“I know that feeling. Father wanted Mother to be a socialite, which he thought would be good for business. He considered her work with the Home for Little Souls to be beneath her. But the more parties Father pushed her to attend, the more she resented him. He stopped pushing after she got sick, but they rarely talk now. And the funny thing is, she loved my father before.”

Am I like Charlotte’s father, wanting Jamie to be someone he’s not? I know Jamie prefers the view of the sky from the ground, not up in the air like me. But the circus is a means to an end. If Mr. Stewart comes through, we’ll get the chance to shoot the three balls of fame, fortune, and a future in America, all with one swift jab of the cue stick. How could anyone turn down such an opportunity?

Jamie pops up again, this time stopping in front of our chairs. At the sight of him, Charlotte’s lips bloom like a rosebud unfurling.

“No-show,” I inform him.

Strudel puts her paws on Charlotte’s lap, and she strokes the dog’s curly head. Without warning, the dog jumps down and begins scratching and growling at the floor.

“Hey, pups,” says Jamie. “What’s down there?”

“It’s the rats.” Charlotte’s face still manages to look pretty despite the statement. “She has the nose of a bloodhound. Once, Mother’s favorite gelding wandered off, and Strudel found it at the end of Central Park, two miles away.”

Strudel stops growling and paces between the deck chairs, looking up at Jamie.

“Looks like someone wants to walk more.” Jamie gives the dog a vigorous scratching. “Guess you’ve got twice as many legs, don’t you?” He stretches his back. “We’ll do another circuit, see if we can’t find your Mr. Stewart.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to join Jamie.” Charlotte’s dark lashes flutter from me to him.

“Why should I mind? I’ll wait here.”

The two walk far enough apart not to attract attention but close enough to converse. Charlotte moves with a gentle sway, her hat dipping toward him often.

It could be my imagination, but I swear Jamie’s walking taller than before, with a higher-held chin, even a little swagger. If Charlotte asked him to come to America with her, would he go? Or would the siren call of the boiler rooms drown out even her pleas? If so, he would definitely have taken leave of his senses. A fine lady with money and a backbone doesn’t come along every day. And neither do sisters.