The Flying Circus

by Susan Crandall

  “Up there.” Henry pointed to a mining company coming up on the right. “Slow down so we can get a look.”

  Gil slowed, but not by much. They both turned their heads, searching the grounds for signs of trouble. No guards armed with tommy guns. No angry union workers storming the area. No white KKK hoods.

  “Think Gather was just saying all that stuff to scare us?” Henry asked.

  “Why would he bother?”

  “He seemed to have a kind of perverse sense of humor.”

  Gil gave a grunt—whether in agreement or dissent Henry couldn’t tell.

  As they entered town, Gil swung wide to go around a buggy being pulled by a broken-down old horse and almost hit a touring car head on. He swerved into the grass, barely missing an electric pole. Thank God there wasn’t a curb or the tires would have peeled right off the wheels.

  “We’re not going to do Cora any good if we’re lying dead on the damn street!” It was a relief to yell at someone.

  Gil finally slowed, mostly because he didn’t have a choice. They’d reached town proper with its mix of pedestrians, dogs, bicycles, and street traffic.

  He looked over at Henry. “When I’m not around anymore, it’s going to be your job to look after Cora. She thinks she’s different from other women. But the rest of the world doesn’t see it that way. And she’s so damned sure she’s invincible, she’s bound to get into trouble.”

  Henry frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “Protecting women is the only good use men have. Everything else we fuck up.”

  “Well, then you two stubborn asses should have let me trade places with her weeks ago and she wouldn’t be out there on her own right now!”

  Gil’s right eye twitched but he didn’t argue.

  “And you don’t need to tell me about Cora,” Henry said, his tone icicle sharp. “I was asking what you meant by ‘not being around.’ ”

  “Cora wants this to be something more . . . bigger. And I’m pretty sure whatever she sets her mind to she’ll do. And you’ve got a future in you, too. But none of that is for me.”

  “So we’re going to wake up one day and you’ll just take off without us? Is that your plan? Why in the hell have you kept us around at all? Jesus, you talk about protecting Cora. If you’re going to leave us, then you should have done it that first day. Why build up her hopes?” And mine. “Now she’s a long way from home. She threw everything away for this.”

  “I should have. This plane won’t last.” Gil paused. “I won’t last.”

  “I can make the plane last. And you’re what, twenty-six, twenty-seven? I wouldn’t call that an old man.”

  “I’ll never be an old man.” Gil said it so quietly, it took a moment for Henry to pluck the words out of the wind. “I’ve cheated death more times than a man should be allowed. Time is coming. I feel it.”

  “You want it, you mean.”

  Gil shrugged. “Cora’ll find another plane, another flier.” The way Gil looked at Henry made his heart sink.

  “Is that why you taught me to fly?”

  Gil gave a half shrug.

  “You’re wrong.”

  “About Cora, maybe. About you, possibly. But not about me.”

  They reached the courthouse square. The brick streets didn’t border it, boxing it in. They made T’s right into the center of the courthouse on all four sides, leaving wide-open bricked areas between the courthouse and the surrounding businesses. It made it easy for Henry to see most of the downtown with one lap around the square. Everything looked peaceful. No sign of Cora.

  “Isn’t she supposed to wait on the square for you?” Gil asked, his hands nervous on the steering wheel.

  “You don’t know Cora at all.” Henry felt a little smug saying it. “I park myself. She finds me.”

  “There’re plenty of open spots. Would she have parked off on some side street?”

  “Not a chance. Her plan is to attract as much attention as possible.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “That’s our job, promoting, drawing a crowd. The problem is letting her ride that motorcycle all over creation by herself. If it breaks down, she’s stuck.” Henry didn’t give voice to his true fear, that it wasn’t a breakdown that had kept her from reaching Marion.

  Gil stopped at a corner. Henry called out the window to a bent-backed man in a bowler hat walking slowly by. “Excuse me, sir!”

  The man stopped and looked their way.

  “Have you seen a woman and a dog on a motorcycle anywhere around town?”

  “Why, I sure did.”

