The Flying Circus

by Susan Crandall

  “No.”

  “If that’s true, there is no downside in going with Hoffman. You’re going to have to tolerate being around people to earn the money to replace your plane. Why not this, doing something you like that pays better than average? Or I suppose you could just give up and become the guy who used to be a damn good pilot, but now just knocks around romancing lonely widows and drinking himself to death.”

  Gil grabbed the front of Henry’s shirt and yanked him until they were nose to nose. Henry didn’t flinch. He stood there with his eyes locked on Gil’s, waiting for this to go one way or the other. Right now he didn’t care which; the monster in the cellar was pounding on the door. Delivering a few punches might feel real good, but he wasn’t going to take the first swing and render that door useless.

  Gil’s voice was tight and his teeth gritted when he said, “I thought I told you I don’t like being shanghaied.” He let go of Henry’s shirt and shoved him back a half step.

  “Shanghaied!” Henry shrugged his shirt straight. He concentrated on his breaths and held his temper. “Goddammit, I’m not just trying to get you to do this because I want it. I will go without you. But you know in your gut this is your best shot. Why in the hell are you fighting it?”

  Gil didn’t respond.

  Henry started to walk away. “I’m going to buy train tickets. Should I buy one or two?”

  He made himself keep walking, counting his steps. Their daredevil money, pooled with what Henry still had in his pockets of his own share, was just enough to buy two day-coach tickets; he’d checked the fare when he’d been in town yesterday. That would wipe them out. If Gil didn’t go, Henry would hand over everything that was left.

  Finally Gil called, “Buy two.”

  Once the train crossed the Illinois/Indiana state line, Henry felt as squirmy as the devil in church. He pulled his hat low, then thought that might make him look suspicious, so he resettled it higher off his face. Gil was snoring in the seat next to him, and Henry wished he could disappear into sleep. His stomach grew more sour with each eastward mile.

  He nudged Gil awake to change trains in Frankfort, then had to make a stop in the lavatory to throw up before they boarded the next train. He was glad Gil was too groggy to question Henry’s sprint to the men’s room. The Nickel Plate line would take them through the most dangerous and most familiar stretch of their journey—north and northeast right through the section of the state where Henry had lived . . . and Emmaline had died.

  Just handing his ticket to board challenged his nerves. It was now possible to run into someone who either knew him or recognized him from the newspapers. He kept Gil partially between himself and the man who checked their tickets as they boarded.

  “Let me have the seat by the window,” he said when Gil started to sit down first.

  “Sure.” Gil seemed to take a real look at him for the first time in hours. “Hey, you’re looking a little peaked.”

  “That’s why I want by the window, in case I need air.”

  “Hope it isn’t catching.”

  “Don’t think you need to worry about that,” Henry responded automatically, then regretted it. But Gil didn’t ask any more questions. A rare moment when Henry was glad of Gil’s silent ways.

  It felt as if the train stopped at a depot every five minutes and lingered there an hour before chugging on to the next stop. They rolled into Muncie, the closest station to the Dahlgren farm, still some miles away, and yet smack-dab in the lap of the Delaware County sheriff. Henry got clammy again, his saliva ran hot, but he managed not to be sick.

  “Folks,” the conductor said from the front of the car, “we’ll be here for thirty minutes, so if you’d like to get off and stretch your legs, feel free.”

  Gil stood. “Coming?”

  Henry didn’t dare open his mouth to answer. He shook his head and waved Gil on.

  “Want a newspaper or anything? You can catch up on Indiana news.” Was he taunting Henry? Did he suspect?

  Four months. Was Emmaline’s murder still making the newspapers?

  He shook his head.

  Then another thought struck him hard. Several train stations had wanted posters on display. Was there one inside with a sketch of Henry on it? He nearly threw himself around Gil’s legs and begged him not to go in.

  His coiled muscles stayed put.

  What if someone gets on who knows me? The list was short. And he didn’t know anyone from Muncie.

