Big. Enormous. Of gargantuan proportions. Take these descriptions, multiply them by 1,000. That's one way to get an idea about the size of the mansion's Great Hall.
With a 40-foot-high ceiling, the Hall was easily large enough house my father's 65-foot yacht–and then some. It was big enough for at least six basketball courts, and the three fireplaces were each large enough to hold a new Rolls-Royce.
Besides being the largest private room I had ever seen, the Great Hall had another unique feature. There was only one small window in the far wall. It was 10 inches wide by 8 inches tall.
Judge told me that the Hatherfords had bought the mansion two years ago from the previous owner–an infamous rumrunner. That's a person who transports liquor which is highly illegal. In fact, the Great Hall had been a speakeasy at one point. The lack of windows prevented prying eyes from peering in.
Judge's fiancé,
BOOTLEGGERS, BEWARE!
As of 1920, the United States government will not stand for any violations of the 18th Amendment to the United States Constitution. This amendment prohibits the “manufacture, sale, or transportation of intoxication liquor.”
Yes, bootlegging–or smuggling liquor–may appear to be profitable Al Capone is said to have made tens of millions in profit from his illegal business. But we will catch you - sooner or later–and will go to jail!
John Hatherford, had discovered that the mansion was riddled with secret passages, hiding places, and concealed doors. Judge said when john finally got the time to show her a few, she would tell me their locations. I'd get to explore them, too.
In the meantime, though, we had a party to explore. Judge and I stood at the top of the huge, 18-foot-wide staircase, looking down into the mansion's Great Hall. These stairs were one of just two ways in and out of the Great Hall— the other was a set of double doors that opened onto the side lawn.
If I had ever wondered why they call our decade the “Roaring Twenties”, what I saw below would've put an end to that mystery. The Great Hall was a mass of swirling, glittering, sweating, eating, laughing guests. The engagement party had hit full steam!
Flappers surrounded the stage where a hot jazz band played “Lady, Be Good”. The electric bulbs overhead had been dimmed, and the four blazing fires gave off an orange glow. Legs and arms flew everywhere as dancers struggled with the latest steps. A group of young girls
How they came up with the word “speakeasy” with feathers in their hair burst into hysterical laughter trying to teach the Kartiers how to do the Charleston.
A man with slicked-back hair and a full-length fur coat spotted Judge. He pointed up at her and shouted, “It's the bride-to-be!” soon others were calling out:
“There she is!” and “Congratulations!” the excitement rippled across the room until it reached the jazz band. The lead horn player switched his tune to “Here Comes the Bride”, and the rest of the band joined in.
With a wink at me, judge gave the crowd a little bow. They shouted and clapped even louder.
As we headed down the stairs, Judge took my hand. She said softly to me. “After my mom and dad died, you and you parents became even more important to me”. She gave my hand a squeeze.”I'm glad you're here, G. Codd, You're my family”.
I smiled at Judge. She had a way of always making me feel special. We reached the bottom of the stairs, and arms reached out to greet her. Judge said, “G. Codd, make sure you eat something!” The crowd whisked her away.
Finding something to eat wasn't hard. Countless waiters spun in and out of groups of guests, balancing trays heaped with caviar, finger sandwiches of duck, and other delicacies. The servers were constantly refilling their trays at tables that dripped with succulent roasts, mounds of chocolates, and oceans of some strange-smelling punch. Towering over these tables were several sculptures carved from huge blocks of ice.
I walked over to look more closely at one of the ice sculptures. It was Judge! She was smiling and holding hands with her fiancé, John Hatherford. The artist had carved john in his pilot's uniform, leather fur-lined jacket, cap, and goggles.
I was struck by a familiar feeling of surprise. John is great. But I always thought Judge would end up with someone who enjoyed detective work—or encouraged her dreams of becoming a lawyer.
Even in melting ice, john was a handsome man with a mischievous, lopsided grin—the kind all the girls fall for. (I admit after I met him for the first time last year, I practiced that smile in the mirror. But I could never seem to get it quite right.)
The next ice sculpture showed the other love of John's life: JENNY.
JENNY was John's second single-engine plane. Eight months ago, his first airplane had burst into flames for no clear reason over the North Carolina coast. He'd jumped out of the plane without a parachute and landed safely in the water. This earned him the nickname Jumpin' john.
JENNY, John's plane
John flew JENNY on trips for Hatherford Air Courier, Inc., the company that Judge ran. But picking up and dropping off packages wasn't enough. Jumpin' John was looking for new challenges. Dangerous challenges.
