The Flying Circus (37 page)

No matter how many ways Henry looked at it, no scenario made it less tragic; nothing changed that the man who’d saved Henry’s life was dead.

Cora shifted. When he looked at her, she was staring at him. Something had changed behind those eyes.

Without a word, she rolled away, turning her back to him.

28

A
s February arrived, sadness clung to everything, even the damp, gray Mississippi weather. That moist Southern cold penetrated Henry’s bones more deeply than any Indiana winter. He spent all of his waking hours readying the planes. The job didn’t require nearly as much time as he was devoting to it, but with his hands busy, his mind didn’t dwell on the changes that had come with Gil’s death, with apologies left unsaid, with love that had come so close and had now retreated. Flying and Gil were so closely linked in Henry’s heart, he wasn’t sure how he was going to feel about taking to the air again.

Henry and Cora had spent little time together since their return from Indiana.
Gil’s permanent absence proved to be more of a wall between them than his presence had ever been. Most days, Cora was out riding her motorcycle with Mercury. She was always in bed when he returned to the house—although many nights he heard her sniffling behind her closed door. She was always still in her room when he left to work on the planes before dawn. But he knew from Reece that Cora was wearing her grief like a coat that she refused to take off, even in the warmest of rooms. Even Nell was worried about her.

Henry wondered if Cora suspected Gil’s accident might have been forced. And whether, as Henry did, she felt some culpability for Gil’s loss of hope. She’d told Henry she loved him at the jail—before they knew of Gil’s death—but had not since. Henry didn’t know if they would ever find their way back to that moment. He supposed the loss
of what he’d had with Cora was a death of sorts, too. But he wasn’t ready to give up to the point of grieving. Not quite yet.

Jake and Thomas returned to Mississippi. Circus life was about to begin again. Cora had lived this life without Gil. She knew what to expect. But Henry had not. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Yet, what else would he do?

On February 7, they held their memorial service for Gil on the grass airfield at Reece’s farm, continuing to keep Gil’s airborne life separate from his life in Ohio. The weather finally smiled; sunshine and blue skies beckoned those who had aviation in their blood. The red-and-white planes were shined and parked in a semicircle. Cora had bought hothouse flowers and tied them on each propeller. Mercury had a circlet of flowers around his neck. In the center of the semicircle the circus family gathered, including Nell and Reece’s father.

The saying of words had fallen to Henry. He’d written and torn up page after page in preparation. In the end, he decided to offer Gil a simple statement from his heart. He hoped the others wouldn’t be disappointed.

He held Cora’s gaze before he began to speak. Her sad smile broke his heart, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to find his voice.

He cleared his throat. “Charles Gilchrist lived for the air because life on the ground had become too burdensome to bear. Sometimes those who sacrifice the most for others suffer the most, too. He was a good man and I’ll owe him a debt of gratitude for the rest of my life. May his spirit fly on.”

It was silent for a moment and he feared he’d let them all down. Then there was a chorus of
Amen
s and even a quick
rrrruff
from Mercury. For several moments, they stood quietly, heads bowed in a final good-bye.

One by one, they walked away, until only Cora and Henry and Mercury were left. Cora wordlessly slipped her hand into Henry’s. Instead of going back to the house with the others, they walked slowly down the lane. He stayed quiet. The feel of her hand is his was enough for now.

They’d nearly reached the road when Cora spoke. “Do you think Mary and Charlie have received the race winnings yet?”

On the train ride back to Mississippi, Henry had shared the story of Gil’s marriage with Cora. He’d known she might turn away from him, knowing Gil’s marriage hadn’t been a love match, that his love for Cora had been real. But he owed it to her, to Gil’s memory. He was tired of hiding the truth.

“I’m sure they have. Evans was taking care of it.”

“Gil would be happy to know they were taken care of.”

“He would.” They walked for a bit, then Henry said, “I wrote her a letter.”

Cora stopped and looked at him. “You did?”

“I’ve discovered the damage of things left unsaid. I wanted her to appreciate Gil. Forgive him and let go of the pain. That’s all he ever wanted from her. He wanted her to be happy.”

Cora nodded and started walking again.

“There’s something I’ve left unsaid to you, too.” He tightened his grip on her hand and his heart felt as if it were about to burst. The lives they led were all about calculated risk. He was about to take one—but he didn’t know the odds. “I love you, Cora. I’m sure that isn’t news to you, but I’ve never said it.”

