“Well, that doesn’t sound like a chore.”
“It is for me. Did you ever know a man who knew how to shop?”
“No man can shop for a girl,” Jo smiled. Then, on impulse, she asked, “If I wouldn’t be in the way, perhaps I could help.”
“Would you really do that? You’re not busy?”
“Not a bit. Come along. Let’s get her.”
“She’ll be happy,” Lance said.
“I’m not sure about that. She probably wants all the time she can get with her father.”
Lance shook his head but did not answer. He opened the door, closed it, then went around and got in beside her. “Gabby talks about you and that motorcycle a lot. She says you promised to take her for a ride.”
“With your permission.”
“You’ll tie her in good, won’t you?”
“Oh yes, and I’ll go very slowly. Bedford likes it.”
“Where is that dog? I usually see him with you.”
“One of the patients out at the hospital is keeping him. An Australian, Ringer Jones.”
They picked up Gabby from the house, and the rest of the afternoon was a delight, at least to two of the party. Gabby was delighted to see Jo, but, of course, she clung to her father.
“Papa,” she said, “are we going to eat at a restaurant?”
“Certainly! First-class style for my best girl.”
Lance had not exaggerated when he said he knew nothing of shopping. Jo suspected that his wife had done this chore, and as tactfully as she could, she made herself available. Lance finally wound up tagging along behind the two as they went from shop to shop. His eyes fell often on Gabby, and Jo couldn’t help but notice the sadness that filled them.
They ate at a restaurant Jo had already discovered, and both Lance and Jo were delighted at how bright Gabby was.
There was a light in the child’s eyes as she looked at her father, but Jo was quick to notice how Lance Winslow found it difficult to keep his eyes on Gabby. She could tell that his smiles were forced, and his conversation with her was stiff. Jo quickly surmised that it was the resemblance between Gabby and her dead mother that created the tension.
Finally the evening ended and they dropped Gabby off. As they got back in the car, Winslow said, “I’ll drop you off.”
“It’s such a nice night I could almost walk.”
Winslow did not answer. His mind, apparently, was still on the child. When he did not speak but drove slowly down the narrow streets toward the house where Jo had taken a room, she said, “She’s such a beautiful child. You must be very proud of her.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Is she very like her mother, Captain?”
“Almost unbearably.”
It was a revealing statement, and the tone was clipped and short. “No admittance,” Jo said, and she suddenly thought of what he had said about how everybody had a secret place or a secret fear. She knew that, somehow, Gabby was part of that for Lance Winslow. “You’re fortunate to have the Laurents to help you with her.”
“I thank God for them every day,” Lance said fervently. He would have said more, but he was in front of her house. He stopped the engine and turned to face her. The moonlight flooded in through the front windshield and bathed her face with warm, silver moonbeams. Though his thoughts were on Gabby and the problems that he had, he felt a stirring of memory as he looked at Jo. A strong woman. Inevitably he thought, like Noelle, and then was shocked, for he had not thought this of any other woman since his wife’s death. The thought troubled him, and his hands twisted the steering wheel restlessly.
“Well, good night, Captain. It’s been a lovely evening.”
“Good night.” He would have gotten out to open the door for her, but she said, “Don’t bother. Thanks for the ride.”
“We’ll do it again sometime. Go shopping for Gabby, if you don’t mind,” Lance said.
“Any time, but I’ll spoil her. I promise you.”
“She can use all that she can get.” He hesitated, then grinned ruefully. “So can I, I guess.”
Jo did not know what to make of that, but for that moment, he seemed more vulnerable than she had ever seen him. She tried to think of something to say, but everything that came to her mind sounded trite. Finally she smiled and said, “Good night, Captain. Thank you for giving Logan a chance,” she said as she got out of the car.
