On Wings of the Morning Read online

  “Of course,” Doc said. “I’d like to keep him here overnight just to make sure he’s all right. We’ll take good care of him.”

  Maria went into the dimly lit examination room. She saw Otto, his blonde hair shining against the white sheet that tucked in at his neck. The bulky form of a cast showed through the covering. His face was still pale, but not ashen as it had been earlier.

  She smoothed his hair back from his forehead. His eyes opened briefly and he whispered, “I’m sorry, Mama, I didn’t mean to—“

  “Hush, Otto, you just rest for now. You’ll stay here tonight and we’ll come get you in the morning.” She kissed him on the forehead as his eyes closed, and then she tiptoed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

  ***

  Otto slept fitfully. Occasionally, Rose came into the room to check on him and ask him softly if he was in pain. “Nein,” he said, reverting to the German he had first spoken but which he now refused to speak unless scolded by his father. And he drifted back to sleep.

  In one dream, a nightmare really, he thought he had put the twin engine Ryan into a spiral dive. Colonel Lindberg pulled it out by brute force. “Pull, Otto, pull,” he yelled, as they both stood on the pedals and pulled the control wheels as hard as they could. The Ryan slowly leveled out, but Lindberg looked at Otto with disappointment. “I’m sorry, Otto, but I can’t have an incompetent pilot with me. You come.”

  They both unbuckled their seat belts and Otto followed Colonel Lindberg to the hatch halfway back along the fuselage. Lindberg’s face was stern. He slid open the door. The slipstream howled past the dark opening. The colonel put his hands on Otto’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Otto,” he intoned. “I can’t risk this mission because of an incompetent pilot.” With that, he wrenched Otto to the side, and Otto was thrust out into the cold darkness, falling, falling, falling. After a while the air seemed to buoy him up and he had no sensation of motion, but he knew that the sea lay below. He plunged through layers of cloud and broke through the overcast. The horizon showed as a thin gray line, and the sea was a darker gray than the clouds. The water seemed to rush up to him. It was coming fast, fast, and suddenly he hit.

  Otto sat up in the dark examination room. The grandfather clock in the parlor chimed four. He lay back down, feeling the ache of his broken leg. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

  ***

  The next morning he was awakened by sunlight streaming through a gap in the heavy curtains. His stomach reminded him he had not eaten since lunch the day before. He sat up again. Rose bustled into the room. “Good morning, Otto, you must have slept well. I didn’t hear you all night. How’s the leg?”

  “It aches, Mrs. Carter,” Otto returned.

  “Well, that’s to be expected. Are you hungry? Would you like to go to the bathroom?”

  “Do you mean the privy?” Otto wasn’t sure what a bathroom was. He didn’t need a bath.

  Rose laughed. “A bathroom is an indoor privy,” she smiled. “I’ll help you to it. You’ll find it’s much nicer than a smelly old privy.” She helped him up and guided him to a door on the other side of the examination room from the parlor. Rose flipped a switch and a light came on. Otto looked up in surprise. He had read about electric lights but had never seen one operate. Rose chuckled and pointed to a white vase. “That’s where you do your business, Otto. Pull the chain hanging from the tank when you’re done.” She closed the door.

  Otto gingerly eased himself down on the white vase and “did his business.” When he was done, he stood up, pulled up his knickers and pulled down on the chain as instructed. It sounded like water was pouring from the ceiling and he yelped and jumped out of its way as well as he could with his leg. He heard Rose’s voice from the other side. “Otto! Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Mrs., Carter. I thought I had caused a flood but I’m all right now.” She laughed on the other side of the door. “Well, come out when you’re finished.”

  Otto immediately opened the door and started to hobble out. “Wait a minute, young man: you didn’t wash your hands.”

  Otto looked puzzled. “I was going to use the pump in the kitchen if that’s all right.”

  Rose laughed again. “Let me show you,” she smiled, and led the way back into the bathroom. She flicked on the light and turned one of the faucets on. “See? Running water with the turn of a knob!”

  “Wow, Mrs. Carter, that’s pretty keen!”

