A Flying Affair (20 page)

“Actually, I'd prefer water. I'm always parched after flying.”

“Water it is.” He filled two glasses and pulled the chair for her to sit. Then he brought the potpie to the table and joined her. “Shall I say grace or would you like to?”

“Why don't you?”

It was a simple blessing, one her mother often said.

“You are a man of surprises, Bobby York. Thanks for inviting me.”

“And thank you for accepting. I did have an ulterior motive.”

“I'm not that kind of girl.” She wrinkled her nose at him.

“And for that I'm grateful. It is a proposition of sorts, though.”

“I'm listening.”

“The Aero Club has everything worked out with the flying school. We'll start the first class in January.”

“That's wonderful.”

“We had hoped to start sooner, but there's a lot of office work, and I'm still doing private lessons. What we need is help organizing the office. Victor and I both thought of you since you've had experience with managing the farm.”

Mittie swallowed hard. “I don't even know what to say. I'm flattered that you would ask, but I'm still green when it comes to aviation.”

“You're more experienced than most, and you're quite sharp. Trust me—after a few classes, I've learned that not everyone is cut out for this.”

“What about my flying? Going to competitions?”

“That would be part of the job. What better advertising for the school than to have one of our own contending for records and promoting aviation? We'd be your sponsor and pick up expenses, of course. Sponsorship seems to be quite the trend nowadays.”

A team. Like in the saddlebred business. Or as her daddy always said, “Behind every champion is a well-oiled machine.”

“It sounds too good to be true. And you know what they say…”

“If it sounds too good, it probably is. All I'm asking is for you to think about it.”

“Thanks.” Another thought interrupted.
Ames. The Patriots.
“I have promised Ames I'd be back on the barnstorming circuit soon. I hate to give my word and not keep it.”

Bobby stiffened, his eyebrows lifting a hair. “I assumed you knew.”

“Knew what?”

He let out a slow breath. “Okay, guess I've just put my nose where it doesn't belong.”

“Stop with your stupid British manners and spit it out. Assumed I knew what?”

“The group broke up a couple of weeks ago.”

“What? I just talked to Ames two nights ago. I've had postcards—”

He held up his hand. “Wait.” He rose and went to the front of the apartment and came back with a piece of yellow paper, which he handed her.

Western Union. From San Antonio, Texas. Ames said they were in Illinois.

“Go on; open it.”

It was dated the week before.

A million thoughts zipped through Mittie's head. What came out of her mouth was, “About that job—when do I start?”

“Next Monday okay?”

“Perfect. Now, if I could, I'd love that glass of sherry.”

There had to be a perfectly logical explanation why Ames hadn't mentioned breaking up with the Patriots. It could simply be Calista being melodramatic. It wasn't the first group of barnstormers she'd left. But what were they doing in San Antonio? Ames would call in due time, and she would find out the truth from him.

Mittie discussed Bobby's offer with her parents the next morning. “I realized today when I took the plane up how much I'd missed it.”

Her daddy said, “Your dedication to Gypsy has been exemplary. I've never known anyone who was as focused as you are with your girl.”

“She's going to be fine. I'm not sure about showing in the ring, but when I took her out in the west meadow yesterday, I could feel something different, like she was releasing me to get back to what I love.”

Her mother made a small sigh. “How was dear Bobby?”

“Quite well, actually. Did you know he lives over in the courts off St. James?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. He called asking for a recommendation a few weeks after he arrived. I gave him the number of someone in the Women's League. So you went to his place?” Her eyebrows were raised, not with shock at Mittie risking her reputation, but with mirth.

She told them about the meal, his housekeeper.

“It sounds lovely, dear. I had hoped you and Bobby would hit it off one day.”

Mittie laughed. “Your way of asking if this was a date? No, Mother. It was strictly business, and Bobby was a perfect gentleman, nothing romantic between us.”

“That's too bad. Once you've been hurt, it must be hard to risk your heart again.”

Mittie's dad scowled. “Sarah, it's not your place—”

“I'm sure you're right, dear.” She waved a hand at Mittie. “I'm glad you had a good time. When does the job start?”

“Next Monday. But back up. What were you saying about Bobby and risking his heart?”

Her mother looked at her daddy. “If she's going to be working with Bobby, then she should know more about him, don't you think?”

“I think if Bobby wanted Mittie to know, he would tell her.”

“You men have such a different way of viewing things. Would either of you care for another cup of coffee?”

Mittie put down her napkin. “Not for me. I'm going to check on Gypsy, and then I'm off to Bowman Field again.”

“Send Bobby our love.”

