The Flying Circus (17 page)

“Since you’re on foot, I assume it’s too damaged to ride.”

She nodded, looking just a little contrite.

“Get in the truck.” Gil walked to the driver’s door.

“Maybe I’ll walk the rest of the way,” Cora said.

“Jesus.” Henry grabbed her by the arm and moved her toward the truck. “Stop being such a pain in the ass.”

She didn’t resist. “You used to be on my side.”

“Not when you’re acting like a three-year-old. Use some sense.”

She sat in between Gil and Henry with Mercury on her lap. As she petted the dog, Henry noticed her palms were skinned. The stab of sympathy he felt for her injuries irritated him even more.

In a few minutes she said, “I’ll think about it.”

“What?” Gil asked.

“Flying with you.” She leaned a little more Gil’s way.

Henry’s stomach bubbled and boiled. The hateful taste of jealousy lingered in the back of his throat. He wasn’t sure if it was over Cora’s taking his place in the cockpit, or the idea of Gil and Cora being alone together. But in that moment, he did begin to understand Emmaline Dahlgren just a little better.

9

T
hree days later, Henry, Cora, and Gil had spent enough time scouting Marion and riding the electric train to neighboring towns to discover that, while Gather’s stories were indeed true, Williamson County was currently no bloodier than any other. It did seem like a place in desperate need of a lively diversion from its troubles, so that boded well for the show.

Once Gil was good and convinced there was no immediate danger, around halfway through the second day, he stopped going with Cora and Henry on their “little outings,” a term that normally would run up battle flags with Cora, but somehow slipped right by on placid waters. That change in temperament nettled Henry like a hair-fine pricker under the skin. He was feeling like the third wheel on a bicycle.

At least Cora was inching back to her old easy ways with Henry.

Finally, they received a telegram saying the new propeller had shipped. It was time to get geared up to get back to work. Henry was glad for it. Even though they were taking the opportunity to give the Jenny’s engine an overhaul, Gil’s spirit seemed to be fed by altitude, not just proximity to his machine. He got quieter and more distant each day they were grounded. Cora had even started to avoid him—which was a bit of a silver lining to Henry.

Gil had disappeared before dawn to who knew where. Henry and Cora decided to take the motorcycle into Marion to give out more handbills. Mercury was in her jacket. She sat in front of Henry, sideways on Mercury’s seat, boxed in by Henry’s arms with her legs draped
over his right thigh, an intimate contact that was getting harder and harder to keep in perspective.

“All set,” she said. Mercury woofed. “He likes to go fast, so goose it, Kid!”

The rumbling machine felt good under him. He took off. Cora shrieked. Mercury howled. For the first time in a week, Henry grinned.

He parked next to a bright green Hupmobile touring car in front of the Goodall Hotel.

“Meet back here at six?” Cora set Mercury on the ground and pulled the stack of handbills out of her jacket before she took it off. Underneath she wore a sensible dress that hit her leg at midcalf. Henry mentally applauded her rare nonconfrontational choice; no need to irritate those who opposed women dressing like men.

“I think we should stick together,” Henry said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll cover twice as much ground separately. It’s the middle of a Tuesday afternoon.” She looked down at Mercury, waiting patiently at her side. “And I have my guard dog. Besides, you said you wanted to go to the service garage. Why should I waste my time there?”

He hesitated and looked around.

“We’ve been here for four days,” she said in a huff. “It’s just like anyplace else. Stop being such a mother hen.”

Even with the afternoon heat, plenty of townsfolk were on the streets, many of them unescorted ladies. A girl of about ten was sweeping the sidewalk in front of the store next to the hotel. Four boys stood near the bins of fruit in front of the market, no doubt looking for the opportunity to help themselves. A young woman pushed a baby carriage down the sidewalk. People were coming and going from the courthouse. It did look just like anyplace else.

“Okay. But five o’clock. Don’t leave the downtown area.”

“Yes, Father.”

Henry left her thinking,
Good God, mother hen, Father, Kid.
That’s how she viewed him. Was it so wrong to want more?

Safe. This was safe. For both of them.
Keep that in mind
.

He went straight to Cagles Garage on Market Street, intent on getting back to her sooner rather than later. He paused at the wide door to the service area and waited for his eyes to adjust. The odor of exhaust, gasoline, and oil had been absorbed by the floor and the open rafters. He breathed deeply. The smell was more welcome to him than that of freshly baked bread. He was a lucky man to be living in a time with the miracle of the internal combustion engine and all of the wonders it had spawned.

