Cynthia Cartier - Wings

When Liddy entered Jack’s room he was curled-up asleep on the bed. Liddy sat with him until the room darkened with the setting sun. Although she read the paper to Jack that morning, she felt too empty to leave the room now. She wanted to see his eyes and store up the sound of his voice. Reluctantly, she stood up and moved to his bedside. She smoothed his hair to his head hoping it would awaken him gently. His breaths kept a smooth cadence and he didn’t stir. She kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, “Love you, Daddy. I’ll be back when I have wings.” And she left the room.

Jack’s eyes opened as he heard his daughter’s steps fade into the hallway. He had always let Edda do the praying for the family, even after she died. But here in this moment, he buried his face and whispered into his palms and uttered one of many prayers to come, “Please, keep my Liddy safe.”

Liddy slid behind the wheel of the Dodge to leave the hospital and kicked something with her foot. She reached down to the floorboard and picked up a small box wrapped in shiny blue paper and tied with a gold ribbon.

She spun the box over and couldn’t find a tag. Liddy scanned the area, but all she saw were a few parked cars. She carefully untied the bow, removed the wrapping and took the lid off the white box. Inside was a new aviator watch, but still no note, and Liddy sorted the possibilities.

It wasn’t like Rowby to do something good he wasn’t going to take credit for, but, he wasn’t quite himself, was he? Jerry Bluff was over in Monroe, and it just didn’t work out in her mind that he would drive to Holly Grove and do such a thing. Why would someone give her the gift anonymously, and who had the money?

Liddy took the watch from the box and examined the detail. The black leather band was smooth and soft and the chrome case sparkled. The steel hands were painted white. With the click and precision of a little toy soldier, the second hand swept over the black face, and the small sub-seconds dial peaked through the bottom edge of the black circle. The numbers were tiny and perfect. The winding pin was long and had a fat head that could be wound with gloves on. On the back was engraved, Go Get Your Wings.

Liddy did attempt to uncover the identity of the giver, but never did and it remained a treasured mystery.

With the mystery of the gift swirling in her head, Liddy pulled into the Alley and wiggled the Dodge back and forth until she was wedged into the long line of cars that were parked on both sides next to the buildings, leaving a one way strip in the center. Halfway down the corridor, a blast of light spilled through two large doors that had been propped open with barrels. Even before Liddy heard the music, she felt the beat in the air and on the earth.

If you didn’t see the crates and shelves pushed up against the walls, you’d never have known you were in a warehouse. The Tullys had set quite a spread. A huge sign had been painted on old bed sheets that read, Good Luck Boys and Liddy, and the high ceilings were hung with long streamers that had been laced through cardboard cutout stars. Fabric and war posters had been pinned to the walls. A food table was brimming with punch, cake and cookies and Mrs. Tully ran back and forth keeping it full.

Crazy Jay, as he was called and called himself, kept the music spinning. He had bulging eyes and wild hair and was always decked out in city clothes that he ordered from Sears and Roebuck. He would laugh wildly for no apparent reason and he talked with a rhythm that made it sound like he was singing. He had a vast collection of 78s and loved to play them for a crowd, so all of his eccentricities were overlooked, and he became a welcomed and expected fixture at parties.

Liddy danced the fox trot, shuffles and swings, none well, but she fit right in. Daniel had recovered from the trauma of being jailed, and the whole ordeal seemed to thicken him. He, Celia, May Tully (Harlan was outside sitting on his car with the Shelley boys) and Liddy danced the Charleston together until Frank Paulson arrived and cut in. Frank was a man that Liddy took in a movie with on occasion, and they ran with a group that drove around the county to the different parties and dances. But she never made herself exclusive to him, or him to her, and it worked out well for both of them.

Big Buck Cob clung to his tiny little girlfriend Trilby. When he had downed enough spiked punch, he set himself at the end of the room and belted out a little ballad he called Truly Tilby that went something like this, “Truly Tilby, Truly Dear, Truly Tilby, Truly Dear, Truly Tilby, Truly Dear.” And so forth. It looked as if other lyrics were in him somewhere, but he never did get past Truly, Tilby and Dear. When he was Trulyed out, he held his little gal and danced slow with her for the rest of the night, regardless of the music that was playing. It was sad in more ways than one. The girls all tried to maintain a compassionate face, but his friends snickered. Buck didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, he was never coming back, and they all knew he might be right.

