Storming

Nineteen

FOR THE SIXTH time that morning, Hitch took off, gained about nine hundred feet, banked hard, and turned around to set the plane right back down. The show started tomorrow, which meant today was the big opportunity to make extra dough by hopping rides to paying customers.

Up, turn, and back was worth two bits a person.

The passengers in his front cockpit, a pimpled farmhand and his sweetheart—the farmer’s daughter if Hitch didn’t miss his guess—grinned at each other, wide-eyed. Most folks reacted that way the first time. Even if they got into the cockpit all stiff, hanging onto the sides until their knuckles went white, it usually only took that first stomach-bumping lurch into the air to win them over. Half of them might not ever get the bug to fly again, but they’d be telling their families about it for the rest of their lives.

Luckily for him, that made for good business. Not so luckily, business was a little too good to manage single-handedly at the moment.

He bounced the wheels back onto the strip and looked around. The crowd had been a couple hundred strong at dawn, and it’d only grown since. Even with almost every pilot here hopping rides, there were plenty of fares to go around.

But without Lilla to flash that smile of hers and direct traffic his way, every pilot but him was getting the lion’s share. Even Earl had deserted him—not that he was much good at flashing winning smiles. He’d thumbed a ride into town to buy gasoline with the last of their payment from Campbell.

No doubt Rick was laughing his head off. Hitch craned his neck and squinted through his goggles toward where Rick was successfully operating on the far side of the field.

Just ahead of Hitch’s propeller, Taos got up from lying in the shade of a lonely parked plane and ran, barking, across the field. And there, out of the early morning haze, walked Hitch’s solution.

Jael saw him. She didn’t wave, but her face lit up.

Speaking of winning smiles…

The dog jumped a good foot off the ground, still barking.

Hitch cut the engine. “All right, folks, thank you very much.” He climbed out and came forward to help them down off the wing.

No other customers were clamoring just yet, so he pulled off his helmet and jogged over to Jael. “’Bout time you showed up. Haven’t you figured out what ‘crack of dawn’ means?”

“I figured it.” She stood easily, hands in her back pockets. “But I had to help Walter with eggs. The birds sit on them. Did you know this?”

He glanced down to where Nan’s kid stood at Jael’s side. “Yeah, I know about it.”

The boy—Walter—bit his lip, uncertainly. But it only took half a minute for the light to start dawning in his eyes. He darted his gaze from Hitch to the planes, then back. He let go of Taos’s scruff long enough to stick out his hand.

“This is Walter,” Jael said. “You have memory of him?”

“I remember.” He gave the kid’s hand a shake. He had a firm grip for a skinny little guy. Then Hitch looked back up at Jael. “Nan said he could come out here?”

She glanced at Walter.

The boy tucked his chin in one hard nod. He didn’t look too certain of the fact. But whatever the truth, it was too late now.

Hitch peered at Walter, trying to figure the right thing to say. “Well… okay then. Anyway, we’ve got to get to work.”

Jael grinned. “Wing walking?”

“No, we’ll rest you up for now and give it a try later today. Right now, we’re hopping rides.”

She did a little bounce. “Hopping?”

“Giving rides. To all those wonderful paying people over there. All I need you to do is stand there and look…” He cast a glance over her trim figure, long legs longer than ever in those breeches and boots. He cleared his throat. “Well, like you do. Your job’s to convince these folks to come ride in our plane rather than somebody else’s.” And particularly Rick Holmes’s. “You just smile and say, ‘Right this way, ladies and gents. Only two bits a ride.’”

She wrinkled her nose.

“C’mon, you can do it. Your English is already better than it was when you first got here.”

She repeated his words—only with her thick accent, they sounded more like, “Reekgt tis vay, ladhee-es aundt ghents.” She stopped. “What is this ‘two bits’?”

“Hmm.” He looked at Walter. “How about you? Can you say it?”

The boy’s smile faded. He shook his head.

Jael laid a hand on Walter’s shoulder. “He is not liking to talk.”

“Right.” Hitch heaved a sigh and looked around for inspiration. “You know what, we’ll just make up a sign real quick, and you can hold it, okay?”

Walter tugged his sleeve and looked at him expectantly.

“You can both hold it. Now, come on. Every five minutes we waste is twenty-five cents we don’t earn.”

The three of them ran around camp until they’d found a board about as big as Taos and a quarter of a can of whitewash. No brush though, so he used the corner of his shirt to streak the paint onto the board in broad capital letters.

“All right. Now you hold that.” He handed it to Jael. “Fingers on the edge. Don’t smudge the paint.”

She looked bored already.

“You want Earl and me to eat tonight, don’t you?” He took her shoulders and turned her around to face the crowd. “Now, give ’em a smile and act like you’re having so much fun they’ll scramble to join you.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Smile.”

