The Airshipmen: A Novel Based on a True Story. A Tale of Love, Betrayal & Political Intrigue.

by David Dennington

  No one said anything for a long time and Gran got up to get more refreshments. “Louis, how long are you staying for?” she said.

  “I’ll be here until August the eleventh—if you don’t mind, Gran.”

  “You can stay as long as you like, my darlin’ boy.”

  “I wish I could stay longer.”

  “But he’s got to get back to the little wifey in merry old England,” Father said, smirking.

  “Dad, stop it!” Anna cried.

  Father got up and disappeared through the front door. Gran went round clearing things away.

  “Don’t be too upset by your Dad, Lou. He’s had a rough time. He’s been longing for the day when you walked through that door,” Mother said.

  Lou looked skeptical.

  “It’s true,” Anna said.

  “You’re all he thinks about,” Mother said.

  “You’re his favorite,” Anna said.

  “I don’t know about that …”

  Lou watched as Tom got up and went upstairs.

  “Your dad worries himself sick about you, son,” Gran said.

  A few minutes later, someone tapped on the front door.

  “It’ll be Jeb,” Mother said. “Come in.”

  Jeb stepped into the living room. “Shall I bring up anything special for dinner, ma’am?”

  “Bring up a nice, plump chicken, Jeb, and some beans and carrots. Oh, and some squash, please,” Gran said.

  “Jeb, is my husband down there with you?” Mother asked.

  “He’s sitting on his seat by the crick as usual, Mrs. R.”

  Lou strolled down the pathway past the old barn to the paddock. He paused to pat the draught horse before moving past rows of lettuces and carrots in a small adjacent field. It was getting hot and insects were buzzing around. His movements were followed by three blackbirds wheeling overhead. He continued along the well-trodden path down to the creek, passing Jeb’s shack on the right-hand side, among the trees. Lou stopped to inspect it. Though basic, Jeb had done a nice job. It had a small verandah across the front and window boxes full of yellow flowers. The wood siding was painted white and the roof was clad in corrugated iron sheeting. On each side sat a painted wooden barrel under a downspout. Everything seemed perfect and in its place. Instinctively, Lou got the impression that Jeb was a happy man, or at least he would be if the KKK left him alone. A plume of blue smoke came from the chimney.

  Jeb’s wife must be inside.

  Mother had written to say that Jeb had got married late in life to a younger woman. He’d asked if he could bring her to Remington’s Farm. The three blackbirds swooped down and landed on the roof and began to strut along the ridge, cawing noisily, heads bobbing, their eyes beady and wicked. The door opened and a big woman, about thirty, wearing a full-length, bright blue dress and a white turban emerged. She held a boy in her arms, a towel in her one hand. A little, brown-eyed girl peeped from behind a clutched handful of her mother’s skirt. The woman gave Lou a stunning white smile. “You must be Mr. Lou. It’s good to see you, sir,” she said, standing above him on the edge of the porch.

  “It’s Alice, right? My mother told me all about you. How are you?”

  “I’s fine. Everybody’s bin lookin’ forward to seein’ you, Mr. Lou.”

  “It’s good to be home,” Lou said.

  But the blackbirds were causing a distraction. Alice looked up at them, vexed. “Ah don’t know what’s got into them darn birds. Carryin’ on an’ fussin’ like ’at. She waved the towel at them. “Go on shoo!” The startled crows took off and circled the shack before flying off toward the river.

  “Perhaps they’re welcoming me home,” Lou said.

  “No, they’re bad luck—a warning more like. I don’ like ’em on our roof. Yer daddy shoots ’em when he has a mind to.”

  “Now, who are these little people?” Lou asked, peering at the children.

  “This is Doris, she’s four and this guy is Benjamin, he’ll be three next week.” Alice looked down at the kids. “Say hello to Mr. Lou.”

  The girl smiled, but was too shy to speak.

  The boy was more bold. “Hello Mr. Lou-Lou,” he said, giggling.

  “How long is you stayin’? You stayin’ for good, ain’tcha?” Alice asked.

  “ ’Fraid not.”