Mittie was curious about what her mother was talking about. She was equally sure Bobby wasn't one to share his secrets. So what were they? A marriage in London that ended badly? Or perhaps he'd disappointed his parents by turning down the suitable wife they'd picked out for him. Maybe that's why he'd stayed in the States—he needed to keep a meddling mother at bay. He wouldn't be the only one.

Monday morning came quickly with no news from Ames over the weekend. Perhaps it wasn't just the Patriots he was abandoning, but her as well. If he'd had a change of heart about her, the least he could do was tell her. The possibility of surprising her by coming into town was more his style, but even that was beginning to feel remote.

Bobby agreed to her coming in at ten, giving her time to exercise Gypsy. When she changed from her riding clothes into the navy and white pinstripe dress she thought would be suitable for office work, her fingers went automatically to the locket around her neck. Pearls were a better accessory. She unfastened the clasp on the chain and dropped the locket into the top drawer of her bureau, put on a strand of pearls and a bit of lipstick, and headed to Bowman Field.

Bobby peeked out from a stack of boxes and waved her in. “Sorry about the mess. Weaver's letting us have materials delivered here until the new building is finished. Just a few more weeks and we'll have this moved over.”

“It doesn't look like you're quite ready for me.”

“Actually, there's plenty to do.” He handed her a stack of invoices. “I'd like you to go over these and get them logged into the ledger. Then, we have the plans from a few other schools aero clubs have started. You can read over them and look at the blueprints for our layout and start visualizing what we're doing.”

“Nothing like getting in at the ground level.”

“That's what we thought. In the meantime, I have three private lessons and an errand to tend to, so I won't be around. Just lock up when you need to leave.”

He picked up his flight jacket. “By the way, thanks.”

Mittie looked at the havoc in the room. “You're welcome, I think.”

“Have you heard from Ames?”

“Not yet. How about Calista? Any word?”

“She came in last night. She's resting up over at my place.”

“Your place?” Mittie recoiled, unable to reel in the image of Bobby and Calista at his apartment. Proper, respectable Bobby who wouldn't risk his heart, if Mittie's mother was to be believed?

He nodded. “Poor girl fell asleep on my davenport.”

“It's all right. You don't have to explain.”

Bobby opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut. “Ah, you thought Calista and I, that we…” He held up his hand. “Don't answer. I can see it on your face. Truth be told, I'm worried about her.”

“She's not ill, I hope.”

“She's not, but her mother is. Cancer, and it doesn't sound very hopeful.”

“I'm so sorry. I just assumed…”

Bobby shrugged. “We all do that sometimes. When I couldn't rouse her, I covered her with a blanket and took a hotel room for myself. She's better this morning, but fretful. Fragile, I'd say. I'm taking her to the train station for the five o'clock to Atlanta.”

“Why doesn't she fly?”

“Her plane's acting up, so she asked to leave it here until I can take a look at it.”

Mittie wanted to march over to St. James Place and quiz Calista about the Patriots, but the soft look on Bobby's face when he spoke of Calista stopped her.

Instead, she told Bobby to give Calista her regards and went to work.

By the end of the week, Mittie had a good idea of what the inventory was and had made suggestions for the classroom and the office in the new building, which was on a tract of land Victor Booth owned adjacent to the airfield. She'd filled out forms and typed up new ones to send to a printer. Now there was nothing to do but wait until everything was moved. Every afternoon, she quit at three, changed clothes, and took
Belle
up for a spin, hoping each time she came in for a landing that
Trixie
would have magically appeared with Ames on board. Each time disappointment bit at her heart.

October came and went without a word from Ames. Mittie's hopes had grown thin on his returning at all when he called on a rainy evening in the middle of November. He was stranded in Arizona, his plane broken down, and he'd spent a week in the desert waiting for parts.

“The last I heard you were in Illinois. Or was it Texas?”

“Actually we went to San Antonio for a flying gig and then I went to Fort Worth to check with the manufacturer. How's Gypsy?”

“Worlds better. I'm back in the saddle and have her up to a canter.”

“Sounds like you missed your calling. Maybe you should have been a nurse.”

“I'm not squeamish, but it's never really appealed to me, either.”

The operator interrupted. “One minute.”

“Ames, we have a lot to talk about. You said you'd be back in October, but now it's nearly Thanksgiving.”

“Trust me, doll, I miss you like the dickens. I'd have come straight to Louisville after Fort Worth, but then I heard about a new opportunity in California. It sounds like it could be quite lucrative with a new plant and all, so I thought I'd investigate it before I come to spend Christmas with you.”

“How about writing to me? Explaining why you and the Patriots broke up, why you're not where you say you are?”

“It's all simple to explain—”

The line went dead.

Mittie wanted to scream. She knew nothing more about the Patriots than she did before he called. At least this time he wasn't in a dance club with music and the sound of laughter in the background.

