written by Kate William, created by Francine Pascal
(1992)
One
1866. Wakefield, England.
Theodore Wakefield pressed his boot heels against Raven’s sides, urging the spirited coal-black stallion into a canter. He reined in at the crest of the hill behind Wakefield Manor and turned to wait for his older brother, James, and James’s fiancée, Katerina von Alber.
Narrowing his deep-brown eyes against the sun, Theodore gazed at the landscape spread out before him. A sweep of emerald lawn set off the stern gray stone of his family’s elegant Georgian house. Below the estate, Theodore glimpsed the village of Wakefield, where mill chimneys contrasted with the lofty spire of the thirteenth-century church and clusters of ancient weavers’ cottages. The Calder and Colne rivers sparkled in the distance.
The wind, cool even in summer, whipped the dark, shaggy hair back from Theodore’s forehead. He sat tall in the saddle, his broad shoulders straight. This was his family’s land, and he was proud of it.
It will never be mine, though. Theodore’s eyes came to rest on the form of his brother who, as the elder son, would one day inherit the manor. James was riding slightly ahead of Katerina, as usual, and even from a distance his uninterested expression was easy to see. At twenty-six, James was ten years older than his fiancée, the daughter of a wealthy German count. The engagement had been arranged by their parents; James and Katerina had only met for the first time when Katerina arrived at Wakefield a month ago, and the wedding was to be held in London in one month.
James had barely made an effort to get to know his fiancée, and Theodore felt sorry for her. He felt sorry for James, too. He knew his father, the Earl of Wakefield, had bullied his brother into the unhappy engagement.
Most people considered James the lucky one, but Theodore felt thankful that he was the second son and not his father’s heir. He didn’t envy James the role of future lord of the manor. It brought with it too many burdens and limitations. Unlike James, Theodore was free to do whatever he wanted; he would leave for Cambridge soon to study the classics. And he would never be forced into an arranged marriage with a girl he didn’t love.
James stayed well ahead of the others as they rode west along the River Colne to Wessenden Moor. Katerina stifled a sigh. After a month, her husband-to-be was still a stranger to her. She had stopped trying to make conversation with him; he seemed happiest with her when she kept her distance. Thank goodness for Theodore, she thought. Without him, Katerina would have had no one at Wakefield Manor to talk to.
Theodore kept Raven to a slow pace at Katerina’s side. “If you are tired of trotting, you may go ahead with James,” she said, choosing her words carefully. Her English was improving daily, but it was not perfect.
“I’m still breaking Raven in. It’s good for him to go slow.” Theodore bent forward to pat the horse’s glossy neck. Then he flashed Katerina a grin. “And besides, I prefer your company.”
Katerina flushed with pleasure. “Raven appears as well-mannered as can be. Is he really as wild as you say?”
“He never tolerated a rider until I mounted him for the first time yesterday,” Theodore confirmed.
“What is your secret?”
He smiled again. “You’ll laugh, but I’ll tell you anyway. I talk to him.”
Katerina raised her eyebrows. “Talk to him? What do you say?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t seem to matter what I say. For some reason Raven just responds to my voice. All horses do.”
Katerina nodded. She would agree that there was some-thing almost magical about Theodore’s deep, kind voice.
They reached Blackstone Edge, where an old Roman road made a broad scar across a lonely stretch of moor. The haunting cry of a curlew sent a shiver up Katerina’s spine. She thought of the cozy forests of Germany. I will never feel at home in this cold, barren place, she thought with sad conviction. If she loved her fiancé, perhaps... but James was as cold to her as the moors.
Still, Katerina could not feel entirely lonely with Theodore at her side. Taking her reins in one gloved hand, she reached up with the other to push a windblown strand of flaxen hair from her eyes. “Tell me,” she said to Theodore as they walked their horses along the trail. “Do the ghosts of parted lovers really walk these moors, as I read in the book I found in the manor library?” Wuthering Heights had been written, Katerina knew, by someone who lived in a village only a few miles away.
Theodore laughed at her fears. “You shouldn’t read romantic novels,” he advised. “I have a book for you. It’s called The California and Oregon Trails and it’s about pioneering expeditions in the American West.”
As he told her more about the book, his voice grew animated and his brown eyes gleamed. Katerina caught her breath. His face, with its lofty forehead and sharp cheekbones, straight nose and cleft chin, might have been carved by a sculptor. He was so handsome, twice as handsome, in Katerina’s opinion, as sullen James. “I would like to read it,” she said softly.
Theodore winked at her. “But maybe the Indians in it would scare you as much as the ghosts! The moors are much safer than the great plains of America.”
Katerina tried to smile with Theodore. How could she tell him that she would rather be anywhere in the world than Wakefield, England, engaged to a man who, from all appearances, despised her?
She felt Theodore’s intent, perceptive gaze on her face, and when she glanced at him she saw that his expression had softened with sympathy. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll get used to England. Soon you will love it as much as I do, as if you’d been born here.”
“I will never get used to it!” Katerina cried desperately. “You don’t know, Theodore. You don’t know what it’s like to wish each day would last forever, to wish that time would stand still even though you are unhappy, because anything is better than a future with—” Katerina faltered. An un-comfortable silence fell between them, and she realized she had gone too far. She should not have spoken so openly of her misgivings about the arranged marriage. Quickly, she corrected herself. “I mean that the wedding seems so soon. I wish I had more time to become acquainted with James.”
Still silent, Theodore nodded. Katerina bit her lip. Overwhelmed by her loneliness, tears sprang to her eyes. To hide them, she dismounted quickly. “You catch up with James,” she said with false cheer. “I am going to pick some heather for your mother.”
Nodding again, Theodore spurred Raven into a gallop. Katerina watched him go, tears streaming down her cheeks.
A moment later, Theodore caught up with his brother. James had dismounted and allowed his horse to wander off to graze. Having just flushed some grouse, James took aim. But Theodore’s thunderous arrival caused James to miss his shot.
James lowered the rifle, cursing. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Theodore jumped to the ground, keeping a firm grip on Raven’s reins. “What do you think you’re doing?” he countered angrily. “It’s bad enough that Katerina should be bartered like a piece of property by our family and her own, but for you to show her no kindness at all!”
“Don’t tell me how to treat my fiancée,” James snapped.
“I’ll say what I please. At least I have Katerina’s interest at heart. You don’t care for her at all.”
“Perhaps I don’t,” James said coldly. “Fortunately for you, however, my feelings for her are not your business.”
“If you don’t love her, why are you marrying her?” Theodore challenged.
James smiled grimly. “Ah, little brother, you’re such an idealist. Marriage doesn’t have anything to do with love. I may not be happy with Katerina, but I am perfectly happy to marry her.”
