Aces (16 page)

“Sure.”

Outside the hotel, a bunch of pilots were piled into the circus’s puke-green, beat-up Oldsmobile. It was a soft-top, and missing
its windshield. Lester Stiles, wearing his flying goggles and leather helmet, was behind the wheel, gunning the engine to
keep it from stalling.

“Achtung!” Lester called out as Gold and Hull approached.

Gold flinched, feeling unsure. If they expected him to laugh, forget it. He’d be friends with them as their equal, not their
clown.

Lester grinned. “Sorry, Herman, I just had to get that last one out of my system. Squeeze in, pal. We’ve been waiting for
you.”

The show site was a yellow-tan expanse of hard-packed earth and cropped grass, bordered by tall cottonwoods and chokeberry.
The field was up against a straight-edge gravel road, set like a tile beneath the faded blue sky, amidst the amber and green
vastness of the plain.

It was late afternoon, and hot. The high temperature and low barometer had combined to make poor flying conditions. Added
to that, all through the difficult show the Jennys’ radiators had been boiling over. One pilot had been scalded by a blast
of rusty steam and had needed to see a doctor. He’d been rushed back to Doreen, a prosperous farming and manufacturing town
fifteen miles away, on the banks of the Blue River.

Gold had just finished his Red Baron stint, ending the show. The crowd—business had been good here the past few days—was gradually
disbursing. The pilots, anxious to get out from beneath the broiling sun, were peeling out of their sweat-soaked flying gear
and hurrying to the automobiles for the drive back to the hotel in Doreen.

Gold was sitting in the scant shade cast by the scarlet Jenny, waiting for her engine to cool down so that he could check
it over. While he waited he thought longingly about a nice cool bath and some lemonade.

“You ready to leave, Herman?” Hull Stiles called to him.

Gold waved him off. “I’ll catch a ride in later. My temperature gauge was in the red all through my performance. I want to
make sure I haven’t done in the Hisso.”

Hull nodded and headed for the cars. One by one the automobiles set up dust clouds as they made their way off the field, kicking
up a spray of gravel as they fish-tailed onto the road. The terrain was so flat that the cars were visible long after the
sound of their engines had faded. Gold watched them go, feeling envious.

His thoughts turned back to the Hisso. The Jenny already had a custom-built, extra-large radiator. Maybe he could rig up some
sort of supplementary, extra-capacity cooling system to give him an extra margin of safety…

He found a scrap of paper and a pencil in his trousers pocket and began a preliminary sketch of his idea for an improved radiator
design. As he hunched over his drawing, drops of sweat running along his nose plopped onto the paper, blurring the pencil
lines.

“
Entschuldigen Sie
…”

Gold glanced up, startled to hear German. The man standing before him was gray-haired and barrel-chested. He looked about
sixty. He was wearing work shoes, a pair of faded denim overalls that were the same washed-out blue as the sky, and an old-fashioned
white shirt, minus its detachable collar.

“
Guten Tag, Herr Strohgruber
,” the farmer greeted Gold. “
Ich heise Carl Schuler
,” he introduced himself, doffing his wide-brimmed, sweat-stained linen hat. He cocked his head, his brown eyes speculative
as he regarded Gold. “
Sprechen Sie Deutsch
?” he asked politely.

Gold shook himself out of his surprised stupor. “
Ja! Et tut mir leid!
” Gold apologized. “
Sehr angenehm, Herr Schuler
. Yes, indeed, I’m very pleased to meet a fellow countryman,” he repeated, enjoying the opportunity to speak German. “But
I’m afraid my name isn’t Strohgruber. It’s Herman Gold.”

“A name is a name,” Schuler philosophized. “What matters is that you’re a German, like myself.” He thumped his chest. “I am
pleased to meet a fellow countryman.”

Gold, smiling, got to his feet to shake hands. “Did you see the show, Herr Schuler?” he asked in German.

Schuler nodded. “My daughter and I. My wife, she wouldn’t come. She said it would make her dizzy just to watch. My daughter
even took a ride.”

“But not you, sir?” Gold smiled.

“Ah, no, Herr Gold!” Schuler laughed. “Never in a thousand years would you see me in such contraptions! I don’t even like
motorcars,” he confided. “My daughter, however! That child is afraid of nothing.”

