by Gina Welborn
Roy watched her leave, his tongue knotted with disbelief and despair.
The next day
Central Secondary School
Luanne tapped the tip of her pencil against the grade book. Considering the low scores so far, she ought to toss the math test, forget the students had ever taken it, and make a new one from scratch for them to take on Monday, when they were no longer distracted by tomorrow’s race and the Fall Festival. Forget the past. Start over. That would be a whole lot easier than forgetting Roy. She should have never asked to speak to him alone. She should have left the dining room right after he’d sat down. She should have—
Her breath caught.
She should have never fallen in love. But she had. She had to live with the consequences of her distracted mind like her students had to live with their abysmal test scores.
Luanne breathed deep and resumed recording grades. As expected, Logan Lacy had a perfect score. Luanne would take the credit, but she’d never had a student as exceptional in math as Logan.
“My father gave me a quarter to spend at the circus,” Clara said above the other voices. “I want to see the acrobats.”
“I entered the tractor pull,” Konrad boasted. “Pa says we have the strongest oxen in all of Montana.”
Several girls giggled.
“You think we can get Mr. Bennett to let us fly untethered?” The question was spoken too softly for Luanne to tell who’d said it.
“I’d rather fly with Geddes Palmer,” Florence put in. She sighed melodramatically. “Just the two of us.”
Suddenly the chatter stopped.
“You ask her.” Another indiscernible whisper.
“No, you ask her. It’s your idea.” Nathaniel’s gruff words drew Luanne’s gaze upward.
“Ask me what?” She laid her pencil down, clasped her hands together on the desk, and waited for the other speaker to fess up.
Wilber stood next to his desk. “Miss Palmer, I want”—he cleared his throat—“umm, the class wants to enter our balloon in tomorrow’s race. We would like to hire you as our pilot.”
Luanne slowly nodded, more so to stall while she processed his announcement than in any form of agreement. “I see. You do know there is an entry fee? And this race requires a pilot and a marker-man, not to mention the time and crew it takes to ready a balloon for flight. Then there is the matter of the competition. Dropping a marker from an untethered balloon is not the same as from a tethered one, no matter how many times Mr. Bennett showed you how to do it. Did I mention the entry fee?”
“Yes, ma’am, we’ve read the rules.” Wilber’s gaze then shifted to Nathaniel. He dipped his head in a silent command. Two weeks around Roy had done wonders for Wilber’s confidence.
Nathaniel, who was a foot taller and twenty pounds of muscle heavier than any other boy in class, and who was clearly not keen on being told what to do, grumbled yet eased out of his desk. Walking to Luanne, he withdrew a leather pouch from his coat pocket. “I collected donations.”
How many were voluntary? Luanne refrained from asking. More than once she’d caught Nathaniel Trent sharing other students’ lunches, which she doubted were willfully offered. Why? His parents were far from impoverished.
“We have enough for the entry fee,” Nathaniel continued, setting the pouch on the grade book, “and to pay you two dollars and seventeen cents to pilot our balloon.”
Luanne untied the pouch. Sure enough, it was filled with coins and two five-dollar bills. She eyed Wilber. “Do your parents and grandparents know about this?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he assured her. “They gave me the money for the entry fee.” He withdrew a folded piece of stationery from his pocket. “They signed a note, if you want to see it.”
She looked around the room. Several students held their hands together, begging with a silent please.
Luanne laughed merrily. These students were the most unified bunch she’d ever taught. “You all are insufferable. Alas, it will be too much work to move the balloon to the festival site. I’m sorry, but your dreams—”
Wilber snapped his fingers.
At this, Logan rolled his eyes. Yet he stood. Grabbing the pencil he, of late, seemed to keep tucked behind his ear, he strolled to her desk with a swagger much like Roy’s. Good thing he seemed oblivious to the effect he had on the females in the class. He laid his opened field notebook in front of her. In the center of the page was a circle with an X in the middle. Below the circle were the words Festival and Circus Tent, then above the circle was a curved train track. South of that was Helena. Around everything was a crescent-shaped cluster of inverted Vs, to note the mountains. A red line ran from the X to a crude sketch of the school.
