Francesca of Lost Nation

by Crosby, Lucinda Sue

  “Sarah, dear, there you are,” called Maude.

  “Just in time,” Harry chimed in. “Thought we’d go down to the fairgrounds and take some lunch. Try some of those lovely fried chicken recipes.” He touched my cheek. “I’ll bet there isn’t a decent piece of fried chicken in all of Manhattan.”

  “We brought lovely food from home,” Francesca said.

  Harry rubbed his hands together with relish. “Even better.”

  “Wait till you see the boat, Sarah,” Matt said in a jovial way that was unusual for him. “If you can’t catch a fish from this baby, you can’t catch a fish.”

  Harry was skeptical. “Be lucky not to sink the moment we untie from the dock. Still think we should have taken that little Chris-Craft. What a keen specimen.”

  Being the county seat, Clinton was good-sized as cities went in the midwest, and it always struck me how noisy it was. As soon as you stepped out of the car, the sounds washed over you from all sides. It probably didn’t hold a candle to New York, but it was exiting just the same.

  Very few people are aware that Clinton was actually once named New York, so designated in 1836 by its original settler, Joseph Bartlett. The newly borne community was one of several clustered in those days on the west bank of the Mississippi River.

  Continuous development and the introduction of a rail system adjacent to the settlement spurred its sale to land speculators. When the Iowa Land Company bought Bartlett’s tract, they renamed it Clinton, in honor of Dewitt Clinton, who was the governor of New York State. Talk about coincidence …

  There’s nothing like a state fair! Ferris wheels, merry-go-rounds, tilt-a-whirls and all sorts of games awaited us, not to mention all the mouth-watering food. There would be cotton candy and popcorn, canned fruits, fried dishes and a variety of homemade sweets. There were also plenty of contests like car racing, bake-offs and livestock competitions.

  I loved saying how-do to the farm animals. Rows of different-sized covered pens housed hand-raised lambs, cows, horses, rabbits and even chickens. Some of the animals would go to the butchers, true, but the best of the best would be breeders. As long as I didn’t dwell on the fate of the animals, I was eager to enjoy their company.

  The newborns were the cutest: piglets squealing, baby chicks chirping and ducklings waddling. Plenty of wonderful scents, too, like the smell of fresh straw and sweet feed, a mixture that boasted molasses as its not-so-secret ingredient. It was supposed to give calf yearlings a thick, glossy coat.

  It was going to be my best birthday ever.

  A roar shook the buildings. The animals hollered in agitation and stirred in their enclosures. We all ran out to see what was causing the commotion. Matt instinctively seemed to know where the noise was coming from and what it was. He stood with his head tilted upward and his eyes closed, savoring the sound as if it were music.

  It was the first airplane I’d ever seen close-up. The pilot and his craft must have been no more than 100 feet above the roof lines. The craft swooped gracefully, its metal wings flashing in the sunlight as the engines thundered above our heads. To me, it was another spectacular sight, one more memory to mark my time at the fair. But when Francesca saw her enemy, a crop-dusting biplane, her face fell.

  Matthew, on the other hand, looked more spirited than ever, like a three-year-old at his own birthday party. He gave a couple of giant hand swings to the sky, and the plane waggled its wings in response. It bore down over us once more, close enough to raise the hair on our heads, before coming to rest in a grassy field some few hundred yards beyond the fairgrounds.

  The plane thumped as it hit the ground. Her pilot hit the air brakes and steered it in a straight line toward a stand of live oaks. Before the plane stopped, Matthew had taken off in a trot, his recovering leg preventing him from taking full strides.

  What could we do but follow?

  The dust had just begun to settle when a tall man jumped off the wing and started running toward Matt. The two stood there embracing and back-patting like long-lost brothers. The pilot was huge, hearty with red hair and a craggy face. He walked in a good-natured swagger and winked at us before he let go of his friend.

  We all stood in silence, trying to understand.

  “You old sonuva moose! I heard a rumor you might be over this way. Say, you look fine, just fine!” The pilot’s words had a lot of pronounced “ay’s” embedded in an accent I’d never heard before.

