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Topping The Bill
Catherine entered the room, relieved to be out of the cold. The room was dark, despite the morning sun shining brightly outside. She placed a package on the rickety table and removed the threadbare shawl from her head.
“I’m sorry I was gone so long,” Catherine said into the darkness. Approaching the window, she drew back the curtain, letting the light filter in, filling the room, sparkling against the dust hovering in the air. She frowned and picked up the newspaper from the table.
“I had a few pence left over and picked up a surprise.” Catherine walked toward the dark corner between the wall and the old bureau. He was hiding there again; she could see his small boots peeking out from the shadows. Gathering up her skirts, she kneeled down and stared into the darkness. A lump in her throat was forming and she did her best not to let it affect her.
“It’s on the front page,” she said concentrating on the paper, reading. “The Farnaby Brothers invite the public for a onetime special engagement full of wonders never before seen. Presented to special guest of honor, Her Majesty Queen Victoria, the show will guarantee entertainment and excitement for all.”
Catherine looked into the darkness. “You see, the queen herself will be there. That’s not so scary now, is it?” She was answered with silence. She looked down and continued. “The show will include trick riders, trampolines, hoops, singers, dancing horses, lion tamers, juggling clowns, a fire eater and topping the bill, the Talented Wilburys on Trapeze.”
“A fantastic sideshow includes rare animals such as camels, elephants, bears and kangaroos. For curiosity seekers, they promise the world’s most amazing beasts and human–” She couldn’t bring herself to say “oddities”. “Look,” she said, holding the paper up with her finger pointing at a sketch. “You’ve always wanted to see an elephant.”
Silence. Catherine was unable to give any kind of comfort, leaving the guilt in her heart heavier. Standing up, she went to the table and picked up the package. “I’ve got you a special treat,” she said kneeling back down. She unwrapped the package, revealing a loaf of bread. Tearing off a chunk, she held it out to the darkness. “It’s sugar bread, your favorite.”
A hand appeared from the darkness. The small, hairy fingers snatched the bread and disappeared just as quickly. Catherine frowned. “What do you say?”
“Thank you,” uttered a small voice.
“You’re welcome.” She heard the sniffle from the darkness and bit her lip to prevent her own. His bootlaces were haphazardly tied, so she reached down and began retying them. “You mustn’t forget your manners. From now on you’ll have proper breakfasts of eggs and jam, lunches of meats and cheese, proper cups of tea and full course suppers every night. Your manners will define you.”
Catherine didn’t know what else to say. She tugged off another corner of bread and chewed on it, awaiting acknowledgement she feared would never come. The knocking on the door pulled her out of her guilty reverie. She wiped a forming tear from her eye and smiled. “That will be Mr. Bishop.”
Catherine made her way to the door, smoothing out her skirts and regaining her composure. When she opened the door, a tall, dark headed man with striking blue eyes stared back at her.
Bishop hesitantly entered the room, his eyes dashing from floor to ceiling. He held a finely carved cane, apparently not used for walking. He took off his black, silk hat and held it against his colorfully weaved brocade vest. Catherine noticed the shiny gold pin in the folds of his white, satin cravat.
“We haven’t much time, madam.” Bishop’s voice was soft and held the greatest amount of patience. Catherine nodded and turned around.
“Darling, come here.”
The boy emerged from the darkness, peeking slowly from the corner of the bureau. He ran to his mother’s side and buried his face against her skirts.
“Say hello to Mr. Bishop,” Catherine said, trying to grasp his hand and bring him from behind her. The boy finally looked up into the man’s friendly face, awaiting his shock to appear. Yet, it never came.
“He’s just shy,” Catherine explained. “He’s not used to people, you can imagine. There’s nothing wrong with his mind.”
“Yes, madam.” Bishop stared at the boy, unaffected by the thick, dark hair covering his forehead, cheeks and neck. What affected him, however, were the tears dampening his cheeks and his crystal blue eyes.
Bishop cleared his throat, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather purse. “It’s only £25 for now, but there’ll be more in the months to come. That chap with Barnum has full pockets every night. I promise you’ll receive a fair stipend.”
Catherine gripped the purse until her fingers ached. There would be no absolution after this. “Don’t let them call him “dog-boy” or “wolf-child”. His name’s Alfred. He’s named after his grandfather.”
Bishop nodded, comforting her through his sympathetic gaze. “I promise, madam.”
“And you’ll teach him to read? He already knows his letters.”
Bishop placed his hat back on. “I’ll see to it personally.”
Catherine held out her hand, still entwined with Alfred’s fingers. Without resistance, Bishop took his hand and turned towards the door.
Before they left, Catherine stopped him by squeezing his arm. “He was perfect when he was born, you know. Don’t make up some wild story about finding him in an African jungle. Remember, he has a mother out there who loves him.”
Bishop nodded again. “And a father?”
“Indeed.”
Bishop took Catherine’s hand and placed a gentle kiss upon her thin fingers. “I’ll take care of him, madam.”
Before she shut the door, she smiled back at her son, passing her final ounce of strength on to him. “The world is yours now, Alfred.”
Catherine closed the door and fell to the ground crying. She knew she’d never see her child again.
Wendy C. Williford is an unpublished short story writer who is seeking to share her unique style of fiction with readers who also enjoy unique styles of storytelling. She began writing when she was a sophomore in high school and completed her first manuscript when she was 17. Since, she has written many short stories, and experimental stories for friends and family and has written a screenplay. She received a BA degree in History and Creative Writing from Stephen F. Austin State University in 2007. Currently she is working on a novel set in the Scottish War for Independence.
Email: Wendy C. Williford
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