“You’d cut your finger off. How could you fly your smelly old airplanes then?”
“They’re not smelly.”
“They are. They smell like castor oil.”
“Well, that’s because there’s castor oil in the gas mixture. Here, let me show you how to peel a potato.” Taking a potato and a knife, he proceeded to shear away the brown exterior and then held it up. “You see.”
“I see you’ve put the best part of it in the garbage. Your peelings are too thick.” For a moment Noelle paused and nodded her head. “Yes. I think she’s had a good time.”
“She hasn’t gone out much, has she? I thought she might find a young fellow here to court her. I’ve sure brought enough by here.”
“You have, a regular parade. I could have told you that was useless.”
Lance held the potato in his hand and, reaching over, picked up the saltshaker and salted what was left of the potato generously. He took a bite of it and murmured, “I wonder why potatoes don’t taste good raw? They’re good every other way.” Then he tossed the potato down into the bowl and said, “I wonder why she’s never married. What do your parents say?”
“Just that she’s very quiet and doesn’t go out much. They don’t know how to explain it.”
“Well, I’ll bring George Bentley by tomorrow. Women are crazy about him. Big, good-looking fellow. I don’t think you’ve ever met him.”
“I remember Bentley. You might as well save yourself the trouble, Lance. He’s not her type.”
“Well, what is her type?”
For a moment Noelle was quiet. She had observed her sister carefully throughout the days she had been in England, and it had become clearer to her that Danielle had shown little interest in the young men Lance had tried to foist off on her. She had never forgotten how taken Danielle had been with Lance, and although she and her mother had not talked about it in a long time, Noelle knew that in some strange way Danielle had never gotten over her crush on Lance. It grieved her heart, but Noelle knew she could never tell Lance. She remembered mentioning it to him once, and he had been incredulous. Now that Danielle was twenty, and those days were long passed, all she could say was, “She’ll come out of it one day and find a fine husband and have a good family.” She reached over then and pulled his head down and kissed him. She winked saucily, saying, “But her husband won’t be as good looking as mine.”
“Of course not. How could he be?” Lance suddenly reached out, put his arms around her, and the potatoes went rolling on the floor as she dropped the bowl. He ignored her protests and said, “Romance is more important than supper.”
And it was then that Noelle looked at him and repeated what she had heard him say many times. “If I have you, Lance, I have everything!”
CHAPTER FIVE
Let Slip the Dogs of War
After Danielle returned to France, Lance threw himself into a whirlwind of activities. He saw clearly the approaching threat of a great European war on the horizon and was determined that England would be strong in the skies.
When Noelle asked him how things stood as far as military strength and planes were concerned, he said, “As far as I can tell, the French have the head start. They’re the most air-minded nation in all of Europe. Why, they have over two hundred and fifty planes, and they’ve won practically every air show they’ve entered. They’ve got a new airplane called the Nieuport, designed by a French engineer. It’s the prototype of what all the small fighting planes will be like.”
“But what about Germany?”
“Well, they’ve been lagging behind the French for some time. Most of the time they just steal French designs. They’ve got a plane called the Albatross that looks good, but I’ll tell you the danger. There’s a young man named Anthony Fokker, a Dutchman. He’s the son of a wealthy coffee planter from the East Indies. The fellow is a genius, I tell you, and I wish he were on our side.”
“What about England?”
A grimace swept across Lance’s face. “Well, believe it or not, we’re depending on a cowboy named Samuel Franklin Cody.”
“Oh, a relation of the Buffalo Bill Cody I’ve read so much about?”
“No. No relation at all. He’s an older man. I think he was forty-seven before he first flew any kind of plane. Comes from Texas and was a gold prospector in the Klondike and a Wild West showman. Like Buffalo Bill. You’d like to meet him. He’d be interesting for you.”
“What’s he like?”
“Oh, he wears shoulder-length hair, Western boots, and a huge hat. Carries a pistol, too, at his side, a Colt, and likes to shoot it behind hangar doors. He’s scared us all to death, and he isn’t that good a shot.”