  Matt beamed. “Everyone, this is my oldest and most bullheaded associate, the dearest friend I have in the world, Ian Emerson. Watch out; he’s a rascally chap from Vancouver.”

  “Canada?” I gasped. “You mean you’re from the top of the world?”

  The men laughed as Ian shook hands with the family and even said hello to Babe.

  Matt’s friend was very unlike him — so hail-fellow-well-met it would be difficult not to immediately take to him. He had a dash of the devil, no doubt, but he was talkative and cheerful where Matt was cool and wry. We soon learned that Ian had another talent: He could drink more beer than anyone we had ever met, a skill he proudly demonstrated from almost the moment he stood on terra firma.

  Ian joined us for lunch, oohing and aahing over the picnic Francesca and Maude had created for all of us. We sat under a live oak tree.

  “We need some brew and lots of it,” Ian reminded Matt and Harry, who had gone to unload beverages from the car.

  Ian then proceeded to charm Maude right out of her shoes. “Even before I arrived in America, I’d heard about the beauty of its women, and I can’t say I’ve been disappointed, not in the least,” he explained.

  Maude blushed.

  I noticed that Ian seemed to include Francesca in the conversation but not to address her.

  “And the way you ladies cook. I’m a big man with an appetite to match,” he said, slapping his rock-hard midsection, “and the American midwest is heaven to me.”

  “Why are you here?” Francesca said with a piercing look.

  “Have to make a living.”

  “And it was this particular fair that attracted you, because of its profit-making potential?”

  “I’ve never been here before, and that’s as good a reason as any, you can wager. Say, Sarah, what else can Babe do? This is one intelligent dog; wouldn’t you say so, Maude, sweet?”

  “I certainly would,” answered Maude, preening.

  Matt and Harry had returned, a welcome diversion. “Well, folks,” said Ian, his mouth stuffed with a drumstick, “I’m off to check on my baby. I’ll be strutting my stuff tomorrow and Thursday.” He opened his palms to Matt. “Say, why don’t you join me now for a test run? Get your feet wet. She’s a sweet little piece, Matt, my boy.” He downed the last gulp of his beer.

  “Well …,” Matt began, sliding a guilty look at Francesca out of the corners of his eyes, “… we sort of have plans for this afternoon. You know.”

  Ian took in Francesca and Matt and nodded his head sagely. “Yes, I see. Well, what say we take a spin later? In fact, I’ll be happy to take everyone up. Mrs. Pittschtick,” he said, bowing grandly, “you can go up first … after Matt, of course.”

  He looked straight into Francesca’s eyes. He was challenging her, and she knew it. Never one to pass on a bald-faced dare, she stood up and straightened her back. Then she lifted her chin and purred, “Why, Mr. Emerson, that would be lovely, thank you.”

  “Right, then, I’ll be looking for you here about six.” He took Matt’s hand and shook it as though it might disappear from his grasp. “It’s good to see you, my friend. Good to see you.”

  With a furtive glance at Francesca, Ian sauntered away

  Ian seemed to know a lot about … things. Had Matt written him? Francesca was attuned to all these nuances, I’m sure.

  *

  The boat was everything Matt and Harry had promised. On the one hand, it was quiet and easy to maneuver. On the other hand, its paint job was peeling rapidly, and you could see where it had been patched below the wat
er line.

  “Are you sure it’s quite safe, Harry?” asked Maude, gingerly setting her foot into the unstable-looking craft.

  “It’s safe enough. But it’ll never win a beauty contest.”

  Francesca laughed. “I just hope it doesn’t scare the fish the way it’s scared Maude.”

  I liked to fish. It was something I’d grown up with, spending lazy mornings putting along with Grandpap and Daddyboys. But that day, my mind wasn’t on fish, boats or paint jobs. Who cared about fishing when I had an airplane looming on my immediate horizon?

  It was two and a half hours before sundown when we gathered around the landing field. Ian was there, proudly showing off his craft, which he explained was a de Havilland Tiger Moth named The Lady Victoria.

  She was bright yellow with red stripes down the side and over the nose. Matt touched her the way he sometimes touched Francesca, with a kind of still wonder. It was eerie.

