Hot and Steamy

by Jean Rabe

  “Really, Miss Edgars,” the pilot offered gallantly, “we, each of us, has to learn sooner or later we’re not all we think we are. Me learning it and ending up in the Bristol Debt House is the only reason that thing couldn’t get a handle on me like it did you and the captain . . . and even Spitzie.”

  “Still,” the young woman said, her voice warmer than he had ever heard it, “I feel I should offer you some kind of reward, for saving us all.”

  “Well,” answered the pilot, his tone soft and understanding, “you know, when you were working with the captain on the course and all, I have to admit I did greatly enjoy listening to you play that harp of yours.”

  For the first time since their shared dream had ended, Filimena looked up, her eyes locking with Stevens’. The pair smiled at one another, and for their entire voyage home there was beautiful music between them.

  GO FORWARD WITH COURAGE

  Dean Leggett

  Dean Alan Leggett is a systems analyst by day, writer and avid board gamer by night. He enjoys many topics of discussion; from ancient archaeology to quantum physics, any subject is open for debate. He currently resides in a small Wisconsin town with his wife Annette.

  Seeing the world below took my breath away. This is why I needed to be part of an airship crew, and this is why I came to the New World. Here it wasn’t only the upper-class elite who could travel on an airship; here it was anyone willing to work, even the daughter of a German farmer. Sheila Ann Marie VonShelton. The name is fun to say, but to my friends “Sheila” is just fine.

  My skills are not typical for an airshipman. You will not see me up to my elbows in grease. No, I bring the fine art of logistics. The best farms are finely tuned machines. My family ran one of the best in all of Germany. As the eldest, and the only daughter of nine children, I learned a great many things. Between the family farm, schooling, and helping raise eight siblings, I became a master of logistics, doing the most with the least and in the quickest amount of time. Father called me “gifted.”

  Looking down through the light clouds, I spied a V-shaped flock of geese heading south-southeast. I returned to reviewing the itinerary and the catalog of our current supplies. If you have a ship on the move you need to have everything in order. This is especially true on airships. Don’t pack hundreds of things you don’t need; it only weighs the ship down. Don’t pack two months of food; you can stop and restock.

  It was time to head toward the cargo hold to see what “miscellaneous important crates” really meant on the inventory. The Akula was not a large airship; it could hold a crew of a dozen if needed, with bunks for six that could be shared between shifts. Our cargo capacity was only two tons at best. For today’s journey our crew count was four: the pilot, the mechanic, the captain, and myself. To be honest, they all gave me the creeps. No matter where I went they stared at me when they thought I wasn’t looking. It wasn’t that they’d never seen a girl before. During the interviews there were lots of young women looking to join airship crews. Come to think of it, most of the applicants for the Akula were women. Goosebumps shot up my arms. Great work, Sheila, you couldn’t have thought about this before you were alone and over a thousand feet in the air with them. At least I could find some privacy in the cargo hold.

  Entering the hold, I quickly shut the door, then moved one of the larger crates in front just to be sure they couldn’t sneak in on me. Now who’s being paranoid? The light from the cargo window provided just enough to read the clipboard. Wedging the crowbar into the nearest crate and pressing down, the nails gave a steady groan. Dark green wool blankets were tucked around the top. Pulling back the top blanket, I noticed a large camera. It was strange not to mark a crate with something so valuable inside. Then a thin sleeve of pink lace caught my eye. I gently pulled the camera, still attached to a small extending tripod, out of the crate. Underneath was a crazy assortment of clothing. Holding up the pink lace dress it was hard to tell the front from the back. The neckline plunged dangerously low. It looked like something you would see at a burlesque show. It was surprisingly small, oddly my size. Turning away, I threw the silken outrage aside and vomited in the corner of the hold.

  My mind raced, certain they intended to put me in this dress and take my picture . . . or worse.