  Henry’s heart lightened.

  “There was a monkey on her shoulder, too. Think an elephant was followin’ ’em—a pink un.” With a shake of his head, the man swatted a hand in their direction and walked away muttering, “Dang youngsters.” He disappeared into the door of Duncan-Baker Hardware Company.

  Gil headed west out of town on one of the first hard roads Henry had ever seen outside of a downtown area. It was narrow enough that the truck had to drive down the middle to keep all four tires on the concrete, but so smooth Gil could push the truck as fast as it could go. Henry thought of Cora tearing into town at sixty miles an hour on this road—as she surely would. He was pretty sure it was something people would remember.

  “She doesn’t ever get off the main road, does she?” Gil asked.

  You’d know if you ever talked to her. Henry quickly swallowed those words down. Cora and Gil were talking more now, and Henry had discovered that he preferred them fighting. He’d never been a jealous person, but then he hadn’t felt close to anyone since Peter died . . . until Cora.

  “No. That’s one plan she sticks to. If she breaks down, she doesn’t want to waste promotion time having us looking for her.”

  They motored on, Henry growing more nervous every minute.

  “You think she’s finally turned tail and run?” Gil’s voice sounded sad. “Barnstorming is pretty rough for a woman.”

  “You’re kidding, right? If anything, she’s more determined than ever.”

  “Maybe the novelty’s worn off.”

  A bark of laughter came out of Henry. “How could it? She comes up with a new scheme every other day.”

  An open-topped car raced toward them, not yielding an inch of the width of the road. Gil had to pull completely off the pavement. Henry hung out the window, waving his arms to get the man to stop. Maybe he’d seen Cora. But the car sped on past, the driver either not seeing or not caring.

  They were heading into the setting sun, the white glare on the windshield blinding them to most everything. Henry kept his head out the window, his hand on his hat, the bill shading his eyes.

  Halfway to Carbondale, Henry finally spotted her walking toward them on the road. “There she is!” he shouted, but Gil was already slowing and pulling off the road. He cut the motor, jumped out of the truck, leaving the driver’s door open. The truck kept rolling down the slight grade at the side of the road. “Shit.” Henry had to slide over and cram it in gear and set the brake. By the time his feet hit the ground, Cora was already in Gil’s arms, hers tightly around his neck.

  Henry’s stomach turned to lead.

  Mercury shot toward him, launching himself toward Henry’s midsection. He caught the dog like a football. That little, hot tongue started licking Henry’s chin. At least someone was glad to see him.

  Gil held Cora by the shoulders and looked her over. “You’re all right?”

  That was Henry’s first good look at her . . . and she didn’t look all right at all. Her clothes were muddy, the knee of her pants torn. It looked like a rasp had been taken to her left cheek. His mouth went cottony and his hands clenched. “Who did this?”

  She grinned at Henry and he saw her lip was swollen, too. “Easy, Kid. I did it. Well, it was mostly me.”
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  Gil’s hands lingered on her shoulders. Henry wanted to smack them off. What was worse was the way Gil was looking at her. Henry had only seen that I-touched-God look in Gil’s eyes while he was flying.

  “Had a flat I had to get fixed,” Cora said. “Then got into a race with a breezer a couple of miles back that didn’t turn out so well. I tried to pass him off the pavement and ended up in a ditch.”

  “ ‘Breezer’?” Henry asked.

  “You know, a convertible. Golly, you can really fly on this cement road! I can’t wait until more are paved . . . I’ll probably beat you two from town to town.”

  “No, you won’t,” Gil said. “You’ll be flying with me. From here on out, Henry rides the motorcycle. It’s not safe for a woman alone.”

  “Good God, it’s usually Henry bossing me around.” She shoved Gil in the chest and stepped back away from him.

  “You’ve proven you don’t need special treatment, so let it go. Henry and I agree it’s not safe for you alone.”

  “Oh, you do, do you? If I wanted someone, or two someones”—she pointed to Gil, then Henry—“to tell me what to do, I’d have stayed with Mother and gotten married to a man with money. At least then I wouldn’t be sleeping on the ground.”

