The Flying Circus (35 page)

“This is an unusual tactic for defense, son.”

“It isn’t a tactic. It’s the truth. And if someone else did this to Emmaline? Then he needs to be held accountable. Remember I told you she’d been in the woods near the Chautauqua grounds the day before. And she was angry.”

“So you say.”

“Well, isn’t that what it’s all about? What I say? What someone else might have to say if you ask them the right questions?” Henry stopped short of suggesting the sheriff question Johanna. If the girl had seen anything, he felt sure she would have told her father.

The sheriff rose from his seat. “Let’s get you back to your cell.”

The sound of the cell door’s locking seemed louder this time. Henry had no idea what the sheriff intended to do, if he did anything at all.

26

A
fter his meeting with the sheriff, the calm left Henry on a hurricane wind. Maybe it had just been numbness, a stunned emotional pause, like those brief seconds after you hit your finger with a hammer before the knee-buckling pain sets in. The relief was ebbing, too, being replaced inch by inch with the stark fear that he might never see the outside world again, never see the world from a bird’s-eye view with the wind tearing at his hair.

He made laps around the rectangle of his small cell. Only one other occupied cell was near him. Its inhabitant punctuated the silence with the slow rhythmic thud of his head against the bars. It had started the minute the man was locked in there. Henry’s pace fell into the cadence of that steady beat.

As he circled, the regrets started. If he’d come when he’d made the decision to, he could have gone to Mr. Dahlgren himself, first thing. Standing face-to-face, even if the man didn’t believe or forgive him, he would at least have heard Henry out, he was sure of it. And he could have done some digging himself before he turned himself in, had more to offer the sheriff. If Henry had gone back to the river, it might have shaken something from the mortar of his memory.

He heard the courthouse clock strike one. Today was race day. Or was it yesterday? Time had gotten scrambled.

That he wouldn’t know the outcome of the race hit him like a physical blow. No one would share news of Gil or Cora or the flying circus. He was cut off in a way he’d never been. It was true, he’d been alone a
good part of his life; but after having had people who’d accepted him, who’d willingly shared their lives with him, this new aloneness was more bitter than any he’d ever had to face.

And Gil? What must he think of me?
By now, Gil had to know Henry had been charged with murder, had used Gil to get away and lied to him. If not from the Dade County sheriff, then from Cora. Henry had stupidly thought he had more time. Now he just seemed that much more cowardly. Would he ever have a chance to apologize?

The door to the hall in front of the cells clattered open. “He’s at the end. I’ll be right here. Don’t get close to the cells.”

Henry stepped close to the bars and listened as soft footsteps approached. The head-thumping in the other cell stopped. Then it started again.

And she was there. He blinked to make certain his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him.

“Hello, Henry.” Cora stepped close and put her hands through the bars. Henry grabbed them like a lifeline. She smelled different, but somehow familiar.

“You shouldn’t be here. Where’s Gil? Did they let him out?” Questions tumbled on statements, fueled by the fear she’d be swept away from him again. “Did the Pinkerton force you back here?”

“Miss! Step back or you’ll have to leave.”

Defiance showed in her eyes. Henry let go of her hands, took a step back, and nodded for her to do the same.

She took a small step backward. A half smile graced her lips when she said, “The Pinkerton finally gave up when I yelled for someone to call the police, that I was being kidnapped. And the police let Gil go after I went in and explained everything to their satisfaction.”

Henry relaxed a bit. “The race?”

“The race was yesterday afternoon.”

“How’d you get here so fast?”

“I’ve been here since early this morning.”

“Oh, Cora! You didn’t race?”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t stay down there and run it with you up here . . . like this.”

“But this was your chance! Evans, the Evie—” He’d ruined it for her.

“Gil raced it. You know his chances of winning were far better than mine. We wanted the money to hire you a good lawyer. And as far as Evans is concerned, a war hero is next-best thing to a woman daredevil for publicity.”

Henry stood there for a few seconds absorbing the enormity of what she’d given up. “You shouldn’t have come. There isn’t anything you can do. You gave that race up for
nothing.
”

“I disagree.” She stepped closer again and the deputy issued a sharp warning. She stopped just short of putting her hands on the bars. She lowered her voice. “I went straight to the Dahlgren farm.”

Henry felt as if he’d been gut-punched. “You what?”

“I wanted to tell Mr. Dahlgren what you couldn’t, what you’d been planning to.”