“Good night.” Lance started the engine and drove away. As he drove back to the aerodrome, he enjoyed the quietness of the town. Tomorrow, he knew, would be filled with roaring engines, machine gun fire, and, perhaps, death for him. But now, at this moment, he felt complete and relaxed in a way he had not since he had come to France. A sudden thought came to him, Something about that woman. She’s tough enough, but she’s so feminine, and she made the shopping trip a lot easier. He thought again of what she had said, No man can shop for a girl, and his lips curled up in a smile. Well, we’ll do it again sometime. The thought pleased him, and he gunned the engine slightly as he sped toward the aerodrome.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Logan and His Nurse
“I suppose you’ll be glad to get out of the hospital?”
Logan had been moving about restlessly all day, leaving his room, from time to time, to go out into the warm sunshine. It was hot, for July had come with a blistering dry heat that had warmed the land, sending up heat spirals toward the slate blue skies overhead. He had been sitting on a bench talking with the Australian sergeant, Ringer Jones, whom he had often seen walking the large German shepherd. He liked this ex-stock rider very much, and now he nodded at the rangy man’s question. “Yes, but I don’t look forward to going back into the trenches.”
Ringer Jones answered quickly. “No man would look forward to that, but I thought you had a chance to get out.”
“So I do. If I can impress Captain Winslow with my flying, I can transfer from the Legion to the air arms.”
“Be much better, I would think, although I’ve never been up myself.”
As the two men talked idly, Danielle Laurent emerged from the hospital. “Here comes your nurse,” Ringer said. “You two get along like cats and dogs.”
Logan was watching Danielle, who was wearing, as usual, her white uniform, complete with white stockings and high-top black shoes. “I don’t know what there is about me that gets her back up.”
“Why don’t you turn on the charm, old boy? You Americans are fairly rough like us Australians. These Frenchmen have all the manners.”
Suddenly Logan nodded. “You know, Ringer, I think I’ll just give it a try.”
“Tallyho and good luck. All that sort of rot,” Ringer grinned. He watched as Logan Smith moved across the yard to intercept the young woman and murmured, “Good-looking woman, that nurse, but she’s got a hard streak in her for Americans, I think.”
“Good morning, Nurse Laurent,” Logan said.
Danielle looked up with surprise. “Oh,” she said, “I didn’t know you were out here!”
“Have to start getting my exercise. Your father says that I’m fit to take part in the world again.”
“You had a quick recovery.”
“Yes. I just get a twinge now and then.”
A silence fell on the pair, both feeling somewhat embarrassed. In all truth, they had gotten off to a bad start. Danielle had noticed that the American got along with almost everybody else. He was well liked, not only by his fellow patients, but by the staff. He was a true diplomat, she had noted, and had been interested enough in the woman who cleaned his room to find out that she was trying to put two children through school and had an aging mother who was not in good health. Danielle had come upon them once when he was talking earnestly to her, telling her that she was doing a good thing and that he admired her for it.
“I understand from Miss Hellinger that you’re going to try to get into the flying forces.”
“I’m going to try. That’s what I came to France for.”
“Well, I
hope you succeed,” Danielle said. She hesitated, then said, “What are you doing for dinner tonight?”
“The same thing I do every night. Eating what they put before me here.”
An impulse took Danielle. “Why don’t you join us for dinner? Miss Hellinger’s coming.”
“Jo will be there? Well, I’d like that very much, if you’re sure it won’t put you out.”
“Put me out? What does that mean?”
Logan grinned crookedly. He had a most attractive smile, and now that the pain lines were erased by good health, he looked rather fit. “Just an American saying. I don’t know where it comes from. I suppose you French have sayings like that, too.”
“Oh yes. I suppose so. Well, you’ll come, then?”
“What time?”
“Come at seven. Nothing fancy, you understand.”
“It will be a treat. I’ll see you then.”
****
As Logan entered the large parlor of the Laurent household, he stopped abruptly. Leaning on the mantel was Captain Lance Winslow. “Oh,” Logan said lamely, “I didn’t know you’d be here, Captain.”
