K. Weiland - Storming

“That’s mutual,” Earl muttered from where he crouched, putting the finishing touches on the Jenny’s wheel repairs.

Rick ignored him. “You were perfectly convincing yesterday when you indicated you didn’t think my skills were worthy of your esteemed circus.”

“I didn’t mean you weren’t a good flyer.” Just that you’re an obnoxious fathead.

“And then there’s four. You attempted to bring on another crew member without our consent.”

“Oh, darling,” Lilla said. “Earl and I consented.”

“And five, if you truly believe that madwoman is going to help you find some secret in the clouds, then you are also mad, and I have no wish to attempt perilous stunts with a lunatic at the controls.”

Hitch glared. “All fine and good reasons, and you can add to them that I won’t miss one second of your company either. But no honorable man would quit now, when we need you the most. You know full well what’s at stake here.”

“What’s at stake here is entirely yours, and none of mine.” Rick looked at Lilla and walked around to the propeller. “Start the engine.”

“And what am I supposed to do now?” Hitch asked. “Livingstone’s rules call for at least one pilot and one performer. What do you want me to do, put Earl up there on the wings?” For all that Earl was aces with engines, he was useless in the air.

“Not on my life,” Earl said.

“Walk your own wings,” Rick said. “That would be a good trick.” He gave the propeller a spin and stepped back as the engine caught with a click and a roar. The plane rolled forward, and he ran around to clamber into the rear cockpit.

Out of all the options right now, kicking dirt, throwing rocks, or even spitting sounded pretty good. But Hitch just stood there and ground his teeth. Stymied. He could count on one hand the times he’d been truly stymied.

Rick’s plane pulled away. On the far side, Jael stood watching, hands in her pockets.

Lilla waved at her jauntily.

Rick guffawed and shouted over the engine: “Come to help that fool hunt castles in the sky, have you?”

She turned her head, without expression, and watched him go.

Then she crossed over to stand in front of Hitch. “I have come for job.”

His heart tripped.

From across the field, the latest contestant’s plane landed and taxied to a stop.

Livingstone turned to shout at Hitch through a megaphone. “Next up, Captain Robert Hitchcock!”

Hitch’s heart kept revving, and the adrenaline swept away whatever panic was left. He took Jael by the shoulders. “I don’t know what changed your mind, but bless your hide, kiddo. Thing is, we gotta go up right now. Can you do that? All you gotta do is stand on the wing. That should be enough for today.”

She chewed her lip. All that confidence she’d been brimming with yesterday during the storm seemed to have filtered right out of her. “Can we not give it practice first?”

“Captain Robert Hitchcock !” Livingstone bellowed.

Hitch looked at Livingstone doubtfully. “Well, we can ask.” He let her go. “Stay here.”

He jogged across the field. Every eye in the place followed him. The townsfolk fanned themselves with hands and hats, looking bored with the wait. The pilots were either frowning—probably thinking Hitch’s plane was still busted—or laughing—probably thinking he wasn’t showman enough to get his act together.

Showman, indeed. He ironed the creases out of his forehead and tried to look as nonchalant as possible.

Livingstone set his megaphone at his feet. With one hand, he took a spotless handkerchief from his coat and mopped his forehead beneath the Stetson. With the other, he checked his chained pocket watch.

“Well?” he said. “You are holding up these proceedings, sir. You have a suitable reason for this, no doubt? Something good for my publicity?”

“Could be.” There had to be a way to spin this to keep Livingstone from calling the bet right here and now. “I had to make some last-minute changes in my crew. I’ve got a new wing walker, a woman.” Best not to say which woman.

Livingstone curled his lip. “I have no place in my show for amateurs, sir.”

“She’s good, trust me, I’ve seen her work. But she’s a smidge rusty. Can’t you nudge me down in the round, so she can have a quick practice run?”

“There will be no changing of the order.”

“Then give us ten minutes to warm up.”

Livingstone eyed him. “Why should I?”

“’Cause it’s good sportsmanship.” He looked Livingstone straight in the eye. “And good showmanship. Ham it up to these people. Tell ’em she’s taking her life in her hands for their entertainment. They’ll eat it up.” With any luck, it wouldn’t end up being true.

“Hmm.” Livingstone ran his thumb and forefinger over his mustache. His gaze flitted from Hitch to his Jenny and then to the spectators. “All right, but ten minutes only. And do it over here where the ladies and gentlemen can see you practicing.”

Hitch breathed out his relief. “Thanks.”

“And, Mr. Hitchcock.” Livingstone waited until Hitch turned back. “Make it look good.”

“No problem.” He started running and cast a glance skyward as he went. Please, no problems.

He reached Jael and Earl. “All right, here it is. He says we get ten minutes, but we have to do it over there where people can watch.” He looked at Jael. “All you gotta do is the same thing you did yesterday—except don’t jump off and don’t get hit by lightning.” He crooked a grin, just to let her know it was a joke.

Earl pushed his baseball cap back farther on his head. “I don’t know about this. All this rush and hurry—this ain’t a good time to be pushing anybody into something like this. Maybe you should put a ’chute on her before she goes out on the wing.”

“That’s just as dangerous, if not more.” If the parachute opened accidentally while she was on the wing, it could end up hauling her right through the wires and struts. If things got too ripped up, or she got tangled in the structure, they could both get themselves killed in a crash.

“She’ll be fine.” Hitch led her toward the plane. “Just stay on the lower wing for now, where you’ll have plenty of stuff to hang onto. Later, when we can take our time, we can work on climbing up top.”

“Five seconds!” Livingstone bellowed through the megaphone.

Hitch glanced at Earl. “Let’s push the plane over to the runway. Jael can climb up when we get there.”

They each took hold of a wing strut and started pushing. For all her bulk, the Jenny was surprisingly light: nothing but varnished linen over a spruce frame with an engine screwed to her front.

Jael walked on Earl’s side of the plane. Above the rear cockpit, her head bobbed exaggeratedly up and down, as if she’d stepped into a badger hole.

Hitch frowned. The last thing they needed was her twisting her ankle right now.

They wheeled the plane around to the end of the landing strip. The ground was already dusty and grooved from many takeoffs.

“Ladies and gen-tle-men !” Livingstone shouted. “We now have something rather special for your enjoyment. Our next qualifier, Captain Hitchcock, will attempt to best all performances with his raw courage and, for the first time in this or any professional competition, an untried assistant. I ask you to please applaud this brave young woman who risks life and limb to attempt the impossible!”

Hitch’s heart started doing hammerhead turns. He scrubbed his palms against his pants. “All right,” he said to Jael. “Come on around here.”

Earl circled to stand ready at the propeller. Jael followed him, still bobbing, this time with a definite limp.