A Flying Affair (4 page)

“Can you find your way back?” Ames' voice carried on the wind, above the engine's roar. She nodded and flew in that direction until Bowman Field came into view. She held up her hands and thumbed back for Ames to take over the landing. Moments later, the wheels touched down as smooth as silk, bumps jolting them like a series of hiccups only when the tail came in contact with the ground to act as the braking mechanism.

Both feet on the ground and Mittie's heart still pounding, they fell in step together.

“
Trixie
's wonderful, and so was the flight. Thanks.”

“You're a natural,” he told her. “Any thoughts of doing a little barnstorming with me?”

“I'd love to, but not anytime soon. Iris' wedding is this Saturday, and we've loads of work left to do. I shouldn't have even stayed away from the farm this long. Did you see the place I pointed to?”

Ames let out a whistle. “
That
was your place?”

“Home, sweet home.” She gave him a quizzical look. “Tell me more about barnstorming.”

“Not an exact science, but we look for barns near small towns and buzz down to see if we get any interest. If we do, we land and ask if we can use their field for a demonstration. If they're agreeable, we put up flyers in a few local businesses with the particulars. Folks come from miles around, happy to pay the admission for a chance at seeing the planes and the stunts we do.”

“It sounds like the berries, but you said
we
? You work with someone else?”

“Couple of buddies. We're thinking about making Bowman Field our base of operations.” He swiped the back of his hand across his brow, the sun glinting from his raven hair. Dark eyes peered intently into hers. “So your sister's getting hitched?”

“The event of Louisville's social season.”

“Big doin's, huh?”

She nodded. “You've no idea. I do hate to rush…”

Ames held up his hands. “I know. See you later.” He touched his fingers to his lips and blew her a kiss.

Mittie hurried toward the parking area, but a dozen paces later, a thought came to her. She turned around and shouted, “If you're not from back East, then where are you from?”

A few long strides and he caught up with her. “Iowa. Not the city that bears my name, but a little place you've never heard of.”

“Oh. All right then. Ames from Iowa, would you like to be my guest at my sister's wedding on Saturday?”

It wasn't totally clear to her if the squint in his eye was from the sun or trying to figure out what she'd just said, but a smile parted his lips when he said, “All I can promise is that I'll try.”

She told him when and where. “I'll be easy to find—just look for the gal who's a ringer for a giraffe.”

When Mittie got back to the farm, she found Toby in the arena taking Gypsy through her paces. Ogilvie stood next to her daddy at the rail, arms crossed, a smoke dangling from his lips. A Bull Durham pouch bulged in his chest pocket.

Mittie nodded to both of them. “Daddy, good to see you up and about.”

“Taking it slow, but thought it was high time I came to see how our Gypsy was progressing.”

Parker Ogilvie nodded and gave her two thumbs-up. Maybe her insistence that he do his work was paying off.

Her dad looked at Toby and asked him to reverse direction with Gypsy. “She seems off just a hair on the rack.”

“Yes, sir, I noticed that. She's trying to rush it, I think.” Toby was a treasure—an aspiring jockey in his teens, but when his head brushed the tops of the doorframes and he filled out like a lumberjack, he said so long to his dream and came to Morning Glory Farms looking for a job. In two years, his intuitive nature with horses and youthful energy made him valuable as both a trainer and showman of saddlebreds.

Toby reversed as requested, his pink-palmed dark hands holding the reins with just the right amount of tension, his own bearing erect yet relaxed.

“She's better that direction. Give her another couple of laps, then call it a day.” Mittie's dad turned to Ogilvie and asked about a couple of horses that belonged to a man in West Virginia.

“They're due in the ring momentarily. Heck of a pair, Gingersnap and April Showers. Look to see 'em both do well when we go over to the July meet. Sure would be a pleasure if you could make it.”

They talked about the entry classes for the horses and moved on to another section of the fence. As they drifted off, Mittie's dad turned and said, “Hey, sugar, your mother was looking for you earlier. Something about the flowers or maybe it was the guest list. I can't keep all these wedding doin's straight.”

“Oh, right. Guess you don't need me, then.”

“Best not to get your mother riled up.”

“I'm sure she's got it all under control.”

