Griselda Takes Flight

by Joyce Magnin

  "Look," I said pointing. "That's Cliff. He got her running again."

  "So what, Griselda? Maybe he's leaving town."

  "Oh, I don't think so. He told me he likes it here." I looked up at the plane. Now I didn't know much about airplanes but I thought he might have been saying hello the way he tilted Matilda's wings over my house.

  Zeb snorted like a bull and closed the car door.

  "It was nice of Stu to lend us his Caddy. It's so . . . luxurious." I slinked across the seat, a little closer to Zeb. He slipped his arm around me.

  "You know, you have nothing to be jealous about," I said. "I am not interested in Cliff Cardwell."

  Zeb fell silent a moment and then removed his arm and adjusted the radio until he found a song he liked. "Ain't No Woman Like the One I Got" by The Four Tops. He seemed to relax and pull me closer. "I know, Grizzy. I'm sorry for the way I've been acting. I don't know what got into me."

  "It was kind of silly, Zeb. But thank you for saying you're sorry. Now maybe we can have a nice evening."

  Zeb pulled up outside The Pink Lady. I was just about to open the door when he grabbed my arm. "You know what? Let's get steak. It's such a gorgeous night. Let's go to the steak and seafood place, what's it called?"

  "The Crabby Corral. But it's expensive, and we might need a reservation on a Saturday night."

  Zeb kissed my cheek. "I feel like splurging on my best girl." "Best girl," I said. "You got others?"

  He pushed my shoulder a little. "Come on. Let's go."

  Zeb pulled the big, blue Cadillac into the Crabby Corral parking lot. He had to park a few hundred feet from the front door but that was OK. I kind of enjoyed walking the distance with him. As it turned out we didn't really need a reservation although one would have gotten us seated sooner than thirty-five minutes. But it was OK. We waited outside on the restaurant's porch. The place was nice, made up to look like a shack of sorts with lots of wood and shingles that seemed to be peeling, but I figured that was for effect. A life preserver, yellow with age, had the name Crabby Corral in bold, red letters all around. It advertised their name while a tall, cement seagull stood on a pylon that was connected to another pylon by a thick, strong rope. Zeb drank a cold draught beer while I sipped a cherry Coke with a long-stemmed maraschino cherry in it.

  All in all it was shaping up to be a nice evening until I saw her. Gilda Saucer sitting at the bar. She held a red swizzle stick, which she used to stir a small golden drink and then wiped the stick across her lips much to amusement of the bartender.

  "Let's get out of here," I said leaning across the table and nearly igniting my hair with the table candle.

  "What? Why?" Zeb was still cutting his steak into one-inch pieces.

  "She's here. Gilda. I don't want her to see us."

  Zeb looked up. "Really? Where?"

  "At the bar," I whispered through clenched teeth. "She's right over there. On the end. In the tight red skirt doing things with her swizzle stick."

  Zeb's eyes grew wide. "Really? What kind of things?" He looked toward the bar. "Oh, I see her now. Maybe we should say hello."

  "No, are you nuts. I don't want her to see us. Just finish your steak and then we should leave, quietly."

  "Why? What's the big deal?"

  "I don't know. I guess I don't want to think about her or Walter or Stella this evening."

  But much to my embarrassment and chagrin, Zeb Sewickey decided he just had to speak with Gilda. He stood up and waved. "Gilda. Over here." He did this three times until Gilda finally saw him. She appeared shocked at first but then quickly settled down and walked—no, sashayed—toward us.

  "Well, hi," she said still holding the swizzle stick. "Fancy meeting you here." She looked at me and I could feel definite tension rise between us.

  "I thought you'd be at Greenbrier," I said.

  That was when Zeb turned chivalrous and rescued the damsel. "Now, Grizzy," he said. "You can't expect the girl to spend all her time at the nursing home."

  "Oh, but I was just there," she said, her big cow eyes with too much makeup dancing in the candlelight. "But a girl can only take so much misery."

  I expected her to swoon.

  "I only came in here to get a drink. Lord knows a girl needs a drink now and again, ain't that right, Griselda?"

  "I wouldn't know." I sipped my Coke.

