by Warren Court
Ferguson whinnied loudly and stomped the concrete floor of the barn with his hoof.
“How is Fergie?”
“His ears went back when you drove in.”
“He’s the smartest horse I’ve ever seen. If you hadn’t taken up flying, you could have been a world-famous trick rider on him and toured with Buffalo Bill Cody.”
“That’s a little before my time.”
She took his arm and guided him to the house. Arthur’s driver, an army corporal, leaned up against the car and lit a smoke.
“A government car and a uniformed driver,” Aubrey said.
“Yes. I’m here on official business, but I should say hello to your father first.”
“He’s in his study.”
They entered the house to the sound of one last annoyed whinny from Ferguson.
“I shouldn’t keep you from your ride.”
“Nonsense. Fergie has me every day.” She took Arthur’s hat and led him to her father.
Colonel Endeavours was in the study, stretched out in a cane-backed chair, his favourite. A blanket lay over his legs and a book had fallen open on his lap. The sound of his snoring filled the room as they entered.
“Dad… Father.”
She shook him. “Dad, I’ve got a big surprise. Please wake up.”
“Huh,” the colonel said, and his eyes slowly opened. He saw Aubrey first and then the guest.
“What the devil is he doing here? Aubrey, you let this scoundrel in our house?”
“I had no choice, Father. He had a gun on me.”
“Why, you,” he said, and rose from his chair. His face broke into a grin as Arthur Colins and he shook hands.
“Good to see you, Arthur. You get lost or something?”
“Yes. I took a left turn out of crazy town and wound up here. Paradise.”
“It used to be.”
The farm had been in the Endeavours family for generations. Aubrey’s grandfather had invested well in oil and built a magnificent farmhouse with a wraparound porch where the original, two-room homestead had been.
Then the grandfather had blown it all in the recession of 1903. He’d nearly lost the farm, then had nearly lost it again during the Depression when brown rust had destroyed the wheat and corn had hit rock bottom. If it were not for Aubrey’s prize money from her flying, they would have lost it all. That source of income had ended when Aubrey had crashed and totalled her plane. What little compensation she’d received from Arthur after the European escapade, by way of a middleman, was nearly gone as well.
“Aubrey, will you excuse us?” Arthur asked.
“He’s here on official business,” Aubrey told her father. “I’ll post a guard at the door.”
Arthur smiled weakly at the joke. “Can you give my driver a glass of water or lemonade? We’ve had a long drive.”
“What about you?”
Arthur eyed the decanter of whisky and the other spirits on the side bar. “I’ll manage on my own.”
“At this hour?”
“It’s five o’clock in Paris,” Colonel Endeavours said.
“Very well, Father, but don’t get drunk. We have to go into town later.”
“Out of here, you,” the colonel said.
Aubrey paused at the door. “I’ll see you before you go, Arthur?”
“Count on it,” he said.
She poured the driver a glass of fresh lemonade and took it out to him; he was most grateful. Then she went back to the barn and finished tacking up Ferguson. She could take him out for a long ride, she knew; she was confident Arthur wouldn’t leave without seeing her. She climbed up into the saddle and was starting down the worn trail when she spotted the postal delivery boy on his bicycle at the end of the driveway. He was putting something in their roadside mailbox.
Ferguson protested when she steered him away from the trail that led to the woods on the far side of the farm. She pointed him down the dusty road to the mailbox, then slid out of the saddle and reached in. There were four letters. Aubrey was about to tuck them into the inside pocket of her riding jacket when she noticed one of them was addressed to her. That was unusual. She had written a cousin in Canada a few times, mostly just to practice her written French, but that had trailed off after the war. This letter looked official; the address was typed. The return address was New York. She tore into it and read the letter while Ferguson stomped beside her.
“Oh my,” she said, and Ferguson whickered in response.
“There, there, Ferguson. We’ll go riding later. I have to speak to Father.” She galloped back to the house, the letter fluttering in the wind like she was a runner delivering an important message from headquarters to the front lines.
The army driver was back in the car, the windows rolled down. He sat motionless, staring straight ahead while she hurriedly untacked Ferguson and put him back in his stall.
The empty glass was sitting on the porch railing, and she took it inside, the letter still in her hand. She read it once again, slower this time to make sure she got it right. It was from the Lux Corporation. They had reviewed her request for sponsorship and were happy to announce that they wanted her for a cross-country six-week advertising campaign. They would contact her soon for details.