  “Why do planes have female names?” I asked.

  “Tradition,” muttered Uncle Harry as he inspected the propeller blades. “Sailing ships have always been considered she’s.”

  Francesca stood apart from us, arms across her chest to ward off the evil spirit that lay anchored by a mooring rope in front of her. “Those that don’t like women,” she said, “say it’s because while women may be beautiful, they are also unpredictable and hard to handle.”

  Matt offered, “I think it’s because … because they glisten in the sunlight. They’re of the air, not of the earth. Airplanes take us up beyond where we could go by ourselves.”

  Maude reached out her hand as if the plane might be on fire.

  “Well, Matt’s up first. And then, who?” Ian asked, too casually.

  “I’ll go,” said Francesca. “It’s time, past time, to know what there is to be known about all this,” she said purposefully, with a queenly wave of her hand.

  Matt’s body tensed up as he settled his bad leg properly into the cockpit. Was it anxiety or pain we saw in Matt’s eyes as he prepared for takeoff? Then, at a thumbs-up sign from Ian, along with an “all clear,” the engines roared into life. Matt immediately closed his eyes and leant his head back. You could see the tension in his body give way.

  Whatever reservations Matt may have had were not evident as he and Ian looped the sky, leaving circles of smoke high above our heads. They flew upside-down, twisting and turning in perfect rhythm with the hum of the engine. With his ear flaps waving and his eye gear pressed against his face, Matthew looked perfectly natural. The flight may have not taken more than ten minutes, but it transformed Matthew’s attitude. When he jumped gingerly from the cockpit to the ground, his face was filled with quiet joy. He held his hand to his chest and grinned like a child. His leg was hurting, or so it seemed, because he was limping more than he had been, but he didn’t complain about it. Frances explained to me some years later that a deeper healing had taken place.

  Francesca was next. Matt held his hand out, and my grandmother took it without hesitation. She was wearing her leather racing cap and a scarf Matt had given her.

  “God, you look dashing,” Matt couldn’t contain his thoughts.

  Ian gave Francesca some instructions and assured her he had control of the aircraft. She just shrugged her shoulders as if it didn’t matter either way. Ian smiled and gave his thumbs-up sign. He started the engines and taxied to the end of the field. I don’t know why, but I started running after them with Babe at my heels.

  Aunt Maude and Uncle Harry were running behind me. Matthew yelled something as I ran beyond the “No Trespassing,” sign leading to the airstrip but I couldn’t hear their voices above the sound of the powerful engine or the beat of my leaping heart. Had I heard them, I would not have listened. Francesca was taking to the clouds, and I couldn’t let her leave without me.

  A crowd gathered along the field’s fence to watch this drama unfold. I was unaware of anything except catching Francesca. But it was too late; she and Ian had taken to the air. I sat down and began to cry. Babe tried to lick away my tears, but I was heartbroken. Then, something unexpected happened; the airplane was circling and coming back for a landing.

  Matt had now caught up with me and walked me nearer to the fence out of harm’s way. We watched as Ian flew in. He shut the engine down and vaulted out of the cockpit. I hid behind Matt, afraid of what would happen to me. But instead of being angry, Ian was amused. He smiled as he swept me into his broad arms and carried me to the Lady Victoria. Babe followed close behind.

  Ian climbed up the wing of the airplane with me still in hand and then set me down on Francesca’s seat. He bent down and picked Babe up and placed her inside the craft, too. Once we were all safe and secure, he prepared for another takeoff.

  “My, she’s full of the devil’s spirit,” Ian said, winking at my grandmother.

  “Sweetchild, wherever do you get such fire?” Francesca asked, as if surprised by my behavior.

  “Looks like we have an audience for this show,” Ian waved to the crowd, who were now applauding the stunt pilot’s latest shenanigans.

  The engine’s noise was deafening as we climbed into the sky. At first, the ride was bumpy as the plane hit wind turbulence, bouncing like a boat chopping across the water. The force of the wind pushed me back against Francesca’s chest. I felt her body tensing behind me as we climbed higher and higher. Her knuckles were pale as she gripped the seat belt, clinging for her life. I peeked through the glass and saw everything below us getting smaller. Once we reached altitude, I could barely make out the people below. Babe had no interest in anything except hiding on top of Francesca’s feet.

