Ten Thumb Sam Read online

  Ten Thumb Sam

  RACHEL DUNSTAN MULLER

  Text copyright © 2007 Rachel Dunstan Muller

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in

  any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

  recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to

  be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Muller, Rachel Dunstan, 1970-

  Ten Thumb Sam / written by Rachel Dunstan Muller.

  (Orca young readers)

  ISBN 978-1-55143-699-9

  I. Title. II. Series.

  PS8626.U4415T45 2007 jC813’.6 C2007-903850-6

  First published in the United States, 2007

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2007930414

  Summary: Sam wants to run away from the circus because,

  unlike the rest of his family, he is “all thumbs.”

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs

  provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Book

  Publishing Industry Development Program and the Canada Council for the Arts,

  and the Province of British Columbia through the

  BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Typesetting by Teresa Bubela

  Cover artwork by Cindy Revell

  Author photo by Bern Muller

  Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 5626, Stn. B

  Victoria, BC Canada

  V8R 6S4

  Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 468

  Custer, WA USA

  98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  10 09 08 07 • 4 3 2 1

  For Rebecca, Naomi and Emily,

  the original Stringbinis,

  and for Anastasia, the new kid in the troupe.

  Acknowledgments

  Sam and his family were launched into the world with support and encouragement from the following people: my husband, Bernard Muller; my editor, Sarah Harvey; and the members of the Ballycastle Writer’s Group. Thank you all!

  Chapter One

  Sam put his foot on the bottom rung of the long wire ladder and looked up. “I can do this,” he whispered.

  “What’s that?” his brother Andrew asked.

  “Nothing,” said Sam. He swallowed. From this distance the high wire looked like a long piece of dental floss.

  “If you’re not ready,” said Andrew, “we can try again tomorrow.”

  “I’m ready.” Sam took a deep breath and began to climb, painfully aware that his entire family was watching him.

  “I’m right behind you,” Andrew said.

  Learning to walk the high wire had seemed like a good idea to Sam a few months ago. But back then the practice wire was just a few inches off the ground. Andrew had helped Sam take his first teetering steps. Sam worked hard every day until he could make it across the practice wire without falling. He’d looked more like a toddler taking his first steps than a tight-rope walker, but Andrew had assured him he would get more confident with time.

  Sam wasn’t feeling confident now, even with a harness and a safety rope to save him if he fell. His arms and legs were trembling. The higher he climbed, the more his body shook. “Uh, Andrew?” he said as his head drew even with the small wooden platform at the top of the ladder.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m stuck,” said Sam, trying not to panic.

  “What do you mean, you’re stuck?” his brother asked.

  “I mean I can’t let go of the last rung. My hands won’t budge.”

  “Take a deep breath,” said Andrew. “You’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t think so,” Sam said through clenched teeth.

  “Don’t worry,” said Andrew. “Everyone’s nervous their first time up here. Just whatever you do, don’t look down.”

  Sam immediately looked down and saw his mother, his father, his brother Martin, and his sisters Elizabeth, Louise and Annabel. They looked impossibly small. Sam felt his stomach heave. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Wait—,” said Andrew.

  It was too late. Sam’s breakfast was already on its way up—and down.

  “Looks like Elizabeth and Louise got the worst of it,” Andrew said as he helped Sam descend. He shook his head. “Wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when the twins catch up with you!”

  Back on firm ground, Sam made straight for the Stringbini family bus. There were six narrow beds tucked into the back of the converted school bus. Sam and his two older brothers slept in the three curtained-off beds on the bottom level, and his sisters slept in the three bunks on the top. It wasn’t your typical domestic arrangement, but then the Stringbinis weren’t your typical family.

  Each member of the Stringbini family had an important role in the Triple Top Circus. Each member, that is, except Sam. Sam’s father, Magic Max, was a magician who helped manage the small circus. Sam’s mother, Irene, was famous for the daring trapeze act she performed with Elizabeth and Louise, Sam’s fourteen-year-old twin sisters. Sixteen-year-old Andrew was the star of the Triple Top high wire. Thirteen-year-old Martin juggled colorful balls and flaming rings while balancing on a unicycle. Even Annabel had a role. Sam’s six-and-a-half-year-old sister was Magic Max’s assistant. The crowds loved Annabel, although Sam could never quite figure out why. Maybe it was her dimples and her blond ringlets. And the fact that they never saw her stamp her feet or pout when she didn’t get her way.

  Sam was the only one who didn’t have an act. He was clumsy, forever tripping, stumbling and bumping into things. Because he was “all thumbs,” Louise and Elizabeth had nicknamed their youngest brother “Ten Thumb” Sam. He was six years old the first time he heard this nickname. He had been so angry, he almost cried.

  “You’re just going through an awkward stage, sweetie,” Irene had assured her son. “You’ll grow out of it.”

  “When?” Sam demanded.

  “I don’t know,” said his mother. “Everyone is different. You’ll just have to be patient.”

  Sam tried to be patient as he waited for weeks, then months, then years. But watching from the sidelines was boring. No one ever cheered for Sam. He was never greeted with thunderous applause.