Aubrey could envision herself flying into small town fairs, her new plane painted with Lux Soap on the side. That would seem tacky, but anything to get back up into the air again. She wondered how much they would sponsor her for and what plane she could afford. There was a monthly newsletter on planes for sale, but her subscription had lapsed. After her crash in Ohio, she hadn’t seen the point. The depression she’d fallen into had left her with an understanding of what her father was going through, if only in minuscule proportion.
She would have to see about renewing her subscription. The address was upstairs in her room. She could rip off a letter and get it to them when she and her father went into town. She would also cable back a reply to the Lux Corporation; she wouldn’t waste time with ordinary mail. Their proposal demanded immediate response despite the cost of a telegram, lest they find some other fabulous aviatrix to sell their soap nationwide. “Get on it, Aubrey,” she told herself.
The double doors of her father’s study were flung open, startling her. Colonel Endeavours led Arthur Colins into the kitchen.
“Mail, Father.” She handed him the other three letters. He scarcely glanced at them.
“Aubrey, Arthur here wants to—”
“And this came, too.” She giddily handed him the letter from New York. He ignored it as well.
“Read it, Father. It’s from the Lux Corporation, out of New York, no less,” she said, and winked at Arthur.
“Aubrey...”
“They want to sponsor me—a huge nationwide campaign. I’m going to get another airplane. Isn’t that great?”
“Aubrey, please listen to me,” her father said. “Arthur here wants to talk to you.”
“Sure. But read the letter, please.”
“Aubrey, damn you—listen. Enough about the Lux Corporation and airplanes. Arthur has come all this way to speak to you.”
“Eddie, it’s okay,” Arthur said placatingly. “Aubrey is excited. Maybe I should come back later. I’m in town for the night.”
“Nonsense. You’ll stay here.”
“It wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle Arthur,” said Aubrey. “We can chat. I just got caught up in the whole thing. We can go out on the porch.”
“Maybe a walk would be better,” Arthur suggested.
“Sure, if you want. I’ll grab my hat.”
Her father retreated to his study and left them to it.
The cloud cover from the morning had vanished, leaving a striking blue sky and blazing sun. It was warm out amongst the growing corn with no shade whatsoever. Aubrey finally focused on her uncle, forgetting momentarily about the exciting news from New York.
“How is your father?” Arthur said. They were a hundred feet from t
he house, past the barn, walking slowly. They heard Ferguson; she’d get to him later, right after Arthur left. She would ride out the excitement of the news from New York and spend every minute she could attending to her beloved friend before she left.
“Father is okay, I guess.”
“Really?”
“No,” she admitted. “He’s changed. He doesn’t speak much to me or to the Millersons,” she said, meaning their next-door neighbours. “He doesn’t seem to have any interest in anything at all anymore.”
“Just getting old.”
“You and he are the same age. Are you losing interest in things?”
“Heavens, no. I never stop. I’ve got more work than I can handle. Which brings me to why I’m here. Aubrey, I didn’t come just to pay a call on your father. It’s you I came to talk to. We were very impressed with your trip to Europe. The things you did, what you went through. The way you handled yourself. The report was most impressive.” He shook his head. “Your father would kill me if he knew what we’d gotten you involved with.”
“I’ll never tell. I know how important it is I keep it a secret. You can count on me.”
“I know I can. That’s why I want you to come work for me.”
“What?” She stopped dead in her tracks. “For the army?”
“I’m not really in the army anymore. It’s just a courtesy rank; helps cut through the red tape in Washington. I’m with the government.”
“I figured as much. That mission I went on was top secret. What government work, then? Are you a G-man? That’s exciting.”
Along with the newsreels she’d seen about Nazi Germany, there had also been plenty of press on the formation of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, led by J. Edgar Hoover. The whole country was captivated by Hoover’s personal war on crime. Dillinger, Baby Face Nelson, Machine Gun Kelly. She knew all their names.
“No, I’m in intelligence.”
“Spies. Like that British fellow I met in Belgium.”
He chuckled and they continued walking. He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at a clump of dirt.
“He was quite impressed with you as well.”
“Wish I could say it was mutual.”
“An agent in the field is under a lot of pressure. I’ve known him a long time, Aubrey. He’s a good man.”
“I’ll take your word for it. So, what sort of work do you do?”
“The prevailing attitude in Washington is that gentlemen don’t read other gentlemen’s mail.”
“Is that what you do, steam open letters?”
“Not quite. But our attitude to spying is changing. It has to. Most nations, both our friends and our enemies, are engaged in espionage. You speak French, don’t you?”
“Fluently. Mother tutored me every day.”
“I never quite picked it up while I was overseas with your father. He, on the other hand…”
“Mother tutored him too.”
“Good.”
“You were saying something about our enemies?”
