The Weight of Air


 
 
 
 
 
 Half Title Page
 
 
 
 
 Books by Kimberly Duffy
 
 A Mosaic of Wings
 
 A Tapestry of Light
 
 Every Word Unsaid
 
 The Weight of Air
 
 
 
 
 Title Page
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Copyright Page
 
 © 2023 by Kimberly Duffy
 
 Published by Bethany House Publishers
 
 Minneapolis, Minnesota
 
 www.bethanyhouse.com
 
 Bethany House Publishers is a division of
 
 Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
 
 www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
 
 Ebook edition created 2023
 
 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
 
 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
 
 ISBN 978-1-4934-4067-2
 
 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022037867
 
 This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
 
 Cover design by Kathleen Lynch/Black Kat Design
 
 Author is represented by Spencerhill Associates.
 
 Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and post-consumer waste whenever possible.
 
 
 
 
 Dedication
 
 
 
 To August, my sweet boy. May you always remain rooted in God’s Word and remember what true strength is. You only need to look as far as your father.
 
 
 
 
 Prologue
 
 SEPTEMBER 1891 OUTSIDE TOULOUSE, FRANCE
 
 
 
 “YOU ARE SURE you don’t want me to go with you to the station?” Bram asked.
 
 Polly MacGinnis turned away from the tent being raised, its white canvas roof puffing and sinking like a deflated cheese soufflé, to look at her husband. “No, that isn’t necessary. You are needed here. There is a show in a few hours. Let’s not make Giuseppe even angrier than he already is.”
 
 Bram lifted his cap and scrubbed his hand through unruly brown hair. She’d offered to trim it before she left, but he said the extra length made him look wild. It was good for the act. “Must you leave? It’s a long journey on your own.”
 
 “I can manage.” She twirled her fingers through the air with a flourish and grinned, though he likely saw through it. “After all, I manage the trapeze and rope on my own.”
 
 “Yes, but Polly . . .” He stared down at her with those warm eyes she’d fallen in love with, and for a moment, just one insignificant beat of time, she thought he might see what she used to be. Who she used to be. “What about the melancholia? If it descends, you will be alone.”
 
 She pinched her lips together and moved away from him. “I will be with my mother.”
 
 He followed her, his long stride easily eating the distance between them. At least physically. Nothing could bridge the divide created when she had brought their daughter into the world and nearly died.
 
 “I want to say good-bye to Mabel. Where is she?” Polly spoke with brisk efficiency. There was no use dragging out the argument any longer. She would go to New York City to visit her mother, who would likely not survive another winter. Polly had been supporting her for a decade and wouldn’t stop now just because Giuseppe Manzo needed his best aerialist to finish the season. Just because her husband thought her as fragile as spun glass.
 
 “Where do you think she is?” Bram’s words were gilded in proud amusement.
 
 They headed for the menagerie, where Mabel would be found helping settle the animals. At only eight, their daughter towered over other children her age, but there wasn’t anywhere a girl as willing or gentle. She had a tender heart.
 
 Bram’s fingers brushed Polly’s arm as he guided her around a trio of clowns, and her spine tingled the way it always did—always had—with his touch.
 
 Ahead, Mabel carried a crate above her head, and the Manzo Brothers Circus’s prized Asian elephant, Meena, trailed after, attached to her waist by a rope.
 
 “Darling, I’m leaving,” Polly called, her words breaking in a way that drew Bram’s concerned glance.
 
 He swept the box, full of yammering monkeys, from Mabel’s hands as easily as one would lift a dropped handkerchief. Bram MacGinnis, the great strongman, knew nothing about constantly trying to prove himself strong and capable.
 
 Mabel turned with an enthusiastic shriek as the box left her grasp. She launched herself at Bram, flinging her arms around his waist, and craned her head back to look up at him. Meena snuffled and swung her trunk against the packed dirt, and Bram laughed as he set down the crate and worked open the knot at Mabel’s waist. He tossed the rope to a passing bullman, who led the elephant away.
 
 “Your mother is leaving,” he said and chucked Mabel beneath the chin.
 
 Mabel turned and blinked up at Polly, then approached softly, as though afraid to spook her. No gleeful abandon or affectionate displays. Only respectful deference. It grated against Polly’s heart. Seared her chest until she thought she could spit fire like Luko, the flame-eater.
 
 Her own relationship with her mother had been pocked by distance. Grief and overwork made any sort of closeness impossible. Polly had vowed to be different with her children.
 
 But for the three days of labor that left her without even the energy to gasp. But for the months of recovery. The dark shadows that filled her mind and blunted the edges of her affection. The inability to nurse and the height that made it clear Mabel would no longer be able to train with Polly.