  “Yer daddy’s down there by the crick. He sits there most of the time these days—thinkin’ ’bout you I reckon.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Oh, I jus’ do.”

  “I’ll go on down.”

  “He ain’t bin too well lately.”

  Lou walked along the pathway past a chicken run with about fifty chickens clucking and carrying on, and then on past more plots where vegetables were thriving. His dad was sitting on a bench on the dock. Lou went over and eased himself down, trying not to disturb him.

  “Dad, I’m so pleased to see you. You don’t know how much.”

  Father said nothing—as if he hadn’t heard. He looked away across the creek, took out his lighter and re-lit a half-smoked roll-up, exhaling a cloud of smoke that hung in the still, humid air. Two ducks splashed into the water and swam past them. Finally, Father nodded as if Lou’s words had just sunk in. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his hand and rubbed it on his checked shirt.

  “I’m sorry about the house, Dad. I didn’t know.”

  “How would you know?”

  This stung, but Lou tried to ignore it. “It’s terrible,” he said.

  “It really doesn’t matter,” Father said, staring at the dark water.

  “I was shocked when I heard about it this morning.”

  “Well, you needn’t concern yourself.”

  “I want to help.”

  “We’ll manage.”

  “I’ll help some way.”

  “How?” Father said his lip curling into that old familiar sneer.

  “I’ll find a way.”

  “Don’t worry. Tom'll look after things. He’s a good boy.”

  “He’s a wonderful son and wonderful brother.”

  “As long as he’s around, you can do your thing. You don’t need to give us a second thought.”

  “Dad, I love you, you know. I love you all. I’ve been a rotten son. You’re right.”

  Father didn’t argue. He raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘It really doesn’t matter.’

  “Dad, Tom told me you’ve been having trouble with the Klan.”

  This irritated Father. His eyes narrowed. Now he was mad at Tom.

  “Goddammit! I told him not to tell you about them fools.”

  “What do they want?”

  “You know what they want. Don’t pay ’em no mind. I got the twelve. I’ll deal with ’em. I’ll have them sons o’ bitches in the ground faster’n you can spit.”

  Lou exhaled and looked away. He didn’t doubt his father on that score. No point in arguing. “I’m going back to sort a few things out.” He got up and moved away. “See you later, Dad.” Father nodded without turning his head, continuing his gaze into the creek. Lou walked back up the path past Jeb, who was weeding one of the vegetable gardens.

  Lou called to him, “Jeb, you okay?”

  “Yep, Mr. Lou. I’m fine.”

  “No, really?”

  “Yeah, everything’s good.”

  “What about them damned night riders?”

  “Nah! They ain’t nothin'. Don’t you worry about them none. We got it covered, sir.”

  Back at the house, Gran served a ham salad at the massive kitchen table. Lou loved this room with its old wood-burning range and huge, white porcelain sink. He opened the pantry door and looked inside. Lots of jars and homemade stuff. He looked at Gran.

  “We don’t buy much. We grow everything.”

  “What about things like toilet paper and milk?”

  “We get the local newspaper once in a while,” Gran replied.

  “We trade with Jonesie up the road; he’s got Jerseys at his place,” Mother said.r />
  “You’d be surprised how much bartering goes on around here,” Gran said.

  “We’re very blessed,” said Anna, putting her arm around Lou’s neck and kissing his cheek. “Oh, my darlin’ brother, it’s so good to have you home.”

  That first evening, a Saturday, the family gathered around the big oak table in the rarely-used dining room and ate the roasted chicken and vegetables Jeb had brought up. Gran took out a bottle of elderberry wine she’d made a year before—said she’d been keeping it for a special occasion. Anna poured some out and they raised their glasses.

  “Here’s to you, Lou—to your safe return in your airship,” Anna said.

  “And the rest of your flights,” Mother added.

  Father lifted his glass and took a sip, saying nothing. Tom did the same. Dinner was over by nine. Father said he was tired and went to bed, waving a hand to Lou as he left the room.

  Well, at least that’s something.

  “Tom, can you take me into Georgetown on Monday morning?” Lou asked.

