A Flying Affair (21 page)

Mittie screamed. It was like she was in a ball tumbling down a hill. Slammed to one side of the car. Then the other. Thuds. Metal crunching. Shattered glass falling like rain.

Then dead silence.

“Ames, are you all right?” Her voice was shrill, like the cold wind that blew through the gully where they must have landed. Mittie couldn't move, trapped between the door and Ames on top of her. Ames hung like a sack of horse feed, one arm dangling at an odd angle.

Please, Lord, don't let him be dead
.

She wasn't sure if she said the words or thought them, but a groan came from inside the car. It must be Ames. She squirmed to free her right arm, but it only moved a few inches. Her fingers tingled, and there was something wet on her face. The weight of Ames against her shifted.

“Ames, can you hear me?”

Another groan, then a shudder and guttural animal-like grunts, the scent of blood and fear choking her. Minutes passed. It felt like hours.

“Whoa, what happened?” His voice was foggy, but in the next instant, he was moving about, bracing himself, drawing up one knee, then throwing his leg away from her. She wasn't sure how he did it, but the weight of him lifted. She angled her head and watched him climb through the roof. Only it wasn't the roof, but the driver's side of the car, through a window whose glass was shattered, leaving jagged edges like fangs.

“Be careful. There's glass.”

He peered down at her from above. “Can you move? Do you think anything is broken? Oh no. Oh God.” He turned his head and retched. His face was twisted in agony when it appeared again. “Oh, doll. Your face. Your gorgeous face.”

She touched her face with the arm that was now free. Wet. Sticky. Spots danced before her eyes, then the world went black.

Someone had come along right after the accident, saw the injured cow in the road, and found them. Mittie had revived in the back of the hearse that served as Rigby's ambulance with Ames beside her. Ames had a knot on his head from the steering wheel, and his left arm was fractured in two places. Mittie, miraculously, had no broken bones, the heavy fur coat cushioning her. It was ruined, of course, saturated with blood and filled with glass shards. At the Louisville hospital, a nurse held a mask that smelled like chewing gum over her face. When she awoke, her face felt like it had been stung by wasps. Mercurochrome, to prevent infection, the doctor had said, adding that it had taken an hour to pick out the glass fragments.

The worst wound, though, was the shard that pierced Mittie's heart. Her antagonistic attitude toward Ames had distracted him. His car was a total loss, she was certain—the car he'd sold his plane to buy so he could come and see her.

She asked to see him, but the nurse said he'd requested no visitors. She didn't blame him. One look at her face, and he'd thrown up. She owed him an apology and wanted to explain that she would make it up to him, no matter what it took. All of her paychecks. What little savings she still had. What she wouldn't do was ask her daddy to pay for her mistake again. Dobbs Lamberson had been enough.

Mittie was discharged the day after Christmas, and before she left, she asked her mother for a mirror.

“There'll be time to look later. The doctor says it's best that you not see it like this.”

“It's my face. I'm going to see it when I walk past the hall mirror anyway.”

Her mother snapped open her purse and handed Mittie her compact.

Mittie braced herself and looked into the three-inch round mirror. She burst out laughing. “It looks like I have the chicken pox. And what's that ghastly pumpkin glow?”

“The Mercurochrome. It has to wear off. And I hardly think it's funny.”

“It could have been a thousand times worse. I could have jagged scars.”

Her mother stretched her lips into a smile. “A small consolation.” Bless her mother's heart. At least she didn't say that her marriage chances had hit an all-time low. “Come—let's get you home.”

“What about Ames? I can't just leave him here. I want to see him.”

“Your daddy took him to the farm this morning. Bertha's made up a cot for him in one of the bunkhouses.”

“He's not a hired hand. Why not upstairs in the guest room?”

“It would be awkward, and he'll have more privacy in the bunkhouse.”

“I see.” But Mittie didn't. What she saw was only her mother's disapproval for Ames, his come-what-may life.

“I know what you're thinking. I offered him the guest room. He prefers the arrangements we've made.”

As far away from Mittie as possible, so he didn't have to see her disfigurement. Was that it, or did he blame her for the accident? Heaviness descended, souring her mood on the ride home. That evening, she took the tray her mother brought her for dinner and asked about Ames.

“Bertha took him a tray, same as you. I'll go over tomorrow and see if he'll join us for meals in the house.”