“I took a night off to be with my family.” Winslow came over and shook hands with the young man who was wearing his Legion uniform. It was the only clothing Logan had, and he felt out of place in it. He tugged at the fabric, saying, “I’m not dressed for much formal entertainment.”
Lance himself was wearing his light olive uniform and looked very sharp. He was the kind of man who could put on anything off the rack and make it look expensive. There was a strength in his lean body and yet at the same time a grace that Logan Smith admired. He was made of rougher material, and his years on the range had put a toughness in him that nothing could disguise. When he moved there was strength in his movements, and the two men made an interesting contrast. Jo had been talking to Danielle, and now she smiled.
“I’m glad you could come, Logan.”
“Good to see you, Jo. I got a letter from Rev today. He asked to be remembered.”
“Is he all right?”
“Oh yes. You know Rev. He never worries about anything.”
“You’d find our friend Revelation Brown quite interesting, Captain,” Jo smiled. “He’s a hypercalvinist.”
“Yes, and as I’ve told you, sir, he’s the best mechanic I’ve ever seen in my life. He could have made a fortune in the States working for any of the automobile plants, but he preferred to tinker with airplanes. Built one from the ground up. Knows engines inside and out.”
“We could always use a man like that,” Lance nodded. “I’ve already sent the papers to get him transferred.”
“Oh, that’s great!” Logan’s face glowed. “Whether I make it with your squadron or not, you’ll find Rev a good man.”
“What is his name? Rev?”
“Well, his real name is Revelation.”
“Revelation? What a strange name!”
“Well, if you think that’s strange,” Jo laughed, “you ought to hear the names of his brothers and sisters.”
“What are they?” Danielle asked.
“Well, he has two brothers. One is named Dedication and one is named Incarnation.”
“I can’t believe that!” Doctor Laurent said. “Who would name a baby Incarnation?”
“What did they ever call him? In or carn or nation?” Katherine Laurent exclaimed.
“Well, his sisters did a little better,” Jo smiled.
“What are they called, pray tell?” Doctor Laurent asked. He was amused by the Americans. “I hope they are a little bit more feminine.”
“I don’t know about feminine. His sisters are named Incense, Praise, and Blessing.”
A laugh went around the room, and Lance said, “I don’t care what his name is if he can make an airplane fly.”
“How are things going with your squadron now that you have the new planes, Lance?” Doctor Laurent asked.
“Much better. We can actually meet the Germans on their own terms now.”
“I understand that fellow Fokker is quite a prize for the Germans.”
“Yes,” Lance nodded. “He’s a Dutchman, really. Mechanical genius, apparently. At least he turns out planes that are probably as good as anything in the air today. Doesn’t seem to care about honor or anything like that. I think he’d just as soon be making planes for the French or the British, but the Germans offered him more and got to him first.”
“What are the new Fokkers like, sir?” Logan asked.
“Oh, fast, maneuverable. They can do anything ours can do except dive. They can’t follow us in a hard dive.”
The talk went around for some time, and finally they moved into the dining room. Logan found himself seated beside Danielle, and after her father had asked a blessing, she began to urge him, saying, “Better make the most of this home cooking.”
“I will. It reminds me of my home.”
“Do you live on a ranch?”
“Yes. I grew up out on the range.”
“Herding cattle and all that sort of thing?”
“Sure. Our home was nothing like this, though. You would find it pretty primitive. Big heavy beams overhead. We lived in a log house. My grandfather built it himself.”
“What’s your family like?”
Logan had discovered that the Europeans were tremendously interested in the American West. He tasted some of the soup that was steaming in front of him and said, “This is good.” Then he turned to her and said, “Well, this sounds like something out of a Wild West book, but my father was an outlaw—for a time, at least.”
“You don’t mean it!”
Danielle’s eyes were enormous as she turned to look at him. She had beautiful eyes, clear and a golden brown, and he found himself admiring the satiny sheen of her cheeks. There was an inner beauty to this girl to match the outer attractiveness, and he found himself drawn to her more than ever. “Well, he was on the borderline. For a while it wasn’t clear whether he’d be an outlaw or a marshal, but he finally took a badge and became a law enforcement officer.”
