A Bright Tomorrow

by Gilbert, Morris

  Allie stiffened. “Owen Stuart…you are so—!”

  “I’m so…what, Allie?” Owen asked, when she broke off.

  Allie bit her lip, then took his arm. “You’re the nicest man I’ve ever met…and the peskiest! Come on, I’ll race you to the house!”

  When they got ready to leave the next day, Logan drove them to Fort Smith in the wagon. At the station he shook Joey’s hand, then said to Allie, “Don’t be a stranger, now. Make him bring you back in the spring.” He caught her off guard by leaning forward and kissing her on the cheek.

  As they were pulling out of the station, Owen grinned at Allie. “Watch out for that one. He’ll probably come courting you.”

  “Why don’t you court Allie, Owen?” Joey piped up.

  “Why I’m old enough to be…to be—”

  Allie gave him a disgusted look. I know…you’re old enough to be my brother!” she snapped. “Too bad I have to travel around with old man Stuart…tripping over his beard!”

  The train clattered along, breaking the solitude of the mountains from time to time with shrill shrieks of the whistle. When they got back to Pensacola, Owen said cautiously, “Are you mad at me, Allie? Did I do something wrong?”

  “No. Everything is fine,” Allie said, summoning a smile. “It was the best Christmas we’ve ever had, Joey and me. We’ll never forget it.” She saw the relief soften his features and added, “You’re a kind man, Owen Stuart. Not too bright in some ways…but you’re young enough to be taught.”

  “Sure, Allie,” Owen nodded, not understanding her, but happy that she was not angry any longer. “It’s great to have you and Joey with me. Just like brother and sister, aren’t we?”

  She stared at him and nodded with resignation. “Yes, Owen, just like brother and sister.”

  20

  WINGS OF SILK

  Amos Stuart had taken off his coat, but the blistering sun beating down on the giant ditch that stretched out before him was closer to earth than he was accustomed to. Mopping his brow with a soggy handkerchief, he trudged along with his fellow reporters, silently resenting the natives of Panama who, by contrast, seemed cool and comfortable. Like to see how they’d make out in a New York snowstorm was the thought that occurred to him.

  By now, he’d nearly covered the world, having become known as William Randolph Hearst’s star reporter for the New York Journal, and when he’d been ordered to write a story on The Big Ditch, as the Panama Canal was called, he’d told Rose and the children good-bye, which was getting harder since they were older—Jerry now seven and Maury six. And slogging along in the sticky mud produced by a thundershower that morning, Amos found himself rehashing a familiar theme—Got to leave this globe-trotting to the young fellows. Man with a family can’t do what he’s supposed to do, traipsing all over the world!

  The group halted, and as one of the officials situated them in a reserved section just under a huge mechanical digger, Amos mentally reviewed the history of the Canal. People had dreamed of connecting the Atlantic and Pacific oceans for hundreds of years, and in the nineteenth century there were a number of unsuccessful attempts to construct a canal across Central America. The Spanish-American War had demonstrated such a need. Amos remembered that during the war the American battleship Oregon had been forced to steam all the way around the tip of South America to join the Atlantic fleet.

  When Roosevelt decided to forge ahead with the project, two sites were proposed—one across Nicaragua and Costa Rica, the other through Panama. The three countries had competed for the location of the Canal, and Panama had won. Amos had tried to convince the public that they were using scare tactics, primarily by distributing Nicaraguan stamps that illustrated volcanic activity in that country.

  As Amos was lost in his thoughts, the man who was responsible for The Big Ditch appeared—President Theodore Roosevelt himself. He was wearing a white suit and a sun helmet, and as he passed by the press corps, he greeted them as always, baring his teeth in a smile and waving his hand. Then he saw Amos and came close enough to say, “Stuart, need to see you for a minute after we get this business out of the way.”

  The other correspondents cast resentful looks Amos’s way, and Richard Harding Davis, Amos’s chief rival, demanded, “How is it you always have these nice private little chats with Teddy, Stuart? What have you got on him?”

  “Simple, Davis.” Amos smiled blandly. “It’s because my heart is pure.”

