Under these circumstances, Ava’s “old habit” grew steadily more regular.
In the town of Folsom, with its compact main street perched on a little hill not far from the river itself, Ava decided to “liberate” a few penny candies. In the town of Gold Hill, Ava slipped a little wooden pencil up her sleeve. In the town of Coloma, Ava spotted a few mother-of-pearl buttons that would serve nicely to mend her favorite blouse.
But it was in the quaint town of Placerville that Ava found herself in a dry goods store eyeing her most ambitious prize of all: a beautiful leather-bound edition of The Comedy of Errors with a pretty gilded finish on the edges of the pages. The store mainly sold sacks of flour, hardware, and textiles, and offered only a handful of books; most were tucked neatly on a shelf. This proud volume had been turned face-out. It was clearly part of a set but had somehow lost its mates over time. Ava involuntarily bit her lip when she saw it. She loved Shakespeare, and this was a play she had yet to read. The title sounded fun, perhaps more lighthearted than the Shakespeare plays she was already familiar with, which were mostly heart-wrenching tragedies. The longer she contemplated the beautiful edition, the more she wanted it.
Instinctively, Ava darted a glance around the store. She hadn’t ever dared to steal anything this great in value. It had been easier when she was just a child, a skinny slip of a girl who was invisible to most folks. Maturity had betrayed her; despite her insistence on bobbed hair and men’s trousers, Ava knew that in the world’s eyes she had grown into a pretty young woman. And pretty young women did not go unobserved. Men and women greeted her and frowned if she did not respond with a gracious air and pleasant smile. Men, of course, demonstrated a spectrum of behavior, from blushing to the tipping of a hat brim to slurred greetings that were downright lewd. Customers and shopkeepers eyed her, curious about the nature of her purchases.
That was what the shopkeeper was doing at the present moment: eyeing Ava where she stood. If she was going to liberate the book, she was going to have to be very careful. It was June, and she wasn’t wearing heavy winter clothes that might help her hide the book. Creativity would be key. Ava looked around and spotted an older woman inspecting the store’s selection of white and floral-print calico. She wandered over to the woman, leisurely inspecting goods as she went.
“Oh!” Ava exclaimed, once she was beside the woman. “Are you sewing a dress by chance?”
“I am,” the woman replied, smiling and puffing up with pride to be acknowledged. “I was hoping to sew something my granddaughter might wear to the church picnic. My daughter seems to think calico is quite old-fashioned, but I haven’t made up my mind; I still like it . . .”
“It’s a practical fabric,” Ava offered. “And, for a picnic, nothing’s better than white muslin for the heat!”
The two of them continued on in this manner, Ava complimenting the woman’s taste, and the old woman pretending not to raise an eyebrow at Ava’s trousers. The shopkeeper grew bored and began to wave to other townspeople passing by his shop window. Ava knew what she needed most was a distraction. Her eyes hit upon several bolts of fabric stacked one on top of the other, low down, just behind the front counter.
“Oh! What about those? Have you looked at those already?” she asked the old woman. The woman turned, blinked, and squinted.
“No. I haven’t seen those . . .” she mused.
“Is that a sweet little rosebud print on that one? How charming that would be for a young girl!”
Soon enough, the old woman had demanded that the shopkeeper haul up each bolt of fabric and lug it onto the cutting table for inspection. The shopkeeper labored to deliver up the items one by one. As the old woman and the shopkeeper inspected each bolt of fabric in turn, Ava took her cue and quietly drifted away from this new transaction.
Within seconds, she had slipped the book under her blouse and down the back of her trousers. A small tremor passed through her to know she was doing something that wasn’t quite right. She wavered for the briefest of seconds. Needs must, she told herself. Earl had ensured that Ava and her mother were dependent upon him while at the same time acting stingier than Ebenezer Scrooge. If she wanted anything for herself, she would have to take it, however she could. With this thought in her mind, she recovered her resolve.
