Amos gave Jerry a direct look. “That’s the joy of the Lord you see in your aunt, Jerry. Nothing else it could be. She’s always been a fine Christian, and now she’s showing how God can give peace in a bad situation.”
For the next two days, Jerry went fishing and hunting with his grandfather, and the two became fast friends. Will had aged, but Jerry remembered the days when the two of them had gone trapping in winter, and all the old affection came flooding back to him. He had difficulties with Agnes, but since he was not in the house a great deal, he managed to avoid any conflict with her.
On the third day, the whole family piled into the rented car and made the trip to town to see Gavin. Jerry tied Lenora’s wheelchair to the rear bumper, and when they arrived at the fairgrounds, he unfastened it and then took her in his arms. She put her arms around his neck and teased him. “How many young girls would give their eyeteeth to get hugged by a handsome thing like you, Jerry!” She laughed in delight at his blush, and later when she and Amos were alone, said, “He’s such a fine boy, Amos!”
“He’s stubborn as a mule, Lenora!”
“He’s a Stuart—and I can remember a time or two when Pa had some choice words about his oldest boy being stubborn. Give him time!”
“You’re doing fine,” Amos nodded. “I don’t think I could handle it.”
“God is greater than anything that comes into our lives, Amos,” Lenora said. “Whatever comes to us, it comes from his hand. I’m learning to thank him for everything.”
“Even for being lame?”
“Not for that, I guess, but in my handicap I’m learning that God’s grace is so much stronger than our weaknesses.” She shook her head, adding, “It’s Christie I’m worried about.”
“What’s wrong with Christie?”
“She’s not happy, Amos.” The fine hazel eyes clouded, and Lenora hesitated before saying, “I think she’s mixed up with what it means to be a woman. She thinks she’s failed, and I’m afraid she’s going to be hurt.”
“What about her and Mel Tolliver?”
“That’s part of it. Christie thinks she has to stay with me all the time, and I feel that Mel resents it. Sooner or later he’s going to tell her she’s got to cut her ties with me—and if she doesn’t, he’ll cut and run.”
“Might be the best thing for Christie,” Amos frowned.
“Not in her mind. She feels like it’s her last chance.”
The conversation stayed with Amos, and as they moved toward the field where the planes were being serviced by the mechanics, he walked beside Christie. “Lenora’s doing great,” he said, then added, “Why don’t you come to New York for a visit?”
“Oh, I couldn’t leave her!”
Amos saw that he had touched a nerve but persisted, “She can take care of herself.”
“I promised God I’d take care of her,” Christie said, and there was something in her voice that told Amos that he could say nothing to change her mind. She’s got to learn the hard way—just like some of the rest of us.
Gavin was surprised to see them, and when he had greeted them all, Amos said, “How about a ride for Jerry?”
Gavin smiled at once, nodding his head. “How about some acrobatics, Jerry? Front cockpit’s empty.”
Jerry’s face lit up, and he exclaimed, “I’d like it fine, Uncle Gavin!”
“Come along and meet my people.”
Jerry was ecstatic, and when he was introduced to Cara Gilmore he was stunned. Cara was wearing a close-fitting white flying suit that clung to her curves. She grinned at Gavin when he introduced them, saying, “You never told me you had such a good-looking nephew, Gavin.” Then she went to Jerry, pressed herself against him, and whispered, “After the show, maybe you’d like to show me the town?”
“Well . . . sure,” Jerry blurted. He was acutely aware of the firm curves of her body pressing against him, and he wondered if her lips were as soft as they appeared. When he was set in the cockpit, he asked, “Uncle Gavin, does Cara fly a plane?”
“She does anything she likes, Jerry,” Gavin nodded. “Watch out for her. She devours nice-looking young fellows like you!”
Jerry soon had other things to think about. He was fascinated by the plane and asked, “Is this one like you flew in the war, Uncle Gavin?”
“Yep, it’s a Sopwith Camel, Jerry. Sure glad to get it. Under the Wilson Act, fighter planes could be sold to civilians. Cost anywhere from three hundred dollars to five thousand.” He revved the engine up, saying, “If you have to be sick, use the sack under your feet!”