It
was
simple. She and Ames had been on shaky ground for months. She wouldn't waste any more time fretting over him until he explained, and it had better be good.

The next day Bobby told her he was leaving in two days for New York and then sailing to England for Christmas.

“Mum and Dad have been after me to come for a visit, and once the school opens, there won't be time. I'm sorry I'll miss moving to the new building, but Victor's got things under control.”

He offered his hand for a shake and then drew it back. “How about this instead?” He drew her into his arms, a warm, friendly hug. “I'm going to miss you.”

Mittie's throat grew thick. “Hurry back, Bobby York. Or should I say boss?”

He laughed and said, “Take care.”

And then he was gone.

Two days before Christmas, Mittie was helping her mother hang a balsam wreath on the door when a ruby-colored automobile turned in their long drive. Her mother asked if she was expecting company. Only Ames, an illusion that had dimmed as December had marched on without a word from him. Dust kicked up behind the vehicle, and then there he was, Ames springing from the car and popping a fedora on his head at the same time. Mittie's breath caught.

She would not race to greet him. She couldn't if she had wanted to; her legs had turned to jelly at the sight of him.

“Hey, doll! I told you I'd make it!”

His arms encircled her, crushing her, the scent of his cologne like a summer breeze. She inhaled and gave him only a half-hearted hug in return before she stepped back. “Yes, you made it.” Her chin quivered as did her knees and elbows and everything in between, but the knot in her chest told her to wait before she threw her affections at his feet.

Ames nodded toward her mother. “Hello, Mrs. Humphreys. That wreath's a beauty.”

“Why, thank you.” She collected stray bits of wire and balsam twigs. “I'll leave you young people to yourselves. Mittie, don't forget we have the food baskets to deliver at three o'clock.”

“I've not forgotten. Maybe Ames can help us.”

Her mother disappeared into the house, leaving Mittie and Ames alone. Mittie wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill in the air, but more to keep herself from thrashing her arms at Ames and demanding answers to her questions.

“Hey, doll, you gonna invite me in or would you like to go for a drive in my new buggy? The heater's not much, but I have a blanket you can throw over your legs.”

“A drive, I think. Let me grab my things.” She went in, grabbed her blue fox coat, and told her mother she was going with Ames.

“Don't forget the food baskets.”

“I won't.”

Ames was behind the wheel of the car—a Model A, he told her—its motor purring. “Fresh off the assembly line. People are snapping them up like crackerjacks in California.”

“You drove all the way from California?”

“Only way to get here and see you. It's been a long trip.” He did have a weariness about him, a scruff of beard on his chin.

“What about
Trixie
? The Patriots? You've never told me what happened with them. You could have at least written to let me know where you were.”

“Letters have never been my strong suit.”

“Along with a few other things, it would seem.”

“Look, can we just go somewhere?”

“Just start driving. Maybe we can stop at the diner in Rigby.”

He let out the clutch and turned toward the drive. “How's Gypsy?”

“I told you she was doing much better.”

“Still playing nursemaid?”

“When necessary. So where did you leave your plane?”

“I sold it. The last repairs wiped me out. I couldn't see how I would get back with no money for fuel, and flying over the mountains in December didn't seem the best idea. I got enough for
Trixie
to buy this car and pick up a few gifts so I didn't show up empty-handed.”

“I don't expect gifts. I'd rather have answers to what you've been doing the past three months and why you've left me hanging.”

“You were busy with more important things. Competing with a horse is a real blast for the ego, you know.” He stepped on the foot feed and careened around a curve.

“Slow down. This road has a lot of twists and turns.”

“Now you're telling me how to drive?”

“I'm sorry. I'm glad you're here. Really.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.” He huffed out a breath, silence between them. Finally, he looked over and said, “You have a big crowd coming for Christmas?”

“Just you.”

“I figured you had a slew of relatives. What about your sister?”

“They're staying in Alabama this year. We've been invited to Aunt Evangeline's for Christmas Day. And I'm sorry about
Trixie
. I know you loved that plane.”

“Them's the breaks.”

“Any plans for a new one?”

“Do without for now since the Patriots broke up.”

“About that. Care to tell me what happened?”

He worked his jaw like he was chewing on the words he needed to say. “If you heard Peach's version, it's no wonder you think I'm scum.”

“That's not what I think at all. I care about you and what you're doing, which is why it upset me when I didn't hear about the Patriots from you. You don't have to give me an explanation, but I'd like it if you did.”

He gripped the steering wheel, taking the curve too fast again. Mittie braced her feet on the floorboard and in her side vision saw a white-faced cow step onto the road. Tires screeched as Ames jerked the wheel and plowed straight into the hulking animal.