Wind Raker - Book IV of The Order of the Air (30 page)

Jimmy nodded, a grown up expression on a boy's face that made Mitch want to hug him, to put his arms around him and tell him he didn't have to be a man yet, but he knew that wouldn’t be welcome. It would be no more welcome than telling Jimmy to call him Dad. Jimmy ached for his father. What he wanted was a trustee who treated him like an adult.

"So yes, you can work for Dr. Ballard," Mitch said. "And I'm sure he'll have some good recommendations about universities and how to apply when the time comes. Dr. Ballard would make an excellent reference for you. Remember, his Alma Mater is Harvard."

"When I'm eighteen," Jimmy said solemnly.

"Yes, when you're eighteen."

Jimmy squared his shoulders. "I'll work hard and get into school. When I'm eighteen. In 1942."

Chapter Thirteen

L
ewis folded the paper into a more manageable shape and slid it across the breakfast table toward Mitch. “Take a look at this.”

Mitch took it, frowning curiously. “Ok…”

“The
Emden
is having an open house to celebrate the Fourth,” Lewis said patiently. “I thought, the way Jimmy’s been watching it, he might enjoy going aboard.”

“Not a bad thought,” Mitch said. He paused. “I should probably take Douglas, too — he’s been saying he wants to go to sea.”

“I thought he wanted to be a pirate,” Lewis said.

“I’m not sure he knows there’s a difference,” Mitch answered, and Lewis couldn’t help smiling.

“Maybe not.”

“I should ask Stasi,” Mitch said, and a faintly guilty look crossed his face.

Lewis kept his own face expressionless. He wasn’t at all sure what had brought on this sudden attack of virtue — Stasi was prone to sudden enthusiasms, though she certainly didn’t seem to be enjoying this one any more than any of the rest of them were — but getting her away from Jimmy’s unhappiness couldn’t hurt. “It’s educational.”

Apparently that argument did the trick. Alma dropped them off at the streetcar stop a bit before noon, and they made their way down to the harbor. There was a considerable line waiting to go aboard when they got there, supervised by sweating and very young cadets in spotless tropical whites, and Lewis looked at Mitch over the boys’ heads.

“Why don’t we get lunch first?” he suggested, and even Jimmy seemed agreeable. They found an open diner, and settled the boys in a booth with hot dogs and two orange sodas. Lewis could see the line through the window, and thought it was starting to get shorter.

“I probably ought to make them eat something healthy,” Mitch muttered, and Lewis shook his head. Stasi’s kick was definitely getting out of hand.

“A hot dog on the Fourth of July isn’t going to hurt them.” For an instant, he was overwhelmed by memory, hot dogs at the Fairgrounds to go with the bottled Coca-Cola and the roasted ears of corn seasoned with chiles and butter that they’d brought from home. He remembered a tall man laughing — his father? an uncle? — and the smell of the barns where the horses were kept. He shook the thought away, focusing on the battleship rising like a wall at the end of the pier, and saw Mitch nod.

“Yeah, I suppose not.”

“Can we have ice cream?” Douglas asked.

“The ice cream here isn’t very good,” Jimmy said, and looked embarrassed. “I mean, it’s different.”

“Well, I like it,” Douglas said, sticking out his chin.

As much as he sympathized with Douglas, it was probably better to divert the incipient argument. “I know something you might like better,” Lewis said. “Shave ice. There’s usually a stand or two down by the docks. I’ll buy everyone a cone once we’re through with the ship.”

The line to go on board the
Emden
had shortened considerably in the heat of the afternoon, and Lewis was relieved to see that it was moving pretty quickly. Jimmy’s scowl had faded, and he was staring at the towering hull and the angular superstructure with an expression almost of awe. From this angle, looking up at the ship’s funnels, it was hard to see the gun turrets, but he’d seen them from the air, and they were pretty impressive. More to the point, they were looking right up at the anti-aircraft guns, a pair of them, and he’d bet they were three-inchers at least. Not terribly well placed, though — you might stand a chance coming in over the bridge. He shook that thought away — not his business, not any more — and put a hand on Douglas’s shoulder as they reached the top of the gangway.