Two days later, Mittie still hadn't seen him, so when the house had settled, she bundled up, her face still resembling an orange with cloves stuck in it. He might as well see her at her worst. She slipped into the kitchen, cut two big wedges of raisin pie and a large hunk of cheddar cheese, and got a bottle of milk from the refrigerator. She assembled it all in a basket and stepped out into the night.

The moon shone behind the clouds, making the heavens a deep gray. Tiny snowflakes swirled like the snow globe on the mantel as she made her way to the last bunkhouse in the row, just single rooms strung together but each affording a bit of privacy to the grooms and trainers who occupied them. She'd seen the shanties some farm owners provided. Her heart swelled with pride that her daddy treated his employees well, that each room was warm and dry with an iron bedstead and feather mattress instead of a bedroll on the floor. Still, why would Ames prefer that to the much nicer surroundings of the guest room?

A soft glow shone behind the muslin curtain. Good—he was still awake. She set down the basket and rapped on the door. No answer. She knocked again, louder. And this time she heard the shuffling of feet across the wood floor. Ames opened the door, and before he could invite her in, she waltzed past him and plunked the basket on a small wooden table.

“I brought you something.”

“Your housekeeper brought my supper.”

“I know. I just thought you might be hungry for a snack before bedtime.”

He wore a pair of her daddy's pajamas, wool socks on his feet, and his beard now covered his jaws and chin, rich and dark. It was past the prickly stage and gave him a rugged, handsome look. Her heart stirred, but she avoided his gaze, not wanting to disgust him with the pockmarks on her face.

“Thanks.”

“I did think, perhaps, we could talk.”

“Didn't end so well last time.” He turned away from her, obviously repulsed by the way she looked.

“That's what I want to talk about. Your car. I'll make sure you get a new one.”

“I don't take charity.”

“It's not charity. Would you look at me? I know I'm not the beauty you once told me I was, but it's not so bad. And this horrid color has to wear off.”

He glanced at her briefly, eyes squinted. “You'll have scars the rest of your life, thanks to me.”

“I don't blame you. I'm as much at fault as you were for the accident. How's your arm?”

He had a plaster from his fingertips to his armpit, a slight bend at the elbow, all of it held up by a cloth tied around his neck.

“No pain, if that's what you're asking. Six weeks before I can do a blasted thing. Driving is out, even if I had a car, so you can take your sweet time on that, doll. And I couldn't hold a tool to save my life, so…” He ran his free hand along the plaster. “So I guess I am taking charity. Eating whatever is brought to me. Living in a strange room that smells of manure and kerosene.”

She leaned against the doorway. “I'm sorry. I wondered if you'd be more comfortable in the guest room.”

He shot her a look that said
no
and pushed the lone chair in the room toward her. “Have a seat.”

“I'm fine. Why don't you sit, though?”

He sat and propped his arm on the table. “Here's the truth, doll. I was afraid to come back. You have something special with Gypsy, and I know it was because of me that you weren't with her before the show that night. My being with you jinxed it somehow. Then you wouldn't leave her side for a minute.”

“I went out to dinner with you.”

“You did. And I'm not sore at you. I was frustrated because I wanted you with us for the barnstorming. Instead we had to put up with Peach. She was starting to get on all of our nerves, but she's a great flier, a real crowd pleaser. In Pennsylvania, she invented some excuse about her mother being sick and needing more money. There wasn't any more to give her, but Lester and Shorty sided with her.”

“Her mother
was
sick. Cancer, Bobby said.”

For once he didn't sniff at the mention of Bobby's name.

“Anyhow, we all agreed to go to Texas since Peach had a friend down there who promised us a part in a big show. We got there, and there was a misunderstanding, and they only let Peach fly with them. Everyone was short-tempered, so we decided to call it quits.”

“So why did you go to California?”

“There's a new plant out there. I thought it might be a good place to start over. Doll, you would love it there. Sunny every day. An ocean at your doorstep. I thought if I got a decent job, I'd convince you to come with me. Looks like I blew it again.”

Mittie didn't know what to say. It all had a ring of truth to it. And she had been devoted to Gypsy at the expense of everything else in her life. She thought Ames should understand that.

“Thanks for being honest with me. When you called that night from a dance hall and didn't write, I took that as you not caring. I even thought that maybe Calista had taken my place.”

