The hands of Hannah and her children are linked as they navigate the downtown sidewalk. “Momma, will there really be hot-air balloon rides?” Emma asks as she points to the illustration on a poster mounted to a streetlamp pole on their way to Cal’s general store.
I hope he’s working today, Hannah thinks. Waiting for me. Looking for me.
The poster’s headline proclaims in all capital letters: BALLOON ASCENSION RIDES!!!
“If we believe what this poster is telling us, then yes.” Twelve-year-old Emma is always questioning. Everything. Always. Emma steadies the poster the Santa Ana Winds are fighting to set free.
“What if it’s windy?” Noah’s question is tinged with curiosity and disappointment.
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen one, much less know how they work,” Hannah admits. “But I know all about Santa Ana Winds.” She thinks back to past Septembers with cloudless scorching-hot skies. When the dry desert air replaces the temperate moist marine air. When renegade gusts strip trees of their blossoms, leaves, and fruit. When every living thing becomes instantly thirsty and grit-covered. But mostly thirsty.
“Please can we do it? I promise to do my chores,” chimes in Noah.
“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Hannah looks at the poster.
“If I’m a good boy, then I’ll be able to take a ride in the sky…in the balloon!” He adds, “But what if what happened in the Oz book happens here? Remember how the balloon was tied down right in front of the Wizard’s palace? And how there was a crowd of people waiting to see what—”
“Get to the point, little brother.”
“I am. Dorothy couldn’t find Toto in time. So, she had to watch the Wizard and his balloon fly higher and higher out of sight after the ropes that held it down snapped. He floated away, never to be seen again.”
Hannah senses anxiety in her son’s voice. “Does that worry you?”
“No. That thrills me!”
“I must say that story made quite an impression on you. I certainly hope you have that kind of attention span when you’re at school.”
As they all look up at the tea-stained sky discolored by the winds, a pair of green parrots squawk and flap above.
“So much dirt in the air,” Hannah says. “And I forgot to shut all the windows at home before we left. The floors will look like I dusted the entire house with cinnamon.”
“I can almost smell it,” says Emma with a dreaminess to her voice.
“I recall, my dear, that cinnamon is your favorite spice. But I don’t want dirt and dust that looks like it scattered on my clean floors, and on the tables and the counters and on—”
“I don’t think hot-air balloons go up in these winds.” Emma gazes skyward. Her voice is still dreamy. “But if they do, I want to touch the sky. To be with Daddy, while he’s flapping his wings and wearing a glowing golden halo.”
“When I grow up, I’m going to be a parrot,” claims Noah as he witnesses another pair of emerald parrots swooping on a blustery gust overhead.
Noah saves the day…and from me having to talk about widowhood and heaven and loneliness.
“Come along, my little sweet peas. And please help me remember to stop by Watson’s Drug Store for some cough syrup and cod-liver oil.”
Noah raises his shoulders and squishes his face at the mention of cod-liver oil.
Hannah gently directs the children toward the center of town, past red-brick storefronts and painted wood facades of every possible provider of goods and services. Shops for jewelers and locksmiths line up alongside bakeries, livery stables, boardinghouses, and shoemakers.
Around a three-tiered fountain, the park at the center of town is dotted with trees.
A rainbow of strung-up pennants flap and snap over Plaza Park. The circular hub looks like a roofless circus tent, with line after line of pennants attached to the flagpole at the park’s center. It reminds Hannah of the springtime Bavarian Maypole celebrations at her childhood home.
As she reminisces, she watches her children dart into the open doorway of the Circle City Mercantile. Before Hannah can reach them, she sees Emma place two pennies from her tiny handbag onto the general store’s counter. Noah’s hand is rummaging through the wide mouth of the penny-candy jar.
Hannah scans the store.
Where is he? It’s been days since we’ve spoken.
She takes in the sight of wooden barrels of crackers, pickles, apples and molasses. Baskets of colorful vegetables await being selected for salads and soups. The enticing aroma of freshly ground coffee beans fills the air. Shelves are lined with rows of lanterns and spices and soaps. A large wheel of cheese rests on the counter under a screen cage next to a pyramid of canned green beans.
Above bolts of gingham fabric and cards of buttons, all of the orchard labels that Cal painted for local growers are on display. Each label is framed and proudly aligned like artwork for all to admire.
Hannah knows exactly where to look for her face on her orchard’s label. Bold type proclaims, Belle of the Orange Blossoms, Delicious Valencia Oranges from Galtero Orchards.
She scans the cluster of frames. It's been months and months since he painted my portrait. I wonder how often he looks at me during his workday? There are so many labels. He’s painted so many women. How many others have posed for him upstairs in his studio?
