A Flying Affair (17 page)

“Guess we both have regrets. I wanted to call, but the longer I waited, the harder it was to pick up the telephone. Then I got a call from Fort Worth and thought if I could wangle a deal, I could at least come back with good news.”

“It sounds good. Are you pleased with the terms?”

“Nothing's been signed, but I'm hopeful, and yes, I couldn't be happier.”

“I guess you'll be heading back to Texas soon, then.”

He frowned. “I will eventually, yes.” He worked his mouth like he was trying to find the words. “You asked why I came back. I couldn't stop thinking about you, doll. I needed to see if you'd still want me around. You've no idea how many times I've woken at night in a cold sweat from dreaming about you.”

“I've had a few of those nights myself.” She took a deep breath. “And I've missed you terribly.” She held out her hand for a shake. “Still friends, then?”

He clasped her hand and drew it to his lips. “I hope more than friends. I must admit, I was sweating bullets when I saw you in the canteen with York. I almost turned around and left.”

“What stopped you?”

“The reflection of the gold chain around your neck. I thought if you were still wearing the locket, I had a chance.”

She squeezed his hand that still held hers. “Welcome back.”

Spring 1928

Mittie would've slept in her new plane if she could have, feeling at once motherly and as possessive as a mama bear with her cub. Instead, she had the plane painted a creamy caramel color with black rimming the wings. On the side, in rich mahogany script, was the name she'd given it.
Belle
.
Belle of the Skies.
She thought the name had a nice ring to it, one of promise and enchantment.

Ames slipped back into her life, and Mittie wondered how she could have ever doubted him. And it was Ames who announced that a proper christening for
Belle
would be an air demonstration with the Patriots, who'd come out of winter hibernation. He scouted out a location across the river, and on a breezy day at the end of March, they did loops and stalls, end over end, flying in formation. Buster drew gasps from the onlookers with his ladder tricks and walking on air from the wing of one plane to another. The last two hours they gave airplane rides. When Mittie looked out across the sea of faces, her eyes connected with those of Bobby York. What a sly fox—sneaking in to see how she'd done in his plane. She waved to let him know she'd seen him, and when she looked again later, he was gone.

Back at Bowman Field, she and Ames headed to the canteen for a soft drink before servicing their planes and found Bobby sitting with a familiar-looking blonde. Bobby raised his chin in greeting, and the girl turned around. Calista Gilson.

Calista squealed and jumped up, gliding across the floor with open arms. “Ames! Kentucky!”

Mittie offered her hand and smiled. “Mittie, not Kentucky.”

Calista pressed her fingers to her lips. “Oops, I forgot.” She turned to Ames and puckered her cupid lips.

He gave her a peck on the cheek. “Hey, Peach. What are you doing here? Did you get separated from that wild bunch in Texas and lose your way?”

Mittie's head snapped to attention. “You two saw each other in Texas?”

Calista nodded and fluffed her marcel-waved bob, but it was Ames' question she answered. “I didn't get lost. I left. Cheap rats wouldn't pay me. I'm looking for a new gig and was hoping you and Lester might have something.”

Ames said, “I'm sure we could work something out. Anything special you had in mind?”

She dipped her chin, her pale gray eyes wide. “I'm game for anything you are.”

Ames looked around at the group. “What say we all get some grub and talk things over with Peach? The Hen's Nest okay?”

Calista linked arms with Bobby. “Do you still have that darling little foreign car?”

Bobby nodded. “If you mean the Morris, yes. Not that I consider it foreign, mind you.”

Mittie said she'd meet them there, that she'd like to run by her cousin Nell's and change.

Calista winked. “I could teach you a few tricks about living out of a suitcase.”

“Looks like it worked for you.” She eyed Calista's pale lemon dress that hugged her like a second skin. “I'll only be a few minutes.” What she really needed was a bath, a hairdresser, and a trip to a New York salon, and even then, she'd be dowdy next to Calista.

Ames gave her a quick hug. “Don't be too long. I'm starving.”

An hour later, they were all crowded around a small table while Calista regaled them with a story about her close encounter with a jellyfish at the beach in Galveston. “Tell them, Ames, about the baby shark you caught.”

Mittie's breath caught. “What am I missing here? Obviously, you two crossed paths in Texas, but you went to the beach?”
Together?

Calista laughed. “Oh, didn't Ames tell you? He flew with us down by Houston. How do you think he got that gorgeous tan?”

