A Season of Dreams Read online

  “Well, that’s just like you, Violet. You always were an honest child.”

  Violet turned to him and said, “I am not a child! I am a woman—can’t you see that? Will you please stop treating me like a baby?” Violet had been able to sew up her dress, and it set her figure off admirably.

  Dent blinked after a casual glance and then grinned. “Well, we’ll have to talk about that. You’ve grown up to be a fine figure of a woman—but I still think of you as my little sister. Can’t forget that I had to fish you out when you fell in the creek!”

  Violet later complained to Maury, who laughed at her. “He sure is fine looking. I might go after him myself!”

  “You’d have to change your ways,” Violet said grimly. “Would you like to go out in the middle of the night to hunt coons? That’s what he asks me to do mostly, or trotlining. I hate baiting them with that stinky old crawfish bait!”

  Maury seemed to find this amusing. “But he’s so good looking that I guess a woman would have to put up with some deficiencies in a man, including baiting a trotline. It wouldn’t be too bad.” She saw, however, that the girl was offended. Going to her, she put her arm around Violet and said, “He’s a fine man. I talked to him some, and Pete thinks the world of him, says everybody does.”

  “He is fine. When I was growing up, Ray thought it was sissy to have a little sister tagging along, but Dent never did. He’d take me everywhere he went. Sometimes he’d make Ray stay home when we went hunting and it would make Ray mad.” She thought fondly of those times for a moment and then said, “If he just wouldn’t treat me like a baby!”

  Dent had seen at once that there was no room for him in the crowded shack, so he found a room down the road and invited Ray to stay with him. It had taken some of the pressure off of the small cabin, and Ray was more comfortable there.

  Pete had been amazed at how quickly Dent had learned the mechanics of an oil rig. “I’ve never seen anybody pick up anything so fast,” he said in amazement, on the third day of Dent’s visit. “You’d think you’d been drilling wells all your life.”

  “Oh, I guess I’m smart enough with machines and stuff,” Dent shrugged. He disliked being praised for this and said, “You say you’re going to get some more pipe? Lemme’ go with you. That truck of yours needs to have some work done on it, but I’ll do that tomorrow.”

  “All right. I’ll tell the others we won’t be back before five o’clock. It’ll take us that long, I reckon.”

  The two men ate a good lunch, piled into Pete’s old ramshackle Ford truck, and left.

  It was late afternoon and supper was almost ready when Maury said, “Seems like it’s late for Dent and Uncle Pete to be getting back.”

  Ray had come to spend the time with the kids. He was feeling much better and both the children loved to play games with him. Bailey always sat and watched, for he could not understand the mechanics of some of the games. He looked up suddenly and said, “I think I hear the truck coming.”

  “That’s them all right,” Maury said, looking out the window. “Better get the food on the table, they’ll be hungry.”

  They heard the truck stop, and then a door slammed. When the front door opened, it was Dent. He had a white bandage over his left eyebrow and his right eye was discolored. “Trouble,” he said. “Make a place for Pete—he’s been hurt.”

  “What happened?” Maury demanded, but then at once fixed a cot for Pete as Bailey hurried outside. He was back almost at once carrying Pete in his arms as he would carry a child. Pete’s leg was encased in a cast and his face was bruised and scarred.

  “Who did this? What happened, Pete?” Leslie moved slowly over to touch him as Bailey laid him down.

  Pete’s mouth was so swollen he could hardly speak, and one eye was almost completely closed. “Kingman’s men,” he grunted. “They jumped us. If it hadn’t been for Dent, they might’ve killed me.”

  “I wish I’d had my .38 with me,” Dent remarked. “But it was in my suitcase. It won’t be there anymore, though,” he added grimly. “I’ll be carrying it in my pocket from now on!”

  “What happened?” Ray asked quickly, although he sensed the answer already. They all listened as Pete, obviously in pain, grunted out the story.

  “They lay in wait for us when we went for the pipe. They picked a fight with me and had got me down.” A smile came to his tortured lips. “There were four of ’em and all of a sudden Dent came roaring out of the store. He’d picked up an ax handle and he busted two of ’em’s heads and they went out. The other two jumped him and it was quite a battle, but he broke one’s arm and the other ’un lit out. I was out of it. They had already broke my leg.”

