Aces (17 page)

“Erica, tell your mother we’ll be right in. Herr Gold, would you mind giving me a hand with the horses? I will show you around
the farm.”

“Not at all, and please call me Herman.”

Schuler nodded as his daughter hopped down from out of the wagon and went toward the porch. The dog ran to Erica, who made
a big deal out of greeting it with hugs and lots of petting. Gold wondered if she was showing off for him. He hoped so.

The horses seemed to know their way about the place as Schuler conducted a wagon tour of the nursery. “My family came here
in 1875, when I was just a boy,” Schuler explained as he showed Gold the cutting and grafting house and other propagation
buildings. “In the beginning my father, Reinhold Schuler, bought a small tract of land. He applied scientific methods to develop
a profitable, well-equipped nursery farm.”

Finally they toured the tree beds themselves. The rows of waist-high evergreens, fruit, and shade trees seemed to stretch
forever, like a full-grown forest as seen from the air.

“We have our main office and our storage and shipping rooms in town,” Schuler said as they made their way back to the house.

“Do you run this all by yourself?” Gold asked.

“Many people from the area work here, and my sons manage the town facility and also help me manage this farm.”

“Oh, you have other children besides Erica?”

Schuler nodded. “I had five fine boys, but my eldest was killed in the war.”

“I’m very sorry,” Gold said.

Schuler nodded, looking grim. “There is much to be sorry about all over the world, thanks to that dreadful and foolish war,
yes, Herman? Anyway, of my remaining sons, all of whom live in town with wonderful families of their own, two are involved
in the family business. Then I have one son who is a doctor, and the other a lawyer,” he added proudly as the horses came
to a stop before the barn.

Gold noticed a garage, its double doors swung open, near the barn. He wandered over to peek in while Schuler was unhitching
the team. Inside, parked in neat rows, were three trucks, two tractors and other farm machines, a raven black, gleaming, hard-top
Cadillac—

And a low-slung, Pierce-Arrow two-seater roadster, cherry red, with black flared fenders.

Gold, mesmerized, approached the roadster. He knew all about the Pierce. He’d read the literature: she was custom built for
every customer…

“Ah! There you are, Herman.”

Gold, startled, turned around. Schuler was standing silhouetted in the daylight streaming in through the garage doorway.

“You like my Erica’s toy, eh?” Schuler chuckled. “It was a gift for her eighteenth birthday.”

A gift
, Gold thought as he followed Schuler out of the garage. The Pierce-Arrow cost seven grand.

“I have to ask,” Gold began when they were in the barn, where, in addition to the horse stalls, there was a buggy and other
types of wagons Gold couldn’t identify. “With your Cadillac. Why bother with these wagons?”

“You sound like my sons, and my daughter.” Schuler laughed. “They insisted that a man of my position in the community have
a motorcar.” He shrugged. “But you know what, Herman? For me, my horses and wagons are my way of having fun. But don’t worry.”
He patted Gold’s shoulder. “I’ll take you back to town in the Cadillac. Now, help me finish here, we’ll wash up, and my wife
will feed you a supper like you haven’t had since sailing from the Fatherland.”

Frau Schuler was gray haired and stout where her daughter was slender, but Gold could find traces of her mother in Erica’s
lovely face.

They ate supper in the big dining room lined with sideboards and hutches laden with Frau Schuler’s large collection of china
and glassware. It was refreshingly cool, thanks to the early-evening breeze that set the room’s lace curtains billowing. The
Schuler womenfolk served up platters of roast pork, sweet-and-sour cabbage, string beans, and corn. There was a bottomless
basket of biscuits, and pitchers of lemonade to wash it all down. Gold tried hard not to make a glutton of himself, but after
all the months of hotel food, a home-cooked meal was heaven.

“Eat more!” Frau Schuler insisted, pushing the platters towards him. “You need to put on a little weight.”

“Careful, Mama! Or his friends will be forced to leave him behind,” Erica teased. “If he eats anymore he won’t fit into his
airplane.”

“I bet poor Herman hasn’t had a decent meal since he left Germany,” Frau Schuler admonished.

“Actually, I never ate this well back home,” Gold said. He told them about the food shortages that were being suffered in
postwar Germany.