“But he builds airplanes?”
“The strangest thing I’ve ever seen. He can’t read or write, but he has an instinctive flair for aeronautical engineering. The trouble is he wants to build huge planes. He was hired over here at the army balloon factory. As a matter of fact, he helped build the first army dirigible.”
“Oh, the one that flew over London?”
“That’s the one. Ran out of gas and had to be carted home. What he’s done for us is get us started in airplane building. He built British army airplane number one, a huge craft with a fifty-two-foot wingspread. We called it a flying cathedral, and it was practically worthless. But it got other people to work on better designs. You remember that man I brought home, Kenneth Haviland?”
“Oh yes. I liked him very much,” Noelle said.
“Well, he and a man named Thomas Sopwith are the bright stars for our air force. Haviland built the B.S.1.” Here Lance grew excited. “It flies ninety-two miles an hour, and it’ll be marvelous for a single-seated scout and a fighter plane. Why, one could shoot down balloons with it, I do believe, if we could mount a machine gun on it somehow. And Sopwith made a small plane that was able to climb fifteen thousand feet in ten minutes.”
“What are the other nations doing, Lance?”
“Let’s see. . . . There’s a fellow in Russia called Igor Sikor-sky. He’s fooled around with helicopters—planes that are able to fly straight up and down with a rotor blade, but he’s been making fixed-wing machines. Two years ago he came up with a four-engine biplane. It had an enclosed passenger cabin, a pantry, a toilet, and even interior heating. Why, it even had a promenade deck. Look,” he said, “I’ll show you a picture of it.” He opened a door and came out with a large but poorly done black-and-white picture. Two men were running along in the snow looking upward. A big white four-story building was across from them on the open field. Overhead, filling the photograph, was a monstrous aircraft with skids instead of wheels. Much of it was unclear, but one thing stood out. Two men were standing on a deck midway back to the tail section wearing heavy overcoats. It was as if they were walking on a promenade deck at Brighton!
“I can’t believe a contraption this big would fly! What’s it good for?”
“Good enough to drop bombs, but I’m not afraid of that. The Russians will never fight with the Germans. They’ve got a treaty with too many of Germany’s potential enemies.”
“I don’t understand it all,” Noelle said sadly. “Why does there have to be a war?”
“That’s the big question that men of goodwill and good sense are asking themselves all over the world.” Lance leaned back in his chair and pulled her over in his lap. She leaned against him and placed her head down on his shoulder and listened as he spoke quietly.
“For some reason people throw themselves into making preparations no matter how foolish it appears. For example, if we decided to make a trip to the Himalayan Mountains, we’d spend several years getting ready for it, gathering clothing, equipment, and studying routes to the summit. Eventually we’d do it no matter how silly or dangerous it was. Well, that’s what’s happened in Europe. Kaiser Wilhelm has been building ships, dreadnoughts, and amassing a huge military force of infantry. Austria’s doing the same thing. Every little country is. France is the worst of all, I suppose. Well
, we have all of these armies, and what’s an army to do except fight? And that’s what will happen.”
“How foolish men are,” Noelle murmured. Somehow the fighting felt very real to her at that moment. She could hear the strong heartbeat thudding through Lance’s chest, and suddenly a vision came to her. She seemed to see him in the air shot through by enemy bullets, his body bleeding, dead and lifeless. She held to him tightly and prayed that God would not let that happen. Let him live, Lord, she prayed fervently. I need him so much, and so does Gabby . . . .
****
On June 28, far away from where Lance and Noelle sat, the dawn had already outlined the small city of Sarajevo. The town itself was very old, and in the narrow streets lamplight gleamed feebly, competing with the oncoming light.
Soon the muezzin unlocked a door and climbed to the top of a minaret, where he called out the ancient prayer, “Here, old faithful, there is no God but the one God, and Mohammed is his prophet.”
