A Flying Affair (16 page)

Mittie told her parents the plane hadn't worked out, that she'd changed her mind. She couldn't bear to add that it was also Ames who might not be working out.
Does he really have my best interests at heart?
Her face flamed when she remembered the way she'd stormed off without giving him any credit. She thought she loved him, but was it only the lure of flying that attracted her to him? What he was willing to do for her?

She didn't have an answer, but at odd moments, her hand would go to the chain around her neck, and she would caress the locket he'd given her. They were from different worlds, which didn't concern her nearly as much as it did her mother—her mother who had once thought nothing of leaving England and moving four thousand miles away. Her spunky grandmother had bucked her patrician parents to follow the man she loved.

Ames hadn't asked her to follow him, though, only to take him as he was. Spontaneous. Full of life. Devoted to his sister and his young niece. She remembered the way kids flocked to him when he was barnstorming, his affability with them. And there was a mysterious quality that lured Mittie to him, and she knew if he walked in the door, she would leap into his arms.

She spent long hours in the barns, brushing Gypsy until her coat shone. Winter had a stranglehold on all of them, cold rainy days that made outdoor training risky with the prized horses they stabled. Mittie often joined her daddy and Rex Kline as they observed the trainers conducting exercises in the promenade area between the stalls. Rex Kline had keen intuition and was fast gaining the respect of both the employees he managed and Mittie's dad. Amid the scents of straw and horse sweat and the pine tar and neat's-foot oil that was used to doctor the horses' hooves, an air of optimism about the upcoming spring and summer shows permeated their lives. While Mittie was relieved that the success of MG Farms no longer rode on her shoulders, she was glad for the diversion and happy to lend her opinion when asked.

At night she dreamed of apple blossoms and springtime. In moments of spare time, she read and reread her aviation manuals as she prepared for the international license test and wrote letters to the other women from the St. Louis air race.

She even wrote Calista, who answered back and mentioned that she might be in Louisville in March or April and added a PS:
Any progress on your romance with Ames?

Mittie fired back that romance was a positively Victorian notion and would interfere with her real love in this life—flying.
Brush up on your technique. I'm gunning for you.

A week later, Calista sent a postcard.
So scared. You'll be weeping buckets the next time we race.

At least Calista brought a chuckle. Mittie still wasn't sure she liked her, but they did have one thing in common—they both loved flying.

When Barb from Dallas sent a newspaper clipping that told of her official altitude record, Mittie ached to be among the ranks. She scrawled a note of congratulations and asked for more information.

Then overnight, it seemed, the sun came out and the temperatures soared into the sixties. Robins perched on fence posts, and tiny crocus poked through the earth. Mittie felt a new surge of energy and went to Bowman Field, hoping Weaver might let her take his plane up to get the extra hours needed to qualify for the international license. He was in a meeting, so she sauntered into the canteen to wait for him. She got a cup of coffee and looked around. There was a fresh coat of paint on the walls and a new corkboard by the cigarette machine. She took her coffee and went to see what was posted. Someone had pinned up the article about her flying in the St. Louis rally, and there was a flyer for the next Aero Club meeting. Pictures of Lindbergh and newspaper articles of his visit to Louisville. A few classified ads were tacked haphazardly along with one handwritten note.

There was a daytime phone number as well as an evening one. Both local.

She scribbled down the numbers and went in search of a phone. She asked the operator to connect her to the daytime number. Mittie's palms grew damp as she waited, but then the operator said, “I'm sorry. Your party doesn't answer. May I try another number for you?”

She said she'd try again later and went to see if Weaver could see her yet.

He waved her in and asked how she'd been.

“Better now that the weather's warming up. Matter of fact, I'm simply dying to get in the air again. Any chance of getting your Canuck for a couple of hours?”

“I don't see why not. I've just had it serviced. I was thinking about going up myself but forgot I had a meeting downtown.”

“If you're sure.”

