Alina & The Greatest Show on Earth, Part 1

The Greatest Show on Earth

Oklahoma Territory

Sept. 1884

Three crows sat on the dusty fairway outside of our caravan. Their glossy blue-black feathers appeared to shine in the noonday sun. My gypsy* grandmother had always said crows were a bad omen, and my stomach felt tight as I watched the large birds.

I felt my burgeoning middle and felt the sense of panic again. Twelve weeks ago, I had missed my menses. Eight weeks ago, I had been cruelly fired from The Greatest Show on Earth. Mr. Barnum called me into his tent at the back of the arena and asked me if I was with child. There had been talk that I was sick with women's troubles.

Shocked that a man as important as he would ask me such an improper question, I had unwittingly confessed I believed I was. He'd written me my last check and sent me on my way. Surprisingly, he allowed me to still travel with them as the circus employed my family, but I could no longer perform.

I missed being on the trapeze, flipping and flying through the air with my cousins, aunt, and uncle. Our grandmother was a fortune teller, and many people lined up outside her tent to get their palms read and have her gaze into their future in her crystal ball.

She and my uncle were trying to convince Mr. Barnum to let me be a fortune teller, for times were hard, and having me and one on the way to feed and clothe was a hardship on the others.

My growing belly would be easier to cover in the darkened, candle-lit tent behind the table she read tarot cards on. Suddenly, panic rose into my chest, and I put my coffee on the tiny, scarred table we ate around.

 After being fired, I told him - Matthias - the black-haired, blue-eyed son of the lion tamer to whom I had given my heart and innocence under the stars of a Kansas sky. Sweet and adoring, he'd bring me trinkets and baubles, lady's handkerchiefs that he would find after the Big Top emptied each night.

 “Alina,” he would whisper as his lips touched mine. Never had my name sounded so beautiful.

He turned nasty after I said a baby was coming. He pushed me away, told me it wasn't his, and said all gypsies were no-good trash who would trap any man stupid enough to believe our lies. Even though Matthias wanted nothing to do with us, I kept the stolen treasures to give to our baby in a bluebird-patterned cloth knapsack.

One night, my grandmother spat and cursed Matthias outside the lion tamer's caravan, and shortly after, Matthias suffered a scare. A tiger cornered him while feeding, snarling, and pawing at him. He just got away before it swiped at his middle, which would have killed him.  He still didn't acknowledge me or his child, but he stopped the nasty rumors I knew he had spread about me.

I still wasn't settled with the idea he would accuse me of being with anyone else. I was only seventeen, he was twenty, and I had been very naive to men and love. A bit wiser now but also still a bit foolish. I still loved him, and I cried every night once my grandmother snored beside me, knowing he wanted nothing to do with me or our baby anymore. 

The circus moved from town to town around the country, and I was allowed to apprentice with my grandmother. She taught me the art of fortune-telling, and I soon realized she was very good at figuring out the right thing to say to each patron.

If the woman was well-dressed, her gloves were clean, and her hat and clothes were the latest fashion, she usually wanted to hear about a happy marriage or a clandestine love affair heading her way.

If the woman looked haggard and had rough shoes and homespun clothes, she usually wanted to hear her husband would soon find work and her children would no longer go hungry. These women my grandmother took pity on and only charged half but promised to curse them if they told anyone.

 ***

The night we rolled into the outskirts of a small town in the Oklahoma territory, I was feeling very ill and hurried outside to vomit.

 "Are you all right?" asked a man from a few yards away. He was a head taller than my slight frame. Wearing a light brown suit and matching bowler hat, he was not with the troupe. He slid a gold watch back into his pocket and came towards me. I saw he held a black doctor's bag in his other hand.

I just stared at him, not sure what to say. He only looked a few years older than me.

"Did you eat something bad, or are you with child?" he asked kindly. I noticed his hazel eyes were clear and bright and held sympathy for my plight. 

"She's with child. Who are you?" My uncle came around the side of the caravan, smoking, a scowl of distrust on his wrinkled face.

"Dr. Nathaniel Rigby," the man said, holding out his hand. My uncle didn't take it. He just stared at him, the horse saddle he was cleaning, hanging across one arm.

"And what are you doing here?" he asked gruffly.

The doctor seemed taken aback by this less-than-friendly greeting, but my uncle had dealt with rich, intelligent, American men before and usually came out the loser in the interaction.

Dr. Rigby stood a little taller and took his hand back.

"I am here to see Mr. Barnum. He said he required a doctor."

My uncle jerked his head behind us. "Mr. Barnum's tent is that way."