Theodore was disgusted by his brother’s cynicism. “You’re lying. Why don’t you admit it? You don’t want to marry her, but you’re afraid to find out what would happen if you stood up for yourself and refused the match,” he accused scornfully.
James’s expression darkened. “Don’t talk of things you know nothing about.”
“Oh, I know enough. I know that you want to be earl of the manor, to inherit Father’s seat in the House of Lords and play the games of politics and influence. And if you thwart Father’s will in this or any other matter, you risk disinheritance. I know all that, but I also know I would never let Father dictate my actions for me, as if I were a servant or a hound.”
Speechless with rage, James tore Raven’s reins from Theodore’s grasp and leaped on the horse. Theodore was too surprised to stop him. But as James whipped a white-eyed Raven into a gallop, Theodore collected his wits. James was heading the horse directly at a low stone wall. Theodore knew the unschooled horse couldn’t be trusted to take the wall cleanly.
“Don’t jump him!” Theodore shouted after his brother. But the wind seemed to snatch the words from his mouth. Clearly, his brother didn’t hear them—or didn’t heed them. James didn’t alter his course.
In horror, Theodore saw his brother lean into the jump. He saw Raven swerve wildly away from the wall, hurling James against the unforgiving gray stones. And then he heard Katerina’s terrified scream.
Two
Theodore helped his mother into the crepe-draped carriage. He could not see Lady Sarah’s face behind her black veil, but he knew she was weeping. The carriage rumbled off along the lane, and Theodore turned back to the medieval church and its ancient graveyard. The mourners had departed; only Theodore himself, his father, and Katerina remained.
Hands clasped behind the back of his black frock coat, Theodore walked slowly toward the Wakefield family vault, where the Earl stood, his head bowed with grief. Theodore himself felt numb, as if he were dreaming. Surely I’ll wake from this nightmare soon, he thought, and everything will be as it was. He and James had disagreed about every subject under the sun but somehow had managed to remain friends. James couldn’t be gone forever.
But he was. Dead... dead... The word echoed through Theodore’s head. Again, he heard himself speaking it to a hysterical Katerina after they had both run to where James’s crumpled body had fallen. In his mind he saw his mother rise from her seat on the lawn, her hand at her heart, when he had ridden up bearing the corpse of his brother, her elder son. Dead... dead… Theodore heard again the dull echo of iron and stone as the vault door was shut after the interment. There could be no more sorrowful, final sound in the world.
He lifted a hand to Katerina, who had taken a seat on a bench under a yew tree on the far side of the cemetery. Then he put his hand on his father’s shoulder.
The Earl turned. His gray eyes were dry. “My son,” he said simply.
Theodore nodded. He was that; his father’s only son.
“My son... and my heir.” The Earl glanced at Katerina, who had begun to stroll among the headstones. “You understand that you have new responsibilities?”
“Well, yes, I suppose...” Actually, Theodore had thought of nothing thus far but his loss. Now the tragic irony struck him: with his brother’s untimely death, he had become heir to Wakefield Manor.
“The family title and fortune will now be yours,” the Earl continued, his tone cold and detached, “as well as the manor and the seat in the House of Lords. You will accompany me to London this fall rather than go to Cambridge. And Katerina will be yours as well.”
Theodore thought he heard a rustle, as of heavy silk. He glanced over his shoulder, but there was no one there. He looked back at his father. “London? Katerina?” he repeated.
“The wedding will take place as scheduled,” the Earl asserted. “Katerina will be your bride.”
Theodore stared at his father. Had he heard correctly? Had the Earl just blandly informed him that he was expected to be Katerina’s groom in James’s place? The Earl gazed calmly back at his son. He had made a statement, not asked a question. It was clear to Theodore that his father expected him to comply.
Shocked and outraged—on his own behalf, on Katerina’s behalf, and on behalf of his brother, scarcely cold in the vault—Theodore took a step backward, as if his father’s nearness repulsed him as much as his command. “I will do no such thing,” he declared. The words spilled out, hot and bitter. “I want nothing to do with a career in politics, or with Katerina. I will not marry her!”
The violence of his son’s emotions did not seem to trouble the Earl in the least. “You will grow used to the idea,” he predicted. He nodded toward Katerina, now seated on another bench not far away. “She is a beautiful girl, and she is fond of you.”
“Fond, yes, as I am of her. But I think of Katerina as a sister—”
The Earl didn’t wait to hear his son out. Clearly, in his opinion, the matter was not open for discussion. He strode off, his boot heels striking hard against the slate path, leaving Theodore alone among the graves.
The wind rose late in the day. It was howling by sunset, when Katerina went in search of Theodore, who had been absent at dinner. Her heart was in her throat as she scurried with her candle through the cold, vast halls of the manor. At the entrance to the Hall of Portraits, she paused. She usually avoided this part of the house; the long rows of unsmiling painted faces made her nervous. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside.
At the far end of the long rectangular room, she glimpsed Theodore’s tall, elegant form. He stood in a characteristic pose, with his hands clasped behind his back, staring up at the portraits of his ancestors, generations of Wakefields. The Earl and Lady Sarah’s portraits were already on the wall, and James had been sitting for his portrait when he died.
Hearing her approach, Theodore turned. His agonized expression stopped Katerina in her tracks. She had been in-tending to comfort him in his grief, to see if she might soothe him, as he had so often soothed her during the past month. Now Katerina realized that she must do more if she really wanted to ease his torment. She must confess.
“Theodore, I... I heard what your father said to you today. This afternoon, by the crypt.” She ducked her head to hide her blush. It wasn’t easy to admit that she was guilty of eavesdropping, and to have overheard such a conversation! “And I must tell you,” she continued rapidly, not giving him a chance to interrupt, “that I think the Earl is... wrong. The suggestion that you and I should marry is preposterous,” she said, stumbling slightly over the long word. “So please, don’t worry about me. I will return to my parents in Prussia. It is what I want to do.”
Katerina spoke with all the assurance she could muster. But in her heart, she longed for something very different. She didn’t want to go home to Germany; she wanted Theodore to clasp her in his arms and tell her that he did indeed wish her to be his wife, that the Earl’s commands coincided with his own desires.
Theodore began pacing the length of the flagstone-floored hall, Katerina at his side. “My father won’t permit you to leave. He has decided our future for us.”
“You don’t have to act as your brother did,” Katerina argued. “You can refuse to obey your father.”
“And lose my name and my home,” Theodore exclaimed bitterly. “My father would cast me out of Wakefield, and I’m not sure I could bear that. I love this house, this land. I could be happy caring for it... caring for you.” His voice dropped with resignation. “It is my destiny. My duty.”
“No,” Katerina disagreed softly. “Your destiny is some-thing you make, not something that is given to you. You can choose, Theodore. You must choose.”
