Order of the Air Omnibus: Books 1-3 (112 page)

"Well," she said, standing up and brushing her dress off. "He's right that there isn't any more you can do."

"I know." He sat down on the edge of the bed, taking off his boots and socks. The quilts and blankets were still mussed. No one had been in here since they were interrupted last night. It seemed like months ago.

"Well," Stasi said. "You should rest now so that if you're needed tomorrow you'll be ready." She turned off the lamp, leaving the radio playing softly, and sat down beside him as he leaned back against the pillows, one arm behind her. She put her head on his shoulder and tucked her feet under the quilt. "There," she said. "Much better, darling."

"You're like a cat who thinks they own the place," Mitch said. There was a smile in his voice. "I don't remember getting a cat."

"No one owns cats, darling," she said. "Cats own you."

"Is that how it is?"

"Yes," she said and turned to put one arm around him, warm and safe in the encircling dark.

"Ok." She felt him smile against her hair.

Safe. Whole. Just a little tired and hungry. This time. "You were right when you said that trouble found you."

"It usually does," Mitch said. "It never gets boring around here." There was a contemplative sound in his voice.

Stasi closed her eyes, for all that he couldn't see them in the dark. Hers. He was hers, or at least he ought to be. This tenderness was suspect, a lure that couldn't be real. Alma had asked her if she had it bad, and she did. Oh, she did. It was a raw and aching kind of bad, the kind that leads to a lot of foolish things and choices that turned everything upside down. This kind of bad couldn't be trusted.

Even if he could be. And she thought he could be. Mitch was a grown man, not an idealistic boy who didn't understand the words he said. He said them knowing exactly what they meant, exactly what the price of his oaths might be. He was paying it. Every single day he was paying the price in things he couldn't have. He was, Stasi thought, the kind of guy who ought to be someone's husband, someone's father, someone's lover forever and ever. But those things weren't going to happen. And they certainly weren't going to happen to her. She wasn't the kind of woman you married. She wasn't the kind of woman who stayed. Fine for a fling, a glorious season, but she'd had twenty years to learn what she was since the day she'd been told to never come home again. She hadn't cared, not then.

But Alma's idea…. It might work. It wasn't something she'd ever tried. Men usually wanted something much simpler from her. But it might work. It seemed physically possible, and Alma would never suggest something she thought would hurt Mitch. Stasi was sure of that.

His breathing was slowing against her, sleep catching up to him. Maybe this was all he needed, touch and affection. Maybe there was no passion left. Maybe real desire wasn't possible, though she thought she'd seen it beneath the surface. She thought she saw it, thought she'd felt it in last night's desperate kisses. She thought he wanted her.

And he could have her. That was a gift she could give. A cat to sleep on the bed, affectionate and warm, and maybe something else besides. She'd have to move carefully. She'd have to get him to trust her or else lose his head entirely to let her try that. But it was possible. It was possible if she had the right moment. And if not…. She shifted a little, and he turned toward her, gathering her against him sleepily. She snuggled in, hooking the quilt and blanket with her foot and pulling it up to where she could draw it over them both.

If not, this wasn't so little after all.

Chapter Eight

December 9, 1932

Colorado Springs

T
he snow was still coming down in the morning, but Alma had seen it a lot worse. There was a good seven inches on the ground, but not too much to get in to the field and get the news, which was for the most part good. The National Guard had gotten to the crash site the night before and by dawn all the passengers and crew were at the hospital, safe and warm. Only one guy was touch and go — the copilot had broken ribs that had punctured a lung. There were some other broken bones, and one of the kids had a concussion, but it looked like the rest were going to be ok.

Colonel Sampson called to tell Mitch and Lewis they'd done a good job, which Lewis took solemnly. He never showboated, which was a thing Alma loved about him. After Sampson got off the phone and Mitch went back in the hangar, Lewis turned to her. "So are we going up there today? To the crash site?"

