A Flying Affair (24 page)

“It's over between us, Ames. I know everything. Maybe not everything, but enough to know that I'm finished with your lies and your half-truths. I want to know why you gambled away my daddy's money and didn't even have the decency to tell me. If you have any desire to remain friends, then I need some straight answers.”

“You know I'm always straight with you.”

“Do I? Then let's start with this. Why did you take the plane from the shop in San Diego without settling up with the owner, without paying for the labor he provided?”

“It's true—I haven't settled the final payment. I've run into all kinds of snags, but I didn't want to burden you with them and distract you from what you came to do. I was only thinking of you, doll.”

“Were you aware that my plane was going to be impounded because of your irresponsible action? That there would be no race for me if I didn't have a plane?”

“That's ridiculous! Where did you come up with that hooey?”

“That's immaterial, but what is important is that you have taken my daddy's money, cried about cost overruns, and then built a plane where half of the parts aren't even new.”

“York. He's put you up to this. He wants the credit for whatever success you have in the race. He's been trying to squeeze me out since the minute he popped on the scene.”

“No, Ames. You've squeezed yourself out. It's stupid of me that I didn't see it earlier, that I let myself be drawn in by your charm and your kisses.”

“I'll make it up to you, doll. I always do.” He squeaked out the words, the panic a high-tension wire that vibrated between them.

“I've no doubt you have great intentions, and if it were just me you fooled, I wouldn't be so angry. What I can't abide is that you did this to my daddy, that we trusted you.” She took another step back, her arms and legs quivering.

He had no rebuke. No rebuttal. Mittie lifted her chin and saw the defeat in his stooped shoulders. Tears stung her eyes, but she said nothing more.

Ames walked to a low retaining wall of a flower bed and sat down, elbows on his knees. At last, he spoke. “You don't know what it's like growing up with a granddaddy who berated you because of your very existence, not knowing if you'd have supper from one night to the next. He was as sorry as smoke off fresh cow manure. Didn't ever make a crop. We had nothing but the shack we called home.”

Mittie's heart was in her throat, but she was guarded, too. How did she know it wasn't another lie? Another attempt to gain sympathy?

“When I was fourteen, an airplane flew over the hog pen while I was doing the chores, and I knew right then that someday, I'd be in that cockpit, that those wings would take me far away where I might be somebody. I didn't even know that people like you and your family existed. I left when I was sixteen and hitchhiked to New York, which was like the other side of the moon to me. I worked in a factory in Jersey, and one night in a poker game, I won my first plane. Flying and my luck at poker took over my life. I thought I had a real chance at breaking through when I met you.”

The wind had gone from Mittie's sails, too. “I hope, for your sake, that you do break through. I'm sorry you've had a rough time, but no one is immune from hurts in this life, whether you come from paupers or kings. And sometimes we have to make choices. What you chose to do with my daddy's money is inexcusable.”

“I will make it up to you. You'll see.”

“It's too late for that, Ames.” She turned and walked slowly back up the walk, past the fountain, through the glass doors, and into the lobby with marble floors and bell captains. She squared her shoulders and pushed the button for the elevator. In her room, she peeled off her nylons and fancy dress, laid out her clothes for the next day, brushed her teeth, turned out the light, and cried herself to sleep.

The grandstands were packed, and someone shouted that Howard Hughes and Hollywood stars were among the spectators. Dozens of photos were taken of the women pilots who would compete in the first-ever women's air derby. Twenty women were on the official roster, but at noon, just two hours before the official starting time, one girl had still not arrived but had called that she was on her way. Pancho Barnes started a petition stating that she be allowed to compete anyway. Mittie happily added her signature.

Wiley Post was the race official and would fly from stop to stop in a Lockheed Vega with the official timekeeper. He and his longtime flying buddy, Will Rogers, welcomed the girls. Mr. Rogers took a personal interest in each of them, and when he spoke to the crowd in front of the microphone, he said, “These sure are some pretty pilots. I saw one of them powdering her nose a while ago. I believe this fine event should be called the Powder Puff Derby.” The crowd roared with laughter and cheers.

The lightweight aircraft participants were introduced first—M
ittie
and Calista among them. Amelia and Pancho both flew larger planes, which would give a decided edge with their larger-horsepower engines, so the race committee had determined early on to have two separate classes with prizes for each. But all the women would fly together. United in their mission.

Mittie went over her checklist with Bobby and Victor. Parachute. Three-day emergency food and water supply in case of going down in the mountains or being stranded in the desert. Chewing gum. Extra goggles, gloves, helmet. And two suitcases in the baggage compartment filled with ball gowns for the banquets at each of their eight overnight stops.

