Milly turned to her final patient, stethoscope at the ready. She listened carefully, then pulled the tubes out of her ears with a satisfied nod.

“Breathing normal, heart rate normal. You are cleared to perform!” Smiling, she set the mouse back inside its cage. He squeaked up at her, then tugged at the edge of his red ringmaster suit, almost as though he were adjusting it.

Milly giggled. Timothy was the most outgoing of the mouse trio, which was why he got to be the ringmaster in the “Greatest LITTLE Show on Earth!” His bossiness was also a factor—he was always chattering at his siblings, telling them what to do and where to go. Kids loved the miniature circus. It might not have been the biggest money earner in the Medici show, but Milly was proud of it.

Picking up her notebook, she dutifully recorded Timothy's health states. A scientist (or doctor) needed to keep accurate data.

“Milly!” Joe cried out as he catapulted into their small tent. His sides were heaving.

As soon as she saw his face, she knew.

“Another train!” he announced triumphantly.

Milly leapt to her feet and the two kids flew through the tent flap. In the distance, they could see the smoke from the approaching train, and a long, shrill whistle blasted the morning air.

“ Niños! ” Ivan shouted as Milly and Joe barreled past the magician and his wife in the middle of rehearsal. “Wait! We're coming, too.”

Ivan hurried to free Catherine from the split box, but the children didn't slow down.

The Joplin train platform was crowded with people in their finest. Several locals drew away from Joe's dirt-stained hands as he pushed through the throng, but others were too focused on the sleek black train that had just pulled in.

Soldiers poured out of the carriages to find their loved ones, tears of joy glistening on everyone's faces. Milly and Joe peered through the crowd as Ivan and Catherine joined them.

Where is he? Milly felt a knot of anxiety in her chest. What if there'd been a mistake? What if he wasn't coming home yet?

A woman in an enormous emerald green hat let out a squeal as a young soldier picked her up and spun her in a circle. As he set her down and stepped back, Milly saw her father, Holt Farrier, emerge beyond them.

“Dad!” Milly and Joe shouted together. They surged forward.

He hadn't shaved in a day or two, but his face was just as handsome as Milly remembered, his back maybe not quite as straight. But he was carrying a bag on his left shoulder, so perhaps it was heavy. Then he suddenly crashed to the ground, the bag sliding away from him.

Milly startled.

Where his left arm should have been was just... air. His uniform sleeve had been pinned up neatly under his shoulder, as though the army couldn't allow sloppiness, not even for a missing limb.

Beside her Joe gasped, pausing just feet away from their father, who appeared to have fainted. As Ivan and Catherine came up behind them, their father stirred.

His beautiful blue eyes blinked open and his gaze slowly focused on them.

He scanned their shocked faces, then mustered an empty smile as he staggered to his feet.

“I meant to tell you—in the letter,” Holt said, nodding toward the space where his arm should've been. His voice was raspy from disuse. “I just didn't know how.” When the kids didn't move, he gestured them closer with his one remaining hand. “C'mere. Hey, it's me.”

“Is the fighting all done? Did we really win?” Joe asked tentatively.

“The country did. A lot of good men didn't.” Holt's eyes grew distant, and then he focused back on his son, a glow of pride lighting his face. “Look at you, growing like a weed. C'mon, you remember me, dontcha?”

This time Joe didn't hesitate. He flung himself at his dad, who tucked him in close and then turned to Milly. Her brown hair was longer, woven into two braids, and she was wearing a jumpsuit he didn't recognize, gray with pink cuffs.

“And you—you're just as pretty as your mom.” Sadness spread over his face. “I'm so sorry that I wasn't here.”

Milly nodded, her fingers moving of their own will to the key she wore around her neck. “So was she,” she said softly.

Her father turned away, his eyes brimming. She moved to his left, fitting herself into the empty space at his side and wrapping her arms around his still-solid frame.

“We missed you,” she added.