“They employ intelligence-gathering against us. The Brits have been reading other gentlemen’s mail for centuries, and they’re quite good at it. They’re ‘bringing us along,’ a phrase they would use. We’re the juniors in this new venture, so we need bringing along.”
“I see. I have to admit, what I did in Germany for you—"
“It was for your country.”
“Right. It was very thrilling, dangerous. Reminded me of old times, flying through a thunderstorm or going over the Rockies. But that letter from the Lux Corporation—it’s a new start, a new plane. It’s going to get me back,” she pointed at the sky, “up there.”
“I see, Aubrey. I understand. You were born to soar. The question is where and for whom.” He stopped walking and patted her shoulder. “Well, I must go, I have a telephone call to make.”
“We have a phone in the house.”
“Official business, I’m afraid. I can’t call from here. You and your father are going into town later today?”
“Yes.”
“Why not join me for dinner at my hotel? I’m staying at the Birchmount.”
“We’ll meet you there, say five o’clock?”
“You seemed relieved.”
“Do I? Its just…” She trailed off.
“Tell me.”
“I thought you were going to propose.”
That caught Arthur off guard, and he blushed. She’d never seen a reaction like that from him. Then he started to laugh and she joined him in the joke.
“You know, that’s not a bad idea, but in the end, I don’t think we’d be well suited.”
She hooked her arm in his and steered him back to the house. “Why’s that?”
“You’re too much of a free spirit, like me. Your father never could rein me in when I served with him. A union between the two of us? I’d have the same difficulty. Maybe it would be just punishment.”
They laughed all the way back to the house. As they approached, they saw Colonel Endeavours standing in the front window, holding onto an empty whisky glass. Their laughter fell off as they saw his face. He was looking through them, like they weren’t there. It was a terrified, vacant look.
“Oh, dear. He looks terrible,” Aubrey whispered.
“He’s back there, Aubrey. Back in France, at least in his mind. It’s my fault. I started him drinking when I arrived.” He looked at the colonel, then back at Aubrey. “Does he do that often? Stare like that?”
“I don’t know,” she said, and suddenly the letter from Lux and Arthur Colins’ offer of employment seemed ugly. She would be leaving her father when he needed her the most.
Colonel Endeavours appeared to have recovered when they walked into the house. He came out of the study and said goodbye to his friend after confirming that he and Aubrey would be in town later and would meet him for supper.
After Arthur had driven off, Aubrey went over to her father and asked him if he was feeling alright.
“Just fine,” he said. “We only had the one scotch.”
Aubrey nodded. “Was there anything you wanted to talk about?”
“What did you think of his proposal?”
“He told you?”
“Said he had work for you. For a second I thought he was going to ask my permission to marry you.”
“Funny, I thought the same thing.”
“So, about the job?”
“He couldn’t give me a lot of details.”
“That’s the nature of his work. You’ll understand if you agree to it.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“There’s nothing like serving your country, Aubrey, even in some small part. It fills you with a feeling of accomplishment, of pride.”
Edmundson Endeavours looked back into his study, toward the window. Aubrey followed his gaze.
“Father,” she said gently, “we saw you standing there. It was like you were someplace else.”
“I saw him—Arthur—out there walking, and it brought back a memory is all. It’s over now, past. What’s in the past remains there.”
Her father called to her just after lunch. They had to hurry; the bank closed at three. While he got the Ford started up, she went into the barn to see about Ferguson. He nickered while she rubbed his muzzle, scratched his blaze.
The ride to town was half an hour. They turned out of the drive and passed by the Millerson homestead, but saw no one in the front acreage. Aubrey decided that before she went away on her promotional tour, she would have to stop in there and talk to Hillary Millerson about her father, ask her to watch over the place—and him. She made a mental note to be honest with Mrs. Millerson. She was going to tell her all about her father; the peculiar spells of late. The drinking.
The town of Sacred was home to two thousand people. The main street was bustling with cars and pedestrians. They found a parking spot right in front of the bank. Aubrey and her father split up in front of it. She explained that she had to v
isit the post office and Western Union. He was going to the bank and then the John Deere dealership to see about a part for their tractor. They would meet up later in the lobby of Arthur’s hotel at the end of the main strip.
Aubrey had a letter to the airplane magazine all made out, with a cheque enclosed; she just needed a stamp. After that was taken care of and the letter was on its way, she crossed the street to the Western Union office, where she paid three dollars and twenty cents to send an expedited telegram to the Lux Corporation. She couldn’t contain the joy she felt when she handed the card across to the telegraph operator. It was a fella she’d gone to school with, Kevin Baker.
