The Orphan's Tale(65)

Though I do not look bad yet, I feel awful. The nausea that had started that first day on the trapeze has worsened, causing me to vomit three or four times a day. There is no extra food to spare once I have wasted mine being sick, though Noa tries to slip me bits of her own rations when I let her. But it doesn’t matter—I cannot hold down a thing. My empty stomach burns like I have eaten something too spicy all day long and at night, too, keeping me awake.

“Eat something,” Peter pled the previous night. “For the baby.” He’d brought my dinner to the train when I did not come to the cook tent. It was a watery stew, enriched with bits of meat and turnips he’d added to it from his own rations.

But the once-appetizing aroma of onions made my stomach turn and I pushed it away, gesturing in Noa’s direction. “Give it to Theo.”

Ironically, as I’ve grown sicker, Peter has brightened. The baby has changed everything for him. I haven’t seen him drink at all since I told him and the melancholy in his eyes is gone, replaced by merriment and hope.

I pull out my valise to put on some powder to conceal my paleness before the meeting. The other girls hurry from the carriage, but Noa lingers behind with Theo. I pat my hair and start out.

“Wait,” Noa says. I turn back. She is biting her lip as if she wants to say something. Instead she thrusts the baby at me awkwardly. “Can you hold him while I change? He never fusses at you.” I take him. It is true that while I had never cared for a baby before, Theo seems to warm to my arms.

“Ready,” Noa says a few minutes later, her voice a bit pinched, as if nervous or excited. She is dressed more smartly than I would expect for a Sunday, too, her skirt and blouse crisply pressed. I carry Theo outside. The late-day sky is an eggshell blue. The air is balmy and fragrant, the first real spring evening. We pass the big top. Despite feeling ill and having no appetite, I have not stopped flying. I swing harder and higher than ever—perhaps harder than I should. I am not, of course, trying to jeopardize the pregnancy I had so dearly wanted all my life. The baby would have to understand, though, that this is our life, as well. I need to know that they can exist together.

Closer to the backyard, I can hear the murmur of the others gathered. But as we round the corner of the tent, the voices hush. The full circus is present, performers and laborers intermingled. They stand not in the main part of the backyard close to the big top. Rather, they have assembled at the far edge, where the trees meet the clearing in a kind of semicircle, forming a grove.

A canopy of leaves has been prepared, branches secured across the outstretched limbs of two oak trees. Peter waits beneath it beside Herr Neuhoff, face bright with anticipation, regal in a dark suit and top hat I’ve never seen. I wonder if he brought it with him from Russia. The crowd seems to part as I near into two distinct clusters, forming a sort of aisle down the middle between them. My skin prickles: What is going on?

I turn to Noa. She smiles, a faint twinkle of excitement in her eyes, and I realize she had stalled me with the baby on purpose. She hands me some wildflowers, wrapped with string. “I don’t understand,” I say.

Noa takes Theo from me and brushes back a lock of hair that has fallen close to my face. “Every bride needs a bouquet,” she replies and her eyes dart toward Peter, as if unsure she should have spoken.

Bride. I look at Peter questioningly. But his gaze is unflinching and intent. He means to marry me here, in front of the circus. A wedding. The ground seems to wobble beneath my feet. There can’t really be one, of course; our union is against the law in France, just as surely as my marriage to Erich had been in Germany. It would certainly never be recognized by any government. But still, to take my vows with Peter, and have our child born in wedlock, to a real family. In my wildest dreams, I had not imagined it.

One of the cellists from the orchestra begins to play, a song too soft and somber to be a wedding march. The circus folk stand in a semicircle, faces aglow, a little bit of life affirmation, for each so very needed. I take in the smiling expressions around me. Have they guessed my secret? No, they are happy for this moment of light in the darkness—and for us. For the first time since leaving my family in Darmstadt so many years ago, I feel as though I am finally home.

Noa leads me forward to the canopy. I reach for her, wanting her to stand up with me so I am not alone. But she puts my hand in Peter’s and takes a step back.

I look into his eyes. “You planned this?”

He smiles. “I suppose I should have asked you,” he says, but then he lowers to one knee. “Astrid, will you marry me?”

“It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?” I chide. There is faint laughter from the others. My mind whirls: I had not planned to get married again, to Peter or anyone else. Marriages are about forever, and there is nothing certain about that anymore. I had not planned for the baby or any of this either, though. Peter is kneeling before me, his face so hopeful. He wants to make us a family.

And so do I, I realize. I see then as if watching a movie my life with Peter since I had joined the Circus Neuhoff, how he has protected me, and how close we have grown day by day. The nights without him are empty and no space complete until he is there. Noa had been right, not just about Peter’s feelings, but mine. He had gotten into my heart when I wasn’t even looking. Part of me curses myself for letting it happen. At the same time, though, I would not want to go forward any other way.