Joy Takes Flight (10 page)

“What?” He held her away from him.

She shook her head and sniffed. Paul handed her a handkerchief and she blew her nose. “The prisoner I was supposed to transport killed the trooper assigned to transporting him.”

“When? Where were you?”

“Flying the plane.”

Paul blanched.

“He would have killed me, except I managed to knock him off his feet by throwing the plane into a dive. He hit his head and was knocked out.” She sniffled into the hanky. “The authorities in Unalakleet took over after I landed there.” She hated that she couldn't stop crying. “I was so scared.”

“Katie.” Paul pulled her back into his arms. “Thank God you're all right.” He held her close for a long while.

Kate finally drew in a strengthening breath and stepped away from Paul. “I'm being a cry baby. I need to get my gear and put the plane to bed.”

“We'll do it together.”

Once they were indoors, Kate changed into clean clothes and, with a blanket wrapped around her, settled into a chair. Paul gave her a bowl of hot soup and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

She caressed his cheek and gazed into his warm brown eyes. “I'm so lucky to have you.”

He sat on the sofa across from her, his arms resting on his thighs, hands clasped in front of him. He didn't say anything for a long while, then he asked, “Did you mean it about quitting?”

Kate shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe.”

“I think you should—settle down and have a family. We have more than enough to do around here to keep us busy. It would be good for you. Maybe you should take some time off to think about it.”

Kate couldn't sort out her emotions. What did she want? Maybe it was fear or just plain weariness talking to her. She was a pilot. How could she give up something that was part of her?

“I think I just got a little shook and it all came pouring out when I saw you.” She spooned soup out of the bowl. “I'm better now. Everything will be fine.” She slurped the soup from the spoon. “Life's not safe, not for anyone, especially not up here.”

“Maybe you could take safer runs?”

Irritation chafed at Kate. She knew she was being irrational. Paul was just watching out for her. Still, no one, not even Paul, was going to tell her what she should or should not do. “So, I could be half a pilot?” she asked sarcastically.

“No. That's not what I meant.”

“Well, if I take only the safe runs, that's what I'm doing. It's not fair to the other pilots—my leaving them with all the dangerous runs. What does that say about me? That I can't be counted on? That a woman's not up to the task?” She shook her head. “I can't do it.”

“All it says is that you're reasonable.”

“No.” Kate stood, walked into the kitchen, and set her bowl down hard on the counter. “It was just my emotions speaking earlier—nothing more. I'm fine now.”

“And what about me? I'm your husband. What I feel doesn't matter?”

“Of course it matters. But you wouldn't want me to do my job halfway.” Kate folded her arms over her chest. “What happened was a fluke, nothing more.”

“Until the next fluke comes along. One of these days it's a fluke that'll kill you.”

“You knew what you were getting when you married me. We had an agreement—you said I could fly when and where I wanted—it would be up to me.”

Paul threw up his hands. “I don't understand you. One minute you're saying maybe you ought to stop and the moment I say that might be a good idea, I become the bad guy. That's not fair, Kate.”

“And your making me feel guilty because I want to fly isn't fair.” She pulled on her boots, grabbed her coat, flung open the door, and stormed out.

Paul stepped onto the porch. “Kate. We have to talk about this.”

She kept walking and didn't look back. There was nothing to talk about. They'd never agree.

K
ate kept her eyes focused in front of her and started down the trail that led to Patrick and Sassa's. A tree branch caught her across the face. She brushed it aside and kept moving, barely noticing the sting. Snow squeaked beneath her boots and cold whipped her face, but she didn't care.

She turned onto a spur trail that led to the creek and her favorite thinking place. This time of year, the meandering creek was frozen and buried with snow, but she still found the spot calming. She entered the clearing, brushed snow off a log, and sat.

She envisioned what it would be like during the summer—the smell of wildflowers and greenery, birdsong and the buzz of insects. Warmth.

Kate stared across the icy creek, hoping for a glimpse of a fox or maybe even a moose. All she saw was bright white piles of snow, ice exposed by brisk winds, and frosted alder and birch. Her hands were freezing—she hadn't taken time to put on her gloves. She rubbed her palms together, then reached into her pockets and found a pair of fur-lined gloves. She tugged them on, and then pulled the fox-lined hood of her parka tighter around her face.

She rested her arms on her thighs, frustration and confusion still brewing. Why had she gotten so angry? All Paul had done was to care about her and voice his opinion. Wasn't that what married people were supposed to do? Couples who loved each other should care enough to speak their mind, to support one another, and to listen. It's what she'd always believed, or thought she believed. Instead she was fighting for independence and refusing to rely on her husband's support and concern. She'd always been headstrong and couldn't count the number of times her willfulness had created friction between her and her mother . . . and now Paul.