“You know where everything is. Have one of the boys spin the prop for you.”

“Thanks.” She headed out the door, then turned back. “I saw a notice in the canteen that someone's selling a Jenny 4H. Any idea who that might be?”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Thinking of getting your own outfit?”

“It's high time, don't you think?”

“I've been wondering when you'd take the leap. And yes, I know the seller. Bobby York.”

“Bobby?” The coffee she'd just swallowed sloshed in a wave of uncertainty. “He's not leaving here, is he?” Guilt crawled along her limbs. She'd not spoken to him since Christmas, although she still had his bread-and-butter note propped on her dressing table that he'd sent thanking them for Christmas dinner.

“Not if I have anything to say about it. The Aero Club's bought him a new plane for flight training. He didn't want his sitting around gathering dust.”

“The Aero Club, huh?”

“They're behind the push to get a full-fledged flying school here, and they want Bobby as the director. The telephone won't stop ringing, people wanting to sign up for lessons.”

“That's swell of the Aero Club and wonderful for Bobby.”

“Winning combination for all of us. And his plane is still a dandy.”

It was a dandy. And perfect for what she needed. And she was nearly certain Bobby York would have no objections about selling to a woman.

Mittie broached the subject with her parents that evening after they'd retired to the parlor. Her mother put a fresh Chesterfield in the silver holder and leaned over while her daddy flicked the lighter for her. She took a long drag and leaned back. “I suppose it was too much to dream that when you said you'd changed your mind, it was a permanent decision.”

“The timing wasn't right for the plane in Nebraska, and like Daddy's always told me, sometimes you have to follow your instincts and walk away if you don't feel comfortable.” She smiled at her dad.

“I told your mother it was only a matter of time, and the truth is, you've seemed like you've been dangling lately.”

Mittie laughed. “I was hoping I'd fooled you.”

“I've seen the way you worry that locket. Ames has found you another plane, then?”

“Not Ames. And he's part of the dangling you mentioned.”

Her mother blew out a puff. “You haven't mentioned him in a month of Sundays. Is everything all right?”

She looked from one parent to the other. “We parted in Nebraska on rather cool turf.” She told them about Mr. Nance and his reticence to sell her the plane. “I thought Ames should have been more direct with him before I made the trip. We had a misunderstanding, and I've not heard from him since.”

Her daddy pulled his pipe and a pouch of tobacco from his pocket. He seemed lost in thought or trying to come up with a suitable consolation as he worked the tobacco in his fingers and then put a pinch in the bowl, packed it, added another pinch. Only when it was set the way he liked it did he look up. “He had a relative who was ill? You don't suppose he's contracted the same illness?”

“I had thought of it, but he didn't mention that his sister's pneumonia was contagious. And he looked the picture of health in Nebraska.” A small knot formed in the pit of her stomach. Ames
had
been trying to please her, and her reaction had been chilly at best.

“A phone call might be warranted.” He struck a match and cupped his hand around the pipe bowl, puffing on the stem. A sweet, smoky smell curled from the pipe. “Why don't you give him a call?”

“I can't. He stays with his sister when he's home, but I don't have her number. I'm sure he's back to flying by now.”

“Maybe you'll hear from him soon. So tell us—you said you wanted to talk about an airplane.”

She took a deep breath. “I found out today Bobby York is selling his Jenny, the one he used for lessons.”

Her mother's head shot up. “Oh, I hope the dear boy's not thinking of leaving us and going back to London.”

Mittie laughed. “That was my first thought, too.” She told them about the Aero Club and the possibility of a flying school. “I've not called Bobby yet. I wanted to talk to you first—something I should have done before I went to Nebraska.”

Her daddy said, “You're a grown woman. You don't need our permission.”

“I know I don't. I would just like your blessing.”

Her mother scowled and lit another Chesterfield. “That's all I need…worrying about you the whole time your father and I are gone.”

“Gone? Where are you going?”

“You tell her, Eli.”