“Did he carry a gun and all that?”
“Oh sure. Back in those days everyone did. This was in Oklahoma Territory. The wildest part of the Wild West, I suppose.”
“Did he ever meet Buffalo Bill?”
“I think he did.”
“What about Wild Bill Hickok?”
“He said he met him once. Said he was the windiest old bore he ever saw in his life.”
Everyone had been listening to this conversation, and now Doctor Laurent said, “They make him out quite a hero. Lightning fast with his guns, as all the novels say.”
“Dad told me once that all of that business about two men meeting and waiting on the other one to pull their guns was a creation of novelists.”
“What did he say it was like?” Lance asked. He found himself making mental notes about Logan Smith as he did with all prospective pilots. He had no idea about the man’s skill in the air, but he wanted to know more about the man himself.
“Well, Dad said that those old-time desperadoes didn’t fool around with courtly duels.” He grinned at Lance and said, “They’d wait in a dark alley some night until their enemy went by, then step out and shoot them in the back of the head.”
“Not very noble, I’m afraid,” Doctor Laurent said.
“Well, perhaps not, and there may have been exceptions. But mostly they were a pretty motley crew.” Logan went on to describe some of the outlaws of the early West that his father had known. “I met Frank James once.”
“You mean the outlaw, Frank James? The brother of Jesse?” Danielle exclaimed. “That’s like something out of a story-book!”
“He was a tall fellow, big mustache, not too exciting. I think he shot a few people when they weren’t looking, too. The James boys have been pretty well romanticized, but they were just criminals.”
Suddenly Lance asked, “Would you shoot anyone in the back? If you were flying, I mean?”
S
omehow Logan knew instantly that this was a test for him. Carefully he answered, “I have had no combat experience, Captain Winslow, but I’ve talked to one of the pilots who was in the hospital, Mark Jamison.”
“Yes. I know Jamison. A good man. Has two kills.”
“Jamison said,” Logan spoke carefully, “that the point of flying an airplane is to shoot down the enemy, and the best way to do that is to come at him from out of the sun on his tail. He said he didn’t see much point in being polite and saying, ‘I beg your pardon,’ before firing.”
“So it’s not really much different from the desperadoes in the Old West, stepping out of the alley.”
“Maybe a little bit different. Those men who were shot like that were not expecting it, but isn’t it true, sir, that every time you climb into an airplane you know you’re putting your life at risk? And the enemy knows the same thing. So it isn’t quite the same.”
“That’s a good way of looking at it, Smith. You’ll find out, if you join us, that we’re out to shoot down as many Germans as we can. If three of us can get on one of theirs, then so much the better. This isn’t a courtly duel that you read about in the medieval romances.”
“I always loved those stories,” Jo said. “Two men on big chargers with lances and shields rushing toward each other. One of them winning, one of them losing.”
“I’ve noticed some of your fellow writers make out our patrols to be the same way. Sort of a nightly duel among noble adversaries.” Lance nodded with approval. “I’ve been reading your stories, some of them, and I noticed that you don’t put out that kind of nonsense. I commend you for it.”
“I’m glad you like what I write, Captain Winslow.”
“Oh, call me Lance!”
“All right, Lance. I’m glad you like what I write. Is there anything you didn’t like?” Jo asked.
“You want me to critique your writing here at the table?”
“I’d like to know what you think.”
“I think you’re too easy on the Germans. We’ve got to kill them before they kill us.”
It was a raw, hard statement that did not seem to fit in with the beautiful white tablecloth, the crystal goblets, and the gleaming china. The war was something happening far away in a trench, or high in the air, where death could come instantly. Here in this beautiful dining room, with polite conversation, it seemed to be a jarring note. Lance noticed it and said, “This is no place to talk about that. Tell us some more about your American desperadoes.”
The Flying Cavalier Page 22