But the second she turned around, Ava understood instantly that she had made a fatal mistake. The shopkeeper was looking square at her, glaring, his features quickly filling with outrage. Her blood ran cold with dread.
“I saw you, missy!” he said, hissing in a low voice.
“Beg pardon? Saw me?” Ava replied, blinking innocently. “Saw me what?”
Now the old woman stopped to look and was frowning with concern. Ava felt her heart sink. She felt terrible to let the old lady down; how scandalized the woman would be to know she’d helped a thief!
“You know perfectly well what I saw,” the shopkeeper said. His teeth were brown—stained from chewing tobacco, she guessed. He leaned over the counter and leered, his wiry body tense, perching his elbows on the glass display counter as though to ring her up for some invisible purchase.
“I hope you don’t think you’re leaving my shop without payin’ for that book there,” he said. He paused and spit into a brass spittoon in the corner.
Ava felt a thickness in her throat as she swallowed. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Not to her—it couldn’t.
“See here,” she began, her voice betraying a high-pitched warble. “I don’t know what you mean with all this—”
“Oh, I think you know perfectly well what I mean, missy,” the shopkeeper hissed. “You stole that leather-bound volume I put up for sale over yonder! And if you want to press the matter, I ain’t too shy to call in the sheriff.”
“I . . . I . . .” Ava wavered. The words “Please don’t” were on the tip of her tongue, when she suddenly heard a new, familiar voice interrupt.
“You mean this volume, here, sir?”
Ava spun around and found herself facing Harry Yamada. At some point in the past ten minutes or so, Harry had slipped into the shop unseen. Now he stood across the room, holding up the very book the shopkeeper had just accused Ava of stealing. Ava was so shocked by this turn of events, she had to stop herself from patting her waist and backside, where she had put the book.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” Harry continued, “but might this be the book you mean? I’m terribly sorry—I picked it up from its place in your lovely display. I only wanted to get a better look at it.”
The shopkeeper stood up, his spine stiffening, his frown deepening. He squinted at the cover of the book. He looked from Harry to Ava and back again.
“Well . . .” he grumbled, clearly baffled, “I suppose that’s the volume I mean.”
Ava was astonished. However did Harry filch the book off her without her feeling it? Ava wasn’t sure how to feel about the idea that Harry might be a better pickpocket than she was. And now there he stood, holding the book up near his shoulder, standing in the back of the shop, near its original place in the display, amused and clearly pleased with himself.
“Look here, young fellow,” the shopkeeper continued. Now he’d had a moment to take in the sight of the book and, more importantly, Harry. He was relieved to see his merchandise had not disappeared, and yet uncomfortable to see it clutched in the hands of a young Oriental man.
“Look here . . . that book is for paying customers in’erested in buyin’!”
“I was contemplating the purchase,” Harry said. Ava looked again at him, and this time it was her turn to raise an eyebrow. “But I may have to think on it for a while,” he concluded.
“Well, while you do that, you can just leave that book right where you found it,” the shopkeeper replied.
“Oh,” Harry said, smiling. He restored the book to its place in the shelf’s display. “Why, of course.”
Av
a’s cheeks burned to realize: That was not where Harry had found it.
Little was said after that. Harry made a few friendly remarks, the old woman carried on with her quest to find the perfect cotton fabric to please both daughter and granddaughter, and Ava hurried out of the shop before anyone could say anything more to her.
She had made it about a block down the street when she heard Harry call her name. She turned around to see him grinning at her.
“Nice work, Robin Hood,” he said. “But I think you might be a little out of practice.”
“Oh?” Ava replied. “What would you know about it?”
Harry looked at her, smiling. “Anyone ever tell you stealing ain’t right?”
“Easy for you to say. Louis says your people are rich.”
Harry looked surprised, then regained himself. “My folks do all right,” he said. “What of it?”
“Well, you’ve probably never had to steal just to eat.”
