“Poor dear. It must have been so frightening.”
“It wasn’t,” Marian insisted. “I liked it. Are you having engine trouble?”
“Not more than usual.”
“I know about engines. I take care of Wallace’s car—don’t I, Wallace?”
“She does,” he told the woman. “Marian is a born mechanic.”
“How charming.”
The sleeping figure under the other plane stirred. A sun-browned arm curled up to unhat the face, and a man came out from under the wing, stretched his back. He was trim, compact, densely mustachioed, and, crossing the grass, had a leisurely, bowlegged stride and an insouciance to the way he set his hat far back on his head with one hand while brushing grass off his seat with the other.
“Felix,” said the woman, “this is the poor little girl you almost mowed down on her horse.”
“You!” He stopped short with hands on hips. “An unmarked obstacle, you are.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I could use a reminder not to showboat, if you can call it that when no one’s even watching. What were you doing up there so early?”
Wallace regarded Marian with interest, as though he’d never considered asking her himself.
“I just go up to look around sometimes.”
“Fair enough.” The man shook hands with Wallace. “Felix Brayfogle.” He jerked a thumb at the stepladder. “My wife, Trixie. The Flying Brayfogles.” Felix shook Marian’s hand next but didn’t let go when she expected. He fixed her with a stern look. “No dead fish allowed. Go on. Firm grip. You won’t break me.”
She squeezed as hard as she could, pumped his wrist.
“Better. Cracked a bone or two. You like engines? Want to see this one?”
“Dearheart,” Trixie cut in, “I’m afraid I’m busy up here, and we only have the one ladder.”
“For every problem there is a solution,” Felix said. He led Marian to the wing, boosted her up onto the varnished canvas. “Hop on my shoulders.”
“Felix, really,” Trixie trilled.
“Go on,” he said to Marian. She sat on the wing’s edge and scooted onto Felix’s shoulders. Not knowing where to put her hands, she clutched the top of his head.
“Aren’t I too big?”
“You’re a slip of a thing.” He walked her a few steps to the plane’s nose. “There, have a good look. Easy on my hair, though. I want to keep it.”
What she saw was like a car’s engine but even more wonderful. She studied the paths of fuel and water, noted the valves and rods and bolts while studiously avoiding Trixie’s gaze, baleful across the knot of metal. The glossy wooden propeller blades were elegantly angled to grasp and guide the air.
“It’s an OX-5,” Felix said from between her knees. “Looks nice but leaks like a sieve and guzzles oil. Had a good enough look?”
“Yes, thanks,” she said, though she hadn’t.
Felix sat her on the wing again, turned to grasp her waist and lift her down. “Say,” he said to Wallace, “you wouldn’t know a place near here that won’t cheat us on gasoline, would you?”
Marian edged closer to the cowling, reaching up to pet the metal as though it were a horse, and Wallace, watching her, told Felix he would drive him to a good garage if he liked and then back with the gas. While they were at it, he said, he’d show him a few spots in town to pin up notices advertising their air show and rides. “And, only a thought, so feel free to decline, but if you’re looking for a place to stay, I’d be happy to put you up for the night.”
“Why, that’d be terrific,” said Felix.
“And you’d take Marian and her brother for rides tomorrow?”
“Certainly.”
“And you, Uncle Wallace?” Trixie sang out from above. “Don’t you want a ride?”
* * *
—
To Marian, the presence of the barnstormers transformed their house. On the one hand, she felt newly mortified by its shabbiness because she assumed pilots must be used to the finest things in life. On the other, now that the house contained Felix, it seemed infused with radiant possibility. Did he have a beast in him? Did he grab at Trixie and growl and scowl? She’d clutched his hair in her fingers, felt his shoulders under her thighs. A slip of a thing. Was that what she was? The thought of him made her jumpy, nervy. Already she’d dragged him out to show him Wallace’s car, lifted the hood to reveal the patches and fixes she’d contrived in the engine. He was kind to her in a twinkling way and had seemed genuinely impressed by her knowledge of the car. She liked his mustache and his neat waist in belted breeches. While he bathed, she passed by the bathroom more than she needed, pausing once to press her ear against the door, listening for the occasional laconic splash.