  Every eye turned to Dent. He said with embarrassment, “It wasn’t much of a fight. If they hadn’t caught Pete off balance, we’d have mopped up the floor with ’em.”

  “What about his leg?” Leslie whispered.

  “I took him to the doctor. Leg’s broke; not the worst kind of break, but he’ll be off it for a while.”

  A silence went over the room. Everyone knew exactly what this meant. “I guess that means we’ll have to take Kingman’s offer, won’t we, Pete?” Leslie touched his bruised lips gently. “I know you hate it.”

  Pete closed his eyes and clenched his fist. “I truly do hate it! But that’s all there is to do.”

  After a brief silence, Dent said, “Nope—I decided I’ve had enough vacation. You need a good hand on that rig until you get on your feet. I reckon you can sit in a chair and tell me and Bailey and Ray what to do.” He looked over at Bailey and said, “Bailey there’s got the back for it and Ray—we can find some use for him, I reckon.”

  Pete looked at the man in astonishment. “You couldn’t do that, Dent!”

  “Tell me why I couldn’t!”

  At that moment, Violet felt more pride in Denton than she’d ever felt for anyone, except Bailey. She reached out and touched Dent’s arm gently. “You can do it,” she whispered. “We can all help.”

  Dent grinned and stared around the room defiantly. “I guess I can become an honorary member of this Stuart club.” He looked across the room at Maury and winked with his good eye. “I might even make some time with that good-looking Maury Stuart there! What do you say, Sweetheart? We might even party between hitting oil strikes.”

  Maury laughed aloud. It was a merry sound, and she came over unexpectedly and kissed Dent right on his bruised mouth. “I think we might be able to work that out,” she said.

  Violet stared at the pair and when Ray whispered, “They make a handsome couple, don’t they?” she turned an angry look on him.

  “Don’t be silly! She could never be a mountain woman.”

  It was Pete who said slowly, “I don’t think you understand what this means. That Kingman bunch will use knives, dynamite, guns—there ain’t nothing they won’t do.”

  He went on to explain how impossible it was, but when he was finally finished, Denton DeForge only had one thing to say. “I reckon us Stuarts can handle anything those Kingmans can throw at us!”

  AN OLD FLAME

  A harsh January wind was sweeping across Chicago as Jerry brought the ancient two-seater in for a bumpy landing. The wind caught the airplane, sharply shoving it to one side so that he had to struggle to bring it back onto the runway. Gritting his teeth, he held the ship in place, striking the earth in a series of hard bumps—hoping the tires didn’t blow.

  Taxiing the plane up to the hangar, he shut the engine off, stretched, and climbed stiffly out of the cockpit. The mechanic on duty came up grinning. “You didn’t win any prizes on that landing, did you, Jerry?”

  “Nope. No prizes. Guess I’m losing my touch.”

  Entering the hangar, he left a note thanking Mackelhaney for the use of the plane, then left, shivering as he stepped out into the icy wind. There had been considerable snow, but it had melted off. Now winter was crouched over Chicago, waiting to fall upon the Windy City. He longed to take a cab, go to his parents’ hou
se, bury himself in his room—but his cash was practically gone. He caught a bus that went within four blocks of the house, then walked the rest of it. As soon as he stepped inside, his mother came to put her arms around him and kiss him. “You’re frozen!” she exclaimed, reaching up to touch his ears. “Why didn’t you take a cab?”

  Jerry pulled his hat off and tossed it at the hat rack. To his surprise, it caught on one of the pegs. For all his expertise as a pilot, he had never been able to hit that hat rack. Shrugging out of his overcoat, he handed it to Rose, who hung it up. “I’ve got plenty of time,” he said. “No use wasting money.”

  Rose paused to give him a careful glance, then nodded. “Come into the kitchen. I’ll fix you something to eat.” She led him in, where he thawed out while she warmed leftover roast and potatoes. Rose sat down, and Jerry gave the details of his flight to Oklahoma.

  She listened carefully, noting the lines of fatigue around his eyes. When he was through eating she said, “Now, you go take a hot bath and go to bed. Leave those clothes out so I can wash them.”

