Flight of the Tiger Moth (14 page)

Jack picked his way through the gloom toward an empty ­table.

“Look at that, Repete. Look what the cat dragged in,” shouted Jimmy Boyle, standing up in the shadows. “It’s pk and Foureyes.”

“Yah, look at what the cat dragged in.”

“Looks like you ran into some trouble,” hollered ­Jimmy.

“You ran into trouble, Jackie. Jimmy says you stole his dog.”

“I didn’t steal his dog,” shouted Jack. “I saved the pup’s life. Jimmy left him to die.”

“Haven’t you had enough yet?” Jimmy ­asked.

“Yeah, Jackie, haven’t you had enough?” Repete stomped right up to Jack, close enough so that Jack could smell stale sweat and beer ­breath.

“Take it outside, boys. This is a respectable place.” The owner opened the front door and ushered them all out. The younger players had joined Jimmy and Repete as they filed ­out.

“Fight! Fight!” one guy ­called.

Jack stood with clenched fists. “I don’t want to fight any more, Jimmy. You didn’t want the dog anyway. This is stupid.”

“Did you call me stupid?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did,” said Repete. “I heard you.”

“Butt out of it, Repete,” Jimmy ­said.

Meanwhile a scuffle had started between one of the labourers and an raf ­flyer.

Just then the jalopy pulled up to the curb. “What’s going on?” Basil jumped out. Dexter and Cheese followed. Cathy stepped carefully away from the car and the ­fracas.

“None of your business, Limey.” Repete put both his fists up into a boxer’s pose. “Back off, if you know what’s good for you.”

“What’s all this then?” a group of rcaf men came strolling down the street from the closest hotel bar. “Someone picking on our friends?”

A couple of Repete and Jimmy’s friends turned and shouted at the group of nattily dressed airmen. “You guys come in here thinking you’re God’s gift to the universe. This is our town. Why don’t you go home?”

A sergeant with huge shoulders and a thick Yorkshire accent was holding Repete Nelson. “We’ll have none of that, now.” Repete was struggling to break free. The sergeant pulled him closer, one huge arm wrapped around the boy’s upper chest and ­neck.

Repete opened his mouth but no sounds came ­out.

“Keep your trap shut, boyo.”

“The Cairn babies have their pet flyers with them,” hollered one of Jimmy’s ­friends.

Trevor stepped into the fray. “You got something against flyers, kid?”

The town guy’s fist connected with Trevor’s jaw. Trevor grabbed him in his wiry arms and put his left leg out to trip the burly kid. The two fighters toppled ­over.

Before anyone could stop it, a regular wrestling match was underway as the townie and Trevor rolled on the cement sidewalk. The crowd split between townies and the military. Shouts filled the ­once-­quiet night ­air.

A fat youth smashed a bottle and held it out menacingly.
A scuffle broke out between two ­well-­built lacs and a couple of construction workers. A crowd of supporters screamed and taunted from the sidelines. Traffic slowed on the ­street.

Two police cars slid to a stop across the ­street.

“Break it up!” someone yelled. “They’ll haul us all to jail.”

“Come on, Trevor,” yelled ­Jack.

Jimmy Boyle strolled over. “So, Jackie boy, are we even?”

“For now, I’d say so,” said ­Jack.

“Nothing like a good fight, Jack,” Jimmy ­chuckled.

“Speak for yourself. I’m the one with bruises.” But he thought he could see a shiner around Jimmy’s left eye where he’d got in one good ­punch.

“See you around.” Jimmy moved to the sidelines. “Take good care of my dog, you hear.” He and Repete moved ­off.

The Cairn crew broke away and ran down the lane to the old truck parked near the cpr station and clambered in. Cathy, Basil and Trevor squeezed into the cab and the rest jumped in the back with the groceries. Jack hopped into the driver’s seat and drove ­off.

“Did you see the size of the sergeant that held Repete?” asked ­Jack.

“What about those two goons that took on the rcaf boys?” asked ­Basil.