  “Well, wash up and then we’ll see about some breakfast. Your folks will be here to pick you up pretty soon.”

  ***

  Otto wiped the last of the boiled egg Rose had fixed for him off his mouth, along with some bacon that looked like it was store-bought. It wasn’t until he smelled it frying that he realized how hungry he was. Breakfast at home was usually sausage and if there were bacon, it was homemade with a lot of fat. In fact, now that he thought of it, they had sausage about every meal, with potatoes and a few other vegetables his mother grew in the garden. And milk. Lots and lots of milk.

  Rose came back into the examining room and took the tray Otto had used for his breakfast. “Doctor Carter will be in to look at you in a few minutes. He was out all night with a difficult birth. Honestly I don’t know what would possess anyone to be a doctor. But he loves it.”

  “I’m glad he could fix my leg,” Otto offered.

  Rose patted him on the head. He reminded her so of their son Jack at the same age. “He was there when you were born. It’ll be up to you to follow orders and the rest is up to the good Lord.”

  Doctor Carter came into the room looking tired and disheveled. Without a word, he pulled back the sheet and examined the cast on Otto’s leg. He grunted and turned to Rose. “Rose, would you excuse us for a moment. I need to talk to Otto here.”

  Rose looked at him quizzically and then turned and carried the tray out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Doc watched her go and then faced Otto. He looked grave. “I want to talk to you about this airplane foolishness.”

  Otto’s mind went blank for a moment. Foolishness? Why were airplanes foolish? He didn’t understand.

  Doc continued, “Your remind me of our son Jack when he was your age. The Wright brothers flew when he was ten and he talked and dreamed of airplanes and flying the rest of his life, short as it was. He just had to go into the flying corps when we entered the war, and that’s what got him killed.”

  Otto had seen the memorial to those killed in the Great War. Jack Carter’s name was listed near the bottom, one of the last local casualties of the war. “He was a hero,” he began.

  Doc’s face tightened. “He’s dead, Otto, and you will be too if you persist. I know you’re young, but I’m also telling you to give up this airplane business. Don’t put your parents through what we’ve been through.”

  Otto couldn’t speak. He thought everyone was excited about airplanes, especially after Colonel Lindberg’s flight the year before. Everyone but his father, that is. Now he could add Doc to the list. He didn’t want to lie and say he would give up airplanes, so he was silent.

  Doc looked toward the closed door. “I think your parents are here to pick you up. Remember what we talked about.”

  Otto nodded, thinking, yes, I will remember but I won’t do what you asked.

  Mata appeared in the doorway, looking serious and pale. She ran over to Otto and hugged him. “Oh, Otto, I was so afraid when I saw you lying there in the dirt! Mama and Papa said you were all right, but I just had to see for myself.” Otto put a hand on the top of her head, noticing as if for the first time how evenly her twin braids came out of her head. Mama braided her hair every morning for her. She said that was how girls wore their hair in Germany.

  “I’ll be fine, sister. I’ll have to use a crutch for a while, but I’ll be good as new very soon.” Mata raised her head and smiled rapturously at him.

  “I’m so glad, Otto. Papa says you can help Mama and me with the chickens and the garden.” Otto sighed. There was no esc
aping work on the farm, even with a broken leg. He had hoped to have extra time to read some of the books he had selected from the bookmobile which came by once a month. The library lady tried to save books on airplanes for him. She knew how much he liked to read about them.

  Mama and Papa came in with Dr. Carter. “All right, Otto, you can go home with your parents. Just remember what we talked about,” said Carter gravely. “I’ll see you back here in a couple of weeks to see how that leg is doing. We should be able to take the cast off in time for school.”

  Otto struggled to sit up on the side of the bed. Rose came in with a pair of crutches which she gave to him. He put one under each arm. The padded pieces felt funny, but he made one tentative step, then another. Mata held onto him as he traversed the room and slowly went to the door. He turned to look at Doc and Rose. “Thank you, Doctor. Thank you, Mrs. Carter.”

