by T. E. Cruise
Herr Schuler’s wagon was big and black. It had polished brass lamps glinting in the sunshine, and bright red, spoked wheels. There was one seat for the driver, beside him, a space for cargo, and behind him, three rows of tufted, brown leather benches. Schuler was seated up in the driver’s seat, idly twirling the reins.
“Ah! There you are, Herr Gold,” Schuler said in German. “My daughter is just over there.” He pointed out a figure in a blue calico dress, her blonde hair plaited into two thick braids, looking over the airplanes. “She can’t get enough of your flying machines. Erica!” he called out.
She came skipping towards them, braids flying, slender and long-legged, like a colt. Gold, watching her, felt his heart begin to pound. She was no child, she was a woman; perhaps eighteen, or maybe nineteen. She had large brown eyes set far apart, and a slightly crooked nose that somehow only added to her beauty.
“Herr Gold, allow me to introduce my daughter, Erica,” Schuler continued in German.
“Pleased to meet you,” she said in English. “I hope you don’t mind, but I won’t speak German, although I can, and very well,” she declared. “I just happen to think it’s old-fashioned. Don’t you agree?” she demanded.
“Well… I—” He looked helplessly at Schuler, who was laughing. Dammit, Gold thought. I’m almost twenty-two! Why am I the one feeling like a little kid?
“So now you’ve met Erica,” Schuler said… in English.
This girl gets her way, Gold thought. He noticed that she had no German accent when she spoke English. She must have been born in America.
“Climb aboard, the two of you,” Schuler said. “Mother’s waiting supper.”
Gold took her arm to help her aboard. He found touching her to be electrifying. She slid across the bench. Gold took a seat on the springy leather beside her. Schuler released the brake on the wagon and snapped the reins. The horses moved off, settling into a steady canter once they were on the gravel road.
“How far is it to your farm?” Gold asked Schuler.
“You’re already on my farm,” Schuler replied, over his shoulder. “I have six hundred acres.”
“Really!” Gold tried not to sound surprised. “What do you grow?”
“Trees,” Schuler replied. “I own a tree nursery farm.”
“You run the tree farm?”
“The Reinhold Schuler Nursery? Yes, Herr Gold.” Schuler glanced back, an amused smile on his face. “Why do you seem so surprised?”
“Papa told me that you aren’t really a count,” Erica interrupted, saving Gold from having to come up with a reply to Schuler. “I was disappointed.”
“Didn’t you enjoy the show?”
“Very much, but don’t you think it’s dishonest to pretend to be someone you’re not?”
“Sometimes a little dishonesty doesn’t hurt. In this case it made for a better show, don’t you think?”
“You probably didn’t even know the Red Baron,” Erica challenged.
He let it go. He glanced at Schuler’s back. With the noise of the horses and the creak of the wagon the farmer didn’t seem to be able to hear the subdued conversation going on behind him. He remembered what Schuler had said about his daughter being a daredevil. “When did you break your nose?” Gold asked.
“What?” She turned toward him, a startled look in her wide-set eyes. Gold realized he had her undivided attention. A man could get used to that, he decided.
“You don’t like my nose?” she asked defiantly. She said it in a way that seemed to suggest that if that were the case, Gold was certainly in the minority among young men.
“No,” Gold said quickly. “I mean, yes—I do like it,” he blurted, wondering how Captain Bob would use the gift of gab to get himself out of a mess like this. He shot a glance toward Schuler, who still seemed oblivious. “I think it makes your beauty special,” Gold said softly.
Her smile was like the sun breaking through clouds. Thank you, Captain, Gold thought.
“I bet I know when and how you broke it,” he said.
“I bet you don’t know,” she said, amused, rewarding him with another smile. “And I want—an airplane ride if you’re wrong.”
“You had an airplane ride, today.”
“I want another.” She licked her lips. “In your red machine.”
