The Orphan's Tale(61)

But Berta, the woman in charge of the sick car, appears in front of us, her immense girth blocking my way. “You can’t come in here,” she informs me.

“Theo’s sick,” I protest. “He needs me.”

“Herr Neuhoff’s rules—no healthy performers allowed in the sick bay.” Viruses make their way through camp like wildfire: dysentery, grippe. A bad case of influenza could take down the entire show.

I peer over her shoulder. Theo lies on one of the berths, tiny and alone, buttressed by a rolled blanket so he will not fall off. “Is he all right?”

Berta’s brow wrinkles with concern. “A high fever,” she says, not shielding me from the truth. “We’re doing everything we can to bring it down, but it’s so difficult with the little ones.”

My stomach twists. “Please let me help.”

She shakes her head firmly. “There’s nothing you can do.” She closes the door.

Astrid, I think, running for the sleeper car. But her berth is still neatly made and she is not there. Desperately, I race from the train across the fairgrounds in the direction of Peter’s cabin, the only other place Astrid might be at this hour. It is nearly ten, late to be showing up unannounced. Too worried to care about interrupting sleep or whatever else they may be doing, I knock on the door. A minute later, Astrid appears in a dressing gown. It is the first time she has been with Peter at night since we went on the road. Taking in her tousled hair, I am furious: I had left Theo with her—how dare she hand him off to someone else?

But I cannot risk angering her now. “Help me,” I beg. “It’s Theo. He’s sick.”

Astrid stares at me with cold blank eyes, then closes the door in my face. My heart sinks. Even if she hates me, surely she won’t refuse to help Theo. But then she reappears dressed and starts toward the train. I run to keep up.

“He was fine when I put him down earlier,” Astrid says. “Elsie was minding him and you said you would be right back.” Her tone is accusing. “How long has he been sick?”

“I don’t know. They won’t let me see him.” I follow her onto the train.

At the entrance to the sick car, she turns back, holding up her hand. “Wait here,” she instructs.

“Theo needs me,” I say, grabbing her arm.

She shakes me off. “You won’t be doing him any good if you get sick, too.”

“What about you?” I press.

“I’m out of the show at least,” she replies. “But if you get sick the act will be ruined.”

It is about the show, always about the show. None of that matters to me. I just want to see Theo. “There’s no time to argue,” Astrid says. “I’ll be right back.”

Astrid closes the door and I wait outside, hearing Theo wail. Guilt surges through me. How could I have left him? An hour ago, I’d been with Luc, secretly glad to be freed for a moment from the burden of taking care of a child. I hadn’t meant it, really. And even though I know it is not possible, part of me wonders if that somehow brought him danger.

From the corridor between the two railcars where Astrid has left me to wait, I gaze out the grimy train window in the direction of the village. We have no doctor and the only medicines are the home remedies that Berta keeps in her kit. I would ask Luc for help if I thought it would do any good. But we can’t risk taking Theo to a town because of the questions it might raise about who he is and where he came from. Surely someone will discover the secrets we’ve been keeping when they see he is circumcised.

Suddenly the wailing inside the sick car stops. I am at first relieved that Theo has settled down, but I can’t help thinking that something is wrong. I throw open the door, not caring about the rules. My heart stops. Theo has gone stiff and his arms and legs jerk. “What happened?” I cry.

“I don’t know,” Astrid says, her face more scared than I have ever seen.

Berta rushes over. “A fever fit,” she says, then turns to me. “He needs a bath of cool water. Fetch it quickly.” I stand paralyzed, not wanting to leave Theo again, even for a single second. “Hurry!” she barks.

I run from the train and fill the first bucket I see at the pump. The water splashes out the sides so it is only half-filled by the time I reach the sick car. Astrid takes it from me at the door and pours it into the large porcelain bowl that doubles as a baby bath. “Another!” Berta calls. When I return, I see her putting a cup of clear liquid in the tub. “Vinegar,” she explains.

I start toward Theo but Astrid holds up her hand, warding me off. “You can’t come in.”

I try to push past her. “I have to see him. If something should happen...” I can’t finish the thought. Suddenly I am back at the girls’ home, my own child being ripped from my arms.

Astrid takes Theo from Berta. Seeing the concern on Astrid’s face and the tender way she holds him, I know that she loves him as I do. Still I ache to have him in my arms. Astrid lowers Theo into the bath. I hold my breath, willing him to fuss as he normally would. He remains still, but his body seems to relax in the water. “I remember now,” Astrid says, not taking her eyes off Theo. “They call it a fever seizure. One of the circus children had it a few years back.”

“A seizure?” I repeat. “It sounds serious.”