  Why had he not checked out the exact route before he bought the tickets? This was too close. Far too close.

  He turned his head away from the aisle, pulled his hat low, and pretended to be asleep. Through slitted eyes, he took the occasional look outside the window, just in case lawmen were out there.

  He was still pretending to sleep when Gil came back, newspaper in hand, and the sound of the engine increased.

  “All aboard!”

  Finally! Finally, the train began to inch forward.

  A man in a suit ran out of the depot, yelling, “Wait! Wait!”

  Henry’s mouth went dry and his heart sped up. He looked for a badge.

  The train rumbled forward.

  Henry didn’t relax until the speed increased to the point no man could jump on.

  It was probably just a late passenger. He didn’t see a badge. No gun. No warrant waving in the air.

  He thanked God trains do not wait.

  When they stepped off the train in Lima, Cora and Mercury were there to meet them. She smiled and waved, bouncing like an excited schoolgirl. Henry had prepared himself for the sight of her, but his heart still did a double beat and his fingers tingled. He was careful not to look at Gil, unsure if it was because he was afraid of what he’d see in the man’s eyes, or fear that Gil would see what was in Henry’s own. He’d told Cora that while she was gone, maybe Gil would come to understand how much he missed her. But dear God in heaven, it had happened to Henry.

  He felt awkward as he walked toward her. The urge to throw his arms around her and hold her close to his chest, to bury his nose in her hair, was strong. Time had made Henry shamefully lovesick. But if they were to survive this reunion, both he and Gil had to bury their feelings for Cora—and keep them buried.

  Mercury howled and launched himself out of Cora’s arms. Henry was glad for the diversion of scooping him up.

  “Hey there, little fella!” Henry scratched Mercury’s ears and accepted enthusiastic doggie kisses.

  Henry should have known Cora would take control of their greeting. She threw one arm around Henry’s neck, the other around Gil’s, and kissed them each on the cheek. “I’m so glad to see you two!”

  “How did you know when we were coming?” Henry asked, keeping both of his own arms wrapped around the dog and off Cora.

  “Only two trains a day. You had to be on one of them.”

  Gil backed away, putting more distance between himself and Cora. Henry soaked up her nearness.

  Gil said, “I’ll go collect the prop.”

  After he walked away, Henry told Cora, “He wouldn’t come empty-handed. If Hoffman wants the OX-5, it’s his, too.”

  “The rest of the Jenny?”

  “Ashes.”

  She looked at Gil’s retreating back. “That must have just about killed him.”

  “Just be careful not to finish him off.” The words were sharp and out of his mouth before he put any thought behind them. He was glad for it.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You can’t fix him, Cora. If you keep trying, that’s going to be either the end of him, or at the very least the end of him with the circus.”

  He prepared himself for a glib response, but instead she stood silent and serious.

  “Was he better after I was gone?” Pain shone in her eyes.

  “Yes,” Henry lied.

/>   He might burn in hell for things he’d done, but lying to Cora to protect Gil—and probably her, too—wasn’t one of them.

  15

  As the days rolled on, Gil gradually shed some of that thrumming tension. The changes were subtle but undeniable. He slept more peacefully in the tent he and Henry shared. The constant parallel creases in his forehead eased. Those lurking shadows behind his eyes even receded. This was quite contrary to what Henry had prepared himself for. In addition to the stress of having Cora back in their lives, Henry had worried that Gil’s being around Reece Althoff would be a constant reminder of the war. But as far as Henry could tell, Gil and Reece kept their conversations rooted in the present. Although Gil still remained quiet most of the time, he no longer disappeared without a word for hours at a stretch.

  Maybe this new flying circus would be what that quick-step dance had been for the one-armed veteran, a way for Gil to find his prewar self. Maybe he felt unburdened; the responsibility for generating enough money to feed Cora and Henry now sat on Jake Hoffman’s shoulders. That idea was reinforced by what the widow from the mercantile had said: Gil was worried about letting Henry down. That really bothered him, the idea that he and Cora had worsened Gil’s already-stressed emotions.