“Not to hear her tell it. Maybe I'll just give you the money to elope when your time comes.” He turned to Ogilvie. “You got any daughters?”

“No, sir. Not even a wife. Works out better that way.” The two of them talked as they ambled past another two sections of the fencing away from Mittie.

An odd sensation welled up in her chest. While it was good to see her dad up and around, she felt shut out somehow. Maybe she would elope. If she had any prospects. Ames with his broad shoulders and slim hips slipped into her thoughts. If Ogilvie hadn't been there, she might've even mentioned Ames. She kicked a rock. She wasn't sure what got into her inviting him to the wedding on a whim. Her mother would have a fit no doubt over Mittie's rash decision.

Still, a tingle danced up Mittie's spine as she went in search of her mother. She found her in the ladies' parlor downstairs along with Iris and Bertha Stone, their housekeeper, who popped out after a cheery hello.

“Daddy said you were looking for me.”

“Indeed I was.” Her mother blew out a puff of smoke from her ever-present Chesterfield, then stubbed out the cigarette in a crystal ashtray. “I meant to ask you to take the final guest list by the Brown Hotel while you were in town. They need it as soon as possible.”

Iris looked up from the netting, flowers, and ribbon scattered on the sofa and her lap. “I offered to go, but Mother wanted me to finish these nosegays for you bridesmaids.”

Mittie got a look of exasperation from her mother. “I had no idea you'd be frittering away half the day just delivering your notes to the mayor's office. Where, pray tell, have you been all this time?”

“Here and there. I just came in from the barns. It was good to see Daddy getting some fresh air.”

“Poor man's going mad stuck here in the house. I just hope he doesn't overdo it.”

Iris patted their mother's arm. “He'll be fine, Mother. I've almost finished here and will run the list into town.”

“You have guests to entertain. Where are your sweet bridesmaids anyway?”

“They've gone to a matinee and to do some shopping.”

How Iris kept her voice so serene and managed to keep a smile on her face was beyond Mittie's comprehension, but a twinge of guilt pierced her. She had to give her mother her due: Mittie
had
frittered away precious time with Ames. Not that she was sorry; sometimes one has to seize opportunity when it arises. “Let me go to town for you. And by the way, I ran into an old friend today, so if it's not too late, I'd like to add his name to the guest list.”

Her mother stopped midstride on her way to the morning desk and turned back. “Oh? I was certain we'd invited everyone we could think of.”

Hesitation lolled on Mittie's tongue, but she waved a hand like it was nothing. “Actually, this is someone you've not met, but he's a swell fella, an entrepreneur, and so handsome even you will swoon, Mother.”

Her mother riffled through a sheaf of papers in the desk. “Are you mocking me?”

“Not at all, but I do think it will be nice to have his name on the list so the maître d' doesn't think he's a party crasher.”

Her mother sat poised with a fountain pen, waiting for the answer. “Well? Who is he? I can't read your mind.”

Mittie swallowed and glanced at Iris, who was also eyeing her now with curiosity.

“Ames. Ames Dewberry.”

Iris' fair brows twitched in concentration. Then her face paled, her eyes as round as the flow-blue saucers on the coffee table. But, bless her, her twin sister—the one who would go to the moon and back for Mittie—picked up a scrap of netting and said not a word.

Mittie took the list and dashed out the front door.

“Ames Dewberry? The one you took that absurd plane ride with on Long Island? You called him?” Iris waited until after dinner and her college friends were tucked in the guest room before coming into Mittie's bedroom. Although Iris kept her voice barely above a whisper, emotion buzzed like a deranged mosquito in her words.

“I ran into him, like I said.
And
I went up in his new plane. Of course I didn't want to mention where I'd been to Mother. Keep it mum and I promise I'm your slave from this moment until you say ‘I do.'”

“I'm not worried about whether you're around to help or not. I just wish I had a place to escape to like you always seem to have time for.”

“You're not getting cold feet, are you?”

“Gracious, no. I'm just ready to get through this wedding. Every night when I talk to Hayden on the telephone, I fall in love with him all over again, and that's what I want for you. A guy who flips over you and can take care of you.”