“I see.” Only she didn't. And she didn't like the jealous feeling creeping through her brought on by the familiarity between Ames and Calista.

Calista laughed. “It wasn't like we went alone, if that's what you're worried about. A whole swarm of us went together. At least the cheapskates I was with paid for my bus ticket and bought my lunch that day.”

On the tiny stage, a combo was warming up with screechy brass sounds and off-key thrums on the bass—sounds that matched the medley in Mittie's chest.

Mittie had never given in to petty jealousy like some of the girls she'd known, and even now it irritated her that she'd given in to the feeling. Ames was free to go to Texas or Mars without her permission. And they'd parted at odds in Nebraska, so why did Calista feel like a burr in her britches?

When Ames walked her to her car later, he told her nothing went on between him and Calista. “Peach is like a lost puppy trying to find her place in the world.”

“She's just so friendly. And chatty. I suppose I should be more hospitable. Gracious, as we say in the South.”

“I think Peach could use a friend.”

“If she's still here when I get back from San Francisco, I'll invite her out to the house. Maybe ask you and Bobby, too.”

Ames drew her in his arms. “I'm going to miss you like the devil.”

“You're welcome to come along.”

“Thanks, but the Patriots are counting on me.”

And Calista.
But Mittie didn't mention it.

Mittie's parents wired that they'd arrived safely in London and were looking forward to hearing the results of the horse show in San Francisco.

On the train ride, Mittie and her grandmother coaxed Rex Kline and one of the horse owners into playing canasta. It didn't take much arm-twisting with Rex, who Mittie suspected was smitten with her grandmother.

That night in their Pullman compartment, Mittie teased her. “I saw the way Rex kept looking at you with a twinkle in his eyes.”

Her grandmother didn't even blush. “Lord-a-mercy, at my age, I'm happy for every breath, so if the man wants to flirt with me, I'm not going to stop him.”

“So it wasn't my imagination.”

Her grandmother's laugh was deep and throaty. “I've known Rex half my life. He and his wife went to dinner with your grandfather and me at many a horse show. If you'd been paying attention, you'd have noticed that he comes over and eats supper with me practically every night.”

“Really? Do Mother and Daddy know this?”

“I suspect that's why they wanted you to come along on this trip—to chaperone us.”

“And all this time, I thought it was so you could keep me out of trouble.”

“I gave up on that long ago, sweetheart.” She pulled a hairnet over her silver hair. “I just hope your young man knows what he's getting himself into.”

“If you're referring to Ames, he's not my young man. I have worlds of things I want to do and accomplish before I settle into a serious relationship.”

A furrow creased the space between her carefully shaped brows. “You're not playing with his affections under false pretenses, I hope.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ames is accomplished and has connections that will help further your career, I would assume.”

“And you think I'm using him—is that it?”

“It's crossed my mind.” Her grandmother dipped her fingers in a tin of cold cream and smoothed it over her soft-lined face. “I remember you coming back from New York and the caper you had flying with him.”

“I know. Everyone thought it was just Mittie being wild, the way I always was, but I think it was meant to be, that I was meant to find Ames.”

Her grandmother studied an age spot on the back of her hand. “If that's the case, then I'm sure everything will work out and you'll forgive your old grandmother for fretting. It's not just your parents who worry, you know.”

“Trust me—there's nothing to worry about.”

Mittie stared at the ceiling long after her grandmother's soft snores filled the compartment. Was it possible that subconsciously she was using Ames for her own selfish aspirations? That she leaned on him to satisfy her hunger to learn and do and be all the things she dreamed of? Bobby York flickered in her thoughts. He'd been as much a part of her accomplishment as Ames, but it was Ames who accelerated her heart, made her weak in the knees with his kisses, and brought out the she-bear claws when Calista danced into the picture.

Her fingers went to the locket between her breasts, the smooth gold on the back, the slightly textured surface on the front. She drifted off and dreamed of looking across the supper table at Ames when their faces were creased with wrinkles and their hair had turned to silver.

At the horse show the next morning, Gypsy took first in the four-year-old class prancing and showing with confidence. She'd matured in the past year, and her performance earned her place in the five-gait championship the following afternoon. When the championship winners were announced, Mittie's heart was in her throat. Gypsy finished a remarkable second. Rex Kline said it called for a night on the town.