“There's a saddlebred meeting and a small show outside of London in April, so we're leaving a week from Friday.”

“That's wonderful. Now that your back is so much better, you can make this a second honeymoon.”

Her mother quirked her mouth. “I'm not sure his back is
that
much better.”

“Will you go up to Yorkshire and see Uncle Spencer?”

“For what purpose? To dredge up the past?” She flicked an ash in the crystal ashtray.

The past of which they never spoke. Mittie's gut tightened.
Dobbs Lamberson.
Yes, some things were best left unspoken.

Her daddy drew on the pipe stem, but the fire had gone out. He set it aside and said, “Our trip coincides with the saddlebred show in San Francisco. Your grandmother's been looking forward to it, so I was hoping you could go along in our stead.”

 “Grandmother wants to go all the way to San Francisco?”

“I, for one, am not telling her no. You two will make good company for each other on the train, and I'm sure you'll enjoy being there with Gypsy.”

“You can count on me, Daddy.”

Her mother sighed. “All I want to count on is that you don't get yourself killed in an airplane crash.”

Gypsy wasn't the only constant in Mittie's life. There was also her mother.

Mittie rose and went to her. “I'll do my best to stay alive, Mother.”

At the airfield canteen, Bobby raised his sarsaparilla in a toast. “To you, Mittie, the owner of your own plane.”

“And to you, for trusting me with your Jenny.” Bobby took a sip and coughed, a look of surprise on his face.

Mittie turned. Ames Dewberry. Tanned and fit. Mittie's heart stopped, then started again, then skipped as Ames strolled toward them.

“Hey, doll, I thought that was your car in the lot. I was on my way to the pay phone to call you.” He looked from her to Bobby. “Am I interrupting something?”

Bobby, bless him, answered. Mittie's throat had shut itself off.

“Mittie and I are just having a toast for the good things to come. Pull up a chair.”

“Sounds intriguing.” He winked at Mittie.

She said, “Hello, Ames. Nice tan.”

“Compliments of my trip to Texas. Soon as my sister got back on her feet, I headed south for the rest of the winter.” He didn't mention their spat, but then it would be untoward with Bobby sitting there.

“Barnstorming?” She'd decided to play it cool, let him direct the way the conversation went. What she wanted to do was throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. And that would have been untoward as well.

“This and that. Making a buck however I can. I'm close to a deal with a fella in Fort Worth on my air intake idea. Real close.”

Bobby nodded to the woman behind the counter. “Another sarsaparilla over here.” Ames reached for his wallet, but Bobby told him he'd take care of it. “I believe another celebration is in order.”

The sun streamed in the window, dust motes dancing as Mittie told him about her purchase and Bobby's good news with the Aero Club. “And so I can be a real contender, Bobby's been advising me on getting my international license.”

“And to think it all started at a garden party on Long Island many moons ago.”

Bobby's quizzical look led to an explanation of Mrs. Benchley's party and her first airplane ride.

“I always wondered how you two met. I hate to cut this short, but I'm off to a meeting with the Aero Club. If you need me for anything, Mittie, you know where to find me.” He rose and told Ames it was good to see him again.

When Bobby left, Ames leaned back. “So you bought York's plane?”

“He didn't mind selling to a female.”

“I'll bet.” He shoved away from the table and asked if she'd like to walk with him to the hangar to crank up his roadster.

They walked in silence, the soft breeze a curtain between them.

Finally, Mittie asked, “Why did you come back?”

“Ouch. You know how to hurt a fella, don't you?”

She didn't answer, and to his credit, he didn't put his arm around her or give her a peck on the cheek to soften her up. He let out a long sigh. “I deserved that, and then some. At first I thought I would call you right away and apologize for botching the deal in Lincoln.”

Mittie held up her hand. “Part of the blame is mine. The truth is I do appreciate your effort and enthusiasm, and leaving brusquely wasn't quite fair to you.”