Luanne’s gaze fell to his wrists, to the pink puckered scars circling his tanned skin. Logan never seemed ashamed, never tried to hide them, yet she’d never heard any of the other students asking him how he came by them. For heaven’s sake, his father was a dentist and mother a member of the Ladies Aid Society.
“According to the rules, balloons can launch anywhere,” Logan explained, running his pencil around the circle, “as long as they are outside the predetermined radius from the X.” He tapped the school. “We are outside the radius. The Halfords measured three times to be sure, and I double-checked their calculations.” He smiled at her, reminding her how perfect his teeth were compared to anyone else’s in the classroom. “You see, ma’am, we don’t have to move the balloon anywhere except out of the storage room. We can launch from the school. Based on past inflate times and factoring in the eight-to-nine launch window for dropping the marker, I’ve calculated that the crew, pilot, and marker-man need not be here until six A.M.”
Luanne looked at Logan, then Nathaniel, then at Wilber, who in two weeks’ time had morphed from wallflower to ringleader. “Why do I suspect the class balloon will be in the air tomorrow with or without me?”
Wilber grinned.
Nathaniel looked longingly at the leather pouch.
Logan slid his pencil back behind his ear. “In light of the number of people in town for the festival, our odds of finding a buyer for our balloon increases ninety-eight point seven percent. On the first day of class, you encouraged us to think of ways to raise funds with extra class projects. This is our most viable option.” In a less exuberant tone, he added, “We voted to donate half of the selling price to the Ladies Aid Society’s Chinatown library project.”
Wilber snapped his fingers again. Sarah Fourier hurried to Luanne’s desk, paper in hand. “Uncle Ambrose let me use the newspaper printer to make these.”
Luanne took the paper. Framing a drawing of their balloon were the bold black words—
WANTED
Enterprising Aeronaut!
Looking to Own “The Pride of Montana!”
$300
Serious Inquiries Contact Mr. W. T. Fisk
Fisk Land Office
Luanne chuckled. She had to give credit where credit was due. Not only did young Mr. Wilber Tiberius Fisk know how to seize an opportunity for advancement, but he also was able to enlist his fellow classmates to join in. As their teacher, she couldn’t be more proud.
“It seems you’ve hired a pilot,” she said, and the class cheered.
Chapter Ten
October 2
Saturday morning
Roy and Geddes caught a pocket of air and floated closer to the huge, white-painted X in the open pasture next to the canvas circus tent. A circle of spectators surrounded the target area, many of them holding wind flags on poles either ten feet or twenty feet tall. Roy shifted his ballooning goggles onto his forehead and lifted his binoculars. For now, all the flags lay limp.
“What a perfect day for flying,” Geddes yelled over the roaring burners filling the envelope above them with heat.
Normally, Roy would agree. Clouds dotted the sky like misshapen patches of clover in a meadow, sunshine warmed the air, and light breezes kept the balloon moving at a good rate of speed. When he’d firs
t heard the Helena Fall Festival was the first weekend in October, he calculated the chances of weather cooperating for balloon launching to be slim to nil. Plenty of other serious racers had agreed, deciding it was better to pack up for the season instead of incurring the cost of travel regardless of the generous prize money for winning. Too bad for them. He’d not seen a better day all year.
The only problem was he couldn’t breathe right.
Roy lowered his binoculars, withdrew the altimeter from his coat pocket, and clicked open the lid. The spinning arrow took a moment to settle, and then he read 187 feet. Though the gauge was unreliable at best, they certainly weren’t high enough to account for the constriction in his lungs.
That was because of Luanne.
He snapped the altimeter closed and stuffed it back in his coat. For the past thirty-eight hours, he had replayed their conversation in the parlor—no, he replayed the kiss, and then various parts of the later conversation intruded.
“My whole life is here.”
“I thought you were ready to settle down.”