“Sweet pea, there's not a man alive that meets that criteria. You know what my dream is, and if romance happens along when I'm a licensed aviator, then I'm game. I want to love and laugh and dance and maybe even get married someday. Just not anytime soon.”

“You'll be a spinster by then.”

“But I'll be a happy spinster. And besides, Mother already thinks I'm past my prime. Daddy, too, although he thinks he's holding me back by letting me manage the farm while he's ailing.”

“Is that what you think?”

“It's immaterial. I love the horses—”

“And bossing people around. You and Mother are more alike than you realize. Being away at Vanderbilt made me see that when I came home.”

“I'm
not
like Mother. Not in the least.” Fingers of realization massaged a deep place within her. Bossy? Yes, but she had to be assertive with the grooms and trainers or they'd slough off their work. Like Ogilvie. The reputation of the farm had to be upheld, a task she owed to her dad, not just as his daughter but also for his standing by her through the ordeal with Dobbs. “Okay, maybe a tiny bit bossy. What does that have to do with me running into Ames?”

Iris rolled her eyes and flopped back on one of the bed pillows. “I'm suspicious, that's all. You've been flirting with this flying thing and your obsession with Lindbergh, and now Ames Dewberry shows up out of the blue.”

“A divine coincidence.” Warmth flooded Mittie's chest.

“You didn't orchestrate it? Call him? Call a friend who knew a friend?”

“No!” Mittie grabbed the other pillow, propped herself up, and told Iris everything. Before long, they were both lying flat on their backs the way they'd done since they'd graduated from their cradles, giggling, interrupting one another, completing each other's sentences.

“So, on a whim, I invited him to your wedding and the reception. If Ames' dance moves are anything like his prowess in the cockpit, it will be a night to remember.” She closed her eyes, wondering if Ames was more the Charleston type or a cheek-to-cheek romantic. She hummed “Japanese Sandman” off-key, then shifted and looked at Iris.

Tears tracked across porcelain cheeks, Iris' chin quivering.

“I know I can't carry a tune, but it's not wretched enough to make you cry.”

Iris sat up and backhanded Mittie on the forearm. “It's not that. Something just came over me. Here we are, you and me…” She gulped in a big breath. “I…I'm…this…” She sniffled.

“What? What did I say? Don't you want it to be a night to remember?”

Iris shook her head. “It's not that. Don't you see? This may be our last chance to lay in here and talk and giggle. In a few days I'll be married and sharing Hayden's bed.”

“You're letting the wedding jitters get to you. It's not like we won't be sisters. And anytime you're home, we'll have time to talk. We haven't shared a womb and a lifetime to have it stop just like that.”

“But you know it will be different.”

Mittie didn't want to think about it. “Different, but better. And just in case he doesn't know it, Hayden Wainwright has me to contend with if he doesn't treat you like a queen. He should be scared. Very scared.”

“I'm petrified just thinking about it.” Iris swiped the wet from her face. “Promise me this—let me have one dance with Ames at the reception.”

“Only if you promise you'll say sweet and flattering things about me.”

“Always, dear Mittie. Always.”

Iris radiated happiness on her wedding day, a perpetual smile on her face, her lace gown simple with a scalloped hem. She wore a single strand of pearls, a gift from Grandmother Humphreys.

Mittie's mom appeared and told them it was time for the processional. She carried the pastel theme into her own gown as well, a dusty lavender silk Jeanne Lanvin dress with sheer lace sleeves. A jeweled cluster of lilacs adorned her matching cloche. Mittie swallowed a gasp when she saw her mother and Iris side by side. Except for the lines etched around her mother's eyes, the two could pass as sisters. Cupid lips and startling blue eyes glistened as they regarded each other.

St. Andrew's Church had been chosen for its capacity to accommodate the massive guest list. Their quaint and serene village church in Rigby was “simply inadequate,” according to Mittie's mother. Indeed, the larger church in Louisville overflowed by the time the wedding party had filed in and taken their places. Spotting Ames in the crowd would be impossible. Instead of trying, Mittie willed away the itch caused by the yellow ruffle at her neck and kept her eyes on the bridal couple.

Quentin Bledsoe—Nell's cute British husband who'd just finished seminary—assisted the rector with the wedding vows.
Do you take this man?
A frog lodged in Mittie's throat as she blinked back threatening tears and felt stupid for allowing herself to get sappy.