“She's like a kid sister. An annoying one.”

“She is a bit hard to handle sometimes. She'll be back here eventually, and I was hoping she and I could enter some more races or altitude challenges. Bobby's going to check into it when he gets back from London.”

“I should have known it would have something to do with York.”

A sudden thought seized her. She hadn't told Ames about her job. She wrinkled her nose. “There's more than I've told you.”

“I knew it. Cool reception when I get here. And it was hard not to notice that you're no longer wearing the locket I gave you. Go ahead—break my heart now and get it over with.”

“It's nothing romantic. Far from it. The Aero Club flying school, with Bobby at the helm, starts up in January. And I'm their new office manager. My relationship with Bobby is strictly professional.”

“Then how can you go gallivanting off to compete?”

“The flying school will be my official sponsor. And I just might need an ace mechanic.”

“Did they hire Peach, too?”

“No. I assume she's still in Atlanta with her mother, but when she's ready, I hope we can do some flying together. In the meantime, I'm gainfully employed.”

Ames held out his good hand. “Welcome to the world of working stiffs.”

“I actually like it. A new beginning?”

His face crinkled into a smile. “Sure thing. So what's in that basket you brought?”

“Raisin pie.”

He sucked in a noisy breath. “I haven't had that since my Granny died. How did you know it was my favorite?”

“I didn't. I just brought what Ruby made. But I brought two pieces. Can I join you?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Winter 1929

Bobby called when he made it back from London. Mittie told him there were ten students enrolled in the flying school and that she and Ames had been in an accident. Bobby asked about the details, which she gave him.

“Are you all right to come to the office?”

“I feel fine. My face is healing, but I didn't want to alarm you.” It was almost miraculous what the cocoa butter and honey ointment Ruby mixed up for her had done. The Mercurochrome had faded, leaving only acne-like scars. The pancake makeup her mother bought from a theater acquaintance worked even more wonders.

“I can't tell there's anything wrong with your face,” Bobby told her on the first day back.

“Just don't look too close. The doctor says to expect some minor scarring, but all in all, I was fortunate. So how was your voyage? Your parents?”

“It was a good trip—the usual holiday parties, meeting up with old chums, and a weekend in Newmarket with the horses. Lovely all around.”

“I'm glad you got to go. Family is important.”

“My mum seems to think so.” He picked up the roster for the new class. “Two women, I see. Anyone you know?”

Mittie sighed. So much for casual chatter. “No names I recognize. Have you heard from Calista?”

“No, I wondered if you had.”

“I hope she's all right. I was looking forward to us entering some other competitions in the spring.” She opened the drawer of her desk and pulled out a newspaper clipping. “Here's one in Fort Worth in March. I've requested two entry forms.”

He read it over. “You're anxious, aren't you?”

“You've no idea.”

She
was
restless, but not nearly as itchy as Ames. He pitched in at the stables with anything he could do with one arm, and he took a renewed interest in Gypsy and watching Mittie on her morning rides. In the evenings, he asked for deeper explanations about the different gaits, which Mittie explained as they sat around the table in the bunkhouse. She watched him braid strips of leather into round harness reins, a skill Toby had taught him now that he could use the fingers at the end of the plaster. She teased him, saying her mother could teach him to embroider if he tired of the leather.

On a cold, clear day at the end of January, she asked her daddy to go with her and pick up the car she'd bought for Ames with a loan from her bank. They both agreed that it was the right thing to do.

The plaster was removed from Ames' arm the day before Valentine's, and afterward, they'd gone shopping for a new suit for Ames for the date they had planned the next evening and for his trip to Fort Worth at the end of the month.

The double-breasted suit put the swagger back in his step, and he shaved the beard that had grown out but kept the moustache, and with just a bit of wax, it curled at the ends. Dapper, indeed. He'd called for her at the house, approval in his eyes when he saw her.

Mittie, too, had gone shopping for a new gown for the evening, a red chiffon dress with rhinestone straps at the top and a slim-fitting bodice. She piled her hair on top of her head and wove a rhinestone ribbon like that at her shoulders through it.

Ames helped her with her new fox stole and offered his arm. “My car or yours?”

“Let's take yours tonight, darling. Just watch those curves.”

He tweaked her nose. “I could do without that reminder.”