  Zeb settled back in his seat. "Would you care to join us?"

  I couldn't believe he had just asked her that. To which she replied. "Well if you don't mind, I am starved. That food they serve me over at the nursing home ain't fit for hogs. But that's not to say I don't like those baloney sandwiches you make, Zeb."

  "Thank you," he said. "But a girl can only handle so much baloney."

  Ain't that the truth, I thought. And I can only swallow so much of her baloney also. As much as I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt I was really starting to have qualms about her. Big, giant, neon qualms that something was not quite right about Gilda Saucer and maybe even Walter.

  There went the evening and my patience with Zeb Sewickey. Even though she had already told me, she went on and on about the buried treasure.

  "Now I don't suppose either of the two of you know anything about that treasure."

  "Not me," Zeb said. "This is the first I'm hearing about it. Have there been many people looking for it?"

  Gilda sneaked a steak fry from Zeb's plate, dipped it in ketchup and munched it. "Now that I don't know. I mean I guess other folks have been looking. It's been missing for over eighty-some years now."

  "And no one has found it in all those years." Even I heard how incredulous I was.

  "That's right," Gilda said. "Walter said it was buried up there near that Sak . . . Sak-a-something Quarry."

  "Sakolas," Zeb said.

  "There you go," Gilda said. "Well, anyway, that's what he was doing when he got bumped on the head. Darn fool climbed that heap of junk out there and probably lost his footing and came tumbling down just like Jack and Jill."

  "And broke his crown," I said as I rolled my eyes.

  Gilda chortled. "You are a funny one now, ain't you?"

  Zeb chewed the last of his steak. "Do you think he was close to finding it?"

  "Well see now," Gilda said as she swiped a third fry. "That we don't know. But the police officers that found him said they went back and looked around but they didn't see any signs of a treasure. They even asked some of the folks who live up near there if they saw it or knew anything. But they denied it."

  "At least that's what they claim," Zeb said. "You might never know if someone found the treasure."

  That was when Gilda turned on the waterworks. Only a few drips at first. She blew her nose in the cloth napkin meant for Zeb. "I just don't care about it, the treasure I mean. I just want my Walter to wake up so we can get married and live happily ever after. He's my only treasure."

  The she looked at me and burst into tears. Big, giant crocodile tears that ran down her cheeks and splattered on the table. "I'm . . . I'm sorry. I just can't help it."

  Even with the tears I still had a shaky feeling inside, butterflies with huge wings batted around in my stomach. I couldn't put my finger on it but something was not right and I found myself thinking that Mildred Blessing had Gilda pegged. Something stunk in Bright's Pond and it wasn't just Nate's pumpkin fertilizer.

  15

  The next morning I rushed over to the Kincaid farm fully intent on telling Stella that I saw Gilda at the Crabby Corral. I found her out back with Bertha Ann spraying for bugs. She looked like a visitor from outer space all dressed up in a vinyl suit and wearing a face mask with some kind of respirator attached to it. She was squirting some kind of liquid all around Bertha Ann's bottom.

  "What in the world?" I said.

  Stella stopped spraying slipped her face mask off. "Oh Griselda, I didn't know you were stopping by."

  "What's with the get up?"

  "Oh, I hate using pesticide, so I wear this protective gear. N
ate doesn't care. He'd spray in his underwear if he could."

  "It does smell bad, like it could give you cancer."

  "The company swears up and down that it's safe to humans."

  She dropped the spray nozzle on the ground and pulled off her silver gloves. "Let's go on in the house."

  "Good idea, I'm not too keen on pesticide either."

  I waited until we were inside and seated at her kitchen table with tumblers of iced tea and Lorna Doone cookies before telling her about Gilda.

  "At the Crabby Corral, really?" Stella said. "She was there? You sure it was her?"

  "Yes. Zeb and I had dinner there and—"

  "You don't say. You mean that cheapskate finally sprung for a nice dinner. That boy must be in love."

  "Listen, Stella, she was dressed in a . . . a swanky outfit—tight skirt, red lipstick—and I tell you she was flirting with the bartender, the way she pulled that swizzle stick between her lips."