  “Come on, Cora!” Gil said. “Be sensible.”

  Henry stood back and waited for the explosion.

  “You really just said that to me?” she shouted. “I’m a daredevil, Gil. A daredevil!”

  Gil looked to Henry for his usual intervention, but Henry just shrugged and stepped a little farther away. For the first time he actually liked the idea of her being mad at Gil.

  “Then save it for the show, when people are paying good money to see it. What in the hell? Racing? Last time it didn’t turn out too well either. When are you going to stop?”

  “Hey, if I hadn’t raced you, we would never have met! And poor Henry would be stuck in some factory in Chicago.”

  Gil. That’s whom she’d regret not meeting. Poor Henry ground his teeth together and told himself it was for the best.

  “It’s almost dark,” Gil said.

  Dark? The sun rested on the tops of the trees. Hours until full dark.

  Gil went on, “What if instead of me and Henry finding you, it’d been some ruffian?”

  Cora burst out laughing. “Ruffian?”

  “Stop laughing!” Henry’s sharp tone sobered her up. He thought of Mr. Gather’s stories. “Gil’s right.”

  “I own the plane. You want to stay in the barnstorming business, you fly with me. Henry rides the motorcycle. Now where is it?”

  “I said a couple miles back.” She crossed her arms.

  “Since you’re on foot, I assume it’s too damaged to ride.”

  She nodded, looking just a little contrite.

  “Get in the truck.” Gil walked to the driver’s door.

  “Maybe I’ll walk the rest of the way,” Cora said.

  “Jesus.” Henry grabbed her by the arm and moved her toward the truck. “Stop being such a pain in the ass.”

  She didn’t resist. “You used to be on my side.”

  “Not when you’re acting like a three-year-old. Use some sense.”

  She sat in between Gil and Henry with Mercury on her lap. As she petted the dog, Henry noticed her palms were skinned. The stab of sympathy he felt for her injuries irritated him even more.

  In a few minutes she said, “I’ll think about it.”

  “What?” Gil asked.

  “Flying with you.” She leaned a little more Gil’s way.

  Henry’s stomach bubbled and boiled. The hateful taste of jealousy lingered in the back of his throat. He wasn’t sure if it was over Cora’s taking his place in the cockpit, or the idea of Gil and Cora being alone together. But in that moment, he did begin to understand Emmaline Dahlgren just a little better.

  9

  Three days later, Henry, Cora, and Gil had spent enough time scouting Marion and riding the electric train to neighboring towns to discover that, while Gather’s stories were indeed true, Williamson County was currently no bloodier than any other. It did seem like a place in desperate need of a lively diversion from its troubles, so that boded well for the show.

  Once Gil was good and convinced there was no immediate danger, around halfway through the second day, he stopped going with Cora and Henry on their “little outings,” a term that normally would run up battle flags with Cora, but somehow slipped right by on placid waters. That change in temperament nettled Henry like a hair-fine pricker under the skin. He was feeling like the third wheel on a bicycle.

  At least Cora was inching back to her old easy ways with Henry.

  Finally, they received a telegram saying the new propeller had shipped. It was time to get geared up to get back to work. Henry was glad for it. Even though they were taking the opportunity to give the Jenny’s engine an overhaul, Gil’s spirit seemed to be fed by altitude, not just proximity to his machine. He got quieter and more distant each day they were grounded. Cora had even started to avoid him—which was a bit of a silver lining to Henry.

  Gil had disappeared before dawn to who knew where. Henry and Cora decided to take the motorcycle into Marion to give out more handbills. Mercury was in her jacket. She sat in front of Henry, sideways on Mercury’s seat, boxed in by Henry’s arms with her legs draped over his right thigh, an intimate contact that was getting harder and harder to keep in perspective.

  “All set,” she said. Mercury woofed. “He likes to go fast, so goose it, Kid!”