As Gavin took off, he was thinking of the day when he’d gone for his first plane ride. It had been on this very field, and his brother Amos had talked Lincoln Beachey into taking him up. Beachey had been the premier acrobatic flier in the world, and Gavin remembered the plane he had gone in, strips of wood covered with fabric and held together by wire. He still remembered the loops and dives of that ride, mostly at a mere hundred feet above the ground. Jerry looks just like I did, I guess, he thought as he took the Camel up to five thousand feet. All starry-eyed and excited.
As for Jerry, he had never felt so free—never in his life! As Gavin made inside and outside loops, went into spins, rolled the Camel over and over through the clouds, he shouted for joy. Turning around he grinned wildly, shouting, “Uncle Gavin—this is better than anything in the world!”
When the plane landed, Gavin waited until his nephew was on the ground and Cara had climbed into the cockpit—after she managed to stop and give Jerry a hug—then he took off again. Jerry made his way to the stands, where Amos asked, “Well, how was it? Make you sick?”
Jerry could still feel the freedom of the rolls and spins. He stood there looking up into the sky as Cara crawled out on the wing and stood with her arms uplifted as Gavin brought the Camel roaring by the stands. The wind plastered the white silk fabric of her coveralls to her body, stressing the taut curves.
Amos caught the look, then asked, “Did you like it, Son?”
Jerry turned toward his father, and with the same stubborn look on his face that Amos had seen when he was two, crying “No bip! No bip!” he said, “It’s what I’m going to do, Dad.”
Amos’s heart sank, and he knew instantly that no persuasion would change the mind of this strong-willed young man. He’s not going to listen to me—or to anyone, he thought leadenly.
Later that afternoon Amos and Jerry met with Gavin, and Jerry said, “Uncle Gavin, I’ll clean up the planes and do any dirty work. I don’t want any salary except for a place to sleep and something to eat—but I’ve got to do it! I’ve got to fly!”
Gavin argued against the thing, but he soon discovered that Jerry was going to fly—somehow. He said, “It’s up to you, Amos. Some of the barnstormers are flying death traps. I’ll take him on, but it’s a dangerous business. It’s your decision.”
Amos glanced at Jerry, whose face was tight with strain. If I say no, he’ll hate me forever. Then he said, “I don’t think it’s wise, Son, but I can see you’re set on it. I’ll have to agree.”
Jerry expelled his breath and threw his arms around his father—for the first time since he had become a man.
“Oh, Dad!” he muttered, drawing back with some embarrassment. “I’ll never forget this!”
“Neither will I, Son,” Amos said wryly. “Your mother will see to that!”
RUNNING WILD
Are you sure you want to do this, Jerry?”
The show had come to Chicago, and Gavin had stepped up beside Jerry, a troubled frown on his face. “It’s pretty soon for you to be tackling a stunt.”
It was not Jerry who answered, but Cara Gilmore. She had come up to put her arm through that of the younger man, and now she pouted, “You never tried to get me to back off from a stunt, Gavin.”
Jerry grinned at the girl and then nodded at Gavin. “It’ll be a piece of cake.” But as soon as he spoke, he saw pain leap into his uncle’s eyes. “What’s wrong, Gavin?”
T
he answer was slow in coming, and when Gavin did speak it was without a touch of his usual humor. “My best friend in the war was a young fellow about your age. His name was Edmund Genet. He and I were about the only ones left of the original bunch. He was like . . . like a younger brother to me.”
When Gavin paused, Jerry finally glanced at Cara, who was watching the older man carefully. “What happened, Gavin?”
“We were all worn out—making too many flights. But the order came, and Edmund insisted on taking it. He said, ‘I’ll do it. You old fellows take a nap and let us youngsters take care of the fighting.’” He closed his eyes and leaned back against the plane, then added softly, “He didn’t look a day over sixteen, had a peach-bloom complexion and a stubby nose. Always an expression of pleased surprise in his blue eyes.” Then Gavin jerked away from the plane, and his lips were drawn into a tight line. “He said, ‘It’ll be a piece of cake,’ and then he took off. And he never came back. Got hit by a shell, and his plane hit nose into the ground at full speed. We didn’t open the coffin at his funeral.”
