The Flying Circus

by Susan Crandall

  Gil’s shrug of surrender was accompanied by a raised brow. “I doubt anything to do with Cora Haviland will make life easier.” Then he turned and walked back toward Cora. “Call the damn dog.”

  “We have a deal? I’m in?”

  Gil crossed his arms over his chest and gave a curt nod.

  She whistled for Mercury, retrieved the rope, now covered in nettle burrs, and held it behind her back awaiting verbal confirmation.

  Apparently, Gil couldn’t quite bring himself to say yes. “Just don’t expect special treatment because you’re a woman.”

  She stood there for a long moment, her eyes narrowed with suspicion and her mouth pressed tight. “You’re tricking me somehow.”

  Gil gave her a take-it-or-leave-it look.

  Henry waited, fighting his urge to open his mouth and give a nudge.

  Finally, she handed over the tie-down rope.

  As Gil climbed up on the wing to stow the last of the gear, he asked, “Do you have a map?”

  “No.” She stepped toward the plane with her hand out.

  He climbed into the cockpit. “A shame.” Taking a look at his own map, he held it high enough to make a show. Then he signaled Henry to prop the engine. “See you in Crawfordsville, Miss Haviland.”

  Maybe, Henry thought, I should ride with her. A woman alone . . .

  By the time he looked her way, she’d already scooped up Mercury and was trotting toward the motorcycle.

  As Gil tied down the plane and the last customer motored back toward Crawfordsville, thunder rumbled in the west. Gil glanced at the sky, then grinned wickedly at Henry.

  Henry looked away, knowing Cora was about to wipe that smile right off Gil’s face.

  She glanced without concern at the clouds tumbling over one another in the sky. “Just so I’m not being favored with special treatment, Gil, you can ride the motorcycle to the hotel. Henry and I will walk. It’s the Crawford Hotel, right on Main and Green. Reservations in my stage name, Cora Rose.”

  Henry had been surprised when she’d told the hotel clerk her name. When he’d sent a questioning look her way, she’d quietly put her heel on top of his foot and pressed. Later when he’d asked why she hadn’t used her real name, she’d gotten snippy. “Cora Rose is my real name, just not all of it. Besides, I can be whoever I want now. Don’t mess it up.”

  “So you’re hiding?” The instant those words had come out of his mouth, he’d regretted them. He needed to be careful about asking questions that could be turned back on him.

  “I’m reinventing, leaving the old behind.”

  “So you’re not worried that your uncle will come looking for you?”

  “Seriously, Henry. Uncle Clyde doesn’t want me to be miserable; he doesn’t even like Mother. She’ll be angry for a while. But she’ll figure out something, she always does. The only difference is now she can’t sacrifice me to get it.”

  “But if you’re of age, how can she make you marry someone even if you stayed?”

  Cora had huffed, “My God, you don’t know anything! She’d make every day so miserable, eventually I’d either have to get married or leave. I didn’t have enough money to take off on my own. If I got a confining job as a teacher or secretary, I might as well be married. I was still working things out. But then, opportunity landed in Uncle Clyde’s pasture. I’m Cora Rose because I want to be, not because I have to be.”

  Henry had left it there. She was right, he had no idea what living in a rich, or once-rich, family was like. And before he’d met Cora, he’d never given a thought that some women might not like their place in life. It was all quite confusing.

  Gil’s voice was icy when he said, “Reservations?”

  “Yes. I made them while we were in town getting gasoline. And after we’ve cleaned up and had dinner, we’re going to the dance at the 4-H grounds.” She gave a little shimmy. “I can’t wait!”

  “We don’t stay in hotels,” Gil said. “We camp.”

  “Don’t be silly. We’ve done so well these past two days! You deserve a hot bath and a nice dry bed.”

  “And what gauge are you using to tell that we’ve done well?” Gil asked, the “we’ve” coming out through clenched teeth.

  “Henry said.”

  Henry busied himself with retying his shoes. Every dime of Gil’s newly made cash still sat in Henry’s pocket. The man hadn’t so much as asked how much they’d collected.