Harry thought about this for a minute. “No,” he said. “You’re right. I haven’t.”
Having won her point, Ava wasn’t sure what to do or say next. She felt her cheeks beginning to color.
“But if I may give one piece of advice,” Harry said now.
“Oh, yeah?” she replied. “I’m not sure I could stop you.”
“If you intend to make a regular habit of this, you need to get better at your sleight of hand.”
Ava was stung. “That’s the first time I’ve ever been caught!” she said hotly.
Harry smiled, and shrugged. “At least I was here to make it reappear,” he said, obviously quite pleased with himself. “That’s my specialty.”
“Your specialty?” What was he implying—that she should thank him? “Oh, yeah?” she said, irritated. “Your specialty is that you make things reappear?”
Harry nodded. “It is,” he said. “The best magicians not only make things disappear, but they make things reappear—and always know when the time is just right.”
Ava had a flash of the magicians’ magazines she’d glimpsed Harry reading and wondered if he wasn’t quoting directly from one of the issues.
“Huh,” she grunted, looking him up and down one last time. “Good to know I’ve given you ample practice for your skills.”
“Not at all,” Harry said, still smiling his generous smile.
Annoyed, Ava turned to go. Then she paused and spun back around.
“Just for the record,” Ava said, “you caught me on an off day. When it comes to making things disappear, my sleight of hand is just fine.”
Now it was Harry’s turn to raise a cynical eyebrow. “Is it?”
“You bet.”
And with that, she produced Harry’s silver lighter from one of her trouser pockets. His eyes roved her body, looking for answers, confused—not quite comprehending at first—but as soon as they landed on her hand it was clear that he understood. His own hand moved automatically to pat his pocket, but of course his pocket was empty.
Ava laughed.
She pitched the lighter into the air and, on reflex, Harry caught it.
“See you around,” Ava said, and walked away.
* * *
Later that evening, the barnstorming troupe gathered around the campfire. For supper, Ava’s mother made a pot of stew and put some coffee on. After the last of the stew had been sopped up with a final crust of bread, the group sat around entertaining themselves, as had become their habit.
The warm day had taken on a chilly edge after the sun went down, and Ava went inside the caravan to retrieve both a book and a blanket. She had long since run out of new material to read, and settled on rereading a book she had already read a handful of times—in this case, The Red Pony by John Steinbeck. Books were her treasures; she paused as she looked over the stash she’d accumulated, feeling their spines with an idle finger. Around the World in Eighty Days. Romeo and Juliet. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Moby-Dick. David Copperfield. The Count of Monte Cristo. She tried not to think about how nice it would be to add another volume to her library. Ava knew she should simply be glad the situation did not end worse: She understood exactly how close she’d come to being caught, how narrow her escape had been.
At first, when Ava reemerged from the caravan, everyone was still more or less arranged around the campfire just as she had left them. But when she returned to the spot where she had been previously sitting, she saw something nestled in the tall grass. She reached for it and her eyes lit upon the rectangular, leather-bound shape and glimpsed the familiar gold lettering, The Comedy of Errors.
Ava was so shocked, she dropped the book like a hot potato. Her first instinct was to hide the book in the blanket—as though worried that perhaps she had stolen the book after all. She threw a wild glance around to determine whether anybody had seen her reaction. Her mother was oblivious, busy doing the washing up. Earl was deep into a glass of whiskey and occupied by polishing his favorite gold pocket watch. Hutch was gazing at the stars as he played his harmonica, Buzz was yodeling along with his eyes closed, and Louis was entranced by a comic book with a brightly colored cover. Only Harry was watching Ava.
She frowned and lifted the blanket up a few inches. There it was: the book she hadn’t managed to steal some hours earlier. Curiously angry to see it, Ava stood up and stormed off, intent on taking a walk through the dark field.
Only a few minutes into her walk, she heard footsteps rustling the tall grass behind her.
