A Flying Affair (14 page)

The storm had more growl than substance, bringing only a skiff of snow and a spat of cold. Two days later, the skies were an inviting cerulean blue, and Mittie and Ames flew back to Louisville. Mittie exchanged addresses and phone numbers with the girls who'd flown in the race and promised to keep in touch. For most of them, it would most likely be spring before the weather was reliable enough to do any serious flying. Like the squirrels who stored away hickory nuts in the autumn, Mittie and her new sisters would have to rely on tucked-away memories to feed their hunger for the skies.

A reporter came out to the farm to do a story about the air rally. He took a picture of Mittie riding Gypsy and asked her about women in aviation and the impact Charles Lindbergh had made. The headline read
Former Horsewoman Trades the Saddle for the Cockpit.
He slanted the article so that it sounded as if she'd been a failure with Gypsy and had turned to flying as a consolation.

Her mother thought it was vulgar. “He makes it sound like you're desperate for a thrill. I've no idea what the women in the Louisville Ladies' Society will think. First you fall from the wing of an airplane, and now this—participating in a sport that's going to get you killed.”

“Say what you will, Mother. We've been down this road so many times that the ruts are full of ruts. I would've preferred that he mention that I'd taken up aviation in addition to being a horsewoman, but it still gives credibility to women who fly. And if this thrill, as you say, is forging a new frontier, then I would think your friends would rally around that, if not for themselves, then for their daughters and granddaughters.”

“My friends are genteel women who believe a woman's place is beside a man, conducting herself in a ladylike manner for noble causes.”

“I admire your passion, Mother, the way you've always taken care of our family and worked tirelessly helping the flood victims over in Mississippi, but I see a future where aviators can come to the aid of their fellow man within hours, not days or weeks. And just think: in a year or two, when Iris starts having little ones, we could fly down to Birmingham in two shakes.”

“Victor isn't going to loan you his plane whenever you get a notion.”

“He won't have to if I have my own plane.” Just like that it popped out of her mouth. Not that she hadn't thought of it often enough, but saying it to her mother was bold, even for her.

“Oh, forevermore. That's absurd. I liked it better when all you wanted to do was ride horses and do your daddy's books. Before Ames Dewberry waltzed into your life.”

Mittie snapped to attention. “What does Ames have to do with this?”

Her mother sighed. “You don't know anything about him. His people. Where he's from.”

“Those things are immaterial to me. We have things in common that I adore—flying, dancing, our hopes for the future.”

Her mother gasped. “You're surely not planning to marry him.”

“It's not a subject that's come up, but I do think I'm in love with him.”

“What kind of future would that be? Skipping around the country flying airplanes is hardly what I would call putting down roots. And the man doesn't even have a job, for pity's sake.”

“Not an important position, if that's what you mean. He has dreams of success with his new patent. I wouldn't be surprised if he owned his own company one day.”

“And if he fails?”

“He'll try something else. Grandmother's told me that her parents thought she was crazy to follow a man who dreamed of owning a horse farm. I guess if I'm crazy for following my dreams, I've come by the trait honestly.”

“Humph.”

Mittie waited for the retort. She hated bickering with her mother. She should've just let her mother's opinion of the newspaper article rest and mumbled something like, “At least they spelled my name right.” Now it was too late, and they were both on edge. Her mother's eyes drifted to a spot behind Mittie. “You and your daddy are so full of purpose…”

It slammed Mittie in the depths. This wasn't about flying or Ames or the newspaper article but about the simple fact that, after years of drifting along, Mittie had latched onto a smoldering passion. The only purpose her mother had was directing the lives of others. Her committees. Her daughters. Her husband, whose need for her had grown thin now that he was stronger.

A tear trickled down her mother's face.

Mittie's gut wrenched. How could she have not seen it? Her mother talked about knowing the right people, being an upstanding citizen, a woman who was involved in worthy causes, but it was all a façade. In reality, she was sinking into a sea of extinction, a world where she was no longer needed. If Mittie's relationship with Ames did become serious, it would be the last blow to her mother's ability to control the world around her. It was a burden that Mittie couldn't bear. Wouldn't bear. Her mother was right—Mittie did have purpose, and whether it was a noble cause or not, the desire to fly was etched in her bones. And she couldn't let her mother's emotional state thwart her. Not now that she'd made such strides.

Deep inside, the shell of determination that encased her heart hardened.

