A Day at the Carnival

By John RC Potter

It was high summer in 1916, and the war raged in Europe, but it was not in the minds of the Cotton girls. Beulah, aged 12, and her sister, Ginny, one year younger, were walking on air as they left The Flats and journeyed down the eastern side of the Horseshoe Road. They were on their way to go to the fair in town. It was the annual Cornersville Country Carnival, and it would be the first time the girls had attended it. Their mother had taken down the old earthenware crock that sat on top of the old pantry cupboard in the kitchen, in pride of place beside the button jar. The girls and their siblings were allowed to examine the buttons in that jar, a kind of game, trying to find matching or the most attractive buttons. However, the crock – filled with coins and sometimes even dollar bills – was off-bounds for everyone except Mrs. Cotton. Once a week, on Sunday mornings, she would ceremoniously take down the cracked crock with its damaged lid and then sit down at the rickety kitchen table to count the precious money inside. The children would crowd around
her, mesmerized by the proceedings’ solemnity and anticipation of how much money was in the container. On a good week, it even had bills inside it. That morning, Mrs. Cotton broke a tradition and took down the crock on a Saturday, and the children were all agog.

Turning to Beulah and Ginny, who stood on either side of where their mother sat, Mrs. Cotton stated, “I have a surprise for you two girls.” She started to pick out pennies from inside the container, carefully counting and inspecting them as if they were ingots of gold. Beulah and Ginny’s mouths were gaping, and their eyes were open and wide in amazement. Their mother said, “You girls been working hard
and it is high time you’all had some fun.” Pausing dramatically but with a slight smile on her face – which surprised the girls because their mother rarely, if ever, changed her solemn expression – the woman continued: “Beulah and Ginny, you gals are going to the carnival!”
Beulah and Ginny jumped up and down on their feet, hugging each other and then their mother. All of a sudden, all the younger children took up a long lament, wailing to their mother that they wanted to go too. Giving a stern look that hushed them up mighty fast, Mrs. Cotton explained there was not enough money for all the children to go; in any case, they were younger. Perhaps their time would come. And that had been that!

The closer the girls came to Cornersville, the greater their excitement at the prospect of the exhibits, midway rides, food booths, and activities. The girls felt rich: their mother had given them three pennies each– three! They kept fingering the pennies in their respective pockets. The five-mile walk went by quickly as if the girls were being transported on a magic carpet. They hoped one of their neighbours would drive by and give them a lift, but the few vehicles on the road were coming from town, not going towards it. Finally, near the end of the Horseshoe Road, just before it reached the highway, old Mr. & Mrs. Wickes came down the road behind them with their horse and wagon. The elderly couple were on their way to the carnival too. They let the girls clamber onto the flat-top wagon, and in no time, the girls were in Cornersville. The horse clip-clopped down the street with the elderly couple on the seat in front and the girls sitting on the flat-top wagon behind them. As the wagon went by the Lyceum Moving Picture House, the girls spied the sign, and both pointed at the sign in front: Charlie Chaplin’s newest picture was playing. The girls had never seen a moving picture before, but they certainly knew Charlie Chaplin from the newspaper and magazines that neighbours gave their mother. They decided right then to save one penny each and go to the movie house after the carnival. They even did their time-honoured tradition of curling their pinkie fingers together to seal the promise. Before long, the horse and wagon were at the gates to the fairgrounds.

The girls spent the first half-hour wandering around the fairgrounds, amazed at all the sights and sounds of the carnival. They kept checking their pockets for the pleasure of rubbing their three pennies together. There were many reminders of the war raging across the Atlantic Ocean – signs, posters, fundraisers, recruitment – but the Cornersville community was out in full force to enjoy themselves. The girls decided to spend their first penny on the Ferris wheel. Looking up from where they were standing, the Ferris wheel seemed to tower over them and almost reach the clouds above. In reality, it was a small Ferris wheel, but they were not aware of it. They clambered into a seat and started screaming with fear and delight as they were transported high in the air. When the Ferris wheel stopped suddenly, the girls were at the very top; Beulah grabbed Ginny’s hand, fearful of slipping right off the leather seat. Ginny pointed in the distance, and the girls thought they could almost see the Horseshoe Road where the lane led to The Flats. Then the Ferris wheel suddenly jerked into motion again, and the girls screamed and laughed as they were
taken on its circular journey until their time on it ended.

The girls then decided to spend their second penny on a meal of popcorn and lemonade. The remaining penny for both was intended for the Charlie Chaplin picture, as they had solemnly promised each other. However, the girls were not ready to leave the carnival. A tomboy at heart, Ginny wanted to go to the livestock section, but Beulah was not interested. She told Ginny they could meet at the fairground front gates in half an hour or so. Ginny walked toward the livestock area, her step light. Beulah began to walk around the fairgrounds, and in the very back section, she saw a colourful and garish sign that announced: ‘Have your future told by the fabulous fortune-teller, MRS. SHARP!’ As she approached the small tent,
Beulah saw another sign indicating that the cost to have fortunes told was only one cent. It seemed a miracle and meant to be! She reached into the pocket of her dress and felt the solitary penny, seemingly beckoning her to spend it on having her fortune told. Beulah was desperate to know what her future held.