“Missed you, too,” Holt said. He gazed down at his kids, wishing with all his heart he could have been with them, with Annie. And wishing that he knew what to do now. Raising his face to the other performers, he nodded. “Ivan, Catherine. Thank you for looking out for them.”

“Of course, Captain Farrier,” Ivan said.

“It's Holt. Just Holt,” he replied firmly. His cavalry days were over now. He spotted the colorful sprawl of the circus in the distance. “Don't worry,” he whispered to his kids. “Everything's gonna be like it was before.”

Maybe things couldn't be exactly as they were before—not without Annie. But Holt owed it to his kids and the circus to try. He'd spent long nights in the hospital and long days journeying home, all the while thinking up new tricks he could perform one-handed.

As they entered the camp, things seemed the same at first. The sideshow booths and food stalls were still laid out around the main tent like flower petals, only now they were spread out, many missing altogether. Signs for the menagerie directed visitors to the back so they'd have to walk past all the other delights. And, of course, the main attraction—the Big Top tent—rose above everything like a palace. But somehow, it seemed smaller. Of course, it wasn't; it had the same red-and-white striped fabric as always. Holt was the one who'd changed.

Troupe members hurried over as word of Holt's return passed like a wave through the camp. But their joy drooped at the sight of him. Holt awkwardly tried to duck his left shoulder, as though that would make a difference.

Pramesh stepped to the front, embracing Holt tightly.

“The very best journey: the road that leads home. Welcome home!” he cried. The large python wrapped around the snake charmer's neck slid forward onto Holt.

“Uhh, no hugs!” Holt told the snake as he wriggled away from them both. “Pramesh, I missed you, too. But what's going on? Camp's half the size it used to be.”

“Hard times, my friend. For everyone.” Pramesh shook his head sadly. The snake coiled around his neck, its tongue flicking out in agreement.

“Aaaaaargh!” An enraged yell broke the moment. The caboose door flung open and a barrel-shaped man emerged, his ruby velvet robe flapping around his ankles. Dark brown eyes glared out at the staff from under two bushy eyebrows and a dramatic top hat.

“Attention, you hapless harebrains,” the man bellowed. “Why is rule number one called rule number one? Because ‘ keep the cages locked ' is the most important rule there is!”

The circus director peeled back his robe to show them the claw mark ripped across his shirt. At that moment, a small monkey face popped out of the lid of the top hat, grinning at the audience.

Muffled laughter ran through the crowd as Max Medici continued to rail, oblivious to Barrymore's presence. Miss Atlantis hid her smile behind her hand, but Catherine giggled openly and Pramesh's eyes were twinkling merrily. Puck was the only one who looked nervous, shifting from foot to foot and scratching the back of his neck. The organ-grinder was responsible for Barrymore, after all.

“And when I find that fugitive scalawag who woke me from my nap—” Medici cut himself off, as his troupe clearly wasn't taking this seriously. “Rongo!”

“Yes, Max?” Rongo asked calmly, stepping forward.

“Who's heading camp management?”

“I'm the strongman.” Rongo's voice was droll.

“Yes, and we're all wearing multiple hats.” Medici tore off his own hat, but the monkey swiftly transferred to the back of his robe. Medici spun, but didn't spot him.

Turning, Medici pointed a stern finger at Rongo, ignoring the clowns, who were doubled over in laughter. “You're in charge of accounting and budgets and inventory, and that means animal whereabouts. I want you to track down that monkey.”

Rongo eyed the mischievous Barrymore. The monkey had hopped down and was scurrying into a box Puck held open for him behind Medici's back. “I'll have a look around.”

“Okay, back to work, everyone,” Medici proclaimed, setting his hat back on his head. The circus director stopped, his eyes widening. “Holt?”

Holt nodded, a genuine smile on his face as he took in the familiar hubbub and banter, and Medici happily beckoned him up into the caboose. Milly and Joe trailed after their father into the small office. As Medici settled into the chair behind his cluttered desk, the Farriers perched on stools.