The mother-daughter dance they knew so well carried them through December. When Ames had come for dinner, her mother had been pleasant, at times charming, in spite of trying to elicit information about his family.

“Your parents? They're still in Ohio?”

“Iowa. And no, ma'am. They passed when my sister and I were in grammar school. My grandparents raised us.”

“Oh, you dear boy. How unfortunate for you.”

He shrugged. “They kept clothes on our back and food in our stomachs. Granny saw to our religious training and…sadly, both she and Pawpaw have passed.”

“But your sister? You're still close?”

“Like peas in a pod. Fern fusses over me every chance I get back to visit.”

“That's lovely. You'll be going there for Christmas, I would guess.”

Mittie shot her mother a look that said she was stepping over the line. Like the accommodating soul that he was, Mittie's daddy had stayed quiet, calmly eating his roast beef, nodding at the right times. Mittie would do well to take a page from him.

Quickly her mother added, “I only ask because you would be welcome to join us if you can't make it to Iowa.”

“Thanks. I appreciate the invitation. Mittie said Iris would be coming. I'm sure you're happy about that.”

“We can hardly wait, isn't that right, dear?” She patted Mittie's dad on the arm.

“Absolutely. I've missed her, and I'm anxious to hear about the steel industry from Hayden as well. Nothing like getting an insider's view on the economic side.”

Ames raised his eyebrows. “For your investments?”

“My banker tells me I need to diversify.”

“Have you considered aviation? Not that steel isn't viable, but there was quite a show of interest when I was in St. Louis with Mittie.”

“I've gathered that from the newspapers. Any particular companies you'd recommend?”

“Most are growing right now. Travel Air. Lockheed. They'll be players in the near future, I'm sure. Even Henry Ford's jumped in with the Tri-Motor he brought out last year.”

“The one they call the Tin Goose?”

Ames chuckled and nodded.

Afterward, Mittie's mother, bless her heart, didn't mention the dangers of flying or the unfortunate childhood she imagined for Ames. In the tit-for-tat waltz she and her mother had engaged in, Mittie offered to write out the invitations for the baby shower they were having for Nell while Iris was home for Christmas. And she didn't even flinch when her mother suggested that she embroider a pair of lambs on a receiving blanket for the new baby. With every wobbly stitch and bloodied finger from poking herself with the needle, Mittie envisioned flying in her own plane. What kind of plane could she afford? A zippy little Swallow like Victor's or a tried-and-true Canuck like Weaver's? Someday. Someday soon.

The night before Ames left for a trip to Wichita to see another possible investor, he took her to a tavern that was known for its rustic ambience and hearty food. He looked up from the menu and said, “I'm leaving
Trixie
in your care. If you have a sunny day, you might take her up so she doesn't get rusty.”

“You're sure about driving instead of flying?”

“After the storm that blew into St. Louis, I'm a little leery.”

“You may rest assured that I'll handle
Trixie
with kid gloves and treat her like she's my very own.” Light flickered from the kerosene lantern between them, casting shadows on the walls, bathing one side of Ames' face in light, leaving the other shadowed. Her heart skipped just looking at him. “And speaking of my very own, I'm serious about getting a plane. I was hoping you could advise me on what features would be best for competition and what one might cost.”

He asked how much her daddy was willing to spend.

“I could never ask him to buy a plane. I have a small trust fund that Grandfather set up, but I don't want to use all of it, as there'll be other expenses. Competitions. Travel money. Repairs.”

“I know it's none of my business, but he must've left a substantial amount.”

“Not a great lot, but with what I've saved from working for Daddy, it should be enough.”

He blew out a breath that riffled the raven hair on his forehead.

Mittie laughed. “Do that again. You look cute with your hair mussed like that.”

“You're something else, you know that? Here I am hoping to set up a romantic moment, and you're discussing the price of airplanes and making goofball conversation about my hair.”

“Sorry, but I do think it makes you look dashing. I have to agree, though, that letting me take care of
Trixie
is quite the romantic gesture.”

“That was just the warm-up.” He reached over and took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Just a promise for later, okay?” He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a thin rectangular box.

Mittie sucked in an audible breath and gave a mental sigh at the same time.
Engagement rings come in cubed boxes. Bracelets and necklaces in flat ones.
 She knew she wasn't ready for the cubed box. At least not yet.

“For you, my dear.” He tucked the jeweler's case in her hand and told her to open it.