  Henry secretly watched for subtle changes, wind socks to indicate a shift in Gil’s disposition that could lead him back to that dangerous precipice he’d been on just a couple of weeks before. Sitting and waiting for his darkness to return set up an expectation that it would, and that seemed disloyal somehow.

  Aside from his concern over the possibility of Gil’s backward slide, Henry was in pig’s paradise. Night after night, his and Reece’s conversations stretched into the wee hours as they devised ways to improve the performance of the planes. All of the air circus’s planes were outfitted with Hispano-Suiza engines, Hissos—nearly twice as powerful as the OX-5, and they had a pressurized fuel tank, making inverted flight a little less like flying a gliding coffin. They each had Scintilla magnetos and were overhauled regularly. All things that had just been distant dreams Henry had had for Gil’s Jenny.

  The bigger plane, a Standard J-1, had been outfitted to carry three passengers, significantly increasing the cash per flight brought in by rides. The flying circus also had a promoter, Marcus Davis, a man with an impressive mustache. Henry only saw him on the days of the air shows. The rest of the time Marcus was on the road, doing advance work. Ballyhoo. Every town they arrived in had been plastered with posters and billboards; the flying fields were marked with a wind sock—no more using cows’ asses to decipher the wind direction before landing—and staked with red and white pennants. Newspaper reporters with their cameras never failed to show up as soon as the planes landed. Henry always made himself scarce when the cameras were around.

  The fourth pilot, Thomas Reid, was a veteran, too, making Henry the youngest flier. Thomas really had been a fighter pilot, although not an ace. The public loved military men. Marcus always included military ranks, sometimes elevated, for the three veterans when promoting, just as Henry had assigned captain to Gil—which, Henry had discovered through Reece, had been a rank too low.

  Even though Henry flew one of the Jennies from location to location and did a little stunt flying, he spent most of his time as a mechanic, which was an even better setup than Mercury’s Daredevils had been—for hiding purposes. Mechanics and prop swingers were a lot like the hired help, invisible but for their function. Oddly, no one ever questioned who was flying the fourth plane when they were all airborne. Henry sometimes felt like the pea hidden under the huckster’s shell. It suited him just fine.

  Reece was the only one who parachuted. The promise of his jump was a huge draw and was featured in all advertising. No one really wanted to see a man fall through the air until his helpless body hit the earth, but human nature made people unable to resist being there. Just in case. Same for stunting and wing walking, Henry supposed. Morbid curiosity kept the crowds coming.

  Cora and Gil seemed to have taken a necessary step away from each other. They didn’t exactly avoid each other, but neither of them now seemed inclined to nudge certain boundaries—not surprising from Gil, but Henry had expected a reckoning with Cora that never came. After the first ten days, Gil stopped looking as if he were facing a firing squad when she came around. Even their differences of opinion had lost some of their fire. Henry supposed that was because the seat of power had shifted. Jake Hoffman now held the keys to the kingdom, and he and Cora were reaching for the same goals.

  As for Henry, he was so happy to have his “family” back that he was able to keep his own puppy-dog longing in check around Cora—it somehow made it easier if he trivialized it with such words: foolishness, inconsequential. He started to wonder if maybe he was just like everyone else; he wanted Cora all the more when Gil had her. Is that why the urgency and intense need had now become manageable? He didn’t want to look too closely at it—and fortunately didn’t have to.

  Time rolled on, show after jam-packed show. Even though the entire team flirted with disaster every day—it was the essence of their jobs after all—Henry had started to feel that he’d finally beaten his old nemesis. The second that thought crossed his mind, he knew it was a foolhardy temptation that disaster could hardly ignore. For days he waited for the trouble he had beckoned to arrive.

  Eventually, he forgot about his taunt.