“We pilots have found that it’s the children who take to flying the best,” Gold agreed.

“But you in your German airplane!” Schuler shook his head in admiration. “You were quite wonderful!”

“
Danke
,” Gold said shyly.

“Herr Gold,” Schuler began. “I understand that your show will remain here?”

“Through tomorrow.”

“The ticket seller assured me that you really were German, but I wanted to find out for myself,” Schuler continued. “It’s
been a long time since I have had this pleasure of speaking my native tongue with someone outside of my family. Would you
care to come to my home for supper this evening?”

Gold hesitated. “I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble—”

“No trouble at all!” Schuler said heartily. “Please, Herr Gold. It would give me great pleasure. You know, when I came to
this country with my father and mother I was a mere boy. Everything was so strange! How I longed for home! You must be homesick
for Germany a little, yes?”

“Often, I am,” Gold admitted. “Especially since we arrived here in Nebraska.”

“Here is not like Germany,” Schuler nodded solemnly. “So, you will come? You’ll have a taste of home. My wife is from Alsace,
but she nevertheless cooks true German style.”

Gold looked down at himself. He was wearing dark brown, greasy moleskin trousers tucked into his high boots, and a threadbare,
gray flannel work shirt that lay plastered to his sweat-soaked torso. “I’m afraid that I’m hardly dressed to come to supper.
All of my good clothes are back at the hotel in town…”

“It means nothing to us!” Schuler firmly declared. “We’re a farming family. After supper I will take you back to the hotel
in Doreen.”

“You’re very kind. I accept your generous invitation, Herr Schuler.” Gold smiled. “Give me just a few moments to see to my
airplane.”

“Of course,” Schuler said. “My daughter and I will wait for you in our wagon at roadside.”

So this poor fellow still drives a wagon
, Gold thought as he quickly performed a cursory but thorough maintenance check on the Hisso. Gold considered using a horse-drawn
wagon to get around in this day and age to be the height of hicksville, and typical of Nebraska. He thought about borrowing
a circus jalopy so that he could drive himself back to town after supper, but decided against it. He didn’t want to take the
chance of insulting Herr Schuler by suggesting that he was above the farmer’s modest means.

Gold knew from his reading that agriculture in the Midwest had been hit hard by the postwar economic downturn. All through
the fighting, and for a couple of years after the Armistice, the United States government was buying all the crops and livestock
these farmers could produce. A lot of these farmers mortgaged themselves to the hilt, paying too much for land in order to
expand, thinking the government-inflated prices would last forever. They didn’t, and a lot of farmers in these parts lost
everything when the bubble burst. Captain Bob had said that the reason the people hereabouts had the cash in their pockets
to patronize the circus was due to the fact that Doreen had a strong industrial economy… And there was some tree-farm operation
that employed a lot of people.

The Hisso looked as if it had survived the radiator boil-over. Gold nevertheless asked the mechanics—who had to remind him
to switch back to the English language—to pay special attention to the cooling system. Gold tried to get the worst of the
grime off his hands with a kerosene-soaked rag. He dug out of his back pocket the battered, gray felt fedora he’d taken to
wearing to keep the sun off his head and headed off toward where Schuler was waiting in his wagon.

The two horses hitched to the wagon were huge and brown, with massive, shaggy hooves. It had been a long time since Gold had
been around any mode of transportation that didn’t drink gasoline. He’d never liked horses anyway. He gave these beasts a
wide berth. They stank to high heaven, but as he watched them constantly flicking their tails to shoo the flies from their
backs, Gold decided he was grateful for their presence, and the open-air wagon. He didn’t exactly smell like roses at the
moment, either.

Herr Schuler’s wagon was big and black. It had polished brass lamps glinting in the sunshine, and bright red, spoked wheels.
There was one seat for the driver, beside him, a space for cargo, and behind him, three rows of tufted, brown leather benches.
Schuler was seated up in the driver’s seat, idly twirling the reins.

“Ah! There you are, Herr Gold,” Schuler said in German. “My daughter is just over there.” He pointed out a figure in a blue
calico dress, her blonde hair plaited into two thick braids, looking over the airplanes. “She can’t get enough of your flying
machines. Erica!” he called out.