Jerry had never seen this side of his uncle, and now he said, “I’m sorry, Gavin. I didn’t mean . . .”
“Not your fault,” Gavin said roughly. “But you can get killed doing this stunt, Jerry. Why don’t you wait for awhile?”
Jerry had been faithful to his promise to Gavin. He’d worked hard cleaning and servicing the planes, doing the hard, dirty, grinding labor that was necessary to keep the show going. Gavin had given him lessons in the air, and he reveled in those. But he craved action, and when one of the stuntmen hurt his back, Jerry had persuaded Gavin to let him do the stunt.
“It’s not too dangerous, Gavin,” he said quickly. “Nobody ever got hurt doing this one.”
The stunt was simple enough. It consisted of one of the stuntmen—or the stuntwoman, when Cara did it—climbing out on the wing and standing braced against the wind. The wingwalker, wearing no parachute, at the right time allowed himself to be swept backward. The crowd always fell for it, but of course the stuntman wore a rope attached to a special leather harness, and the rope was tied to the plane. Every person in the stands leaped to his or her feet uttering screams as the body fell toward the earth. It was a crowd pleaser, and Gavin hated to leave it out of the program, so he had consented to Jerry’s importunate pleas.
Now, however, he stared at the eager face of the boy and wished he’d never promised. “That rope could get wound around your neck and kill you,” he said. “Let Cara do it.”
“No, you promised, Gavin,” Jerry said. “I’ll be all right.”
“Sure he will,” Cara grinned. “Let him do it, Gavin.”
Finally Gavin nodded, saying shortly, “All right, let’s do it.”
Cara pulled Jerry’s head down and kissed him, letting her lips fall open. “I’ll give you a real reward tonight, Jerry.”
“Sure, Cara.” Jerry was never certain how free with her favors Cara was. She talked roughly about sex a lot, but so far he’d never done more than kiss her a few times. She drank a lot, and now as he turned to go get into the plane, he had the sudden thought, If I get killed doing this—I’ll never know about her.
But he scrambled into the plane as Gavin growled, “Fasten that rope now—and make certain it’s tied right!”
“Right!” Jerry tied the rope and then rose to show his handiwork to Gavin. The pilot nodded, then took off. As they gained altitude Jerry thought of what would happen if the rope broke, but he was one of those fortunate souls who has no fear at all of heights, and he’d seen the stunt performed successfully many times. If it had been a pass—moving from one plane to another at full speed—that would have been different. Those stunts required perfect timing and total concentration.
Why, anybody can fall off a wing, he thought, and grinned at himself. If I do this right, Gavin will let me do more stuff—maybe get an act with Cara like she’s been talking about.
Finally they achieved the height Gavin wanted, close enough to the ground to give the crowd a good view. “All right—do your stuff, Jerry!” he yelled, and gave a thumbs-up sign when the boy looked around.
Jerry returned the signal and stood up in the cockpit. The wind tore at his dark green coveralls, and he was careful to see that the rope didn’t get tangled. He put one foot on the edge of the cockpit and grasped the trailing edge of the wing, holding to a handle covered with tape for that purpose. Then he heaved himself upward and sprawled on the surface of the upper wing. Old Gavin’s keeping this ship as steady as an ocean liner! he thought. Then he collected himself and in one smooth motion stood to his feet. He leaned forward to compensate for the rush of wind that pushed against him, caught his balance, and flashed a thumbs-up sign at Gavin.
Carefully he made his way to the center of the wing, locked his feet in the leather stirrups, then waved at Gavin. That was the sign for some fancy flying—a little showing off for the crowd. The crowd below was a rectangle of colors, and Jerry waved as Gavin sent the ship by the grandstands several times, rocking from side to side, or up and down. The wind was cold, making his hands numb, but he didn’t have to grasp anything.
Suddenly Gavin made a turn, then came roaring down the field. Wait now, Jerry thought, his whole being intent on what was to come. Don’t go off too soon—wait—Now!
He shoved himself backward and fancied he could hear the screams of the crowd as he fell through space. The drop was not far, only fifteen or twenty feet—but it seemed to go on forever.
