Escapade (9781301744510)

By Susan Carroll

Copyright 2012 Susan Carroll

Smashwords Edition

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CHAPTER ONE

It was a splendid day for a wedding—splendid,
that is, if one took no heed of the dark clouds gathering on the
horizon and the ominous rumble of thunder sounding low in the
gentle rise of green hills forming the Hudson River Valley. But for
most, the warning was lost in other noises emanating from
Westvale's fairgrounds—the shrill clamor of the calliope, the
circus barker's cries, the laughter and squeals of children, the
strange hiss of the hot air balloon being filled with gas.

For hours the yards of silk fabric had lain
spread out on the grass. Earlier, it had been a pool of blue, but
now the silk billowed, taking on shape, a giant monolith straining
against the ropes holding it earthbound. The crowd, which had
gathered before noon, eager for the spectacle, could now identify
the form of the painting on the balloon's gores. It was a demure
young woman holding the flags of both the United States and Ireland
in her outstretched hands.

The crowd's excitement mounted and the people
pressed closer. Several daring boys ran forward to touch the wicker
basket being attached to the netting of ropes that surrounded the
hissing monster. Mr. Dutton, the circus owner, grabbed up a
bullhorn to warn the people to keep back.

"La-a-adies and gentlemen, your patience
please! Very soon you will be witnessing the romantic event of the
decade, the airborne wedding of Miss Glory Fatima, our equestrienne
star, to the Fantastic Erno, the world's greatest lion tamer."

Mr. Dutton's voice boomed out over the
fairgrounds, reaching the distant canvas of a small tent where
Aurora Kavanaugh was changing her clothes. Rory’s silvery-blue eyes
gleamed with amusement at the circus man's exaggerated patter. She
discarded her white shirtwaist, the last of her sensible garb, and
folded it neatly beside a straight navy skirt and jacket.

Standing only in her drawers and camisole,
she stared at the frothy confection of peach silk she was about to
don. Rory's amusement faded. Her features were delicate for such a
determined young woman; only the firm line of her chin revealed her
strength. The pert tilt of her nose and a dusting of freckles gave
a pixieish appearance to a face that had no art of concealment. At
the moment disgust could have been read plainly as Rory snatched up
the silk gown.

Although she grimaced, she eased the folds
over her head, careful not to disturb her coiffure. It had taken
too much time and too many curses to arrange her thick chestnut
hair in the elegant pompadour to have it all come tumbling down
now. Enveloped in a cloud of silk, Rory once more caught Dutton's
blaring voice.

"Soon, very soon, ladies and gentlemen, Miss
Fatima and the Fantastic Erno will exchange their vows suspended
one mile above your heads."

"Five hundred feet," Rory muttered,
struggling into the gown's sleeves. "I said I wasn't taking them up
any higher than five hundred feet."

"All under the auspices of that daring young
lady, Miss Aurora Rose Cavenish."

"Kavanaugh," Rory corrected through clenched
teeth as she fought with the flounce and nearly lost.

" . . . the daughter of the late, great
balloonist, Mr. Seamus Cavenish."

"Aeronaut," Rory said. "My father was an
aeronaut." Although she spoke only to the small mirror on the
dressing table, her voice was filled with a quiet pride and the
familiar ache of loss.

It had been over a year since her father's
death, but her grief still struck her at odd moments. To avoid the
sting of tears, Rory concentrated on her loathing for the gown
instead.

She couldn't imagine what had induced her to
rig herself out in such a damn fool fashion. She rarely agreed with
Dutton's idiot notions.

"Please, Miss Aurora," the circus owner had
pleaded, "I know you are only going up to operate the balloon, but
it would add so much more to the spirit of the thing if you were
attired like a bridesmaid."

Rory would have told him to go to the deuce, but her
friend Gia had stopped her. Gia had been entranced with the idea of
making Rory a new gown. Rory had no delusions about her friend's
motives. What Gia, with her own happy marriage and two toddling
babies, really desired was to outfit Rory with a wedding gown. But
since there was no prospect of that, Gia had settled for second
best: the bridesmaid costume. Using her considerable needlework
talent, Gia had copied this- this thing from a fashion plate in
Harper's Bazaar.

Now that she had the gown on, Rory could see
that Gia had wrought a miracle. It was too bad it would be wasted
upon her. She didn't have the curves or the graceful carriage to do
justice to such a dress.

The puffed sleeves were going to be a great
nuisance, Rory thought. She felt as if she were wearing a pair of
miniature balloons, one rising off each shoulder, and no matter how
hard she struggled, she would never be able to fasten the dress
hooks herself. The waist was narrow even for her boyishly slim
figure. She should be wearing a corset, but Rory drew the line at
lacing herself into one of those female torture devices.

While she pondered what to do about the
hooks, the tent flap was edged aside. A tall young man dressed in
blue denim stood silhouetted in the opening. Rory whipped around,
flustered, until she saw that it was only Anthony Bertelli. Since
her father's death, Tony had become the foreman of the
Transcontinental Balloon Company. Her company now.

"Rory?" Tony called uncertainly.

"It's all right. I'm decent," she said.

Tony ducked through the opening, the tent
flap brushing the top of his tightly-curling jet black hair. His
handsome features were clouded with a worried frown.

"Rory, the wind's getting pretty stiff. I
don't think you're going to be able to go through with this
thing."

Tony always thought the wind was too stiff.
If he had his way, the balloon would only go up in conditions of
dead calm. Accustomed to his gloomy cautions, Rory ignored the
warning.

