll have any of my own," Ema admitted.

Charity chuckled, "I suppose not, if I'm your type."

She meant it as a joke between friends, but Ema looked at her with intense eyes.

Anne broke the silence, "I would consider it, too. Just not yet. I know how much Phillip wants a baby of our own." After a beat she finally smiled. "And I have to admit, I have been looking forward to telling Phillip's parents that we're expecting. Imagine their faces, knowing they're finally having a grandchild, but he or she won't be a lily-white Carlyle."

They laughed, and the tension finally faded.


Four days later, Anne came into the kitchen still in her housecoat and slapped a newspaper down in front of Phillip. It was nearly noon, and the late morning edition had just come out.

Phillip looked her over. "Did you go outside like that?"

Anne shrugged. "That paperboy stands right outside the door to the building."

Phillip laughed.

"But look!" She turned a few pages. There, in the society section of the paper, was Phillip's first editorial about the circus.

He looked it over. He had decided to start simply and explain how they had begun, how the circus had started as a way to see things you couldn't see anywhere else. And a huge part of that was seeing people who weren't afraid to defy gravity. Phillip was proud of his piece, because he didn't call out Peter Murray directly. Not yet. Still, it was printed in the society section.

"I would feel better if they'd put it with the proper editorials."

"They will," Anne assured him. "Raise a little controversy, and they will. Everyone knows your name. And you're a master with words. They won't be able to bury the story much longer."

"I hope not, because we need all the support we can get."

Anne kissed him on the head. "Master. Words. Keep writing."

Then she sauntered toward the washroom.


The following night, the cast was getting ready to go on stage. It was Phillip's turn as Ringmaster, and he was brushing the lint from his top hat. He liked to have everything set at least fifteen minutes before curtain. He liked to know everything was in order. He checked his coat again and made sure his cane was by the curtain. He smiled to himself, remembering how P.T. used to come running from somewhere backstage minutes before curtain, throwing on his coat and shouting out a new idea he wanted to add for Act Two. It made Phillip long for his friend. Then, he glanced over at Ema.

She was dancing with the cast tonight, as she often did when she wasn't running the show. He was proud of her for that, because she could have taken the glory and the other nights off. As she adjusted her costume, Lettie came from her dressing area. Ema pulled something off the prop shelf and approached Lettie, and Phillip couldn't help but overhear them.

"Lettie?"

The bearded woman raised an eyebrow as she checked the clips in her hair.

Ema offered her a package.

Taken aback, Lettie turned it over a time or two before silently and cautiously opening it.

When the box was open, Ema explained, "It's replacements for most of your makeup I've used. Or 'borrowed.' And a couple of brushes."

Phillip could tell that Lettie was entirely speechless.

"I also wanted to tell you...I'm moving out," Ema went on. "I found a room close by I can afford to rent and the people seem decent. So...I'll be out of your hair. And your stuff."

Still stunned, Lettie started, "Ema...I…."

Ema tipped her head. "Look, I get it. You and I, we're used to being on our own. You like your space. I like mine, however small. It's how we are. And I'm a mess. I know it. So maybe if we have some space...we can find a way to be friends."

Lettie finally nodded. Phillip could tell she was trying to put on an indifferent mask, but Lettie's eyes, dark and glossy and so expressive, gave away that she was touched. "That's kind of you, Ema."

Ema leaned in and kissed Lettie on the cheek. "Thanks for not killing me." She teased. And then she was off to check her makeup.

Phillip checked his watch. Ten minutes to showtime. He watched Lettie carefully close the package she'd been given and stow it on the dressing table until after the show. Something in her face made him cross over to her and break his rule of only concentrating on the show at this point.

"Well, she's out of your hair." He tried to be lighthearted.

Lettie nodded, but he could tell she was troubled.

"Don't tell me you'll miss her?" He half-teased.

She looked like there was a war going on behind her eyes. Looking away, she said, "You know...some of things that make us circus folks different from other people are obvious. They're right on our faces." She reached up and touched her beard. "But some things that set us apart...you cannot see. Some of our differences are more than skin deep, and some of us can admit those differences more easily than others."

