Authors: Susan Crandall
July 28
Broadway past fairgrounds
passenger flights all day by safest, sanest pilots in the air
Admission $2 children under 12 free Rides $5
Safe and sane? No one who did those stunts could be. All four corners of the poster were stamped with an insignia bearing the show’s name. This air circus had enough cash to print fancy flyers specific to date and location. Chances were none of their airplanes had patches and mismatched paint. How much of Missouri had this circus already covered?
With a sickness growing in his belly, he yanked down the poster, folded it, and stuck it inside his shirt. Then he went to wait at the courthouse for Cora and Gil so they could decide their next move. Options were few; they’d used the last of their cash to put gasoline in the machines to get them here.
C
ape Girardeau was laid out differently from any other county seat Henry had seen. He supposed that was because of its being a port on the river. Instead of a courthouse square in the center of town, Main Street ran along the riverfront and the courthouse sat on a high hill a few blocks to the west.
Henry rode the motorcycle up Themis Street, which T’d into the courthouse. Directly ahead were six long tiers of grand, wide steps that led up the hill to the pillared front of the two-story courthouse. The tiers extended in the grassy lawn on both sides of the steps and were dotted with trees and park benches. It was probably the most beautiful approach to a building Henry had ever seen.
He parked on Lorimier next to a block-ice delivery truck.
Sitting on one of the park benches were Cora and Gil. Mercury sat between them and let out a bark when he saw Henry.
“Henry!” Cora came running down the steps, waving a poster in her hand. Mercury bounced along behind her. “Did you see this? They have a
wing walker
! And
four
planes! What are we going to do?”
Gil stayed slouched on his perch with one arm on the back of the bench. Henry wondered how the man could stay so calm considering their dire straits. Yet it gave Henry some satisfaction to know that in said dire straits, Cora turned to him.
He took her by the arm and turned her around. They walked back up the steps, toward the bench. “We’ll figure it out.”
“How? I thought we were out of money.” Then she turned her attention back to the poster. “See.” She tapped the bottom of the poster. “
They
figured out a way to charge admission!”
“Looks like they’ve figured out a lot of things.” Mercury was nipping at Henry’s heels. He bent down and scooped the pup up; petting him always soothed Henry’s raw nerves. “Bet they don’t have a dog.”
“Seriously, Henry! If people wanted to see a dog do tricks, they’d go to a regular circus. We need an air spectacle! A wing walker.”
Henry shook his head. “There’s no way we can compete here and now with this show. We’ll have to find another way to skin this cat.”
They reached Gil, and Cora said, “For some reason, Flyboy is as cool as a cucumber and thinks this will all just work itself out.”
Once he got closer, Henry could see that Gil had already found himself some local bootleg—which probably accounted for his boneless ease and lack of urgency.
Gil looked at Henry, blinking as if he were looking into the sun even though it was after six o’clock and the sun was well behind the courthouse. “We don’t have enough gas to get the Jenny to the next county seat. And we sure as hell aren’t going to sell any rides with these fellas in town. It’s time to call it a day.”
Cora’s eyes grew wide and her mouth tight. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying Mercury’s Daredevils are over. Maybe you can get on with this air circus. Doesn’t say they have a motorcycle . . . or a woman.”
“That’s it! You’re giving up, just like that?”
Gil shrugged. “I can scrape by alone. But I need to be agile to do it. And with you two to feed and the motorcycle—”
“You can’t be serious!” Cora shouted. Her jaw flexed as she gritted her teeth. “We’ve worked so hard! We just need to think bigger to compete.”
Henry pushed down his panic as he looked at Gil’s resolute and somewhat relieved face.
“Hey!” Gil finally looked her in the eye. “
I
didn’t want any of this. It worked when I was on my own. I’m going back to that.”
“You’d just leave us stranded?”
