Storming

Twenty-Three

THE FIELD WOKE up in a buzz of excitement. Pilots, mechanics, and performers ran all over the place, borrowing screwdrivers and pocketknives, topping off fuel tanks, and polishing their ships ’til they dazzled in the golden morning light. The dry air, already hot, carried the sounds of shouting, laughing, and plane engines revving. Motorcars had packed the incoming road two full hours before the show’s start time.

Earl went over the engine once more, and Hitch did a walk-around, checking every surface. Today was not the day to have something fall apart on him.

Livingstone, wearing white jodhpurs and dapper red-striped suspenders, ambled over with his walking stick. “Well, my boy, here we are.” He looked at the Jenny and smoothed his mustache. “She’s mighty pretty, I’ll say that for her. You’ve got her shined up brighter than a shoe button. Clip-wing, eh?”

Hitch nodded. Last year, he and Earl had swapped out the standard top wing, with its three-foot overhang, for another bottom wing. It made her a little wilder than even most Jennies, but on days when she was in good temper, she could outmaneuver a hawk.

“Well,” Livingstone said. “I won’t mind giving that a try after you’ve lost her to me.”

Hitch hooked his thumbs in his pockets and flashed his most confident grin. “Maybe after you’ve made me your partner, you can talk me into giving you a free ride.”

“Maybe, indeed.” Livingstone pointed his stick toward where Jael was sitting cross-legged next to the fire pit, staring at the sky. “Your lovely wing walker seems a mite distracted this morning.”

“Oh, that’s just something she does. Helps her focus.”

“Indeed. Well, good luck to you. You’ll need it.” Livingstone touched the brim of his hat and strolled on.

Hitch glanced at Jael.

She’d shaken off the squigglies since last night, and her hand seemed in good shape. But she’d woken up with a dark, almost desperate look in her eyes. Knowing her, that probably wasn’t a good thing.

Behind him, a dog barked, and he glanced back.

Taos bounded up, Walter running after him. Bottom lip between his teeth, the boy grinned as wide as he possibly could.

Hitch grinned back. “So you got to come after all?” He leaned down to rub Taos’s ears.

Walter nodded.

“Did your mama find out about yesterday?”

The nod became a shake.

That could only mean Griff hadn’t told on them. That was something, anyway.

“How’d you get her to let you come today?”

Walter shrugged, then pointed at Taos. His eyes sparkled.

“Ah.”

Nan probably thought Hitch sent the dog home on purpose to manipulate her into letting Walter come. Hitch looked up for her, but something else caught his eye: a green sedan bumping across the field and parking twenty feet off.

Through the driver’s open window, Campbell watched him. That almost-smile played on his mouth.

Hitch guided Walter forward a step and pointed toward Jael. “Why don’t you go say hi? Cheer her up a bit. She’s had a rough night of it.”

Walter lit up at the sight of her and ran off without questioning.

Hitch put on his best unconcerned look and ambled over to Campbell’s window. “Heard from last night’s satisfied customer yet?”

“I have.” Campbell twisted in his seat, his broad shoulders almost too big to let him turn and face Hitch. “You did a good job. Much better than the last time.” His eyes were bright and black, like a starling about to decapitate a worm. “Considering how well this job went, I might end up having another for you before you leave town.”

“Nah, I don’t think so. We’re even now.”

“Are we then?” Campbell kept on watching him. “And what about that thing”—he twirled his forefinger—“up in the sky. Any sign of that?”

“All that’s up there is clouds—and not too many of them.” Today, only a big thunderhead drifting in from the west marred the astounding blue of the sky. “Anything more is crazy talk. You and I both know that.”

Campbell sucked his teeth. “I reckon. But you keep an eye on the sky.” He reached to shift the car’s gear. “Time for me to go enjoy the show. I’ll let you know when the next job is.” He pulled away.

No way there’d be a next job. Hitch hung his hands on his hips. He’d more than fulfilled any debt he had to Campbell. He’d fly out of here without looking back before he’d do another deal.

But the nape of his neck still crawled. Campbell had a way of twisting even straightforward situations until he got what he wanted. The sooner Hitch was out of here, the better.

He turned and scanned the crowd.

At the corner of the bleachers, Griff stood, watching him.

The skin on Hitch’s neck crawled harder. He dropped his hands from his hips. No doubt Griff would jump to the worst conclusion possible, seeing him talking to Campbell—especially after Hitch had warned Griff off himself. But maybe, after all, the worst conclusion wasn’t so far from the truth.

How had things gotten this snarled up? He stared at his brother and rubbed a hand through his hair.

