“I can’t talk to you. It’s not safe. I’m sorry.” To Doug’s credit, he did appear to be sincere about being sorry. But it didn’t matter. He still joined the others in giving Jon the cold shoulder.
As a result, Jon came and went without acknowledgment. He ate his lunch alone. And he endured a painful silence whenever school activities required that he be in proximity with fellow students.
Among the few people at the school Jon could talk to and who would talk to him were his teachers, with the notable exception of Mr. Spitzman, who appeared to have decided to join the students in freezing Jon out. That actually met with Jon’s approval. Better to be ignored by the man than to have to deal with his bullying.
Other than the coach, Jon did like his teachers. He was particularly fond of Miss Tremaine and Mr. Hanson. She had a good heart and genuinely cared about her students. He was just an incredible educator, and Jon was learning a lot from him. Mr. Hanson had even taken to assigning Jon advanced problems, both in algebra and trigonometry, having realized early on that Jon was head and shoulders above the others in his class.
The interaction with his teachers, however, only went so far. It represented but a fraction of what should have been the normal intercourse with the people at his school. The vast majority of Jon’s day involved a careful navigation of treacherous waters, anticipating and avoiding as much as possible situations that could become tense or unpleasant. On his best days, it was merely inconvenient. Those days were few and far between. Most of the time, he lived in a fragile bubble that could be pierced at the drop of a hat, whether by a crass comment or simply a boorish turn of the head.
As bad as all of that was, though, there was still one more thing he had to endure. It was the thing that really hurt, that literally caused him physical pain when he thought about it. That thing was the impenetrable wall between him and Mary.
After the shock of being fired from Dahlgren’s, he had still clung to a desperate hope that she would somehow transcend the craziness, that they could nevertheless be friends. But, of course, he had been wrong to hold out that hope.
From the first day back at school after the firing, Mary had gone out of her way to avoid him. She hadn’t been mean about it, but her intentions had been unmistakable. Out of respect for her, Jon had, in turn, made it a point not to put her in the awkward position of overtly snubbing him. As a result, they traveled parallel paths, never actually coming in contact with one another, not an easy thing to do in such a small environment.
With no job and, therefore, time on his hands, Jon had taken to the road. Every day after school and on the weekends, he mounted his bike and set out down the various routes surrounding Jackson. He’d started his explorations within a relatively small radius around the town. As he’d became more familiar with the territory, he’d expanded the circuit, eventually traveling several miles in each direction.
His rides gave him a true appreciation for just how in the middle of nowhere Jackson really was. There was simply nothing around but farms, meadows and woods. The one exception, he found, was the river that flowed a few miles to the east of town. He had followed it downstream to a point where it passed through a gorge near the town of Middleburg, which, amazingly, was even smaller than Jackson.
On this Thursday afternoon, Jon had ventured to the west of town and had ridden further than he had on any previous outing. The road he was on meandered through a series of wooded areas, intermittently broken by open fields. At the moment, he was approaching a slight rise, so he picked up the pace in order to generate sufficient momentum to carry him over.
Just as he was cresting the rise, he was startled by a sudden noise behind him. It grew from a mild hum to a loud roar in the span of about three seconds. As it reached its crescendo, a large object passed directly overhead, no more than a hundred feet above him. The pace at which it was traveling was so fast that he scarcely had time to register its existence before it just barely cleared a line of trees ahead of him at a right-hand bend in the road, and it was gone, the sound diminishing from a roar to a hum, and then to nothing, in about the same three seconds it had taken to achieve its loudest point.
It was an airplane. That much was obvious. What kind, he couldn’t say. This one, he’d noticed, had an upper and a lower wing, a biplane, he knew. In the short span of time he’d had to observe, it looked to Jon as though the cockpit was open. He was sure he had seen a helmeted head poking above the fuselage.
The angle at which the plane had been flying suggested to Jon that it was in the process of landing. Anxious to see where, he stood up out of the saddle and bore down on the pedals. Shortly after the bend in the road, he spotted a track that led off to the left at a ninety-degree angle. He leaned into the turn and guided the bike down a narrow lane. It took him through a thick stand of trees. Then the left side opened up to reveal a large field.
Ahead, in the distance, he could see a pair of structures. As he approached, he realized that the building nearest him was a small house with a shingled roof and a chimney. Beyond the house, separated by a large open area, was what appeared at first to be an oversized barn. The door to this structure was on the side facing in his direction, and it was open, revealing an aircraft sitting on three wheels. This was not the plane Jon had just seen. It had only a single wing and a closed cockpit. It was also painted white. The one that had flown overhead had been yellow.
Jon slowed to a stop before he reached the end of the drive, stepped off and set the bike carefully against the trunk of a tree. There was a small knoll on the right side of the road, and he climbed it to get a better look.
He heard the plane a moment before he saw it. It had been shielded from his view by what Jon now realized was a hangar, but, when he reached the top of the knoll, he could see the thing rolling across the field toward the structures. He took a seat on a patch of wild grass and watched.