  As the wind blew across my face, I realized it felt good. My tears were all dry now, and sitting there with Francesca, I regained my equilibrium. Francesca and I had never been in an airplane before. Ian must have sensed how nervous we were, because he reached back and squeezed my grandmother’s hand. Perkily, she gave her own the thumbs-up sign.

  Ian didn’t take any loops or spins. Instead, he flew over the Mississippi River and the picturesque countryside. It was breathtaking. We flew over maple, hickory, elm and oak trees and swung over ferry boats that were crossing the Big Muddy.

  Francesca took one deep breath after another. And then, the picture postcard tour claimed her. She flung her arms wide to embrace it all, then clasped her airy elements — the sky, clouds and birds, into her chest. She was hooked.

  All too soon, our journey came to an end. As we drifted lower and lower, I pushed back into Francesca’s chest. I could feel her heart beating, wild as mine. We skidded slightly across the grass before coming to a stop.

  Matt looked expectantly into Francesca’s face as Ian helped us down.

  “I’ve got to learn how to fly,” whooped Francesca. She touched Matt’s nose with a fingertip. In a softer tone, she told Matt, “You’re just the person to show me how to do that.”

  Ian kindly ferried Maude and Harry up in the Lady Victoria for their turns as Matt, Francesca, Babe and I plopped down on our picnic site. Matt and Francesca didn’t say much, but I noticed they were more affectionate toward each other than they had ever been before in public. As we watched Maude and Harry’s flight, my grandmother and Matt held hands and occasionally kissed one another.

  Chapter 23

  Taking the Bait

  B

  oth Francesca and I were brushing our teeth, and Maude was rustling under her covers. It was still dark outside when someone started banging on our cabin door. Babe began to bark.

  “It’s a trans-Atlantic telephone call. They’re a waitin’ on ya,”

  said the deepest woman’s voice I have ever heard to this very day. “Came in on the telegraph operator’s phone line. He drove over to get ya.”

  It took Francesca a moment to coordinate her robe, her slippers and the common room sofa. She opened the door to Madge, a robust woman whose hair was wrapped tightly in curlers of various sizes and colors. Madge was the night manager—and the day manager, too.
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  “I don’t think I understand … There’s a long-distance call down at the telegraph office?” Francesca asked.

  “Now you know exactly as much as I do,” the woman responded. “The car’s waiting.”

  “Sarah, hurry up and get your slippers and robe on.”

  Our driver was also the telegraph operator. When we got to his office, he handed us the receiver. He never uttered a single word.

  “Hello? Hello? Daddyboys is that you? It’s Daddy!” I shouted to Francesca and then said loudly back into the phone, “I can hear you, Daddyboys!”

  I held out the receiver, so Francesca and I could share.

  “How’s my precious birthday girl?”

  “Oh, we’re having the loveliest time, and we all miss you and …” I wanted to keep speaking but Daddyboys cut me off.

  “Whoa, missy, hold on there,” Daddyboys said, laughing. “First of all, your mother and I are going to sing you ‘Happy Birthday’ from halfway around the world.”

  After my parents sang to me, they asked if I had received their letter about moving to New York.

  “What do you think about your old dad?”

  “I think you’re the cat’s pajamas, but …”

  “Sarah, are you there?” His voice suddenly sounded faint and scratchy.

  Francesca shook the phone. It helped a little, though I can’t think why.

  “Clay? My, this is a terrible connection, isn’t it? Clay? Is that you?”

  “Can you hear me now, Francesca?”

  My grandmother told her son-in-law how delighted she was for him and his new position in New York. “We’re all very proud of you, Clay, and Rachael … she must be over the moon!”

  “I’ll let her tell you herself.” Francesca put the phone back between us, so I could speak with my mother. Rachael was babbling enthusiastically about their trip and our move to New York.

  “Mommy I can’t wait to open my presents. Just think, they came all the way from Paris. No one else in Lost Nation can brag about that.”

  “Bragging is unbecoming, Sarah.”