“They’re both gonna have bruises tomorrow,” commented ­Jack.

“No worse than yours,” laughed Trevor. “Did Jimmy say anything to you before he and Repete ran off?”

“He says we’re even now.”

“Good,” suggested Cathy. “It’s over.”

“We’ll see,” said ­Jack.

“What about the jalopy?” Basil asked. “We should go back for it.”

“I wouldn’t advise going back for anything,” said Trevor. “There will be military police and town cops all over the place.”

“Let’s keep going,” Jack said. “I’ve got to get this stuff home.”

Cathy sat on Basil’s lap by the passenger window. “Two guys smashed the front window of the jalopy while you were fighting. I was glad I’d gotten out.”

Jack concentrated on driving through the quiet streets to the highway, his heart racing. He kept his eye on the ­rear-­view mirror to see if any police cars were ­following.

“Some ­Farewell-­to-­Cheese party, some engagement party,” Cathy said. “Let’s go home. I want to show Mom and Dad my ring.” She waved her left hand in front of ­her.

Dexter knocked on the back window of the cab. He shouted, “Slow down, will you? This isn’t the most comfortable place to sit.” Wes, Dexter and Cheese were perched on cartons and crates from the wholesaler’s in the back of the ­truck.

Jack took a deep breath and eased his foot onto the brake. No sense being stopped by the rcmp. He waved at Dexter through the dusty back ­window.

“
Those townies have been spoiling for a fight ever since the first trainees arrived,” said Trevor, sitting in the middle, trying not to get in Jack’s way as he changed gears. “Doesn’t scare me. I was raised on a street of brawlers.”

I wasn’t, thought Jack. I was raised in a house full of ­rules.

“Small wars, big wars, they’re all the same,” Trevor continued. “It’s about power and control. Bullies and victims. We all have to decide where we stand. This afternoon Jack stood up for Buddy, tonight I stood up for the military.” Jack focused his attention to the dark road, but Trevor’s words pleased ­him.

Jack decided he’d drop the airmen off first, then Cathy and Wes, and then take the truck back to the ­store.

He had a few questions to ask his ­dad.

Chapter ­20

It was eleven o’clock
but Jack’s parents were sitting on the front porch of the store watching for him. Something about their silence cut off greeting and conversation. Wes and Cathy headed home without stopping to talk. Cathy wanted to show her parents the ring before anyone else in town saw it. But Jack told his ­folks.

His mother shook her head. His dad motioned for Jack to sit down on the ­step.

“I should put the stuff away.”

“It can wait.”

Jack wondered whether someone had reported to his folks about the fight in Moose Jaw. No one from Cairn could have seen them, could they? And why were they sitting here instead of at ­home?

“We received a telegram from Flo’s supervisor.” His mother was talking so quietly that Jack had to strain to hear her words. “Flo’s been wounded. She’s in the hospital.”

Jack felt as if a brick had hit him in the stomach. “Is she going to be all right?”

His dad took over. “They didn’t say much. Just that her injuries are being treated and…she’s in critical condition.”

“What happened? Was the hospital hit?”

“We don’t know,” said his ­dad.

“I kept thinking of her last letter where she said she had enjoyed her leave by the sea. She was looking forward to going hiking with friends.” His mother was gripping her lace hankie as if it was a life ­preserver.

“Yeah,” said Jack. Maybe Flo had really been shipped out to a field hospital as he had suspected when he read that bit of news. Could you get wounded in a hospital in England? He tried to concentrate on the ­conversation.

“Remember, she said all sorts of military bands were on parade. And that she thought her dad would have liked it, seeing as he’d played the saxophone.” Bill stretched his feet out in front and rubbed his hands along the sides of his ­trousers.

“She thanked me for the music lessons,” Ivy ­said.

Did Flo think she wouldn’t have another chance? Jack asked ­himself.

“Flo will be all right,” said Jack. “She’s made of tough stuff.”

“Time will tell.” Ivy sighed and rose as slowly as an old woman. “I’m going home.”