Not wanting him to see her tears, Katerina gathered her long skirts in her free hand and ran from the hall, her candle flickering as she went.
For hours Theodore roamed the house and grounds, the howl of the rising storm echoing his tumultuous thoughts. Fora while, the choice seemed impossible; he stood to lose so much whichever course he took. But finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he made up his mind. He knew he should lose no time in informing his father of his decision.
Theodore found his parents in the south parlor. The Earl stood in front of the fireplace, staring hard into the dancing flames; Lady Sarah sat on a brocade sofa, a piece of needlework lying forgotten on her lap, and a look of quiet sorrow in her eyes.
Theodore hated to hurt his mother further, but he was afraid there was no way to spare her feelings. He stepped forward to stand before his father. “I have been thinking about our conversation,” he announced.
The Earl nodded approvingly. “I knew that once you considered the matter you would see that—”
Theodore cut him off. “I have seen that I cannot allow you to arrange my life for me. I don’t want to sit in the House of Lords; I will pursue my own career. And I will not marry Katerina, not one month from now, not ever.”
An angry frown darkened his father’s brow. “You will marry her or you are no longer my heir—no longer my son.”
“George!” Lady Sarah gasped. Her needlework fell to the floor as she rose suddenly.
The Earl’s fury seemed to transform him into a giant, but Theodore stood his ground. He remembered Katerina’s inspiring words from earlier that evening. Your destiny is something you make, not something that is given to you. No, he couldn’t back down. He was a man, not his father’s puppet.
Suddenly, Theodore recalled another conversation with Katerina, one they had had on the day of James’s death. Now he knew not only what he must do, but where he must go. Tossing his head back defiantly, he pulled from his finger the heavy gold ring with the Wakefield crest. He pressed the ring into his mother’s hand. “So be it,” he told his father. “I am no longer your son, and you are no longer my father. I will leave Wakefield.”
“And go where?” the Earl demanded.
“To America!”
“If you walk out that door, you will never enter it again. You will never hear a word from us, or see a penny of the money that would have been yours!” the Earl threatened.
“George, no! Be reasonable!” Lady Sarah begged.
“I don’t want your money,” Theodore declared. “My freedom is worth far more to me.”
His mother took a step toward him, her eyes brimming. “Don’t go, Theo,” she implored. “Your father doesn’t mean—”
“I meant every word I said,” the Earl interrupted.
Theodore turned away. “No!” Lady Sarah cried, reaching out for her son. He felt her hand on his sleeve and paused, his heart aching. Before the Earl restrained her from following her son, Lady Sarah managed to slip something into Theodore’s coat pocket. As his mother sobbed, Theodore rushed from the room. He did not look back.
Despite the storm and the late hour, Theodore went directly to the stables. Within minutes, Raven was saddled and bridled. Theodore led the horse into the yard and mount-ed. Spooked by the wind, Raven reared on his hind legs. Theodore grasped the reins firmly with one hand, and with the other reached into his pocket. He felt a cold circle of gold—the ring. The only thing I will have to remember my home and my family by, he thought.
Just then, he noticed a small, white face at a high open window. It was Katerina, the night wind whipping her pale hair. She raised her hand in a gesture of farewell.
Theodore lifted his hand in return. Then he wheeled Raven around and spurred him into a canter. He was leaving Wakefield Manor forever.
Three
As he jostled elbows with the other travelers crowding into the steamer, Theodore had never felt so free. By selling Raven and his pocket watch, he had been able to pay for his passage on a steamer to America and had had enough left over to buy an extra suit of clothes and a few other necessities. Now he was wearing or carrying all of his worldly possessions.
In one hand he held a small satchel; with the other, he jingled the few coins in the pocket of his frock coat. Silently, Theodore berated himself for the sentimentality that had kept him from selling the family ring he was wearing once again on the fourth finger of his right hand. It would have brought a nice sum.
I can always sell it when I get to America, Theodore told him-self by way of an excuse. That’s when he would really need the money, anyway—as he made his way as a stranger in anew country.
As he was pushed toward the railing at the stern of the boat, Theodore marveled at the variety of accents and languages he heard around him. There were English, Irish, German, and Swedish; there were old people and couples with children in tow; there were large families and single men and women. So much variety, and yet they all had one thing in common: All were leaving their homes to seek a new life on the other side of the Atlantic. Through the crush, he glimpsed a lovely young girl in a cream-colored bonnet and a dark blue dress with a high ruffled neck. With her white-blonde hair and sky-blue eyes, she was a bright spot in the gray day. She was Norwegian, Theodore guessed, or Swedish. And then he was swept one way by the crowd and she another. Ah well, Theodore thought. It was not such a big ship. Their paths were bound to cross at some point during the voyage.
A minute later, the steamer began to move. As if on signal, a fine rain began to fall. The other passengers scurried to shelter inside, leaving Theodore alone on deck. As he watched the coastline of England recede, he had a sudden intuition that he would never again see his mother or the land of his birth.
Still, Theodore knew he had done the right thing in leaving. He was not going to be just another Wakefield face on the wall in the Hall of Portraits; he was a man determined to live his own life on his own terms. From now on, he would think only of the future and never of the past. As England faded from sight he strode the length of the steamer to the forward railing in order to look ahead across the seemingly endless expanse of gray sea . . . to America.
Air. I must have fresh air, Theodore thought, stumbling toward the door of the men’s bunkroom.
All around him, his fellow passengers lay on their bunks, limp with the exhaustion of fighting their seasickness, moaning weakly. A few days into the voyage, just as the passengers had adjusted to the rhythms of life at sea, a storm had struck. For twenty-four hours the ship had been tossed about like a toy boat; Theodore was sure there wasn’t a person on board, with the exception of the seasoned crew, who wasn’t sick as a dog.
But now Theodore was feeling a bit better. Although giant waves still rocked the ship, making it hard for him to keep his footing, he made his way up to the deck, gratefully sucking the raw, salty air deep into his lungs.
The gale was far from over. The skies were still glowering, and the ship rode waves as high as houses. But Theodore saw that he wasn’t the only one eager for fresh air. A number of other passengers had made their way onto the slippery deck. They huddled in clusters, their clothing drenched and their heads ducked against the howling wind. A wave crashed against the side of the boat; Theodore was instantly soaked from head to foot. He saw that the same wave had also splashed a young woman, who now stepped nearer to the main mast, seeking shelter.
She seemed to be alone. Her long skirt and petticoats, heavy with water, dragged as she walked. Strands of long blonde hair escaped from beneath the hood of her dark cloak, to be whipped wildly by the wind. It was the girl he’d glimpsed the day he boarded the ship. She looked so small and slender, as if a good gust might blow her right off the deck... She should not be up here alone, Theodore thought. I will offer her my arm.