She stepped in front of him and took his other hand. Holding them both, she said, “I love you, too, Henry. Right now it seems so mixed up. That love is so tangled up with Gil and what happened. . . . I don’t know if that will ever change. It seems wrong to make promises. I just want to go back to work. I want to have normal, uncomplicated days.”

He’d been prepared for the disappointment, but that wasn’t to say he hadn’t hoped. As much as it hurt, he
still
hoped. He would not give up so easily.

“Normal?” He chuckled. “You’re the only person I know who would call wing walking a normal day.”

She smiled a smile that was almost her old self.

T
he next week, they began practicing the act. Without Gil they were still short a pilot. But there was no talk of replacing him. Cora could fly the fourth plane from town to town. Jake was still the lead pilot, Thomas the second, and Henry the most inexperienced. Yet, when it was time to practice the plane-to-plane transfer, Cora wanted Henry to fly the launch plane. Jake would fly the target.

“Thomas should fly the launch,” Henry said. “He’s got more experience than me.” No one breathed Reece’s name; his piloting skills were probably weaker than Henry’s. The man preferred to jump
out of
planes.

Cora had looked at Henry, really looked at him for the first time since the day of Gil’s service. “I want you. I’ll be most comfortable with you. Besides, Thomas needs to fly the camera fella when he gets here to film it.”

“I can fly the camera,” Henry said. “Thomas is a better pilot for the stunt.”

“I want you, Henry. I don’t know how much more clear I can be.”

“Maybe we should try it with a rope ladder first.”

“What’s the point of that? It’s not our trick. Lots of people do it with a rope ladder. We do it without. Wing to wing.”

Jake had been standing by with his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s Cora’s stunt. If she wants Henry to fly launch, Henry will fly launch. Unless Henry’s skittish over some sort of romantic hoo-ha.” Jake frowned.

“I want dry runs until I say I’m good with the transfer.” Henry didn’t think Jake would give him the boot, but he didn’t want to test the theory. The season was young and a lot of experienced pilots out there would be happy to get a shot at flying with this circus.

“Fair enough,” Cora said.

They did several passes with Cora in the cockpit. Henry wasn’t as nervous flying with his wings overlapped with Jake’s as he’d feared. Of course, Jake was a hell of a pilot. When Cora went out on the wing, it was a different story. His fear wasn’t that he couldn’t keep his off-balance plane steady, but that she would decide to go ahead and do the transfer when Jake got in range.

But she didn’t. They landed and discussed the plan for the actual transfer.

“You two are steady enough that Jake can get close enough that I can grab directly onto the wing strut. Not just grab the skid.”

Jake nodded. “We were close enough, for sure.” He looked at Henry. “It’ll be safer for Cora than having to hoist herself up from the skid.”

“Safer?” Henry said. “We’re more likely to knock her off if we hit an air pocket if we’re that close.”

“It will be safer, Henry,” Cora said. “I can always signal to change if I don’t think it’s going to work.”

As they took off, Henry understood why Jake was so adamant against romantic entanglements. Fear bred hesitation. Hesitation bred mistakes. Henry focused on what Gil had taught him. Assess. Decide. Execute.

He was prepared. Cora was prepared. They were professionals.

And he flew like one. He kept his focus on his job, his eyes on Jake’s plane.

The instant she grabbed that strut and her feet left Henry’s wing, it sent his heart soaring. He dropped lower and slowed. Jake’s plane pulled ahead. Cora was standing on the bottom wing, waving and throwing Henry kisses. He knew it was the excitement of the moment, but it fueled that little flame of hope that she could love him again, without reserve, as she had that day in the jail.

B
etween publicity from the newsreel footage that played Henry as a hero in Santa Monica, and the newsreel shot in Mississippi of the midair plane transfer, Hoffman’s Flying Circus was soon booked solid right up until Christmas. Cora was officially an adventuress of renown.

Henry was finishing cleaning the spark plugs for their show on the Chicago lakefront when Cora came stomping up with a letter clutched in her fist. She read Henry the scathing message that had come through Marcus Davis—the only immobile contact who knew where the circus would be on any given day. Her mother had denounced and disowned her, chided her for bringing shame to the family name.