  “I’m ready to be in the circus too,” Sam had finally insisted shortly after his tenth birthday.

  “But you are in the circus,” said Max. “You help collect tickets, you sell cotton candy…”

  Sam shook his head. “It’s not the same. I want to be in the show, like the rest of you.”

  Sam’s parents exchanged glances. “Where do you want to start?” Irene asked.

  “The high wire,” said Sam.

  So much for that, he thought now as he entered the Stringbini bus and slammed the door behind him. If only he’d known he was terrified of heights. All that practice, all that hard work—it had all been for nothing!

  Chapter Two

  “You’re up early,” his father said as Sam stumbled out into the kitchen the next morning. Max was seated at the kitchen table. There was an empty porridge bowl in front of him and a mug of coffee in his hand. “How’s your stomach feeling?” he asked.

  “Okay,” said Sam.

  “Good. Then grab a bowl and fill it up. We’ve got our work cut out for us today.”

  The gray lumpy mass in the porridge pot did nothing to improve Sam’s mood. He stared at it gloomily for a moment before lifting the ladle to serve himself. The porridge made a squelching noise as it landed in his bowl. With a sigh
, Sam sat down beside his father.

  The Triple Top Circus visited a new town each week, but the routine was always the same. Today was Monday. On Monday mornings the circus performers took down the high wire, dismantled the trapezes and packed away the tents. By lunchtime the Fritzi sisters’ horses—the only large animals in the Triple Top— were in their trailers. By afternoon the circus was miles down the road.

  They continued driving on Tuesday. On Wednesday they reached their destination and began setting up for their opening night on Thursday evening. There was a second show on Friday night, two more on Saturday and a final matinee performance on Sunday. A week from now the cycle would begin all over again. It was always the same.

  As Sam picked at his porridge, his brothers and sisters began to emerge from the back of the bus. He tried to ignore them as they served themselves and settled noisily around him at the table, but it was impossible.

  “If I sit here, you’re not going to barf on me, are you?” Annabel demanded as she took the chair beside Sam.

  “Oh, be quiet,” said Sam.

  “Just checking.”

  “Leave your brother alone,” Max said as he rose from the table. “He’s got a lot to think about.”

  “Like what?” said Louise.

  “Like what he’s going to do next, right, Sam? The high wire didn’t work, so he’s going to find something else. No room for quitters in the Stringbini family.”

  “Don’t even think about the trapeze,” Elizabeth warned.

  “You might want to try something a little closer to the ground,” Andrew suggested.

  Sam felt his face grow warm. “Maybe I could try juggling with Martin.”

  Sam’s middle brother shrugged. “Sure, whatever. I could teach you a few things.”

  Sam had his first juggling lesson later that afternoon, once the circus trailers were loaded. He listened carefully to his brother’s directions, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to keep more than one ball in the air at a time.

  “Loosen up,” said Martin. “Relax. It’s just throw and catch, throw and catch. You’ve got to find your rhythm.”

  “I don’t have any rhythm,” Sam protested.

  “Keep practicing,” said Martin. “You’ll get it eventually.”

  Sam practiced for weeks with everything he could get his hands on: tennis balls, rubber balls, beanbags, even bars of soap. At night he dreamt of golden balls spinning high above him in a shining arc. But when he woke up he was still Ten Thumb Sam.

  “All right, enough already,” Martin said as he dodged a wayward beanbag one afternoon. “You’re hopeless at this!”

  “But I’m still learning,” Sam protested.

  “Learning what, exactly? You still can’t keep more than one thing in the air at a time. But, hey,” Martin shrugged, “you tried.”

  Sam crossed juggling off his list and went to see his cousin Tony Zuccato. He found him practicing his tumbling act with the other Zuccatos in the big top.

  “What do you think?” Tony asked the others after Sam had explained the purpose of his visit. “Shall we give the kid a try?”

  Tony’s sister, Tina, grinned at Sam. “Why not?”

  Sam was determined to get it right this time. He watched his cousins closely and listened carefully as they explained every move they made on the tumbling mat. But when it was his turn to tumble, he could barely manage a simple somersault, let alone a triple cartwheel or a flying leap.

  “I’ll get it,” he promised through gritted teeth.

  Sam threw himself into his new sport. He practiced every moment he could. When the Zuccatos were performing inside the big top, Sam was outside on the grass, attempting handstands and backflips. But for all his hard work, Sam just couldn’t get his limbs to cooperate.

  After being knocked flat for the seventeenth time in one morning while assisting his young cousin, Tony Zuccato had to speak up. “I’m really sorry, kid. You just don’t have the moves.”

  “But I’ll keep working!” Sam pleaded. He looked around at the rest of the Zuccato team. His cousin Harry had a bruise under one eye. Frankie’s arm was in a sling. Only Tina, who was holding a block of ice to her knee, was able to meet Sam’s gaze.

  “Sorry, Sam,” she said. “No hard feelings, but you’re just too clumsy to be a tumbler.”