Practically everyone in Holly Grove was there, except Rowby. Crik, Orrin and even Jensen Laughton showed up for a while. They sat with Raymond Tully and some of the other men swapping stories.

The Rollins brothers joined the party about ten with their strings in tow: a base, a fiddle and two guitars. These music men wound everyone up again. Without a break, they played their rowdy version of rockin’ country swing until midnight. When Liddy saw some of Rowby’s posse, she searched the gang, but no Rowby.

Crazy Jay spun the last song for the night and he made it a slow one. Frank Sinatra confirmed, “A heart that’s true, there are such things. A dream for two, there are such things.” And the center of the room overflowed. Liddy was wishing it had been less crowded so that Frank Paulson may not have been so free to let his hands and assumptions wander.

“I’m gonna miss you, Liddy.” Frank gave her a long, sapped-up look.

“Thanks, Frank.” Liddy looked over his shoulder and rolled her eyes.

“I thought we could drive down to the river tonight,” he whispered in her ear, “this being your last night in town and all.” Frank was fun on Friday nights and nice looking, but he wasn’t the first man to suggest that a memorable roll in the hay was in order when the war came calling. Liddy had never fallen for it before, and sadly for Frank, it didn’t look too promising for him now.

“We don’t go down to the river, Frank.”

“I just thought it might be comforting,” he said empathetically.

“I’m the one going away, remember? And, I don’t need any comforting.” …And certainly not from you.

The last lyrics of the night floated above the vinyl, “So have a little faith and trust in what tomorrow brings. You’ll reach a star because there are such things.” Liddy looked past Frank’s shoulder hoping to see Rowby saunter through the door, but he never did.

That night Liddy drove her Dodge into Crik’s barn and parked it in between two cannibalized planes. She tucked it in under a canvas tarp, more out of respect than necessity, and then for more than two hours she strolled around the barn and then out into the field with the half-lit moon. It was after three a.m. before she went to her trailer to try and get some sleep.

Muck was waiting and hopped in when she opened up the door. He slept on the floor next to Liddy’s bed and she hung her arm over the edge and scratched his head with her fingernails. That was the first time since he’d been pulled out of the well that he hadn’t slept the night on an old horse blanket under Crik’s table. Liddy appreciated the gesture.

Morning came slowly and she was up before Crik’s rooster crowed. Liddy had the blue-gray suit laid out and her small suitcase had been packed for a week. Once she was washed, dressed and fed, Liddy sat at the table feeling lost for the first time in her life. A knock on the little door sent a twitch up her spine. It was Daniel who had come to ride along when Crik drove Liddy to the station.

“You ready to go?” His eyes were red and he had his hands shoved deep in his pockets, which rounded his shoulders.

“Ready, Ace!” Liddy picked up her suitcase and stepped outside.

“Is that all you’re bringing?” Daniel looked at what Liddy was carrying as she stepped down from the trailer. “When Celia went to Kansas City to visit her sister for a week, I hauled three suitcases to the station.”

“Guess that’s why she always looks so pretty. You’re a lucky guy, Daniel Cooper.”

Daniel looked sideways with a little boy smile and his face reddened to match his eyes.

“One suitcase is all I’m allowed. Besides I don’t think I’m going to need much where I’m going.”

Traveling to the train, a truth filled the truck cab. A beginning was about to bring an end. Liddy’s life—all of their lives—were setting themselves to change, and none of them liked it. The talk was labored and finally they gave up altogether and sat in silence for the remainder of the drive. When they pulled up in front of the depot deck, Daniel hopped out to get Liddy’s suitcase from the bed of the truck.

“Take it easy on Daniel. He’s not ready for loops.”

“Crowds are gettin’ thinner. I’ll be closin’ down for awhile, ‘till you go end this war.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” Liddy joked. “I’ll write. Make sure Daddy hears my letters, okay?”

Crik patted Liddy’s cheek with the back of his hand. “You look real nice, honey. Seen you in a dress two days in a row now, can’t remember the last time before that.” Crik searched his memory. “It was the St. Patrick’s Dance over in Shelby, since you proved you had legs I think. Your mama would be real proud. You look more like her dressed like that.”