“So . . . nothing is more important to you than your career? What about family? Friends? Don’t they matter?”
Would he ever forget the contemptuous look on her face as she flung the last accusation at him? It pricked him so raw he fired back out of anger. Stupid, stupid, stupid! And unforgivable. He should have calmly reminded her that he was in Helena because of his friendship with Geddes—her brother, for crying out loud.
Roy wriggled his goggles back into place. His ability to make friendships wasn’t the real problem; his willingness to settle down was. He’d seen the world, filled his days with adventure, and spent most of the time longing for a companion. Was it too much—too selfish—to ask Luanne to share that part of his life? It defined him in more ways than he could count. If he gave it up for her, would he come to despise her? Or would raising a family be enough of an adventure?
Lord, grant me wisdom . . . and the focus to do my best in this race.
He swept his gaze around the surrounding airspace. Three balloons were coming in at various angles and altitudes from the east, a fourth was making its approach at the target area, and five others had already dropped the markers and were in various stages of packing up. He twisted to glance behind and below. “What on earth!” After twelve days of working on it, he recognized the balloon envelope of patched beige silk.
“What?” Geddes turned, making the basket wobble. “That one’s too far behind us. We’re good to make our approach.”
Roy lifted his binoculars again to confirm his suspicion. Sure enough, Luanne piloted the balloon with Wilber Fisk accompanying her. Roy gritted his teeth. Was this to spite him? Show him she had plenty of adventure in her life without him?
He exhaled, blowing the ridiculous thought into thin air. Luanne wasn’t mean-spirited. Chances were the students had talked her into—
“Roy!”
“Huh?”
Geddes turned off the burners so they didn’t have to shout over them. “That’s Luanne. Her balloon has four burners. That’s illegal in this race.”
“I know.” Roy turned away from the sight. He needed to focus. Win. Get out of Helena with a shred of self-respect left. Between Luanne’s rejection and discovering the National Review wanted him to ferry around their star reporter instead of become their newest staff member, he felt rather tattered around the edges.
“We need to take our run at the target now.” Geddes lifted his binoculars and surveyed the landing area. “Right now!”
Roy squinted at his friend. “What’s wrong with you?”
Geddes pointed. “Tate.”
Using his own binoculars, Roy looked where Geddes indicated. It took a few moments for Roy to find the principal’s pointy face in the crowd. “Yeah. So?”
“Do you see whom he’s standing next to?” The veins in Geddes’s temple bulged. “That’s Mr. Watson, the chairman of the Board of Trustees.”
Roy found the principal again, then shifted his binoculars a fraction to view the man beside him who, from this angle, was nothing but a stovepipe hat, dark suit, and white carnation boutonniere, setting him apart as one of the sponsors of the Helena Fall Festival. There was a story. Though advertised as something of a county fair, the festival was actually a blatant attempt to win support for Helena to be named capital of what would be the state of Montana in a few more years. If rumors were true, the festival was one of but a few legal things Helena’s leaders were undertaking to ensure their fair city beat out the competition.
Fuzzy tan shapes swung up and down in front his view. Roy lowered the binoculars and scowled at his friend.
“C’mon. Focus.” Geddes dropped his waving hand. “We need to get down.”
Roy scanned the sky again. The other balloons appeared farther from the target area, though distance was hard to judge. “I think we’d better wait to see if—”
“No!” Geddes opened the valve to release hot air from the envelope and drop their altitude. “We go now.”
Roy pried Geddes’s fingers off the valve. “What’s gotten into you?”
“I won’t have my sister lose her job.” Geddes tightened his grip. “Or worse.”
“Luanne isn’t going to lose her job over what is certainly nothing but a misunderstanding. I’ll bet Wilber entered the race and told your sister he’d handled everything.” Roy succeeded in prying Geddes’s fingers off the release valve. Balloon racing was all about precision. He wasn’t going to rush their descent over Geddes’s exaggerated response to a simple mistake. “So they get disqualified. It will teach Wilber to be more careful before he rushes into the next thing.”