  A shout of derision went up from the other reporters, but they all settled down when Roosevelt climbed up into the cab of the giant steam shovel and, for the next hour, played with the monstrous machine with obvious delight.

  Amos moved closer to Davis. “Look at him, Richard…like a boy with a new toy! And that’s exactly what he is—partly, anyhow. He’s been a great president, and a lot of his success has been his enthusiasm. Whether it’s boxing or hunting big game or breaking up trusts like Standard Oil, Teddy gives it everything he’s got.”

  “I think you’re right, Amos.” Davis nodded in agreement. “It’s going to be pretty dull for fellows like us after November.” A look of disgust crossed his face. “Who could make a story out of Taft? The man weighs three hundred pounds and never did an exciting thing in his life. Our headlines will read: PRESIDENT TAFT EATS ENTIRE WATERMELON!”

  “You think Taft will win?”

  “Win? Why, Teddy handpicked him!” Davis snorted. “Amos, you know as well as I that anybody Roosevelt endorses will win.” He sighed and gazed fondly at his leader. “He’s been the only lovable president this country has ever had…and he’ll likely be the last.”

  “Don’t worry, Richard,” Amos said. “He’ll be back. The only reason he’s not running this term is that he promised not to. But you wait until 1912—Teddy will be in that race if he has to crawl up out of a sick bed to do it!”

  After the ceremonies, Amos waited around until the president was free and motioned to him. “Stuart, I’ve got some big things to do…and I need some help,” Roosevelt said in his typically blunt fashion.

  “You need help getting ready for the election of 1912, Mr. President?”

  Roosevelt bared his teeth and laughed heartily. “That’s what I’ve always liked about you, Amos,” he said, “always ahead of the pack. What I want is someone to follow me around and help me write my biography. Want to tackle it?”

  Caught off guard, Amos’s mind was blank for a moment. It was a great opportunity, but he knew at once he couldn’t do it. “Mr. President, that’s the best offer I’ve ever had,” he replied, “but I’m tired of roaming. I’m going to get a steady job and stay home with my wife and children.”

  Roosevelt was genuinely disappointed, but shrugged in acceptance. “We both have that problem, Amos. I miss my family every day I’m gone.” The two men shook hands, then the president asked, “What’s your next story?”

  “The Army is interested in the Wright airplane. There’s going to be some kind of trial of the thing in Fort Meyers, Virginia, right away. Mr. Hearst wants me to cover it.”

  “Bully!” Roosevelt burst out. “That invention will change the world, you mark my words!” He turned and left with the other officials, and Amos went to his room to pack.

  As his ship pulled out of Panama that afternoon, Amos thought of the president and felt a great sadness. We’ll never have another president like Teddy Roosevelt.

  “Aw, Owen, it’s only a few miles from here,” Joey begged. “If you’d borrow the colonel’s automobile, we could see the flying and be back in plenty of time for the show tonight.”

  Owen stared at the boy, who stood before him with a determined expression on his face. Joey had gotten up that morning, all excited about the story he’d read in the newspaper—Orville Wright’s new airplane was scheduled to be flown on September 17, 1908 at Fort Meyers, which was only ten miles from Cooperville where the show was set up.

  Owen was tired and preoccupied and said rather shortly, “The colonel won’t let us have his car. He’s
going to use it himself for some advance stuff he needs to do.”

  “No, he ain’t,” Joey said stubbornly. “He’s going to go tomorrow. He told me his own self he wasn’t going to go.” He turned to see Allie approaching. “Allie, you got to make Owen take us to see that airplane over at Fort Meyers!”

  She was amused. “I’m not his boss, Joey.”

  “He’ll do it if you ask him…he always does everything you ask him to do!”

  Owen blinked at the outrageous statement and said resentfully, “Oh? Is that what you think, Joey? Well, we’ll just see if she can make me.” He turned to face Allie and folded his arms, glaring at her. “Go ahead…let’s see if you can get me to Fort Meyers.”

  Allie had no desire to go see the airplane, but she loved to manipulate Owen. It was so easy! He was so partial to her and Joey that he would do practically anything they asked, and now she was determined to get him to change his mind.

