Eagle & Crane

by Suzanne Rindell

  “Sit down, sit down!” Earl roared, ready to play host.

  He smoothed over the awkwardness of the situation by waving down the nearest waiter and ordering two bottles of champagne, which promised a pleasant amnesia for all. Crystal coupes were immediately brought out, a couple of pops were heard, and, soon enough, sudsy golden liquid filled each glass.

  “I propose a toast,” Earl bellowed, raising his glass in the air.

  Everyone obediently followed suit and raised their own glasses high in the air, the light from the chandeliers glinting down through the champagne coupes like half a dozen or so golden eyes.

  “Here’s to two of the craziest farm-boy tourists this barnstorming spectacle has ever hosted!”

  “To Louis and Harry,” Ava added.

  “To Louis and Harry!” everyone repeated.

  A chorus of clinking glasses followed but was interrupted when a sudden sputtering came from Louis. He had never sipped champagne before and had not anticipated it would be so bubbly. Harry clapped him on the back as though to aid him, and for a second it was as if the two young men were friends. There it was again: that hint that the frosty hostility she’d initially noticed between the two boys was melting.

  As Ava mused on this, she sipped her own champagne timidly, cautiously peering around the dining room to see whether anyone noticed or cared. By the letter of the law, she, Louis, and Harry were not quite of legal age. But in her travels, Ava had noticed that folks in smaller farming towns cared significantly less about enforcing this rule than people in big cities did. Small-town folks figured if somebody was old enough to bale hay or break a horse, he was old enough to have a drink at the end of a hard day’s work. Now, even if the maître d’ were to return and give them further trouble, Ava suspected Earl would slip the gentleman some money to make the problem go away. The bribe would cost Earl—as had the champagne itself, and the evening out on the town in general—but after six years of living in a cramped caravan, Ava knew Earl and knew exactly what he was about. Ava had spent the entire day stuffing cash into a cigar box. She was perfectly aware that there had been a steep uptick in sales today, and Earl, for all his flaws, was a clever man. That was how the champagne would prove useful: A pair of farm boys tipsy on champagne and bowled over by the fancy setting were likely to agree to just about anything.

  Earl reached for the bottle where it sat in a bucket full of melting ice and hastily refilled Louis’s and Harry’s glasses as though to confirm Ava’s suspicion. The actual subject, however, did not come up until midway through the meal, after a small orchestra had assembled and begun to play. Every so often a well-dressed couple rose from their respective tables and floated around the polished wooden floor. The atmosphere was still elegant, but now it had turned from somber to gay.

  Buzz observed the couples dancing for a few moments, then turned to Ava’s mother. He grinned. Ava knew perfectly well: Men loved to flirt with her mother, and Buzz was an incurable ladies’ man who flirted for the sheer sport of it sometimes.

  “May I steal a dance?” Buzz said to Cleo.

  Cleo blushed and looked to Earl. He waved a magnanimous hand.

  “Oh, go on—enjoy!”

  Buzz and Cleo rose and joined the other dancers.

  “Well, if you all would excuse me,” Hutch said, producing a cigar from his inside jacket pocket. “I reckon it’s awful nice out, now that it’s cooled down some. I’d like to go smoke this outside and stare up at those stars a spell.”

  Earl nodded and away Hutch went, ambling in that bowlegged cowboy way he had. Just as it was plain that Buzz was a ladies’ man, it was also clear that Hutch was a man who enjoyed solitude. Before the flying circus he’d been an Army pilot, and before that he’d driven cattle for a living. He spoke fondly of those days—long days, without another human in sight for weeks on end. Ava suspected Hutch had reached his limit on small talk an hour or so earlier.

  The table suddenly seemed more intimate. Now they were four: Earl and the two farm boys, with Ava looking on. Earl quickly stretched his wrists and cracked his knuckles, preparing to spring into action. He took out his pocket square and refolded it with meticulous precision. He ran the flat of his palm over his carefully combed and oiled hair. Finally, he leaned in over the table toward the two young men with a confidential air.