“Shame to the family name! How can she be serious after the things Father did! I don’t cheat people or break the law. I’m doing something positive, groundbreaking for women.” Cora gave a little growl through her clenched teeth. “And Mother never
owned
me—although she did try to sell me! So how can she
dis
own me? The nerve . . .”

Henry didn’t bother to say that Cora’s mother was the last person who saw breaking ground for women in a man’s world as positive. He also didn’t say that Cora shouldn’t be surprised by her mother’s condemnation, not when Cora knew the world her mother was clinging to with all of her might—a world that was fast evaporating around her and all of her generation. Henry actually felt a little sorry for the woman. He hoped that if his father were still here, he’d find a way to see past the sternness and reserve, past his stiff-spined pride, and make a real connection with Henry.

“I hope there’ll be a day when you two reconcile,” Henry said, knowing he’d probably just set a match to the fuse of Cora’s temper. She’d never quite gotten over her father’s betrayal, not the public betrayal that had led to his downfall, but his secret betrayal of the dreams he’d nurtured in her as a little girl. It was easier to blame her mother for all of the ills that came after. “A person shouldn’t cut herself off from family—not when she’s lucky enough to have one.”

Cora’s temper did not flare. She looked deeper into what Henry was saying. “Oh, Henry, don’t you see? You
do
have family.
This
is your family. Mercury and Jake and Reece and Thomas and me.
This
is my family, too.”

He studied her for a moment. Would Cora ever again see him as more than “family”? He’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t push her. Love wasn’t something that could be demanded. For now, he was happy to share her life in whatever way she was willing. On the day he’d been released from jail, the day they’d learned of Gil’s death, he’d vowed that he was going to spend every moment that disaster did not come to call thankful for what he
did
have.

Today he had the family of the flying circus—and a daredevil still holding his heart.

Epilogue

July 1970

H
enry took off from Schuler Field in a plane of his own design, one that he had built with his own hands. The airstrip had no control tower, so he kept his eyes on the sky around him for other aircraft. The very idea of “air traffic” had been laughable back in the day. As had the term
experimental aircraft
. Time was when
all
aircraft were an experiment of one sort or another. Now it was law:
EXPERIMENTAL
had to be clearly printed on the side of a home-built plane. It irked him. Lots of things irked him these days. Maybe his sons were right, he’d lived too long.

He thought of the purpose of his flight today. He’d definitely lived too long.

The Experimental Aircraft Association youngsters flocked to hear his stories of the growth of aviation, which had gone from birth to landing on the moon in less than Henry’s lifetime. But it wasn’t the same anymore. Too many rules.

Federal regulations had crept up on them three years after Gil’s death. Accidents had drawn the eyes of the bureaucrats. They’d taken their lessons from disaster and hit fast and hard. By 1928, they’d hammered the last nail in the flying circus’s coffin.
It was a blessing that Gil hadn’t lived to see his beloved free-flying aircraft bound by so many restrictions.

“All right,” Henry said under his breath. “Let’s break some rules.” He looked over to the passenger seat at the biggest rule breaker he’d ever known. The box containing Cora’s ashes sat where she’d spent so many hours, always doing something while they were cruising along, a crossword, reading—usually tales of groundbreakers and true adventure. She said flying had gotten so boring that she didn’t know why anyone bothered anymore. At forty she’d taken up mountain climbing. Henry had followed along.

He dipped well below minimum regulated altitude and opened the window. Cows still inhabited Cora’s uncle’s field, and he briefly wondered how long Tilda had remained one of them.

Yesterday, he’d knocked on the door of the old farmhouse and had made his unusual request. The young farmer had looked puzzled until Henry explained his wife’s family had owned the land. The farmer had given his permission with a murmur of sympathy.

He held the box in his lap as he made two passes over the field. He cried, even though he’d promised Cora he wouldn’t.

“Good-bye, my love. Until we meet on this field again.”

The ashes fell in a gray trail, disappearing far too quickly.

Henry made one more pass and then regained legal altitude. He’d planned on flying for a while, just to let the memories play over him in solitude. But his heart was too empty, his soul too tired. He returned to the airstrip.

As the wheels touched the smooth, paved runway, Henry saw his and Cora’s sons, Gil and Anders, waiting by the hangar. He said a prayer of thanks that he was still a part of a flying family, even though its makeup was vastly altered since the day he’d seen a motorcycle and a biplane in a reckless race that changed his life forever.