“Henry’s welcome to stick with me if he wants; he’s a much better mechanic than me. It’s the motorcycle—”
“This air circus obviously plans ahead!” She shook the now-crumpled poster in her fist. “They don’t just fly over a town and do a few stunts to draw a crowd. We just need to take the next step. Expand. Henry and I can learn to fly. We’ll get another plane. We can ditch the motorcycle—”
“Stop! Cora, stop.” Gil raised his hands as if warding off a physical attack.
“We can pool the money from each of our cuts and buy the gasoline to get out of here, at least. Regroup.”
They probably could limp on to someplace else, as long as that someplace wasn’t too far away.
“You’ll do that, won’t you, Henry?” Cora looked at him. “And with mine and Gil’s we should have enough money—”
“I’m broke,” Gil said.
Henry thought of the money going into the envelope at the post office.
“What do you mean, you’re broke? How can you be broke? I haven’t seen you buy anything other than the occasional drink.”
“Feel free to check my pockets.” Gil lifted his arms away from his body in invitation.
“Henry?”
“Ten dollars and seventy-six cents.”
“I have—”
“No,” Gil said. “This is the end. I don’t want a bigger act. Hell, I didn’t want this act. It’s better to call it quits here where you can join up with another show.”
“But you’ll take
Henry
with you.”
Henry cast a sideways glance at her. Her face was filled with fury, but her eyes shone with unshed tears.
“It’s up to him. He can probably get on with Hoffman if he wants, too.” Gil’s face grew almost cruel. “And by the way, he already knows how to fly.”
This was not the same man who’d taken off from Marion this morn
ing. Henry stood there listening to Cora’s ragged breathing and studying Gil, trying to figure what had triggered this sudden decision. With the increased travel time in waiting for the ferry and the condition of the roads, Henry figured Gil and Cora had been in Cape Girardeau at least five hours longer than he had. What had happened?
“You are such an ass,” Cora finally said.
Gil lifted a nonchalant shoulder. “I admitted it the first day we met.”
“You’re just . . .” She snapped her mouth closed and looked to be collecting herself. “I’ll leave you to burn off that hooch and come to your senses.” She spun around and stomped down the steps to Lorimier Street.
“What the hell, Gil?” Henry asked. “You’re not serious, are you?”
“Go after her. Make sure she’s all right.”
Henry pegged Gil with a suspicious eye. “You won’t go climb in the Jenny and leave?”
“Can’t. Not unless I can figure out a way to get her to run on my own piss.” Gil paused. “And, yes, I’m serious. Get her to see reason and join up with Hoffman.”
“What makes you think he’ll take her?”
“He’s not a man to miss an opportunity to grow his show.”
Henry looked at Gil more sharply. “You know him?”
“Crossed paths more than once. Served with Althoff.”
“Something happened today.” Henry didn’t pose it as a question.
Gil gazed out over the town and the river, pressing his lips together. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “I need her away from me.”
Henry glanced over his shoulder. Cora had reached the street and was heading down Themis toward Main. Henry was getting emotional seasickness trying to keep up with the changing tides between Gil and Cora. “Why?”
“Just go.” Gil got up off the bench and started across the stretch of lawn.
Henry watched Gil’s back for a few seconds, then turned to follow Cora, feeling his life once again shifting under his feet.
11
B
y the time Henry caught up to Cora, she’d already come back up Themis to Lorimier Street and turned north. She was walking with determined purpose. Mercury hustled along beside her.
“Where are you going?” Henry asked.
“I’m doing what Gil wants.” She didn’t slow or look at Henry. “Going to find Jake Hoffman.” Her feet were hitting the ground so hard it shook her breath and words.
“I don’t think he meant for you to do it this minute. It’s late. You don’t even know how far out they are.” He hadn’t decided which course he was going to take, push her out or draw her back in—not until he’d found out what had happened today.
She kept moving. “Fairgrounds are about a mile and a half. They can’t be too far from there if they advertised that location.”
“With a show that big, they’re probably staying in a hotel.”
“I’ll wait. What else do I have to do?”