She came skipping towards them, braids flying, slender and long-legged, like a colt. Gold, watching her, felt his heart begin
to pound. She was no child, she was a woman; perhaps eighteen, or maybe nineteen. She had large brown eyes set far apart,
and a slightly crooked nose that somehow only added to her beauty.

“Herr Gold, allow me to introduce my daughter, Erica,” Schuler continued in German.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said in English. “I hope you don’t mind, but I won’t speak German, although I can, and very well,”
she declared. “I just happen to think it’s old-fashioned. Don’t you agree?” she demanded.

“Well… I—” He looked helplessly at Schuler, who was laughing.
Dammit
, Gold thought.
I’m almost twenty-two! Why am I the one feeling like a little kid?

“So now you’ve met Erica,” Schuler said… in English.

This girl gets her way
, Gold thought. He noticed that she had no German accent when she spoke English. She must have been born in America.

“Climb aboard, the two of you,” Schuler said. “Mother’s waiting supper.”

Gold took her arm to help her aboard. He found touching her to be electrifying. She slid across the bench. Gold took a seat
on the springy leather beside her. Schuler released the brake on the wagon and snapped the reins. The horses moved off, settling
into a steady canter once they were on the gravel road.

“How far is it to your farm?” Gold asked Schuler.

“You’re already
on
my farm,” Schuler replied, over his shoulder. “I have six hundred acres.”

“Really!” Gold tried not to sound surprised. “What do you grow?”

“Trees,” Schuler replied. “I own a tree nursery farm.”

“
You
run the tree farm?”

“The Reinhold Schuler Nursery? Yes, Herr Gold.” Schuler glanced back, an amused smile on his face. “Why do you seem so surprised?”

“Papa told me that you aren’t really a count,” Erica interrupted, saving Gold from having to come up with a reply to Schuler.
“I was disappointed.”

“Didn’t you enjoy the show?”

“Very much, but don’t you think it’s dishonest to pretend to be someone you’re not?”

“Sometimes a little dishonesty doesn’t hurt. In this case it made for a better show, don’t you think?”

“You probably didn’t even know the Red Baron,” Erica challenged.

He let it go. He glanced at Schuler’s back. With the noise of the horses and the creak of the wagon the farmer didn’t seem
to be able to hear the subdued conversation going on behind him. He remembered what Schuler had said about his daughter being
a daredevil. “When did you break your nose?” Gold asked.

“What?” She turned toward him, a startled look in her wide-set eyes. Gold realized he had her undivided attention. A man could
get used to that, he decided.

“You don’t like my nose?” she asked defiantly. She said it in a way that seemed to suggest that if that were the case, Gold
was certainly in the minority among young men.

“No,” Gold said quickly. “I mean, yes—I do like it,” he blurted, wondering how Captain Bob would use the gift of gab to get
himself out of a mess like this. He shot a glance toward Schuler, who still seemed oblivious. “I think it makes your beauty
special,” Gold said softly.

Her smile was like the sun breaking through clouds.
Thank you, Captain
, Gold thought.

“I bet I
know
when and how you broke it,” he said.

“I bet you
don’t
know,” she said, amused, rewarding him with another smile. “And I want—an
airplane
ride if you’re wrong.”

“You had an airplane ride, today.”

“I want another.” She licked her lips. “In your
red
machine.”

Gold nodded. “You were a little girl when you broke your nose,” he said. “A tomboy. The other children dared you into some
foolhardy stunt, and that’s when it happened.”

Her mouth opened and closed. She didn’t say a word. She just faced straight forward, blushing a delicate shade of coral.

Gold settled back to enjoy the ride, very pleased with himself, and his guess. His intuition was also warning him that it
was a rare thing to get the last word with Erica Schuler.

The Schulers’ farmhouse was tall and stately, a white-painted extravaganza of gingerbread trim, capped with a slate gray,
mansard roof. The house was set apart from the rest of the farm buildings, and surrounded by tall shade trees and a whitewashed
picket fence. As the wagon pulled up in front of the house, a shaggy, black and white dog roused itself from its slumber on
the front porch and began to bark, wagging its tail.