  “You boys had some kind of fun today,” he commented in a casual voice. “It got me to thinking perhaps we might come to some sort of arrangement together.”

  Harry’s lips twisted in amusement while staring at Earl with skepticism. “Arrangement?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes, I was thinking of perhaps extending our stay for a second weekend of performances and rides and letting you fellows try wing walking a few more times . . . I believe Sumpter would be amenable to the idea, and we could even try some fields farther away, in neighboring towns.” He paused, wearing the innocent expression of a man who has just hit upon an idea. “Why, I’d even be willing to consider giving you both a hefty discount on the established price.”

  Louis didn’t say anything, but Harry began laughing—a deep rumble that began somewhere low in his diaphragm and bubbled up along his throat.

  “Discount, eh?”

  “Of course! I don’t see what is so amusing about my generous offer of a discount.” Earl looked irritated. He reached a hand to his moustache and twirled the ends.

  “You’ll have to pardon me,” Harry said, “but it sounds an awful lot like you’re looking to hire yourself two stuntmen, only instead of paying them you expect them to pay you.”

  Ava looked at Harry and suppressed a laugh of her own. She was impressed. Not only was Harry’s assessment razor-sharp and wholly accurate, but few people confronted Earl Shaw so directly.

  “Surely you’re not suggesting I hand out money in exchange for the privilege of an airplane ride? Dear fellow, I’m afraid I must inform you: That is not how a barnstorming spectacle works. Not at all.”

  “Well, now, seems to me we’d be entering into the ‘spectacle’ part of that equation,” Harry replied.

  Earl did not respond. Throughout this exchange Louis remained silent, watching and listening, too stunned to speak.

  “Look here,” Harry continued. “We’re no fools. We know what’s in it for you; we saw how much money you made today.”

  “Indeed,” Earl replied. “And what do you propose?”

  “I propose that if you’re going to ask a couple of fellas to come and work for you, you make them a proper offer.”

  Earl leaned back in his chair and squinted his eyes, measuring up his opponent. He let out an aggravated sigh. A minute or two passed in silence.

  “All right,” he said finally, in a dry, businesslike voice. “Five percent of ticket sales each.”

  “What do Buzz and Hutch get paid?”

  “Ten.”

  “Then we want the same.”

  “Nonsense! Buzz and Hutch are pilots! That’s skilled labor.”

  “We’ve skills of a particular variety, too.”

  Earl snorted.

  “We’d be risking our lives on a regular basis,” Harry argued. “That’s gotta count for something.”

  “Fine. Seven and a half each,” Earl countered. “And not a penny more.”

  Earl tossed his napkin on the table and let out a tsk, making a supercilious face as though he were put out, but in truth he had to work a little at feigning his petulance. His share had just gone down from eighty percent to sixty-five . . . and yet, sixty-five percent of four times the regular proceeds nonetheless amounted to a significant increase.

  “We’ll try out this arrangement this weekend and see if it comes to anything,” Earl said. “Who’s to say, after all, whether the attendance today wasn’t a simple fluke?” By then the dishes had been cleared and he summoned the waiter to bring a cordial, along with some coffee to s
ober up for the drive home.

  “Oughtn’t you fellas shake on it, to make it official?” Ava piped up to ask. She had been silent throughout Earl’s entire exchange with the boys, and he gave a slight jump as though he’d forgotten she was sitting at the table with them. He realized, with a small inkling of irritation, that this also meant there was a witness who could hold him to his offer of seven and a half percent each.

  “Yes,” Earl replied. “Let us shake on it, boys.”

  He extended a hand to Harry, who took it and gave it a curt but firm shake, a calm smile on his face. Then Earl turned to Louis. Louis hesitated for the briefest of seconds.

  “I don’t know . . .” Louis said. “I got . . . responsibilities. To my family’s ranch.” Again he averted his eyes, as though embarrassed. “It’s why I had to quit school in the first place.”

