Kathleen Y'Barbo (7 page)

At the man’s apparently stunned silence, Millie paused. “Do you not know the theory?”

“Of course I do.”

She had the distinct impression the man thought she was joking. “I told you I was a fellow scientist. Are you surprised a woman would be interested in a man’s field?”

“I find it most interesting, actually.”

“Me or the field?” she dared ask.

“Yes.” Affecting a serious expression, he shrugged. “Suffice it to say I have added features that will allow me to maneuver in and out of tight spots if need be. It is part of the design of the...” She felt him shake his head. “Never mind. All you need to know is that it works, forward or backward.”

Millie shook her head. “If that is true, then what were you testing?”

He let out a long breath. “Fair enough. In order to secure a patent, certain criteria must be in place, including test flights in different locations and at different altitudes and atmospheric conditions.”

“And Memphis on New Year’s Eve fit the criteria?”

“An empty roof of an empty building on a night with a slight wind,
no moon, and no precipitation fit my criteria. I just happened to find all that in Memphis. Now, if there are no more questions?”

She shook her head. There was no point in delaying the adventure any further. She took a firm grip on the belt and rested her head against his chest once again, squeezing her eyes closed.

“All right,” he began. “One...two...”

And then he jumped.

“You said four!” she uttered before speaking became impossible and the sensation of falling caused an odd lurch in her stomach. Then came the yank upward as the rope caught. At least she hoped it was the rope.

“Look around.”

Millie did as the stranger said. Turning her head to glance behind her, she could see that the edge of the roof was almost close enough to touch. She dare not look down.

“Looks like we are doing fine. Hold on tight while I release the rope.”

She felt the rumble of the aviator’s voice against her ear.
Lord, please do not let us die
, she prayed as she renewed her grip on the leather strap.

A peek down and fear instantly held her immobile. Even the breath in her throat froze. So much for being a brave adventurer.

The device jerked into motion, and she gasped as she slammed her eyes shut once more. This time there was no sensation of flying upward or jolting downward. Instead, she felt little beyond a slight rocking motion.

Opening one eye just a bit, she determined their speed of descent was indeed quite slow. Emboldened, Millie opened her eyes and swiveled her head to look up. The balloon, or whatever the stranger preferred to call it, blocked her vision completely.

How could such a thing, bereft of hot air or any other type of gas that she was aware of, keep them afloat? The science of it defied all she knew of lift and drag, though her study of the subject was most incomplete.

“It works with the same gas that powers street lamps,” he said as if he heard her thoughts.

“And it is safe?”

“Extremely.” He shifted positions, his arm reaching to pull down some sort of gauge. “I have not crashed it yet.”

Her toes tingled inside her dancing shoes as she kicked one foot against the chill air. The sensation of floating felt oddly exhilarating.

She spied the Haverty Building and could also see the spires of the Customs House. There was the Masonic Temple, and, if she looked closely, she could see Queensware Building. And was that Mr. Robinson’s apothecary?

“Ready for landing?”

“Actually,” she said as she angled a look up at the handsome stranger, “were you serious when you asked if I might like to fly around with you a bit first? If that is part of your testing, that is.”

“Now you want to fly with me.” A statement, not a question. “Are you known for changing your mind?”

“Yes,” she said, emboldened by the prospect of the once-in-a-lifetime moment. “I believe I am.” She shook her head. “What I mean is, I am ready to continue flying if you are not too cold. I feel awful that you’ve given me your coat.”

His grin became laughter. “I’m fine, my brave society scientist,” he said as he made an adjustment to his machine that caused them to cease their downward drift. “Let’s see Memphis together.”

They rose on a gentle breeze, drifting past the open windows of the Peabody Hotel just as the crowd inside began their countdown.

“Is it that time already?” Millie tried not to think of who might look out and see her.

“As my watch is in a pocket I cannot reach without disturbing your person, I will have to bow to the timekeepers at the Peabody.”

The way he spoke made her laugh. “No, we certainly could not disturb my person, could we?”

They drifted past the far end of the Peabody just as the crowd called out, “Three...two...one...”

A symphony of sounds rose as a collective “Happy New Year!” came rolling toward them on the breeze. Somewhere inside the ballroom, Father likely stood with a champagne glass lifted. Was he toasting the first few moments of 1889 with her husband-to-be? Perhaps they were toasting the wedding to come.

“Happy New Year,” her companion said as he nudged her arm. “This is not how you expected to spend the midnight hour, I suspect.”

“Happy New Year to you,” she said as she craned her neck to try to see him. Failing that, Millie leaned back against his shoulder and looked at the stars, which appeared much nearer tonight than they ever had before. Snuggling into the stranger’s coat, she grinned.

“I wager the coming year will prove most interesting,” he said as he reached to make an adjustment to one of his gadgets.

Indeed, 1889 would be a most interesting year. It already was.

Four

January 1, 1889

Memphis

W
ith only the occasional bump of wind to propel the flying machine, it floated at a lazy speed toward the western horizon, bobbing over the wide Mississippi River and the collection of steamboats, barges, and other assorted river craft moored some distance below. Here the stars glinted silver on brown as the muddy river flowed toward the Gulf of Mexico hundreds of miles to the south.