  She allowed a look of disappointment to crease her smooth forehead. She moved closer, looked up at him, and blinked her enormous eyes, having learned long ago that he was fascinated by her eyes and thick lashes. She knew also that he hated to disappoint her. “Oh, Owen, don’t pay attention to Joey,” she said. “He’s never satisfied, no matter how much you do for us.” Then she sighed and turned away. “It’s just that—” she began with a little catch in her throat. “Well…never mind.”

  “What is it, Allie?” Owen asked anxiously. “Something wrong?”

  “Oh, no, Owen,” Allie said quickly. “It’s just that I’ve never seen an airplane. But…we’ll see one someday, I suppose.” She reached up and pushed a lock of his hair back from his forehead. “You look so tired. Why don’t you go take a nap.” She sighed heavily. “Come on, Joey, leave Owen alone, you hear me?”

  “Now wait a minute—” Owen said, and then blustered, “It just happens that I’ve been wanting to see one of those blamed things myself!” He reached out and thumped Joey on the head. “I was thinking about going over there all the time. Now let this be a lesson to you, Joey,” he said sternly. “You can’t always have your own way about everything. Now I’m going to see if the colonel will let us have the automobile, and if he won’t, the whole thing’s off!”

  When Owen stormed off, Joey winked at his sister. “Boy, he sure taught me a lesson, didn’t he, Allie?” He gave her an admiring look. “Don’t ever tell Owen to stick his head in a fire. He’d just up and do it if you said so!”

  “Oh, hush, Joey!” Allie scolded, then giggled in a girlish fashion. “Poor Owen. We manipulate him something awful, don’t we?”

  “Sure!” Joey grinned. “And we make him do what we want, too!”

  Joey got his first glimpse of the famous Orville Wright almost as soon as they got out of the car. “There he is!” he whispered loudly, staring wide-eyed at the man in the natty suit and black derby hat who was standing beside what seemed to be a huge box kite. “Can I go take a closer look, Allie?”

  “Well, I guess so…but don’t get in the way.”

  As Joey raced down the slight slope toward the airplane, Owen shook his head. “I wouldn’t go up in that thing if they gave me a million dollars! Looks like a man could put his fist through it without half trying.”

  Owen was exactly right about that, for the plane was made of lightweight wood, covered with fabric. Basically it was the same type of craft the Wrights had used to make the first powered air flight in 1903, having two wings and a “tail” that protruded in front rather than extended toward the rear. A small gas engine drove two propellers by means of a bicycle chain, and the craft carried two men sitting upright, rather than one man lying flat on his stomach.

  Joey moved in closer, and when one of the Army officers who spotted him said roughly, “Kid, get out of here—,” he nodded and simply changed positions. But the officer slipped around on the other side, and Joey was suddenly pinioned by a large hand closing on his neck.

  “Just a minute, Captain—” Orville Wright had seen the boy’s capture and walked over to investigate. He was, Joey saw, a dark-skinned man with a jet black mustache. Despite his rather grim expression, Wright’s lips turned up in a slight smile. “Well, young fellow, I guess you’ve been caught in the act.”

  “Yes, sir,” Joey whispered meekly. Then he spoke up. “You can do it, Mr. Wright! I know you can! You just show these army men how it’s done!”

  Wright laughed aloud and addressed the officers who had gathered around. “I hope you gentlemen heard that!”

  One of them, a lieutenant named Thomas Selfridge, agreed with Joey. “You’re right, young man.” He put out his hand, and the soldier who had been holding Joey released his hold. Selfridge gripped the boy’s hand, a smile on his face. “Guess you’d like to be making this flight in my place, wouldn’t you, son?”

  Joey swallowed hard, and a defiant gleam lit the sky blue eyes. He nodded. “Yes, sir, I sure would…and someday I’m gonna be a flier, too!”

  The men laughed, and Orville Wright was pleased. He had been worried about the flight, and he missed his brother Wilbur, who was in Le Mans, France, demonstrating a flying machine to the French authorities. The boy’s sudden appearance had driven away some of the gloom that had oppressed him all morning.