  Next stop, Nashville, Tennessee. It was mid-October, later sunrise, earlier sunset, and they were going to need all of the daylight in between to get there. But when Henry came out of his tent, he faced a world shrouded in fog. It was so thick he couldn’t see the plane tied down farthest from him. Nashville was a big show. They couldn’t miss it. Last night as the haze had begun to collect around the moon, they’d decided that if they had to fly into darkness to get there, they would.

  Reece, Cora, and Mercury left in the truck. The four pilots, Jake, Gil, Thomas, and Henry, hunkered down and prayed there would be enough sun to burn off the fog before the entire day was lost. They were all tired from nearly daily performances, yet not one of them considered catching a couple more hours of sleep, as if the fog couldn’t be trusted to lift unless they were staring at it.

  At ten o’clock it began to thin. A light coin of sun shone through. At noon, it was clear enough to fly. Henry trusted the judgment of the seasoned fliers, keeping his worries to himself. They assured Henry that by the time they reached their destination, Reece would have barrels stoked with fire to light their landing strip.

  Henry’s worst fear was that his plane would become separated from the others and then he become disoriented in the darkness. If he couldn’t find the field, he’d be executing his first nighttime crash instead of his first nighttime landing.

  At their fuel stop, Gil slapped him on the back as they walked to their planes. “I’ll stay behind you from here on out. Don’t worry.”

  Sunset turned to twilight. Twilight to dusk. Dusk to dark. They slowed their airspeed. Below, he saw the occasional twinkle of light, looking like no more than a firefly in a field. They’d agreed on an airspeed to keep from running up on one another too quickly in the dark, but Henry was sorely tempted to slow further. He couldn’t keep his mind from mentally calculating how quickly at fifty miles an hour he could come up on a stationary object. It was foolish. The only objects this high were birds and planes. The birds had gone to roost, and only four pilots were foolish enough to be in the sky.

  Darkness gave way to moonrise, letting Henry clearly see the white stripes on the other planes. Those few minutes of darkness had rattled him more than he’d expected.

  When they neared the lights of Nashville, they lowered their altitude. Streetlight glow reflected on brick and concrete. They flew over the town, and the lights on the ground below were sparse. Then he saw, just ahead, four bright dots of light, two at one end of the landing strip, two at the other. They circled in their approach. Henry’s
mouth was dry and his man parts drawn up tight. How was he supposed to pick his touchdown spot if he couldn’t see it?

  They’d already planned the order of landing: Jake, Thomas, Henry, then Gil. Henry would have the benefit of watching Jake and Thomas, not that he’d be able to see much until they touched down in the halo of firelight. He knew he wasn’t to set down until at least ten yards after the first barrels. Jake had used this field before and assured him the approach was free of obstacles higher than a fence for at least a quarter mile on either end of the strip.

  Henry circled. Then it was his turn.

  He made his approach. The white stripes on the landed planes reflected gray in the moonlight. Cora stood in the bright glow of the first set of barrels, waving and pointing to the strip. Very helpful.

  In his mind, he kept repeating Gil’s words: “You’ve landed enough times to trust your instincts. Watch the altimeter. The fires will light some of the ground, but don’t try to focus on it. You know where the ground is, the barrels are sitting on it. If you think about its being dark, your judgment will go to hell.”

  How did you not think about its being dark?

  The closer he got to the ground, the more light the barrels seemed to throw. Easy enough to line up.

  Keep those wings level.

  As he passed the barrels—at what he hoped was fifteen feet off the ground—he saw Cora jumping up and down out of the corner of his eye.

  Wheels ain’t down yet, lady.

  And then they were.

  He let out a “ Whoop! ” His body was full of relief and buoyant energy, the two creating a drunkening cocktail of emotion.

  Now that he was on the ground, there seemed to be plenty of light to make everything out. He taxied to park next to the other two planes, his spirit as high as he could ever recall.

  When he got out, Reece chucked him on the back of the head. Jake clapped him on the back. And Thomas proudly shook his hand. But Cora’s kiss on the cheek and hug around the neck sent him to the moon. He didn’t even notice Gil had landed until he taxied right up next to them.