What was wrong with her? She did have doubts, especially after what had happened on this run. And there was no denying the danger of being a bush pilot. But she couldn't give it up. She'd fought hard to gain a place as a respected pilot in the toughest terrain in the world. She wasn't about to quit because of one incident. Paul should have known that about her. Kate pressed her elbows on her legs and rested her chin in her hands. Maybe she was expecting too much from him.

Her thoughts wandered back to their wedding day. Life had seemed perfect. She hadn't been naïve enough to believe there would never be disagreements, but what had happened between them seemed bitter and harsh. There must be a way to remedy their differences without all the ugliness.

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply through her nose. What did she want? She loved being Paul's wife and the solitude here on the homestead, but she also relished the challenges she faced in the cockpit of her Bellanca. She'd been convinced that there was a way to be a wife and a pilot. She'd imagined being out on a run facing the excitement and challenges of flying the Alaskan territory, and then returning to the homestead and to Paul where she could gather strength from the solitude and her husband's devotion. Had it been a pipe dream?

Her thoughts returned to Unalakleet and her stomach knotted as the scene in the plane wound through her mind. What if it happened again? It could. She knew it. Anything could happen in the bush—anything.

Kate scuffed the snow with the toe of her boot. Was she too stubborn and ambitious for her own good? Too full of her own needs to be the kind of wife Paul needed?

She gazed up at the gray ceiling that promised snow. “Lord, what do you want?” she whispered. If she refused to abide by her husband's wishes, was it the same as refusing to obey God? She'd heard the teachings about wives submitting to their husbands. When she'd taken her wedding vows, she'd agreed to obey Paul.

A long stem of grass poked out of the snow and Kate knelt to pluck it. It was withered, but somehow it had survived the cold and snow. A groan reverberated through Kate's soul. She didn't want to be like this weak stalk—surviving, but not thriving. Would being a submissive wife consume her own spirit?

And Paul's faith had withered. She knew that at one time he'd been a man of God, but now she wasn't sure how he felt about the Lord. If she submitted to him, she would be placing her life in the hands of a man who wasn't even sure he trusted God.

All the years her parents had been married, her mother had submitted to her father. It seemed easy for her. The only real contention between them was his flying. Her mother had been afraid something would happen—just as Paul feared for her. Yet, they'd been happy.

Kate wished she could talk to her mother. If only she lived closer. Maybe Helen or Muriel could help. Kate considered flying into town.

Steps crackled through the snow from the trail behind her. Thinking it must be Paul, Kate fixed her gaze on the far side of the creek. She wasn't ready to talk to him.

“Ah, here you are,” came Sassa's friendly voice.

Surprised, Kate turned to look at her neighbor. “Hi. What are you doing out here?”

The native woman smiled and held up a basket. “I brought you something.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“I talked to Paul.” A shadow of concern touched her eyes. “I thought you might be here.” Her brown eyes were quiet and softened with compassion. “Are you hungry? I baked apple muffins this morning. I took some to your place—that's when I talked to Paul.” A breeze kicked up and a pile of snow fell from a tree branch and plunked on the ground beside Sassa. She laughed and looked up into the limbs. “Nearly got me.” She moved to Kate and handed her the basket with a single muffin in it. “I left the rest at the cabin with Paul.”

Kate wasn't hungry, but she accepted the treat. “Thank you. Do you mind if I eat it later?”

“Oh sure. Whenever.” Sassa sat beside Kate. “I love this spot. I come here sometimes too. It's a good thinking place.”

Silence settled over the two women. The hush of a winter forest and its occasional clatter of bare limbs shifting in the breeze was the only sound.

“Paul told me what happened on your trip. I've been thanking God you are all right.” She leaned closer, touching her arm to Kate's.

“I did all right until I got home and then I just kind of fell apart. I didn't even know I was that upset. But when I saw Paul, everything that had happened seemed to crash down on me—the trooper dying and that horrible man. All of a sudden I realized how close I'd come to dying.”

“Sometimes that's what happens when we hold in our feelings—they come pouring out in a hurry.” She grinned. “Heard you knocked out that prisoner, though.”

“Actually, he fell when I forced the plane into a dive.”

Sassa chuckled. “Smart thinking.”

Kate smiled. “I guess it was.” She stared at a hawk circling above the trees on the far bank. “When I broke down in Paul's arms, I told him that maybe I shouldn't fly. Right away he agreed.” She grasped her hands tightly in her lap. “We had a fight. I'm not sure what to do.”

Sassa grinned. “So, you got mad because he agreed with you?” She draped an arm around Kate and hugged her. “You two will figure it out.”

“But we've only been married a couple of months. I didn't think newlyweds fought.”

Sassa chuckled. “Is this your first argument?”

Kate nodded, then shrugged. “We've had some small disagreements but nothing like this.”