  Three men I didn’t know, a thousand feet in the air, and regrets for not taking my father’s offer of a small pistol all flashed through my mind. Sucking in a deep breath and speaking a brief prayer, I focused. Maybe there was something else in here that would help me. If nothing else, at least I had the crowbar. Prying open the next crate I discovered random aviation gear. A heavy leather jacket way too big for me and a few sets of thick goggles wouldn’t help.

  I needed to confront the men. But if I could find a weapon, I would feel a bit more evenly matched if things went bad.

  And speaking of bad, a metallic groan caught my attention. It was quickly followed by a vibration and a much louder moaning of metal as the cargo hold tipped to port. The crates tipped. Aviation gear spilled over the decking as my hands clung to the nearby cargo netting. I heard yelling above as the crates slid toward the front of the cargo hold. The nose of the ship must be pointing down at a severe angle. The crates gathered in front of the only door leading toward the inside of the ship. Following the netting, I made my way to the lone window. The ground was still a long ways off, but it was clear airships didn’t descend this quickly unless they were going down for good. Something was wrong with the ship.

  Chances were the captain was thinking about dropping the engine with the twin propellers. Suddenly the ship lurched up. I lost my balance and my backside met the wooden floor. I realized less than an inch of wood separated me from a long freefall. Pulling myself back to the window, I saw that the ground was still coming up fast. Crawling over the crates and miscellaneous contents, I grabbed the blankets and looked for that thick leather skull cap I’d found earlier. I put on the oversized leather jacket and strapped on the skull cap. It too was big, but I tucked my hair inside to compensate.

  Wrapping the blankets around me, I made my way to the side-by-side cargo doors and locked my arms and legs around the thick ropes of the cargo netting. I managed to pull the pins out of the door and send it sprawling downward. My brilliant plan to jump out as soon as I spotted water was quickly forgotten as we broke through the clouds to find nothing but a few hills and trees zipping by.

  I made my way back to the largest crate and wrapped some more blankets around me. Then I climbed inside the box. It was up to fate now. The blankets would provide little cushion. Pulling my legs in close, I prayed. Darkness followed . . .

  Pain shot though me. I heard distant chanting and saw the flicker of firelight. We’d crashed . . . somewhere. I tried to sit, but the pain got worse. Everything went dark again.

  No more chanting. There were voices, but no language I knew. I squinted, trying to make out my surroundings. There were round brass beams reaching toward the sky, meeting about twenty feet up. I saw the outline of the sun through the light cloth stretched around them.

  “Welcome back, Shysie.” Trying to sit brought a bout of vertigo. “Please remain still.” The voice was male, strong but calm. “Here, have some water, but don’t drink too much.” There was a cool feeling on my lips and instinctively I started to drink. “You have returned to us once again. Please rest; you are safe here.”

  I knew that voice from somewhere, but couldn’t place it. The voice wore dark skin and a bright smile. His hair was midnight black and pulled tight into a ponytail. His deep green eyes smiled back at me. He reached down, and I didn’t shy away. He brushed some hair away from my face.

  “You are a lucky woman,” he said.

  I smiled back. My mind said, “Where am I?” but my ears heard me say: “Water please, more water.”

  He gently leaned close, holding the skin of water to my mouth.

  “That is the most wonderful thing you have said in days.”

  A cough sent water through my nose.
“Days?”

  He held me still while my coughing fit passed, then eased me back on the pillows. I placed my palm against his cheek and said “thank you” in my mind before falling back to darkness.

  My next return to consciousness was greeted with peaceful silence. Dim light reflected off the brass poles. I noticed that the sun lit up the patterns woven in the shelter’s cloth. The brass poles looked to be retractable in four-foot sections similar to a spyglass.

  My mind was clearer. Taking a deep breath, I worked through my injuries. My right leg was practically numb with pain, but I could feel my toes. My left leg was sore, but not as bad. My left arm ached and was in a sling, but with working fingers. I noticed my right arm was to my side and my fingers were interlaced with someone else’s. This should have brought fear or at the very least a reflexive pulling away. It didn’t. It felt right. The man was attached to my hand; he appeared to be a native of the New World.

