Escapade (9781301744510) (2 page)

Rory could not help remembering how her
father had consigned the watch to her care that morning last June.
She hadn't wanted him to take the balloon up, his proposed flight
enough to daunt even her. But for too long had Seamus dreamed of
sailing one of his balloons across the Atlantic, a feat that no
aeronaut had ever accomplished. It little mattered to Seamus that
all his predecessors had met death making the attempt.

Rory's fears for her father were only
increased by the dream she'd had the night before. It wasn't the
first time she had dreamed such a thing—the white faerie appearing
from the mists over New York harbor, the dread specter the Irish
called the banshee, the harbinger of death. Rory had had the same
nightmare once when she was twelve years old. The next day her
mother had succumbed to the effects of a prolonged bout with
scarlet fever.

Now the dream had troubled her sleep again,
and there was her father about to embark on the most dangerous risk
an aeronaut could take. But Seamus Kavanaugh scoffed at all the old
superstitions. Rory had known it would do little good telling him
to abandon his flight because she had had a nightmare.

Instead she had remonstrated with him about
the follies of a flight over the ocean until Da had become quite
angry.

"Whist now! I'll not have me own daughter
questioning me judgment. I've been flying balloons since before you
were born."

He strode away from her, but he must have
noticed the tears glinting in her eyes for he returned at once. He
had a smile that would have charmed the little people into
surrendering their gold, but he was not able to coax Rory out of
her fears. He finally resorted to an old trick from her
childhood.

As a little girl, Rory had often wept and
begged to accompany her father on one of his trips. He had always
soothed her by giving her the "important" task of keeping his watch
safe. That last morning, it was as though he had forgotten she was
a woman grown. He had cupped her hand about the watch, saying,
"There now. Don't you be crying, Aurora Rose. You be looking after
this for me and you know I'll be coming back. I always come back to
retrieve me treasure."

He had pinched her chin and smiled into her
eyes, and as ever Rory had known it wasn't the watch he was talking
about. There was nothing she could do then but watch helplessly as
he mounted into the balloon's gondola. The ropes were cast off and
he drifted into the sky. Her last vision of her father was of him
looking down, the wind whipping back his mane of gray hair as he
merrily waved his cap.

"Miss Kavanaugh?" An acrobat lady in spangled
tights peered into the tent, bringing an abrupt end to Rory's
remembrances. She suddenly realized that the watch she held
clutched in her palm had become blurred and out of focus.

Rory dashed the back of her hand across her
eyes. "Yes?"

"Are you almost ready?" the woman asked. "Mr.
Dutton is getting anxious."

"I'll be right there."

When the woman had gone, Rory tucked the
watch away in her belt. It would never have pleased Seamus, this
grieving of hers. He would have expected her to give him a fine
wake, which she had done. Then he would have told her to get on
with her life, with the pursuit of the dreams they had both
shared.

"Which, please God, is exactly what I intend
to do," Rory murmured.

Shoving the flap aside, she strode out of the
tent. The wind threatened to wreak havoc with her hair, but Rory
scooped up her skirts and moved determinedly forward.

The crowd had thickened to such a degree that
Rory began to wonder how she would get through. But with the aid of
some burly circus roustabouts, a path was cleared for her.

As Rory emerged into the open area where the
Katie Moira awaited her, she saw that the barrel-shaped hydrogen
generator had already been disconnected. Pete and Thomas were
loading it back onto the wagon. Tony was tying more bags of ballast
to the side of the balloon's car as though he were determined one
way or another to keep Rory earthbound.

Her entire crew was hard at work except for
Tony's younger brother. A dark, curly-haired, more slender version
of Tony, Angelo lounged near the balloon winch, his nose thrust
deep into yesterday's edition of the New York World.

Rory stole up behind him. Crossing her arms,
she cleared her throat with a loud "Harrumphl" Angelo slowly looked
up from his newspaper, not in the least abashed to be caught
loafing.

"Hey, Rory, look here," he said, extending
the paper toward her. "John Ezekiel Morrison is giving a party
today."

"Who the devil is John Ezekiel Morrison?"