They feasted on
dim sum
at the Hang Ah Tea Room, tucked in an alley of Chinatown, and afterward chugged up the hill to take the cable car to the Columbia Theater. The silent film
Wings
, a wartime story featuring two pilots and the lovely Clara Bow, was showing with a full orchestra to add to the drama. Mittie dotted tears from the corners of her eyes when the credits blinked in black and white on the screen. If she could have, she would've sat through the whole movie again, but it was late, and they had an early train.

When they'd settled in the cab to return to their hotel, Rex took her grandmother's knobby hand in his. A perfect ending to a lovely trip. Mittie hoped that Gypsy's excellent work in the ring was the harbinger of things to come when Mittie took to the air.

Mittie gave her parents a report on the San Francisco show when they returned from London. Her daddy laughed and asked if Grandmother had behaved herself.

“Sweet as a lamb.” She gave him a knowing wink.

“And you? What have you been up to?”

“Staying close to the stables, flying some, and going out with Ames and the Patriots in the evenings. We have a demonstration coming up the first of June, and Bobby got word about a ladies' altitude challenge in Little Rock. He thinks I'll qualify for the international license by then.”

Her mother opened her mouth to say something, then paused. Her mouth widened into a smile. “It sounds wonderful, dear. I know you'll have a marvelous time.”

Mittie's jaw slackened. “I expected another lecture on the perils of flying and not getting myself killed.”

“Ordinarily, you would have been right to assume that, but I had quite an enlightening conversation when we were in London.”

“Do tell.” She looked at her daddy who shrugged as if he knew nothing.

“A wise gentleman told me that if you held a budgie in your hand too tightly, you would kill it, but if you release it and it flies away, it was never yours to begin with. If it comes back, you've a friend for life.”

“That's lovely…and so poetic. Who was this wise man?”

“Robert York.”

“Bobby's dad? I didn't know you saw him.”

“We had a lovely dinner.”

It was no mystery who Robert York was talking about. She wondered if he and Bobby had argued over his choice of aviation and that his dad was hopeful that Bobby would return and do something more to his liking. A spidery thread tingled along her spine, a realization that his father's gain would be a great loss to her.

Her daddy cleared his throat. “Good man, Robert York. So where is this demonstration you mentioned?”

“Memphis.”

“Sarah, we've not been to Memphis in a while. Why don't we go and find out what all the fuss is about?”

Her mother put her hand to her chest. “Now darlin', let's not get carried away.”

The Memphis event got off on a bad leg. A bird flew into Lester's propeller on takeoff outside of Nashville, delaying him and Shorty and Buster. When Ames, Calista, and Mittie arrived at the small hangar on the outskirts of Memphis, the owner asked for the payment to use his facility up front.

Ames clapped him on the back. “Hey, you know how this is. We've spent all our operating funds on the adverts and fuel to get here. I'd be happy to pay you after the first day's gate.”

The man crossed his arms and shook his head. “I got burned by the last outfit that went through here.” He looked at their three planes. “I thought there were five of you.”

Ames explained that the other two would be in later.

“Money for all five up front or you'll have to leave.”

Ames puffed out his cheeks. “Give me a minute while we talk.”

He took Mittie and Calista aside. “He's got us over a barrel. The others won't know where to find us if we go into the city airfield, and if we cancel, word will spread. We won't be able to fly within a hundred miles of here. I'm open to suggestions.”

Calista waved away a fly. “Don't look at me. I'm broke until after this show.” They both looked at Mittie.

Ames said, “I hate to ask you, doll. I thought everything was square. And I know you're excited because your parents are coming to see you.”

“Mother would be relieved if we cancelled, but we've given our word that we would put on a show. And we will.”

Mittie strolled over to the owner of the hangar and asked what the fee was, then dug in her pants pocket for her coin purse and paid the man.

“Thank you kindly. I'll need a fuel deposit, too. Fifty dollars.”

She pursed her lips and handed him two twenties and a ten.

By dusk, Lester and Shorty had still not arrived, so Ames called a taxi for Mittie and Calista. “Your folks are expecting you. I'll spend the night here with the planes.”

Mittie and Calista collected their things from their baggage compartments. Ames draped an arm around Mittie. “I don't know what I'd do without you, doll. Tell your folks I'm sorry I didn't make it to dinner.”

“They'll understand.”

The upsets of the day had put Calista on edge, too, and when she and Mittie arrived at the Peabody Hotel, she took one look and said, “I can't afford to stay in a swanky place like this.”

“Don't worry—we're sharing a room, and it's taken care of.”