He had taken only a few steps in the girl’s direction when a large wave slammed against the ship, causing it to list suddenly to one side. Theodore braced himself. Then his eyes widened in horror. The impact had torn a small boy from his mother’s grasp and sent him sliding toward the ship’s railing. Now a second large wave flung the child overboard!
In an instant, a second figure ripped a life preserver from the ship’s rail and leaped into the raging sea after the boy. The young blonde woman! Theodore was awestruck by her bravery. But he also knew there was no way that she could rescue the child. Even with the life preserver, her heavy skirts would drag her down. “A life ring!” Theodore shouted to a group of young men standing nearby as he tore off his frock coat. “Throw in a life ring!” Then, without another moment’s thought, he too jumped into the churning, deadly sea.
Its icy cold stabbed him like a thousand blades, but Theodore barely felt the pain. Kicking to keep afloat, he fought the raging currents with strong arms. Ahead of him, he saw two bodies being tossed like flotsam by the water. They’re still afloat! Theodore thought joyfully. I can reach them!
But as he stroked toward them the figures slipped beneath the water. A life preserver popped to the surface; the girl had lost her grip on it. Taking a deep breath, Theodore dove down into the icy black sea. His arm struck something solid. The girl! But though she still clasped the little boy in her arms, her body had gone limp. Their bodies pulled Theodore down as he struggled to resurface. He pawed the water with his free arm, his own strength failing fast. Soon his own lungs would burst...
Just in time, Theodore broke the surface of the water. Gasping, he blinked against the salty spray. Something white bobbed on a wave before him. A life ring, with a rope attached!
Without delay, the three were hauled onto the deck. The little boy was quickly revived and restored to the arms of his tearful parents. But the girl lay still, her damp face pale. Theodore bent over her, wondering if he should try to press the water from her chest and breathe fresh air into her lungs. At that moment, her eyes flickered open and she took a shaky breath. A smile of relief warmed Theodore’s face. The girl smiled back, weak and uncertain.
“Shh,” Theodore said when she tried to speak. “Rest for a moment. Then we will take you below and get you warm and dry.”
The puzzlement in the girl’s clear blue eyes told Theodore that she didn’t understand his words; most likely she didn’t speak English. But at the same time, he felt that she understood his intentions. As he supported her with one arm she relaxed against him in a trusting fashion.
At that instant, gazing into the brave, mysterious girl’s eyes, Theodore knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
The following evening, Theodore called on Alice Larson at the women’s bunkroom. He’d polished his boots and dusted his top hat; he wore the new frock coat and trousers he’d purchased before leaving England. Alice too had undergone a transformation since the previous day’s adventure. Dressed in a silk gown and an elegant cream-colored bonnet, she smiled shyly up at him, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks rosy.
They had an audience. Theodore grinned at the young women who watched curiously as he took Alice’s arm to escort her down the corridor. When he and Alice were relatively alone, Theodore reached into the pocket of his frock coat and withdrew a delicate rose carved from wood. “For you,” he said to Alice.
She took the rose, her eyes lighting up with delight. She spoke a few words in Swedish, then added in hesitant English, “Thank you very much, Mr. Wakefield.”
“You’re very welcome, Miss Larson. A beautiful rose for a beautiful woman.”
She might not have understood every word of his compliment, but she blushed prettily. She would blush even more, Theodore knew, if she guessed the flower’s true significance! To Alice, it was just a gallant gesture, but to Theodore, the rose was a token of eternal devotion. Unable to present her with one fashioned from gold and jewels, as was the Wakefield family tradition, he had carved one for her from a piece of wood, modeling it after the flower on his signet ring.
As the two strolled toward the massive, noisy dining hall for the steerage-class passengers, Theodore glanced at Alice out of the corner of his eye, his heart pounding. How can I be so sure? he wondered, surprised by the intensity of his emotions. But he was sure—she was the one.
He carried their trays of food to the rear deck of the ship, where he’d had a small table set up, complete with linen tablecloth. Alice smiled with pleasure as he pulled out a chair for her. “This is much better than the crowded dining room,” she said in halting English.
“Much better,” Theodore agreed. “Although your company would make any situation pleasant.”
She tipped her head to one side. “My English is not good—I’m sorry.”
Theodore expressed himself more simply. “I am glad to be with you.” She ducked her head, blushing. “And your English is quite good. You are from Sweden, are you not?”
Alice nodded. “I knew only one or two words of English when I left, but I have tried on this trip to learn a few more every day so I will be ready when we reach America.”
“Why did you leave your native country?” Theodore asked, hoping this question would not seem presumptuous to her.
Her blue eyes clouded with sorrow. “Since the death of my parents, I have been living with friends. I am lonely for family. My uncle who lives in America invited me to join him. He and his family are going west to farm on the... the...”
Theodore supplied the word. “The prairie?”
“Yes.” Alice’s eyes sparkled. “I have heard that in America, there are fields of grass that go on and on, as far as the eye can see, and that any man can own as much land as he can farm.”
“There are great opportunities,” Theodore confirmed.
“And you?” Alice asked. “Do you go to join family in America?”
“No. I have no family,” said Theodore, unwilling to burden her with the somber details of his recent history. “I go to America to start a new life.”
“Will you be a farmer?”
Theodore almost laughed at the thought of himself, an English lord, working the soil like a commoner. But the truth was that he was no longer an English lord; he had a new identity as well as a new life. He would earn his bread by honest labor, like every other man. “I would like to work with animals,” he replied. “Perhaps I will be a horse trainer.”
“A horse trainer! In the circus?”
This suggestion also made Theodore smile. “Perhaps.”
After their meal, the two walked along the moonlit decks, enjoying the peaceful calm of the sea, the clear starry sky, and each other. They talked and talked of their hopes for the future, Theodore pausing patiently to explain unfamiliar words to Alice. At last, reluctantly, he escorted her back to the women’s bunkroom.
He took her hand as she moved to step through the door. “I would very much like to call on you again,” he told her, a serious, hopeful note in his voice.
She squeezed his hand gently. “Yes, I like that. I like you to call on me again. Good night, Mr. Wakefield.”
“Good night, Miss Larson.” His hat in his hand, Theodore watched her disappear into the dimly lit bunkroom. When she was gone, he whispered the sweet name again. “Good night, Miss Larson... Alice Larson...”
Theodore strolled down the corridor to the men’s bunkroom, a dreamy smile on his lips. At the start of the passage, Theodore had felt so alone. Now thoughts of the brave and beautiful Swedish girl who’d captured his heart filled each moment of his day. Theodore had never felt this way about a girl. More than ever, Theodore was glad he had struck out on his own. He was a free man. And he knew what his next independent step would be: He would ask Alice Larson to be his wife.