There was no wrapping paper, just the caramel leather case. And inside, a gold heart-shaped locket rested on red velvet.

“It's lovely.” The fine gold chain glinted in the yellow lantern light as she ran it through her fingers. “Oh look—it opens.” Inside was a picture, smaller than a dime.

“The picture is Pawpaw, and the locket was Granny's. I don't have a trust fund like you—”

“I can't take this. It's your grandmother's, what you have to remember her and your grandfather by. And what about your sister. Fern, isn't that what you called her? Maybe she would like it.”

“Fern's not the sentimental type. Granny would've loved you as I do. And I'd bet the moon and stars that she's smiling right now, happy for you to have her necklace.”

Mittie's fingers shook. “Are you sure?”

“Never more sure of anything in my life. Here—let me help you put it on.”

His fingers were warm on the back of her neck as she held her hair up for him, but the locket was cool against her chest. She leaned in close and kissed Ames on the cheek. “Thank you; it's perfect. And the kiss was just a sample of the real one I'm saving for later.”

“I can't wait.”

The locket grew warm, nestled near her heart.

Iris and Hayden breezed in three days before Christmas, their anticipated visit spurring Mittie's mother into a whirlwind of shopping, decorating, and planning menus, her purpose renewed.

They arrived in a shiny late-model automobile, a cloud of dust in its wake. When Mittie saw them coming, she flew from the house, and yanked open the passenger-side door handle almost before Hayden rolled to a stop.

“How was your drive? I thought you'd never get here.” She took Iris' hand and pulled her from the car, their arms around each other, both of them talking at once. Iris pulled back first and stood, arms wide open, looking toward the house.

“Oh, how I've missed this. And you and Mother and Daddy.”

“Merry Christmas, darling.” Their mother joined them. More hugs. A few tears. “Don't you look smart? What a darling dress. I do believe married life agrees with you.”

Iris smiled, her chin quivering a bit as she said thank you. “Where's Daddy?”

“I asked Bertha to fetch him from his study.” Her mother gave a finger wave and said, “Hello, Hayden. So glad you made it.”

Iris said, “Tell me: How's Daddy doing? Back still okay?”

“A twinge here and again, and no matter how many times I urge him to rest, he just ignores me. It's no secret who Mittie gets her stubbornness from.”

Iris gave Mittie one of her knowing looks, one that said it would do no good to argue. And although Iris did have a glow about her and looked perfectly stunning, there were puffs, like tiny pillows, below her eyes as if she'd been crying. When their eyes met, Iris looked away quickly.

“Where should I take our things, sweetheart?” Hayden stood like a porter in his starched shirt with a leather suitcase in each hand and a parcel under each arm.

Mittie's mother said, “Here—let me help you.” She relieved him of the packages and told him everything was ready in the guest room.

Iris gave a start. “Oh, I thought we'd be in my room.”

“You'd have to share a bath with Mittie. I thought you'd need more privacy.”

Mittie said, “What Mother means is that she wouldn't want me to see Hayden in his Skivvies.”

“Good gracious, Mittie. Watch your tongue. You'll have Hayden hightailing back to Birmingham before we've even had Christmas.”

Iris shrugged. “Whatever you think about the room, but hon­estly, I've been looking forward to sleeping in my old bed.”

Hayden said, “I'm sure your mama is right, sugar. Why don't you get your hatbox and my valise from the back while we carry these things up?”

Mittie said she'd help, and when her mother and Hayden were out of earshot, Mittie edged close to her twin. “What's going on?”

Iris' eyes widened in a startling blue. “
Nothing
is going on. However do you come up with these silly notions?”

She tossed the hatbox to Iris. “It's not a notion. I can see it written on your face.” She grabbed the valise and a pile of coats from the rear seat and closed the door with her hip. “Don't worry, Sis; I'll get it out of you.”

Iris, though, was halfway up the walk.

It appeared that, indeed, nothing was wrong as Iris and Hayden were like lovebirds, holding hands, stealing kisses when they thought no one was watching. Mittie decided that Iris had only been weary from the trip or was an actress who had missed her calling. There was no time to dwell on it, as the next two days were filled with decorating the tree and last-minute shopping.

Mittie stewed over the obvious fact that Ames wasn't there, nor had he called in more than a week. His meeting in Wichita had turned out to be a dead end, so he was headed to Tulsa, where he'd heard that men who'd made it rich in the oil boom were turning their interests to the aviation field. Every time the telephone rang or someone came to the door, she jumped, hoping it was Ames.