The surface of the field was obviously not completely level, and, as the craft bumped along, the tips of the wings alternately lifted and dipped. The pilot headed for the open area between the hangar and the house. At a spot just in front of the large open door, the tail suddenly swung around, and the sound of the engine stopped.
Now Jon could see that there were actually two cockpits, one in front of the other. As he watched, two men slowly climbed up and out of the openings and jumped to the ground. They stood by the side of the plane and spoke for a few minutes. It appeared to Jon that one of the men was giving instruction to the other. Finally, they shook hands, and the man who had been the recipient of the instruction walked to a car parked by the hangar and drove off.
The other man spent a few minutes walking deliberately around the aircraft. From where Jon sat, he appeared to be an older gentleman, with a head of salt-and-pepper hair, more salt, actually, than pepper. He seemed fit and energetic.
He disappeared into the hangar and reappeared a moment later pulling a wheeled object that looked vaguely like a wagon. He rolled it up to the tail of the plane. With an ease that Jon would not have expected, the man lifted the tail of the craft and set it on the device. Then, with more effort this time, the man pulled on the handle, and he slowly rolled the wagon and the plane into the hangar to a spot next to the other aircraft.
The man walked out of the hangar and around the far corner of the structure. He appeared a few seconds later, pulling on a cord attached to a large door that rotated at the corner of the building. A mild creak of protest from hinges reached Jon. The door closed with a bang. The man then walked into the hangar through a smaller door on the side of the building.
A quiet descended, and Jon belatedly realized he was running out of daylight. He stood and scrambled down the hillside, retrieved his bike and turned it to face in the direction he’d come. He took one last look back and was surprised to see the man again, standing outside the hangar just in front of the large door. He was wiping his hands on a rag, looking at Jon, and, after a moment, he raised a hand in an amiable gesture. Jon waved back. Then
, with a renewed sense of urgency, Jon stepped down on the pedal and began the ride home.
#
On Friday morning, Mary was at the kitchen sink, washing her breakfast dishes, when she heard the front door open. Sam’s voice came echoing down the hallway.
“For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”
Mary smiled. Sam had been given the lead in the school play. She would be Juliet to Charlie Morris’ Romeo. Rehearsals would start in a couple days, and Sam was learning her lines.
Mary called back, “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”
Sam appeared at the kitchen door, striking a melodramatic pose. “Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in…” she paused for a long beat, then said, breathlessly, “prayer.”
Mary laughed. “I don’t think it’s supposed to be quite that lascivious.”
Sam sauntered in and shrugged. “I’m just adding a little flair.”
“Well, you add too much of that flair and the whole production is going to be banned before it opens.”
Sam stuck her tongue out at Mary.
Mary laughed again. “Nice stagecraft.”
After drying her hands, Mary collected her books from the kitchen table, and she and Sam walked around to the side of the house where her father’s Packard sat. Mary climbed behind the wheel, and Sam slid into the passenger seat. Mary cranked the engine, eased the car out onto the highway, and they began the short drive to the high school.
“I have to meet with Mrs. Bell after study hall,” Sam said. “We’re going over the rehearsal schedule. It’ll take about half an hour. Is that ok?”
Mary nodded. “Sure. I need to talk to Mr. Hanson anyway about the last problem he gave me, so that works out well. We’ll meet at the car when we’re both done.”
Mary started to say something else, but she suddenly stopped, her attention arrested by a sight ahead of her on the road. It was a solitary figure, peddling a bicycle. He was hunched over the handlebars, working to get the bike up over the last hill before the school. She knew immediately who it was.
The Packard easily overtook him, cruised past and proceeded down the road, rapidly putting distance between itself and the cyclist. Mary pursed her lips and fought the urge to look in the rear view mirror. She felt Sam’s eyes boring into her.
“What?” she asked, after a moment.
“I didn’t say anything.”
They drove in silence for another minute. Finally, Sam said, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” Mary said immediately. “I told you there was nothing to talk about.”
“Ok.” Sam turned and looked out the window. Without taking her eyes off the passing scenery, she said, “I’m here when you’re ready.”
They pulled into the school parking lot, and Mary steered the car to a spot near the front entrance. As she did, she noticed that a group of boys and girls had congregated in an area to the side of the building’s front steps. In their present position, she saw, with some concern, they were between the bicycle rack and the steps.
Vernon King was part of the group. His blond head towered over the others. When she pulled up, she also recognized Jeff Fletcher and at least two of the other boys from the basketball team. It took her a moment to realize that the girl who was standing with her back turned to her was Gwenda. As usual, Gwenda was hanging on the arm of Billy Hamilton.
Mary shut off the engine, but remained seated, one hand still on the steering wheel.
“We’re going to sit here for a while?” asked Sam.
Mary nodded.
“Ok,” Sam said, lightly.
Jon arrived a couple of minutes later. His attention seemed to be focused on avoiding the large ruts and dips in the gravel surface of the lot, and it did not appear that he noticed the group of students until he was at the bicycle rack. He looked up, stared at them for a moment, then dismounted and rolled the front wheel of the bike into a slot between two of the bars.
“Hey, look,” Vernon called out, loud enough that Mary could hear him from the car, “it’s a kike on a bike,” and he laughed at his own witticism.
