Francesca of Lost Nation (17 page)

Maude reached out her hand as if the plane might be on fire.

“Well, Matt’s up first. And then, who?” Ian asked, too casually.

“I'll go,” said Francesca. “It’s time, past time, to know what there is to be known about all this,” she said purposefully, with a queenly wave of her hand.

Matt’s body tensed up as he settled his bad leg properly into the cockpit. Was it anxiety or pain we saw in Matt’s eyes as he prepared for takeoff? Then, at a thumbs-up sign from Ian, along with an “all clear,” the engines roared into life. Matt immediately closed his eyes and leant his head back. You could see the tension in his body give way.

Whatever reservations Matt may have had were not evident as he and Ian looped the sky, leaving circles of smoke high above our heads. They flew upside-down, twisting and turning in perfect rhythm with the hum of the engine. With his ear flaps waving and his eye gear pressed against his face, Matthew looked perfectly natural. The flight may have not taken more than ten minutes, but it transformed Matthew’s attitude. When he jumped gingerly from the cockpit to the ground, his face was filled with quiet joy. He held his hand to his chest and grinned like a child. His leg was hurting, or so it seemed, because he was limping more than he had been, but he didn’t complain about it.
Frances explained to me some years later that a deeper healing had taken place.

Francesca was next. Matt held his hand out, and my grandmother took it without hesitation. She was wearing her leather racing cap and a scarf Matt had given her.

“God, you look dashing,” Matt couldn’t contain his thoughts.

Ian gave Francesca some instructions and assured her he had control of the aircraft. She just shrugged her shoulders as if it didn’t matter either way. Ian smiled and gave his thumbs-up sign. He started the engines and taxied to the end of the field. I don’t know why, but I started running after them with Babe at my heels.

Aunt Maude and Uncle Harry were running behind me. Matthew yelled something as I ran beyond the “No Trespassing,” sign leading to the airstrip but I couldn’t hear their voices above the sound of the powerful engine or the beat of my leaping heart. Had I heard them, I would not have listened. Francesca was taking to the clouds, and I couldn’t let her leave without me.

A crowd gathered along the field’s fence to watch this drama unfold. I was unaware of anything except catching Francesca. But it was too late; she and Ian had taken to the air. I sat down and began to cry. Babe tried to lick away my tears, but I was heartbroken. Then, something unexpected happened; the airplane was circling and coming back for a landing.

Matt had now caught up with me and walked me nearer to the fence out of harm’s way. We watched as Ian flew in. He shut the engine down and vaulted out of the cockpit. I hid behind Matt, afraid of what would happen to me. But instead of being angry, Ian was amused. He smiled as he swept me into his broad arms and carried me to the
Lady Victoria
. Babe followed close behind.

Ian climbed up the wing of the airplane with me still in hand and then set me down on Francesca’s seat. He bent down and picked Babe up and placed her inside the craft, too. Once we were all safe and secure, he prepared for another takeoff.

“My, she’s full of the devil’s spirit,” Ian said, winking at my grandmother.

“Sweetchild, wherever do you get such fire?” Francesca asked, as if surprised by my behavior.

“Looks like we have an audience for this show,” Ian waved to the crowd, who were now applauding the stunt pilot’s latest shenanigans.

The engine’s noise was deafening as we climbed into the sky. At first, the ride was bumpy as the plane hit wind turbulence, bouncing like a boat chopping across the water. The force of the wind pushed me back against Francesca’s chest. I felt her body tensing behind me as we climbed higher and higher. Her knuckles were pale as she gripped the seat belt, clinging for her life. I peeked through the glass and saw everything below us getting smaller. Once we reached altitude, I could barely make out the people below. Babe had no interest in anything except hiding on top of Francesca’s feet.

As the wind blew across my face, I realized it felt good. My tears were all dry now, and sitting there with Francesca, I regained my equilibrium. Francesca and I had never been in an airplane before. Ian must have sensed how nervous we were, because he reached back and squeezed my grandmother’s hand. Perkily, she gave her own the thumbs-up sign.