A white-haired lady hobbled up to the bleachers, hauling a picnic basket about half as big as she was. Griff turned away from Hitch to tip his hat and take the basket for her.

Before the day was out, Hitch would track Griff down, make him understand for good and all. After that, it was Griff’s business whether he forgave him or not.

“Hitch!”

He looked around.

Nan strode toward him, cheeks streaked with red. Her straw cloche was mashed low on her head, her black purse slung inside her elbow. Aurelia, Molly, and two little girls who looked like twins trailed twenty feet behind.

“Where’s Walter?” she demanded.

He hooked a thumb. “Over with Jael, last I saw. I’m glad you let him come. This sort of thing means a lot to a kid like him.”

“I didn’t let him come. It’s the last thing I wanted. You and that dog of yours.” Her breath was shuddery. “He was supposed to let it jump out of the automobile.”

“I told him to send the dog over with Jael this morning.”

She crossed her arms. “Jael didn’t come home last night.”

“Yeah, we ran into some trouble—”

“I don’t want Walter out here, Hitch.” Her eyes bored into his, demanding but also somehow pleading. “How can I make that any more clear?”

He strained air through his teeth, fighting for patience. “Look, I do understand where you’re coming from. But if you don’t want him out here, then you make him stay at home. You keep acting like I’m going to push him into a propeller or something. I like the kid. He’s smart, he loves the planes. I’m not going to kick him like a stray dog whenever he comes around. He reminds me too much of me at that age.”

She went pale, all except for the hot slash up either cheekbone. “Hitch, you listen to me—”

“No, just listen to me this time.” He closed the distance between them and lowered his voice. “This isn’t about Walter, it’s about me. I know that. If it was any other pilot out here, you wouldn’t care a bit.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“All right, maybe you would, but only because you’re set against the whole breed just ’cause I’m one of them. But the point is, why? Why can’t he hang around for a couple days? After that, I’ll be gone.” He hesitated. “Nan, I’m asking you to forgive me.”

The corner of her mouth trembled. “I thought I had forgiven you. But… then you came back.” She squared her shoulders and stepped away. “Even if I could forgive you, I still wouldn’t let him near you.” She shifted her gaze past his shoulder and raised her voice. “Walter, come here.”

The boy hesitated, glancing at Jael as if for guidance.

“Now,” Nan said.

He shambled over, Taos trotting after.

She took his hand. “It’s time to go.”

Walter’s shoulders drooped, but he followed, footsteps dragging.

He was a good kid. And maybe Nan was right. Maybe Hitch was corrupting him. Before the airshow’s arrival this week, Walter would probably have never even thought about disobeying her. A shiny red Jenny was an awful big temptation to put in front of any boy, especially one as lonely as that.

Nan should let him stay for the show. She should swallow her loathing of Hitch and give Walter at least that much.

But at the end of the day, it wasn’t Hitch’s decision to make. It was Nan’s. She was the one with a husband and a family. She was the one with both feet on the ground. She was the boy’s mother, even if she wasn’t doing an all-fired perfect job of it.

Hitch slapped his leg, calling Taos back from chasing after them.

The dog hesitated, looking between him and the boy, then ran back obediently.

Walter cast a forlorn glance over his shoulder.

There had to be a way to make this all right. Hitch waved at the boy. Had to be. A little luck, a little skill—that could make anything right.

In the open field, Livingstone’s band—consisting of a snare drum and a trumpet—struck up a circus march. Half a dozen plane engines roared to life, and the prop wash blew over Hitch, flapping his leather jacket and ruffling his hair.

“Ladies and gen-tle-men!” Livingstone bellowed through his megaphone. “Col. Bonney Livingstone and His Extravagant Flying Circus welcome you to the ex-trav-a-ganza of your lives!”

Hitch’s blood started pumping. He took a deep breath and turned away from Walter and Nan. First things first: he had to win this competition.

He jogged back to the Jenny.

Earl gave the engine one more wipe with his rag. “You ready?”

“I’m ready. Let’s push her over to the start line.” He ducked to check the steel hook underneath the lower wing.

The first competition of the day would be the handkerchief pick-up. His heart pumped harder, and his thoughts started to clear, like always.

He looked around for Jael. By Livingstone’s rules, if a crew had a performer, he or she had to be in the plane at all times, even if the event didn’t require anything but flying.

She stood behind the wing, eyes on the red-white-and-blue planes taking off. She bent over and rubbed both thighs, like she was trying to warm them up.

“She’s limping again,” Earl muttered.

“What’s this?” Hitch called to her: “You all right?”

She turned and nodded, mouth tight.

“You hurting again? I thought you were past all that.”