  "Griselda, what are you saying?" Stella chewed a corner off a cookie.

  "I don't know what I'm saying exactly except something doesn't feel right, Stella. I'm beginning to think Mildred is right about that woman."

  That was when Nate came barreling in from outside. "Why'd you stop spraying?"

  "Griselda came by. I'll finish up in a bit."

  Nate glared daggers at me.

  "Look," I said, "why don't you finish up with Bertha Ann and meet me later? Maybe we can go to the nursing home for a visit."

  Stella glared back at Nate. "Fine, Griselda. Pick me up later."

  "I'll be by around two this time," I said. "I got some errands and work and stuff."

  I climbed back into my truck steaming like clams. I had about had it with the way Nate treated Stella. I wanted to tell her to stop letting him holler at her like that. The weigh-off was still three weeks away. And what's that compared to having a brother in a coma for crying out loud?

  I dropped the gearshift into drive when I heard a quick rap on the passenger side window. It startled me and I turned quick expecting to see Nate or Stella. It was Cliff.

  "Hey, you ready to go up. Get your head in the clouds?"

  "Today? Now?"

  "Sure, why not? It's beautiful day. The sun is warm. The birds are chirping, God is in his heaven, and all is right with the world."

  "How can you be so cheery all the time?"

  "Just wait until I get you flying. You'll see. I took Ruth yesterday."

  "What? When?"

  "Towards evening. We buzzed your house. Did you see us?"

  "I saw you but I had no idea Ruth even wanted to fly in your plane."

  "Come on, let's go. I'll tell you all about it."

  "OK, I guess my day can wait. Jump in. I'll drive us."

  Now that was weird. I could not believe that Ruth didn't come running to tell me, unless she thought I'd be jealous or some dumb thing. Or she was so traumatized that she is home in bed in the fetal position.

  Cliff and I drove the short distance to Hector's Hill, and I will admit that the second I set eyes on Matilda I felt my heart go pitter-patter. There was something magnificent about her. Yet, I felt a twinge of trepidation as I stepped out of the truck.

  "Ruth was a little frightened," Cliff said. "She made me take her down after just a few minutes. She kept covering her eyes and missed the whole thing."

  "That sounds like Ruth. I am really surprised you got her to go."

  We walked toward the plane.

  "I saw her walking down the street near that woman's house—the one with the dog."

  "Ivy."

  "Yeah. I had just gotten Matilda ready to go and was on my way back from the café. I was itching to take her up when Ruth stopped me and asked me about the plane. I told her she was ready to fly and asked if she'd like to come."

  "And she went. Just like that?"

  "She said she thought her Bubba would be proud of her for taking the risk."

  "Wow. That is not like Ruth Knickerbocker."

  "Like I said. She was not too keen on it when we were up there."

  Truthfully I didn't know if I'd do any better than her.

  Matilda looked mighty pretty sitting there on Hector's Hill, strong, capable yet delicate in ways with thin cables and wings that on first glance appeared thin and breakable. I watched as Cliff made his way closer. He touched the wing with a gentle hand. Then turned toward me and with a flourish and a deep, chivalrous bow said, "Your chariot awaits, my lady."

  "Why thank you, my good man," I said as I strode closer.

  He led me around to the other side of the plane and opened the passenger door. He took my hand and helped me up on the footrest. "Go on, you've already sat in the driver's seat."

  It wasn't the first time I sat in the plane. This time I expected the crinkly sound the vinyl made, but this being the first time I was going for a ride my stomach quivered a bit even though I had been dreaming of flying ever since Cliff had landed in Bright's Pond.

  "Just don't touch anything," Cliff said.

  "Don't worry. I wouldn't dream of it."

  Cliff climbed into his side and then instructed me about the seatbelt, which he helped secure tightly across my lap. "That stick in front of you is called the yolk or stick. It's kind of the steering wheel. But for this ride I'll do the steering."

  I smiled. "I still can't get over all the dials and gadgets."

  "Well, yeah, I pointed most of them out to you the last time. Now those pedals on the floor are important. Don't touch them."

  "Aye Aye, Captain."