“Yes, of course…” Schuler frowned. “We knew it was bad there, but here, in the midst of all this plenty,” he spread his arms
wide, “we tend to forget…”

“Oh, we had our troubles during the war,” Frau Schuler said quietly. “Erica! Help me clear the table for dessert.”

“Yes, Mama.” Erica smiled at Gold. “I baked an apple pie this morning!”

“What trouble was your wife referring to, sir?” Gold asked Schuler.

“Ah.” Schuler shrugged. “During the war, a certain element questioned my patriotism, since I was German. Never mind all my
boys were fighting for this country.”

“But Papa was smart,” Erica called out from the kitchen. “He beat them at their own game. He built the town a new elementary
school.”

“It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” Schuler demurred. “And I could afford to do it. They put my name
on it.”

“And now he’s financing a new addition to the hospital in town,” Erica boasted as she came into the dining room, proudly presenting
her apple pie for Gold’s approval. She then proceeded to cut him a huge slice. “They’re going to name the hospital wing after
my brother who got killed in the war.”

“Why not?” Schuler shrugged. “It’ll be good for my son the doctor, now, and good insurance for the future.” He winked. “I
figure, if I put ‘Schuler’ on enough public buildings, sooner or later, people will have to think of it as an American name.”

Gold nodded. “This pie is delicious,” he complimented Erica.

* * *

After supper, Carl Schuler told Gold that there was some paperwork he had to sort through before he could drop it off at his
office in town. He asked his daughter to entertain their guest for the half-hour it would take him before he would be ready
to drive Gold back to the hotel.

“We’ll sit out on the porch,” Erica said, taking Gold’s hand to lead him outside.

Gold noticed Frau Schuler’s dark stare, but if the woman disapproved, she didn’t say anything. He let Erica lead him out to
the porch, through the comfortably furnished front parlor, with its corner brick fireplace.

The dog was still out there, lying on its side. It rose, shaking itself and going into a joyous, squirming greeting for its
mistress. Erica immediately acted as if she’d forgotten Gold was there. She knelt to romp with the dog, and Gold tried not
to stare at the graceful curve of her back as she showered kisses and lots of baby talk on the damn mutt.

It was almost dusk. The breeze had increased, and the crickets were making a racket. “Come sit with me on the glider,” Erica
commanded. Gold obliged, settling himself at the opposite end of the long, softly padded porch glider.

“You’ve been everywhere, haven’t you?” Erica sighed, as she set the glider rocking.

“No, not really…” But then Gold thought about it. “Well, now that you mention it, I suppose I have done a lot of traveling
in my life. It’s funny, I’ve never thought about it that way.”

“That’s because you take your life for granted,” Erica said.

“That’s funny, coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Erica demanded.

“Only that you’re very lucky to have a wonderful family and a comfortable home life. Look at your beautiful car…”

“But I haven’t been anywhere,” she complained. “You have no idea what it’s like here,” she sighed melodramatically. “It’s
so
provincial… Have you read
Main Street
, by Sinclair Lewis?”

“Uh, no, why don’t you tell me about it?” Gold suggested, taking the opportunity to slide a little closer to her. The dog
hopped up onto the cushions beside Erica and growled at him.

“Isn’t Willie a good doggie!” Erica cooed.

Gold forced himself to smile pleasantly.

It was dark now. The wind had picked up, setting the trees rustling. Gold saw a jagged fork of lightning slashing the night
sky as it stabbed the earth. “I suppose it’s going to rain.”

“Oh, no,” Erica murmured as muted, rolling thunder eventually reached them. “That’s how it is on the plains,” she said dreamily.
“It may have looked close enough to touch, but it’s really a million miles away.”

That night Erica Schuler waited until her father had returned from driving Herman into town and her parents were having their
bedtime cup of tea in the parlor. Her father was dozing in his chair. The newspaper was across his belly, and Willie the dog,
a white and black furry oval, was curled around his feet. Her mother was in her rocking chair, working at her needlepoint.

Willie’s tail thumped against the Persian carpet as Jackie came in. “Papa, Mama, Herman invited me to the air show tomorrow,”
she told them.

“But you saw it today,” her mother said, frowning.

“I know,” Erica said quickly. “But Herman said he would take me for a ride in his scarlet airplane.”

“What are you talking about, child?” Frau Schuler sighed.