Theodore sat on the edge of his hard cot, his head in his hands. A week... can it be only a week that I’ve been trapped here? Theodore wondered as he stared with dull eyes at the bare walls of the hospital.
Upon his arrival at the Castle Garden immigration station in New York, a health examiner had quarantined Theodore on the suspicion that he might be carrying typhus. Theodore had not come down with the dreaded, highly contagious disease, but he was still not free to leave the Ward’s Island hospital. And with every monotonous day that passed he grew more desperate. What were the chances that he would be able to find Alice now?
Alice... Alice... It pained Theodore immeasurably even to think the beautiful name. Bored and depressed, he replayed the events of the transatlantic journey one more time in his mind. The great storm—the rescue—the gratitude that had flooded his heart when Alice’s eyes opened as she lay on the deck of the ship. He’d fallen in love with her at that very moment. A bond had been formed between them, a bond Theodore had believed only death could sever.
Death... or quarantine, he thought dismally. Theodore hoped with all his heart that Alice would still be waiting for him when he was finally released. He was certain that fate had brought them together. He had saved Alice’s life so that their destinies might be joined. Leaving England a lonely exile without a home or family, he had arrived in America with the woman who would be his wife. But no sooner had they set foot on American soil than they were parted. Sentenced to quarantine, Theodore had not been able to join Alice according to their arrangement. He had been herded with other unfortunates onto a boat to Ward’s Island. Just as the boat was about to leave the dock, he had caught a glimpse of Alice as she stepped into what must have been her family’s carriage. The slump of her slender shoulders told Theodore that she was discouraged after a long day and evening of waiting for him. Had she given up? Did she think he had deserted her? Worst of all—what if she and her relatives had already left New York?
Independence day! After weeks of quarantine, Theodore was being released!
The ferry shuttling him from Ward’s Island pulled up at the dock on Manhattan. Despite the fact that he was weak from his period of confinement, he sprinted all the way to the immigration station. He wouldn’t let himself entertain the possibility that bad news—no news—might be waiting for him there. He forced his legs to move faster, hoping against hope.
Castle Garden swarmed with people, just as it had when Theodore and Alice’s ship had arrived. Theodore dodged a group of immigrants, then hurdled over a toddler clutching a bedraggled doll. He fought his way to the immigration office.
“A message,” he panted breathlessly. “I must know if a message was left here for me. From Miss Alice Larson, for Theodore Wakefield.”
The young man walked over to a wall of cubbyholes stuffed with papers and packages. When he returned, his hands were empty.
“No note? No word?” Theodore asked desperately.
“Nothing.”
Utterly dejected, Theodore stepped away from the office and allowed himself to be absorbed by the bustling crowd. As he stood among the mass of newly arrived immigrants, he almost doubted for a moment that a beautiful blonde Swedish girl named Alice Larson had ever stepped off the boat here.
He had no way of tracking her down, no way of knowing exactly where her family might have been staying in the city or where they were planning to settle out west. Nonetheless, Theodore knew he must look for her. He walked north up Broadway, peering at each face that passed, glancing in every window, at the occupants of every carriage-for-hire. He kept walking as dusk settled and the lamplighters commenced their evening work; he walked far into the night, up one avenue and down another, searching and hoping.
Theodore’s hope had died by the time the first pale pink light of dawn began to brighten the eastern horizon. He was footsore, hungry, bone-tired... and still alone. His despair was complete.
He found himself in front of the train station. Why not? he thought. New York held nothing for him. But at the ticket counter, he faltered. He realized that he had given no thought to exactly where he would go or what he would do in the New World. Now Theodore thought of the vast continent stretching north, south, and west from the spot where he stood at that moment. He could go absolutely anywhere! But the country that once had captured Theodore’s imagination now seemed to him empty. Without Alice at his side to share the adventures of the New World, his life here would be meaningless.
Theodore’s chin sank to his chest. He fought back the tears of defeat and the desire to give up, to return home to England. No, he decided at last. He couldn’t go back. Because no matter how vast this country was, Alice was there, somewhere, somewhere in the wild, lonely West.
Theodore checked the list of fares. He had just enough money to get himself to Cleveland, Ohio. That wasn’t very far west, but it was a start. “One ticket to Cleveland,” he requested, laying the money on the counter, his hand shaking slightly. It was all the money he had in the world. Theodore twisted the ring on his finger; he thought of the rose he had carved for Alice. “Somehow I will find her,” he vowed, oblivious to the ticket seller’s curious stare. “If I die searching, someday I will find her.”
Four
1884. Pine Bluff, Illinois.
“You are getting much too big to drink from a bottle,” the pretty half-Indian girl lectured. “You are more trouble than you’re worth!”
Theo laughed at the sight of Dancing Wind shaking her finger at the long-legged colt. He watched the foal nuzzle Dancing Wind’s hand and then trot off to join the other horses tethered near the makeshift stables that had been quickly erected by the circus members that afternoon.
“I didn’t think Raven would survive when Redwing died,” Theo remarked. Redwing, Theo’s favorite stunt mare, had died that spring after foaling. “Your nursing has pulled him through. You have a magic touch.”
Dancing Wind was pleased by Theo’s praise, but she felt he gave her too much credit. She shook her head, and the glossy black hair that fell in a shimmering river to her waist swung gently. “You’re the one who’s able to work magic with animals just by speaking to them. You’re the Magnificent Theo W.!”
His eyes crinkling, Theo laughed heartily. “What’s so funny?” Dancing Wind asked. “Isn’t that your name?”
“It’s my name now,” Theo conceded. “The name I took when I joined the circus as a horse trainer eight years ago. But I was born another person.” He winked at her. “Once I was just plain Theodore Wakefield.”
Dancing Wind shook her head again. She didn’t believe him. Surely tall, handsome Theo W., with his twinkling brown eyes, his iron-strong arms, and his ability to talk to animals, had always been magnificent!“
What about you?” Theo asked as they walked among the circus horses. He adjusted Arctic Prince’s tether post so that the snow-white stallion could reach the best grass. “You weren’t born ‘the Dancing Wind of the flying trapeze,’ were you?”
“Of course not!” she giggled. “My adoptive family, the Flying Montecatinis, gave me that identity four years ago. Before that I was just plain Dancing Wind.”
“That’s not so plain. It’s a beautiful name.”
“My mother, Owl Feather, chose it,” said Dancing Wind. “She was an Awaswan Indian from California. My father met her when he went west during the gold rush. I think it was hard for her to leave her tribe, but she loved him.”
“Did he strike it rich?”
Dancing Wind smiled. “He found a nugget or two, nothing more. He always said that my mother was his biggest treasure.” Her smile faded and sorrow shadowed her face.