“Two please, Mr. Glassell.” Emma tacks on, “And thank you ever so much!”
“What’s on your list, Mrs. Galtero?”
Where did he come from all of a sudden? I don’t care. He’s here. That’s what counts. That’s what matters.
Their gazes connect.
She stops breathing, momentarily.
The shape of his eyelids soften. Relax. Become even more welcoming.
She mirrors that energy back to him.
Now he looks Hannah up and down with the same expression her late husband had the first time she served him a three-layer German chocolate cake. With curiosity. With hunger. With desire.
One of us better say something. “Cal, please call me Hannah. For goodness sake. Such formality.” We’ve traded glances…intense glances…just about every time I’ve come here to shop. It’s time one of us makes a move. I want it to be you, but—
“What are you thinking, Hannah?” Cal’s words break into Hannah’s thoughts.
“About, um,” she fumbles for her words. “About everything I need to get done before the Street Fair starts.” She retrieves a list from her purse that’s resting in a large basket and hands it to him. “Our cook, oh you know Bessie, jotted down some items and I added a few to the list as well.”
After scanning the penciled column of items, he asks, “Baking today?”
She watches him adjust the shiny red satin garters on his biceps holding up his sleeves, puffing out the fabric. “It’s for the church ladies’ table. We’re raising funds for some playground equipment for the children by selling baked goods.” She puts her handled basket on the counter.
He begins to gather the items on the list. He places a sack of flour and a jar of honey into the basket. Then his gaze travels up to Hannah’s face and he freezes.
She doesn’t look away.
He doesn’t look away.
She doesn’t blink, lest she miss this chance to be with him.
Her list dangles from his grasp, and still he doesn’t move.
An explosive gust of wind whips through the front door, carrying a poster for the Street Fair. The clamor breaks his bond with Hannah. “And what did you pick today, Miss Emma? Root beer barrels, I suspect.”
“I guess butterscotch buttons,” Hannah says.
“You’re both wrong.” Noah giggles.
Emma opens up her mouth to reveal a chewed Tootsie Roll.
“Please. I’ve taught you better manners.” Hannah directs her words away from Cal. “Opening your mouth to show the world what you’re eating? I’m mortified.”
“Don’t be, Momma,” says Noah with a flattened hand covering his mouth. His garbled words continue to flow, “I’m not going to show you, but I picked Necco Wafers.”
“How old are you now, Noah?” Cal winks at the boy.
“I’m gonna be six at Christmastime.” He turns to face the counter. “You weren’t trying to trick me, were you? Making me talk with my mouth full…like Emma?”
“We boys have to stick together. I’d never trick you.” Cal adds, “I’m always here for you. Remember that.” The shopkeeper wanders away to collect sugar and vanilla. He returns to place them in the basket.
“How are your birds today? I just saw two pairs flying around. I hope they’re not yours,” says Noah.
“I hope not too.”
“Our birds roam free,” Emma interrupts. “That’s the way Momma wants it to be…I mean wants them to be. A chicken here. A turkey there. And more eggs than we can eat if we can find ’em.”
“My parrots need my love and care.”
“And they need a cage for that?” Hannah asks.
“Yes. They do.” Cal nods in agreement with himself.
“I just told Momma that when I grow up, I want to be a parrot,” shares Noah.
“In a cage?”
“Of course not. I want to fly around all day. To the park. To the river. Maybe down to the ocean.”
Cal bends to be at Noah’s eye level. “But what will you eat? Won’t you be afraid of the hawks? Or the cold night air?”
“Maybe I’ll live in a cage at night…but be free all day.”
“That sounds like a fine compromise,” says the shopkeeper. “Being a free spirit with a home you can count on.”
Hannah nods.
Cal nods back.
Hannah grins.
Cal grins back and reaches toward her face.
Before he can get to it, Hannah swipes away a runaway hair from her forehead and tucks it back up into her bun. “We really must be on our way back home,” she says. “Let’s head out, children.”
“I’ll just put that on your account, Hannah,” says Cal as he hands the basket to her.
Noah waves. “Thank you for the candy, Mr. Glassell.”
“Yes, thank you,” adds Emma.
Hannah questions as they head for the doorway, “Will we see you at the Street Fair, Cal?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” The shopkeeper’s voice trails behind her.
Hannah doesn’t turn until the last second as she pivots onto the sidewalk. A gust pushes her back slightly, providing an extended moment to look back at Cal before heading home. She isn’t sure what she’s detecting in his tone.
Whatever it is, there’s something more he isn’t saying.