The man inside the garage was working on the axle of an old black carriage with a cracked leather bonnet and weathered wood wheels. Oh, how times were changing. There would come a day when horses and mules were completely replaced by machines, Henry just knew it.

What if airplanes became commonplace? What would Gil do? His being grounded these past days showed just how much he needed to be airborne. If he lost that, it’d kill him. Henry’s thoughts stopped cold in their tracks. After witnessing Gil’s recent behavior, Henry thought maybe that’s what he was hoping for; the plane to kill him before progress killed barnstorming.

Henry turned his thoughts away from the day-by-day tightrope walk of their lives. Right now the Jenny needed new spark plugs and a never-ending supply of oil.

He introduced himself to the man and told him what he needed.

“Well now, I heard you fellas was in town.” The man wiped his hands on a rag so oily it was a useless gesture. “Been wantin’ to get out there and take a look at that airplane. Ain’t seen one since I got back from the war. So your pilot fly over there?” He pulled a pad from under the counter and started writing up a ticket for Henry’s purchases.

“He did.”

“Dangerous business—but then ain’t that war in general?”

“Yes, sir. You serve?”

“Army medical transport.”

“You saw a lot of bad, then.”

“I did. Not many fighter pilots though. Not much left to fix when they got it.”

Henry nodded. “Our pilot flew reconnaissance.”

The man whistled. “He must be one lucky bastard. Wasn’t hardly none of them come back at all. Had to fly low, always behind enemy lines. Easy targets. Get shot down and”—he shrugged—“that was the last we seen of them.”

Just a taxidriver for a photographer, huh?

Henry paid for the supplies and the man agreed to deliver everything out to the Gather farm free of charge.

As Henry was tacking a handbill for Mercury’s Daredevils on an electric pole, he saw Gil walk into the post office.

Henry walked the half block and followed him up the granite steps. Inside, Gil stood at a tall marble-and-wood table set before one of the large front windows. He was putting paper money into an envelope. Henry waited, feeling like the spy he’d once been accused of being, while Gil licked the envelope and then picked up a pencil to address it.

Shame finally got the better of Henry and he walked over to the table. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

Gil jumped. His hand covered the envelope and his eyes looked guilty. Henry could only see the last name in the address: Gilchrist.

“Where’s Cora?” Gil asked.

“Delivering handbills.”

“By herself!”

Henry’s back stiffened. “I thought
you
decided it was safe around here.”

“No place is safe when Cora’s running loose.”

“True enough.” Henry wanted to suggest that if Gil felt that way, he should keep an eye on her, but that was the furthest thing from what Henry wanted. “I was arranging for the spark plugs, oil, and gasoline. She didn’t want to come. I’m headed to find her now.”

“Good idea.” Gil slipped the envelope off the table and held it against his leg. “See you back at camp.” He walked away and got in line at the window.

Henry left the post office thinking Gil must have family of some sort. Sending money to parents? Not that it could be much; their cuts had been pretty darn lean.

How would you feel if Gil were sneaking around after you?

Henry hurried down the steps and decided to forget about seeing Gil in town at all.

He ducked in and out of businesses looking for Cora. Finally it neared five o’clock and he went to the Goodall Hotel. Five minutes later, Cora and Mercury came down the street. Mercury had a swagger in his trot and a huge bone in his mouth.

“He didn’t steal it, did he?”

Cora laughed. “He actually worked for it this time. Did a dozen tricks for the butcher before he got it.”

Henry reached down and picked up the dog. The bone made him half again his normal weight. “Didn’t they have a smaller one?”

“Mercury was allowed to choose. Being a fella, he had to go overboard.” She scratched behind the dog’s ears. Then she looked up at Henry with a sparkle in her eye—the kind that usually meant trouble. “Hungry? I know just where we’re going for dinner.”

“Let me guess, under the stars at Gather’s farm . . . perhaps with a high-hat, delicious can of beans?”

“No.” She grinned as if she’d just won the blue ribbon at the county fair. “We’re dining out.”

“Your treat? ’Cause there’s not much left in the till.”

“As a matter of fact, we’re going as guests.”

“Whose?”

“A fella from the hardware store.”

“A fella from the hardware store?”

“Yes, he was quite nice.”

“I’m sure he was . . . to you. Does he know you come as a package deal? And I’m not just meaning the dog.”

“Of course! He wants to show off with a war hero.”

Henry decided to just let Cora deal with Gil’s reaction to that. “Where are we meeting him?” This town had plenty of nice places, and the Daredevils’ meals had been plenty lean. Henry’s mouth watered.