“This winter the influenza hit us like a hurricane. Natalya, Vincenzo, the Vanderjees... and then poor Annie. She fought hard.” Medici tugged out a dusty handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes. “She was the best of us, Holt.”

Determined not to let his emotions get the better of him, Holt straightened his shoulders. “I know. So to honor her, let's have our best season yet. Now, where are my horses?”

“Ah, funny story about that.” Medici leaned back, steepling his fingers over his stomach, his gaze traveling to the ceiling.

“Funny how?” Holt asked.

“He sold them,” Milly and Joe piped up in unison.

Holt stared at them. They had to be joking. But Medici wasn't denying it. Holt pinned Medici with a disbelieving stare.

Medici shifted uncomfortably, reluctantly meeting his gaze. “You were off fighting Kaiser Wilhelm. Lord knows I've been busy, too—battling radio and motion pictures. There used to be a hundred traveling circuses; now we're among the very last.”

“Our act was the soul of this show!” Holt exclaimed.

“And first we lost you, and then Annie, to ride them. If only Milly had learned the trade—”

“I don't want to be a show-off in your circus,” Milly said firmly. “Riding sidesaddle, juggling plates—” Her father turned to study her, trying to hide his hurt.

“See, she's still impossible.” Medici shrugged.

Milly lifted her chin. “I want to make scientific discoveries. I want to be noticed for my mind.”

“Then learn clairvoyance or telepathy! Something I can use!” Medici waved his arms.

Joe interrupted the familiar argument. “I can do a handstand for almost ten seconds,” he cut in.

“ ‘Child Does Handstand.' We'll be bankrupt by July,” Medici said.

“All those hours teaching you to ride,” Holt began, staring at Milly.

“No, really, Dad, watch!” Joe leapt up and turned onto his hands, but he toppled over almost instantly. Sliding closer to the wall, he tried again.

“I love him, Holt,” Medici muttered as they watched Joe collapse in a tangle of limbs. “But he did not get your athlete genes.”

Holt turned back to Medici, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Hang on, without horses, what the heck is my act? I can still ride ,” he insisted. He instinctively tried to lift his arms and found himself raising only the one. He was doing those types of things a lot lately. Attempting to shrug it off, he continued. “We may have to forget the rope tricks, but the barrel jumps, speed runs... I had some ideas for new spins...” His voice trailed off at Medici's dubious expression. “The crowds come to see me.”

Medici looked away. “Ah, Holt, my friend, I'm afraid equestrian acts have lost their shine. People know horses—they see them every day. They want something new from a circus.”

“Max, please,” Holt said softly. “I need to work.” Medici had always treated his troupe like family, so Holt knew he wouldn't kick him to the curb just because the horses were gone... but Holt needed to feel useful. He needed the distraction.

“Aha, good news,” Medici replied. “I have one job opening.”

Holt perked up. “Okay then. Give me a show-stopper.”

Medici scratched his nose. His chair creaked as he leaned forward. “That old rascal Itchy McPhee finally ran off with the bearded lady. I've had roustabouts filling in since then, but I need someone to tend to the elephants.”

“You're not serious.” Holt couldn't hide his dismay.

Milly and Joe shared a worried glance.

“Occasionally, I am. It's a big job. You know it is,” Medici proclaimed.

“No, it's just a big shovel for a big pile of—”

“Dad!” Milly and Joe scolded. Annie had never allowed foul language.

Holt staggered to his feet. “You sold my horses, but you kept your elephants. Your scrawny, mangy, cut-rate elephants !”

Medici held out a placating hand. “They're important. Especially this season. It goes against my nature, but for once, I have made an investment.” He smiled calmly up at Holt.

Holt's shoulders sank. There really was no other option—the circus was family, home, and job all rolled into one. He had no other trade. He couldn't leave; he had to support his kids. He glanced at their hopeful faces.

“All right. Let's go see this investment of yours,” he grumbled. J2WwFmvdjMFPG1KSn1h6EgMj7cIDglUSapk87c3WpXTItmpCtvnR3OoJInIZIREB