A thought raced through him like a scream—The rope—it’s slipped free! But then there was a tremendous jerk that took the breath from his body—and he was swinging from beneath the plane. Gavin was leaning over the edge of the cockpit, and Jerry waved at him merrily. Gavin grinned and motioned for him to come up.
Climbing back was the most difficult part of the stunt, especially in cold weather. But Cara had devised nooses in the rope so that now Jerry was able to use them as a ladder of sorts. He got back on the axle between the two wheels, pulled himself onto the upper section of the lower wing, then climbed into the front cockpit.
“You did fine, Jerry!” Gavin shouted above the roar of the engine.
“How about next time I fly—and you do the drop?” Jerry hollered back. Gavin grinned and shook his head, then turned the plane back toward the field.
When they landed, Cara came to him at once, hugging him. “Tonight we celebrate your not getting killed,” she nodded. “Don’t tell Father Gavin.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s the man who says, ‘Find out who’s having fun—and make them stop!’” Then she laughed with delight and pulled a soft leather helmet over her hair. “See you after it gets good and dark—that way nobody can see us!”
Cara stepped out of the tub, admired herself in the mirror, then dried with a fluffy pink towel. She sat down at the vanity and made up her face, then rose and moved to her bed where she’d laid out her outfit for her outing with Jerry. She wore mannish clothing most of the time, but there was nothing masculine about these garments she picked up. First she slipped into a pair of pink silk knickers, then pulled a sheer chemise over her head. Sitting down on the bed, she drew on a pair of sheer flesh-colored hose, then deliberately rolled them down. Rising again, she picked up the dress and slipped it over her head. It was tea rose in color and consisted of a georgette petal skirt with a satin bow. The neckline of the dress was very low, and the back dipped dangerously close to illegal limits. Somehow female beauty had been redefined, so that the bosom was bound and the back was bared. The ideal woman’s figure was thin, no hips, no bust. Some women even wore undergarments called “flatteners” compassing the bosom to achieve the ideal “no shape” shape. But Cara laughed at such fashions, saying often, “A man wants a woman to have a few curves!”
When she was dressed, she moved to stand before the mirror and smiled at her image. “That ought to do him,” she murmured. She opened a purse and checked the contents, which included rouge
, cigarettes, and a silver flask of hooch that she’d bought from the bellboy when taking the room.
A knock at the door caused her to turn around, a smile on her rosebud lips. When she opened it, she was pleased at the startled look Jerry gave her. “Come in,” she smiled, stepping back. “You’re right on time.”
Jerry was surprised at the transformation in the girl. The clinging overalls she wore were tantalizing, but there was something provocative about the manner of Cara’s dress. “You look swell,” he nodded. “New dress?”
“Yes. Designed by Schiaparelli. You really like it?”
“I’d be a fool not to!”
Cara laughed and moved to put a cloche hat over her cropped hair. She then allowed him to hold the black fur coat, with white trim at the collar and cuffs, for her. Turning, she pulled his head down and kissed him lingeringly. “We’re going to have a good time tonight, Honey!”
“Where would you like to go? To a play?”
“Not likely! In Chicago you go where the action is—jazz! I love it!” Then she laughed and took his arm. “Come on, Jerry, I’ll show you what music really is!”
They caught a cab, and the cabdriver grinned when Cara said, “Take us to Lincoln Gardens—and step on it!”
Historians of jazz usually designate New Orleans as the birthplace of that music, but jazz had moved upriver and now was heard mainly in the Negro dance halls in Harlem and Chicago. The records of the early jazz musicians were labeled “race records” and were sold only in black neighborhoods. Paul Whiteman, a tubby orchestra leader, was idolized as the jazz musician of the country, but the real greats, such as Bix Beiderbecke and others, tooted their horns for pocket change in third-rate dance bands.
As the cab threaded its way down the streets of the South Side of Chicago, Cara gave Jerry a glowing account of the music of the best jazzman of all. “King Oliver’s Creole Jazz Band—it’s the hottest thing going,” she nodded. “He’s got the best, no question. He’s got Johnny Dodds on clarinet and his brother, Baby, on drums. Lil Hardin pounds the ivories, and of course, Joe Oliver—he’s the greatest!”
One Shining Moment Page 7