Sarajevo began to stir sluggishly, but soon the sound of hammers broke the morning’s silence, the marketplace began to fill up, and the narrow streets were filled with peasants and women veiled in black. The country people came in from the outlying districts and set up their little stalls to sell their wares: vegetables, fruits, strawberries, eggs, and a cheese known as kajmak.
It seemed no different from any other day, but the coffeehouses did a business more brisk than usual. The open market was soon filled with the aroma of grilled lamb patties thickly laced with garlic.
It was, on the whole, a peaceful scene, and no one in that small Austrian city had any idea that before the sun went down, an event would take place that would have horrific repercussions throughout the world.
The day grew hotter, and soon the balconies began to be draped with gaily colored banners, for this day the Archduke Francis Ferdinand, heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, would appear. Early in the morning the crowds had already begun to gather along the streets. Very few of the Muslims paid any heed, but the old men sat sipping coffee and slivovitz, a liquor made from the juicy plums that grew in the area. And so Sarajevo nodded and dozed, and time went on as it always had.
Around the world the giant nations of Europe wallowed in some sort of somnambulant insanity. In Russia the court was greatly influenced by a madman named Grigori Efimovich Rasputin, a self-styled holy man and confidential advisor to the czar and especially to the czarina. Rasputin was a drunken, unwashed, lecherous man who had somehow hypnotized the czarina. He had taken advantage of the highest strata of women in Russia, and the czarina would hear no evil of him. She wrote to him, “I wish just one thing, to fall asleep, to fall asleep on your shoulder and what happiness to feel your presence near me.”
The czar himself was not suited for the complex duties of ruling a vast empire. He was not a leader by upbringing or temperament. He met the people’s unrest with police repression, which paved the way for the Russian revolution. But on this day in June, the czar had no inkling that his doom was already being set in motion in far-off Sarajevo.
Wilhelm II, the leader of Germany, was a shrewd, treacherous, hysterical, chronic bully, and a bluster, which masked his painful inner life. He had the uncertainty of a small man called upon to do big things, and without knowledge or wisdom, he simply rushed ahead. He was determined to be a warrior that befitted his German ancestry and epitomized the spirit that was going on in Germany. He had a lust for violence and a belief for death, as the German chief of staff said, “Without war the world would quickly sink into materialism.” Germany would get her fill of war before the next few years were over.
In Paris and all over France, little boys in sailor suits and straw hats played on beaches. Picasso and Matisse painted, Debussy and Ravel wrote music, and writers gathered by the hundreds to pen their literary works.
England, still dwelling in the afterglow of the Victorian age and at the very height of her power, seemed to be straddling the world. The sun never seemed to set on the British empire, but that glory was being challenged by the huge armies of Germany and France. Though there was still safety, it was fragile. Across the sea America did not understand in the least what was happening in Europe. Three thousand miles away, the United States was prospering, and these were the good years, a time of innocence and a time of fervent national patriotism. They were getting ready for the American League Pennant, the New York Yankees against the Cleveland Indians. The fact that a rookie named Babe Ruth pitched his first game with the Boston Red Sox seemed more important than what could possibly happen in a small town in Austria. A race driver named Eddie Rickenbacker drove a Dusenberg to win the big race against Barney Oldfield in Sioux City. Rickenbacker had no idea that one day instead of driving racing cars he would fly a plane, meting out death to the enemies of his country.
And so the day began, and, as always, the earth turned so that the morning sun crept and caused the darkness to flee and awoke all to their last day of real peace on the earth.
At ten o’clock, the Archduke Francis Ferdinand stepped into his waiting car, and he and his wife began the journey that would end not only in their death, but eventually in the death of millions of human beings. A man called Leon Trotsky later said, “History had already poised its gigantic soldier’s boot over the ant heap.”