  Tom frowned at first and then said, “Sure.”

  “I’ve a few errands to run. Wanna come, Sis?”

  “I want to be with you every moment you’re here, Lou.”

  “Do you still have the guitar and banjo somewhere? Or did the bank get them, too?” Lou asked, looking at Tom. But Mother seemed ready for this question.

  “No, I hid them away and brought them here. I dug them out of one of the attic bedrooms and cleaned them up last week. I knew you’d be looking for them.”

  “So many times I’ve thought of how Dad and I used to play together, on good days.”

  “You should get him to play with you,” Gran said in a whisper as though her son upstairs might hear. “Since you left, he hasn’t played a note.”

  When Lou went to his bedroom, he saw Mother had stood the guitar and banjo against the wall in the corner. He undressed and fell asleep in his old bed, wishing Charlotte was there.

  The next day, they all went to church, except for Father. He said he didn’t feel like it. He used to go regularly, but his churchgoing, like his faith, had dropped off. Mother said she was surprised Julia wasn’t in church—she’d kept up her attendance at this church after her family had moved away.

  On Monday morning, Lou went with Tom and Anna in the pickup back along the river and over the recently completed Key Bridge, into Georgetown.

  “This is all new,” Lou said as they passed a streetcar gliding its way over the river.

  “There’s a lot of stuff round here you ain’t seen,” Tom said.

  Lou turned and faced Tom and spoke across Anna who sat in the middle.

  “You still mad at me, little brother? What’s eatin’ you, huh?” Lou said. Tom paused, mulling things over. “Come on Tom, spit it out!”

  “You show up here like you’re ‘the man’. Giving money to the poor. Who the hell do you think you are? Some big shot!”

  “Tom, I was just tryin’ to help my—”

  “And to tell you the truth, Louis, it irritates me, how everyone’s had to suffer because of you! Virginia's Favorite Son—my ass!”

  “Who?”

  “Dad, and Mum, although she won’t admit it—”

  “I’m sure Dad doesn’t care that much—”

  “He does so! It tears him up worrying over you.”

  Lou was surprised, but glad it was all coming out.

  “And then there’s Julia,” Tom added.

  “Julia?”

  “Yes, Julia! She believed, and the family thought, it was a foregone conclusion you’d come back and marry her.”

  “It’s true, Lou. Tom’s right,” Anna said.

  Lou glanced at Anna.

  Not you, too, Sis.

  “Now you show up like the big hero and we’re supposed to fall at your feet, while you act all surprised at what’s been going on in this country.”

  They traveled along M Street in silence for a time. It was getting busy with private cars and trucks on the road. Lou had brought Charlotte’s photo wrapped in the newspaper he’d read on the train. Lou asked Tom to stop outside a glass and mirror shop and went in. Ten minutes later, he was back with a smile on his face. He climbed back into the pickup.

  “Look guys, I’m sorry. I really am. I don’t know what to say. I’d fully intended to come home, believe me.” He unwrapped the package. “Look at this,” Lou said, as if it might explain things a bit. He handed the frame to Anna. “It fell down and got smashed on the airship.”

  “How did that happen?” Anna said.

  “It just fell off my bedside table.”

  “Oh my, she’s gorgeous. I can understand why you never came home!” Anna said. “Although, you did hurt poor Julia somethin’ fierce.”

  The next stop was the post office. Lou went in and sent a wire to Charlotte telling her he’d arrived in Virginia and wished she were here. They drove on to Riggs Bank, parked and went inside. The bank building was cool under its domed, copper roof. The interior was ornate with hardwood and marble finishes. Lou found a sub-manager and explained they needed to open a joint account in their three names. This was done and Lou deposited ninety seven dollars and thirty-cents into the account after converting the bank draft he’d brought with him from the Midland Bank. Lou told them he’d be sending money to the account as an emergency fund. After Lou had drawn out thirty-five dollars, they climbed back into the pickup. Tom had become irritated again. “What are you doing all this for? We don’t need your damned money! You think you can just pop back into everyone’s lives, leave some money and go flying off again, huh! What the hell d’you think we are?”