The flap of the tent was closed. Beulah could hear voices inside; she assumed the fortune-teller had a customer. A moment later, the tent’s flap was thrust aside, and a large woman wearing a summer hat exited the tent. She was beaming, presumably from good news given to her by the fortune teller. Beulah reached into her pocket again, felt the precious penny, and thought of the promise she and Ginny had made to go see Charlie Chaplin’s picture. She was about to turn and walk away when the fortune teller appeared at the tent’s entrance. “Are you coming in, dear?” she asked. “It is only a penny to have your fortune told.” Mrs. Sharp was a middle-aged woman with frizzy whitish-grey hair and piercing black eyes; she was skinny as a
rail, wearing a bright red and gold outfit that looked more like a costume than a dress.

Beulah knew there was no turning back. She was eager to know her future and her life’s course from that point onward. Nodding, she followed Mrs. Sharp into the tent. The fortune teller closed the tent’s flap and motioned for Beulah to sit across her at a little round table. She had expected a crystal ball to be on the table, but there was only a little tray with handles and a mirror inset into it.

“I need something of yours,” Mrs. Sharp informed the girl. “A ring or something personal.” Beulah held up her ringless hands, then remembered the old necklace she was wearing around her neck. She had nicked it from Widow Winter’s home on the Horseshoe Road the year before when she had gone there with preserves the woman had bought from Mrs. Cotton. Fortunately for Beulah, the old woman’s mind wandered, and apparently, she had never noticed the necklace was no longer on the little table inside the front hall. Beulah reached inside the neckline of her dress and lifted the necklace from her neck, giving it to the fortune teller.

The woman began to rub the necklace between her hands, her eyes looking past where Beulah sat on a low stool. Mrs. Sharp moved her head slightly from side to side, seeming to peer into the distance. Suddenly, she said to Beulah, without looking directly at her, “I see a farm and a clapboard house. You are not happy there and want to leave.” The fortune teller stopped talking and laid the necklace on the mirrored tray in the centre of the table. She then laid one hand on the necklace and the other over her closed eyes. “You will marry young. Very young. You will be made a widow when still quite young.” The woman’s voice had become lower, so much that Beulah had to lean forward to hear her better. “I see an older man; it could
be your father.” Eyes still closed, and the woman shook her head. “No, not your father, but I am not sure who this man is…” Her voice trailed off for a few moments, but then she continued. “I see a young man. I see a farm on a hill. I see an opening in the ground…no, not an opening, it seems to be a trapdoor.”

For reasons unbeknownst to herself, Beulah began to shiver with a commingled feeling of fear and excitement, like she had felt at the top of the Ferris wheel with the world below her. “I don’t understand why there is a trapdoor in the earth,” the woman continued, rubbing her hand over her eyes as if tired. “A trapdoor?” she murmured, seemingly to herself more than Beulah. “No!” she cried out suddenly, and with a sharp breath, Mrs. Sharp quickly stood up, staring with disbelieving eyes at the girl across from her. The fortune teller suddenly dropped the necklace on the table before Beulah. “Please go!” the woman instructed in a shrill voice.

Beulah got up from the low stool. She was dumbstruck by the woman’s words and behaviour. Beulah reached into her pocket and was about to put the penny on the table. “No! Just leave!” Mrs. Sharp exclaimed. Beulah saw a look in the fortune teller’s eyes: anger or fear? But why? Beulah turned and left the fortune teller’s tent. After taking several steps away from the tent, Beulah looked back. Mrs. Sharp was in the tent’s doorway, staring after Beulah with a look that the girl could not read nor understand. Then, the fortune teller suddenly grabbed the tent’s flap and closed it. At that moment, Beulah realised she had left her necklace on the table in the fortune teller’s tent, but there was no way she was going back!

Beulah walked toward the fairground gates, knowing she was probably late for meeting her sister. At least she still had the last penny; the girls could go to the picture show. Beulah reached into her pocket to feel the reassuring coin. It was not there! Beulah searched all her pockets. Had she dropped it? The girl retraced
her steps but could not see the coin on the ground. What had happened to the penny? Rather than tell her sister she had lost the coin, Beulah decided it would be better to tell Ginny that she had spent it on the fortune teller. Better to tell a little white lie than admit to being so careless as to lose a precious penny!

Ginny would be upset that Beulah had spent her last penny on the fortune teller and that they could not go to see the Charlie Chaplin picture together. She would remind Beulah about their solemn promise that had been capped by the symbolic intertwining of their pinkie fingers. Beulah regretted her decision and reflected on the words and actions of the fortune teller. She tried to find meaning in what happened but was at a loss. She saw Ginny in the distance, waiting for her at the gate to the fairgrounds. Their day at the carnival would end on a bad note. Beulah shrugged her shoulders and decided that no one would ruin her day – not Mrs. Sharp, the fortune teller, not her sister, Ginny, nor even her mother, who would be upset that her eldest daughter had once again broken a promise. Beulah’s mother would perhaps even resort to one of her long-time laments: that Beulah was a bad penny.

Suddenly, Beulah remembered to check the pocket on the front of her dress, which was just over where her heart was still beating erratically from what had just happened in the fortune teller’s tent. Perhaps she had put the penny in there for safekeeping and had forgotten! As Beulah reached into the deep pocket, she touched what felt like cardboard. Full of wonderment, Beulah pulled out what appeared to be a playing card. The backside was black in colour with geometric designs in gold. Beulah turned the card over and felt a deathly chill cover over her as she stared at a tarot card: The Devil.

John RC Potter is an international educator from Canada who lives in Istanbul. He has experienced a revolution (Indonesia), air strikes (Israel), earthquakes (Turkey), boredom (UAE), and blinding snow blizzards (Canada), the last being the subject of his story, ‘Snowbound in the House of God’ (Memoirist). The author’s poems, stories, articles, essays, and reviews have been published in various magazines and journals.