Theo put a hand on her slender shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Dancing Wind sighed and bent to pluck a wildflower from the waving grass. “I never really knew her,” she told Theo. “She died of smallpox when I was a little child. My father did his best to raise me on his own.”
Dancing Wind paused. She had been with the Bellamy Brothers Circus for three months, since the Flying Montecatinis had left Tommy’s Big Tent Circus because of a disagreement with the management over their billing. No one at this circus knew the full story of how the half-Indian girl had come to be adopted by the Flying Montecatinis, a family of trapeze artists from southern Italy. While Dancing Wind was tireless and without fear when it came to circus stunts and physical labor, it was not so easy for her to share her thoughts and feelings. She was naturally reserved, and as a result of her unusual life, somewhat solitary.
But although she did not know him well, Dancing Wind liked Theo W. He impressed her as strong, kind, honest, and trustworthy. She continued her unusual tale. “My father and I had always moved from place to place, living in rough mining camps and cowboy towns. Four years ago, when I was twelve, he was shot and killed during a saloon brawl. Tommy’s Big Tent Circus was passing through town, and when Mama Montecatini heard my sad story and saw how much I resembled her own daughter, Isabella, she immediately insisted that I come to live and work with them. Ever since then, the Flying Montecatinis have treated me like a member of their family.”
Theo gave her shoulder another sympathetic squeeze. “You’ve suffered more than your share of losses in your short life.”
Dancing Wind smiled bravely. “But for everything and everyone I have lost, I have gained something else to cherish. I am not alone. The circus is my family now.”
The horses settled, Theo and Dancing Wind crossed the train tracks to a hillside path. They hiked up and found themselves on the top of a wooded bluff. Below them, like a river of gold in the last light of the summer day, the great Mississippi River flowed in a broad curve. They sat down side by side on a large flat rock. Dancing Wind tucked her slim legs up under her long cotton skirt and clasped her knees with her arms.
Staring ahead at the red ball that was the sinking sun, Theo said, “The circus is my only family, too.”
Dancing Wind had often wondered why such a handsome man did not have a wife and children. “Did you, too, lose your parents when you were young?”
Theo frowned slightly. “I did lose my parents, but not to death, the way that you did.” He looked at Dancing Wind, a strange, questioning expression in his clear brown eyes. She felt that he was debating something; she hoped he would find her worthy of his confidence. “I left my home in England half a lifetime ago,” Theo explained, “when I wasn’t much older than you are now. I don’t know if my parents are still living or not. We did not part on good terms.”
Dancing Wind nodded but said nothing. “I came to America to start a new life,” Theo continued. “And during the ocean crossing I thought that I would also be starting a new family here. There was a Swedish girl on the boat... Alice.” A pained note crept into Theo’s voice. “We had an understanding. But we were parted on our arrival. I never saw her again.”
He stopped. Dancing Wind sensed that even after all these years he was overcome with emotion at the memory. “Do you... do you still think of her?”
“Not a day passes that I don’t think of her. For years, I searched for her. I traveled the country as a railroad porter, and at every stop I inquired after her.”
“But you never found her,” Dancing Wind concluded.
“No, I never found her.”
Clearly, Theo felt that life had lost all meaning when he lost Alice. He had never married; Dancing Wind guessed he had never even loved another woman.
But like her, he was not entirely alone. “You are happy with the circus, though, aren’t you?” Dancing Wind asked hopefully.
“I am happy,” Theo assured her. His eyes crinkled. “Who wouldn’t envy the life we lead?”
It was exciting, Dancing Wind agreed. They lived in a brightly painted circus train and traveled constantly; she didn’t have to go to school; and their fellow circus members were wonderful, talented, interesting people.
The sun was gone. Around them, the forest had grown dim and shadowy. Theo rose to his feet and extended a hand to Dancing Wind. “Come. We still have chores to do before we rest.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Dancing Wind followed Theo back down the path. True, she still had to mend a torn seam in her costume, and she needed to get a good night’s sleep before the next busy day of practicing and performing. But she would rather have sat close by Theo’s side in the moonlight, talking all night long.
* * *
A month later, the circus camped in Blackberry Hollow, Iowa, not far from the Minnesota state line. Whenever the circus train pulled up at a tiny, seemingly deserted rural town, within an hour a hundred people would emerge from the cornfields, the houses, the stores. As soon as the school bell rang, the children came running to squeal over the baby elephant, the snakes, and the glittery costumes. Families brought their dinners in baskets or pails and picnicked on the grass, all wanting to be first into the big tent for the evening’s show.
That night, Dancing Wind hummed cheerfully to herself as she finished applying her makeup in the curtained-off section of boxcar that served as her and sixteen-year-old Isabella Montecatini’s dressing room and bedroom. She pirouetted in front of the mirror, admiring her reflection. Her creamy-gold complexion glowed with health; her dark eyes, which tilted up slightly at the corners, were sparkling as if she had a secret. She knew that her slender, gently curving figure was the envy of Isabella, who had to struggle against a tendency to grow plump.
“Why the happy song?” Isabella inquired.
Dancing Wind slipped into her sequined outfit. “Why not?”
“Because you’re usually so quiet and serious. You always tell me to stop singing and chattering!”
“Then I must have learned to sing and chatter from you, adopted sister,” Dancing Wind teased. But she had to admit, Isabella was right about her mood. The last time Dancing Wind had felt this happy was when she was a tiny girl. She remembered her mother telling her Awaswan folk stories, her voice a soft, magical singsong. Dancing Wind knew the tune she was humming right now was one she had learned from her mother.
Dancing Wind pinned on a gossamer cape stitched with multicolored feathers. Chalking their hands as they went, she and Isabella hurried together to the big tent. It was packed with townspeople of all ages, clapping and laughing as Max and Sam, the clowns, performed a skit involving a large bucket of water and a clever elephant named Ruby. While the crowd focused on the clowns’ antics, the Flying Montecatinis quickly mounted the ladders to their perches high above the dirt floor of the tent. Poised for her first leap, Dancing Wind looked down and caught the eye of Theo below. He was standing where he always stood to watch her routine, at the edge of the ring opposite her perch. And as always, his silent encouragement gave her wings.
When Max, Sam, and Ruby had taken their bows and the applause began to fade, four clowns positioned themselves below with a safety net, and Angelo Montecatini gave Dancing Wind the signal wave. Gripping the bar of the trapeze lightly, she dove calmly into the open air.
Swing, swing, swing —she arched her body through the air, pumping her long, slender legs, her toes pointed. She soared higher and higher and then let go. After releasing the bar, Dancing Wind tucked into a ball and tumbled through the air, counting the beats in her head as the audience gasped. One, two —she stretched out her arms and felt Angelo’s strong hands grasp her wrists. Now she heard a collective sigh of relief, followed by wild cheers.