****
The sermon had been rather harsh, Noelle thought. She liked Reverend Denton very much and had entertained him and his wife twice in their home. But as she left the church and muttered an automatic phrase, “Fine sermon,” somehow she felt defeated. She tried to cheer up, for they had planned a picnic following the Sunday service. Gabby was chattering at her side and pulling at her.
“Come on, Mama, let’s go. I want to go to the beach.”
“All right, dear. I’m hurrying.” Getting into the car, she settled Gabby firmly down on the seat between herself and Lance. As he started the engine and pulled away from the church, dodging worshipers, she said, “I didn’t care for that sermon much.”
Surprised, Lance glanced at Noelle. “Why, I thought it was all right. Why didn’t you like it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It just seemed sort of depressing.”
The sermon had been taken from a text that said, “Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man loves the world the love of the Father is not in him.” Reverend Denton had taken the position that it was a very dangerous thing to become attached to any object or any person. Indeed, to anything at all, including an idea. “An idol,” the minister had stated firmly, “is not a bit of stone somewhere off in India or Africa. An idolater is an individual who puts anything before his love for God.” He had gone on to enumerate how it was the inherent nature of most human beings to learn to love possessions. “Many a man and woman have chosen to make a house made out of stone into an idol. They may not bow down on their knees and lift their voices of praise to it, but in their hearts that home made of sticks and bricks and mortar and glass has become their God. They live for it and put their hearts into it, and it brings a joy into their hearts that they have never known when thinking of God.”
Lance steered carefully, making for the beach on the coast of Hastings. It was only a short distance from the church. As they drove down the hill, he was pleased again with the sight, for he had learned to love this small village. “I thought he made some good points. It is easy to get too caught up with things like houses.”
“Oh, I know that,” Noelle said quickly. “I’m afraid I’m guilty.” She laughed slightly and shook her head. “I love our little apartment. It may not be Windsor Castle, but it’s ours.”
Gabby interrupted by saying, “What are you and Papa fussing about?”
“Why, we’re not arguing, dear.”
“Yes, you are, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Very carefully Noelle explained what the sermon had been about and then watched as the inquisitive and very active mind of her daughter seemed to mull it over. She had seen this in
the child before and had perceived that Gabby was one of the most sensitive children she had ever seen. She and Lance had to be very careful, for a rebuke from them, no matter how mild, seemingly would crush her and bring her to tears. Now Noelle said quickly, “It’s not something you have to think about right now, sweetheart. Let’s just have a good time at the beach.”
“That’s a good idea,” Lance nodded, and soon he brought the car to a stop. The three descended upon the beach, and for the next two hours, Lance enjoyed playing with Gabby. He had often said, “Gabby’s dolls aren’t made out of stuffing and china for faces. I’m her big doll. She plays with me just like I was her private, personal toy.”
Noelle laughed as she saw Gabby giving commands, and soon Lieutenant Lance Winslow was down on his hands and knees with Gabby astride his back and screaming with pleasure, “Get up! Get up, horsy!” Noelle’s heart warmed at the sight. Lance loved Gabby, she was certain of that, but his work kept him late at nights. Days like this were especially precious to her and Gabby. I mustn’t be selfish, she thought. His job is important.
Finally, seeing that Gabby was growing fretful and very dirty, Noelle said, “It’s time to go home, Gabby.”
“No, Mama, not yet!”
“Yes, it is. We can come back another time. Come now.” She looked over at Lance. “Lance, you’re a mess. You’re as dirty as a pig.”
“Well, you try being her play partner sometime. See what it gets you.” Lance was wet up to the knees and his hair was full of sand. His face was filled with pleasure, and suddenly he swooped Gabby up and tossed her into the air. He caught her expertly and hugged her, saying, “We’ll come again, sweetheart. Don’t you worry.”
By the time they had gotten back home, even though it was a short journey, Gabby had fallen asleep. “I’ll clean her up if you’ll carry her upstairs to her room,” Noelle said. She followed, and when Lance went downstairs to make tea, she cleaned Gabby off as best she could and put her to bed.
The Flying Cavalier Page 6