  Sam offered to help Mr. Poponopolis with his dog act.

  “Don’t see why not,” Mr. Poponopolis said, scratching his bald head thoughtfully. “The dogs certainly seem to like you.”

  It was true that Mr. Poponopolis’s dogs liked Sam, especially when he scratched them behind their ears or stroked their bellies. But liking someone is one thing and obeying them is quite another. No matter what Sam ordered them to do, the terriers just wagged their short tails and stared up at him blankly. He tried begging them, pleading with them, bribing them with soup bones and doggie treats. In desperation he even got down on all fours and demonstrated the actions he wanted the dogs to perform. They didn’t budge.

  “I don’t understand it,” said Mr. Poponopolis. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Roll over,” he said to the nearest dog. The dog rolled over.

  “Roll over,” said Sam. The dog stayed put.

  Mr. Poponopolis shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, Sam.”

  The Fritzi sisters were grooming their champion stallions when Sam approached them and asked if he could work with the horses.

  “I don’t know,” said Erma Fritzi, biting her lip. “They’re high-spirited animals. They can be very dangerous. They’re not ponies, you know.”

  Imelda Fritzi rubbed her skinny hands together anxiously. “Are you sure it’s all right with your parents?”

  “I’m sure,” said Sam.

  “I don’t know,” Erma repeated.

  “It’s not that we don’t trust you,” said Imelda.

  “We do, of course—”

  “Trust you, that is—”

  “It’s just that it’s so risky, working with large animals—”

  “Please,” said Sam. “I’ll be careful.”

  The two sisters exchanged nervous glances. “Well, if you have your heart set on it,” Erma said reluctantly.

  “Of course,” said Imelda, “we’d have to let them get used to you slowly. You could start by cleaning out the horses’ trailers every day.”

  “Then I suppose we could teach you to groom them,” said Erma.

  Sam nodded. “I can do that.”

  “Are you sure?” Erma asked. “It’s not glamorous work, believe me.”

  “We’d understand if you changed your mind,” Imelda added.

  “I’m sure,” said Sam. “I won’t change my mind.”

  “You’re very determined, aren’t you?” Erma said with a sigh. “All right then. If the horses get comfortable with you, we’ll see about getting you into the saddle. Then we’ll go from there.”

  But the Fritzi stallions never did get comfortable with Sam. His clumsiness made the horses nervous. They whinnied and shied away whenever he was near them. Once again, Sam was forced to admit defeat.

  Chapter Three

  A few days after Sam called it quits with the Fritzi stallions, Max found Sam sitting alone under one of the bleachers in the big top.

  “How’s it going?” Max asked, crouching down beside his son.

  “Lousy,” said Sam. “I don’t fit in anywhere. I can’t do anything.”

  Max put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “C’mon. You’re not giving up already, are you?”

  “Already?” said Sam. “I’ve tried everything! It’s hopeless.”

  “You haven’t tried everything. Have you talked to the clowns yet? You’d be a natural with them.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “But why not?” asked Max. “If you tripped over your feet, the audience would think it was part of the act.”

  Sam shook his head. “I don’t want to be a clown! I don’t want people laughing at me. I want them to clap and cheer the way they d
o for you!”

  Sam’s father was quiet for a few seconds. “Well, you know I already have an assistant—”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Sam interrupted, looking down at his feet. “I understand. I’d just mess up your act anyway.”

  “Now wait a minute,” his father said, holding up a hand. “As I was saying, I already have an assistant. What I don’t have is an apprentice.”

  Sam looked up. “An apprentice?”

  Max nodded. “Every great magician should have an apprentice, don’t you think?”

  “You mean it? You’re really serious?” A grin spread slowly across Sam’s face. “Thanks, Dad. I won’t let you down!”

  On a bright Monday morning in early June, Sam’s mother took the wheel of the Stringbini bus. Ten minutes later, the entire convoy of packed circus vehicles was on the highway.

  “Ready, Sam?” Max asked from his place at the head of the kitchen table.

  Sam was seated a few chairs down. He nodded. “Ready.”

  “Ahem,” said Max. “I have an announcement to make. As you know, Sam and I have been working together on a magic act for the last little while. Sam has worked hard, and we both believe he’s ready for his first performance.”

  “Way to go, Sam,” Andrew said, tapping his fist against his brother’s shoulder.

  “Your hands are shaking,” said Annabel.

  Sam put his hands under the table and glared at his little sister.

  “Annabel,” Irene called from the driver’s seat. “Be nice!”

  When his sisters and brothers were seated around the table, Sam wiped his damp palms on his pants and stood up. He took a deep breath and then demonstrated each of the simple scarf tricks that his father had taught him. When the last scarf had disappeared, the assembled Stringbinis clapped politely.

  “Good one, Sammy,” Martin said.

  “That wasn’t half bad,” said Louise.

  “I know where the scarves went,” said Annabel.

  “Shhh, Annabel!” said Elizabeth.

  “I told you you could do it, Sam,” Max said. “Well done!”