  He was awake, too. He tried to release my hand, but I held tight. This time I managed to speak clearly. “I assume it was you who found me.”

  His shirt was unbuttoned, and the definition of his muscles could be clearly seen even in the dim light. “You fell out of the sky days ago. The gondola shattered. The rear section snapped off, and there was debris everywhere. The main section of the gondola was pulled across the ground before the balloon exploded.” His expression turned grim and he wouldn’t meet my eyes as he continued. “If there were others on the airship with you, they . . . didn’t make it.”

  Taking my hand out of his and placing it on his chin I turned him back toward me. “Whoever you are, I have a strong feeling I am alive only because of you.” I saw that I was wearing a linen dress, and added, “I hope you had some help.” He looked startled, so I added a faint smile.

  “You may call me Kendo. Yes, I pulled you from the wreckage and brought you to the closest village.” Motioning around the living area, “This is Mitena’s home. She is a friend of mine and she helped watch over you. She is the one who tended your clothing and more delicate matters.” Standing, he motioned toward the entrance. “I will bring you some food. You must be very hungry by now.”

  How right he was.

  I felt strangely at home for the first time since leaving the farm. Here I was halfway around the world in a place filled with strangers, yet I felt at peace.

  The end of the month brought the beginning of the village pow-wow. With my one good leg, I was helped outside and given a sturdy chair near the fire pit where many folks were gathered. They were shucking corn for tonight’s dinner. I got to officially meet the rest of Mitena’s family—her three daughters and numerous grandchildren. Everyone was very kind. They smiled and waved, never gawked at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl.

  A child brought me flowers. She sat next to me. Kendo checked in on me from time to time and told me her name was Hanna. After Hanna’s older brother called her away, Kendo returned.

  “Is there anything you need, Shysie?” Earlier he’d left me his skin, filled with fresh spring water. I pointed at the leg of elk roasting over the crackling fire. He nodded and headed over to negotiate some meat for us.

  After a few more days I felt much closer to like my old self. Only “Sheila” was gone; I decided I liked “Shysie” better. It was the name Kendo gave me when he carried me across north Texas and to this Indian village. He told me he’d set my leg and arm before wrapping me in dirty green blankets and dragging me for a day across the rolling hillside. At one point he mentioned even lugging me across a river. I placed Kendo at roughly my age, in his early twenties. One night he explained that his mother and father were city folks, but he returned to his roots and followed the clans north to Sequoyah, the Indian Nation. He said he preferred the freedom of the open air and rolling plains. In return, I told Kendo all about Germany and my father’s farm, vividly describing the little towns nearby.

  I liked waking up next to Kendo. My father would not approve, believing in vows and marriage and probably not accepting the physical intermingling of races. Still, I thought I might drag Kendo to Germany to meet my family. But for that we would need some warmer clothing. A nice fur-lined coat would look good on him.

  I ate my way through the Blue Lady Festival. The chili tasted amazing. Kendo brought me some corn-bread pudding, and Mitena wrote the recipe in Kendo’s journal so I could get it from him later.

  I got around with the aid of a wooden crutch, essentially an elaborately carved cane one of the tribesmen made. Not only did it allow me to move around on my own, it doubled as a swatter so I could land an occasional whack on Kendo’s backside for fun. Life was good in this village.

  One day I awoke with the cheering of little children followed shortly after with a steady beat of drums. Looking around, Kendo was nowhere to be found. I reached for my cane just as Kendo rushed into the teepee with the large beaded backpack Mitena made for me. Reaching in, he pulled out a blindfold and my leather aviator cap. “Hey Shysie, your surprise day is here.”

  I ran my hand through my hair. “Kendo, I am not putting on that cap!”

  “Shysie, we need to cover your ears and eyes for this surprise. This is where you trust me. Or maybe you don’t really trust me yet?”

