As the Zephyr continued to fly without incident, Mercy relaxed enough to close her eyes from time to time, even dozing off. She only realized the ride was changing when the dirigible settled in Winston-Salem for a fuel refill.
The captain told them they were welcome to stay aboard or disembark in the Carolina airyard, so long as they returned to their seats within half an hour. The students and Mr. Rand did just that. But the elderly man was asleep with his head on his wifes shoulder, so she remained.
Mercy decided to stay, leaning her head against the cool surface of the window and watching and listening as a tank on a rail just like the one in Richmond approached, docked, and began the hissing pump of hydrogen into the tanks above their heads.
When the students climbed back aboard, they were chattering, like always; their patter was a background hum, blending into the whir and wheeze of the gas flowing from tank to tank through the rubber-treated hoses with heavy brass fittings.
Mercy ignored them, leaving her eyes closed until she heard one of the students say, . . . farther south, around Nashville by a wider berth.
She blinked to awareness, enough to interrupt and ask, The troops?
Beg your pardon, maam?
The troops? Are you talking about the troops?
Dennis, the one with the unmarred feet, was a brunet with watery blue eyes and a young mans mustache. He told her, We overheard a bit, thats all. Theyre saying the Yankees have made a push to the southeast, so well have to fly out of our way to dodge a battle. I almost hope
we dont, he added, and the words were tickled by a flutter of excitement.
Dont talk that way, Mercy said. We end up over a battlefield, and were all of us dead as stones.
What makes you say that? he asked.
She shook her head, either sad for him or amazed that he simply didnt know. Before she could answer, Gordon Rands head popped up into the cabin, followed by his torso and a trailing string of gossip.
The fightings going on clear out over the Appalachians, thats what theyre saying, he contributed.
Mercy said, Jesus.
The young brunet wanted to know more. Do you think well see fighting?
To which Mr. Rand said, We wont see any, or well all see entirely too much. Mrs. Lynch is right. The moment this little passenger rig brushes up against a hit or two of antiaircraft fire, were doomed.
Your hearing must be quite remarkable, she observed, since he hadnt quite been present when shed made her observation.
He beamed, and in his near lisp of an accent he continued, I wouldnt worry about it too much, if I were you. The captain is presently taking note of the very latest telegraph information from the front, and hell adjust our course accordingly. I have the utmost faith in this. In fact, so utmost is my faith that I plan to stay aboard and ride on to Fort Chattanooga in the civilized comfort of this very fine ship.
Thats confidence for you, piped up the old woman, with enough cool sarcasm to surprise them all.
The captain rejoined them before anyone could comment further, and he led the first mate back to the cockpit while urging everyone else to be seated. He mustve heard something of their conversation himself, for as he got situated he said, It seems as if youve heard about the movement in the front. I want you all to know, its to be expected, and its something we deal with regularly. Theres nothing to be concerned about, for Ive got the freshest of all possible coordinates right here. He indicated a slip of paper covered in dots, dashes, and someones handwriting. Well leave within the next five minutes and have you all safely in Fort Chattanooga within a few hours.
With that, he donned an aviators hat and a pair of goggles that were largely for show. He waved at the two crew members whod latched themselves against the back wall, signaled to the passengers that the ship was ready to disengage, and flashed a big thumbs-up before smiling and taking the controls.
Four
Down below us-oh! Theres one, just to the right. You see those little sparks? Those fires that look so tiny from our prodigious height?
The passengers mumbled assent.
He said, Shiners, the lot of them. They do their distillations in the evening, and in the rural parts between the county lines, where they arent likely to be bothered.
Their distillations? asked Mr. Rand.
The old lady spoke up. Busthead. Red-eye. Mountain dew. Theyre brewing alcohol, Mr. Rand, she informed him, and likewise informed the group that there might be more to her sophisticated-looking soul than theyd previously assumed. The South would like to tax it for revenue, but the folks who produce it often lack any other source of income; so I trust you can see the difficulty.
Absolutely, Mr. Rand nearly purred. Though I dont suppose the CSA has the time or resources to devote to pursuing bootleggers.
This time it was the clubfooted lad who contributed. The local authorities-sheriffs, policemen, constables, or however the cities and townships are organized-theyre given leave by the capital in Danville to pursue the moonshiners at a personal profit, provided they collect the unpaid taxes. Its been compared to privateering, and is approximately as popular as that old practice. He sounded as if he were reciting some passage of a newspapers article, or a textbooks chapter.