Phillip was confused.

Sensing he didn't understand, Lettie said, "If any man were interested in courting me, and luckily there haven't been any, I would turn him away for Ema. I would turn them all away for Ema." She gave Phillip a long look.

He understood. But he had no idea what to say.

She sighed. "It was easier to fight with her than...admit that to her. Because...we both know...Charity is her type. I just...needed her at a distance."

He was still speechless.

Lettie added, "Don't say anything. You don't have to. Just...keep this to yourself. Please?"

Phillip could only nod.


Two nights later, on a bitterly cold Friday evening, Phinn agreed to come back to the circus, but insisted no one know ahead of time. He rode silently in the carriage next to Charity, and she felt like he was glad for the cold. It gave him reason to bundle up in layers, including a dark overcoat, scarf, and hat. He asked for the carriage to take them to the cast entrance. He had conceded to using the wheelchair to get from the carriage into the main tent. Charity was grateful, because of the cold, the dark, and the uneven ground. Phinn could manage to walk upright, if slowly, with a cane, but he could easily fall.

Once they reached the tent, he signaled for Charity to stop pushing the chair. Their girls were at home with Betsy, as he'd insisted this visit be inconspicuous. Very slowly, Phinn stood from the chair. Seizing the cane, he found his balance. Then, one step at a time, he made his way into the tent.

As the Barnums moved slowly through the space, the noise backstage dropped to a whisper. Then, one a time, the greetings came:

"Good to have you back, Barnum!"

"We've missed ya!"

"You heard Phillip hired a girl, right?"

The last comment came from Tom, and Charity could tell he was teasing.

Phinn smiled, trying to be gracious, but Charity knew he could feel their pity, their empathy, and their collective heartbreak.

Once they made it through backstage, they wound their way through the cast tunnels to one of the side entrances to the stands. They sat down on the second row without any fuss or fanfare, and out of the main sight line.

Charity leaned in and asked, "Do you want me to take your coat?"

Phinn shook his head. "No. It's still cold in here."

But she knew. Removing his coat meant twisting his torso, something that still caused him pain. It meant drawing attention to himself. So he stayed bundled, hat and all, hiding in his dark clothes. She leaned her head against his shoulder, trying to love him without words.

When the show began, Charity could feel Phinn tense. She sensed him sit up straighter. He had watched the show before many times during Phillip's nights on, but this was different. She studied his profile, from the tension in his jaw to the slight tilt of his head. This was his show, and she knew he still felt it. The one thing he was right about—it was a part of him. It ran in his blood.

That night, Ema took the stage. For the first time, Phinn saw her in action. His eyes followed every tip of her hat and flick of her cane. He followed her steps, his body nearly humming with the desire to move with her. Charity held onto her husband, as though she needed to pin him to the seat lest he try to jump into the ring.

The show went on, with two acts worth of dancers and jugglers and fire breathing acrobats. And aerialists. It was spectacular, as it was meant to be. When the audience stood for the final applause, Phinn slowly stood with them. He clapped wholeheartedly, and Charity felt like the tide might finally have turned. Perhaps it was possible for Phinn to love his creation from afar. At least for a while. Maybe seeing his show alive and thriving would pull him from him perpetual sadness and give him a goal. Charity left the show feeling hopeful. And no one in the audience recognized him, or at least made a fuss.

Phinn was quiet all the way home. He had said very little throughout the evening, but Charity still felt in good spirits. She helped him to the door of their building and Phillip, who had been gracious enough to ride home with them, helped get him up the stairs to the flat. An hour later, they were settled in bed. The girls were tucked in, assured their father had had a successful evening. Charity sent them to sleep with smiles on their faces, thinking their life might be returning to something like normal. However, as they sat in bed, Charity noticed that Phinn still had said nothing. No comment on the show. Not even "goodnight." He lay against his pillows with his eyes closed.