Henry didn’t even want to ask how it had gone. He knew. He just hated it that Cora had to experience the loathing that should have been his. “He wouldn’t see me.”

“I know. But I think that had more to do with placating his wife than with you.”

Henry shook his head, unable to force words from his lips. She was just trying to make him feel better.

“He doesn’t want to believe you hurt his daughter. I can see it. He’s just so beaten down by everyone telling him it has to be true.”

Henry remembered how Mr. Dahlgren had been about the bracelet Emmaline said Henry had stolen, how he’d not been able to call his daughter a liar, yet hadn’t punished Henry in a way that said he believed the lie.

“We don’t have time to fool around here, Henry. We need answers. So I asked him what evidence they had that you attacked Emmaline—after his wife left the room with a case of the vapors, of course. You were right!” Cora’s voice rose with restrained excitement. She glanced
to make sure the deputy wasn’t inching closer and listening. “After Violet came back screaming that she’d seen you, that you’d killed her sister, no one looked any further.”

This statement aroused no excitement in Henry. Quite the opposite. “That isn’t good news.”

“Yes, it is! It means there might be something out there I can find that will at least raise enough doubt to get the authorities to take a serious look at the case again.”

“It’s been months. What could be left to find?”

“Maybe nothing at the river; it’s been too long. I’m still going to take a look. But don’t you think if some questions were asked of the right people, we might discover at least another possibility for who attacked her? I’d like to talk to Violet, too, away from her mother.”

Something clicked in his head, he could almost hear it.

“What is it? You look funny.”

“Are you wearing perfume?”

“What? No. When have you known me to wear perfume?”

He had to smile. She was so clever. “Remember when you said smells trigger memory? You smell like Violet.”

A sly smile crossed her face. She reached inside the collar of her blouse and pulled out a handkerchief. She waved it in the air in front of him. “This what you smell?”

He nodded.

She unfolded it to show a monogram,
V.M.D.
, in swirly letters. “I might have gotten a little worked up when I was at the farm. Mr. Dahlgren handed me this to dab my eyes.”

“That’s Violet’s. Her fiancé gave her that expensive bottle of perfume. She practically bathed in it, walked around in a vapor that stuck on anybody who got too close. Emmaline kept hiding it from her. Poor Phillip smelled like a girl most of the time. He was probably sorry he bought it.”

“Well”—Cora curled up her nose—“I wouldn’t like it if you smelled like that. I like you smelling like a man, like motor oil and exhaust.”

“I miss those smells already.”

“Me, too.” She smiled and it nearly broke his heart. “But I’m going to get you back out there tearing engines apart. Soon.”

That sobered him up again. “Cora, don’t get your hopes too high. The odds aren’t in my favor.”

Her chin tilted into a stubborn angle, the one he’d grown to love. “I happen to believe the odds are always in favor of the truth. And I’m going to find it. I’m going to poke everything I come across to see if it stinks—something the lazy-thinking police haven’t bothered to do.” She waved the hankie. “And now I have a reason to go back to the Dahlgren farm, walk the path to the river. Mr. Dahlgren seemed kind, I don’t think he’ll keep me from it. He asked about you and what you’ve been doing these months. That’s not the kind of thing a man would ask if he thought beyond a doubt that you hurt his daughter. Maybe I can convince him to see you.”

Henry nodded. If Mr. Dahlgren could believe in him, if he could forgive Henry’s running, that would be some consolation. He thanked God for Cora and her headstrong ways. Then he said, “Did you see Johanna while you were there? She’s just eight, the youngest, she probably wouldn’t have talked. She’s too self-conscious of her stammer. I’ve been worried about her.”

“Oh, Henry, you have such a good heart! See why I don’t need proof that you
didn’t
do this?”

“Johanna?”

“None of the girls were allowed in the room. But there was a girl, a tiny thing, I saw peering around a tree at me as I came and went.”

“That’s Johanna. Did she look okay?”

“I don’t know that I got a good enough look to say. She was bundled up in a coat, hat, and mittens. Her face wasn’t bruised up, if that’s what you mean. She seemed . . . curious, and yet skittish.”

“Johanna’s bruises are on the inside. If you see her when you go back, show her some kindness. Tell her I think of her. Tell her not to be afraid. She’s strong.”

Cora gasped and put her hand over her mouth. She blinked several times before she said, “I will. I promise.”

“Miss? Time to go.”

