K. Weiland - Storming

“I figured it.” She stood easily, hands in her back pockets. “But I had to help Walter with eggs. The birds sit on them. Did you know this?”

He glanced down to where Nan’s kid stood at Jael’s side. “Yeah, I know about it.”

The boy—Walter—bit his lip, uncertainly. But it only took half a minute for the light to start dawning in his eyes. He darted his gaze from Hitch to the planes, then back. He let go of Taos’s scruff long enough to stick out his hand.

“This is Walter,” Jael said. “You have memory of him?”

“I remember.” He gave the kid’s hand a shake. He had a firm grip for a skinny little guy. Then Hitch looked back up at Jael. “Nan said he could come out here?”

She glanced at Walter.

The boy tucked his chin in one hard nod. He didn’t look too certain of the fact. But whatever the truth, it was too late now.

Hitch peered at Walter, trying to figure the right thing to say. “Well… okay then. Anyway, we’ve got to get to work.”

Jael grinned. “Wing walking?”

“No, we’ll rest you up for now and give it a try later today. Right now, we’re hopping rides.”

She did a little bounce. “Hopping?”

“ Giving rides. To all those wonderful paying people over there. All I need you to do is stand there and look…” He cast a glance over her trim figure, long legs longer than ever in those breeches and boots. He cleared his throat. “Well, like you do. Your job’s to convince these folks to come ride in our plane rather than somebody else’s.” And particularly Rick Holmes’s. “You just smile and say, ‘Right this way, ladies and gents. Only two bits a ride.’”

She wrinkled her nose.

“C’mon, you can do it. Your English is already better than it was when you first got here.”

She repeated his words—only with her thick accent, they sounded more like, “Reekgt tis vay, ladhee-es aundt ghents.” She stopped. “What is this ‘two bits’?”

“Hmm.” He looked at Walter. “How about you? Can you say it?”

The boy’s smile faded. He shook his head.

Jael laid a hand on Walter’s shoulder. “He is not liking to talk.”

“Right.” Hitch heaved a sigh and looked around for inspiration. “You know what, we’ll just make up a sign real quick, and you can hold it, okay?”

Walter tugged his sleeve and looked at him expectantly.

“You can both hold it. Now, come on. Every five minutes we waste is twenty-five cents we don’t earn.”

The three of them ran around camp until they’d found a board about as big as Taos and a quarter of a can of whitewash. No brush though, so he used the corner of his shirt to streak the paint onto the board in broad capital letters.

“All right. Now you hold that.” He handed it to Jael. “Fingers on the edge. Don’t smudge the paint.”

She looked bored already.

“You want Earl and me to eat tonight, don’t you?” He took her shoulders and turned her around to face the crowd. “Now, give ’em a smile and act like you’re having so much fun they’ll scramble to join you.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Smile.”

“All right, I smile.” She grinned wide, all teeth. Not quite Lilla’s effervescent allure, but it’d have to do.

Walter, on the other hand, seemed about ready to bust out of his skin, he was so excited. He stood next to her, one hand gingerly gripping the edge of the sign, the other petting Taos’s head. He caught Hitch’s look and stopped petting Taos long enough to give him an OK sign.

“See,” Hitch said, “he’s got the idea. You’re doing fine, son, you keep that up.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Over here, folks! No need to wait. We’re ready to take you up right this minute!” He elbowed Jael. “Wave.”

She got that shy look all of a sudden and bit her lip. But she lowered the sign enough to give a quick wave. Walter made up for it by jumping up and down and waving both arms above his head.

It was enough to start the crowd trickling in their direction.

“Good job.” He pulled his helmet back down over his ears and headed toward the plane. “Now keep it up.”

For the next five hours, he hopped rides pretty much non-stop. Earl and the gasoline arrived just in time to fill up the Jenny. They strained the gas through a chamois before funneling it into the tank, just to make sure there was no water in it. Then he was right back in the air.

With Earl helping the passengers in and out, Hitch didn’t even have to climb from the cockpit between rides. A smooth takeoff, a sharp turn, and a bounce back to the landing strip. Then another customer clambered up the wing and into the cockpit. As fast as Earl could pack ’em in, they stepped forward to pay up. It was a terrific crowd—the kind that would keep you in food and fixings for a couple months, if you didn’t have to share.

As it was, with all the pilots hopping every bit as fast as he was, the crowd finally petered out around one o’clock—judging from the ball of fire overhead. His backside had gone numb a long time ago, and his elbow was starting to ache from the thrum of the engine up through the stick in his hand. As he put the plane down for the last time, his empty stomach churned.

No more customers in sight, although Walter still held the sign. Taos sat at his side. Jael had disappeared a couple hours ago.

Hitch cut the engine. “Where’s Jael?”

Earl helped down the customer—a fat man in a black tie and a fedora—and guided him on his way. “Got tired of standing around, I guess. Went over to watch one of Livingstone’s pilots fixing up his engine.”

Hitch frowned. The barnstorming life wasn’t just about flying and fixing engines. There was the business side to think about. Maybe she wasn’t quite as cut out for this as he was hoping.

He raised his goggles and looked over at Walter.

Bareheaded in the sun, the kid stood tall, a hand on either side of the sign. Every time somebody walked by, he smiled and tilted the sign toward them.

“How much you think we made?” Hitch asked.

Earl jingled his jumpsuit pocket. “Oh, twenty bucks maybe.”

“That ain’t bad.” Hitch dumped his helmet in the seat and swung out of the cockpit. “Give me one of those quarters, and then you can go rustle up some lunch. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Sounds good.” Earl handed over the quarter and ambled back toward camp.

Walter turned around to face the plane.

Hitch walked over and ruffled his hair. “You did a good job today. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Walter beamed.

“You better get on back now, before your mama figures out what’s going on. Here.” He handed over the quarter. “Next time you’re in town, you can buy yourself some licorice or something.”

Walter took the quarter into his hot palm. He stared at it for a moment, then looked up at Hitch. Slowly, he held the quarter back out.

“No, it’s for you. You earned it.”

Walter pointed at the sign—25¢ for a Thrilling Ride in the Sky—then held the quarter back out.

“It’s been a long morning, and I’m pretty tired and hungry. I’ll give you a ride later, if Nan says you can have one.”

Walter’s face fell. He looked at the ground. Then he flashed his glance back up. Quarter still fisted in his hand, he reached into his overalls pocket and came out with a knotted sock. He set the sign down on the ground and worked the knot loose. He upended a tarnished penny in his hand. It clinked against the quarter. He held them both out.

Now what were you supposed to do in the face of something like that? Hitch stared down at him. The boy couldn’t be more than eight years old. He was skinny as a rail, knobby around the elbows, black hair falling into big brown eyes that were as hopeful as all get out. And he wanted to ride in that plane so bad his insides were twisting. Hitch knew the feeling.