Chimes from the church tower rang as the organ recessional swelled, and Mr. and Mrs. Hayden Wainwright clutched hands and swept down the center aisle where her daddy's Bentley waited to whisk them to the Crystal Ballroom for the dinner and dance.

At the hotel, Mittie kept an eye out for Ames—not an easy task in the throng of women in drop-waist gowns of silk and chiffon and men in tuxedos with wide lapels and satin bowties. Like a vast golden melting pot, the room swirled with Saddlebred Association members, her parents' friends, a host of people from Alabama, classmates from days gone by. Bankers and politicians were easy to spot as they clumped in smoky circles, clapping each other on the back. Mittie nodded and greeted people she knew, people she didn't, and people she would never see again. But she didn't find Ames.

A jazz combo played as the dinner courses were served, steam rising from domed platter covers toward faceted crystal chandeliers and ornate plaster relief ceilings. Mittie's dad sat on her right with Caroline on her left. When the toasts were offered, both fathers gave their blessing to the couple, and when her dad sat down, he whispered, “I do believe the groom's best man has his eye on you.”

“That stuffed shirt? I've heard he's left three girls at the altar.”

“Well, I wouldn't want you to be next, but don't fret. Your time will come, sweetheart.”

“It's all right, Daddy. I'm not in need of sympathy. I'm looking for adventure—you know that. Like you and Mother.”

“Your Mother's an adventure for certain.” He winced as he changed position.

“Is your back bothering you? I don't want you to miss out on your dance with Iris.”

“Nah, it'll be fine. Looking forward to it, in fact.” He signaled the waiter for a coffee refill. “Speaking of adventure…I've invited someone to dinner tomorrow night that I think you might like.”

“I hope you're not trying to set me up. For one thing, you can't afford another wedding anytime in this decade.”

“It's not that at all.” He winked and turned to her mother, who was pulling on his coat sleeve.

“Dear, the dancing has started.” She nodded toward the center of the ballroom where Iris and Hayden kept perfect step to the “Viennese Waltz.” Paul Whiteman's band couldn't have made a sweeter sound than the one on stage. Mittie tapped her feet and craned her neck, still looking for Ames. She caught the eye of the best man instead, who made a beeline for her when the band picked up the tempo for a rousing Irving Berlin number and the dance floor flooded with merriment.

She flashed him her most dazzling smile. Why not? Dancing might erase the disappointment biting at her, and there were plenty of eligible men in the room. While she believed that flirting and turning on the charm were highly overrated, this was her sister's wedding and she would have a grand time if it killed her. The best man, who told her his name was Bernard, trampled on her feet and attempted conversation, but Mittie only nodded and pretended the music was too loud for her to hear. When the dance was over, she handed him off to Caroline, who had decided she wanted to dance after all if Mittie would find her dancing partners. Maybe Bernard would be gentler with a child who scarcely came to his chest. Mittie didn't lack for ready partners herself as she twirled and danced with all of the groomsmen, her daddy, the secretary of the Saddlebred Association, and a courteous gentleman who told her he was the governor of Alabama.

Iris floated by in Hayden's arms and said, “I haven't seen Ames. Is he here?”

Mittie shook her head. “Guess he couldn't make it.” Then while the soloist crooned “The Sheik of Araby,” she found herself getting her toes mangled by Bernard once again and was ready to holler uncle when a new partner cut in. Strong arms encircled her waist and clasped her right hand. She blinked, her breath trapped in her chest.

Ames.

Rakish and handsome, Ames looked for all the world like a white knight in a cream tuxedo with a black bowtie and cummerbund. She leaned in close and said, “It took you long enough.”

“You didn't give me much time to get my wardrobe organized.”

“Looks like you must've gotten that from some dandy.”

“Anything for the lady.”

“Well, you're the nattiest guy in the room—I'll give you that. And thanks for rescuing me.”

“And you're the foxiest giraffe I've ever seen.”

The music had ended, and they stood with eyes locked, both of Ames' arms now dropped to her waist. A tingle traveled up her spine as she lost herself in the warmth of his gaze.