“Cora, don’t be ridiculous.” He grabbed her arm and stopped her. “What in the hell happened today? What made Gil start this?”
“Oh, who knows what’s going on in that thick head of his?” Her words sounded hard, but her chin quivered and she looked as if she was about to cry.
For the first time since Henry had met her she seemed vulnerable. Even when she’d nearly drowned, her spirit had been unbroken. The pain in her eyes set Henry’s heart on fire. Just as he reached for her shoulders, she turned and started walking again.
He called after her, “We do have a motorcycle, you know.”
She stopped dead, but didn’t turn around. It looked as if she was wiping her eyes. Her shoulders squared and she spun and headed back in his direction with as much determination as she’d been going the other way. “Well, come on, then.”
“H
o-ly moly,” Cora breathed after Henry shut off the engine.
Henry could find no words.
The sight of four majestic, identically painted airplanes lined up in the golden glow of the setting sun was enough to make Henry’s heart stutter. Three were Jennies, and the other looked similar but was bigger; all had red and white sunburst stripes on the wings and body. Parked beside the planes were a panel truck and a trailer, both with paint schemes similar to the planes’. The tails of the planes and the doors of the truck had circular insignias matching the ones on the poster.
Nearby were several roomy, neat camping tents, also bearing the Hoffman Flying Circus insignia. A long table held a couple of portable stoves, one with a coffeepot on it, the other a soup kettle. Beside those was a loaf of bread ready for slicing. Five tin plates and cups were stacked at one end.
At first Henry thought the place was deserted as a ghost town, then a redheaded man emerged from one of the tents pulling his suspenders up over his shoulders.
“Sorry, kids. No rides until the show opens.” He looked beyond them, then back to Henry. “Nice motorcycle you got there.”
“Thanks,” Cora said. “It’s mine.”
Mercury leaped from Cora’s arms and headed directly to the outdoor kitchen. He danced on his back legs with his nose high in the air, trying to reach the tabletop.
“Beg pardon for my assumption, Miss . . .” The man looked impressed.
She extended her hand, not in a girlie way, but as a prospective business partner. “Rose. Miss Cora Rose. Are you Mr. Hoffman?”
He shook her hand. “Reece Althoff. Jake’s in town getting supplies.” He offered a hand to Henry.
“Henry Jefferson.” The name was finally beginning to slide off his tongue like a well-oiled lie. “You served in the air corps with Charles Gilchrist?”
Reece grinned. “I did.”
Cora cast Henry a surprised glance, then went on smoothly as if that hadn’t been news to her. “Henry and I have been working with him this summer. We call ourselves Mercury’s Daredevils. Stunts in the air and on the ground.” She said it like a pitch.
With a marveling shake of the head, Reece said, “That bastard’s still alive?”
“Quite,” Cora said in a tone that said she might be wishing otherwise.
“I never saw anybody try to get himself killed as hard as that man did. Can’t believe he hasn’t managed it yet.” Reece seemed to catch himself. “Come on over here and have a seat.” He pointed to a group of camp stools. “Can I offer you some stew? Plenty to go round.”
Cora said, “No, thank you,” at the same time Henry said, “Yes, please.”
Reece went to the table and handed Henry a plate. Then he looked at Cora. “You sure?”
“I couldn’t choke down a bite right now.” She looked at Henry as if he were a traitor. He sure didn’t see how starving himself would do her any good.
After Henry filled his plate, Reece handed him a thick slice of bread, then tossed a chunk to Mercury. They sat down on the stools.
As Henry sopped up some of the gravy with his bread, he said, “Were you in reconnaissance, too?”
“Oh, no. I was a mechanic. Stayed nice and safe on the ground the whole time. Worked on Gil’s plane quite a bit. Kept coming back with pieces missing . . . never figured how he kept it in the air long enough to get back to base most of the time. Recon had to fly low enough that ground artillery had no trouble hitting them, and German fighters
went after the recon planes first; considered them the biggest threat—plus they weren’t even armed with more than a pistol, like ducks in an arcade.” Admiration colored Reece’s features. “Pretty sure that man could fly an orange crate if you stuck wings on it. He got shot down twice—but I suppose you already know that.”