  From under his eyebrows, Henry saw Gil shoot him a look that should have been reserved for those committing high treason. “We camp.”

  “Fine.” Cora shrugged. “I can camp.” The wind gusted, pushing the smell of rain. A loose strand from Cora’s braid blew across her face. “But I’m going to that dance. What better way to spread the word about our act? It’ll be a good opportunity for people to meet you, too, so they’ll trust you more as a pilot.”

  “Dancing has no correlation to being a good pilot.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be deliberately obtuse. You don’t need to dance. You need to meet people. Show your face so you’re not just some mysterious stranger with a dangerous airplane.”

  Henry said, “She has a point. And it’ll be better than sitting out here in a thunderstorm.” Henry needed a bath and didn’t know when the next opportunity might arise. She’d already given a name and signed for all of the rooms, so even if the police questioned the clerk, Henry would remain anonymous. He hoped Gil’s desire for Cora to suffer the maximum misery didn’t outweigh his own for a dry bed. “Cora bargained with the hotel manager—our rooms are practically free. I got a couple of ideas for promotion while I was in town today. It’d be a lot easier to talk them over if we’re not drowning every time we open our mouths.”

  “Come on, Gil. I promise I’ll sleep out in the next rainstorm,” Cora said.

  “Nearly free, huh?” Gil said, and Henry noticed a glint of admiration in Gil’s eyes. “Your night in the rain is coming, lady.” Gil stomped over to the motorcycle. “See you at the hotel.”

  Henry walked alongside Cora, hoping the rain held off until they reached the hotel—at least she wasn’t wearing a white blouse. Mercury trotted beside them, occasionally heading off into the roadside weeds to investigate some smell or other.

  “No thieving from butchers when we get to town, young man,” Cora said, shaking her finger at the dog. “We want everybody to like us.”

  Once a thief, always a thief. Miss Julien’s words echoed through time. Henry’s third-grade teacher was overfond of character-damning maxims. She’d been trying to ferret out a confession from whoever had been taking food from lunches, pilfering pencils, and lifting pennies from coat pockets, but her eyes—and the eyes of every kid in class—had landed on Henry. She’d been scrutinizing his every move since war had broken out in Europe. Even though America hadn’t been in the fighting yet, Miss Julien had been preaching the villainy of the Huns with the fervor of a tent revivalist. Her grandparents and uncles still lived in France.

  Henry hadn’t been the thief in that classroom, but as an act of self-preservation he’d been on the lookout for who was. When he’d seen Billy Edwards, a runt of a kid with eyes too big for his face and a body so skinny you could almost see through him, help himself to Annabelle Butler’s lunch, Henry had turned away and pretended he hadn’t. Billy reminded Henry of a mouse skirting the room trying not to be noticed before skittering back into the safety of his hole. He was always sent home with a note on lice-check day. Henry’s family was poor, but Billy’s was dirt-poor; there was a difference.

  “Maybe if we keep him fed,” Henry said to Cora, “he won’t be tempted.”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s a different kind of hunger that drives bad behavior.”

  “Speaking from experience?”

  She flipped her hand in the air. “You already know what I want out of life—and what I’m w
illing to do to get it.”

  Cora seemed tough. She seemed ambitious. But Henry wondered how strongly her conviction would hold when hunger bedded down with her at night, when the damp cold from the hard ground filtered into her bones.

  “What do you think Gil wants?” she asked.

  Henry chuckled. “To be left alone. To be a thousand feet off the ground where nobody can touch him.” The only time Henry had seen peace in Gil’s face was when he was in the air.

  “He has to want more!”

  “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t.”

  “Well, that’s ridiculous. He’s one of a handful of people in this country with an airplane. If he wants to, he can chart the future of aviation! He can set records. Stunt for the moving pictures. He can change the world!”

  “I think the world has already changed him.”

  “I thought you two just met.”

  “We did.”

  “He must be a whole lot more forthcoming with you than he is with me, then.”