A few minutes later, the Flying Montecatinis were bowing to the delirious crowd. Dancing Wind tossed back her glossy dark hair and searched for Theo’s face. When she found it, the pride she saw there made her glow with triumph. Since that night on the river bluff, she and Theo had had many more talks. They were closer friends than ever. In fact, Dancing Wind had started to care for him as more than a friend; she was falling in love.
She wanted to ask someone if this was what love was like—wanting to be with someone during every waking moment, and dreaming of him each night. But she was afraid to confide in anyone, even Isabella. She knew Isabella would only tease her. And she would gossip, too; soon everyone in the circus, Theo included, would have heard about Dancing Wind’s naïve questions.
The last act ended, and the crowd departed. The evening wasn’t over yet for the circus members, however; they had to clean the tent and grounds and tend to the animals. Brooms in hand, Dancing Wind and Isabella swept fresh sawdust over the dirt in the ring. Eager to finish her tasks so she could look for Theo in the stables, Dancing Wind worked quickly. But Isabella leaned idly on the handle of her broom, her black eyes focused on the other end of the tent, where Henrik the lion tamer was helping Sam and Max feed the elephants.
“Don’t you think Henrik is the most handsome man in the troupe?” Isabella asked dreamily.
Dancing Wind glanced at Henrik. His biceps rippled as he lifted a bale of hay, tossing it to Ruby. “He’s a nice man. But I think the Magnificent Theo W. is more handsome,” she ventured.
“Theo W.?” Isabella scoffed. “Why, Henrik could wrestle him to the ground in a minute. Look at Henrik’s muscles and his shiny blond hair!”
Dancing Wind stuck her tongue out at Isabella and finished her sweeping. “I’m done with my half,” she announced. Before Isabella could beg her help with the rest of the chore, Dancing Wind dashed off.
She found Theo with the horses. He greeted her with a warm smile. “You’re just in time to feed our little friend.”
He had prepared a mash for Raven, whom they had recently weaned from the bottle. Dancing Wind held the bucket while Raven ate greedily. “If he keeps eating like this, soon he’ll be as big as his sire, Arctic Prince,” she predicted.
“He’ll be a fine horse,” Theo said with satisfaction. “He has as much spirit as his namesake.”
“His namesake?”
“The horse I sold to pay for my passage to America was also named Raven.”
Raven finished his meal. Kicking up his heels, he cantered off. Dancing Wind watched the horse go. A Raven in the Old World, a Raven in the New, she thought. A long-lost love whom Theo had never forgotten. Did he live completely in the past?
She didn’t realize she’d spoken her question out loud until Theo started. “Do you really think I live in the past?” he asked.
Dancing Wind’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean—”
Theo shook his head. “No, you’re right. I have been living in the past, for many years. But I’ve begun to realize that I may have been denying myself much happiness.”
He stepped closer to her. Dancing Wind turned to him. She could see his face clearly in the light of the full, white summer moon. As Theo studied her face, raised expectantly to his, she knew that his thoughts had shifted. He was no longer thinking of the past, but only of the present moment. He was thinking of her.
Theo put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her toward him. “Dancing Wind,” he said, his voice husky.
She leaned forward, her eyelids dropping shyly. Her dreams were coming true. Theo was going to kiss her!
Before their lips could meet, Isabella’s voice pierced the night. “Dancing Wind!” she called. “Come to bed!”
Theo stepped back from the near-embrace, his grip on Dancing Wind’s shoulders loosening. “It’s late,” he said, once again friendly and calm. “You’d best go in.”
“Good night, Theo,” she whispered.
As she hurried across the pasture toward the circus train, Dancing Wind was both disappointed and encouraged. They had come so close to sharing their first kiss! It had been many years since Theo lost his heart’s desire, and she sensed he was at last ready to love again. He felt something for her, of that Dancing Wind was certain.
Five
1884. Prairie Lakes, Minnesota.
The circus had been in Prairie Lakes for three days; after the second show that evening, they would break camp and move on. That afternoon, as the usual crowds of curious towns-people milled about the grounds, Dancing Wind wandered with them. It had been more than a week since the night in Blackberry Hollow when Theo had almost kissed her, and he hadn’t once tried to kiss her again!
A sudden inspiration struck Dancing Wind—she knew whom she could go to for advice about her relationship with Theo. Laura the Lovely was the circus’s bare-back rider and one of Theo’s good friends. Laura must know all about love, Dancing Wind thought; it was no secret that she and Angelo Montecatini were going to be married soon.
Laura was in the tent that served as a stable, grooming her golden mare, Morning Star. Dancing Wind glided over to her silently so as not to catch the attention of Theo, who sat not many yards away mending Arctic Prince’s bridle.
Laura gave Dancing Wind a knowing smile. “Are you looking for your special friend?”
“Actually, I want to talk to you.” Dancing Wind’s cheeks flamed. “I—”
At that moment, Bucky the Clown started yelling at someone who’d tried to sneak into the horse tent. One of the many young boys from town who were always hanging around, Dancing Wind presumed. Then, as Dancing Wind watched in surprise, a small blonde girl scampered by with Bucky in hot pursuit.
Laughing, Laura dashed after the pair. Sweeping the little girl up in her arms, she faced Bucky. “It’s all right with me if she hangs around,” Laura declared, kissing the child on the cheek. “Is it all right with you, Theo?”
Resting her arms on Morning Star’s broad back, Dancing Wind watched Theo. She saw him glance up and nod amiably. Laura set the child on her feet. Immediately, the little girl marched boldly up to Arctic Prince. “My name’s Jessamyn Johnson,” she announced to the horse. “What’s yours?”
Theo stepped over to her side and squatted so he was on eye level with her. “This is Arctic Prince, the star of the circus,” he told Jessamyn. “Have you ever ridden a horse this big?”
“I’ve ridden one twice as big!” Jessamyn boasted. “But never one as pretty. Can I ride him?”
“First we have to put his bridle on.” Theo explained the procedure in a patient, friendly tone, his eyes never leaving the little girl’s face.
Laura the Lovely held the child up so that, with Theo’s assistance, Jessamyn could slip the bridle over Arctic Prince’s ears. “Well done!” Theo commended her.
Jessamyn clasped her hands, clearly pleased with herself. Dancing Wind smiled. “You have an accent,” the little girl said to Theo. “Are you from another country?”
Theo stroked his chin. “I guess I do still have a bit of an accent. “Yes, I’m from England.”
“My mother has an accent, too,” Jessamyn said. “She came from Sweden. But that was before I was born. I’m American.”