Cora cast an impatient look toward the deputy. “I’m going to do some digging. I’ll be back tomorrow.” She reached out a hand, but pulled it back with a glance toward the deputy. Instead she held him with her eyes. “Don’t give up, Henry.”

She started away.

“Wait! The race? Gil?”

“I have to go to the telegraph office. He was supposed to wire last night. I’m staying at the Delaware Hotel.” She said it as if Henry might stop by and see her.

“Let me know how he did in the race as soon as you can.”

“I will.” She wiggled her fingers in a wave and stepped from sight. The door slammed and the lock clattered home.

Henry sat down on his bunk. And tried not to hope too much.

T
hey didn’t turn on the lights in the jail-cell hall. One large, barred window at the end where the door was gave the only light, so Henry and the head thumper ate their dinners in dusky dimness. At least the man stopped his thudding to eat. By five thirty, it was dark. The head thumping started again. Henry lay down on his cot and closed his eyes, letting the rhythm rock him.

He imagined himself in the air, the vibration of the engine against his spine, the dips and rises of the plane, the wind singing in the wires. He decided this was the way he would fall asleep every night for the rest of his life. That way he’d never forget the sensation.

Then he was running through the tangled woods . . . the blue ribbon fluttering . . . he reached for it . . . and smelled Violet’s perfume.

Sitting bolt upright in bed, he tried to hold the memory, follow its lead. But it was gone.

Violet had moved to Phillip’s family’s farm upon their marriage, but she still spent many afternoons at the home place. She was there that day, for certain. But it could have been Emmaline that was wearing the perfume, triggering that memory. He struggled to remember; the girls’
petty arguments were so frequent that the content drifted away on their breath. Had Emmaline hidden that perfume from Violet when she moved out?

Did it mean anything at all? He thought of Cora, how that small scrap of fabric had carried the smell, so it was unlikely.

He lay back and closed his eyes again, willing the memory to return. It was like trying to capture smoke.

T
ime had been moving quickly from the moment Henry had been knocked down at the airfield. But after Cora’s visit it slowed to a painful crawl. How was he going to spend the rest of his life with seconds dragging by, nothing to do but stare at three walls and a set of bars?

Be glad. Once you’re convicted, your slow-moving seconds might run out in the electric chair.

Each hour he listened for the clock chime. They were getting further apart, they had to be. After it finally hit three o’clock, the door to the hallway rattled. The deputy issued the same warning as yesterday to stay away from the bars.

Henry stood quickly.

Cora’s footsteps were quick, determined, as she approached his cell. The seconds would fly by now.

“Henry!” She looked surprised by the volume of her voice. Henry had to tuck his hands under his arms to keep from reaching through the bars and touching her face. When she went on, she was quieter, but still filled with excitement. “I went back to the farm. Mrs. Dahlgren, thankfully, had taken to her bed with a headache. I pled with Mr. Dahlgren to come and see you. He didn’t commit, but I think he’ll come around.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s not the good part. When I came out of the house, Johanna was hiding behind the same tree as yesterday. I told her that I had a message for her from you and she came out. I talked her into showing me the path that leads to the river. I didn’t want her to go all of the way
with me—not to where her sister died. By the time we got to the edge of the bare woods, she was talking a little. My God, Henry, she worships you like a big brother.

“We sat down for a bit. The cold was biting through me, but she didn’t seem to mind, so I just let her keep talking. It was like she hadn’t spoken a word in weeks—she probably hadn’t—and there was so much she wanted to say, so many emotions that needed to see the light. I’m glad you warned me of her stammer. I waited while she found her way. It seemed like that was all she’d ever wanted anyone to do, give her time to speak. I know that’s why she loves you. You did that for her.”

Henry’s heart squeezed for the child. Trapped in silence, when all it took was patience to let her find her way with the words. Why couldn’t her family just give her that?

Cora stepped closer and whispered, “When I tried to get her to talk about Emmaline, she looked panicked, her eyes darting everywhere but my face. I thought about her silence and how she’d probably held her grief alone, too. So I kept asking her questions about her sister, giving her the opportunity to work through her grief—I tried to do like you would have, had you been able to be there for her. But it wasn’t just grief. She was afraid. I tried to tell her that what happened to Emmaline was tragic, but rare, she didn’t need to be afraid that something would happen to her, too. That’s when she started crying. Sobbing. Oh, it was so pitiful.