“Hey!” Harry called to her. She paused, allowing him to catch up. “Aren’t you gonna say thank you?”
“Hah. Hardly! That shopkeeper’s suspicions will go straight back to me now, won’t they? So, yes—thanks ever so much. I expect you couldn’t resist proving your point about sleight of hand, eh?”
Harry didn’t answer. She pressed on, enraged.
“I’ll have you know, I used to steal to eat, and only because there was no other way to put food on the table! But it’s only a game to you, isn’t it? A silly little magic show! And exactly which ‘magic trick’ did you use this time?” she mocked.
She couldn’t make out his face in the dark, but she saw Harry’s shoulders move as he shrugged.
“Hmm. Well, I suppose you’d have to call it . . . ‘Presto Dinero,’” Harry replied.
“Wait a minute . . . you . . .” Ava stammered, recognizing the Spanish word. “You bought it?”
“It seemed like you wanted it pretty bad.”
Stunned, Ava didn’t say anything.
“Well, anyway . . . it’s yours, free and clear. No sheriff hot on your trail.”
Ava was still speechless.
“You’re welcome,” Harry said finally. She saw his silhouette nod, then he turned and strode back in the direction of the flickering yellow and orange glow of the campfire.
17
The month of May evaporated like morning dew, giving way to the shimmering heat of June. Sunrises were filled with the low cries of mourning doves, the chatter of finches and sparrows. Noon brought near silence, and later, the afternoons thickened with the buzzing drone of insects. The days were growing indisputably hot and dry; nonetheless, the sales of airplane rides rose right along with the temperature.
The flying circus was slowly making its way along the foothills, and they had stopped in Fiddletown, a place that looked to Ava like the set of a Hollywood Western. During their first day there, by late morning, most of the members of the barnstorming troupe had gone into town. Ava’s mother reported that they were running low on provisions, and Buzz and Hutch accompanied her in order to help carry her purchases, which were likely to include a sack of flour, a heavy tin of lard, and, of course, always, always, more gasoline. Earl went into town as well, on the pretext of visiting the barber for a shave and a trim. Ava knew that, before suppertime, he would very likely find his way into a mah-jongg game or a hand of p
oker.
“Where’s Harry?” Ava asked Louis, noticing that the two of them had been left alone at the campsite.
Louis shrugged as though he could not be bothered to concern himself with Harry’s whereabouts, but then, after a brief moment, relented.
“Well, I overheard him say somethin’ about wanting a bath,” he replied.
Ava nodded, comprehending. Bathing was tricky on the road if a person had any modesty at all, and even when the local town boasted a bathhouse, a Japanese man likely wasn’t welcome. Over the years, Ava herself had often sought out a secluded stretch of river or hidden lake cove. She sighed and glanced around the campsite.
“Looks like it’s you and me and a whole lot of chores, then,” she said to Louis. “Lend me a hand?”
His face lit up with a friendly smile. “Sure thing,” he said.
Ava put him to work gathering fresh kindling while she did the washing up. After that, she fetched a wooden tray of tools from inside the caravan and threw an oily rag at Louis’s chest.
“What’s this?” Louis asked, catching the filthy rag, confused.
Minutes later, the two of them stood peering into the metal innards that allowed Pollux to stay up in the air as Ava’s hands rubbed various coils and pipes clean with mineral spirits, squirting still other parts with oil from an oilcan.
“Don’t you ever think it’s all a little unnatural?”
“What’s unnatural?” Louis asked, looking confused by the question. Ava, who had long ago learned how to clean and perform routine maintenance on an airplane engine, was now busy showing him how. It dawned on him that this was the irregularity Ava meant. “Unnatural that you know how to work on the engine of a biplane but won’t fly in one?” he asked.
Ava rolled her eyes. “No. I mean men, airplanes—the whole idea of it.”
“Are you asking me was mankind meant to fly?”
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