With a coroner father and a healthy imagination, Lydia well knew the risks they faced should the largely male circus population discover them. But Theresa would never retreat. Her big heart outweighed reason.
Lydia sighed. She couldn’t leave Theresa behind. If they worked together, they might make it out unscathed.
Maybe.
“Fine. But you know this is illegal, right?” Lydia wedged her hands between the hard-packed ground and rough canvas.
Theresa joined her. “Not when I’m paying for her. I’ll slip a note and the outrageous sum Mr. Beadle demanded beneath the ringmaster’s wagon door on our way out. I’m not giving the man a chance to raise his priceagain. I barely had enough from my painting commissions to pay this amount.”
Unladylike grunts escaped as they pulled upward against the tension formed by two tent pegs and the weight of the canvas. They managed to raise an opening about a foot high.
Theresa dropped to her stomach and squirmed her way through. Once on the other side, she held the canvas for Lydia. “Be careful not to stand too quickly. I bumped my head on the underside of a wagon.”
Lydia eyed the insufficient opening.You can make it. Just think small.
She thrust her arms and head through the hole, then clawed at the packed dirt. Filth and pebbles wedged painfully beneath her nails. With toes jammed into the ground, she wriggled until, finally, her bust cleared the opening.
At least Theresa had insisted on wearing trousers. With all the flailing she was doing with her legs, her thighs would surely have been exposed in skirts. Now to get her lower half through.
She glanced around. A few low-burning lanterns hung from wagon fronts and revealed there was nothing within reach. Theresa didn’t weigh enough to hold down a sheaf of paper, but she was all Lydia had.
“On the count of three, pull me.” She dug her toes deeper into the ground outside the tent and grabbed Theresa’s arms at the elbow. “One. Two. Three!”
Theresa yanked. Her grip slipped, and she tumbled against the wagon.
Lydia didn’t budge, but the commotion woke the wagon’s occupant.
Yellow-and-black eyes flashed in the dim light.
A tiger’s clawed paw shot out the cage bars toward Theresa.
Lydia grasped Theresa’s legs and tugged them from beneath her.
Theresa yelped as she fell.
The tiger growled, clearly disgruntled at having missed out on a midnight snack. The paw disappeared, and padded feet paced the small confines of the cage.
Lydia fisted her hands to stop their trembling. Praise God for His protection.
“Thanks for the rescue. Now let’s get you inside.” Theresa crawled to the canvas stretched tight over Lydia’s waist, and tugged.
Unfortunately, without standing and becoming prey for the tiger, her attempts were futile.
Lydia tapped her forehead against the cool ground. Of course she was pinned in place. It was exactly the thing she’d write to build excitement and anticipation for the reader. But this was not fiction, and the anticipation of being caught was making her nauseated.
Canvas bit into her as she twisted onto her side. “Find something to use as a wedge.”
Theresa crawled beneath the tiger’s wagon and disappeared from view.
Rummaging came from the other side of the tent, accompanied by the annoyed huffs, rumbles, and bleats of the other animals.
God, if we make it through this night without injury or detection,I promise Theresa and I will never do something so foolish again.At least not until Theresa’s next harebrained idea.
Maybe bargaining with God wasn’t her most glorious moment, but at this point they needed a miracle.
Theresa came around the side of the wagon with a three-legged goat wobbling behind her on a rope lead. “Look who I found!”
Make that more than a miracle. How would they get a goatoutif Lydia couldn’t even getin?