  “All right, Mom. I think I will. I need to get up early in the morning to go looking for work.”

  “You’ll find something,” Rose smiled, assuring him. She pushed his black hair back off his brow where it had a tendency to fall. She noted again the stubborn look about his face and wished that there was some way she could change this element in her son’s character. But he’s like Amos, she thought, and all the other Stuarts—stubborn as mules! “Go to bed now. I’ll fix you a nice breakfast in the morning.”

  The next day, Jerry rose early, ate breakfast, and gave his report, again, to his father. “Going out to see if I can’t round up some work. May be late getting in.”

  Amos reached into his pocket and pulled out a billfold. “Here, you must be running low.”

  “No, I’m okay,” Jerry said shortly. He shook his head and both Rose and Amos saw his face set into a determined mode. “You’ve taken care of me enough. Time I started making my own living.”

  After Jerry left, Amos shook his head. “He’s worried about a job—and I guess he’s got a right to. There must be twenty million men out of work.”

  “But he’s a skilled pilot,” Rose said. “Surely there must be something.”

  Amos got to his feet and went to stand beside her. He let his hand trail across her ash blond hair for a moment. “I guess that field’s overcrowded,” he muttered, “just as all the rest of them. I wish he’d forget about flying. It’s not too late for him to go to school, learn a profession. We can help him.”

  “He’ll never do that.”

  “No, I guess not. But I can hope.” He smiled, leaned over, and kissed her. “I’ll be going to New York. I’ve got to meet with Hearst. He wants a special story on prohibition.”

  Rose’s mouth tightened. “I suppose he’s decided to end it.” She did not like Hearst, who was an arrogant man. “It’s not working very well, I’ll admit.”

  “No, the country was never really in favor of prohibition,” Amos said. “It’ll be voted out sooner or later. Till it is, all it accomplishes is to make racketeers like Capone rich.”

  “And the Castellanos, too.”

  “Yes, I guess that’s right. Nick and Eddy seem to be prospering. It’ll catch up with them someday, though. That kind of wrongdoing has a way of bringing everyone down who’s involved with it.”

  “It hasn’t brought Capone down.”

  “They’ll get him, too, sooner or later,” Amos said. He kissed her again, got his coat, and left the house. As the cold wind struck him, he wondered about Jerry. If a man only has one son, he thought, I guess he worries about him more than if he had a dozen!

  For three days Jerry searched everywhere he could think of for work. He’d been flying for a long time, first as a stunt pilot working for his uncle Gavin. He had even flown in bootleg liquor for Nick and Eddy Castellano for a time.

  He had flown crop dusters, as second pilot on fledgling airlines, and as an airmail pilot. During these years, he had met almost everyone involved in the small world of flying. But, as he ran through his list, despair soon set in. At three o’clock he was standing in the office of Johnny Pesky, who ran a transport service of sorts. “I’ll work cheap, Mr. Pesky,” he said. “I need a job pretty bad.”

  Pesky was a small man who had flown in France during the Great War. He had not been an ace but had a vivid scar on his right cheek, a memento of those times. Taking the stub of a cigar out of his mouth, he looked up from his desk and said sadly, “If I had a job, Jerry, I’d take you in a minute. You’re a good pilot.” He puffed on the cigar, sent the purple smoke rising in the air, then jammed it back between his teeth, shaking his head. “Trouble is, there just ain’t nothing. Have you tried over at Southern?”

  Jerry refused to let the fatigue and doubt show on his face. Smiling confidently he said, “Oh, sure, I tried there. Marty may be able to use me in another month. Well, thanks, Mr. Pesky.”

  “I’ll call you if anything comes up. How’s Gavin?”

  “Still flying with Northern Airline. Don’t think it’s gonna last much longer, though. It’s on its last legs, he says.”

  Pesky stared down at the desk, planted his palms flat, stared at them for a moment, then shook his head as he looked up. “Not many people have the money to fly these days. More of them are riding the rails.”

  “It’ll have to end someday. Times’ll get better.”

  As he stepped out of the office, he felt that the times had him in a vise, but the depression had done that to the whole country. A memory flashed into his mind. He’d been in New York, and on the Lower East Side he had seen a line of men waiting for a bowl of soup and a piece of bread at Jerry McCauley’s mission. There must have been two or three hundred men there, each of them representing a failure of some kind.