Gold nodded. “You were a little girl when you broke your nose,” he said. “A tomboy. The other children dared you into some foolhardy stunt, and that’s when it happened.”
Her mouth opened and closed. She didn’t say a word. She just faced straight forward, blushing a delicate shade of coral.
Gold settled back to enjoy the ride, very pleased with himself, and his guess. His intuition was also warning him that it was a rare thing to get the last word with Erica Schuler.
The Schulers’ farmhouse was tall and stately, a white-painted extravaganza of gingerbread trim, capped with a slate gray, mansard roof. The house was set apart from the rest of the farm buildings, and surrounded by tall shade trees and a whitewashed picket fence. As the wagon pulled up in front of the house, a shaggy, black and white dog roused itself from its slumber on the front porch and began to bark, wagging its tail.
“Erica, tell your mother we’ll be right in. Herr Gold, would you mind giving me a hand with the horses? I will show you around the farm.”
“Not at all, and please call me Herman.”
Schuler nodded as his daughter hopped down from out of the wagon and went toward the porch. The dog ran to Erica, who made a big deal out of greeting it with hugs and lots of petting. Gold wondered if she was showing off for him. He hoped so.
The horses seemed to know their way about the place as Schuler conducted a wagon tour of the nursery. “My family came here in 1875, when I was just a boy,” Schuler explained as he showed Gold the cutting and grafting house and other propagation buildings. “In the beginning my father, Reinhold Schuler, bought a small tract of land. He applied scientific methods to develop a profitable, well-equipped nursery farm.”
Finally they toured the tree beds themselves. The rows of waist-high evergreens, fruit, and shade trees seemed to stretch forever, like a full-grown forest as seen from the air.
“We have our main office and our storage and shipping rooms in town,” Schuler said as they made their way back to the house.
“Do you run this all by yourself?” Gold asked.
“Many people from the area work here, and my sons manage the town facility and also help me manage this farm.”
“Oh, you have other children besides Erica?”
Schuler nodded. “I had five fine boys, but my eldest was killed in the war.”
“I’m very sorry,” Gold said.
Schuler nodded, looking grim. “There is much to be sorry about all over the world, thanks to that dreadful and foolish war, yes, Herman? Anyway, of my remaining sons, all of whom live in town with wonderful families of their own, two are involved in the family business. Then I have one son who is a doctor, and the other a lawyer,” he added proudly as the horses came to a stop before the barn.
Gold noticed a garage, its double doors swung open, near the barn. He wandered over to peek in while Schuler was unhitching the team. Inside, parked in neat rows, were three trucks, two tractors and other farm machines, a raven black, gleaming, hard-top Cadillac—
And a low-slung, Pierce-Arrow two-seater roadster, cherry red, with black flared fenders.
Gold, mesmerized, approached the roadster. He knew all about the Pierce. He’d read the literature: she was custom built for every customer…
“Ah! There you are, Herman.”
Gold, startled, turned around. Schuler was standing silhouetted in the daylight streaming in through the garage doorway.
“You like my Erica’s toy, eh?” Schuler chuckled. “It was a gift for her eighteenth birthday.”
A gift, Gold thought as he followed Schuler out of the garage. The Pierce-Arrow cost seven grand.
“I have to ask,” Gold began when
they were in the barn, where, in addition to the horse stalls, there was a buggy and other types of wagons Gold couldn’t identify. “With your Cadillac. Why bother with these wagons?”
“You sound like my sons, and my daughter.” Schuler laughed. “They insisted that a man of my position in the community have a motorcar.” He shrugged. “But you know what, Herman? For me, my horses and wagons are my way of having fun. But don’t worry.” He patted Gold’s shoulder. “I’ll take you back to town in the Cadillac. Now, help me finish here, we’ll wash up, and my wife will feed you a supper like you haven’t had since sailing from the Fatherland.”
Frau Schuler was gray haired and stout where her daughter was slender, but Gold could find traces of her mother in Erica’s lovely face.