She was exhausted, again. And her head hurt. But she drew up her strength and asked, "Phinn?"

He looked over at her.

"It was good, don't you think?" she asked.

Phinn nodded.

"And Ema...she does a good job? For now?"

"For now. Ha." Phinn scoffed.

"What does that mean?"

Phinn looked away. "We both know she's in for good."

Charity shook her head. "Maybe. But that doesn't mean that you can't…"

Phinn snapped back to look at her. "Just say it, Charity. She's damn good. And she's different and they love her. She's what I was three years ago. Different. Exciting. And I...I am the thing they have now lost interest in. Three years ago, Phillip was right. They came to see me. But that's over. That's how it goes. Out with the old."

"Phinn, you're not...old."

"It's not about age! It's about...over. I tried to reinvent myself and ended up making myself irrelevant. And everyone is right. I'm done."

Charity sat up on her knees and scooted closer to her husband. "You are not done! It may be different. The show, our life, it may be different. But different doesn't mean done!"

"You can't possibly understand this, Charity!" he exploded. "My father died at forty years old. Forty! And with nothing to show for it! He worked himself to death and left nothing behind! I have been determined to be more than that since the the day he took his last breath! I have so much more to do, and I can't do it from this apartment or from a wheelchair!"

There was a stony silence.

Phinn took a heavy breath. "I don't want to be...forgotten."

Charity sighed. She understood. She really always had. Phinn wanted significance. He'd spent his childhood feeling nothing but insignificance. That kind of upbringing combined with his wildly imaginative personality could only spawn a person who wanted to make their mark on the world. But she was growing weary of trying to convince him that he'd already done so. She thought, after the fire, that he felt he'd made his mark. She thought he'd found temperance. But now, her husband was stuck in a trough of despair, spinning his wheels as they rehashed the same arguments over and over. And Charity didn't know how to help anymore. She was out of different ways to say the same things.

"Phinn." She reached out to touch him and he pulled away. "Please...let's give this more time. Even Dr. Warshaw says it could be a year before you've completely healed from this. Don't decide your future before you have all the answers. Before you've given it enough time."

He snapped back, "In a year, they won't remember my name."

Charity felt a spark of anger. "And that's all that matters? That they remember your name?"

He didn't answer.

Sliding from the bed, Charity crossed to the wardrobe. Shedding her nightclothes, she pulled on a winter dress in dark green and quickly wrapped her hair up in a large hairpin. Pulling on stockings and shoes, she checked herself in the mirror.

"Where are you going?"

"For a walk. I need some air."

"Charity, it's…"

She didn't stay to hear the rest of his sentence. Slamming out of the bedroom and then the apartment, she was still wrapping her black cloak around her shoulders as she stormed down the street. Her thoughts whirled furiously. Charity knew she should have patience. And compassion. She understood her husband was struggling, that the doctor thought his head injury might affect his mood, but she felt like a horse forced to work the same circuit over and over again. She was pulling Phinn in an endless circle that led nowhere for both of them, and she had no idea how to break the chains. She was out of words.

So she walked.

Without realizing it, she walked all the way back to the circus. At this hour, she expected solitude, but she was surprised to find Anne and Ema still in the tent. Their laughter greeted her when she entered. Anne was trying to show Ema how to invert into the lyra, and Ema was clearly not taking to it.

Dropping to the ground, Ema said, "I can dance. I'm a showman. But I'm too tall and too heavy for this."

Charity had to admit, she was right. Ema was at least six inches taller than Anne.

"You're not…" Anne started to argue.

Ema waived her off. "I've got curves. It's fine. I do what I do. You do this. That's how the world goes."

Charity smiled. Ema could occasionally be wise beyond her years. When she wasn't being brash and impulsive.

Anne turned when she saw Charity crossing to the center ring. "Hey? I thought you were long gone."

"I was. And then...I needed some space."

Anne and Ema looked at her with compassion.

From the stage entrance, Phillip called for Anne.

"That's my cue girls. Paperwork is done and the husband calls." Anne winked at them before heading toward Phillip and home for the night.