Action and purpose took over, leaving no time for emotional pondering, and when the call to line up was announced, Mittie shook hands with Victor, hugged Bobby, and walked tall to her bright yellow plane. Before she got in, she took one last look over her shoulder and waved at Bobby and Victor, but it was the figure that stood in the shadow of the hangar that pinched her heart. Ames. She blew a kiss into the air and hoisted herself up and into the cockpit.

The gunshot to start the race was fired in Cleveland and transmitted by radio to Clover Field. One by one the lightweight planes took off. Mittie was third in line. Calista fourth. Whatever happened now was up to Mittie. When she was airborne, she gripped the wheel and lifted her chin. She shouted into the wind, the feel of it on her cheeks intoxicating.

A short sixty-eight miles later, Mittie coasted into the San Bernardino airport for the first stop, where another crowd greeted them and rushed out on the field to see the planes and the women who flew them. When all had arrived, they were whisked to the hotel and the banquet that awaited, euphoria the tide they rode.

The day's excitement and tension had taken its toll, though, and not even Calista's chattering could keep Mittie awake once her head hit the pillow.

An hour later, shouting and banging erupted outside her door, and when she went to see what the ruckus was, a woman she recognized from the banquet said, “Get dressed. To the airfield now. All the planes have to be checked.”

They were bussed to the airfield, their insides coiled with an unknown fear. The night crew had discovered that two of the women's planes had oil in the gas tanks. Bobby appeared at Mittie's side and told her he'd check hers and Calista's, that more than likely the crew was inexperienced and that it was just an unfortunate error. She could have kissed him for offering to help. Only two were found to be affected, but the next morning, rumors of sabotage circulated among their ranks.

Still, as Mittie readied for the second day of the race, confidence surged through her. The highway below led her through the high desert mountains to the oasis of Palm Springs. She consulted the map to verify when to bank right and head south. She skirted the edge of the Salton Sea, the aquamarine patch on the landscape a short respite from the vast barrenness of the desert. Heat shimmered on golden sand below, a raw beauty of its own. Joshua trees with their spiny limbs reached up from clumps of dry grass and mounds of stone. Endless miles stretched before her, a ribbon of road the guide that would take her to Calexico for a required flyover. The sun was intense, cooking her from above and from the reflection of the desert floor below. Mittie wiped a drip of sweat that trickled from beneath her leather helmet, the wind in her face that of a furnace blast. She flew low over the crowd in Calexico who came just to see the swoosh of planes go by, then nosed up and headed east toward Yuma. She ran her sandpaper tongue over her lips to moisten them, the swigs of water from her canteen inadequate to quench her thirst.

The little canary plane bucked with the wind that whipped sand up from the earth, blinding her, pelting her skin. Her eyes burned as she flew higher to avoid the sandstorm, but wherever she went, the grit and current went with her. Her shoulders ached from gripping the wheel. Her legs, too, from keeping the rudder steady. She prayed she wouldn't run into one of the other planes with the poor visibility. She prayed that her face wouldn't melt off. And she uttered a prayer of gratitude when the sand thinned into a gritty veil and the airfield at Yuma came into view.

Calista was already there and welcomed Mittie when she emerged from the cockpit. “Isn't this beastly, all this heat and ferocious sand? Amelia crashed coming in, and Bobbi flipped her plane on its back.”

“No! Are they all right?”

“Amelia has a busted propeller, and they're still looking at Bobbi's plane.”

Mittie tipped up her canteen, draining it, her mouth filled with grit, and together, she and Calista huddled under the wing of her little bird and waited for everyone to arrive. News spread among them that Marvel Crosson, a sweet, outgoing girl from Alaska, was having engine trouble and having a new one sent to Phoenix. Thea, who'd come all the way from Germany, received a telegram warning of sabotage.

A sense of unease wound through their ranks as Amelia's plane underwent repairs and Bobbi's plane needed more work. In quiet fear, the women took off for Phoenix, their last stop for the day. If Amelia could crash in her heavyweight plane, what fate awaited the rest of them?

Mittie made record time flying over rough terrain and its unpredictable wind patterns. It was still hot, and her lips had blisters from the heat and sun, but another kind of quiet had settled within her. Resolve to finish. To give it her all. When thoughts of Ames flickered in, she shoved them out. There would be time to think of him later.

Not a breath of air stirred when Mittie landed in Phoenix. A single cloud, maybe the size of a mattress, floated across a brilliant blue sky. The first news was that Thea from Germany had crashed shortly after takeoff in Yuma. She and her plane were no worse for the wear, but when she investigated, she found garbage stuffed in her carburetor. She cleaned it and took to the air again, arriving safely. One by one, the women arrived, but as the afternoon waned on, Marvel still hadn't come in. Was it another act of sabotage or the cranky engine Marvel was going to replace in Phoenix?

