Hope Takes Flight (3 page)

Amos Stuart had risen rapidly in his newspaper career until he was now the star reporter for William Randolph Hearst's
New York Journal,
the biggest newspaper in the United States. Self-educated, Amos had achieved this position through sheer tenacity and determination. Now his name was mentioned along with the top newsmen of the country.

“I read that last story you wrote about the war,” Will told him. “It was good, son.” His eyes twinkled. “Why, I couldn't have done no better myself!”

Amos laughed and threw an arm around his father's thin shoulders. “Sure you could, Pa. You always had a way with words.”

They moved into the house where Amos and his family were greeted by Agnes in a rather cold fashion. For the rest of the morning, the house rang with talk. Everyone ate cookies, cake, and pies and drank gallons of coffee and sweet milk. The sweets had been baked by the girls for dessert, but they had been unsuccessful at keeping the men out of them.

Just before lunch, Lylah had time to get Amos off to one side. Down by the creek where she had fished and caught thumping bluegills as a girl, the two of them sat down and talked. Lylah was hungry for news of her brother. She was fiercely proud of him, as was the rest of the family, and she pried out of him the facts about his close communion with the famous people of the world, including Theodore Roosevelt!

Amos himself did not speak of this unless pressed. But he kept Lylah amused for a long time with his stories. Finally, they heard someone calling from the house, and Amos got to his feet.

“Hey…there's a car coming. I wonder if it could be Owen.”

The two hurried back to the house to find their younger brother, Owen, and his wife, Allie, descending from their car. The ancient vehicle seemed to have barely made it there.

Lylah stood back, watching Owen and Allie as the others rushed forward. She admired her tall, strong brother tremendously. He was almost six feet tall and very strong. She finally forced her way through the milling group, grabbed Owen, and pulled his head down for her welcoming kiss. He held her and she felt the tremendous strength of his arms. When he lifted his head, she saw he was smiling at her in the same old way he used to, and memories flooded through her.

Then she turned to Allie and the two women embraced. Allie, at twenty-five, had the same dark blue eyes, the same honey-colored hair, and the same square, determined chin that Lylah remembered. As always she was very glad to see Lylah. They had always gotten along well on the few occasions they were together.

For just a moment, the three of them stood looking at each other—Amos, the oldest son of the Stuart clan; Lylah, the oldest daughter; and Owen, the largest and strongest of them all.
We are strangers here,
Lylah thought.
The others have stayed, but we've gone out into the world.
She said with a roguish grin, “Well…the three prodigals are back again!”

Amos shook his head. “No…
two
prodigals. You and me, Lylah.” He turned and smiled at his brother. “At least this one here isn't as worldly as you and I.”

Owen broke the momentary silence that followed his older brother's declaration. A smile crossed his broad lips, and he glanced around at his younger brothers and sisters, then at his father, who had just stepped up to join the group. “Well, Pa, prodigals or not, we're all home.” He looked around the valley and up to the mountains and said, “This place is good, isn't it?” And Amos knew what he meant.

Suddenly, both of them were glad to be back in the hills of Arkansas again. To be with their own flesh and blood. To see their family. To smell the fresh mountain air.

It was Lylah who said gently, “Yes, Owen, it is good to be home.”

T
he younger Stuarts begged their visitors to spend the night, offering to sleep on pallets or out in the barn, but Amos vetoed that idea. “No, we wouldn't want to put you out like that, and we city folks are too soft for that kind of living. We'll just go into Fort Smith to a hotel.”

A noisy chorus of protests broke forth, but in the end, the visitors piled in the cars and drove into town, where they got accommodations at the Palace Hotel. After a good night's rest, they got up very early to meet in the hotel restaurant for breakfast. Over ham and eggs and pancakes, they reminisced about the early days.

Amos grinned at Lylah. “Sis, do you remember the day you left to go to Bible school?”

Lylah swallowed a sip of her coffee and nodded, recalling the incident well. “I sure do.” She laughed quietly. “You caught me out behind the barn, smoking a cigarette.”

Owen almost choked on a big bite of biscuit at the memory, then joined in the laughter. “Now wasn't that the way to leave home for Bible school? Smoking cigarettes out behind the barn!” He shook his head. “You made your mark on that place, sure enough. When I got there a few years later, they were still talking about your escapades.”

Lylah nursed her cup, and a wry smile tugged at her lips. “I hated those days. I hated everything about that school, I guess—the chapels, the Bible studies, the professors,
and
the ministerial students. Talk about somebody being in the wrong place at the wrong time!”

Amos gave her a sidelong glance. “I always felt sorry for Don Satterfield,” he said. “The way you went on that trip to Little Rock with the other students…and just disappeared.” He blinked then, sorry he'd said anything. He hadn't intended to bring up unpleasant memories.

The reference caused Lylah's brow to furrow, and she fell silent. She remembered those days, when she had made a trip to a Baptist State Convention in Little Rock. While she was there, she had encountered an actor, James K. Hackett. Fascinated by her first trip to a big city, Lylah had been wandering the streets when Hackett had noticed her outside the theater and invited her to see the play.
But that
, Lylah thought, as she sat, only half-listening to her brothers' conversation,
was the end of everything…in some ways…for me
.