In fact, right now, John was soaring high over the Atlantic Ocean. About thirty hours ago, he had taken off from a field in France. He was due to arrive at the party by landing his plane on the small airstrip at the side of the house–becoming the first person ever to fly solo nonstop across the Atlantic!
AIRPLANE NEWS & GLOBAL REPORT
Competition for the Orteig Prize is hitting new heights! Several pilots have been killed or injured trying to win the prize, $25,000 offered by hotel owner Raymond Orteig to the first person who can fly nonstop between New York and Paris.
I was about to dig into another piece of cake when the jazz hand stopped playing. All eyes in the room turned to watch as Mr. Hiram Hatherford, like he could have played football when he was younger. His face had grown a little wrinkled, but his chest was like a barrel and his neck was thicker than my thigh.
“Good evening, everyone!” Mr. Hatherford boomed.
“Are you having fun?”
The guests shouted their appreciation. Mr. Hatherford waited for all the cheers to die down. “During my long life”, he told the crowd, “I have amassed great wealth. But nothing can compare to the treasure about to enter my family. The beautiful Justine Pinkerton and my son will soon be married!” After a burst of applause, Mr. Hatherford continued, “who knew four years ago that when I asked this brilliant woman to start and run our new air delivery service, I was ‘hiring’ a daughter-in-law? She has done amazing things with the business–
“ Cutting in, Mr.Kartier said, “A lady should know her place!” There was general laughter from the guests.
“Hey, Frank,” Mr. Hatherford told him, “join us in the'20s. Women can run businesses. Thank goodness, too. With Justine running the business, John can keep his head in the clouds. He flies delivers all across the country. And he has a very special delivery to make tonight”.
He paused and a woman in the crowd shouted, “What's he bringing us, Hiram?”
Mr. Hatherford laughed. “He's delivering his heart to Justine Pinkerton, by way of Europe”. A mixture of sighs, groans, and cheers broke out. Mr. Hatherford went on, “As a special engagement present to Justine, John is going to be the first person to make a nonstop solo transtlantic flight toningt!” The Great Hall rang with applause as the guests clapped and cheered. Mr. Hatherford had to shout above the din to be heard.
“Why don't we get Justine up here to say a few words—“ Mr. Hatherford was interrupted by a woman with dozens of peacock feathers in her hair. She yelled at the top of her lungs, “There he is!”
Real peacock feathers!
The woman was pointing at the small window. people pushed and shove to gather around the tiny pane of goass and watch a teeny airplane bump out of the stormy night sky. Someone dimmed the lights overhead, making the scene outside a little easier to see— which was a good thing because the window provided a pretty blurry view of the action.
“I can't see!” someone yelled and pushed in closer to the window. A few guests, including me, stood up on chairs to get a better look over the others' heads.
We watched the airplane's jerky progress. It was being buffeted by the high winds as if it were a toy. The miniscule figure of the pilot could now be seen. Finally, ofter a few tense moments, the silent, anxious crowd watched the plane hit the airstrip with a jolt and taxi down the runway.
Cheers exploded, filling the Great Hall with deafening excitement. The crowed rushed toward the double doors that led to side lawn and the airstrip, but Charles blocked the exit.
Everyone crowded around the window.
“For goodness' sake, Charles, open the doors!” Mr. Hatherford called to the butler.
“But the rain, sir!” Charles called back. “It will ruin the carpets!”
Mr. Hartherford laughed. “Who cares about a little rain? These people want to welcome their hero!”
The butler threw open the doors.Cool night air swept into the room as guests poured out onto the patio. Judge and Mr. Hatherford led the way. My eyes went directly from the tiny window that showed the plane to the view through the double doors. I saw the plane sitting off in the distance, under a now-clearing sky. The rain had temporarily stopped.
I had to wait for the crowd to clear before I could fit out the double doors. Knowing this was a historic moments, I used the time to sketch the landing.
I stepped out in the night air. The wet grass instantly soaked through my shoes. The light of the moon illuminated the dramatic scene. But the only sound I heard was the pattering of water as it dripped from the eaves of the mansion.
The crowd was gathered around the plane. But there were no cheers. No shouts of congratulations. The flashbulbs of newspaper photographers remained dark.
Why aren't they cheering? I wondered. I walked closer, politely pushing my way through the crowd.
When I saw the plane, I understood.
Judge was staring at the cockpit with confusion and fear on her face.
“Where is he?” Mr. Hatherford shouted. “Where is my son?”
Judge took his hand and answered, “He isn't here”. I gazed long and hard inside the small, battered plane. It was completely empty. There was no sign of the pilot.
Jumpin' John Hatherford had vanished.
Mr. Hatherford collapsed.