Pancho gathered the women together. “Someone is trying to stop the race. We don't know who, but if we squawk too loud, it will feed the notion that women aren't fit to fly and they'll win. I'm asking for more security. Not asking…demanding.” The officials agreed to the security issue, and when reporters tried to get the women to talk about the vandalized planes, they stood firm and said the rumors were simply that—unfounded hearsay.

A chorus of ruddy-faced women with pale circles around their eyes where goggles had been sat down to another meal of baked chicken. Marvel still hadn't arrived, and search parties were activated, but no one felt like celebrating the day's winners. The only thing any of them wanted was to see the wide smile and dimpled cheeks of the girl from Alaska they'd come to regard as a kindred soul.

Tempers were short and tension as tight as a kite string the next morning when there was still no news of Marvel. Bobby checked and rechecked everything possible on Mittie's plane, and when they met for the hug they always shared before she left, he held her close. They stood facing one another, fingers clasped, his eyes as clear as the cloudless sky. Mittie broke the trance with a smile, but Bobby stepped closer and, with an oil-smudged finger, tilted her chin. He ran his tongue along his lower lip, warmth radiating between them. Her breath caught as Ca­lista's words danced through her head.
Open your eyes, darlin'.

For an instant she thought he would kiss her, but someone yelled, “Places, ladies!” and broke the spell. Relief zipped through her. Ca­lista and her flippant remark had put ideas in Mittie's head that she wasn't ready to think about.

Bobby gave her a hurried hug and said, “Take care, dear Mittie.”

With the wind at her back, she soared across the mountains toward Douglas, Arizona, where news of Marvel's fate awaited. Her plane had crashed in a mesquite jungle, her broken, lifeless body discovered a hundred yards away. Her parachute was half open, but both it and her plane had failed her.

Mittie had neither the heart nor the courage to call her parents and tell them what happened. After the banquet that evening, a somber time of realization that their quest was one of uncertainty and danger, Bobby asked if she would walk with him. With mountains in the distance and stars overhead, they walked in silence until they came to a small park with a gazebo in the center. Bobby sat on the second-to-last step and patted the spot beside him.

“Sweet little town, isn't it?” Mittie said as she pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them.

“Another fascinating part of America.”

“Are you enjoying the drive with Victor?”

“Very much, but not nearly as much as what I'm doing at this moment.”

“It's good to get away from the crowd for a few minutes.”

Bobby stretched his legs out before him and leaned back on his elbows. “I actually had a reason for taking you away. It's been a sobering couple of days, and this morning, with Marvel still missing and you getting ready to fly across unknown territory, a feeling gripped me so strongly that I almost asked you not to go.”

“We've all felt the strain and worry about Marvel. And now the terrible sadness. But we have to go on. All of us.”

“I know that, but what I finally understood was what Catherine must have felt every time I flew. The fear that I might not come back. The inability to live with that fear. That's what I felt about you this morning—a mortal panic that it might be the last time I saw you laughing and twisting your hair up under your flight helmet. Or the last time I saw you teasing Peach, so full of life.”

Her breath caught. A nick in her heart. “You know I have to do this.”

“Yes—no matter what anyone thinks or feels, it is something you must do. And that's why, when news of Marvel came, I knew what I needed to do as well.”

His words hung in the air, the chirp of a cricket nearby. Mittie held her breath, unsure of what he would say next. She turned her head, eyebrows raised, and waited.

Bobby sat back up, reached for her hand. “I know that whatever has transpired between you and Ames has probably not played its course, that there are frayed edges that need mending. I'm not trying to rush that or alter what time alone can heal. But I also can't let you go off another day without declaring my feelings for you.”

The night swirled, stirred by Bobby's mention of Ames, her unexplored feelings, the pain she hadn't worked through. But a thought she couldn't quite capture also niggled.

Gently, Bobby rubbed a thumb along her finger and continued. “I love you, Mittie. I have since the day I first saw you, but I wouldn't allow myself to hurt someone again, to take the responsibility for another woman's emotions so soon after Catherine. And then you fell in love with Ames. May still be in love with him…”

The memory of Bobby saying he'd fallen in love with Kentucky and someone there slammed her chest.
Her.
He was talking about
her.

She struggled for air and said, “I don't know what I feel for Ames. Numb. Betrayed. I suppose outraged, but you're right—I've not worked through it.” And she certainly wasn't ready to fall into another man's arms. Not even one who had tugged at the corners of her heart from the moment they'd met.

“I only want you to know that when you have, I'll be waiting. I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love another human being.”

Mittie blew out a long breath, another cricket joining in the chorus. “I think it's time for me to sort out those feelings.”

He rose and took her hand, pulled her up, and asked if he could kiss her. She kissed him first. A sweet, sisterly peck on the cheek.