it.” He started to leave, then turned around. “Oh, and this book is about an orphan, too. You must see orphans can have the most amazing journeys.”
“But Huck Finn wasn’t an orphan. He had Pa Finn out there running around.”
“He was still left to fend for himself. Huckleberry was as alone as a boy could be.” Mr. Dahlgren nodded. “ God jul , young Henry.”
“ God jul , Mr. Dahlgren.”
Two days later Henry found the book splayed open in the mud of the pigpen when he got back from helping Mr. Dahlgren mend a fence. He snatched it up and tried to wipe off the mud, then tucked it in his coat before Mr. Dahlgren could see. How had it gotten out there?
The next day, Emmaline had passed Henry on her way to the henhouse. She barely slowed when she spoke to him for the first time ever.“This was a very strange Christmas. First one that Papa didn’t give me a book.”
She’d made it to the chicken-yard gate before Henry shook off his surprise that she’d spoken at all. The first thing that hit him was guilt; he’d received something intended for her. Then his stomach grew cold when her meaning sank in.
He called after her, “All you had to do was ask for it.”
She paused, halfway through the gate. “For what?” Then she went about her business of collecting the eggs.
S taying on the move was probably better for evading the law than hiding in a city, where, once Henry got a job, people would grow to recognize him, to know him, including the local beat cop—he’d read about those in the newspaper. It would be best if people didn’t think he and Gil had only been knocking around together for a day, a week, or a month. Folks noticed the plane and the war hero. Henry was just a voice building the excitement. He needed to keep it that way.
What if Cora does come with us?
She was on Gil’s heels as he did his preflight. She could ruin everything just by holding them up now. Mercury seemed in collusion, tripping Gil at every turn.
A woman in our act would make us seem more inviting, more family friendly .
The dog grabbed one of the tie-down ropes and took off with it. Gil chased it ten feet before he realized it was useless. Then he yelled for the dog to come back . . . in a tone no creature in his right mind would respond to.
Henry tried calling, but the dog kept going.
One sweet whistle from Cora and the mutt came trotting back and sat obediently at her feet, rope trailing from his mouth as the sausages had done.
When Gil reached down to retrieve the rope, Mercury backed awaywith a growl. Henry saw just how much doggie loyalty could be bought with a shared half sandwich.
“We might not want you to have that,” Cora said. “Not until we settle on a deal.”
People will assume the three of us have been an act for a good while; Henry Jefferson the barnstormer will be one step further removed from Henry Schuler, the man on the run alone.
Gil growled back and made a quick lunge for the rope. He missed. Mercury once again took off at a run, ears flapping and flopping with each bounding lope.
There is no job in Chicago.
“I can always call him back,” Cora said.
Wasting time was a peeve to Gil, but could prove disastrous for Henry.
People want new amusements. Radios. Moving-picture houses. Can I promote this act enough to support all three of us? People wanted more thrilling, more outlandish. And Cora is both in so many ways.
He finally pulled Gil aside and pointed out that the motorcycle could match the Jenny’s speed, so it wouldn’t be all that difficult for Cora to follow them to their next location.
“What’s the harm?” Henry asked. “She won’t last past the first rainstorm anyway. We’re just wasting time when we could be making money to take care of the Jenny.”
Gil’s face was unreadable.
“As long as she’s around, we can use the motorcycle to make runs into town for supplies. Maybe we can even attach a sign advertising that you’re selling rides. The motorbike
“But Huck Finn wasn’t an orphan. He had Pa Finn out there running around.”
“He was still left to fend for himself. Huckleberry was as alone as a boy could be.” Mr. Dahlgren nodded. “ God jul , young Henry.”
“ God jul , Mr. Dahlgren.”
Two days later Henry found the book splayed open in the mud of the pigpen when he got back from helping Mr. Dahlgren mend a fence. He snatched it up and tried to wipe off the mud, then tucked it in his coat before Mr. Dahlgren could see. How had it gotten out there?
The next day, Emmaline had passed Henry on her way to the henhouse. She barely slowed when she spoke to him for the first time ever.“This was a very strange Christmas. First one that Papa didn’t give me a book.”
She’d made it to the chicken-yard gate before Henry shook off his surprise that she’d spoken at all. The first thing that hit him was guilt; he’d received something intended for her. Then his stomach grew cold when her meaning sank in.
He called after her, “All you had to do was ask for it.”
She paused, halfway through the gate. “For what?” Then she went about her business of collecting the eggs.
S taying on the move was probably better for evading the law than hiding in a city, where, once Henry got a job, people would grow to recognize him, to know him, including the local beat cop—he’d read about those in the newspaper. It would be best if people didn’t think he and Gil had only been knocking around together for a day, a week, or a month. Folks noticed the plane and the war hero. Henry was just a voice building the excitement. He needed to keep it that way.
What if Cora does come with us?
She was on Gil’s heels as he did his preflight. She could ruin everything just by holding them up now. Mercury seemed in collusion, tripping Gil at every turn.
A woman in our act would make us seem more inviting, more family friendly .
The dog grabbed one of the tie-down ropes and took off with it. Gil chased it ten feet before he realized it was useless. Then he yelled for the dog to come back . . . in a tone no creature in his right mind would respond to.
Henry tried calling, but the dog kept going.
One sweet whistle from Cora and the mutt came trotting back and sat obediently at her feet, rope trailing from his mouth as the sausages had done.
When Gil reached down to retrieve the rope, Mercury backed awaywith a growl. Henry saw just how much doggie loyalty could be bought with a shared half sandwich.
“We might not want you to have that,” Cora said. “Not until we settle on a deal.”
People will assume the three of us have been an act for a good while; Henry Jefferson the barnstormer will be one step further removed from Henry Schuler, the man on the run alone.
Gil growled back and made a quick lunge for the rope. He missed. Mercury once again took off at a run, ears flapping and flopping with each bounding lope.
There is no job in Chicago.
“I can always call him back,” Cora said.
Wasting time was a peeve to Gil, but could prove disastrous for Henry.
People want new amusements. Radios. Moving-picture houses. Can I promote this act enough to support all three of us? People wanted more thrilling, more outlandish. And Cora is both in so many ways.
He finally pulled Gil aside and pointed out that the motorcycle could match the Jenny’s speed, so it wouldn’t be all that difficult for Cora to follow them to their next location.
“What’s the harm?” Henry asked. “She won’t last past the first rainstorm anyway. We’re just wasting time when we could be making money to take care of the Jenny.”
Gil’s face was unreadable.
“As long as she’s around, we can use the motorcycle to make runs into town for supplies. Maybe we can even attach a sign advertising that you’re selling rides. The motorbike
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