Hope Takes Flight Read online

  The crowd watched, spellbound, as Beachey executed perfect stalls, turns, loops. Then he flew along the runway upside down, seeming to hang by his toes, before making another turn, this time holding his hands free.

  Gavin breathed, “Just like a bicycle. No hands!”

  For an hour, Lincoln Beachey proved, at least to the satisfaction of the crowd, his claim that he was the world’s greatest flyer. When he landed, he crawled out of the plane and walked away, waving his hand to acknowledge the cheers that greeted him.

  He found Amos immediately. “Let’s let this crowd thin out a little bit. After the mechanics service the plane, I’ll take our young friend here for a ride.”

  Thirty minutes later, Gavin, his hands trembling and his knees so weak he could hardly stand, walked across the field to the plane and, at Beachey’s direction, clambered into the seat.

  “Be a little bit crowded with two of us.” Beachey grinned. “But a one-seater is better for stunting.” He looked at Gavin carefully and said, “You don’t get sick easily, do you? From motion, I mean?”

  Gavin shook his head. “No, sir. I’ve never been sick in my whole life.”

  “Good. Well, here we go.”

  The mechanics stepped forward and spun the propeller, and the engine fired off with a roar that almost deafened Gavin. Sitting inside the plane, the noise was so much greater. He gripped his knees until his knuckles were white, and Beachey advanced the throttle.

  The plane moved across the rough field, gaining speed. The ride was bumpy, like a wagon going over broken ground, Gavin thought, and he bounced up and down, scarcely able to breathe.

  And then—suddenly—the bumping stopped, and Gavin felt for the first time what the birds must feel. The plane rose in the air effortlessly, no bumping, only weaving slightly from side to side as the wings dipped. He looked down and saw the crowd growing smaller, individual faces shrinking to mere dots, the tents of the midway like handkerchiefs spread out on the ground. As they rose still higher, he saw the buildings of downtown Fort Smith, looking like toys in the distance.

  Up and up and up they went. Finally the aviator banked the plane and yelled to Gavin. “That’s what it looks like from up here. How do you like it?”

  “Oh, Mr. Beachey. There ain’t nothin’ like it, is there!”

  Beachey laughed and slapped the boy on the shoulder. “No, there really isn’t. We’ll look for a little while.”

  Cruising around the serene blue sky, he showed Gavin the river and the fields. Once he flew through a low cloud, and Gavin was delighted with the moistness of it. Like a fog, he thought. Like a white fog.

  After they had flown for perhaps twenty minutes, Beachey said, “Here. Put your hand on this stick.” Startled, Gavin gave him a wild look. Beachey laughed, his lantern jaw wagging as he shook his head. “Come on. I’ll give you your first flying lesson, Gavin. Take over.”

  Gavin never forgot the next fifteen minutes. The pilot showed him how to make the plane rise and fall, how to bank and turn. There was nothing in the young man’s life to compare with the exhilaration of this experience. He made the plane dive slightly, then rise, and as they flew around the blue sky, Gavin turned and looked at the pilot, saying again, “There ain’t nothin’ like it, is there, Mr. Beachey?”

  Beachey knew the boy’s heart, for his own dreams had been the same. He patted Gavin again on the shoulder. “No. There’s nothing like it. Nothing in the world.”

  “Could we do some of them tricks you did before?” Gavin asked hopefully.

  “You sure you want to do that, young man? It can be a little bit scary.” When he saw the boy nodding furiously, he relented. “All right. Fasten that belt. Gotta be sure we’re locked in.” First, he saw to it that Gavin’s belt was fastened securely, then said. “Okay! Here we go!”

  He pulled back on the stick and the plane roared upward. Suddenly Gavin found himself upside down, and then gliding back to a sitting position. He gave a wild cry of pure ecstasy as Beachey made the loop. “Do it again! Do it again!” he cried.

  The pilot was enjoying himself, too, almost as much as his young friend. He loved to stunt, and he put the little plane through a series of rigorous exercises. Turns, banks, stalls, loops. Finally he said regretfully, “Well, we’d better go back. I know you hate to get back down to earth.”