“He’s been pretty closemouthed about the war,” Henry said. “I’d like to hear it.”
Reece rubbed his chin, recollecting. “First time, lemme see. Oh! That was when he showed back up after two days of sneaking from bush to bush, dragging his wounded photographer along with him. Wouldn’t leave him.” Reece paused as if thinking. “That poor bastard got killed not two months later. Second . . . well, Gil wasn’t so lucky.”
Up until now Cora had been fidgeting impatiently. “What happened?”
“Never heard all of it. Gil wasn’t much of a talker back then—only gave the full account to the brass. Course lots of the pilots were standoffish. At first I figured they thought they were better than us. But once I paid attention, I saw they were that way with each other, too. It was more like they didn’t want to get connected to anyone. Stood to reason. Weren’t many came back.”
“And?” Cora prompted.
“That time the photographer was killed outright, took a bullet in the head before the plane went down. Gil got captured by the Germans and sent to some camp. Took four months, but he escaped. Came back from the dead, as far as we were concerned. Probably only weighed hundred and twenty pounds by then, skin and bones. If he’d made it back with the recon intelligence from that mission, there might have been a lot of soldiers lived to fight another day. I think that bothered him more than being in a prison camp.”
Gil had said,
“I made some bad decisions. And someone else paid for them.”
Henry thought of the soldier who’d been gassed. The dead photographer. The lost intelligence that could have saved lives. Gil carried all of these as personal failures that others had paid for. But it was just war.
Fate swinging lives in the wind. Perhaps Gil’s salvation lay in getting him to see that. Armed with these facts, Henry would have a better chance of helping him.
Cora gave a little telltale sniffle.
Henry wanted to cry for the lives left twisted in the wreckage of that war.
Cora couldn’t help being drawn closer to Gil now. He’d been mysterious before; now he was a tragic hero who’d earned her admiration.
Just as he’d earned Henry’s admiration, as Gil needed to be made to recognize himself.
The war had left a lot of men with a lot of stories. Some closed the book and refused to let those stories see the light of day. Others seemed to need to recite and relive them time and again. Henry didn’t know which was more poisonous to the soul.
When Phillip Whicker had first come courting on the Dahlgren farm, Henry hadn’t been able to tell which of the three eldest sisters he was interested in. And maybe the man himself hadn’t known. He’d been away for years, conscripted into the war, which had left him with a scar on his neck and a large number of heroic stories that the Dahlgren girls had eaten like candy. Eleven-year-old Sarah had been so overcome, she’d followed Henry around while he’d done his chores, sharing the exciting tales.
Instead of returning to the Whicker farm (across the river from the Dahlgrens’) when a ship had delivered him back to the United States after the war, Phillip had stayed in New York City. He’d spent his time there “working on Wall Street.” His stories of elegant parties with tuxedoed men and a million dollars’ worth of jewels hanging on the women had “made Mother’s eyes turn practically green,” according to Sarah.
“When his papa got sick,” Sarah had said, admiration coloring her voice, “Phillip said his ‘conscience demanded’ he return to Indiana and take over the farm.”
Henry had been milking a cow at the time. For coming home to work the farm, Phillip didn’t seem to do much farmwork, but Henry kept his thoughts to himself. Especially the one how he suspected Phil
lip’s confident swagger hid a weak character. Why else did he prattle on so about himself?
One night, Henry’s curiosity had gotten the better of him. He’d sat outside the open parlor window while Phillip visited with the family. Henry was able to get a glimpse into the room and saw that Phillip was seated next to Violet, the oldest, who looked at him as if he were Christ risen from the grave.