  “Tell me, boy,” Earl said, sensing a bit of extra urging might be necessary. “How much you gonna make this weekend on that farm of yours?”

  Louis cast his eyes down at the polished wooden floor and shrugged.

  “You will make far more money with our outfit, and you can send it home to your dear old Ma and Pa, if you insist.”

  “Well, that’s a good point, I suppose . . .”

  Everyone could see the imaginary wheels turning in Louis’s head as he debated first one side of the argument, then the other. After a few moments he looked up at Earl, then Harry, and finally Ava. His brother Guy would blow up when he found out what Louis was up to. But maybe Guy would let it go, if only Louis could send some real money home. The orchestra stopped. Louis clenched his jaw and shook.

  “You sign some new talent, Earl?” came Buzz’s voice as he returned from the dance floor with Cleo.

  “That I did.”

  “Well, this oughta add some extra color to our outfit.”

  Buzz grinned and nodded at Louis and Harry. He liked to make money, too. Hutch came back in from his solitary smoke break outside, and a final toast was proposed with the dregs of the champagne, barely a swallow in each glass. Noisy, irregular clinks sounded all around.

  The rest of the evening wound down with all the energy of a contented celebration. There was only one sour note. After Buzz and Cleo returned from the dance floor, they slipped back into the booth together, rejoining the group. Buzz was feeling relaxed and had laid his arm to rest around Cleo’s slender shoulders. Earl, far gone by then on the combination of champagne and cordial, was in the middle of a cackling laugh over something Buzz had said when his eyes fastened on Buzz’s arm around his wife. His mouth snapped shut in mid-cackle and a dark shadow immediately descended over his face, turning his expression from merry to enraged with remarkable speed.

  “For heaven’s sake, woman! Haven’t you any sense of propriety?” he snapped at Cleo.

  Cleo froze, then averted her eyes, her whole body wilting miserably like a leaf of lettuce suddenly thrust into a hot oven. Ava cringed to see her mother looking so embarrassed and apologetic. Meanwhile, Buzz took the hint and retracted his arm.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it, Boss,” Buzz said. “I was only stretching out for comfort. This booth is a little cramped after sitting in a cockpit all day.”

  “Not to worry,” Earl said. “You aren’t the one to blame.” He smiled around the table, but only at the men. “It’s her I’ve got a bone to pick with. She always has to act the belle of the ball everywhere we go. I can’t take her anywhere.”

  The smile faded as he turned to stare at Ava’s mother. Cleo’s eyes remained downcast, as though she were making a careful study of a small brown ring stain that had been left behind by a gravy boat a busboy had cleared earlier that evening.

  “She forgets that she was living in squalor when I found her, and that if she prefers, she can always go back to nothing again.”

  A beat passed as no one at the table dared to speak.

  But then Hutch chivalrously cleared his throat and changed the topic. The group of them resumed their earlier, more lighthearted, celebratory mode. If she had been stung, Cleo let it go, shyly but steadily brightening as soon as a smile returned to Earl’s face.

  Ava, however, was not so quick to forget. Earl didn’t notice her smoldering like a hot coal where she sat quietly in the booth. He downed the last of his cordial, slapped the table with an air of finality, and stood up to go—impervious to the growing hatred in his stepdaughter’s eyes.

  16

  Louis Thorn and Harry Yamada had officially joined Earl Shaw’s Flying Circus. At first, Earl pretended the boys were hired only on a trial basis. This was all for show, to keep them on their toes. But after a couple of successful performances, he quickly forgot all about his posturing and began to treat Louis and Harry as permanent members of the barnstorming act, as if they had always been his stuntmen.

  Ava was secretly glad to have Louis and Harry aboard—“secretly” only because Ava didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. Especially not Harry. She hadn’t forgotten about the day they’d all met—the day she’d warned them about Earl’s mercenary interest in their proposed attempt to wing walk; instead of thanking her, Harry had only teased her and scoffed at her. Ava wasn’t one to stand for being mocked.

