Chenda and the Airship Brofman (13 page)

“OK. Tell Ol' Captain Max all about it,” he said in a silly, swashbuckling tone.

“Can't I just wallow in my own little puddle for a minute? Honestly, if I say what I'm thinking out loud, I'm just gonna sound petty.”

Captain Endicott shrugged. “The world is full of petty. There's a good mix of resentment, shallowness and stupidity out there, too. But you're here on
my
ship, scratching the finish on
my
railing, by the way, so I'm hoping there is at least something interesting to share. So, sate my curiosity. How are you mixed up in this?”

Candice clutched her fingers to her palm. “The easy answer is that Edison Frost asked me to be.”

“Interesting,” the captain said, “yet not fully satisfying, as far as answer go. When was the last time you talked with him?”

“Twenty-one-years ago,” Candice replied.

Captain Endicott barked out a roaring laugh, clutching his sides. “Oh, you've lost me!” Candice realized that she actually did want to talk about what she was thinking and was making a mess of it. She laughed in spite of herself.

“Let me back up a little-” she started, but another laugh cut her off.

“Back further than 21-years? How long is this story?”

“Surprisingly short,” Candice chided, “assuming you let me finish.  Short and old. Do you want to listen or just have giggle fits?”

Captain Endicott clamped both hands over his mouth, but his eyes continued to laugh. It seemed that mirth was his constant state. To a serious woman like Candice, the condition was unsettling, but not wholly unappealing.

“I met Edison Frost 25 years ago, or there about, when I entered the Republic School for the Sciences.”

“Go! ATOMS!” the captain cheered. Candice slapped him on the shoulder and he put his hands over his mouth again.

“Anyway, I was young, and like most teenagers, I was in over my head hormone-wise. Edison happened to be the first boy I saw and I went bonkers for him. He was handsome, smart, kind and willing to give me the time of day.

“As a student, I was pretty average. There was a distraction for me around every corner, and usually it was Edison. We dated casually for the first year or so, but as the months came and went, we grew steadily closer. Eventually the war started, and Edison chose to join the Republic Air Service.”

Candice paused, as if trying to pick the best way to explain. “When he left, he said that I shouldn't wait for him. By all indications, the war was going to be a long one. It soon became obvious that it was going to be a bloody one as well. I never
decided
that I would wait for him, I just did. It wasn't like there was anyone else there to tempt me. The city was empty of men my age. I remembered the joy I had with Edison, and I guess that each time I recalled him, I perfected him. I erased any faults he had. I forgot any defect between us. No one could live up to the
idea
of him. I threw myself into my study. As the war dragged on, my love turned to fear. I saw many of my college friends who were crippled by the loss of their husbands in the war. I vowed that would never happen to me. So I bottled up my feelings for Edison and decided to never look at them until I saw him again.

“But I never did see him. Well, not alive anyway. What it comes down to is this: I have some degree of envy for Chenda. Edison picked
her
and forgot about me. That hurts. But before you think me so shallow as to be jealous of the newly widowed, I also have great sympathy for the girl. I yearned to marry Edison, but the possibility of losing him stopped me from loving, not just him, but everyone. I
feared
losing him, but it actually
happened
to her, and in such a brutal way. I have my work, which I love, and good friends, too. She only had him.

“So, in a strange way, I love her, because he loved her. And I envy her for the same reasons. However, in the last few days, I have come to see that she is made of some pretty strong stuff. She is going to follow Edison's directives if it kills her. He sent her to me as part of this insane journey, and he promised that I could help her. So I guess I will.”

Captain Endicott made a show of pulling his hands off of his mouth and said, “I guess, in the end, it's pretty clear that your old flame
hadn't
forgotten about you at all.” He thought for a moment and continued. “In fact, I would say he knew you pretty well. He must have known enough about you, your work and your character to feel like he could entrust his wife to your guidance.”

“Well, when you put it that way...” she blushed.

“Let me give you a piece of advice,” he said. “And keep in mind, I'm just a stupid fly-boy. If I were you...”

Candice looked over to see why the captain had stopped talking. Captain Endicott reached toward Candice and cupped one hand behind her head. In one smooth motion, he pulled her toward him, dipped her across his lap and brought his lips down hard over hers. Captain Endicott released a kiss so powerful and passionate that Candice's eyelids fluttered and her spine got loose. Before she could think, he pitched her back upright, and let her go.

“... I'd throw overboard your bottle-o'-love for the dead man. There's plenty of love in the world, and plenty of ways to find it. Chasing after a feeling that's 20 years old, well, that way lies madness.” He patted Candice's knee and gestured to the wheelhouse. “And those lads’ fawning over her doesn't negate any of Edison's love for her, or hers for him, but I think you knew that.”

He stood up and offered his hand to Candice. “Shall we finish our walk?” he said. Candice looked agog at the captain as the first rays of the morning sun glowed on his gleeful face.

She stood up and looked over the side of the ship. She put her hand over her heart and pulled it away, imagining she was holding her bottled up emotions. She kissed it and pitched it over the side. As they walked toward the bow, Candice placed her hand on the captain’s arm and said to him, “You have some pretty persuasive advice.”

“Any time you need a little more counsel, you just come see me. I'm just full of it.”

“I bet you are,” Candice replied, and the twosome laughed as they walked under the early morning sun.

Chapter 9

ATOLL BELLES

Chenda waited in the wheelhouse for the first rays of a new day's sun to come over the horizon. She, Verdu and Fenimore had spent the whole night talking. Kingston, less inclined than the others to sacrifice a night's sleep for good conversation, stalked off to bed well before midnight. Fenimore and Verdu spent the remainder of the night regaling Chenda with stories of their adventures aboard the
Brofman
.