Alma ran her eyes over the weather report again. "No," she said reluctantly. "It's supposed to keep snowing all day and into tomorrow. Accumulation 10-12 inches, and it will be more at altitude. We don't have a heavy vehicle. We're going to have to wait until the weather breaks at least, and I'd rather be able to start at first light. As short as the days are, it's going to be tough to do this and not get stuck up there in the dark. Day after tomorrow. Sunday."

"So we won't have any work booked," Lewis agreed. "And we can go first thing in the morning."

"Let's see if Stasi will come with us," Alma said. Lewis looked startled and she continued. "I know the old Silver Bullet mine is supposed to be haunted, but I've never heard of a ghost acting like this before. I'd like to take an experienced medium. If for some reason there's a ghost who is wreaking havoc, Stasi is the best person to try to talk some sense into him."

"I wish Jerry was here," Lewis said.

Alma nodded, her eyes still scanning the sheets as if she'd find something new there. Nothing, of course. The weather was what it was. "He's supposed to take the train home next Friday and he'll be home on Monday, on the 19th."

"In time for Christmas," Lewis said.

That made her smile, as he'd known it would. "In time for Christmas. And it will be good to have Jerry home."

T
he sun was barely creeping over the horizon down in the valley when they headed out to Alma's pickup truck.

"Stasi should ride in the cab with you," Mitch said to Alma, looking dubiously at Stasi's coat. "Lewis and I will ride in the back."

"It's what I have," Stasi said sharply. Her long black wool overcoat wasn't as warm as the heavy parkas Alma and Lewis wore, or the battered leather flight jacket Mitch wore over layered sweaters. And no, her black wool slacks weren't as warm as flannel-lined jeans over long johns, but she certainly didn't own any. This was her only winter coat, and perfectly suitable to city streets. Her life didn't usually involve tramping around a wilderness.

"We can all fit in the cab," Lewis said.

"Four of us?" Alma said.

"We'll ride in the back," Mitch said. There was no way three were fitting in the cab if one of them was Mitch, much less four. "Unless you want me to drive."

"I'm driving," Alma said.

"We know." Lewis grinned. "Ok. Mitch and I will be gentlemen and freeze in the bed of the truck."

Stasi felt she needed to make a point. "I would…."

"Don't be silly," Alma said briskly, getting in on the driver's side. "You were kind enough to say you'd come along on this expedition, and you're not a flyer so of course you don't have heavy clothes. You'll ride in the front with me and these two excuses can sit in the back."

"Then we get the thermos," Mitch said, claiming the pack with the coffee and snacks.

The sun made patterns through the leafless trees, the sky a clear winter blue. The storm had blown itself out to the east, and the roads weren't too bad. Alma was a very careful driver and the pickup had chains that crunched on the occasional patch of snow on the road. Through town the main roads were completely plowed, but as they got up into the mountains there were still patches of ice in the lee of outcroppings where the sun rarely touched the road in winter. Above, ponderosa pines carried the snow load on their broad branches between high peaks.

"What desolate country," Stasi said at last.

Alma didn't look away from the road, but she smiled. "I was just thinking how beautiful it is. To each their own."

"I didn't mean to be insulting," Stasi said.

"You weren't." Alma downshifted, going up the grade. "Different people love different things. Me, I can't stand cities. I'm a country girl at heart."

"Were you born here?" Stasi asked.

"I was born in Kansas," Alma said. Her blond hair had escaped from her hat, curling behind her ears. "My dad was a cavalry trooper and my mom died when I was born. I grew up in forts all over the west." She gave Stasi a sideways smile. "You know that little kid in Westerns who always runs in yelling that there's a stampede or an Indian attack or something? That's me. We were here in Colorado for almost six years when I was a kid and I loved it. So when Gil and I came back to the States after the war, he wanted a good place to start a business, and I wanted to come home. It worked out real well for both of us."

"He wanted to make you happy," Stasi said.

"And it made him happy too. Gil liked it here." Alma's voice was even. "But it's not for everybody. And that's ok. I'm glad Jerry's had this job in New York for the fall. Colorado Springs was my dream, not his. It's good for him to get out in his world again. If it's not your world either, that's ok too."