Ian didn’t take any loops or spins. Instead, he flew over the Mississippi River and the picturesque countryside. It was breathtaking. We flew over maple, hickory, elm and oak trees and swung over ferry boats that were crossing the Big Muddy.

Francesca took one deep breath after another. And then, the picture postcard tour claimed her. She flung her arms wide to embrace it all, then clasped her airy elements — the sky, clouds and birds, into her chest. She was hooked.

All too soon, our journey came to an end. As we drifted lower and lower, I pushed back into Francesca’s chest. I could feel her heart beating, wild as mine. We skidded slightly across the grass before coming to a stop.

Matt looked expectantly into Francesca’s face as Ian helped us down.

“I’ve got to learn how to fly,” whooped Francesca. She touched Matt’s nose with a fingertip. In a softer tone, she told Matt, “You’re just the person to show me how to do that.”

Ian kindly ferried Maude and Harry up in the
Lady Victoria
for their turns as Matt, Francesca, Babe and I plopped down on our picnic site. Matt and Francesca didn’t say much, but I noticed they were more affectionate toward each other than they had ever been before in public. As we watched Maude and Harry’s flight, my grandmother and Matt held hands and occasionally kissed one another. 

Chapter 23

Taking the Bait

B

oth Francesca and I were brushing our teeth, and Maude was rustling under her covers. It was still dark outside when someone started banging on our cabin door. Babe began to bark.

“It’s a trans-Atlantic telephone call. They’re a waitin’ on ya,”
said the deepest woman’s voice I have ever heard to this very day. “Came in on the telegraph operator’s phone line. He drove over to get ya.”

It took Francesca a moment to coordinate her robe, her slippers and the common room sofa. She opened the door to Madge, a robust woman whose hair was wrapped tightly in curlers of various sizes and colors. Madge was the night manager—and the day manager, too.

“I don’t think I understand … There’s a long-distance call down at the telegraph office?” Francesca asked.

“Now you know exactly as much as I do,” the woman responded. “The car’s waiting.”

“Sarah, hurry up and get your slippers and robe on.”

Our driver was also the telegraph operator. When we got to his office, he handed us the receiver. He never uttered a single word.

“Hello? Hello? Daddyboys is that you? It’s Daddy!” I shouted to Francesca and then said loudly back into the phone, “I can hear you, Daddyboys!”

I held out the receiver, so Francesca and I could share.

“How's my precious birthday girl?”

“Oh, we're having the loveliest time, and we all miss you and ...” I wanted to keep speaking but Daddyboys cut me off.

“Whoa, missy, hold on there,” Daddyboys said, laughing. “First of all, your mother and I are going to sing you ‘Happy Birthday’ from halfway around the world.” 

After my parents sang to me, they asked if I had received their letter about moving to
New York.

“What do you think about your old dad?”

“I think you're the cat’s pajamas, but …”

“Sarah, are you there?” His voice suddenly sounded faint and scratchy.

Francesca shook the phone. It helped a little, though I can’t think why.

“Clay? My, this is a terrible connection, isn't it? Clay? Is that you?”

“Can you hear me now, Francesca?”

My grandmother told her son-in-law how delighted she was for him and his new position in
New York. “We’re all very proud of you, Clay, and Rachael … she must be over the moon!”

“I’ll let her tell you herself.” Francesca put the phone back between us, so I could speak with my mother. Rachael was babbling enthusiastically about their trip and our move to
New York.

“Mommy I can't wait to open my presents. Just think, they came all the way from
Paris. No one else in Lost Nation can brag about that.”

“Bragging is unbecoming, Sarah.”

“I know, Mommy.”

“Well ... maybe just this once, we'll make an exception. Oh, it’s so beautiful here. It even smells different. You should see the flower beds and the orange trees. There’s a town called
Grasse near where we’re staying, and most of the flowers they use in perfume across this globe are grown there. You should see it, field after field of fragrant, pastel blossoms.”

“I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you, too. You both behave yourselves while we’re away.”

Francesca and I burst out laughing.

We heard some more static before Daddyboys said, “Sarah, this New York business ... It’s a big opportunity for me. You do understand?”

Francesca had retreated to a chair, so I took the opportunity to share my reservations.