  “Tom, please don’t be like that, brother, I just want to help. Seriously I do,” Lou said.

  “Well, we don’t need your help. We’ve done all right without you for the last ten years.”

  “Oh, Tom—” Anna said.

  “I need to call in at Fort Myer,” Tom said.

  “Okay, Tom. After that, I’d like to run by Anacostia Flats to see my army buddy, if you don’t mind.”

  “Right,” Tom answered.

  They retraced their route and re-crossed Key Bridge. Fort Myer formed part of Arlington Cemetery. They passed white gravestones on their left and wove their way up the steep hill to the top, where stately, red brick buildings stood and pin oaks lined the street on the plateau. The place had the feel of a college campus and the smell of horses in the air. They slowed to a walking pace as a flag-draped caisson drawn by six white horses approached, on its way to a new grave down the hill. Four soldiers in blue rode four of the horses.

  Tom drove past the officers’ club to the morgue at the end of the street and around the back to an adjoining building. He unlocked the door and he and Lou entered. It was dark inside. When his eyes adjusted, Lou made out an old coffin on the floor. Tom took out a key and unlocked the padlock, opened the hinged lid and propped it against the wall. He went back to the pickup and threw back the canvas, revealing six cardboard boxes full of booze. Without speaking, Tom and Lou carried them inside and placed them in the coffin. Tom closed the lid and locked the padlock. They came outside into the sunshine and Tom relocked the door.

  “That’ll keep the fellas at the officers' club happy for a day or so,” Anna said with a smile and a wink.

  68

  TENT CITY

  Monday August 4, 1930.

  Tom drove them down through Rosslyn back to the George Washington Parkway, then crossed the river again into the city. They motored along Constitution Avenue, passing the George Washington Monument, toward the back of the Capitol Building. Scenes on the street were much the same as before, with mounted police keeping a watchful eye on the poor wretches lining up for food or carrying placards. They crossed the Anacostia River into Anacostia Flats, where another miserable scene greeted them.

  Hundreds of ragged, makeshift tents and shanties had been set up. At the moment, the ground was hard and rutted. Lou knew that after a rainstorm this place would be an u
npleasant mud hole. Anna was visibly appalled at the squalor. Tom parked the pickup in the first open space he found. The place looked like a slum settlement in some distant country and smelled as bad. The conditions reminded Lou of the Front. Human misery! Although, due to his war experience, he perceived some semblance of order in all this chaos.

  The camp was divided into rows, with street names daubed on wood slats nailed to posts: Ypres Row, Argonne Avenue, Somme Street, Verdun Road, Belleau Wood Boulevard. Saint-Mihiel Street. They watched kids playing in the dirt and blacks and whites together, chatting. They nodded as the Remingtons walked by, as if they were sitting on their old front porch.

  Lou stopped a man passing by and asked where he could find Henry Faulkner. The man was polite and took them to a shack fifty yards away and called through the doorway.

  “Henry, folks here to see you.”

  Faulkner appeared. His weary face broke into a warm smile and he ushered them inside, where there was a table consisting of packing case boards nailed together, old 4 x 4 legs and planks each side for seats. Two men were seated at the table—one black, one white, ill-kempt and dirty, faces glistening with sweat, their body odor overpowering. Lou regretted bringing Anna. The two men jumped up and stood erect when Lou entered. Tom looked surprised at the respect shown to his brother.

  “This is Sergeant Terry of the 307th and this is Gunny Jackson of the New York 369th. This, gentlemen, is Commander Remington, formerly of the United States Marine Corps,” Henry said. They all shook hands.

  Lou spoke directly to Sgt. Terry. “You were in the Lost Battalion?”

  “Yes, sir. Now I’m lost in Tent City,” Terry said bitterly.

  “Can I get you coffee or water?” Henry asked.

  To be polite, Lou said he’d have coffee. Anna and Tom declined.

  “What’s going on, Henry?” Lou said.

  “We’ve set up this camp as the First Expeditionary Force of army vets. We need the money they promised us. We need it bad and we need it now.”

  “How long can you last?”