  With that, Cliff turned some dials and pushed a couple of buttons and then turned the key, just like in a car ignition, and then in an instant the propellers were spinning, the engine was growling, and we were rolling down Hector's Hill picking up speed as we went, faster and faster until suddenly and without a single hesitation the plane lifted off the ground. My stomach went wobbly and I grabbed the door handle but quickly pulled my hand away and sat with both hands in my lap, folded so tight my knuckles turned white.

  I heard some squawks on the radio, but Cliff didn't seem to pay them any mind.

  I looked out and down as the ground fell farther and farther away until it seemed a patchwork below. "How high are we flying?"

  "Barely 2,000 feet. Just relax."

  "Oh, I'm fine." And I was. I had never felt anything like it in my life. I was free and soaring over Bright's Pond. I could pick out the church and my house. The Kincaid's Pumpkin Patch looked pretty and green and brown and orange with a dot of purple near the middle that I knew was Bertha Ann in her tent.

  "Look," I said. "That's Bertha Ann."

  Cliff laughed. "You're enjoying this."

  "I am, Cliff. I don't feel afraid at all."

  "Ruth never opened her eyes. Sat there with her hands over face the whole time."

  "That's too bad because the world is so pretty from up here. It's smaller, you know."

  "Look," he said. "The mountains ahead."

  "I can see the trees, Cliff. From Hector's Hill they just look green or brown in winter but up hear I can actually see trees, evergreens and maples."

  "OK, I'm going to turn now. Head back. We'll fly over Paradise."

  "The trailer park?"

  From that high I could see all the multicolored trailers lined up like assorted crayons with trees and cars and a river of black asphalt snaking its way through the park. I took a deep breath and sighed it out as my head felt a little light.

  "It's normal," he said reading my mind. "Lots of people can get a little light-headed. Just the altitude. You'll be fine."

  "I'm not worried. I . . . I love this!"

  Just a few short minutes later we were starting back down, and before I knew it Cliff had landed the plane and maneuvered it back to where she sat on the hill overlooking Bright's Pond with such a spectacular view. I barely moved in the seat the whole time but I needed to catch my breath.

  "Thank you, Cliff. That was amazing."

  Cliff touch
ed my hand. "I bet you'd make a great student. Ever think about getting your pilot's license?"

  My heart sped up as the propellers slowed down. "Me? Fly a plane? I don't know."

  "Why not? Think about it. I might even be able to teach you."

  "I don't know. I might think about it, but, oh boy, me? Fly a plane? But I sure did have fun."

  I pushed open the passenger door and Cliff took my hand and helped me down. My knees buckled under me. Cliff held me up. "It happens. Got to get your land legs again."

  Land legs. I didn't want land legs anymore. I wanted to fly.

  16

  You really seemed to like flying," Cliff said on the way back to the Kincaid farm.

  "I did. I guess I'm kind of surprised. I thought it would scare me the way it scared Ruth, but it didn't. It was amazing."

  In my periphery I could see a wide, toothy smile stretch across Cliff's face. "Well I am the world's best pilot," he said. And then he chuckled.

  "I have no doubt about that. But then again I never flew in a plane before."

  "Really? Never even in a jet, a commercial airliner?"

  "I've never really been out of Bright's Pond, except an occasional trip to Wilkes-Barre or Scranton."

  "Oh, dear, you need to see the world, Griselda. It's a beautiful place, especially from six thousand feet."

  "Is that how high we flew? Six thousand feet?"

  "Not this time. We were only at two thousand, which doesn't sound like much when you compare it to TWA or Delta. Commercial jets fly at thirty."

  "Thousand?"

  He laughed. "Yep."

  I pulled up to the Kincaid house and glanced at my watch. It was now nearly noon. I hadn't realized I had been lollygagging that long.

  "Can you come inside? I'm sure Stella would like to see you," Cliff said. "Nate is probably out in the fields."

  "Oh, I can't. I already visited with Stella and I really need to get to the library before Boris Lender figures out that I kind of make up my own hours and fires me."

  "Ah, never happen. Say, Griselda, I've been meaning to ask you, do you think there is any truth to Walter being in these parts to look for treasure, stolen loot from a train robbery?"