Two cadets in spotless white were waiting there, along with a bored-looking sailor to tend the gangway. The taller of the cadets cleared his throat politely, and said, in good English, “Welcome aboard the
Emden
. I am Midshipman Lorenz, and I will be escorting your group over our ship.” He looked down the line waiting to come aboard. “If all of you ahead of the gentleman in the straw hat would follow me, my comrade will take the next group. If you have questions, I will do my best to answer them.”

Lewis felt Douglas give an excited little bounce, and tightened his grip as they moved left, toward the ship’s stern where the blood-red flag hung limp in the gentle breeze. At least there were other boys in the group, a couple even younger than Douglas, though the men stared just as open-mouthed as the boys. Lorenz set an easy pace, pointing out the massive stern turrets and then, as they came around the open stern deck and back up the outer side of the ship, the anti-aircraft guns and the masts that towered above the twin funnels. The sun beat down on the metal deck, and Lewis felt the sweat running beneath his shirt. He’d be glad of that shaved ice himself when they got done with this, but from the look of rapt attention on Jimmy’s face, it was worth it. He caught Mitch’s eye, and Mitch returned a rueful smile.

Lorenz took them through the officers’ mess, where the table was set with an elaborate china service specially made for the ship, and then back out onto deck. At least there the superstructure provided some shade, and Lewis peered up at it, shading his eyes. An older and obviously senior officer in tropical whites was looking down at them from the outer wing of the bridge, his expression impossible to read at that distance. Lorenz saw Lewis’s attention shift, and glanced up himself.

“Ah. That is our captain, Fregattenkapitän Dönitz. An excellent commander.”

It felt as though he’d bitten off something more he would have said, and Lewis guessed it was about Dönitz’s war record. It had to feel a little awkward, showing your erstwhile enemies over your ship and trying to remember what you could and couldn’t safely say.

Douglas lifted his hand as though he was in school, and Lorenz smiled.

“Yes, young man?”

“Can we see the engines?”

“I’m sorry.” Lorenz’s smile didn’t waver. “Are you going to be an engineer, then?”

Lewis braced himself for one of Douglas’s long answers, but the boy was seized by sudden shyness, and stepped back against him, blushing furiously.

“He might,” Jimmy said. “He’d be a good one.”

Douglas’s eyes and mouth opened wide. Lorenz nodded almost approvingly, and motioned them on.

By the time they’d returned to the gangplank, Lewis was heartily sick of battleships, and even Douglas looked overwhelmed. Lewis found the shave ice stand and negotiated their selections — orange, orange-and-pineapple, lemonade, and, for Douglas, lychee and kiwi and orange with a dollop of what looked like red paste at the bottom of the cup.

“Are you sure you want that?” Lewis asked, reaching into his pocket, and Douglas nodded vigorously.

“Azuki bean,” the shave ice man said. “Very sweet, very good.”

“All right, then.” Lewis handed over his quarters, managing not to shake his head as Douglas tucked happily into his multi-colored cone, and they moved to join Mitch and Jimmy in the shade of one of the warehouses.

“That was nice of you to say that about your brother,” Mitch was saying as they came up, and Jimmy shrugged, his face settling into the old unhappy lines. Mitch sighed, flashing Lewis a look of frustration, and Lewis gave a tiny shrug in turn. At least they’d gotten him to be happy for a day. Surely that was a start.

A
lma leaned back comfortably in her chair on the lanai, a rare sense of peace surrounding her. Dora was half asleep on her lap, there was a mai tai on the table at her elbow, and the sky was fading to indigo across the harbor, the stars faint counterpoint to the brilliant lights of Honolulu. Dance music floated out through the open windows despite Stasi's uncharacteristic solemnity. She and Stasi had taken the little girls to the beach, "the big sandbox" as Merilee called it, and it had been really nice to spend a day with Dora just being her mother. She was a quiet little girl with so much of Lewis in her thoughtful expressions that sometimes it made Alma's heart leap. She was perfect. Loving her was so big, so fierce — she'd never imagined it.

But now Dora was nodding, her head turned so that her cheek rested against Alma's heart, her eyes drifting closed and then popping open again. "Don't you want to stay up for the pretty fireworks?" Alma asked as her eyes closed again. "Dora?'

"She's not going to make it," Lewis said, coming out and sitting down in another chair, his white shirt open at the collar.

"I'll take her upstairs in a few minutes then," Alma said, reluctant to move, to break this perfect moment. "Where's Jerry?"