  Rose waved. “No more jumping from haylofts,” she called.

  “Good-bye, Mrs. Carter,” Otto waved.

  He clumped down the path to the Model T. His papa helped him into the truck bed where Mata climbed up beside him. Mama had brought one of the goosedown pillows from the house and put it under his cast. Mata clung to him as if he would float away. Papa started the truck and swung it in a wide half-circle to head out of town. Some of the buildings were decorated with flags and bunting for the upcoming Fourth of July celebration. Otto looked forward to the picnic and fireworks every year. No foot race for me this year, he thought.

  Soon they were in the countryside, the fields on either side of them golden beneath the warm sun. Otto felt the breeze from their passage tousling his hair and, tired from lack of sleep the night before, fell into a surprisingly deep slumber and dreamed he was flying above those golden fields.

  Chapter 2

  Lessons: October, 1931

  “Otto! Otto Kerchner!”

  Someone was calling his name, it seemed from a long distance away. Otto was thinking hard about the design of a new airplane. He looked down at the paper on his desk where he had sketched a sleek silver monoplane with a huge radial engine. It would be called the Kerchner Model 1 and it would be faster than anything in the skies.

  “Otto! Stand and recite!”

  Otto snapped out of his reverie. He was in school and being called on to recite by Miss Smith, his fifth grade teacher. She was a small hateful woman. All the kids at school said she hated children, and they wondered why she was a teacher. She had a particular dislike for the children of recent immigrants, and a special dislike for Otto. He didn’t know why.

  He stood beside his desk, hearing snickers from the boys and giggles from the girls in his class from all the girls except for Betty Ross, the banker’s daughter. She liked Otto and was kind to him. He looked at her, and she smiled encouragingly.

  “Otto!” snapped Miss Smith.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Now that you have joined us in our class, tell me, please, what town and state you are in. If you can, that is.” More snickers and giggles.

  “We live in Pioneer Lake, Wisconsin,” Otto recited mechanically.

  “I’m so glad you know where you are, Otto. What are the principal crops of our little community?”

  “Local farmers grow wheat, corn, potatoes, and other fruits and vegetables.”

  “What else do they raise? You should know this!”

  “Cows, both dairy and beef.”

  “What month and year is this?”

  “It is October, 1931.”

  “And who is the President of the United States?”

  “Herbert Hoover, ma’am.” How long would this go on? Otto knew the answer: far longer than he wanted it to, or until he missed a question.

  “And what were you drawing at your desk just now?”

  “An airplane.”

  “Will you show it to us?”

  Otto obligingly held up his drawing.

  “And what were you supposed to be drawing, young man?”

  “A map of Wisconsin.”

  “I don’t recall Wisconsin looking like that. Do pay attention, Otto. I know you’re slow, but try to keep up. You may be seated.”

  Otto took his seat, his cheeks burning. The boy in front of him had turned around when his inquisition began. He sneered at Otto, “Fly boy! Why don’t you fly off someplace else?”

  Otto started to reply, but the only insults he could think of were in German, and he would be severely punished if Miss Smith heard him speaking German. He had come to first grade speaking only German, and had to repeat the year while he learned English. He wasn’t the only one: there were a number of children who spoke only German when they started school.

  He pulled out another piece of paper and rapidly sketched an outline of Wisconsin. He penciled in tiny farm houses and barns here and there, drew in a few cows and rounds of cheese and for good measure, larger than any of the other little pictures, several airports complete with hangars, runways and little airplanes taking off and landing. He leaned back and studied his work. It pleased him and he smiled. Just then, a shadow fell across his desk. Miss Smith had sneaked up on and was glaring at him, holding her hand out. “Let me see your work, Otto.”

  He obediently handed his map to her, hoping she would not tear it up. He wanted to show it to Mata.

  “So this is what you think the primary industry of Wisconsin is, Otto? Airplanes?”

  Otto couldn’t speak. The whole class turned around to stare at him, except for Betty who put her head down on her desk. Miss Smith turned to them.

  “You may all go to recess, children—“and looking back at Otto—“You may stay here.”