Phillip was telling of his scar, which he’d received from a German knife with a nine-inch blade. “We were all asleep. This giant Hun must have belly-crawled into our camp with his knife in his teeth. He was working from foxhole to foxhole, silently slitting throats. He’d already gotten McPhee in ours. The instant the knife touched my skin, I sprang on him, sending the knife to make a jagged cut that missed the vessels. I wrestled him to the ground. He was a fantastic specimen of German brute strength. It was touch and go there for a while, but I finally overpowered him. Saved all but McPhee. That German never sneaked into another foxhole again.” Phillip paused. “I couldn’t leave my men behind on the lines while I went off to the hospital. I wrapped my neck and fought on until Armistice. They say if my wound had been tended properly, I might not have such a horrible scar.”
“Filthy Germans,” Emmaline had said. “No more than animals. Sneaking up with no honor like that.”
The next day both Violet and Emmaline had looked at Henry as if he’d been the one to slice Phillip’s throat. From then on, Henry had made sure to stay out of Phillip’s sight. But the man’s tales continued to feed the girls’ suspicion and disgust, making the war as fresh as yesterday.
After that, they got busy recruiting anyone who would listen into their little band of loathing.
H
enry realized he’d drifted from the conversation. Cora was clearing her throat and saying to Reece, “Thank you for telling us. Gil is silent as a mummy when it comes to his past . . . or anything else, for that matter. Opaque as an oak door.”
“Same old fellow, then.”
Things fell silent. Henry’s thoughts were weighted as much by his own recollections as these new revelations about Gil. Plus he’d facilitated Cora’s quest as far as he was going to, so he kept his mouth filled with food, not conversation.
He hoped by the time they got to the Jenny, Gil would be over whatever had made him want to cut ties with Cora. Even as he hoped it, he knew it was a waste of energy; this didn’t feel like any normal rift. Something significant had happened; something unalterable and course changing. Over the years, Henry had come to recognize the smell of it.
“Well,” Cora said, “I’ve come with a proposition. I’m looking to get on with a bigger show, and Gil suggested yours would be a perfect fit.”
Reece’s ginger eyebrows rose. “That so? What do you do with Mercury’s Daredevils?”
“Stunts on the motorcycle.” She looked over and gasped. “Mercury!” The dog had jumped up on the table and had his head down in the pot of stew. “Get out of there!” She jumped up, and Mercury’s head came out of the pot. He looked at her, licked his gravy-covered chops, leaped off the table, and ducked behind one of the tents. “I am terribly sorry, Mr. Althoff.”
“Meh.” He waved a hand. “The fellas will never know the difference . . . as long as he left enough to feed them.”
She sat back down, her cheeks pink. “As I was saying, Mercury rides with me. He also does some very entertaining tricks on his own—”
“So I see!” Reece jerked his head toward the outdoor kitchen.
Cora managed an embarrassed chuckle. “I have a stunt where I ride through fire, I can do a ramp jump, and I’ve got ideas for lots more.”
Reece looked intrigued. “We could use some ground entertainment, keep the folks happy while they’re waiting their turn for a ride.”
“Exactly! And being a woman working with a dog, it makes us more unique. It’s all about the draw.”
“That it is.” He studied her for a moment. “You do any wing walking?”
“As a matter of fact, I have . . . although I only started recently.”
Henry’s spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. A chunk of potato plopped back onto his tin, splattering gravy on his pant leg.
“I quite like it. And have a
million
ideas for air stunts. I honestly don’t know how you pilots can just sit there for hours on end flying a straight line. I suppose I’m truly a daredevil at heart.”
Henry closed his eyes as his dinner turned in his stomach. It was all becoming clear.
W
hen they got on the motorcycle to leave, Henry asked her, “Do you really want this, or are you just doing it to prove to Gil someone else wants you?”
“It’s good business to have options.” She’d cheered up considerably.
Henry was quiet for a minute. “He wants you to go, you know. He’s not just trying to punish you, or prove a point.”
“Punish me? For what?”
“Seriously, Cora? When was your first opportunity to climb out on the wing of a flying plane?”
“That did make him mad . . . really mad. But he’s been mad before.”