Theo’s expression became intent. “Sweden? Is your mother—is your family coming to the show tonight?”
Jessamyn nodded. “We’re going to eat a picnic dinner and then watch the second show. I wish we could see both performances!” she added wistfully.
“Well, this is better than watching.” Laura lifted Jessamyn onto Arctic Prince’s back. “You get to ride on a circus horse of your very own!”
Laura led Arctic Prince to the field outside the tent, keeping a careful eye on Jessamyn. Theo watched them until they disappeared from sight. When Dancing Wind approached him, she was surprised to see that he appeared to be in the grip of a very powerful emotion. He blinked at her, as if for a moment he didn’t recognize her. Dancing Wind laughed. “You look startled, as if you’d seen a ghost!”
“I feel as if I have,” Theo confessed. “That child—Jessamyn. Dancing Wind, I think she may be my Alice’s daughter!”
My Alice’s daughter. What could he mean? “She can’t be,” Dancing Wind breathed, a worried frown shadowing her face.
“She’s the very image of Alice,” said Theo. “And she said her mother is Swedish.”
“But many Swedes have settled in this region. What are the chances—”
Theo dismissed this consideration with a wave of his hand. “Dancing Wind, tonight I may see my true love for the first time in many years!”
All color drained from Dancing Wind’s face. Theo was too caught up in his own excitement to notice. “If it is the same woman, I’m sure she will be happy to see her old friend,” Dancing Wind predicted cautiously.
“We were more than friends,” Theo said. “Our lives were one. Now the hand of fate has brought us together again, as it did on the ship many years ago. It has brought her back to me.”
“As you said, many years have passed,” Dancing Wind reminded Theo. “She’s probably a married woman, with a family and a home. If you are correct, you just met her child!”
But Dancing Wind’s desperate words made little impression on Theo. “Time will not have changed her,” he predicted. “She will still be my Alice—young and beautiful. And the feelings we once shared... such feelings never die.”
“But what can you do about these feelings?” Dancing Wind bit her lip, willing herself not to cry. “What can you do if she’s married to another man?”
Theo shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I must go to her after the performance tonight. We’ll talk. And if our hearts tell us to...”
His words trailed off. To what? Dancing Wind wondered. To leave your present lives and the people who depend on you in order to pursue a foolish, romantic dream of yesterday? She took a step backward, then another. Theo’s eyes were distant and dreamy; he was no longer aware of her. He didn’t even notice when she turned and ran from the tent, her own eyes blurring with tears.
Dancing Wind had never been so distracted before a performance. The possibility that Theo might have found his long-lost love had shattered her usual cheerful tranquility. As she got ready for her act her heart ached with pain and jealousy. Over and over she replayed the scene of Theo telling her his plan to seek out Alice. He had talked to Dancing Wind without seeing her. Did he ever really have feelings for me? Dancing Wind wondered as she and the other Flying Montecatinis mounted the ladders to the high trapeze.
She knew she must concentrate on her act right now, but her mind was racing with jumbled thoughts. She could see Theo standing off to the side far below, in the spot where he always stood during her act. More than ever, she wanted to shine in his eyes.
The signal came, and Dancing Wind flew from her perch like a bird. Despite her preoccupation, she knew her routine well, and she and Angelo executed their first stunt flawlessly. The crowd roared. Then it was Isabella’s turn to tumble through the air into the grasp of her father, Guillermo.
For a few moments, while Guillermo and then Angelo were performing solo stunts, Dancing Wind and Isabella crouched together in a perch, catching their breath. Again, Dancing Wind sought out Theo. If she could only catch his eye—if he would give her just one smile...
But Theo wasn’t looking up at her. He was gazing out at the crowd, searching for someone who might be seated there. He was looking for Alice.
Bitter tears choked Dancing Wind. Every evening for the past several months Theo had watched her performance, every evening until this one, until Alice had entered his thoughts again. Now, as he turned his back on her, Dancing Wind felt her heart breaking. She had to do something, something to make Theo really see her again.
“I’m going to try the triple roll,” Dancing Wind whispered suddenly to Isabella.
Isabella stared at her. “You mustn’t. It’s too difficult. You’re not ready!”
Dancing Wind shrugged off Isabella’s words. Isabella was much too cautious. She never liked to try anything new. “I can do it. Just watch!”
An instant later, Dancing Wind sprang from the perch, her arms extended. Angelo, swinging by his knees from a bar, caught her hands. He swung her, higher and higher and higher. Soon he would toss her to Guillermo.
The moment came. Angelo released Dancing Wind and she tucked into a tumble as she sailed through the air, hugging her knees. One rotation, two... she went for the extra roll.
Still in a tuck, Dancing Wind heard Guillermo catch his breath. He wasn’t prepared for her triple roll. Quickly, she unfolded her body, stretching her arms toward him. But he was already swinging back, away from her. Though he extended his body to its fullest length, holding onto the trapeze with his feet and ankles rather than his knees, he could not quite grasp her. Their fingertips brushed, and then Guillermo was gone. Dancing Wind fell through empty space.
She had been in a trancelike state, focusing only on the triple roll and not on Theo. But as soon as she felt Guillermo’s hands slip away from her, Dancing Wind snapped out of her trance. Instantaneously, she was aware of her danger. She was plummeting downward with dizzying speed!
As she fell Dancing Wind heard the frightened screams of the audience. Squeezing her eyes shut, she willed her body to go limp so it would bounce harmlessly on the safety net.
Dancing Wind’s body hit the net. But she didn’t bounce. Instead, there was a ripping sound. The net had given way! Her fall only partially broken, Dancing Wind plunged toward the ground. She opened her mouth to cry out Theo’s name, but before she could, her body made contact with the hard earth floor of the circus tent. Pain exploded through her bones, and the world went black.
Six
Theo was only half aware of the Flying Montecatinis’ trapeze act. Every few seconds, he quickly scanned the blur of faces in the audience. Jessamyn had said her family would buy tickets for the second show that night, but what if they’d decided to attend the earlier one? What if Alice was in the tent at that very moment?
Theo’s eyes came to rest on a blonde woman, and his heart jumped to his throat. No, it wasn’t her, he realized, half disappointed and half relieved.
At that instant, the woman he was watching put her hand to her mouth, her eyes widening with terror. There was a burst of horrified exclamations from the crowd.
Theo whirled on his heel in time to see someone falling. Dancing Wind!
“No!” Theo dashed forward. The net hadn’t saved her; he could see her fragile body crumpled on the ground. “No!” he cried again. Please let her be alive. Please don’t let her die, he prayed.
Others were hurrying to Dancing Wind’s side, but Theo shoved them out of the way. As he approached he heard her weak voice. Her eyes were closed; she was only half conscio