“It is nothing.”

“Nothing, my foot,” Earl said. “You should stay on the ground, and we all know it.”

She looked at Hitch steadily. “I will not stay on ground.”

He looked back at her, trying to gauge how fit she was. “If you fall off and break your neck, I won’t be none too happy.”

She smiled, tightly. “There is no worry. I will go whether you say I can or not.”

Earl turned around so she couldn’t see his face. “Not if we tie her up, I reckon.”

Just the thought of that made Hitch’s shins throb. “If she wants to come, she can come. It’s her call.” When it came right down to it, she hadn’t made a bad one yet. He nodded to her. “Let’s go.”

After a few events, it started to feel like maybe Hitch was the one Earl should have tied up and left behind.

They barely squeaked by in the pants race—where the contestants had to land the plane, jump out to struggle into a pair of oversize trousers, then jump back in and fly across the finish line.

They came in a poor third in the handkerchief pickup. It took Hitch two tries to swoop low across the ground and use the hook attached beneath the wing to snag the bright white handkerchief from off its pile of tumbleweeds. The only consolation was that Rick didn’t even attempt the stunt—which seemed like quite the poor showing, considering this was the trick he swore up and down he invented.

Finally, Hitch found his groove in the acrobatics demonstration.

All barnstorming stunts were based on three basic maneuvers—the slow roll, the loop, and the snap roll. Hitch was good at all twenty-six variations. In a clip-wing Jenny with a Hisso engine, he was better than good.

He finished off his last loop with an inverted screech across the field. That was a trick in itself, since it was tough keeping the fuel pumping when a Jenny was wrong side up. Then he screamed around for a perfect landing. He didn’t need Livingstone’s grudging announcement of his name to know he’d won that one.

It was a start. A few more event wins today and most of tomorrow, and that bet was as good as won. He grinned.

“And now for something inimitably special!” Livingstone announced. “Our audacious pilots will race head to head, starting from right here in front of the grandstand, circling around the far pylon, and returning to land before your very eyes, where you may judge the winner for yourselves!”

Hitch taxied around to the starting line—newly chalked in the dust in front of the bleachers.

He leaned forward to tap Jael’s shoulder. “You all right?” he hollered over the engine.

She nodded and smiled. Her eyes still had a pinched look, but her face was all lit up like starfire.

Well, flying did fix many an ill.

He lined up next to Rick’s dusty blue plane.

Rick turned his goggled head and gave them a long look. “The way this morning is progressing, I can’t say I much regret my decision to leave your employ.”

“You can regret it later—after I take all the winnings.” And he’d pay Rick off all the same, just to show him that was how folks around here did things.

“Ready!” Livingstone shouted.

The checkered flag fell, and every pilot on the line opened his throttle.

Hitch grinned. This was where the Hisso would prove its worth. He spared Earl a salute as they passed.

And then they were up. He pitched the Jenny’s nose to the sky and poured on the steam. The Hisso, with its hundred and fifty horsepower, hit full speed and tore through the air. He glanced back.

Rick’s plane was the closest—and it wasn’t even in spitting distance.

Hitch laughed. So long as he could make the turn—and he _could_—there was no way they could avoid winning this thing by less than half a mile.

They reached the old telegraph pole topped with streamers, and he tensed his feet on the rudder pedals, ready to drop the left wing in a tight turn.

Out of the clear sky, pea-sized hail spattered the windshield and his goggles. He shot a glance up. Nothing but blue.

Head back down, eyes ahead. The Jenny careened around the pylon.

In front of him, Jael leaned back to see through the cutaway in the top wing.

He circled all the way around the pole and leveled back out toward the bleachers.

The other planes tore through the sky, headed straight at him. He raised the Jenny’s nose to get above them.

Another spatter of hail rattled against the top wing.

And then a jagged gash of lightning smashed into the rearmost of the planes racing to catch Hitch.

The plane seemed to freeze, midair. The varnish on the wings reacted to the spark just like gasoline, and the whole thing ignited. The top wing folded up, the plane’s nose pitched down. It hit the ground, and it exploded.

Hitch stared, open-mouthed.

That’s when Schturming dropped out of the sun’s glare and into plain view.

The expanse of white went on and on, for hundreds and hundreds of yards. Last night, it had looked like a cloud. This morning, the sun showed different. White canvas—or more likely cowhide—was stretched against a massive rib structure and swelled tight with hydrogen. Beneath it, on a comparatively short tether, hung a long, ark-like ship, easily as big as J.W.’s mansion.

“Criminently.” The wind ripped Hitch’s voice away from his own ears. “It’s a dirigible.”