The porter showed them to their room and opened their suitcases. Mittie gave him a tip and told Calista they needed to hurry. “I told Daddy we'd meet them for dinner at eight.”

Mittie peeled off her clothes and bathed first. She twisted her hair into a knot on top of her head and fastened a simple headpiece with a cluster of pearls and smoky glass at the center. A quick touch-up of her cheeks from a rouge pot and she was ready. “Your turn.”

After her bath, Calista slipped into a slim-fitting angular striped black and white dress. She blinked eyelashes still wet with paste mascara. “So Daddy Moneybags is picking up the tab, then?”

“He is, but don't you dare call him that. It's the first time they've come to watch me fly, so I want everything to go according to Hoyle.”

“I'll be on my best behavior.” She cocked one hip and gave a fake grin.

The waiter showed them to the table where her parents were waiting. “You've heard me talk about Calista, but I'm not sure you've met.” She made the introductions.

Mittie's mother had a strained look, her eyes drooping at the corners. “We're so pleased to meet you. And I must say, that dress is simply darling. Not from one of our Louisville shops, is it?”

“This? Oh, it's just some glad rag I picked up at a church rummage sale.”

“Aren't you clever? I'll remember that next time someone asks me a pointed question. My apologies, dear, for prying. Please, girls, have a seat.”

Mittie's daddy pulled out the chair for Calista. “I do believe I detect a Georgia accent.”

Mittie held her breath and hoped Calista didn't go into her spiel about those damn Yankees again, but she just nodded and said, “Yes, sir. Atlanta.”

Mittie's dad pulled his watch from his vest pocket. “Ames must be delayed.”

“Oh, fiddle, Daddy. I forgot. He's not coming. He wanted me to convey his regrets, and honestly, the night before a show, he's always got a lot on his mind.”

“Sounds like the saddlebred business.” He took his seat and signaled for the waiter, who brought sweet tea and presented menus. After they'd ordered, Mittie's dad asked, “And you'll be flying as well, Calista?”

“Mittie and I have a routine we're doing, yes, but in a crowd like this, my specialty is wing walking. It's quite the thrill.”

“I'm sure.” Mittie's mother took a sip of water. “It's just so dangerous.” She gave a weak smile; Mittie knew she was trying valiantly not to say more.

Calista laughed. “That's what we want everyone to think, Mrs. Humphreys. It adds to the excitement.”

“Wouldn't it be just as effective if you were in a harness of some sort to keep you from plummeting to the earth if something happened?”

“Oh no. That's what makes people love it, seeing me out there just free as a bird. You'll see tomorrow.”

Mittie's mother had turned as white as a frog's belly, and Mittie patted her hand and told her it was okay, that she didn't have to watch. When the meal came, her mother nibbled at her pork cutlet for a few minutes, then folded her napkin and rose. “I've developed the most horrendous headache. I think I'll go lie down.”

“Would you like me to come with you, Mother?”

“I'll be fine. You'll want to stay and have dessert.” She kissed Mittie's cheek. “Good night, dear.”

When she left, Mittie shrugged and told Calista that her flying was difficult for her mother.

“Mine didn't like it at first, but she came around.”

“How did you convince her?”

“I send her a twenty-dollar bill every time I do a show. Works like a charm.”

There weren't enough twenty-dollar bills in circulation that would take away Sarah Humphreys' disdain for Mittie's flying.

Lester, Shorty, and Buster didn't arrive until it was time for the show to start. Ames and Calista had given airplane rides while Mittie circulated through the crowd, hoping to find her parents. She still hadn't found them when Ames grabbed the megaphone and told everyone to get ready to be amazed by the daring feats of the Patriots and the Belles of the Sky.

Disappointment at not finding her parents contracted Mittie's chest as she waved to the crowd and slid into the cockpit. She and Calista were first up on the agenda with synchronized triple rolls followed by spirals and stalls from Ames and the Patriots. Halfway through, Mittie landed and taxied to the side to watch Calista and Buster's wing walking, ladder climbing, and heart-stopping feats. Calista had done a quick change in the cockpit of her plane and emerged in the gauzy white dress that Ames said made her look like an angel. Mittie sat up on the side of
Belle
for a better view and looked again for her parents.

She spotted them along the rope. Front row. Her daddy had his arm around her mother, their faces curious but sober. Mittie whispered a prayer and watched as Calista floated from the top wing of Lester's plane to that of Shorty's. Free as a bird.