The band announced a short break, so Mittie grabbed Ames' hand and threaded her way back to the table, pulling him along with her.

“Daddy, Mother, I've someone for you to meet.” She introduced Ames, and when her dad asked what line of work he was in, Ames startled her by saying, “Aeronautical design and development.”

Raised eyebrows from her daddy. “I hear that's the up-and-coming thing.”

“Certainly is, sir.”

“What corporation are you with?”

“I'm independent, trying to garner interest for a new carburetor intake mechanism that will increase fuel efficiency.”

Mittie had to remind herself not to gape. Here she thought Ames was just a barnstormer with Casanova good looks and a fresh line.

Her dad nodded. “Guess you met Mittie out at Bowman Field, then?”

“You might say that. Sure was a stroke of good fortune on my part.”

Mittie's mother eyed her curiously and leaned in to whisper in Mittie's ear. “So
this
is the one who's supposed to make me swoon?” The down-turned corners of her mouth were assurance there was no possibility of needing to call for smelling salts for her mother. With a firm hand on Mittie's elbow, her mother steered them a few paces away from the conversation between Ames and her dad.

“Do you know his family or even one single thing about this man?”

“I know that he's accomplished at what he does, intelligent, and I rather like him.”

“Pedigree, my child. Pedigree.” She waved at a state senator and a woman who looked too young to be his wife. “You would do well to take a page from Iris, Mittie.”

“Oh, look. Mrs. Wainwright is coming this way. Hurry on, Mother. You don't want to keep her waiting.”

The band was tuning up again onstage, so her dad told Ames to enjoy the dancing. “It's been a pleasure meeting you.”

The first number was a cheek-to-cheek song, “Someone to Watch over Me,” and Ames smoothly swept her across the floor. Although there were no stalls and spin maneuvers in his steps, every time Mittie gazed into Ames' dark eyes, her stomach did a dive.

Three dances later, Mittie felt a tug on her arm. Caroline stood tapping an outstretched toe and said, “Is it proper for girls to cut in or does it always have to be the boys who do the asking?”

“Oh, I think you'd be safe if you didn't make it a habit.” She took Ames' hand and put it in Caroline's. “Your next dance partner. I'm off to get some punch.”

The song was a lively number that drew a host of young couples to the floor, and after finding a waiter with a tray of drinks, Mittie grabbed a punch for herself and another for Ames, then stood and watched Ames and Caroline. Caroline swung her arms and kicked back her heels, then burst out laughing when Ames twirled her around and around.

When Ames returned to Mittie's side with his young partner, Caroline said, “Mr. Dewberry, you are the cat's pajamas.”

“And you, my dear, are full of malarkey, but you're a swell dancer.”

Mittie shook her head and smiled.

Ames asked if they might get some fresh air, so they carried punch cups into an alcove where filmy curtains fluttered in the breeze of an open window.

Mittie spoke first. “So what were you really doing that you couldn't get here on time?”

Ames ran a weathered finger along her cheek. “Our first date, and you're already grilling me.”

“Sorry, I usually speak my mind. I thought perhaps you were flying.”

“I did take a short hop into Indiana today. An investor is interested in my idea.”

“Is that what you meant by design and development? You get an idea and then sell it?”

“Not exactly. I'm mechanically inclined, so I try my ideas out first.
Trixie
has been the guinea pig for quite a few of them. Some pan out; some don't. The one I'm working on now shows great promise.”

“I like the hands-on approach. It's Daddy's philosophy with the horses, too.”

Ames asked about the farm and Mittie's involvement. Words flowed like warm honey between them, and Mittie wondered if she was flipping over Ames. The notion was ridiculous, of course. She barely knew him, but the way he trapped her gaze with his, laughed in all the right places, and made her feel what she had to say was worthwhile made her think that possibly this was a relationship worth pursuing.

When his full, moist lips grazed hers and the sweet taste of punch lingered, she closed her eyes, hungry for more. Instead, Ames gave her a peck on the cheek. “We should go back. I don't want you to chance your mother's disapproval, and something tells me she may be less than enthralled with me.”

Her mother certainly had strong opinions, but when a chill danced down her spine, Mittie couldn't tell if it was because she herself was enthralled with Ames. Or terrified.