To hear them tell it, there was little Captain Endicott wouldn't do -- especially if the price was right. He smuggled a wide variety of cargoes, from stolen art to brides with cold feet. He traded in a variety of contraband, and, as he had done with Verdu, he'd brought foreign illegals into the Republic.

Fenimore said, “He does what he does to thumb his nose at the Republic. The money is just a way of keeping score.”

“He doesn't sound particularly patriotic, and some of his exploits sound as if they border on treason” Chenda said.

“No,” Verdu said. “He loves the Republic -- for many reasons. He even served during the war, medals and everything, but there are certain... injustices... that he feels he needs to correct.”

“Injustices?”

“Take all of us for example,” Fenimore said. “Most of the crew is made of members who the Republic as a whole would condemn: Verdu is Tugrulian, Kingston practices medicine without a license, Stanley, Spencer and Lincoln were troublemakers, each on his way to a life of crime. Germer was a junkie. The point is, Captain Endicott believes in second chances. He believes in the goodness of people. He gives people the freedom to learn from their mistakes and make amends in their own way and time.”

“Captain Endicott is no saint, but he is a good man. He tries to keep us from making deals with the devil,” Verdu said, shooting a glance at Fenimore. “Sometimes he can't.”

Chenda, unsure if she should let that cryptic remark go by, turned to Fenimore. “I notice you left your crimes off the list.”

“That I did.” Fenimore said in a tone that indicated he would discuss it no more.

“Fen has a temper." Verdu whispered.

“Oh, when you say it like that you make me sound scary!” Fenimore snapped. “It's like this: I got into a brawl when I was 19. It was just a good night out at the pub with friends, until it wasn't. I have no idea what the fight was about, but when the dust settled, I'd beaten an old school buddy of mine into a coma, which is where he is today. I went to jail for a year. And when I got out, I fell in with Captain Endicott. I've been here for five years, and every penny I earn or swindle or salvage, I send along to help pay for his care. I'll do that for as long as he or I live.”

He tucked his chin to his chest, his face awash in shame. Chenda could only feel compassion for him. “Making amends. I see,” she said.

The trio stood silently in the wheelhouse as the sun, glorious and bright, breached the horizon. In that sparkling instant, Fenimore and Verdu dropped their hands from Chenda's and started working in tandem, flipping switches and moving dials. The signal whistle blew through the airship as the
Brofman
came alive for another day of flight.

It was a thrill to watch her new friends work the controls, their hands quick and sure. She was glad those same hands had brought her to helm of the
Brofman
when she asked what it was like to pilot an airship. They placed her shaking fingers on the wheel, their own hands covering hers, reassuring her. It wasn't like she was actually flying the ship; after all, it was nighttime, and they were just hovering. It also didn't bother her that they never let go of her hands, and that they both stood so close.

 There was something about this airship that negated the boundaries of personal space. Until she encountered the constant nudge, bump and jostle of life aboard ship, she never knew how starved she was for physical contact. Only one set of hands ever possessed her in her old life. She realized that his touch had been all touch to her for most of her life. The nuns at the orphanage never were much for hugging, and her companions there were not the intimate sort. She searched her memory, and she couldn't recall a time when Alme or any other member of the house staff had ever touched her. Well, except for Daniel Frent. Other than the day of the funeral when he caught her mid-fall, Chenda didn't consider him to be full of
good touch
. Her last week of human contact was the worst. Cold handshakes at the funeral. The emptiness of the house. The absence of Edison's rough hands on her face, kissing her goodnight. She still missed Edison's physical presence, but her yearning for him was no longer the soul sucking ache it had been yesterday.

Chenda realized a new truth about herself; she
liked
the close physical presence of other people and wanted more of it. The vitality present on this airship made her realize that she had been blissfully unaware of the sensual variety in the larger world beyond the walls of her pampered life. There were thousands of hands offering a million sensations in the world, and that thought overwhelmed her.  The possibility distracted her.

Chenda's concentration broke as another series of whistles twittered though the ship. The three deck hands rushed up the stairs, snapped their bitter-ends into the track and trotted to the power cells behind the wheelhouse. They moved efficiently, tugging on pulleys to angle the cylinders upwards to catch the first rays of the sun.  The boys meticulously polished the tubes to make sure that every ray of sunshine entered unreflected.

In the wheelhouse, Fenimore lifted one more lever and Chenda could feel the
Brofman
make a small shudder. The airship was ready to leap forward and fly into the rising sun. “Verdu,” he said, “Sadly, I am still on duty. Would you please be so kind as to escort Mrs. Frost to the galley, where she will find both the captain and a hot breakfast?”

“It would be my fondest delight,” Verdu said as he offered an elbow to Chenda and opened the wheelhouse door. Chenda accepted his arm, but took no step to leave. “Fenimore, Verdu, please call me Chenda. I want to thank you for spending some time with me tonight, and for showing me around. I really did have a wonderful time.” The men did a matched, bashful shuffle, neither immediately coming up with anything to say.

As Chenda and Verdu stepped out, Fenimore said, “Come back anytime, and call me Fen, like he does, if you want.”

“I'll see you later, Fen,” Chenda called over her shoulder.

In the galley, Kingston fussed over his special oatmeal. He believed that every meal deserved his best, even simple breakfasts like this one. So few people grasped the power of oatmeal. He considered it a personal challenge to make every member of the crew
ooh
and
ahh
over this most basic dish. He loved a good culinary trial.

Candice and the captain were the first to arrive for the morning meal, and he served up two heaping bowls. He'd had the professor, and more specifically her rocky tummy, in mind when he picked oatmeal for this morning's chow. Easy to keep down. He worried that the ample portion he'd served would drub her, but was pleased when she heartily started in on her dish.