  Otto slumped in his seat as the class filed out, some of the boys making faces at him. Betty smiled slightly, and then he was alone with his teacher.

  “Otto, how many times have I told you to stop wasting your time with airplanes?’

  “But, Miss Smith, airplanes are the future…”

  “But we’re not in the future, are we, Otto? We’re in the present, and in the present the airplane is a dangerous rich man’s toy that will never amount to anything. People travel by train. That’s the way to go! It’s fast, easy and economical.”

  “Miss Smith, it’s faster to fly to the west coast than it is to take the train.”

  “And do you know that most of that trip is by train?”

  “But, Miss Smith…”

  “No more from you, Otto. Your work is unacceptable.” She ripped his map to tiny shreds. “You may go to recess now.” She stood and glared at him as he slumped out of the room.

  All the classes were outside in the October sunshine. Some of the girls jumped rope, played hopscotch or stood in little groups talking; the boys played tag or shot marbles in rings drawn in the dirt. Otto went over to one of the benches by the school and sat down and put his head in his hands. He became aware someone had sat beside him. He hoped it wasn’t one of the bigger boys who would beat him up. Again. He lifted his head and opened one eye. He saw a nimbus of golden hair and immediately smiled. “Betty!”

  She smiled back. “Are you all right, Otto?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Miss Smith didn’t like my map. She tore it up.”

  “I’m sorry.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know why she singles you out.”

  “I don’t either. She just doesn’t like me. She thinks I’m dumb. I’m not dumb, am I, Betty?”

  Betty smiled at him. “No, you’re not dumb, Otto. You’re very smart. You know so much about airplanes, and…”

  A small boy ran up to them, breathless. “Otto! Otto! Did you bring your airplane?” Otto sometimes brought rubber-powered models that he had built and flew them with some of the smaller boys, who chased them in the field behind the school.

  Otto brightened. “Yes, it’s right here in my bag. Betty, would you excuse us while we go flying?”

  “May I come?”

  “Sure, if you want to. I didn’t know you were interested in airplanes.”

 
“I think they’re so beautiful, like silver birds.”

  Otto pulled out a silver replica of The Spirit of St. Louis about six inches long. He had figured out how to build it from pictures in a German-language magazine that his parents received. He didn’t have balsa wood and had no idea how to get any, so he cut thin slices of pine with his knife and assembled the tiny craft, powering it with some pieces of rubber he cut from an old inner tube. He figured out the airfoil from a book he got from the bookmobile about the Wright brothers and painted the model silver with some leftover shed paint. The craft was heavier than he would have liked, but it did fly after a fashion.

  Otto and Betty and a cluster of smaller boys made their way to the field beside the recess area. Otto said to the boy who had come up to him, “Merle, you turn the prop while I hold the plane.”

  Merle studiously turned the propeller with his index finger, his tongue stuck out in concentration.

  “Give it a hundred turns,” Otto instructed.

  “I can’t count to a hundred,” Merle sighed.

  “I’ll count for you,” Betty offered. “That’s nineteen, twenty…”

  In a short while Merle had reached the required number of turns. Betty smiled at him. “I’ll help you with your numbers!”

  “That would be great, Betty!”

  Otto reached around and held the prop. “I got it, Merle. Now you guys stand back. We’re about to fly!”

  He held the tiny aircraft over his head, pushing it forward and letting go of the propeller with one smooth motion. The miniature climbed in a long straight line, rising above the grass of the backfield, making a thin whir against the noise of the school at recess.

  It rose to an altitude of perhaps 100 feet, a speck against the blue October sky. The prop stopped and the plane glided down in large lazy circles. The smaller boys took off in a herd toward the airplane, which touched down in the grass and nosed over.

  Betty clapped her hands with delight. “Careful, guys!” shouted Otto. “Don’t run over it.”

  One of the smallest boys—Otto thought his name was Johann—reached the plane first. He stooped down and carefully picked it up and then walked slowly back, the other boys grouped around him. He handed it gingerly to Otto.