She had left town that night with the troupe after scribbling Don a brief note. Since then, she had spent ten years as an actress. During the first years, she'd had high hopes and had found glamour and excitement in the world of the theater. But her beauty and verve and wit had not been enough to take her to the very thin air at the top. She had never gotten her one big break. Now, as she sat listening to the quiet hum of her brothers' voices, she knew that the restless spirit that had driven her from the rocky farm had not been stilled. Perhaps she would never find the peace she had begun to long for. The thought frightened her, for she was no longer a girl of eighteen, but was approaching her mid-thirties—an old age, in a way, for an actress.

She began to pay attention to what Owen was saying. He was speaking of their younger brothers and sisters and their hard lot at home. “I don't like to be judgmental,” he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully, “but those kids don't have it easy. I can't see why they've stayed as long as they have.”

Amos knew at once that Owen was referring to Agnes and agreed. “Yes, it's strange. Logan and Peter are both old enough to be out on their own, but they haven't gotten away. Maybe they just don't have enough get-up-and-go. I don't know. I've never understood it.”

“Well, I'll tell you one thing,” Owen said abruptly. “Gavin won't be around long. He's downright sick of farm life. Doesn't talk about anything but cars and motors and engines! He begged me to help him get away when I talked to him yesterday.”

Amos nodded. “Yes, he talked to me, too, and I'd like to help him. He has real talent.”

Rose, too, was concerned. “We've
all
got to help him.”

Allie, Owen's wife, who had been quiet during breakfast, spoke up. “He's like my brother Joey. Doesn't care about anything but cars.” At the age of twenty-two, Joey Dupree was traveling around the country, driving in races whenever he could and generally working as a mechanic for the other racers. “Maybe Joey will know of something Gavin could do.”

“It's that Agnes!” Lylah said with a flash of anger. “She treats those kids like dirt!”

No one said anything for a moment, realizing their father would never put Agnes out of the house. It seemed hopeless.

Finally Owen said, “Well, let's make this a day to remember, anyway. The county fair's in town, I see. We'll take them out to the fairgrounds, treat them to a fine meal in a big restaurant. We'll show them the best time they ever had, okay?”

The rest of them took up on the idea immediately. They finished their meal, collected the children, and started back to the farm.

As soon as they got there, Amos informed them of the plan. At once everyone began getting ready—washing, combing their hair, putting on their best clothes. Gavin, however, took no pains at all with his personal dress. Instead, he came out to talk to Owen, who was standing by the cars.

“Wish you'd left your car with me so I coulda worked on it. Cleaned it up, got it all tuned up,” he said wistfully. “That ol' heap of yours is in bad shape, Owen.”

Owen glanced over at the 1908 Hupmobile. “Well, I got it cheap, but it had been wrecked. Pretty good car, though,” he said, admiring the brass headlights and the square lantern that gleamed where he had polished them. The open two-seater boasted a steering wheel on the left side, a lever for a brake, and had wooden spokes and small tires.

Gavin walked over to the automobile and ran his hands over the chassis almost lovingly. “Hmm. Sliding gear transmission and magneto ignition,” he murmured, and began to explain how it all worked.

Owen's strong face grew thoughtful as he listened to the boy. He knew how Gavin felt. He himself had been trapped on the farm as a young man, escaping only after Agnes came to rule the house. He longed to find some way to help Gavin and finally said, “You know, maybe we can get you a job as a mechanic's helper in town.”

“Why, that'd be great, Owen!” Gavin exclaimed. “Do you really think I could?”

Owen studied the boy for a moment. “God can do anything, Gavin. If he can make a world, he can get you off this old farm.” He smiled, went over, threw his arm around his brother, and gave him a squeeze. “We'll see what God can do, but we'll give him all the help we can.”

Just then the door opened, and the clan boiled out, everyone jabbering excitedly. They piled into the cars and Amos led the way, followed by Owen's Hupmobile, and trailed by the old Model-A Gavin had found wrecked and had restored. All the way to town, Owen kept looking back to make sure the ancient car hadn't quit, as it usually did. But the small caravan rolled safely into Fort Smith and followed the traffic flowing toward the fairgrounds. Finally they pulled up, along with hundreds of cars that filled the huge lot.

Spilling out of the cars, the group joined the crowd moving toward the front gate, where Amos paid the twenty-five-cent admission fee for all of them. For the next two hours, they wandered around the carnival, taking in the sideshows, letting Jerry and Maury ride the Ferris wheel. Soon Lenora and Christie demanded their turn. With much squealing and clinging to one another, they took their first ride in outer space.

There were merry-go-rounds and other rides, and it did Amos good to see how much fun they had. He whispered, “Rose, I should have done this before. These kids don't have anything. Just look how much a little carnival means to them.”

“I know, Amos.” Rose squeezed his hand warmly. “We'll have to have the girls…the boys, too…come and visit us in New York. Not all at once, of course, but one at a time. We can show them around, find them jobs.” Her dark eyes glowed. She'd always been a compassionate person, and now she cast a sympathetic eye at her young relations, saying firmly, “You're right. We'll have to do more for them.”