  Gavin stared at him, startled. “How did you know that?”

  “Because you’re like me. I always hate to put my feet on the ground again.” A strange look crossed the aviator’s face. “I wish there was some way a man could stay up here always and never have to go back to earth again.”

  He landed the plane skillfully, and the two got out. At one side of the field, the family was waiting to greet Gavin. They rushed toward him, their questions tumbling over one another.

  “What was it like?” “Were you scared?” “Weren’t you afraid you’d fall out?” The questions rained on him from right and left.

  Finally, Gavin got a chance to answer. “It was fine!” he said, his face flushed, his eyes sparkling. “It was better than anything ever was.” He stood there with a rapt expression on his face, then turned to Amos. His jaw tightened, and he said firmly, “Amos, I’m gonna be a flyer!”

  Amos stared into the face of his younger brother and nodded. “I expect you will, Gavin. I expect you will.”

  The air show put on by Beachey was the climax of the trip to Fort Smith, and it was Will who said, “I guess we better get on back. I’ve had about enough excitement for one day.”

  Amos glanced at Owen and a mischievous light sparkled in his eyes. “Oh, come on now, Pa. I’d planned on taking us all to one of those moving pictures that’s so popular now.”

  Christie glanced at Amos and saw the fun in his expression, and how he was watching Owen, and caught on at once. “Why, sure,” she said, “we’ve got to see one of those! C’mon, Pa. I’ve heard so much about them. Besides, we never get to do anything out on that old farm!”

  The brothers all joined in, and finally Will Stuart gave in. “Well, might as well go whole hog, I reckon. What kind of a picture is it down there at that place?”

  “I saw it in the paper,” Amos said. “Tilly’s Punctured Romance.” He thought for a minute. “Fellow named Charlie Chaplin’s in it. And a woman named Marie Dressler. I’ve heard it’s pretty hot stuff!” He cocked an eyebrow and stared at Owen. “But I guess we’ll be all right as long as the parson’s along.”

  Owen flushed. He knew he was being teased, and said lamely, “Well, I guess the parson won’t be there this time. Doesn’t seem right for a minister to be seen in a place like that.”

  “Oh, come on, don’t be an old woman, Owen!” Pete Stuart said. He turned his light blue eyes on his older brother. “Tell you what. I’ll sit behind you, and if anything comes on that there screen that you hadn’t oughta be lookin’ at, I’ll put my hands over your eyes. Okay?”

  Owen laughed in spite of himself and glanced over at Allie, who smiled back. “All right. I guess that’ll answer. Let’s go do it, then.”

  They piled into the cars, drove to the Apollo Theater on Main Street in Fort Smith, and saw what was for some of them, their first motion picture. They came out of the theater, shaking their heads.

  William Stuart said, “I’ve been to three county fairs and two snake stompin’s…but I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that!”

  Getting into the cars again, they made their way out of town, wound around the highway, and finally turned off on the old dirt road. By ten o’clock, they were pulling up in front of the house.

  “C’mon in,” Will said. “We can have a little more fun before we go to bed.”

  Amos began to protest, but Peter pulled him inside, saying, “Put them kids of yours to sleep over on a pallet. I want to hear Pa play that fiddle some. Owen, I ain’t heard you play and sing in a long time, neither. Let’s get at it and have us a party.”

  Soon every lantern and lamp was lit, and the house echoed with the sounds of the fi
ddle and the guitar and the voices, singing the old songs. Once, Owen glanced around at his father, wondering what he thought about his wife not being there, but Will seemed completely content. So, Owen shrugged and merely whispered to Allie, “I guess Pa’s learned to put up with her ways after all these years.”

  Finally at midnight, Amos shook his head, saying, “We’ve got to get out of here. I won’t be worth a dime in the morning. And those kids will be up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

  He started getting the kids together and, when they were ready, he thought of something. Reaching into his pocket, he said, “Pa, I got you a present while I was in the drugstore. Thought you might enjoy reading it.” He handed Will a small book.