“What a nice night for flying,” he said. “The breeze has died down enough to make traveling pleasant.”

“Pleasant,” Millie echoed. “Do you do this often? Test flying devices, I mean.”

His response was a chuckle and then a swift, “No.”

“No, I do not suppose you would.” She snuggled deeper into the stranger’s coat. “So, what is this machine’s purpose? Other than flying around Memphis in the middle of the night.”

“That is classified.”

“I see. Sounds very official.”

“No comment,” he responded with what sounded like a healthy measure of humor.

It occurred to Millie that she should feel some measure of fear despite her knowledge of aerodynamics. After all, her feet rested on a narrow board a great distance above the water, and there was no good or discernable
reason in established theory why she or her companion should remain aloft in this creation.

And yet there was something compelling about this adventure. Something memorable, yes, but also something extremely peaceful about gliding about beneath a carpet of stars God hung in their places.

Millie let out a long breath. Perhaps she was meant to fly. She had certainly enjoyed her Parisian adventure and had even gone back several times before the ship sailed for home. So why not take this leap to a smaller craft? A giggle escaped her.

“You are enjoying this.”

“I am, actually,” she said. “I am no stranger to flying, though the balloon I insisted my father buy was much larger and certainly not this much fun.”

“Is that so?” She felt his hands moving as if adjusting gadgets or possibly changing directions. Still, they remained on course.

“He never bought it, of course,” she felt compelled to add. “He claimed I might get into trouble with it.”

That he had also insisted she would bring further embarrassment to the family by drawing attention to herself with the contraption went without mention.

“That necklace of yours,” the stranger said, changing the subject. “It has a Jefferson wheel cypher on it, does it not?”

“Of sorts. Are you familiar with cyphers?”

“Somewhat.” He paused to fiddle with one of the strings hanging from the balloon. “They are a hobby of mine.”

Interesting. “Remind me to ask you how to open this one when we are back on the ground.”

“I can tell you that now. The rings are coded. The only way to solve the cypher is to figure out the numeric code.”

“And that is the puzzle I have been trying to solve. Something is inside and I would love to know what it is.”

“Where did you get it?”

“My mother gave it to me. It was hers.” Her fingers reached to toy with the chain, now hidden beneath the stranger’s warm coat. “It belonged to my grandmother before that.”

Making a wide arc, the stranger turned the balloon back toward the city itself, gliding soundlessly over the spire of the Central Baptist church. Millie giggled again in spite of herself as she stretched her toes to see if somehow she might snag her shoe on its topmost point.

She could not, of course, but the effort was a memory she would likely never forget. And then she spied a familiar poplar tree, a road sign she knew and, beyond that, the chimneys that soared above her home on Adams Street.

It was a grand pile of bricks built to erase the shame of her father’s less than stellar personal conduct. The home, though breathtaking on the outside, was museum-like on the inside.

And yet the imposing edifice had done its job. Amazing that the image of wealth could do just as much as actual money in the bank.

Father certainly would not have secured his place at the Cotton Exchange if it became known that, depending upon the moment, he was all cotton and no cash. That much Millie had learned courtesy of the quiet demeanor that caused her father to forget she was about while speaking of business matters.

But Sir William would save the day...unless he changed his mind.

With that thought, her good mood plummeted. An obligation for another day, she decided, and not one worth ruining a perfectly spectacular evening over.

She mentally shrugged off the remnants of the thought to give the house a closer look. A fire had been laid in all but one of the chimneys, and the smoke that curled up wove around them in wispy gray plumes.

The lone chimney without a flame was the attic room she had claimed as her own private sanctuary for the practice of reading, science, and the arts. There was never a fire there unless she was in residence and requested it.

Lamps had already been lit in her bedchamber, but Father’s end of the house remained dark. Likely he had taken rooms at the Peabody tonight, the better to keep his evening entertainment discreet. For he was nothing now if not conscious of his image as an upright citizen. All that work for nothing? Millie sighed. Were she to be spotted floating
across Memphis in this contraption, all her father’s work to regain his status would be for naught.

At least the stranger had used black for the fabric encasing the balloon,
and his clothing was of a similar hue. If only Millie were wearing the same. Unfortunately, even with the covering of the aviator’s black coat, her gown would be easily spotted even by the most myopic of Memphis citizens if they happened to look up.

“Perhaps we have ventured far enough,” she said.

“Yes, of course.” He once again reached up to fiddle with the gadgets. “I assume you do not wish to be returned to the roof of the Cotton Exchange, so where might I leave you?”

Where indeed?

She glanced around but could find no place where they might land the craft without being spotted.

“I know,” he said. “I have just the place.”

“I hope somewhere private so as to keep this evening’s trip just between the two of us.”

“I prefer that as well,” he said as Millie felt his arms moving behind her. “In fact, I will have to ask you to promise not to repeat any details of this trip to anyone. I probably should have mentioned that before we left the Cotton Exchange.”