  “It’s not what he says,” Henry said thoughtfully. “It’s . . . it’s what’s behind his eyes.” Particularly when he’s been startled out of a doze. “There’s something, I don’t know . . . detached in the way he walks through the world.” Henry shrugged. “I can’t explain it exactly.”

  “He is intriguing, isn’t he?” Cora sounded like the silly girls he’d heard talk about Rudolph Valentino. Cora knew no more about Gil than those girls knew about Valentino; they just filled in the void with things they wanted to believe.

  Henry stopped and looked down at her. “He’s broken, Cora.” Her face showed surprise at Henry’s sudden intensity. “Broken.” The years had blurred the memory of what Henry had seen deep in his pa’s eyes, but that memory had refocused the instant he’d glimpsed the same wreckage in Gil’s.

  Henry walked on. Picking up his pace, he whistled for Mercury to come out of the weeds. “We need to hurry or we’re going to be caught in the storm.”

  Cora trotted to catch up. For a while they walked in silence; he could almost hear the mental tussle in her head. He was pretty sure her girl brain was inventing all sorts of fascinating details, concocting romantic, mysterious reasons for Gil’s reticence. But it wasn’t intrigue, it was damage. Sometimes life stole a piece of you, chewed it up, and swallowed it down. Henry didn’t know if Gil had lost that part of himself to the war or if it had been stolen before that. Henry was pretty sure, though, that a girl like Cora would only tear out more chunks if she tried to shove herself into that dark, empty space.

  After a while, Cora asked, “So what drives you, Kid?”

  Desperation was on his lips, but he kept his mouth closed long enough to think through his answer. “Up until now, my life has kind of happened to me. Not a lot of driving.”

  “Compelled by your family’s choices? I know how that is!”

  “I don’t have a family. Haven’t for a long time.”

  “Oh.” She paused. “No one to dictate your every move, then. You’re lucky.”

  For all her city sophistication, she didn’t seem have a good grip on reality. Maybe it was because she’d grown up rich. “Not lucky at all, Cora.” He couldn’t keep the chill out of his voice. “Not one little bit.” He could feel disaster nipping at his heels.

  “Hey.” She grabbed his arm and stopped walking, pulling him to face her. Then she touched the scratch on his forehead, trailing her fingers to the corner of his blackened eye. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . . I just can’t seem to stop knocking you around.”

  He looked into her eyes for a long moment, his heart turning slow rolls in his chest. Then he turned and started walking again before he said something stupid.

  She looped her arm though his and fell into step. “I’m going to be more careful with you. You’re a good person, Henry.”

  Good? Hardly. Not deep down where it counted. He’d been twisted and wrung out by his lifelong companion, disaster. He hadn’t risen above it, as he pretended to the world. He’d just buried everything deep inside where it sat with a green-eyed hatred searching for a way out. At times he felt it pulsing, pushing, clamoring to get free.

  Henry was just coming to suspect his true self . . . and it scared him.

  The storm blew through while Henry sat soaking in a steaming bath on the fourth floor of the Crawford Hotel. He didn’t deserve such luxury, but with each volley of thunder he mentally thanked Cora for keeping them from riding out the storm huddled under the wing of the Jenny. He’d never been in a hotel before, never seen anything like the lobby with its fancy lights, huge potted plants tucked between clusters of bloodred velvet chairs and couches. He’d never walked on such a thick carpet runner down such a long hall, never ridden in an elevator—which seemed like a lazy man’s way to get to the upper floors. He supposed the ladies might need it, though. He’d ridden it out of curiosity. What he really wanted was to see the electric motor and pulleys, but the elevator operator had looked down his nose and informed him that those areas were strictly off-limits to guests.

  Henry considered searching for it on his own in the wee hours when the rest of the hotel was asleep, but he wouldn’t want to get Cora and Gil tossed out with him if he was caught.

  At the appointed time, Henry went down to the lobby. Gil’s hair was slicked back, he’d shaved, and he wore a clean shirt and tie. He looked much less dangerous. Henry wondered if this version of Gil would be more or less intriguing to Cora.