By noon, they were all hungry, despite having eaten popcorn and exploring the mystery of cotton candy. “Why, I'd as soon eat
grass
as this stuff!” Logan sputtered. Lylah laughed at him, and then Amos led them into a large tent where they had hot dogs, heavily laced with mustard and chowchow, and ice cream for dessert, all washed down with glass after glass of lemonade.

“Probably make us all sick.” Owen grinned. “But I guess it's worth it.”

That afternoon, they took in some of the agricultural exhibitions. “I see enough horses and cows and pigs when I'm home,” Pete complained. “Let's go back to the fairgrounds.”

The others agreed, and they went back. This time, as they entered the midway area, they heard a barker making his spiel. “Step right up!” he cried out in a shrill tone, and everyone pressed forward to crowd around the platform.

Several men wearing robes were standing in front of the tent. The painted canvas behind the barker read: BOXING SHOW! GREATEST BOXERS IN AMERICA! WIN $100 IF YOU CAN STAY IN THE RING FOR 5 ROUNDS!

The barker was warming to his task. “Now, some of you young men out there, hear this! Want to impress your sweetheart? No better way to do it than to demonstrate your skill in the manly art of self-defense.” He waved a thin arm toward the robed men behind him. “We have here three of the finest proponents of the art of boxing to be found in this great country of ours. All of them have boxed in New York, Chicago, and other great cities of America. Now then, we are offering you a deal you can't refuse! We got Jackie Smith,” he gestured toward the smallest of the men. “One hundred twenty-six pounds for you lightweight fellows.” He motioned to the next man, who was obviously larger. “At 160 pounds, we have Cole Kelly for you middleweights—” He paused, adding dramatically, “And we have Killer Morgan for those of you who've lived a full life!”

He let the titter of laughter ripple through the crowd, then said, “Killer weighs in at 210 pounds and doesn't get much work. Not many men want to get in the same ring with him. Now, which of you fellas will be first to make an easy hundred bucks?”

The shill continued his patter and, without too much trouble, found volunteers to fight the lightweight and the middleweight. While he talked on, a big man, tall and ponderous, made his way through the crowd. Coming up behind Owen, he tapped him on the shoulder. “Hello, Preacher. Didn't expect to see you in a place like this.”

Owen turned and, recognizing the man who'd spoken, smiled. “Hello, Governor.” A glint of humor sparked in his eyes. “Didn't expect to see
you
in a place like this, either.”

Governor Al Benning laughed loudly, and some of the spectators who had recognized him turned to watch, listening avidly. “That's where you're wrong. Look at these votes around here, Preacher,” he said. “Any time you get this many folks together, you'll find a politician right in the middle of them!”

A laugh went around the crowd, and someone yelled, “That's the way, Guv! We're for you!”

Al Benning was one of the most popular governors Arkansas had ever had. Though the man had never seen the inside of a college, he was a shrewd, able politician and had learned to do the infighting necessary to rise to the top of the heap. He knew, it seemed, half the people in his home state. Everywhere he went, he could call hundreds—even thousands—of men and women by their first names.

Now, seeing Owen and remembering a story he had read about him—“Fighter Turned Preacher”—he saw an opportunity to make a little splash, perhaps sway a few votes in the upcoming election.

“Well, now, Preacher,” he said, “I've been wondering for years when you were going to stop preaching and get back to your regular trade. I always thought you'd be the one to whup Jack Johnson.” He shook his head sadly. “You was the one white hope that I had some confidence in.”

Jack Johnson, the black heavyweight champion, had ruled the boxing world for years. The search for the Great White Hope had swept the country, but no white man had been found who could outbox the crafty champion until the previous April, when Jess Willard had knocked him out to regain the heavyweight championship of the world.

“I guess any fighting I do will be with the devil, Governor,” Owen said with a smile and a shake of his head. Then he grinned. “I'm having a meeting in Little Rock next week. I'd sure like to see you there in the front row.”

Benning grinned. “Get me up with the rest of the sinners where you can rake us with both guns?”

“Something like that. Will you come?”

Benning knew the crowd was listening, and a thought came to him. “Well, I'll tell you what, Preacher.” He glanced up at the huge heavyweight fighter on the platform. “I know you're not a gambling man, so I'll just make you an offer.” He waved his hands and shook his head to indicate his sincerity. “Not a bet, you understand, just an offer.”

“An offer?” Owen asked. “What kind of offer?”

“You get up there and go five rounds with that fellow, and I'll come five straight nights to your meeting in Little Rock.”

Owen hesitated. He glanced at Amos, whose lips formed the words,
Do it, Owen
. Recklessly, he agreed. “Why, I'll take you up on that offer. I'd do just about anything to get a man who needs God in hearing sound of the gospel.”

A shout went up and the shill said, “Now, there's a sport for you! Do I understand, sir, that you're a minister of the gospel?”

Owen nodded. “That's right. I'm an evangelist.”

A satisfied smile curved the barker's lips. “Well, we're always glad to entertain the ministry here, aren't we, Killer?”