  His father stood there for a moment, then pulled his glasses out of his pocket and put them on the end of his nose. Staring at the book, he read aloud: “Tarzan of the Apes.” He looked up at his son and cocked one eyebrow in a familiar expression. “What in tarnation is this, Amos?”

  “Book by a fellow named Edgar Rice Burroughs.” Amos grinned. “Look at the picture on the inside. You girls might be interested, too.”

  Will opened the book, and the girls all crowded around as he held it at arm’s length.

  Lenora said in a shocked fashion, “Why, that man don’t have nothin’ on but a little ol’ piece of underwear!” Christie giggled, and Gavin whooped with laughter. Then the other men crowded around and they all stared at the picture.

  “It’s a popular book in New York,” Amos explained. “All about an English nobleman who gets lost in the jungle as a baby and is raised by the great apes.”

  They pored over the book, studying the illustrations of the mighty ape-man in the company of huge gorillas, fighting lions, and sitting astride an elephant.

  Will Stuart shook his head. “I don’t believe a blamed word of this stuff,” he snorted. “Them apes ain’t got sense enough to raise no human baby. And if they could, what’d he be like? He’d talk gorilla talk, wouldn’t he?”

  “Naw,” Logan denied. “He’d talk just like we do. It’d be born in him.”

  Amos and Owen laughed, and the others joined in. Owen asked, “You think if a Chinese took one of our American babies and raised him, when he grew up, he’d speak English, Logan?”

  Logan nodded stubbornly. “Yep. It’s born in us,” he stated firmly.

  Amos laughed loudly and slapped his brother on the shoulder. “Maybe you’re right at that.”

  The visitors left the house, got into their cars once again, and drove back to the hotel. All the way, they talked about the family and the changes that had taken place since their last visit. When they reached the hotel, they went to bed at once without any further conversation.

  Lylah slept like a log and got up and dressed the next morning with her eyes feeling gritty. When she went into the hotel restaurant, she saw that the others were already seated. “Good morning,” she mumbled as cheerfully as she could.

  When none of them answered, she looked around with a puzzled look in her eyes. “What’s wrong with all of you?” she asked. “Somebody die?”

  Amos tossed a newspaper onto the table, turning it so she could see the headlines. “That’s what’s wrong,” he said.

  Lylah read the heavy black print: LUSITANIA SUNK BY GERMAN U-BOAT. Looking up, she asked quietly, “What does this mean, Amos?”

  “The Germans have been sinking English boats with Americans on board, but so far, Wilson’s been able to keep us out of war. But the Lusitania was an American ship, carrying passengers, not munitions.” Amos’s face was set and stern, and he tapped the newspaper with his fist and shook his head. “It’s too late now. Wilson will have to declare war on Germany.”

  Lylah sank into a chair.

  No one was hungry, and they ate very little. The news seemed to have cast a pall over everyone in the dining room. Others were staring at the headlines, and conversation seemed either strained or slightly hysterical.

  When breakfast was over, some of the family prepared to leave, and Amos and Lylah were left alone. “I’ve got to get back to New York right away, Lylah,” he said. “I think Mr. Hearst will probably send me to Europe. I know he’ll want me to go interview Teddy Roosevelt.”

  Lylah had remained very quiet. Now she said, “Amos, do you have room for me to go back to New York with you? In the car, I mean?”

  “Why, sure, Lylah. I didn’t know you wanted to go.”

  Looking down, Lylah traced the design of the tablecloth with her finger. There was a pained look on her face, and Amos knew her well enough to recognize that something was bothering her. “What is it? What’s wrong, Sis?”

  She lifted her eyes and said, “I’m going to Europe, Amos.”

  “Europe!” Amos blinked his eyes in startled amazement, then shook his head and began talking rapidly. “Why, you can’t do that, Lylah! I’m telling you, this thing is going to blow up! You’d be caught over there, right in the middle of a war!” Lylah just sat there, watching him. Finally he asked, “What do you want to go to Europe for?”

  She took a deep breath and looked straight at Amos. Lylah was still a beautiful woman, who looked much younger than her years, he thought. Fatigue had dulled her eyes, and her lips thinned as she pressed them together, a sure sign she was troubled.