“I’ll help Jack unload.”

“Don’t throw your back out any worse than it is,” Ivy said over her shoulder. “Jack, you lift the heavy stuff.” Then she was ­gone.

Jack drove the truck behind the store and his dad opened the storeroom door. They unloaded quickly. Then his dad opened two root beers and they sat back down on the ­porch.

“How was your day, Jack?”

Jack told his father all the funny and not-so-funny things that had happened at the base and in Moose ­Jaw.

“Holy cow!”

Jack smiled briefly. “That ought to give you enough stories for a week, Dad. Except maybe you better not tell them.”

“Probably not.” Bill sighed and stretched his long legs in front of him again, stared at his shoes. “Do you think Flo was near the front lines?”

“I think that’s what her letter was hinting.”

“I’m glad your mother didn’t make the connections.”

“You and Flo and I were always the ones for puzzles.”

“We will be again, Jack.” Bill stood up. “Shall we go home?”

“I’ve got a couple of questions. But if it’s not the right time…”

“I’m not going to sleep, anyway, so shoot.”

Jack hesitated. He didn’t want to upset his dad any more than he was, but his need to understand his family was stronger than his ­worry.

“How did Uncle Jack die? The guy at the wholesalers knew more about it than I did. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“No, you’re not, Jack.” His dad sat down again. There was a longer silence than usual. Bill seemed to be gathering himself together to make a statement. “I’ve been trying to find the right words, the right time to tell you this story. It’s not easy to talk ­about.

“Every family has a few things they don’t talk about. Some tragedy or sadness, some unresolved problem they don’t want seen. Families have a hard enough time dealing with living in a small town, being a member of a particular family, having one or another of their family members act other than ‘normal.’”

Jack rubbed his sore jaw. He knew what it was like living in Cairn, being a Waters. He had a reminder of that. He drained his soda ­pop.

Jack’s dad walked down the steps of the store and crossed Railway Avenue to the rail yard. “Your Uncle Jack, my big brother, came home from the Great War in one piece. He flew with Wop May, the famous Alberta bush pilot, you know.” Jack put the two empty root beer bottles in the wooden crate by the door and caught up with his ­dad.

“His body was fine,” Bill Waters continued. “But my brother was always a moody guy, even as a boy. He was energetic, musical, talented, not as outgoing as me. He was the family charmer. I was the joker. Our dad made a lot of him. He was so proud.”

“Then he met Mom,” Jack ­said.

“Jack and Ivy made a great couple. It was a love match from the first date.”

“Where were you?”

“I got a job right after high school as a traveller. I had southern Alberta and Saskatchewan as my territory and I loved the open road – visiting schools, factories and businesses, selling cleaning products. I was West Chemicals’ top salesman. I knew where all the best pickles, Ukrainian sausage and pyrogies were sold, where the best cheese was made. And I’d bring them home to my father and mother.”

Bill wandered along beside the train tracks with Jack beside him until he came to the level crossing with its ­criss-­crossed white warning ­signs.

“No one knows for sure whether it was an accident or suicide.”

Jack stood with his hands in his pockets, listening to the sound of an approaching freight. He felt a slight hum from the track beneath his feet. He stepped back a few paces onto the gravel ­approach.

“Jack had never been a drinker before the war. When he came home he was. He’d never been a loudmouth. In 1919 he was. It was like he was ashamed of surviving. He’d lived and his best friends had died. But something inside him
had
died. The whole family went into shock. We tried to cover up for him, tried to protect Ivy. After all, he was a war hero, a pilot. He was my brother. And they were expecting a baby, for God’s sake.”

Bill took a deep breath.
“One night Jack didn’t come home from Moose Jaw.
Dad went out looking for him.
As he backed his truck onto the street he heard the midnight express from Regina to Calgary blow its warning whistle. There were screaming brakes, shouting trainmen and a loud bang.”

Jack gulped a lungful of air. The night train pulled through town, wheels clicking against the track. Its dark form, like a ghost train, cut off the view of the other side of the ­road.