Belle and the Carousel By: Lauran G. Strait. Page 4/5
Erica and her mother left.
Belle wrinkled her nose, brow furrowed. "How'd she know my name? Did you tell her?"
"No. Maybe Erica did."
"But I never told her. And besides, how'd they know where I live?"
Shrugging, Momma shook her head.
Belle frowned. Mothers were supposed to know everything.
"Did they follow you?" Creases carved Momma’s forehead as she opened her arms to Belle then hugged her tight.
Was Momma scared?
Belle chewed her lip. "I'm positive no one followed," said Belle, wriggling free. "May we go back to the carnival together?"
Silence spun out between them. Momma studied the ground as if divining secrets only she could see. "If it's that important we'll go," she finally said, finishing with a hesitant smile.
Momma scooped up her handbag, but left the hat on the rack.
Looking at the hat, Belle raised her brows and reached for her sweater.
"It's too hot for that." Momma winked. “Leave it here.”
When they arrived at the carnival a few minutes later, the setting sun had colored the horizon a garish pink-orange. In the center of the midway, Belle stopped walking and turned in a circle. "Something doesn’t feel right."
"What's wrong?" That same I'm-confused-but-trying-not-to-show-it tone reasserted itself in Momma's voice. Patches of sweat showed under the arms of her belted A-line dress.
Butterflies fluttered in Belle's stomach. "The carousel was right here. Now it's gone!"
Belle spied a carnival worker. Before she could question her, Momma jumped in.
"Excuse me, ma'am. Might you point us in the direction of the carousel?"
"What carousel?" The woman's fingers flailed through flowing gray hair. Her eyes, sunken but glittering points, revealed nothing. "We haven't had one in twenty years. But we got a fine Ferris wheel over yonder. Ya'll might want to ride that."