They ate supper in the big dining room lined with sideboards and hutches laden with Frau Schuler’s large collection of china and glassware. It was refreshingly cool, thanks to the early-evening breeze that set the room’s lace curtains billowing. The Schuler womenfolk served up platters of roast pork, sweet-and-sour cabbage, string beans, and corn. There was a bottomless basket of biscuits, and pitchers of lemonade to wash it all down. Gold tried hard not to make a glutton of himself, but after all the months of hotel food, a home-cooked meal was heaven.
“Eat more!” Frau Schuler insisted, pushing the platters towards him. “You need to put on a little weight.”
“Careful, Mama! Or his friends will be forced to leave him behind,” Erica teased. “If he eats anymore he won’t fit into his airplane.”
“I bet poor Herman hasn’t had a decent meal since he left Germany,” Frau Schuler admonished.
“Actually, I never ate this well back home,” Gold said. He told them about the food shortages that were being suffered in postwar Germany.
“Yes, of course…” Schuler frowned. “We knew it was bad there, but here, in the midst of all this plenty,” he spread his arms wide, “we tend to forget…”
“Oh, we had our troubles during the war,” Frau Schuler said quietly. “Erica! Help me clear the table for dessert.”
“Yes, Mama.” Erica smiled at Gold. “I baked an apple pie this morning!”
“What trouble was your wife referring to, sir?” Gold asked Schuler.
“Ah.” Schuler shrugged. “During the war, a certain element questioned my patriotism, since I was German. Never mind all my boys were fighting for this country.”
“But Papa was smart,” Erica called out from the kitchen. “He beat them at their own game. He built the town a new elementary school.”
“It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” Schuler demurred. “And I could afford to do it. They put my name on it.”
“And now he’s financing a new addition to the hospital in town,” Erica boasted as she came into the dining room, proudly presenting her apple pie for Gold’s approval. She then proceeded to cut him a huge slice. “They’re going to name the hospital wing after my brother who got killed in the war.”
“Why not?” Schuler shrugged. “It’ll be good for my son the doctor, now, and good insurance for the future.” He winked. “I figure, if I put ‘Schuler’ on enough public buildings, sooner or later, people will have to think of it as an American name.”
Gold nodded. “This pie is delicious,” he complimented Erica.
* * *
After supper, Carl Schuler told Gold that there was some paperwork he had to sort through before he could drop it off at his office in town. He asked his daughter to entertain their guest for the half-hour it would take him before he would be ready to drive Gold back to the hotel.
“We’ll sit out on the porch,” Erica said, taking Gold’s hand to lead him outside.
Gold noticed Frau Schuler’s dark stare, but if the woman disapproved, she didn’t say anything. He let Erica lead him out to the porch, through the comfortably furnished front parlor, with its corner brick fireplace.
The dog was still out there, lying on its side. It rose, shaking itself and going into a joyous, squirming greeting for its mistress. Erica immediately acted as if she’d forgotten Gold was there. She knelt to romp with the dog, and Gold tried not to stare at the graceful curve of her back as she showered kisses and lots of baby talk on the damn mutt.
It was almost dusk. The breeze had increased, and the crickets were making a racket. “Come sit with me on the glider,” Erica commanded. Gold obliged, settling himself at the opposite end of the long, softly padded porch glider.
“You’ve been everywhere, haven’t you?” Erica sighed, as she set the glider rocking.
“No, not really…” But then Gold thought about it. “Well, now that you mention it, I suppose I have done a lot of traveling in my life. It’s funny, I’ve never thought about it that way.”
“That’s because you take your life for granted,” Erica said.
“That’s funny, coming from you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Erica demanded.
“Only that you’re very lucky to have a wonderful family and a comfortable home life. Look at your beautiful car…”
“But I haven’t been anywhere,” she complained. “You have no idea what it’s like here,” she sighed melodramatically. “It’s so provincial… Have you read Main Street, by Sinclair Lewis?”