"He and Dr. Radke went into town," Lewis said. "I didn't ask."

"Probably best not to," Alma agreed. If Jerry had found the local nightlife, good for him. He'd promised to stay in tomorrow night and watch Dora so she and Lewis could go out, so he was entitled to his night of fun. "Mitch and Stasi?'

"Arguing about whether Douglas gets to stay up or not. I think Mitch is winning. Stasi reforming means she can't yell back at him like she usually does." Lewis grinned. "We'll see how long that lasts. This sudden attack of motherhood…." Lewis shrugged, as if to say that women were inexplicable.

"She seemed really sad at the beach today," Alma said quietly.

"I hope she doesn't give up steak like she's giving up gin."

"It's not actually funny," Alma said.

"You know Stasi goes on weird kicks. This is going to be like the time we all had to listen to Rachmanioff and eat borscht for a month."

Alma's reply was caught short by the sound of footsteps and Mitch came out on the porch with Douglas, a rum and coke in his hand. Stasi followed more slowly in her black dress, a plain Coca-Cola in the bottle in hers.

"When are they going to start?" Douglas asked, bouncing up and down against the rail.

"When it's completely dark," Mitch said.

"It's dark now!"

"It's not all the way dark."

"It's nearly dark enough," Alma said. Dora was snoring softly. She really should take her in and put her in bed with Merilee, who had conked out an hour ago, but it was so nice to sit here, the palm trees whispering and the sounds of traffic far away. "They'll start soon."

There was a shape moving on the street, a boy on a bicycle coming to a halt in front of the house. As he got off, Alma saw the shape of his cap against the distant streetlights.

Mitch did too. "A telegram at this hour?"

The boy came up the walk. "I have a telegram for Mrs. Segura?"

"Right here," Alma said.

Lewis got up and took it, tipping him a nickel and handing it to Alma so she didn't have to get up.

"Thanks." She reached around Dora, tearing open the envelope and lifting the flimsy to read it in the light through the window. "It's from Henry. Remember, I wrote to him?"

"And he replied by wire?" Mitch frowned. "He must have answered the minute he got it."

There was one line of type, and Alma read it aloud. "Man you inquired about is William Pelley."

"What?" Lewis said.

"I'll second that." Mitch turned around. "William Pelley? As in head of the Silver Legion William Pelley? The guy who slimed up to me in LA two years ago? The writer who founded the Silver Shirts?"

"That's what it says." Alma's mind was racing. "I asked Henry if he'd ever heard of Lily or her ex."

Douglas was listening curiously. "Who?"

"It's not important, darling," Stasi said.

"Pelley is Lily's ex?" Mitch frowned. "That's serious."

"You bet," Alma said. And it made sense of the pushback she'd had from the curse. Pelley had a lot of energy, especially if he tapped the esoteric connections of his organizations. "No wonder Lily is scared of him." Stasi looked like she was holding her breath, and Alma looked at her. "Did you know anything about this?"

"I told you, darling. Lily was before my time. She must have moved on from the scene before I got to LA in '28. But I did do a couple of small jobs for Pelley, and I can certainly see…" She glanced down at the top of Douglas' head. "I can see what she found compelling. He had a couple of attractive lady friends who shared common interests with him and Henry Kershaw, but I didn't know them well." Stasi took a quick drink of her Coca-Cola and grimaced, apparently at discovering there was no rum in it, and put it down on the railing. "I can't say I'm surprised. I don't know why I didn't think of it."

"There wasn't any reason to think about it," Mitch said. "Or maybe there's more of a reason than that." He glanced down at Douglas too, who looked up.

"Is it about hooch and bathtub gin?" Douglas asked. "Like a mysterious crime lord? Or a syndicate? With gangsters and G-men?"

"It's about who our flight engineer used to be engaged to," Mitch said. "Which is pretty boring."

"Yeah." Douglas looked crestfallen.

"But we handle this, right?" Lewis asked. Trying to have this conversation over Douglas' head involved very few nouns.

Alma nodded. "It's going to be more complicated. But yes, I think we can handle Pelley at least as far as Lily is concerned."

There was a sudden explosion, and all four of them jumped, Mitch nearly knocking over his drink. The faint trail of the rocket was visible for a second, and then the first firework exploded, a flower of red and white reflected in the water of the harbor. Another followed half a second later, blue petals unfolding through the white.