LITMIR.BIZ

      In 1854, many people and places in New Orleans had French names. You'll see some French names in this book. For help pronouncing French names, go here. Or, click on the name when it first appears in the story.

      1

      A Night at the Circus

      November 1854

      Cécile Rey’s heart pounded in her chest, louder than a blacksmith’s hammer. She held her breath. She could feel perspiration slipping down her face, even though the gas lamps on the ornate walls of the Floating Palace showboat gave out little warmth to dispel the night’s chill. Cécile was squeezing her fists so tight, her nails created indentations in her palms. The man teetering on the tightrope swayed too far to the right. “Mon Dieu!” she breathed. “Good heavens.”

      Cécile had never seen anything so thrilling in her eleven-year-old life. She glanced quickly at her friend, Monette Bruiller, and wondered if Monette was experiencing the same strange mix of feelings she was—scared to look, but wanting to see it all. Cécile turned back, pinning her eyes to the man dancing on the wire, as if by force of will she could catch him if he fell.

      The circus acts were so exhilarating! The acrobats flipped and tumbled. The jugglers threw rings and clubs high in the air and to each other without ever dropping anything. The animals stood on their hind legs, jumped through hoops, and danced, and even the most ferocious appeared tame. Clowns mimed, pranced, and had the audience laughing. A real band, dressed in bright red uniforms with gold braid and shiny buttons, played lively songs to accompany every act. And then there was the finale.

      Cécile watched a white horse thunder around the huge ring. A man sat atop the bareback horse. Suddenly he vaulted upward and planted his feet on the horse’s back. He balanced there on the galloping horse, his knees bent. Then, without warning, he was sailing through the air.

      Cécile grabbed her throat. She felt alone, as if the crowd had disappeared and there was no one but her watching the scene unfolding on the stage far below. The sounds of shuffling bodies and whispered chatter fell away. As the man flipped upward, the only noise was the faint sound of the horse’s pounding hooves. Then, to Cécile’s astonishment, the man turned a somersault in the air and landed smoothly on the back of the horse!

      Seconds ticked by before the spectators found their voices and the room filled with boisterous cheers. Cécile rose from her seat, still dazed. She looked around. All the other free people of color were on their feet, too. Like the rest of the crowd, Cécile broke into frenzied clapping.

      The circus performers were gathered in the ring now, bowing to the crowd. Cécile sat down again and leaned over the edge of the balcony as far as she could to get a better look. The scene below was breathtaking—the silk and velvet curtains flowing, all the performers in plumes of feathers, sparkling costumes, elaborate headdresses. It was like a fairy tale.

      Cécile turned her attention briefly to the audience down below, closer to the ring, where the white people sat. She wondered if they could see the faces of the performers better, or hear them speaking to one another in their different languages. Cécile knew that many who worked for the circus came from distant parts of the world, places that Grand-père, her grandfather, had visited as a sailor. It was at moments like this that Cécile wished the free people of color could sit in any seat they could afford.

      Someone tugged Cécile’s sleeve. It was Agnès Metoyer. She was poised on Cécile’s right side, holding dainty binoculars up to her eyes.

      “If you’d brought opera glasses, you would have had more fun,” Agnès said.

      “You can look through mine,” Fanny Metoyer offered, reaching around Agnès and holding her glasses out to Cécile.

      “We’re not supposed to let anyone borrow them,” Agnès said, pulling her sister’s arm back. “Remember?”

      Fanny shrugged to Cécile. “Sorry.”

      Monette, standing on Cécile’s left, leaned toward the Metoyer sisters. “She wouldn’t be borrowing them—you’d just let her use them for a minute, that’s all.”

      “That’s borrowing,” Agnès replied.

      “It doesn’t matter,” Cécile said. “I can see very well, thank you.” She didn’t want to borrow anything from Agnès Metoyer. Agnès never treated her very nicely.

      “What an exquisite necklace you’re wearing, Cécile,” Monette said, leaning closer for a better look.

      Cécile reached up to feel the necklace, an ivory cameo—a side view of a woman’s face—with a rose diamond placed where an earring would be. The cameo was set on a circular ruffle of black lace, attached to a black ribbon. The necklace looked very grown-up. It belonged to Cécile’s Aunt Octavia, whom she called Tante Tay.

      “Let me see it,” Agnès said. She lifted the cameo, examining it carefully. “It is beautiful,” she said after a moment. “Is that a real diamond?”

      “Yes,” Cécile replied proudly.

      “I like it,” said Fanny.

      “It would look lovely on me,” Agnès said, reaching her hand out again. “Let me try it on.”

      Monette chimed in. “Cécile’s not supposed to let anyone borrow it,” she said. With a broad grin, she added, “Right, Cécile?”

      Agnès said, “I wasn’t going to…” Then her voice trailed off. Cécile and Monette exchanged amused glances. Evidently Agnès realized that she’d been caught, because she said quietly, “Never mind.”

      A moment later, Cécile’s tutor, Monsieur Lejeune, joined the girls. He and his sister, Mademoiselle Lejeune, had taken Cécile and Monette to the circus as a reward for doing well in their studies. The Lejeunes had picked up both girls in a hired carriage, but they had sat a few rows behind them at the performance so that Cécile and Monette could sit with the Metoyer sisters.

      At first Cécile had wanted to explain that she and Monette weren’t really friends with the sisters. But then Cécile was glad she hadn’t said anything, because sitting without chaperones had felt more grown-up.

      “Ladies, ladies, did you enjoy the show?” Monsieur Lejeune asked as he put on his gloves.

      “Oui, Monsieur Lejeune. Oh, yes!” Cécile and Monette said, beginning to describe their favorite parts.

      “Très bien, very good. You’ll have to tell me all about it later. Right now, we need to catch a carriage before they’re all taken. Follow me.”

      Cécile and Monette filed out behind the Lejeunes, joining the river of people trying to make their way off the showboat onto the wharf. The Lejeunes were in front, pushing the way forward. The crush of people moved like a school of fish, no space between them, all headed in the same direction—through the doors of the showboat, down the plank, and onto the wharf. Once on the ground, the river of people flowed into an ocean of circus-goers, sailors, and people out on the town on Saturday night.

      Shoved this way and that by the crowd, Cécile realized that every few steps, she seemed to fall farther behind Monette and the Lejeunes. She wished she’d grabbed Monette’s hand, even if it would have made her feel like a little girl.

      Now Cécile could barely see the back of Monette’s head as she moved in the crush of the crowd on the wharf. The smells and calls from the marchands selling treats caught Cécile’s attention as she found herself pushed toward the edge of the crowd. On one side of her, a tall, aproned man with a reddish beard was holding a tray aloft and calling out, “Hot orange buns! Hot, sweet orange buns!” On Cécile’s other side, two children about

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