The Orphan's Tale(46)

A commotion at the far end of the backyard pulls me from my thoughts. Herr Neuhoff storms across the grounds, face red, cigar clenched between his teeth. At first it seems he is going to berate Peter for his act again. But he is headed toward one of the Polish laborers. Milos, I think he is called, though I do not know him well. Milos is soldering a piece of tent pole, the gun shooting sparks in all directions—including toward a nearby bale of hay. Fire is a grave concern for the circus. Herr Neuhoff speaks to Milos in a low voice, trying to keep the matter quiet, but his voice rises belligerently.

Herr Neuhoff grabs the soldering gun and points in the distance. “You’ll be sorry!” Milos swears. He tosses his hat to the ground, then picks it up and storms off again. Did Herr Neuhoff fire him? The circus is like a family, workers returning each year, and Herr Neuhoff is generous to them even in retirement. But carelessness cannot be tolerated.

Peter crosses the field to confer with Herr Neuhoff. I start toward them, still holding Theo. They stop talking as I near, as though they do not want me to hear. My annoyance flares. I am not some child to be sheltered. For everything I have achieved, though, I am still a woman, my status less. “What happened with the Pole?” I demand.

“I had to let him go. I had no choice. I’ll find him and smooth things over, give him a good letter and a bit of severance.” Herr Neuhoff’s voice is uneasy.

“Letting go of an angry worker could be dangerous,” Peter says. He is worried, I can tell, about protecting my identity. What if Milos tells someone, or goes to the police? As Peter watches me, I catch a flash of something deeper in his eyes. Concern, and perhaps something more. I recall what Noa had said about Peter’s feelings for me. Maybe she is right. I brush the notion aside once more.

“There are all sorts of dangers,” Herr Neuhoff retorts, a veiled reference to Peter’s political act.

Peter does not answer but stomps away. I wonder if Herr Neuhoff will go after him. Instead, he gestures in the direction of the train, beckoning me to follow. “I need to speak with you.” He stops at the door, uncomfortable in the women’s carriage, even though it is empty.

Herr Neuhoff coughs, his face reddening. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and raises it to his mouth. When he pulls it away again, it is tinged with pink. “Are you ill?” I ask.

“My heart condition,” he rasps.

I am alarmed. For all of the years I have known him, I had no idea. “Is it serious?”

“No, no,” he replies, waving his hand. “But I catch every cold that comes by. The damp weather doesn’t help either. As I was saying, the worker, Milos...if I offer him a severance, then word may get out and others could ask for money. But if he goes to the police...what do you think?”

I falter. There are things I can tell him that I learned from Papa. I am still a guest here, though. This is not my circus, but another time and place. I proceed cautiously. “It is a difficult decision. Everything is so different now.”

“I wanted to talk to you about something else,” he says, switching topics abruptly, and I realize that Milos isn’t the real reason he has asked me to speak. “Astrid,” he begins, using that gentle tone, the one that means he is bringing me bad news. I brace for some confirmation of what had happened to my family, the awful truth that deep down I already know. “You understand that the circus is in a very delicate position right now.”

“I know,” I reply. “I’m not sure what I can do to help.”

“For one thing, you need to speak to Peter about the act.”

This again. My worry is replaced with annoyance. “We already discussed it. I told you—we can’t stop him from being who he is.”

“Surely if you explained to him the jeopardy it is causing,” he presses, “if he had to choose between your well-being and the show...”

“He would choose me,” I say firmly, forcing more confidence into my voice than I actually feel. After what had happened with Erich, I could never be certain of that again with anyone. “But I don’t want him to have to choose.”

“You must,” he insists. “After the show the other night, the German seeing you...”

He knows. My stomach leadens. “How did you know about that? Did Noa tell you?” Of course she had. I had confided in no one else.

“Astrid, that doesn’t matter.” A flash of admission crosses his face, confirming my suspicion. “What’s important is that the circus has drawn more scrutiny than it can afford. I had a visit from an inspector earlier today.” A rock forms in my stomach. An inspection—on a Sunday. Were they looking for me? “They are threatening to send us back,” he adds.

“To Germany?” My whole body tenses.

“Possibly. Or perhaps somewhere in Alsace-Lorraine.” The border region, which had gone back and forth between Germany and France for centuries, had been swiftly annexed by the Reich at the start of the war. Going to Alsace and returning to Germany were one and the same.

“Would they really do that, so soon after we’ve set out?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

Herr Neuhoff coughs again and rubs at his temple. “They almost didn’t let us go on tour this year at all.”

“Really? I had no idea.” There is so much he keeps to himself.

“I know that going back is not ideal for your situation,” he adds. For a second, I wonder if he is threatening me. But his voice is neutral, simply stating the facts. “You see now why I need Peter to stop.”