“Oh, it’s not in town.” She moved toward the motorcycle. “It’s along some creek or river or something. He’s picking us up in his car.”

“Just what kind of place is this?” Henry hoped his hunch was wrong.

“It’s a supper club. You’ll like it.”

“I think we should stick to some place in town. It’s better for business.”

“Come on, Henry. People who like fun will be there.” She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. “
Fun
, Henry. As in a good time. We could use one, too.”

“As in
illegal
.”

“I have it on good authority that the prohees are well taken care of, so it’s hands-off.”

“Prohees?”

“Prohibition agents.”

“Ah. This from the hardware-store owner you just met?”

“Oh, it wasn’t the owner. It was a fella
in
the hardware store. He goes out there all of the time.”

“This is a really bad idea.”

“Come on, Kid. I’ve been in plenty of blind pigs. None of them were ever raided.”

“Then the odds aren’t in your favor now, are they?”

She tsked. “
Nobody
enforces that stupid law. There’s too much money to be made ignoring it.” She walked on. “What’s the worst that’ll happen? Anyone I’ve ever known who got pinched in a raid just spent the night in the pokey. Big deal.”

“Yeah. Big deal.” Henry had actually gone a couple of consecutive weeks without looking over his shoulder; now he wondered if wanted posters made it from Indiana to Illinois.

She plucked her jacket off the handlebars of the motorcycle and slipped it on. “Get a wiggle on! I need to get myself dolled up and ready to go.”

He followed, certain Gil would put a stop to this whole supper-club business.

When they got back to camp, Gil’s dull, restless eyes lit up at the mention of it.

“It doesn’t really seem like your kind of place,” Henry said. The man barely tolerated being inside a restaurant long enough to get a meal
down. When the crowd pressed too close at the field, he climbed up on the wing of the Jenny to distance himself.

“They serve alcohol?”

“Yeah. That’s the problem. I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot. We should avoid trouble. Not to mention support a restaurant in town, buy some goodwill, make people want to come see us.”

“If they serve a drink, it is my kind of place. We’ll catch plenty of fish there, too.”

Henry furrowed his brow. “Oh?”

“What kind of people buy airplane rides?”

“Curious ones.”

“And?”

Henry shook his head.

“Risk. They like risk. So stop fretting.”

“I don’t think ending up in jail will be good for business.”

“But the drink will be worth it.” Gil laughed, a sound so rare Henry could count the times he’d heard it on one hand. “They would have eaten you alive in Chicago, old boy.”

H
enry didn’t like the “fella from the hardware store” on sight. He drove too fast, skidding to a stop on the road in front of the field. He honked an overly large, polished brass bulb horn—a farce in itself—mounted on the side of a shiny green Packard. Then he hung his slicked head out the window, waved a straw boater as if he were beckoning cattle, and yelled, “Hey, beautiful! You ready?”

Gil looked toward Cora with his head tilted and his brows raised.

Henry muttered,
“Ugh.”

Cora rolled her eyes. “It’s a ride, boys.” She waved cheerily and started toward the Packard.

Henry had already decided he wasn’t going. Since he’d left Indiana, luck had been on his side. He wasn’t going to tempt fate over some illegal hooch. If he was arrested, it was all over. He was waiting until the last minute to back out so Cora wouldn’t have time to wheedle him
into going. Once she and Gil were gone, he’d send the Gather boy, who was supposed to watch the plane, off with his dime in his pocket for no work at all.

Setting eyes on this reckless fancy man changed Henry’s mind. What if Gil drank too much to look out for Cora?

At least she wasn’t wearing that too-short, low-backed dress. Still, her lips were scarlet red and her city polish didn’t need fine clothes and feathers to draw men’s attention. She wore jodhpurs and polished knee boots, a blue blouse with too many buttons undone, and a white scarf around her neck tied in the back, its ends trailing to her waist. No doubt her clothes were intended to mark her as part of Mercury’s Daredevils and not just some ordinary girl.

Even dressed in those mannish jodhpurs, she made a man think of things he shouldn’t.

“This should be interesting,” Gil said as he fell into step behind her across the grassy field.

Henry debated only a moment longer. “Ah, hell.” He told the Gather boy, “Take care of the dog. He’ll try to follow her.” Then Henry headed toward the Packard, dread dancing on the back of his neck like spider’s feet.

They climbed into the car, Cora in the front seat. The man shoved his hand over the seat back toward Gil—a soft, pasty kind of hand that didn’t know work. “Pierce Whitley. Glad to have you join us, ace.” The proprietary way he said “us” made Henry’s ears get hot.