  During the day, Louis and Harry spent most of their time in the air with Buzz and Hutch—performing or traveling to the next destination—while Earl, Cleo, and Ava puttered along down below in the Model A, towing the caravan behind them. The shows began to follow a routine. Now that Earl was no longer convinced Louis and Harry were destined to die in spectacularly grotesque fashion, he often arranged for them to perform earlier in the day, rather than as a finale. Earl had discovered that the sight of Louis and Harry walking safely on the wings of Castor and Pollux emboldened spectators, particularly young men. And in his tremendous announcer’s voice, Earl had no trouble spelling it out for those who were slow to draw their own conclusions: If the flying circus’s two stuntmen were brave enough to take a walk on the wings, only a coward would decline a scenic tourist flight! At the conclusion of Louis and Harry’s stunt, a fresh wave of business came pouring in as young men bought rides, hoping to impress their sweethearts.

  At first, there was very little opportunity for Ava to engage Louis or Harry in conversation directly. At night, Ava typically slept in the caravan along with Earl and her mother, while Louis and Harry made camp outside with Buzz and Hutch. Still, there were times in the evenings when everybody sat around together as Cleo cooked supper over the campfire, Hutch got out his harmonica, Buzz sang along and chewed tobacco (sometimes while sneaking a peek at a girlie magazine), and Ava read a book (her favorite pastime) that it would abruptly dawn on Ava: The two newcomers were now present during these evenings as well. There was an additional hum of new energy. This hum was felt more than heard; after all, when they weren’t shouting insults and challenges to each other from a pair of biplanes, the two boys rarely exchanged words. Ava noticed they maintained a standoffish air while at the same time making camp side by side, right along with Buzz and Hutch.

  Ava also began to note their interests and habits. Louis regularly had his nose in a comic book—often one of the same five comic books he owned. And Harry . . . well, Harry also read, or else spent his time whittling away at something. Occasionally Ava attempted small gestures of friendly curiosity, but only with Louis. She wandered over to their side of the campfire and sat down. Louis was easy enough to talk to; he would blush but also try to hold up his end of the conversation, bringing up topics he thought might interest her. Harry never chimed in, but she could feel him listening. Ava stole furtive glances at the things he read or the items he whittled. She was able to deduce that he liked to read magazine stories about magicians and that he carved unusual wooden box contraptions that operated like puzzles. Like the wooden boxes he carved, Ava considered him something of a mystery.

  * * *

  From the very beginning of the barns
torming act, the money that the flying circus earned had always been handled in the same manner: Ava collected the customers’ payments, stuffed the money into the cigar box, and, at the end of the day, handed the box over to Earl. For his part, Earl immediately counted the contents, measuring the money against the number of rides Buzz and Hutch had given that day. He kept careful count; his greedy eyes missed nothing. After he’d counted the contents of the cigar box twice, Earl parceled out the two shares owed to Buzz and Hutch—and, later, two more for Louis and Harry—and pocketed the rest. There were no shares apportioned to Ava or her mother. The reason for this was simple, Earl argued: Cleo and Ava were his wife and stepdaughter—an extension of Earl, really—and he was the head of the household, naturally enough.

  The result of all this meant Ava and her mother almost never had any cash. Ava was less than pleased with this arrangement. Complaining to Earl got her nowhere. He either charmed his way out of the conversation or else grew irritable and short-tempered.

  Over time, she began to remedy the problem herself, reverting to an “old habit” she’d picked up during those years she and her mother were on their own.

  With two new stuntmen in tow, the flying circus left Newcastle and began to ramble through all the neighboring towns. At first they remained in the Sierra Nevada foothills, working their way south, crossing from Placer County to El Dorado, hopping between the small gold-mining towns dotted about along the tributaries of the American River. The terrain was hilly, but parts of it were still wide and flat enough to land a pair of biplanes; the farmers were happy to accept a little cash for the use of their fields, the locals were bored and starved for entertainment. The barnstorming act was prospering, and with it the members were lining their pockets with more coin than ever—all except Ava and her mother.