"Yes, I was on my way to find him when I saw your, er, wife being sick.  I stopped to inquire about her health." He seemed flustered and kept waving his empty hand at the fairway and me. I had wiped my mouth covertly with a handkerchief while the two were talking and wanted to get a drink of water.

"She's my niece, and she's no business of yours," my uncle said. "As I said, Mr. Barnum's tent is that way." He pointed with his cigar.

"And where are her parents?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"Dead," my uncle spat. "Move along, Doctor." His jaw was set, and I knew he was angry now.

Dr. Rigby looked at me, seemed to want to say something, thought better of it, and awkwardly touched his chest.

"Right; I'm very sorry to hear that. I'll be on my way. Let me know if you need a doctor, will you?" And he walked away in the direction my uncle had pointed.

"Stay away from that man," my uncle ordered. "Nothing good ever comes from their kind for us." And he went back behind the caravan to continue cleaning the saddle.

I went inside, got my utensils, and walked towards the food tent where workers could get water and other essentials for the troupe. I saw Dr. Rigby being escorted inside Mr. Barnum's tent and allowed myself to be touched by his kindness. No one was happy about this baby, and I just felt worried all the time about what was coming. To have a stranger ask about my health was a new and welcome gesture.

"Who's the handsome man going into Mr. Barnum's tent?" my best friend Marte asked as I took a plate of food and sat down. She was sitting next to Edie and Edie’s husband, Franz.

Franz, Edie, and Marte—like me—were acrobats. Marte was a wonder to watch, flying through the air with effortless grace, and Edie was still learning through training from Franz and Marte.

"His name is Doctor Nathaniel Rigby," I said, trying to hide my blush. I was surprised at how much his presence affected me.

"Well, I may have to stop by with a complaint," Marte teased, giggling.

Franz finished his dinner, kissed his wife, and ran off toward the lion tamers' arena. It was hard for me to be around him since he was friends with Matthias and his father. As if reading my thoughts, Marte frowned.

"Try not to think about him, Alina," she said gently. "How do you know the doctor’s name anyway?" She and Edie exchanged a look.

"He passed by our caravan on his way through and saw me being sick," I admitted.

Edie and Marte exchanged an even more meaningful glance.

"Oh, stop it," I said, rolling my eyes. "It was nothing, just a doctor asking if I was all right."

Marte smirked. "Sure. A young, beautiful, helpless, pregnant girl is hard to resist, even for a doctor just doing his job."

"Well, he said Mr. Barnum asked for a doctor, so maybe he’s here to take care of the whole troupe."

Marte chuckled as she ate. "We’ll see."

A sudden wave of nausea hit me. Without a word, I rushed out of the tent. The world spun, and I barely managed to steady myself before sinking to my knees.

"Whoa, easy there," came a deep, steady voice from behind me. A gentle hand grabbed my elbow, helping me to my feet.

"Thank you, sir," I mumbled, utterly embarrassed. "I seem to have eaten too fast."

He gave me a kind look. "Now, now, miss…" He hesitated, waiting for my name.

"Alina," I murmured, keeping my gaze on his highly polished shoes and the crisp, ironed trousers that looked out of place in the dirt. I could feel everyone’s eyes on us from the tent, the silence heavy. Then Mr. Barnum emerged.

"What’s going on here?" he demanded.

"This young lady was sick," Doctor Rigby replied calmly.

Mr. Barnum frowned. "I thought I told you to stay with your family."

"Well, she has to eat, doesn’t she?" Nathaniel countered.

"She can get food and go back to her tent. You're lucky I let you stay on, girl," Mr. Barnum said, scowling at me.

"Sir, all due respect, but she's hardly showing. Isn't it all right that she eats with the troupe?"

"Stay out of this, Rigby. You're just the doctor. Remember that." Mr. Barnum pointed his cigar in Nathaniel's face and then turned to me. "Eat with your family from now on, you hear me?"

I nodded, wanting nothing but to go back to them and hide away. Doctor Rigby looked as if he'd say something else, thought better of it, and turned back to me, offering his arm. "Allow me to escort you back to your caravan, Miss Alina."

I timidly took it, avoiding Marte and Edie’s glances as we passed by the tent. I pretended the flutter in my stomach was from the baby—not from the warmth of Doctor Rigby’s touch on the small of my back as he guided me away from the watchful eyes of my fellow circus troupe and the glare of Mr. Barnum.

Join me this coming Thursday as we continue Alina and Dr. Rigby's story with The Greatest Show on Earth.

*The term "gypsy" is historical and considered a slur against the Roma people. I use it in my story to keep it historically accurate, but do not agree with the connotations it invokes. No offense is meant by my story.