Ema crossed to the first row of seats and sat down. Charity joined her.

"So are you runnin' from your husband tonight?" Ema asked.

Charity shook her head. "Not running. We just...needed some space."

Ema nodded. "I get it. I mean...I don't. I've never been through anything like what you're going' through, but...I think I get it. For him, it's hard. Seeing me perform. It has to be hard."

Charity nodded in return. "Phinn has never done well with letting other people lead."

Ema looked troubled. "He doesn't think I'm trying to replace him, does he? I mean, I would've auditioned whether this all happened or not. I would've been twice as terrified, if it had been for him and not Phillip. But I would've done it. I know I sometimes...demand what I want. But I'm not trying to replace him. Really."

Charity was touched. And it was reassuring to hear Ema say that out loud, since she could be hard to read.

"Barnum's incredible. What he has created. How he thinks," Ema went on. "But so are you. Don't forget that, or let it get lost. You should perform, when you're ready. Don't stand in his shadow forever. Find your own light."

The warmth in Charity's chest spread further. She wasn't sure how Ema could know that sometimes, just sometimes, she felt like an accessory. Supporting Phinn was incredibly important to her. She was behind the circus as much as him. But it would be nice, someday, to shine in her own way.

"That's kind of you to say, Ema. And you're right. My girls are growing up. I'm more than just a wife and mother and I want to...make my own mark."

After a moment, Ema went on, "So...him coming tonight...it wasn't good?"

Charity struggled. "Yes and no. He loved being here. But he feels the pain of not being able to be part of it more than ever. I just can't seem to convince him that it takes time. I know it feels like it's been forever since August, but for his injuries, it really hasn't been that long. He can't give up. Not yet."

Ema nodded again, listening.

Charity went on, not realizing until this moment how much she needed to let these feelings out. "I just...I feel like he's so far away that I may never get him back. And I miss him. I miss the way we used to talk, all the plans, however crazy, that we used to hash out. I miss laughing. I miss having someone to talk to at night, in the dark. I miss his touch, being held. I miss being kissed, and I miss making love to the man that I..."

Ema was staring at her, eyes wide as though she had not expected such an honest answer.

"I'm sorry." Charity shook her head. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No!" Ema vehemently disagreed. "I know what you mean. For someone like me...there's a lot of loneliness. And not a lot of...touch."

A few months ago, Charity wouldn't have thought twice about the plight of someone like Ema. She might've thought it repulsive. Now, however, her heart was softened and it ached for her friend.

"Ema," she said softly, "someone will love you. You are beautiful and...wonderful. The world might not understand, but one person will. And she's out there."

Ema nodded, still holding Charity's gaze. Charity reached out took Ema's hand in reassurance.

After a minute, Ema said, "I should go. It's late."

Charity nodded and released her friend's hand. Ema stood and started to walk away. Charity rose from her seat. Before she could walk away, however, Ema turned back and closed the space between them. Her lips crashed into Charity's, and Charity didn't stop her. Ema kissed her like a lover who'd been gone too long and Charity melted into it. Then, just as quickly, Ema jerked back.

Charity touched her lips, met the other woman's eyes and whispered, "Ema…"

"I'm sorry! Oh god, I am so sorry!" Ema threw out, and then she ran from the room.

Charity stood there for a long time, her heart beating rapidly as she considered what had just happened. She remembered how angry and hurt she had been when she saw the newspaper depicting Phinn kissing Jenny two years ago. She hadn't understood how he could've let things become even a little ambiguous between him and the singer. Now, she understood. She loved Phinn with all her heart, but for a moment, she'd wanted Ema to kiss her. It was terrifying, and she questioned everything about herself. What did this make her, and was it wrong? Of course it was wrong to kiss someone else, but Ema had initiated it. Did that make it any less wrong? And Ema was a woman. At what point in her life had Charity ever been attracted to another woman? She couldn't say. She was so confused, and scared.

She dropped back onto the bench, put her head in her hands, and cried.