“But what if we don’t want to leave Iowa?” I asked softly

“Nonsense, nonsense. Once you all see the kind of life your old dad is in for, even Francesca will be raring to go. Your grandmother, after all, is at heart an adventuress.”

I started to protest, but he cut me off and insisted everything would be fine. “You’ll see, darling; it will be splendiferous for all of us.”

He gave his farewells and then he was gone.

After I hung up, Francesca and I couldn’t help but smile at one another. After all, it wasn’t every day a person received a telephone call from another continent. Of course, I also felt sad, because I missed my parents terribly. Francesca read my mind.

“No fretting today, child. It’s your special once-a-year wing-ding. Let’s keep it that way. Remember, each thing in its own time. Right?”

“Right,” I answered as unenthusiastically as possible.

In order to whisk any hint of gloom away, I decided to open all of my gifts before breakfast. Maude and Harry gave me books, which was lovely. Lots of Dickens and a new author for me—Agatha Christie—whose intricately plotted tales of improbable detectives solving murders in quaint ivy-swathed towns started my lifelong love affair with mystery stories.

From Matt, I received an ah-ooga truck horn he’d picked up at the fair. It was shiny brass with a convoluted neck and resembled a sea horse in a nightmare. It was beautiful.

My parents sent me two Paris outfits. One was for play, pants that fell to just below the knee. At first I thought they looked odd, but within a month or two I realized I was just ahead of the rest of the country. Thanks to the Frenchies and their on-the-edge style sense, I was the first in my town (or state, in all probability) to own pedal pushers. The other outfit was for dress, all lace and fine embroidered cotton in coral pink, like clouds at dawn.

I’d saved two gifts for last: Francesca’s and Isaac’s. His came in a small box, long and thin.

“What the heck is this?” I said, peering down into the wrapping.

Matt took the box and picked up the thing gingerly. “Looks a little like a fishing lure. I never saw anything tied like that before.”

“It'll probably scare the fish away,” I humphed.

Harry scratched his head. “I think if I were a trout, I just might go for this.” He took the lure from Matt and waved it around in the air. “See how it wafts? Wafting is very important to any fish that knows a good dinner from a bad one.”

Uncle Harry’s evaluation of my lure improved my opinion of it.

Francesca’s gift was wrapped in a small silken sack. It had a name on the outside that had worn away with age. It looked like it read “TI F NY & C .,
  EW Y RK.”

Inside the sleek-feeling pouch was a black box. It was heavy and had a tiny latch. I was already excited, because it looked like the perfect box in which to hide a treasure. It turned out to be a bigger prize than even I could have imagined. Nestled inside on a black velvet cushion was Francesca’s wedding ring. It was the one Grandpap had bought for her all those years ago in
New York City on their honeymoon.

I was stunned and struck dumb. No one else said anything, either.

Francesca picked up the ring and threaded it onto the chain she’d worn around her neck since Grandpap’s passing. She slipped the chain over my head and kissed me on the cheek. “For my Sweetchild,” she whispered, “to keep her safe and us woven together in spirit, no matter how near or far we may be.”

“I can't take this,” I moaned, “It was yours and Grandpap’s.”

“Sarah, it’s time; don’t you see? It is past time.”

No, I didn’t see.

Matt took my chin in his strong hands. He lifted it. “A woman can only wear one wedding ring at a time. Maybe she’s making room.”

Matt’s explanation surprised me. I looked at Francesca and was about to speak, but she stopped me with a wave of her pointer finger. She stood up and began to act business-like.

“Let's not jump to any hasty conclusions, ladies and gentlemen.” She gave Matt a swift, sharp look. “Besides,” she went on, holding her hand over her left ear, “I swear I can hear the fish calling my name. What say we eat a rapid breakfast, settle ourselves in a quiet spot on the water and win that angler contest?”

Though she surely had a way of stopping conversations, she couldn’t have stopped the wave of emotion that washed over me as I fingered her gift. It hung down, appropriately enough, right to the level of my heart.

“Damn,” observed Harry after suffering through his second consecutive nibble-less half hour.

The fish were not biting. Never mind that we had set out on the boat before sun-up, straight after breakfast; no one had caught anything at all, much less anything substantial. The lake was overflowing with disappointed fishermen.