  “Amos, I’ve got to get away from America. I have a chance to go to England with a company that will be doing a repertoire of American plays. I’ll be the starring actress—” She hesitated, then said, “It’s James Hackett’s company.”

  “James Hackett!” Amos stared at her and his forehead creased in a frown. “I would’ve thought you’d had enough of him, Lylah.”

  Lylah shook her head, knowing what he was thinking. Hackett was the man she’d run away with ten years earlier. He’d taken her out of Arkansas, and they’d carried on a torrid romance for two years, before he had turned to another woman. He had also led Rose into a bad life before she found the Lord in a New York mission.

  “There’s nothing but business this time, Amos,” she said quietly. “I’m getting older. If I’m going to make it as an actress, I’ve got to do it now. If I can make a name for myself in England and maybe some other parts of Europe, I can come back in triumph. Then some of the big producers here will listen to me. I’ve got to do it, Amos. I’ve got to do it.”

  Amos drew a deep breath and said, “You’ll do what you say you’ll do, Lylah. You always have.”

  “Don’t hate me, Amos,” she said. “You can’t hate me. I won’t let you.”

  Amos smiled. “No, I’ll never hate you, Lylah. We Stuarts have to stick together.” He reached over and clasped her hand warmly. “This country…no, this world…is never going to be the same again. But you and I and all the rest of the Stuarts have got to stick together!”

  4

  “THE LIGHTS ARE GOING OUT!”

  The dock at New York Harbor was packed with hustling, bustling people, and as Amos and Lylah stood at the rail looking down, the huge British liner, Hartford, uttered three short, raucous blasts.

  “Well,” Amos said reluctantly, looking at Lylah, “that means I’ve got to go.” He threw his arms around her, and she clung to him almost fiercely, then stepped back.

  “I’ll be all right, Amos,” she said, trying to smile. “Don’t worry about me.” They had made the trip back from Arkansas to New York in record time, but now that she was ready to leave America, somehow it didn’t seem right. But Lylah was a woman who had determination to the bone, and now with all her skills at acting, found it possible to smile and say, “I’ll come back the toast of Europe. You’ll have to have an appointment to interview me, Amos!”

  A smile pulled at Amos’s lips, but he was worried. “You know,” he said finally, “the Germans are torpedoing passenger ships, and this is an English ship at that. I wish you’d wait and go on an American ship at least. You can meet your troupe over there later.”

  “No, I’ll travel with the others. We’ll be all right.” She felt he
r throat constrict and knew that if he didn’t go soon, she wouldn’t be able to control the tears that welled up in her. She leaned forward, kissed him, then slapped him on the chest. “Get out of here, you old newshound, you! I’ll be back before you know it!”

  Amos said quietly, “I pray that God will watch over you, Lylah.” Then he turned and squeezed between the throngs lining the deck of the Hartford.

  When he had made his way down the gangplank, he turned and looked up to find her watching him. She lifted her hand and waved. He waved back. Somehow, even though she was surrounded by other passengers, and even though she was traveling with a troupe of her fellow actors, his sister looked very lonely, very isolated, almost alien, standing there on the crowded deck of the huge ship. He waited until the ship began to move and then watched Lylah’s figure grow smaller as the liner picked up speed and finally disappeared.

  Amos threaded his way through the crowd moving toward the parking lot. He drove at once to downtown New York, weaving expertly through traffic composed of horse-drawn cabs and loud automobiles, finally arriving at the offices of the New York Journal, the creation of William Randolph Hearst. Amos parked the car, entered the building, and walked rapidly to the office of the editor.

  “Hey, Amos! You’re late. Better get in there,” said one of his fellow reporters—a tall, gangly man named Stevens. “The old man’s having a genuine fit. I think you’re his raw meat for the day.”

  Amos grinned, waved his hand at Stevens, and entered Hearst’s outer office. The receptionist, a short woman with gray hair, stared at him with obvious disapproval. “It’s about time. He said for you to come in as soon as you got here.”