  “Nice hat,” Gil said, nodding to Henry’s newly acquired newsboy cap. He’d seen it in the clothing-shop window on the ground floor of the hotel. He’d parted with the money because his straw-colored hair and his height were his most recognizable features—and he couldn’t do anything about his height.

  “Nice tie. Going dancing?”

  “Absolutely not. But I do plan on a decent meal.”

  “I want to show you something.” Henry walked Gil to the door. The spring storm had left the air cool and damp. The lights from the store display windows reflected off the wet sidewalks. The lobby was busy, but the street outside even busier. Overalls, trucks, and farm wagons from earlier in the day had been replaced by buggies, automobiles, and tidy-looking couples strolling into the movie house and restaurants. Henry suddenly realized it was Saturday night.

  He pointed to a banner advertising a June dance marathon: Foxtrot to Fame; Wabash College Armory and Gymnasium; Beat last year’s record of eight days; Orderlies and nurses will be in attendance; Ice packs and smelling salts provided on the premises; Cash prize $100. Henry hadn’t believed it when he’d first read it. Even the Midwest seemed to be falling to bouts of ridiculous frivolity. Selling airplane rides should be easy. At least they were offering an experience of historic substance.

  “If we make one or two of those, we can put them up in towns before we get there. Like circus posters, get the enthusiasm up.” And make us appear more well established. Henry felt a tug of guilt; this was most likely the farthest thing from what Gil wanted. Yet, if it would keep Gil better fed and the Jenny in gas, oil, and parts . . . Henry could maybe make some improvements on the plane with the increased cash flow . . . wouldn’t it be beneficial to Gil in the long run?

  Gil, not surprisingly, shook his head. “We won’t know where we’re going to be able to land the Jenny, or even when we’ll get there—weather, repairs . . .”

  “We don’t need to be specific, just advertise the daredevil act. With this kind of advance word, the instant you fly over, word will spread like church gossip and people will come.”

  “Daredevil act?” Gil glared at Henry.

  “Well, now that Cora can do stunts on the ground while you do them in the air, it’s more than just airplane rides. And it’ll draw more people—isn’t that what you want?”

  “You make it sound like people get the chance to ride in an airplane every damn day.”

  Cora�
��s voice came from behind them. “From the look on Flyboy’s face, I take it you’ve told him about Mercury’s Daredevils.”

  Henry winced. The girl’s timing was impossible.

  “What—?” Gil’s voice cut off when he turned.

  Henry spun around and his mouth went dry. She wore a fancy sleeveless dress, a gold cuff on her upper arm, and a string of pearls against her throat. And her hair . . .

  “Like it?” She patted the ends of her newly short hair and spun around. The pearls swung out; she was wearing the long strand backward so it hung down her back . . . where her dress dipped so low Henry couldn’t swallow. “I’ve been wanting to get it bobbed forever, but couldn’t get mother’s suspicion up. Had to play the obedient daughter up until the last minute.”

  “Where’d you come up with that getup?” Gil asked. Henry wondered how the man could find his voice.

  “I had the hotel dress shop send several up.”

  “Very practical investment for a barnstormer,” Gil said.

  “I know you’re just being an ass, but it actually is. Tonight’s all about attracting attention . . . for Mercury’s Daredevils.” Her brows rose over eyes glittering with challenge.

  Henry’s insides shriveled. Why couldn’t she have waited, like they’d agreed?

  “Mercury’s Daredevils?” Gil said it with the same welcoming tone he’d use for, say, the bubonic plague.

  “Catchy, huh?” Cora said.

  “You’re part of this?” Gil asked Henry.

  Henry shrugged.

  “No,” Gil said. “No banner. No Mercury’s Daredevils.” He walked out into the puddle-spotted sidewalk.

  Cora trotted past Henry. “But it’s brilliant! People will remember it . . . especially after they see who Mercury is.”

  Henry moved to catch up.

  Gil and Cora stood face-to-face, interrupting the flow of people on the sidewalk like an island in a river. The only movement between them was where the breeze teased the fringe at the hem of Cora’s dress.