“Double damn,” agreed Maude. She was a sight to behold, sitting in the shade of a tremendous straw hat festooned with three different scarves. A great one for protecting her skin from sun damage, she looked like an innocent version of Bathsheba in the Dance of the Seven Veils.

“It’s your damn paraphernalia,” groused Harry. “All that claptrap on your head, I swear, you’re scaring the fish.”

“Says you. At least I've had some bites,” Maude retorted.

Francesca rolled her eyes. “Will you two stop it? Please?” she whispered sharply.

Matt didn't say a word. He leaned back against the picnic hamper, eyes closed, face shaded by the brim of his Stetson. When I squinted at him, I fancied the hat had a
Roy Rogers block to it. But maybe I was making things up to keep my mind from leaking out of my ear sockets in sheer boredom. I yawned big.

“Why don’t you try your new lure?” asked Harry with a playful poke at my ribs. “Some gentleman caller went to an awful lot of time and trouble.”

I sighed and dug the ugly thing out of our community tackle box.

“I wouldn’t use this if I wasn’t so desperate to catch something,” I sniffed as I tossed my line out with Isaac’s homemade lure into the water.

It had barely sunk into the lake when I got a hit. I stood up so rapidly, the boat tipped precariously, water lapping over the sides.

“It’s a whale,” I yelled.

Babe was yelping and lunging toward the water. Francesca had to hold her so she wouldn’t leap overboard.

Matt peeked out from under his hat brim.

“It’s a big one. Don’t panic, Sarah. Let him run.” Matt encouraged me, talking me through techniques. “Let out some line. That’s right. Now, reel some in. Feel it?”

I pulled my rod smoothly back as hard as I could. It bowed almost in half before I felt the fish solidly hooked on the line.

“I got him! I got him!” I shouted.

Francesca shook her head. “I think he’s got you, child.”

Matt leaned toward me, ready to assist. But even with Matt’s encouragement, I wasn’t sure we could win this battle. It seemed like an eternity since the fish had hit my line, and it had only been 10 minutes according to Matt. My arms ached. My fingers and palms grew raw, but I couldn’t give up. This would be the prize fish of the day, I was sure of it.

Francesca must have sensed my weariness.

“He’s tired too, Sarah. You stay in there. Just relax your hands for a moment, not your arms, just your hands. Wait for a lull on the line ... good. See, he’s changing direction from the way he started out ... Okay, now, hold on with your hands, and let your arms go just a little ... take a deep breath ... and another. You’re doing it, Sweetchild. You can do it.”

Matt stood behind me to make sure I didn’t slip. We had been battling with this monster for twenty minutes by then, and the fight started to draw some attention. A flotilla of small boats floated our direction to get a closer look.

My body ached, but the crowd’s cheers hiked my adrenalin, reinvigorating me.

Suddenly, the fish broke the surface. He was brownish with long fins on his back and a mouth like a trout. He seemed to be looking in several directions at once.

“That sumbich is one large wall-eyed pike,” Matt said. “Twenty pounds, I’ll wager. Sarah, you pay close attention. This could be the granddaddy of these parts.”

Finally, the fish let go. All at once, he just stopped trying, and the absence of weight on the line sent me sprawling practically into the brink. Shaking like a leaf, I managed to get him up into the boat, but I didn’t have the strength to net him, so Matt did it for me.

All the other fishermen began to applaud.

“We could have Federico’s cook him up for us tonight,” Uncle Harry teased.

“NOOOOO!” I shrieked. “Can’t we just weigh him and let him go?” 

Matt put his arms around me, and I collapsed into his embrace. I was totally exhausted and completely unaware of everything on our trip back to the dock except that fish, which we kept alive in a bucket of water. I watched him closely the whole time to make sure he was all right.
 

A string of boats followed us to the weigh station to see how my pike would be recorded. It was a big one, noted the official. “That’s 19 pounds and seven ounces … a mighty fine catch, young lady.” The weight master tossed the fish back into the bucket of water, and we pushed the boat back into the lake. A few moments later, the pike was swimming madly back to the depths from whence it had come.