When they finished and it was time for the airplane rides, her daddy was already in line. And beside him was her mother. Panic rose in Mittie's throat. She took a deep breath and sauntered over to them.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

Her daddy's grin was as wide as
Belle
's wings. “I'll say this, sugar—I had no idea this many people were interested in airplanes. You were a marvel to watch.”

Her mother nodded, her face frozen in a half smile.

“Looks like you're in line for a ride. Who's first?”

Her mother stepped forward. “Me. If I die, I won't have to watch your father go up.”

“You're not going to die, Mother. And I promise, nothing fancy. Just up, look at the scenery, and back down.” She guided her mother toward the plane. She grabbed a helmet and strapped it on her mother. “Okay, now step up on the wing.” She coaxed her gently. Her mother looked down, her hand flying to her lips.

“Mittie, I don't think I can do this.”

“You'll never know until you try. Now comes the tricky part—climbing into the cockpit gracefully. After that, it's as simple as pie. I'll stand behind you so no one can see you if your dress hikes up.”

Once in the cockpit with her shoulder harness secure, her mother gripped the wheel so fiercely that Mittie was afraid she would rip it from the shaft.

“Relax. Here, hold onto this.” She handed her a canvas canteen. “Squeeze this all you want.” Goggles adjusted. “Hey, you look pretty ducky.”

Her mother's expression hadn't changed, but all the color was gone from her face. Mittie hopped in the cockpit before her mother had a chance to change her mind. She taxied, slowly at first, but when they hit the first bump, her mother let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Mittie eased up and rolled the plane to the far edge of the pasture. She couldn't do this. Her mother was terrified and to take her up in the air might very well kill her. Mittie throttled down and pulled to a stop, hopped out, and leaned over her mother's seat.

Terror-filled eyes met hers. “What? What are you doing? Do you want people to think I'm a coward, that I'm the only person here who isn't thrilled to bits over a silly airplane ride?” Her mother's shoulders shook, her breaths short, eyes wide.

“Mother, look at me.” She did. “Tell me—why are you so afraid?”

A slow shake of her head, eyes downcast.

“We're not leaving this field until you tell me.” Mittie hated the motherly tone her voice carried.

“Take me back, and I'll tell you. Not here.”

Mittie taxied back and helped her mother out, then told the onlookers her fuel was low and she wouldn't be giving any more rides. Her mother flipped her hair and said to the crowd, “If that don't beat all. My first chance to ride in an airplane and it's out of gas.” She hooked her hand in the crook of Mittie's daddy's arm, and the two of them ambled off into the crowd.

Mittie begged off from going out to eat with Ames and the rest of the gang that evening, saying she promised to spend time with her parents. In their hotel room, Mittie crossed her arms and looked at her mother. “You said you'd tell me.”

Her mother stepped back and lowered herself onto the settee. She closed her eyes, her lips trembling. Her eyelids fluttered open, her gaze unfocused as she spoke. “I'm terrified of heights…Every time I think of you flying off in that airplane, that despicable face pops into my head.”

“Whose face?”

Sarah's spine stiffened. “His. My murderous father. Our house, that cold gray mansion whose walls hold more secrets than the pyramids of Egypt, sat up on a ridge. Mama always cautioned us about not getting too close, said we'd fall to our death. What she didn't know was that once when I mouthed off to Papa, he yanked me up and carried me outside.”

Daddy dropped down beside Mittie's mother and slipped an arm around her. “It's all right, Sarah.”

Her mother continued, her voice faraway. “I screamed that I was sorry, but he took me to the ridge and dangled me over the edge. ‘Do you know what happens to little girls who sass their papas?' His voice—” She shuddered, her small frame looking like it might swallow her. “I still remember that voice. Syrupy, like he was asking if I'd like to go for a pony ride. ‘Open your eyes, darling, and look.' I opened them, the earth at the bottom a million miles away.” Her breaths came in gasps. “I couldn't look, but still he held me under my arms and swung me back and forth. Back and forth.” Tears streamed down her face, her shoulders now shaking as sobs escaped her throat.

Mittie knelt before her and took her mother's hands. “I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't know.”

“How could you? I've never told a living soul. I thought I could manage the fear if I faced it and went up in the plane…but it's no use.”

“I won't ask you to.” She laid her head in her mother's lap, her own eyes damp with tears. They sat there, the three of them, no words necessary, the only sound the ticking of her daddy's pocket watch.