The Call of the Clouds

Runaways

For as long as I could remember, my older brother, Deacon, wanted to fly. Day in and day out, it was all he ever spoke about. My father, the Right Reverend Josiah Samuel Whittier, didn't believe it was possible for man to take to the air. When Deke spoke of the possibility, my father thundered it was blaspheme against God. In my father's opinion, if God wished us to fly, He would have had the foresight to give us wings. Still, my brother insisted that someday there would be a great invention that would allow us to travel in the clouds.

The year 1903 brought speculation that the achievement would be upon us. Deacon turned fourteen during the summer of that year, and I turned eight a few weeks before Easter. No one knew how he came about the information, but somehow he heard a rumor that two brothers from Ohio named Wright experimented with a design to create a flying machine. They were close to success. Despite our father's thunderous exclamations cautioning Deke on the subject, he persisted in his talk.

Early one cold December morning, as I began to awaken, I felt a draft enter the room. As I turned over to gain a new position, I noticed a movement in the curtains. Just in time, I saw Deke's head disappear from the window frame. Quickly throwing on my trousers and shirt, I yanked up my suspenders and climbed onto the trellis a few moments behind my elder brother.