The only time she ventured from the house was for her daily ride on Gypsy. Mittie stayed out longer than usual on Christmas Eve, letting Gypsy race across the hills, their hearts beating as one.

Like Iris and Hayden's. And, she had begun to think, like hers and Ames'.

Toby was ready for Mittie and Gypsy when she dismounted, and after wishing him a merry Christmas, she jammed her hands in her pockets and lifted her face to the sky. The wind roughed her cheeks as she marched back to the house that was filled with the aroma of fresh gingerbread and pine needles and Bobby York's cologne.

“Isn't it just the dearest thing for Bobby to come out and join us?” Mittie's mother intercepted Mittie on the stairs as she went to change for the luncheon her mother was having for a few close neighbors who were anxious to see Iris.

“Of course. Did you call him or did he need something?”

“He said he had some news for you, so I invited him to stay for lunch. Run along and get ready. Iris and Hayden are keeping him company until you come down.”

Half an hour later, Mittie entered the parlor, where Bobby was having tea with Iris and Hayden, the three of them standing near the warmth of the fireplace. “So guess you all have been introduced.”

Iris gave her a questioning look. “We've met before. At least I remember Bobby from the time we visited London. The posh party one of Daddy's friends invited us to.”

“I remember no such party.” Mittie turned to Bobby. “Do you remember it?”

“Vaguely. Not that I could recollect your names. It wasn't unusual for my dad to pull me along to his social gatherings, hoping that some of his interests would rub off on me.” He gave a sly grin. “To no avail, I'm afraid.”

Iris nodded. “Sounds like someone else I know.” Her pointed look at Mittie was mischievous.

“You do me a great disservice, sweet Iris. I adore my Gypsy and everything to do with the show ring. I just love flying more.”

“You and Bobby should be quite a pair, then.” Honestly, Iris sounded more like her mother every day.

 Mittie turned to Bobby. “Mother said you have news. Are you going to tell me or am I going to stand here all day guessing?”

Iris took Hayden's arm and said she'd like to show him the party favors they'd made for Nell's baby shower. Bless her; she always knew when to make a graceful exit.

When they'd gone, Bobby asked if she'd like some tea.

“Not right now.”

“Let's sit down, then.” He moved to a wingback chair and waited for her to take the one opposite before he sat down.

“It must not be good news if you're having me sit. I hope it's not Weaver. Oh, that would be awful if he was sick or something terrible happened to him at Christmas.”

He tented his fingers, letting his chin rest lightly on their tips. “No, Weaver's tip-top as far as I know. I've just come as a messenger.”

Her stomach sank, a light-headedness coming over her, and she knew it was something to do with Ames even before he continued.

“Ames stopped by this morning. Said he'd been driving all night and needed to get home to Iowa. He picked up
Trixie
and wanted you to know.”

“He was here? In Louisville? Why didn't he call?” Her hand went instinctively to the locket on the chain around her neck.

“He was in a bit of a dither—something about his sister taking ill—and he needed to get in the air while the weather was amiable.”

“I bet he didn't say amiable.”

“Not his exact words, no, but he wanted me to give you his regrets and tell you he would call when he got there.”

“Call me or the airfield?”

“You, I assume.”

A mix of emotions and questions roiled in her stomach. Why hadn't he just driven from Oklahoma to Iowa? And what if the weather turned nasty? Bobby had no answers to her questions but said that he, too, was sorry.

“Was he going to be here for Christmas?”

She shrugged. “Best-laid plans.”

Her mother stuck her head in and said it was time for lunch. “Everything all right?”

Mittie nodded and took Bobby's arm. “Hungry?”

Her own appetite had fled.

Ames still hadn't called when it was time to leave for the Christmas Eve service. Candles flickered in the tiny sanctuary where Mittie sat between Iris and her Daddy. Her thoughts were a jumble, her neck tense, but as they sang “What Child Is This?” a calm fell over her. Christmas and the Christ Child. She slipped her hand in the crook of her daddy's arm and said a silent prayer for someone she didn't know in Iowa. When they stepped out into the frosty night air, snowflakes as big as quarters fell silently from the heavens, blanketing the ground, the trees, the rooftops. The earth was hushed on a starless night, lit only by gas lampposts and the glow of a long-ago night in a lowly stable.

Mittie gazed into the sky and prayed that Ames had made it safely to his sister's side, that he wasn't grounded somewhere, alone in a strange place.