  “I could be one of those guys in that line,” he muttered. “I’ve got to find something!”

  To keep his spirits up, he started whistling “When the Moon Comes over the Mountain” slightly off key. Usually he was able to shake off depression. This time, however, he couldn’t do it. As he walked along, thoughts came to his mind that he could not shove aside:

  I’m sick of being a failure. Here I am, thirty years old, and what have I got? Nothing. A few clothes, not a dime in the bank—nothing to show for my life. His lips grew tight as he moved along, noting that everyone’s clothes were worn and unpressed. Very few were sharp dressers anymore. Uncle Gavin and Uncle Owen at least did something in the war. Owen got a Medal of Honor and Gavin was a hero. They’ve got that to look back on. They’ve got families, too. I don’t have anything!

  Again the long line of men waiting for soup flashed into his mind. He shook his head angrily and turned toward the north side of town.

  He walked all the way to a restaurant where he could not afford to eat, but the owner had part interest in an air circus that was operating in the South. It was a small chance and would pay practically nothing, not to mention being dangerous. But desperation drove him there.

  He stepped inside and took off his hat, aware that the waiter was looking at him with a jaundiced eye. Probably tell me to go around to the back door, he thought bitterly.

  As he started to speak to the waiter a voice called, “Hey, Jerry!”

  Turning, he saw Eddy Castellano coming out of the main restaurant. At forty-two, Eddy was heavier than the last time Jerry had seen him. He had the typical Italian dark hair and eyes and olive skin. He was wearing an expensive suit, and a diamond ring glittered on his finger as he reached up and clapped Jerry on the shoulder. “Hey, Kid! Long time no see. Come in for a bite?”

  “No, Eddy, I wanted to see Mr. Taylor.”

  “Taylor, he ain’t in town, Kid. He’s gone to Pittsburgh.” Seeing the slight shadow fall across Jerry’s face, he said, “Hey! I already ’et but you come on. I’ll buy you a steak and you can bring me up-to-date on all the family. I’ll do the same for you with all of us Castellano typ
es.”

  Jerry protested, but Eddy would not take no. He grasped Jerry’s arm and practically dragged him into the restaurant. When they were seated at the table, which was covered with a snowy white tablecloth and had a single deep red rose in a crystal vase, Eddy said, “Hey, Tony! Bring my friend here the best steak you got! Potato be okay, Jerry? Sure, and a bottle of that wine like I just had.” He settled back, lit up a huge cigar, and asked at once, “How’s the family, Kid?” He sat puffing while Jerry gave him a quick rundown. Finally he leaned forward and said, “I guess we’re kinda in-laws now, since my kid brother married into the Stuart family.”

  Jerry grinned abruptly. “I think so. How’s it feel having foreigners mix in with your bunch?”

  Eddy laughed loudly, “Ah, you always were a kidder! But let me tell you, Nick and me are proud of Mario, and Ma is too. You’d think there never had been nobody got married! And now, they’ve got a couple of kids. I think Ma’s bored everybody to death talking about those newest grandkids of hers.”

  “They’re doing fine. Christie’s real happy.” Jerry hesitated, then said, “Mario’s in his own office now?”

  Instantly Eddy’s smile disappeared. He took the cigar out of his mouth and nodded shortly. “That’s right,” he said curtly. “He ain’t got nothing to do with me and Nick.” Bitterness tinged his voice and he said, “That what you wanted to hear?”

  Jerry looked directly at the gangster. “That’s what you wanted, Eddy, you and Nick, to keep Mario out of the rackets.”

  Eddy stared at the younger man for a moment and then the smile came back. “Yeah,” he said. “Course that’s what we wanted. The kid’s doing great. Now, how about you?”

  Jerry hesitated and shrugged his shoulders. “Not much going on in the flying racket. I’m looking around, though.”

  “Hey! You need a job?”

  “Sure, you know of anybody that needs a pilot?”

  “Naw, not nothing like that. I’d tell you if I did. But there ain’t no sense going around without work. Me and Nick can always use a good man.”