"Come on over here." She beckoned to him with
a jerk of her head. "I need your help. I can't get this damn thing
fastened."

As Tony started forward, she turned her back
to him. She sensed him pause within a few inches of her and
wondered why he hesitated.

"Come on. Hurry up," she said
impatiently.

After another long moment, she felt him
fumble with the fastenings at her waist. Rory sucked in her breath.
She did not feel in the least self-conscious making such a request
of Tony. She had known him from the cradle. He was Gia's big
brother, and as such, Rory had adopted him as her own.

Tony secured the gown's waistline. Rory
didn't notice anything was wrong until his hands moved farther up
her back. By the time he reached the fastenings at her neckline,
she could hear his breath quicken.

Rory stiffened. As soon as he was done, she
stepped quickly away from him. When she turned back to face him, he
had that funny look in his eyes again, that look that she had
surprised there too often of late, the look that Rory wanted to
pretend didn't exist.

Suddenly Rory felt awkward. "I must look a
regular mark," she said, trying to cover her embarrassment.

"No," Tony croaked, "You look swell. A real
daisy."

Rory picked up a pair of gloves and pretended
to examine them for loose threads, anything to avoid Tony's eyes.
She didn't want to look like a real daisy, at least not to her
childhood friend.

"You're pretty enough to be the bride
yourself." Tony's voice took on a teasing note. "Maybe you should
make it a double wedding."

"Go on!" Rory gave a toss of her head. "Where
would I find the groom?"

"I might do it. Your ma would have approved
of me—a good Catholic boy."

"But my father wouldn't have. You're not even
one quarter Irish."

Beneath all the joking, Rory detected a vein
of seriousness in Tony that made her uncomfortable. Tugging on the
gloves, she assumed a brisk manner.

"Is the balloon ready?" she asked.

"Almost." Thankfully Tony took the hint and
dropped the subject of weddings. He didn't say any of those words
Rory feared he would insist on saying, words that would ruin their
easy camaraderie forever.

Tony returned to the original source of his
grievance. "It's a shame your dress is going to be wasted, Rory,
but I really think you're going to have to scrub this one. There's
a storm coming."

Rory peeked out the tent flap to see for
herself. The sky was looking a little overcast and there was rain
in the air. She could smell it. The flags adorning the other circus
tents snapped in the breeze. Over the heads of the distant crowd,
Rory could see the Katie Moira tugging at her moorings. No matter
how many times Rory had seen one of the great balloons readied to
take flight, it always moved her. She felt almost dizzy with
excitement, the longing to soar free.

Rory stepped back from the flap. "The storm
will hold off," she said. "I'll be back safe before you know I'm
gone."

"That's what you always say. That's exactly
what your old man said when—" Tony broke off and flushed.

He didn't have to remind Rory what her father
had said on that last morning. Every word of it was engraved on her
heart forever.

"The eternal optimism of the Kavanaughs,"
Rory said with forced lightness, ignoring the lump that rose in her
throat.

"Eternal foolhardiness."

"That too," Rory agreed with a smile. "But,
if I don't go through with this, we break our contract with Mr.
Dutton and we don't get paid."

"Yeah, well, there'll be other jobs, other
ways to get money."

But his voice carried little conviction. He
knew as well as she how badly the Transcontinental Balloon Company
was running in the red. Whatever financial backers there had been
had vanished after Seamus's death. Not even the most daring
speculator was willing to risk capital on a company with a
twenty-one-year-old girl at its head.

Rory still had some hope of a contract with
the government. The U.S. Army was thinking of reviving its balloon
corps. One of their agents was supposed to arrive in New York this
week for a demonstration. But it would do little good if the agent
arrived to find Rory's balloon company evicted from its warehouse
due to nonpayment of the rent.

"Dutton's paying us too much money for this
stunt for us to back down now," Rory said. "Besides, Tony, you
surely don't want to disappoint a bride on her wedding day."

Before he could object, Rory seized Tony by
the arm and steered him toward the tent opening.

"I still don't like it," he grumbled.

"What an old hen you can be sometimes,
Anthony Bertelli. Will you quit your worrying? It's not even as
though this is going to be a free flight, is it? The balloon's
going to be attached to a winch the whole time, for pity's sake.
You'll have complete control. If you think the weather's getting
too bad, all you will have to do is order Pete and Angelo to wind
in the rope and haul me back down."

"Haul you down before you are ready to come?
I can imagine what you would have to say to me."

"So it will be the first time all these good
folks ever heard a bridesmaid swear. Now be off with you and make
sure that blasted Angelo doesn't pump in too much gas again."

The last time she'd gone up, Tony's
enthusiastic younger brother had generated too much hydrogen, not
allowing for the expansion of the air as the balloon rose. One of
the seams had ripped open, making for a very short flight and, for
Rory, almost a very short life.

The reminder sent Tony hastening back across
the fairgrounds. As he went, Rory heard him mutter that he should
wash his hands of all this craziness and go get a real job down at
the docks like his mother wanted. Since it was a familiar strain
with him, Rory paid no attention to it.

She retreated back into the tent long enough
to put the finishing touches on her toilette. Only one last thing
remained and that was to fasten the pocket watch to the belt of her
gown. The gold watch had become her talisman. It had belonged to
her father. Briefly she consulted the time. Quarter till four. She
snapped the case closed and for a moment cradled the watch lovingly
in her hand. Engraved on the cover was, appropriately enough, a hot
air balloon in full flight.