"Only the most eligible bachelor in New York.
I hear tell he's what the Bowery dance halls girls call a real
`looker' and rich as Diamond Jim Brady. He lives in what is
practically a damned castle. The paper calls him the Mysterious
Millionaire of Fifth Avenue."

At first, Rory could make little sense of
Angelo's excited chatter. Then she glanced at the paper and
realized with some disgust that the youth had been reading the
society columns again. It was both amusing and exasperating the way
Angelo devoured any news about the lives of wealthy and famous
people. When he wasn't collecting cigarette cards of Lillian
Russell, he was driving everyone mad with accounts of where Mrs.
Vanderbilt had dined last night or who J. P. Morgan had entertained
at Delmonico's.

Angelo was completely oblivious to the
balloon roaring above them. "It says here the Whitneys will be
there and Mrs. Van Hallsburg. But it don't say nothing about the
Vanderbilts." Angelo frowned. "Do you think Mrs. Vanderbilt knows
something about Morrison that the rest don't?"

"I have no idea. The next time she invites me
to tea, I'll ask her. And now, Angelo, if you don't mind—" She
broke off the rebuke she was about to deliver, stiffening with
annoyance as she stared upward at her balloon. Someone had woven
garlands all over the ropes that connected the balloon to the
basket.

"Who stuck those damn flowers all over my
rigging? I never gave permission for such a thing."

Angelo shrugged. "Mr. Dutton's idea. After
all, it is a wedding, Rory. Now about this Morrison fellow? Do you
think it's true what the paper hints about his unknown background,
that there might be something sinister about him? I read that he
punches out any reporters caught nosing around his castle, so he
must have something to hide. How does a fellow get to be that rich
honestly anyhow?"

"I don't know, but I do know how a fellow
gets to be that poor honestly. By losing his job." Rory snatched
the paper from Angelo and thunked him over the head with it. "Now
get back to work."

Angelo grinned. Although he did grab his
precious newspaper back from her, he folded the society section,
tucking it into his jacket pocket, then turned his attention to
checking the balloon's tether, making sure it was secured to the
winch.

Still not trusting Angelo to keep his mind on
his task, Rory was keeping an eye on him when she was approached by
the circus owner himself, Mr. Dutton.

The man's checkered suit was enough to blind
her even on this overcast day. He grinned, chomping on a fat cigar.
"Ah, here she is at last. The balloon lady."

"Aeronaut," Rory grated. She plucked the
cigar from his plump fingers, dropped the stogie to the ground and
crunched it beneath her shoe.

"Hey! That was an expensive see-gar."

"And that's a bag full of hydrogen," Rory
said, pointing at the balloon. "One little spark and they could be
picking up pieces of us all along the Jersey side of the
Hudson."

Mr. Dutton's eyes widened, and he took a few
extra stomps at the crushed cigar himself. Then he stepped back and
cocked his head at her admiringly.

"Well, now, don't you make a peach of a
bridesmaid!"

Rory was not about to allow her irritation to
be deflected by the man's oily compliments. She was still annoyed
about all those blasted flowers caught up in the balloon's rigging.
But before she could complain, Mr. Dutton dragged her over to meet
the minister.

The Reverend Titus Allgood looked very prim
and very scared.

"Is this thing really quite safe, Miss
Kavanaugh?" he asked in a quavering voice.

"Completely safe," Rory said.

Tony, who happened to be passing by within
earshot, gave a loud snort. Rory glared at him. She still hadn't
managed to calm Reverend Allgood's fears when the circus band was
heard to strike up a flourish.

An excited murmur ran through the crowd at
this signal that the wedding procession was about to commence. The
band blared out the strains of Mendelssohn's Wedding March. From
the main tent across the fairgrounds, two elephants led the parade,
followed by a line of lovely ladies in tights riding white ponies
adorned with feathers. Drawing up the rear was a flower-bedecked
open carriage in which rode the bride and groom, driven by the
ringmaster himself in a red coat and top hat.

As the crowd clapped with pleasure, Rory
tried to smile, but it was difficult to disguise her chagrin. This
had formed no part of her father's dream, this usage of the Katie
Moira to perform a cheap circus stunt.