Geddes shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you?”
Roy’s temper began to simmer. “Get what?”
“What Archibald Tate is capable of.” Geddes stabbed a finger toward the crowd. “You know he’s after Luanne to marry him, right?”
A measure of satisfaction tamped down Roy’s irritation. He knew good and well that Luanne had eyes only for him—not Tate or anyone else. “His attentions have gone nowhere.”
“Which is my point.” Geddes chopped the air with his hands. “You know better than most the restriction in Luanne’s teaching contract, how it stipulates she must be above reproach. I wouldn’t put it past Tate to drum up support to get Luanne fired so she has no recourse but to marry him.”
Roy discounted the idea. Luanne Palmer had the finest reputation of any woman he’d ever known. She’d never done a single thing wrong in her life . . . except let him kiss her on the wrist in the family parlor. That wasn’t public knowledge, nor would it ever be! “Okay. We’ll make our run, but I’m not sacrificing our chance at winning. If we have to pull up for a second approach, we’re—”
“No. If it’s the money you’re after, I’ll pay you. Now go!” Geddes lifted his hand toward the valve again.
Roy gripped the lever and turned his face toward the target area. “Fine. Here we go.”
For the next ten minutes, Roy focused every thought and emotion into adjusting altitude and angles as he maneuvered the balloon toward the white X. Only after they had dropped in and their marker landed a mere twenty feet from the center—the closest of this and every other race Roy had ever competed in—did he spare another glance at Tate and the Trustees chairman. The two men were surrounded by a crowd, some Roy recognized as parents of Luanne’s students. The smug, predatory gleam in the principal’s eye was visible without binoculars.
Roy’s stomach squeezed. He activated the burners to lift the balloon over the spectators encircling the target area. Had Geddes been right all along? Could Tate force Luanne to marry him? Not while Roy Almonzo Bennett lived and breathed. Luanne would be better off flying around the world with him than bound to that . . . that . . . worm!
“Geddes, can you handle packing this thing without me?”
“Why?” Geddes pointed toward one of the four landing crews hired to help bring down the hot air balloon
s. “There’s a good spot to land.”
Roy cut the burners and opened the valve to drop them toward the open field. “I think you might be right about Luanne. One of us needs to get to her quickly. I know two of the judges and a couple of the reporters. I can handle them better than you.” Geddes opened his mouth, so Roy rushed on. “I’ve also spent considerable time with Luanne’s students and a few parents. If any of them are upset, I can help with that, too. I can be quite charming when needed.”
After a long pause, Geddes threw the tug rope overboard. “Fine, but you’d better be right.”
“Thanks.” Roy gripped the basket edge and leaned to view the men helping them land. He recognized the two blond giants as brothers who frequented the same church as the Palmers. Good men. The kind he might befriend if he ever stayed in one place.
Which was Luanne’s point. What if she was right about settling down in—
The basket bumped ground and turned on its side. No matter how many times he’d done this, Roy hated the way his body flopped prone, jarring his lungs. He scrambled out of the wicker gondola and onto his feet, then raced toward the target area. Since this side was farthest away from the judge’s tent, there were several breaks in the thin line of spectators. Roy aimed for the biggest one.
Luanne’s patchwork balloon dropped into the target area low and fast. A raucous cheer greeted her. Roy pumped his arms and legs harder as he ran up the slight rise, his lungs burning with effort. Wilber dropped their marker, a blue streamer with beans weighting one end, and pumped his fists in the air. Cries of “Direct hit!” and “Dead center!” carried far enough for Roy to hear.
He ran on, losing a shoe in the recently harvested field, stubble stabbing through his woolen sock. The patchwork balloon rippled and folded in on itself. They’d landed.
As if the restraining ropes didn’t exist, spectators rushed the field. Roy ducked under the thick cord along with them. At the opposite end of the field, right in front of the judge’s tent, a swarm of people surrounded Luanne and Wilber, some of them trampling on the beige silk envelope the students had sewn.