  I sat quietly as Kendo placed that old large aviator cap on my head and adjusted the straps. My hair had been wrapped in a tight ponytail by Hanna yesterday, making the cap’s flaps come down even farther. Even in the closest buckle hole the cap was still quite loose.

  “We will need to get you a new cap. This one is too big for you.” Giving up with the strap, he covered my eyes with a long silk blindfold, wrapping it around twice before tying it in back.

  I waited for Kendo to hand me my walking stick. Instead, he slid his arms underneath me and lifted me up. He hummed an unknown tune, the sound competing with children clapping and cheering. After several minutes I could tell we were going up a hill. The children were shushed, and I heard faint creaking followed by a gentle bounce that had me imagining we were going up a wooden ramp. Kendo sat me in what felt like a large wooden chair. As he removed my blindfold, my eyes slowly adjusted; I was facing a large window that looked toward the center of the village.

  My God! I was in an airship! My heart jumped. “What the hell were you thinking?” Without my cane I still managed to stand.

  Kendo tried to calm me. “You cannot give up your dreams because of your crash.” Kendo placed his hand on my shoulder, but I shook it off.

  “I am not ready, not yet.” Looking around, I could tell this airship was massive. This must be the lower observation area, as there were windows on all sides. This room alone could fit thirty chairs. A railing ran along the windowed area. My need to leave was slowly being replaced with a wish to explore this ship.

  “If you must step out and get some air, we can do that. We have several hours before we lift off. Otherwise, we can meet Captain Tatianna Silveroak.”

  Mitena walked up the ramp at the side of a tall, dark-haired woman dressed in a finely tailored leather jacket and matching tight brown leather pants with a wide belt showcasing a bronze Q as a belt buckle. Her knee-high boots and moderate heels put her just above six feet. She closed the distance to us, holding her gloves. Mitena handed me the walking cane.

  The captain spoke in clear English. “Welcome aboard the Cherokee Princess.” She motioned around the observation deck. “She will not fall from the sky like your last airship. The Goddess Uelanuhi watches over us.” Her eyes bore into me.

  Kendo said, “Captain, we will need a little while to gather our belongings and say our goodbyes. But we will be ready before final meal.” He gave a nod to Mitena, then he lead me back down the ramp.

  The ship towered overhead, blocking out the sky. It was easily twenty times the size of the Akula and quite possibly the largest airship I had ever seen in both Europe and the New World. The Cherokee Princess was a long, tubular airship at best guess about four hundred feet. The overlapping swaths of fabric hung from both sides
. Above the two-level gondola these huge banners of cloth bore symbols and writing in a language I had not seen before. They hung from the widest part of the airship and dropped down forty feet in places, almost to the ground. It created a skirt-like appearance. The sheet above the starboard side had massive lettering and underneath in bright red was written in English: “Cherokee Princess.” Chills ran up my spine. I understand why Kendo took me inside first. I could make out large ballistae mounted in the rear. This wasn’t a passenger ship; this was one of the legendary Sequoyah warships.

  Even glancing back from Mitena’s home, the massive ship it made me uneasy. “Kendo, the folks in the village are very friendly but—” I left the rest unsaid. Looking into Kendo’s eyes, searching for some reassurance, I found little. He also appeared unsettled, but tried his best to hide it.

  “Shysie, you need to understand my mixed blood and city-born background leaves me almost as much as an outsider as you in the eyes of Tatianna and her crew. Still, she is a friend and distant family member of Mitena. Therefore, if we can trust Mitena, we can trust Tatianna. You want to visit the heart of Texas with me, don’t you? I would not yet trust your leg or arm yet on an extended horse ride. The airship will make the voyage easy. Besides, Mitena thinks it will be good for you.”

  Packing up my few belongings, most of which were gifts from new friends, waves of sadness passed through me. “Kendo, what can I do to thank Mitena and the others in the village?”

  Kendo turned his head as he gave it some thought. “You could send letters or postcards from our journeys. Some read English; they would enjoy the tales.” Kendo’s smile returned, making me feel safe once again.