  Now he stood chatting with Joey for a few minutes. “I hope you do become a flier, Joey. When you get a little older, come and see me and my brother. We should be able to find a place for a bright young fellow like you.”

  Joey stared at the famous inventor, his face pale and very serious. “I’ll be there, Mr. Wright. Save a place for me.”

  His earnestness made Wright smile. “Lieutenant Selfridge, why don’t you show this budding young eagle our airplane while I talk to these gentlemen?”

  From the slope above, Owen and Allie had watched the scene with some apprehension, but when it became apparent that Joey had made a place for himself, Allie smiled. “He’s in heaven, Owen.”

  “Hey…Owen.”

  Hearing his name called, Owen turned to see his brother Amos running toward him, waving his hands. “Amos!” Owen cried out, and Allie watched as the two men came together, shaking hands awkwardly. Then she saw Owen reach out and pull the smaller man forward in a bear hug. “Doggone it, Amos! Never expected to see you here!”

  Amos gazed up into Owen’s bronzed face, almost overwhelmed by his younger brother’s size and strength. “You young Hercules!” he exclaimed, admiration in his tone. “What in the world are you doing here?”

  “The show I’m with is in a town about ten miles from here.” Owen was experiencing a peculiar feeling as he looked down at Amos. In his mind’s eye, his older brother had remained much larger physically, and it seemed strange to see that Amos was so–so small! But Owen let none of his conflicting emotions show in his face and, remembering that Allie was looking on, he turned to her. “Allie, this is my older brother, Amos Stuart. And this is Allie Dupree, Amos. She and her brother are with the show. The three of us came over to see the flying.”

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Dupree.” Amos smiled. He was curious about the girl, who seemed to be very young, but asked no questions. “What do you do with the show?”

  “Oh, I just help out here and there, Mr. Stuart,” Allie said quickly. Then she changed the subject. “I’ve read so many of your articles. Owen keeps them all in a scrapbook and makes us all listen while he reads them out loud…oh, I didn’t mean—!” she broke off in embarrassment.

  Amos gave a delighted laugh. “That’s all right, Miss Dupree. Better a captive audience than none at all.”

  “What are you doing here, Amos?” Owen asked. “Writing a story on the airplane business?”

  “That’s it. Airplanes are going to be really big, I think, so I wanted to get in on the beginning.”

  As the two brothers stood talking, Allie felt more and more out of place. “I’m going to walk around for a while,” she announced. “I’ll keep an eye on Joey, so you two can talk.”

  “After the
flight we’ll go get something to eat.” Amos smiled. “I want to warn you about this baby brother of mine.” When she walked away, Amos asked at once, “Who is she, Owen?” He listened as his brother told him how he’d found the pair and how the colonel had given them a job.

  “How old is she?”

  Owen stared at him, then said curtly, “Too young for what you’re thinking, Amos. She’s just a kid.”

  At once Amos saw that he’d overstepped his bounds and began to talk about Lylah and the folks. Gradually, Owen relaxed, and soon the two men were deep in conversation, keeping one eye on the flying machine.

  Allie moved around among the small crowd that had gathered, never taking her eyes off Joey for long. There were far fewer people than she had expected, and she soon went over to stand beside a wagon that was drawn up near one of the outbuildings. As she leaned back against the wheel, a voice called out, “Hidee, Missy!”

  Allie looked up quickly and saw a small man in a faded jacket, peering at her from the seat. He got out of the wagon slowly, every movement evidently painful, and when he was on the ground, he lifted a cane from the wagon and limped over to stand beside her. He could have been anywhere from forty to sixty, Allie thought. His hair was thick and his eyes were bright, but his skin was wrinkled with age or weather.

  “The name’s Ivory Bill Parker,” he introduced himself. “Come to see the show, did you?”

  “Yes. Will it be soon, do you think?”

  “Ought to be, but Mr. Wright’s got to please them officers.” He leaned back against the wagon, grimaced with pain, then shook his head. “Sure is tough, a man like me having to cripple around.”

  “Did a horse throw you?”

  “No, that threw me!” He jerked his thumb toward the back of the wagon, and Allie looked inside, seeing only a very large basket and piles of some kind of colored material. “Don’t you know what that is, missy?”