“All right, I smile.” She grinned wide, all teeth. Not quite Lilla’s effervescent allure, but it’d have to do.

Walter, on the other hand, seemed about ready to bust out of his skin, he was so excited. He stood next to her, one hand gingerly gripping the edge of the sign, the other petting Taos’s head. He caught Hitch’s look and stopped petting Taos long enough to give him an OK sign.

“See,” Hitch said, “he’s got the idea. You’re doing fine, son, you keep that up.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Over here, folks! No need to wait. We’re ready to take you up right this minute!” He elbowed Jael. “Wave.”

She got that shy look all of a sudden and bit her lip. But she lowered the sign enough to give a quick wave. Walter made up for it by jumping up and down and waving both arms above his head.

It was enough to start the crowd trickling in their direction.

“Good job.” He pulled his helmet back down over his ears and headed toward the plane. “Now keep it up.”

For the next five hours, he hopped rides pretty much non-stop. Earl and the gasoline arrived just in time to fill up the Jenny. They strained the gas through a chamois before funneling it into the tank, just to make sure there was no water in it. Then he was right back in the air.

With Earl helping the passengers in and out, Hitch didn’t even have to climb from the cockpit between rides. A smooth takeoff, a sharp turn, and a bounce back to the landing strip. Then another customer clambered up the wing and into the cockpit. As fast as Earl could pack ’em in, they stepped forward to pay up. It was a terrific crowd—the kind that would keep you in food and fixings for a couple months, if you didn’t have to share.

As it was, with all the pilots hopping every bit as fast as he was, the crowd finally petered out around one o’clock—judging from the ball of fire overhead. His backside had gone numb a long time ago, and his elbow was starting to ache from the thrum of the engine up through the stick in his hand. As he put the plane down for the last time, his empty stomach churned.

No more customers in sight, although Walter still held the sign. Taos sat at his side. Jael had disappeared a couple hours ago.

Hitch cut the engine. “Where’s Jael?”

Earl helped down the customer—a fat man in a black tie and a fedora—and guided him on his way. “Got tired of standing around, I guess. Went over to watch one of Livingstone’s pilots fixing up his engine.”

Hitch frowned. The barnstorming life wasn’t just about flying and fixing engines. There was the business side to think about. Maybe she wasn’t quite as cut out for this as he was hoping.

He raised his goggles and looked over at Walter.

Bareheaded in the sun, the kid stood tall, a hand on either side of the sign. Every time somebody walked by, he smiled and tilted the sign toward them.

“How much you think we made?” Hitch asked.

Earl jingled his jumpsuit pocket. “Oh, twenty bucks maybe.”

“That ain’t bad.” Hitch dumped his helmet in the seat and swung out of the cockpit. “Give me one of those quarters, and then you can go rustle up some lunch. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Sounds good.” Earl handed over the quarter and ambled back toward camp.

Walter turned around to face the plane.

Hitch walked over and ruffled his hair. “You did a good job today. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Walter beamed.

“You better get on back now, before your mama figures out what’s going on. Here.” He handed over the quarter. “Next time you’re in town, you can buy yourself some licorice or something.”

Walter took the quarter into his hot palm. He stared at it for a moment, then looked up at Hitch. Slowly, he held the quarter back out.

“No, it’s for you. You earned it.”

Walter pointed at the sign—25¢ for a Thrilling Ride in the Sky—then held the quarter back out.

“It’s been a long morning, and I’m pretty tired and hungry. I’ll give you a ride later, if Nan says you can have one.”

Walter’s face fell. He looked at the ground. Then he flashed his glance back up. Quarter still fisted in his hand, he reached into his overalls pocket and came out with a knotted sock. He set the sign down on the ground and worked the knot loose. He upended a tarnished penny in his hand. It clinked against the quarter. He held them both out.

Now what were you supposed to do in the face of something like that? Hitch stared down at him. The boy couldn’t be more than eight years old. He was skinny as a rail, knobby around the elbows, black hair falling into big brown eyes that were as hopeful as all get out. And he wanted to ride in that plane so bad his insides were twisting. Hitch knew the feeling.

Surely, even if Nan didn’t exactly know about Walter being out here, she wouldn’t grudge the boy one quick ride. Walter would remember it all his life. Telling him no right now would be about like boxing his ears. Hitch’s stomach hollowed out. If Nan wanted to do that, that was her business. But he couldn’t.

“Alrighty,” he said. “But you keep your money. This one’s on the house.”

Walter’s eyes got even bigger. Then his smile faded, and his face stilled into a serious expression. He licked his lips and took a breath, like a parachutist nerving himself for the jump.

“C’mon.” Hitch slapped his leg to Taos and bundled the dog into the front cockpit. “You want to ride in front with Taos, or you want to ride in back with me and learn how to fly?”