"Darling, I have no idea," Stasi said. It had been so long since she'd even considered what she might want as opposed to the merely possible. Choosing was a luxury she'd left behind a long time ago. But it had been months since anything terrible happened. That did tend to give one perspective. Though one could hardly count on a streak like that to hold. "So if you grew up here," she said, "You know all about the haunted mine."

Alma shrugged. "A little bit about it. It wasn't famous or anything. There are a lot of abandoned mines around here."

"Why?"

"They found gold and silver in Colorado about a hundred years ago. You can guess there was a big rush and boom, but a lot of the deposits were shallow and small and the mines petered out pretty quickly. The Silver Bullet mine was one of those. It was only open about twenty years and was played out by the time I moved here in '97. I'd guess it closed down in '92 or '93? Anyway, back in the eighties there was a cave-in and a couple of men were killed. When I was a kid the whole place was deserted. The mining company still owned it, but it wasn't worth anything. About ten years ago the State of Colorado seized it for back taxes — the mining company hadn't paid anything in decades, so it's state land now."

"Killed in a cave in," Stasi mused. "I suppose. But you'd think the miners would haunt the owners or something if they wanted revenge. In my experience ghosts rarely sit around deserted buildings out in the middle of nowhere. They want to haunt people. It's fairly pointless to haunt somewhere no one ever goes. It's like picketing."

"Picketing?" Alma looked confused.

"Darling, when you plan a demonstration you want the people you're demonstrating against to see it. There's not much point in marching around a field somewhere with signs!"

"I suppose not," Alma said. "I guess I didn't think ghosts had much choice."

"Oh they do," Stasi said. "Most ghosts haunt the place they used to live, either because they like it or because that's where their family is. Sometimes they haunt the place they died if it's a good way to get back at the ones who killed them — battlefields and prisons and dungeons and the like. But who in the world haunts a Woolworth's, even if they did drop dead there? If this place is as deserted as you say, I can't imagine why any self-respecting ghost would be there. Did you actually see a ghost?"

"I didn't," Alma said. She shrugged. "It was one of those things. Older kids at school dared each other to go up there. They said there were mysterious lights at the minehead."

"Ghost lights," Stasi said. "Or maybe just lights?"

"It could be," Alma allowed. "They might have seen a night watchman with a lantern."

"But why would there be a night watchman on an abandoned building?"

"And then there's Rayburn's story about lightning flashes out of a clear sky," Alma said. "Which may be connected or maybe not."

Stasi shook her head. "I don't claim that I know everything there is to know about the Dead, but I have never seen a ghost be able to affect things more than a few feet away. If Mr. Rayburn was flying over in an airplane five thousand feet up…." She broke off. "I can't imagine what could do that."

"Neither can I," Alma said. "But we'd better find out."

T
he last few miles the road was bad, snow sixteen inches deep crushed by the National Guard trucks that had gotten the passengers and crew from the plane crash, with another couple of inches on top. Mitch and Lewis hung onto the sides as Alma rattled along in the tread marks, doing a cautious fifteen miles an hour which was probably the best speed possible considering.

The Guard had branched off the road at the bottom of the box canyon, the tread marks turning off toward the downed plane which still lay at the end of the long slope. Unplowed and smooth, the snow lay unbroken over the road another mile and a half to the Silver Bullet mine. Mitch felt Alma downshifting, the truck nosing forward, and then she stopped.

"End of the line," Lewis said. He tilted his head back, looking up at the sky, and Mitch put on his sunglasses against the snow glare. "We're not going any further in the truck."

"I see that," Mitch said. He climbed over the tailgate and went around to help Stasi out. Her boots were perfectly fine for city streets, but not for walking a mile and a half uphill in unbroken snow. "We're going to have to get you some workboots," he said.

She gave him a sideways look. "And since when do you buy me shoes, darling?"

Lewis pulled the two packs out of the back and gave Mitch one. He glanced up at the ridgeline. "I bet he came right over there," Lewis said. "If he was approaching from behind the minehead…"