Her father's vision for the company had been
so much more than that—grand plans of establishing an aerial mail
service, a passenger line, even the use of balloons for scientific
exploration.

Someday, Da. Someday, Rory vowed
silently.

The crowd pushed and shoved, and it was all
the roustabouts could do to prevent a general surge forward as the
wedding carriage arrived in the clearing.

The groom was the first to alight, doffing
his high silk hat to the assembled masses. The Fantastic Erno's
handlebar mustache bristled as he flashed a smile. With a flourish,
he turned to hand down his bride.

The crowd let out a collective gasp. Rory
gaped at Miss Glory Fatima's idea of a wedding costume. She was
garbed in the skimpiest pair of white tights Rory had ever seen.
The skirt of her leotard did not even cover her calves, and the
glittering bodice scarcely contained Miss Glory's ample charms.

Mr. Dutton snatched up his bullhorn again,
and the crowd had to endure a rather long-winded speech. Just as
everyone was getting a bit restive, he finally concluded.

"And now, suspended miles above the earth,
Miss Glory Fatima and the Fantastic Erno will exchange their solemn
vows, witnessed by that intrepid balloonist, Aurora Kavanaugh."

"Aeronaut," Rory said wearily.

Erno helped his bride climb into the
balloon's basket. He also assisted the white-faced and trembling
minister. To Rory's annoyance, her skirts hindered her from
scrambling into the gondola with her usual dexterity. Tony had to
lift her over the edge, and she thought he clung to her a little
longer than necessary.

"I heard thunder again," he muttered in her
ear. "This better be the shortest wedding on record."

Rory merely smiled.

"I mean it, Rory. Ten minutes and then I'm
telling Angelo to haul—"

She cut off his warning by giving the signal
to Thomas that he could begin undoing the lines that tethered the
balloon. The Katie Moira immediately surged upward several feet,
now held back by only the thick rope affixed to the winch. The
balloon bucked in the wind as though it resented even that
restraint upon its freedom. Miss Fatima gasped and clutched at
Erno. The minister looked as though he would have liked to have
done the same.

Rory motioned to Angelo to start cranking the
winch, but he was too spellbound by Miss Fatima's costume to pay
any attention. It took a sharp command from Tony to set him and
Pete into motion.

The muscles in the forearms of both young men
appeared strained as they struggled to hold in the surging balloon
and let the rope out smoothly. As the Katie Moira started upward,
the crowd gave a great cheer.

Owing to the wind, the ascent was a little
rough. Cursing the flowers again, Rory clung to the rigging,
setting free a shower of blossoms. She cautioned the others to move
about as little as possible, an unnecessary admonishment for
Reverend Allgood. The man was frozen with fear.

Erno and Miss Fatima peered cautiously over
the side, waving to their adoring public below. Soon the faces of
the crowd grew less distinct, the mighty elephants and even the
circus tents assuming the dimensions of toys. The cheers of the
crowd reflected upward with that peculiar clarity Rory had often
noted on her flights. The balloon had not risen much higher when it
jerked to a sudden halt.

"Damn you, Tony," Rory thought. He had
obviously prevented Angelo from reeling her out the full distance
she had planned. Perhaps it was just as well. Much more and they
would be obscured from the view of the circus crowd, lost in the
scudding gray clouds overhead.

Rory looked expectantly at the Reverend
Allgood. It was some moments before the little man would take the
hint. At last he pried free of his death grip upon the basket's
side and drew forth his prayer book.

"D-dearly beloved," he began.

A rumble of thunder sounded and he almost
dropped the book. After a deep gulp, he relocated his place in the
text and continued. Although she was supposed to be a witness to
this event, Rory's thoughts drifted from the ceremony.

The storm was moving closer. She had seen a
distant flash of lightning. Although the balloon was fairly stable,
she felt the insistent tug. If it had not been for the stout rope
and the winch, the wind would have carried the Katie Moira away
from the fairgrounds rapidly.

She wished there were some way she could
force Allgood to hurry. But as though calmed by the familiar words
of the wedding service, he was proceeding with all the slow dignity
the occasion demanded. Finally, the minister reached his
conclusion.