The others turned in Jon’s direction and joined in the laughter. Jon’s shoulders seemed to hunch, but he made no acknowledgement. He slid his knapsack off, reached in and pulled out a stack of books. He put them under one arm, turned and walked stoically past the crowd to the front steps. Someone in the group said something Mary couldn’t hear, and they all laughed again. Jon paused at the foot of the stairs but didn’t turn. Slowly, he climbed the steps and entered the building.
Mary watched him the whole way. After the doors had closed behind him, she remained in the same position for another couple of minutes.
Sam said nothing.
#
After school, Jon had turned his bike in the direction of the airfield he’d discovered on his last ride, and he now sat on the same patch of grass at the top of the knoll.
Unfortunately, there was nothing happening. The large door to the hangar was closed, and Jon could see no activity in or around either of the structures. He passed the time reading, but finally concluded that he would see nothing today. He was just about to get up and leave when the hangar’s small door opened, and the man he had seen the previous day walked out.
The man started across the open space between the hangar and the house. He had his head down, as though in thought. Suddenly, he stopped, raised his head, and looked directly at Jon. Then he turned and began walking in Jon’s direction. Surprised, all Jon could do was sit and watch him approach.
Jon’s original impression of the man was reconfirmed. Though he was not young, he radiated an undeniable vitality. He had a strong jaw, a prominent chin, and a rugged face that was pleasantly lined with small creases at the corners of both eyes and mouth. It gave the impression of someone who smiled a lot. Though, at the moment, he wasn’t smiling, he wasn’t frowning either. He stopped in the middle of the roadway and gave Jon a frank look.
“You found your way back,” he said, casually. There was something calm and reassuring about his voice.
Jon nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Are you interested in airplanes?”
“I am,” Jon replied. “I’ve never been around planes before, but I find the whole theory of flight fascinating.” He held up the book he’d been reading. “What I know so far, anyway.”
The man squinted and looked at the book, then at Jon. He was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he said, “Are you prepared to match reality with theory?”
Puzzled, Jon said, simply “Sir?”
The man waved a hand in the direction of the hangar. “Would you like to go up?”
“Oh, I would. Yes, of course. But,” he said, trying to keep the embarrassment out of his voice, “I don’t have any money.”
The man continued looking at Jon for several seconds. Then he said, “Tell you what. Give me a couple hours of work around this place and we’ll take the Jenny up. Eight o’clock tomorrow morning?”
Jon was nodding before he’d even thought about it. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. I’ll see you then.” The man turned and, without another word, walked away.
Jon watched him for a moment. Then he made his way down the knoll and retrieved his bike. It wasn’t until he was halfway home that it occurred to him he didn’t even know the man’s name.
#
Ben Wheeler walked into the small house, closed the door and paused. He was not a man given to impulse. Yet, he had to admit, what he’d just done had been impulsive. He rubbed his jaw. He wasn’t sure why he’d asked the boy to come back and offered to take him up in the old Jenny.
He looked around the small living room. It was a masculine place, with a lot of wood and leather. It hadn’t seen a woman’s touch in a very long time. And it was, as always these days, quiet.
Maybe I ought to get a dog, he mused absently. Then he dismissed the thought.
He walked towar
d the kitchen. As he passed by a large oak cabinet, he stopped. A photograph in a frame sat on the top shelf. He opened the glass door, reached in, and pulled it out. He then continued into the kitchen, where he set the photo down on the small table. He poured himself a glass of milk and took a seat.
Sipping the milk, he studied the picture as if for the first time. It was a picture of him, standing outside a church. He was wearing his suit. It had been brand new at the time. Hell, he thought, it’s still practically brand new, hanging in the closet, covered by the garment bag it came in. He hadn’t worn the thing even a half dozen times in the eight years he’d owned it.
In the picture, he was standing between two boys, his arms draped over their shoulders. Ben, Jr. had been fifteen, and Tommie had been thirteen. All three of them were smiling broadly. He looked at the picture for a long time.
#
When Jon arrived at the airfield on Saturday morning, the large hangar door was open, and he could see the pilot standing on a stepladder, his head hunched over the exposed engine of the white plane. Jon wheeled his bike to the side of the structure and leaned it against the wall. Then he walked around to the front and called out, “Good morning.”
“Morning,” the man replied, his head still down, and Jon could now see that he had his arms in the engine and appeared to be straining to tighten something. After a moment, he lifted his head and withdrew his arms, revealing a tool in each hand. He tossed the tools down on a mat he’d laid out below the aircraft and wiped his brow. As his hand came away, it left a streak of oil across his forehead.
He climbed down from the ladder and pointed to the yellow plane. “Grab the handle on the wagon and let’s wheel this thing out.”
Jon moved to the rear of the biplane and lifted the bar on the device he’d previously seen the man use. The man took up position along the side of the fuselage, and, together, they pushed the craft out into the open area in front of the hangar.
The man walked into the hangar and emerged a moment later carrying a broom and a dust pan. He motioned for Jon, then pointed to a trash container in the corner.
Defiant Heart Page 11