The overnight snow made it a white Christmas, but the accumulation was slight, and the day dawned with bright sunshine. Mittie's mother was elated because it meant that everyone would be able to make the drive over from Louisville, including Bobby, who she'd insisted come and share Christmas with them. Nell looked as if she'd swallowed a watermelon as she sat contentedly beside Quentin. Caroline giggled and showed Bobby how to make a Jacob's ladder with a length of string that had been knotted into a large circle. Every time he put his fingers through the wrong slot and ended up with a tangled mess, she howled with laughter and called him a silly goose. He teased her back and showed her that he could make a cup and saucer with the string, which earned him a round of applause.

The laughter was good and took Mittie's mind off the worry she had for Ames. Iris cast reassuring looks at her, telling her everything was going to be fine. It didn't feel fine, even though the air sparkled with the chatter of family gathered around the fir tree that stretched nearly to the drawing room's ceiling. Tiny candles, strings of cranberries, and satin bows graced its branches while bright packages nestled beneath them.

Bertha appeared in the doorway and motioned for Mittie.
Ames.
Her heart pounded as she followed Bertha to the ladies' parlor and, with trembling fingers, picked up the telephone and spoke into the bell. Relief rushed out when Ames said hello on the other end.

“How are you? Or maybe I should say, where are you? Did you make it?”

The telephone receiver crackled like the logs in the fireplace, but she thought she made out the word
Iowa.

“Fern? Is she better?”

“…doing…soon…Christmas.”

“I'm having trouble with the connection. Can you hear me?”

“…love…make it…wish…”

“I love you, too. Merry Christmas.”

The line went dead. Had he made it? It sounded like he might have. No way to know how his sister was, but Ames sounded very much alive. Relief skated along her bones, her steps light as she went into the drawing room and joined her family in a toast. Peace on earth. Goodwill to men.

Bobby eyed her from across the room and stepped quickly to her when the toasts were finished. “Ames?”

Mittie nodded and gave him a brief report as they went into the dining room. When they were seated, Mittie's dad asked Quentin to return the blessing, and while her dad carved the turkey, Mittie's mother asked who was on the phone.

“Ames. He made it home safely. At least I think he did. We had a bad connection, and I couldn't make out much.”

“What was the poor man thinking taking off in an airplane in the dead of winter?”

“His sister needed him. I'd want to be there if Iris needed me.”

Iris nodded. “And I'd do the same for you. Ames must be a good man to sacrifice and be with his family when he would rather be somewhere else.” She patted Hayden's hand. “Right, honey?”

Hayden answered with a tight-lipped, “Of course. Although it's rather difficult to give an opinion about someone I've never met.”

“Ames was at our wedding, dear. Remember the one who wore the cream-colored suit that your mother went on about?”

“I know
who
you're talking about; I just don't believe we were introduced.”

Iris gave him a half frown, like something was brewing between them. Mittie hoped it was just her imagination, but Hayden had been rather sulky all morning, now that she thought about it.

Then Hayden's face brightened. “Poor guy doesn't know what he's missing. I know I'm tickled to death to spend Christmas with all of you.” He stabbed a piece of turkey with his fork. “Mrs. Humphreys, everything is right tasty.”

Mittie's grandmother started to answer, then realized he was addressing Iris' mother, who said, “For pity's sake, Hayden, you're part of our family now. Please call me Sarah.”

“Yes, ma'am, I'll try to remember that.”

Mittie's mother asked how his family celebrated Christmas.

“We go to a lake that my family owns. We've all got cabins there.”

“All?”

“My folks and both my uncles. Someday Iris and I hope to build there, too.”

“That sounds lovely. So quaint and surely not your normal Southern tradition. You are a man of constant surprises, Hayden.”

Iris nudged him. “Tell her who was going to be there this year.”

Hayden scowled at Iris, then sighed and said, “The governor and his wife.”

Mittie's mother's eyes widened. “Oh dear, and you had to miss that to come here. You should have said something. I'm sure Iris would've understood and wanted you to stay there.”

“Not really, Mother. They were going to spend the entire time duck hunting.”

“Not the entire time.” Another dark look from Hayden.

“That's not the way your mother tells it.”

Mittie glanced at her dad, who looked like he'd rather be duck hunting. He took a deep breath. “Evangeline, could you pass the gravy? You know, there's nobody makes giblet gravy like our Ruby.”