It was no contest, of course. Walter’s serious look slipped into delight. He pointed at Hitch.

Hitch swung the boy in first. He settled the helmet on Walter’s head, the too-big goggles bumping into the boy’s freckled nose. Hitch took his time pointing out the various instruments and explaining what they did. From the look in his eye, Walter actually seemed to understand most of it.

“You sit there while I start it up.”

Hitch hand-propped the Jenny himself. When the engine caught and the plane started to ease forward, he ran back.

Walter’s eyes had gone wide, probably thinking the plane was going to take off with just him and Taos.

Hitch laughed and hauled himself in. He set Walter’s hands on the stick and covered them with his own.

The boy sat on his lap, shoulders tensed.

They gained speed down the field, the dust clouding up from under the wheels. Hitch eased back on the stick, pulling it almost to Walter’s chest. The Jenny’s nose left the ground, and his stomach turned over for that split moment, like always.

All the tension melted out of Walter. He opened his mouth, and he laughed, just loud enough for Hitch to catch the edge of the sound. Then he seemed almost abashed, and when Hitch looked around to see his face, he grinned a tiny grin that took only a second to engulf his face.

Yup, he’d never forget this moment as long as he lived.

Walter got the longest ride of the day. Hitch stayed up, doing all the tricks he could manage: wingovers, Immelmann turns, spins, and even a heart-stopping deep stall that had the Jenny falling like an autumn leaf. Walter hung onto the stick the whole way. He kept his head up and watched the windshield for all he was worth—assuming he could see anything out of those goggles.

Finally, they landed. Hitch waited for the engine to sputter into silence, then leaned around to look at the boy. “Next time you can solo, right?”

Walter nodded. He sat for a moment, still perched on the edge of the seat, hands one atop the other on the stick. Then he breathed out a sigh.

Hitch patted the boy’s back and climbed out. He swung Walter to the ground, and the boy immediately took off running. He ran all the way around the plane twice, then stopped and turned half a dozen somersaults. Taos, barking hard, wriggled in Hitch’s arms and hit the ground running to follow Walter for another lap.

Hands on his hips, Hitch watched them run.

Nan could beef about this all she wanted, and, granted, it was her right. But he’d do it again if he had the choice. He couldn’t give folks much. He couldn’t even pay his own people what they were due half the time. But this he could give Walter.

It made him feel like his insides had fallen down a hole. After Celia died, he’d just wanted to stay free. But you lost a little something along that way. You lost this feeling.

Jael was right about that. Didn’t make any kind of sense for an orphan—an outcast—to know so much about what it was like to have people in your life. But durned if she didn’t.

The boy stopped, panting, in front of Hitch. Sweat trickled out from under the helmet. Above his grin, his cheeks were flushed with the heat.

“All right, Captain,” Hitch said. “How about some lunch?”

They walked over to the pile of bedrolls and knapsacks. Earl and Jael were nowhere to be seen, but Earl had left them half a loaf of bread, a chunk of white cheese, and a slightly unripe apple.

Hitch split the food between them, and they sat on the bedrolls while they ate.

Taos lay beside Walter, his head on the boy’s leg. His eyes followed the food back and forth from Walter’s hand to his mouth.

Walter fed him a crust. Then he looked up and gave the field a long, searching glance that finally ended on Hitch. He tipped his head and shrugged, asking a question.

Hitch bit a bruise out of the apple and spat it to the side. “You looking for Jael?”

Walter nodded.

“Like her, don’t you?”

Another nod.

“You do know she’s not staying, right? None of us are.”

Walter nodded again, but his mouth bunched to the side in what was either a grimace or a thoughtful expression. He put his hands behind his neck, as if he were fastening a chain, then he pointed to the sky.

“Jael’s pendant?” Hitch made a stack out of a slice of bread, a piece of cheese, and a wedge of apple. He chewed slowly. “What did she tell you about that?”

Walter shrugged, still pointing up. Then he made a blowing sound through his lips and gestured with his hands in what might have been supposed to indicate clouds rolling in.

Hitch shook his head, not following.

Frustrated, Walter sat back on his heels for a minute. Then he leaned forward and drew painstaking letters in the dust with his finger.

key to her home.

Hitch frowned. What was it Zlo had said about the pendant? That he couldn’t leave without it?

What did that mean? The pendant was some necessary piece of machinery to get Schturming working?

The way Jael had handled that pendant during the lightning strike had been… strange. It had almost seemed like she’d been pulling the lightning toward her—and then deflecting it. If the pendant could do that, maybe it was somehow connected to Schturming. It might not be able to bring Schturming back, but it might be able to do something.

And if that were true, then that pendant around that girl’s neck might be the last thing he’d want to be toting around the country with him.

“All right, let’s finish up,” Hitch told Walter. “We’ll go see what she can tell us about this.”