  The rumbling machine felt good under him. He took off. Cora shrieked. Mercury howled. For the first time in a week, Henry grinned.

  He parked next to a bright green Hupmobile touring car in front of the Goodall Hotel.

  “Meet back here at six?” Cora set Mercury on the ground and pulled the stack of handbills out of her jacket before she took it off. Underneath she wore a sensible dress that hit her leg at midcalf. Henry mentally applauded her rare nonconfrontational choice; no need to irritate those who opposed women dressing like men.

  “I think we should stick together,” Henry said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll cover twice as much ground separately. It’s the middle of a Tuesday afternoon.” She looked down at Mercury, waiting patiently at her side. “And I have my guard dog. Besides, you said you wanted to go to the service garage. Why should I waste my time there?”

  He hesitated and looked around.

  “We’ve been here for four days,” she said in a huff. “It’s just like anyplace else. Stop being such a mother hen.”

  Even with the afternoon heat, plenty of townsfolk were on the streets, many of them unescorted ladies. A girl of about ten was sweeping the sidewalk in front of the store next to the hotel. Four boys stood near the bins of fruit in front of the market, no doubt looking for the opportunity to help themselves. A young woman pushed a baby carriage down the sidewalk. People were coming and going from the courthouse. It did look just like anyplace else.

  “Okay. But five o’clock. Don’t leave the downtown area.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Henry left her thinking, Good God, mother hen, Father, Kid. That’s how she viewed him. Was it so wrong to want more?

  Safe. This was safe. For both of them. Keep that in mind.

  He went straight to Cagles Garage on Market Street, intent on getting back to her sooner rather than later. He paused at the wide door to the service area and waited for his eyes to adjust. The odor of exhaust, gasoline, and oil had been absorbed by the floor and the open rafters. He breathed deeply. The smell was more welcome to him than that of freshly baked bread. He was a lucky man to be living in a time with the miracle of the internal combustion engine and all of the wonders it had spawned.

  The man inside the garage was working on the axle of an old black carriage with a c
racked leather bonnet and weathered wood wheels. Oh, how times were changing. There would come a day when horses and mules were completely replaced by machines, Henry just knew it.

  What if airplanes became commonplace? What would Gil do? His being grounded these past days showed just how much he needed to be airborne. If he lost that, it’d kill him. Henry’s thoughts stopped cold in their tracks. After witnessing Gil’s recent behavior, Henry thought maybe that’s what he was hoping for; the plane to kill him before progress killed barnstorming.

  Henry turned his thoughts away from the day-by-day tightrope walk of their lives. Right now the Jenny needed new spark plugs and a never-ending supply of oil.

  He introduced himself to the man and told him what he needed.

  “Well now, I heard you fellas was in town.” The man wiped his hands on a rag so oily it was a useless gesture. “Been wantin’ to get out there and take a look at that airplane. Ain’t seen one since I got back from the war. So your pilot fly over there?” He pulled a pad from under the counter and started writing up a ticket for Henry’s purchases.

  “He did.”

  “Dangerous business—but then ain’t that war in general?”

  “Yes, sir. You serve?”

  “Army medical transport.”

  “You saw a lot of bad, then.”

  “I did. Not many fighter pilots though. Not much left to fix when they got it.”

  Henry nodded. “Our pilot flew reconnaissance.”

  The man whistled. “He must be one lucky bastard. Wasn’t hardly none of them come back at all. Had to fly low, always behind enemy lines. Easy targets. Get shot down and”—he shrugged—“that was the last we seen of them.”

  Just a taxidriver for a photographer, huh?

  Henry paid for the supplies and the man agreed to deliver everything out to the Gather farm free of charge.

  As Henry was tacking a handbill for Mercury’s Daredevils on an electric pole, he saw Gil walk into the post office.

  Henry walked the half block and followed him up the granite steps. Inside, Gil stood at a tall marble-and-wood table set before one of the large front windows. He was putting paper money into an envelope. Henry waited, feeling like the spy he’d once been accused of being, while Gil licked the envelope and then picked up a pencil to address it.