Sassa smiled broadly. “You should see me and Patrick. We've come close to all-out brawls.”

“But you've been married a long time.” Kate glanced up the trail, as if someone would overhear her. “Does Patrick tell you what to do?”

Sassa laughed. “He tries.” She shook her head slightly. “Not really, anyway not much. But we don't always see eye to eye.”

“It seems like you're the one who makes the decisions.”

“Sometimes I do. Me and Patrick kind of take turns, but usually we decide together.”

“What about the Scripture in 1 Peter that says a wife is supposed to obey her husband?”

“There's so much more to being married than that one Scripture.” She placed her hands flat on her lap. “If Patrick and I have a big decision and can't agree, I let him decide. That works for us. But when you look at God's Word, you gotta study all the words before and after a Scripture and think about who God is talking to and why. You need to take into account all of God's Word. Like the Scripture that says a husband is supposed to love his wife like Jesus loved the church. Jesus gave everything, even his life.”

Kate had never really thought about what that meant. “He did give everything, didn't he.” A man was supposed to sacrifice everything for his wife?

“Sometimes I get bossy with Patrick. But he loves me just the way I am. He's a good, kind husband.”

Kate was sure Paul loved her. Her eyes held Sassa's. “Paul doesn't want me to fly.”

“Did he say that?”

“Not exactly. But I know it's true.”

“What did he say?”

“That I should take safer runs and that he wished I'd stay home. He wants me to be like my mother—keep house and have babies.” Kate's tone had turned disparaging.

Sassa narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure of that?”

Kate couldn't answer. She wasn't sure. She hadn't let him finish speaking before storming out of the house. Instead, she'd assumed he wanted what most everyone else seemed to expect from a woman. But Kate knew Paul wasn't like everyone else. Shame washed over her and she said softly, “No. I'm not sure.”

“Don'tcha think you ought to be sure? And even if he does feel that way, it'd be natural for a man to want his wife safe and close by.” She rested a hand on Kate's arm. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Of course not, but he understands how important my job is to me.”

“He does, for sure. And it's because he loves you that he lets you fly, but he's just a man and so he gets afraid.”

Reason seeped into Kate's frustration. Guilt, like that of a child caught in a lie, moved through her. She'd been so sharp with him, unfair.

Sassa patted Kate's arm and then stood. “You eat that muffin and you think about it. Then go talk to that fine husband of yours.” She stood and shuffled back up the trail.

Paul sat at the table, greasing a pair of boots. He rubbed the leather hard. What did Kate want from him? Even when he agreed with her it wasn't enough. He dipped the rag into a tin of bear grease and, using a circular motion, worked the fat into the leather. Why had she run off like that? What did he do wrong? All he wanted was to help. Kate had been the one who was upset and she wasn't even certain she should keep flying. One minute she was ready to quit and the next she was fighting to stay in the air.

He shook his head. If he lived to be a hundred, he'd never understand women.

He heard someone pounding snow off their boots, and then the door opened. He didn't look up. He knew it was Kate. What could he say? Most likely whatever came out of his mouth would be wrong. He scooped more grease onto the rag and rubbed it into the boot. He could hear Kate hanging up her coat and then she walked to the stove.

“Do you want some coffee?” she asked.

“Sure.” She sounded amiable. Maybe she was done being mad. He didn't want to fight. He chanced a glance at her. She had her back to him, but her stance seemed relaxed. She filled two cups and carried them to the table.

“Thanks,” he said, setting down the greasy rag and picking up the cup. He took a drink. It was overcooked from sitting on the stove too long. “Kind of bitter.” He set down the cup and returned to his work.

“Would you like me to make a fresh pot?”

“Nah. It's fine.”

Kate sat and silently drank her coffee, watching him.

Paul was determined not to start a conversation. It was up to her. He hadn't done anything wrong. He waited and picked up the other boot.

Kate finished her cup and stood, then she sat back down, her cup between her hands. “We need to talk.”

Paul glanced at her, but kept polishing, pretending to be composed.

“I mean about what happened . . . I'm sorry for losing my temper. I don't even know why I got so mad.” She tipped her cup on edge. Silence swelled. “If you're not ready to talk, I understand.”

She went to get up, but Paul grabbed hold of her hand. “I'm ready.” He looked at her, his heart longing to put an end to their controversy. He set down the boot. He loved her more than he could have imagined loving any woman. “So, what happened between us?”

“I don't know.” Kate chewed on her lower lip. “I guess I was more upset than I thought. After what happened, I'd been holding in my feelings . . . By the time I got home it all just spilled out. I said things I really didn't mean. But it seemed like you jumped on the opportunity . . . as if you'd been waiting for a chance to get me out of my plane. I guess . . . ,” she shrugged, “that sometimes it feels like you don't respect what I do and that you don't trust me to do a good job.”