“Uh, no, why don’t you tell me about it?” Gold suggested, taking the opportunity to slide a little closer to her. The dog hopped up onto the cushions beside Erica and growled at him.
“Isn’t Willie a good doggie!” Erica cooed.
Gold forced himself to smile pleasantly.
It was dark now. The wind had picked up, setting the trees rustling. Gold saw a jagged fork of lightning slashing the night sky as it stabbed the earth. “I suppose it’s going to rain.”
“Oh, no,” Erica murmured as muted, rolling thunder eventually reached them. “That’s how it is on the plains,” she said dreamily. “It may have looked close enough to touch, but it’s really a million miles away.”
(Two)
That night Erica Schuler waited until her father had returned from driving Herman into town and her parents were having their bedtime cup of tea in the parlor. Her father was dozing in his chair. The newspaper was across his belly, and Willie the dog, a white and black furry oval, was curled around his feet. Her mother was in her rocking chair, working at her needlepoint.
Willie’s tail thumped against the Persian carpet as Jackie came in. “Papa, Mama, Herman invited me to the air show tomorrow,” she told them.
“But you saw it today,” her mother said, frowning.
“I know,” Erica said quickly. “But Herman said he would take me for a ride in his scarlet airplane.”
“What are you talking about, child?” Frau Schuler sighed.
“The boy flies a special airplane,” Schuler sleepily mumbled, his eyes still closed. “Jackie, if you were invited and wish to go, it is all right.”
“Thank you, Papa!” Erica ran to her father to give him a hug and a kiss. “And you, Mama.” She kissed and embraced her mother, and then skipped out of the parlor.
“You give in to her too much, Carl,” Emma Schuler scolded her husband once Erica was gone.
“Ah, what’s the harm?” Schuler replied. “He’s a nice boy, and, anyway, after tomorrow the show moves on.”
Upstairs, in her room, Erica turned on the lamp on the nightstand and sat on the edge of her canopy bed. She felt uneasy. She’d never lied to her parents before.
She undressed, slipping on a light cotton nightgown, and then sat at her vanity to watch herself in the mirror as she undid her braids and brushed out her shoulder-length hair.
It wasn’t really a lie. Herman definitely wanted to invite her, and would have invited her, if he’d happened to think of it.
She put down her hairbrush and stood up, to slip her nightgown from her shoulders and let it fall around her feet. She stared at her body, tawny in the lamplight, and at the blonde thatch between her legs. She weighed her small breasts i
n her hands, furtively touching her dark nipples until they swelled like the buds on her papa’s young fruit trees.
Girls in the city probably had bigger breasts. Did Herman like them bigger, she wondered?
She twirled slowly, looking at herself over her shoulder, canting her hip to study the deep cleavage of her bottom, trying to judge its swell and curve. She tried to be objective about herself, tried to judge her physical charms against those of the racy young Shebas she’d read about in the magazines and seen in the movies.
She’d taken it for granted that boys hereabouts found her attractive: she was never lacking for partners at the dances in town, and one beau or another was usually making a nuisance of himself coming around. She’d never had any real interest in those boys. She’d known them all for ages, from back when she’d been a tomboy, and could outswim, outrun, and outride the best of them.
She still could, most likely, Erica thought.
She smiled.
Herman had known exactly how she’d broken her nose… He’d surprised her. She’d have to turn the tables. She could not endure his having the upper hand…
She blushed, abruptly embarrassed at her brazen pirouetting, and her brazen thoughts; and at the moistness, almost like a betrayal, between her thighs.
She clicked off the lamp. By the silvery starlight coming in through the curtained window she quickly put on her nightgown and crawled into the familiar safety of her bed.
She’d been on her way upstairs when she’d overheard her father’s comment to her mother. She took comfort in his opinion that there was no harm in what she was planning, and even a peculiar comfort that soon the barnstormers would be gone.