“The boy flies a special airplane,” Schuler sleepily mumbled, his eyes still closed. “Jackie, if you were invited and wish
to go, it is all right.”

“Thank you, Papa!” Erica ran to her father to give him a hug and a kiss. “And you, Mama.” She kissed and embraced her mother,
and then skipped out of the parlor.

“You give in to her too much, Carl,” Emma Schuler scolded her husband once Erica was gone.

“Ah, what’s the harm?” Schuler replied. “He’s a nice boy, and, anyway, after tomorrow the show moves on.”

Upstairs, in her room, Erica turned on the lamp on the nightstand and sat on the edge of her canopy bed. She felt uneasy.
She’d never lied to her parents before.

She undressed, slipping on a light cotton nightgown, and then sat at her vanity to watch herself in the mirror as she undid
her braids and brushed out her shoulder-length hair.

It wasn’t
really
a lie. Herman definitely
wanted
to invite her, and
would
have invited her, if he’d happened to think of it.

She put down her hairbrush and stood up, to slip her nightgown from her shoulders and let it fall around her feet. She stared
at her body, tawny in the lamplight, and at the blonde thatch between her legs. She weighed her small breasts in her hands,
furtively touching her dark nipples until they swelled like the buds on her papa’s young fruit trees.

Girls in the city probably had bigger breasts. Did Herman like them bigger, she wondered?

She twirled slowly, looking at herself over her shoulder, canting her hip to study the deep cleavage of her bottom, trying
to judge its swell and curve. She tried to be objective about herself, tried to judge her physical charms against those of
the racy young Shebas she’d read about in the magazines and seen in the movies.

She’d taken it for granted that boys hereabouts found her attractive: she was never lacking for partners at the dances in
town, and one beau or another was usually making a nuisance of himself coming around. She’d never had any real interest in
those boys. She’d known them all for ages, from back when she’d been a tomboy, and could outswim, outrun, and outride the
best of them.

She still could, most likely, Erica thought.

She smiled.

Herman had known exactly how she’d broken her nose… He’d surprised her. She’d have to turn the tables. She could not endure
his having the upper hand…

She blushed, abruptly embarrassed at her brazen pirouetting, and her brazen thoughts; and at the moistness, almost like a
betrayal, between her thighs.

She clicked off the lamp. By the silvery starlight coming in through the curtained window she quickly put on her nightgown
and crawled into the familiar safety of her bed.

She’d been on her way upstairs when she’d overheard her father’s comment to her mother. She took comfort in his opinion that
there was no harm in what she was planning, and even a peculiar comfort that soon the barnstormers would be gone.

She fell asleep smiling, thinking that tomorrow would be the beginning and the end of it. Her darling aviator with his funny
hat, his curly red hair, and devilish moustache was like a forbidden novel, thrilling for the brief duration, but when it
was over she could forget the unfamiliar and unsettling emotions stirred up deep inside her.

That night in his hotel room, Gold tossed and turned. Every time he dozed off he was tormented by fleeting fantasy-dreams
of Erica Schuler. He gave up on sleep at dawn; showered and shaved. The hotel dinning room wouldn’t be open for hours, but
by now Gold had been in enough American small towns to know how things worked. He left the hotel and walked along the quiet,
tree-lined streets until he came to the muddy, slow-moving Blue River. He crossed a narrow footbridge to the poor side of
town near the railroad yard and police headquarters. A few blocks from the station he found a cafe filled with cops and rail
yard laborers having their breakfast before beginning their shift.

He sat at the counter and had bacon and eggs, and three cups of black coffee to banish last night’s cobwebs. Yes, Erica was
a beautiful girl. A very special kind of girl, but he might as well forget her, just as she had doubtless already forgotten
him. Today was the troupe’s last performance in Doreen. By tomorrow afternoon he’d be flying west to the next show site, and
he would never see Erica Schuler again.

Back at the hotel Gold ran into Jimmy Cooper the advance man and caught a ride with him out to the show site. The morning
wore on, and the first of the spectators began to filter in. Gold was up on a stepladder, leaning over the Hisso, when he
heard shouting. He looked toward the entrance to the show site. Tearing up the road toward them, sending up a huge dust cloud
in its wake, was a cherry red Pierce-Arrow roadster—