Mittie had reserved a private dining room at the Brown Hotel, and when they arrived, Ames pulled out the chair for her, his fingers lingering on her bare shoulder, the touch of him both familiar and yet seemingly a new era—one where they were beginning to trust each other again.

They chatted throughout dinner, ordinary things they'd seen in the paper, her plans to enter the competition in Fort Worth, his excitement over going to Texas. When the last crumbs of their chocolate pie were gone, Ames reached in his pocket and pulled out a small box. Flat. Square. Wrapped in silver paper. Guilt prickled Mittie's gut. She'd not worn the chain with the locket since the day she'd dropped it in her bureau drawer. She wasn't sure why, but she thought she was waiting for something to shift in their relationship, a sign that Ames was committed to her…to them.

She bit her lip. “I'm sorry; I didn't get you a gift.”

“You weren't supposed to. This dinner, the car, the clothes…they're more than I can ever repay.” He placed the box in her hands, his eyes bright with the reflection of the candlelit table.

With fumbling fingers, she removed the paper. The box wasn't a jeweler's case but a simple white one, and inside, nestled on cotton wool, was an exquisite round-braided bracelet. Not leather, but silky and delicate with a silver clasp and a tiny silver ornament of a horse. Her breath caught.

“It's beautiful. Wherever did you find this?” She held out her wrist for Ames to fasten the clasp.

“Actually, I made it from the brushed hairs from Gypsy's mane and tail. I had a few conspirators working with me, though. Toby collected the hair, snipping a few extras here and there. Rex took it to a jeweler for the clasp.”

Her fingers traced the smooth texture, her heart unable to take it in. The hours it must have taken. The subterfuge to keep her from finding out. Her heart was full, and the kisses they shared that evening carried the promise she'd been waiting for.

Two weeks later, Ames loaded the new Model A and left for Fort Worth. On the Saturday after he left, Mittie took
Belle
up for a long afternoon in the skies. When she touched down and taxied toward the hangar, a lithe figure with golden hair and a sway in her hips ran out to greet her. Calista had returned.

And she hadn't changed a bit. She still called Mittie “Kentucky” and batted her eyelashes when corrected and said in her sweet G
eorgi
a drawl that she'd plumb forgotten. She was rakishly thin, and when Mittie commented on it, Calista said she hadn't been able to eat a bite for months.

“Thank the good Lord, Mama's dancing with the angels now. And probably whipping up a batch of peach cobbler.”

Mittie gave her a hug and told her about the accident with Ames and him staying at the farm.

Calista's eyes clouded momentarily. “That must've been cozy.”

“Ames stayed in one of the bunkhouses—his choice—but it was a good time for both of us. He told me about the misunderstanding in San Antonio, but it was probably best since he needs to devote time to the company that bought his invention.”

Calista twisted a stray curl around her finger. “He was only thinking of himself. I hope you do realize that.”

“I guess we all do that at times.” She handed Calista the application for the altitude challenge in Fort Worth. “This time I was thinking of you, though. Are you up for a little competition? Ames said he would meet us there and service both our planes.”

Calista's eyes lit up. “You bet your grits, I am. Mama left me a little nest egg, so I'm not quite so strapped for cash, and I'm itching to do something. Anything. And I'll do my ever-lovin' best to keep Ames from getting riled.”

She kept her promise and was cordial with Ames on the day of the challenge in Fort Worth. Calista set a personal best record, but for the first time, Mittie beat her and set a new women's record. The camaraderie among the women was everything Mittie remembered.

The time with Ames was way too short, but she and Calista had been invited to a women's air demonstration in Tulsa and had to leave the day after the competition. Ames took Mittie in his arms for a last kiss. “Don't know when I'll see you again. I'm headed to California to test some new planes that are using the engine modification. Godspeed on your flight to Tulsa.”

The event in Tulsa was a serious day of fun, flying in formation with other women, the Arkansas River below them winding through lush forests speckled with brilliant fuchsia redbuds. That evening they attended a reception at the opulent Mayo Hotel where Charles Lindbergh had once stayed. Calista sugared up a reporter who took their photo, and before they left the next morning, they picked up a newspaper. Their picture was on the front page with the caption “Georgia Peach and Kentucky Beauty pair up to bring excitement to the Tulsa skies.”

They had no way of knowing that a woman named Elizabeth McQueen would see that photo, and in two months, she would change their lives forever.