Sentimental Journey (43 page)

She knew her father liked Maggie’s spunk and drive. She was a strong, forceful woman. Pop and Maggie had become friends from the first time they’d met, at an air race in
California
where one of his modified racing planes was performing, outperforming actually, and ultimately won. Pop had mentioned Maggie often enough that Charley thought perhaps he might have finally found a woman to share his life.

But any hope her father might have had for some kind of relationship with Maggie was all fairy tale. She already had a man in her life. Cooper Crosby was a wealthy financier, a man who gave his first wife Bonwit Teller as a divorce settlement. He adored Maggie.

Charley looked at her father for a moment. His expression was a little empty, as if he had lost something. She instantly felt bad about what she’d just said. He could be in love with Maggie and completely heartbroken. “Are you truly sorry, Pop?”

“Sorry that Maggie and Coop got married? No.”

“Actually, I was thinking that you might be sorry that Coop found her first.” She paused. “Don’t look at me that way.”

“Which way?”

“With your forehead all scrunched up and your mouth in such a thin line it looks like a landing strip from ten thousand feet. I know that look. It means you think I’m out of line.”

“What it means is I think you need a man to keep you busy so you’ll stop meddling in my life.”

“I can keep myself busy without a man, thank you.”

He gave her one of those parental looks, the kind that made you feel as if you were six and had just told a huge lie.

“Men don’t find me attractive.”

“Then they must be blind . . . or you are.”

“Spoken like a true doting father.”

He just looked at her.

“Look, Pop, it’s okay. I’m happy the way things are. Really. I am. Most men want petite little women they can throw around the dance floor. It’s part of their masculine psyche. Men want women who make them feel big and strong and protective.”

“So find a little guy who needs you to protect him.”

Charley burst out laughing. “You are funny. Now, since we’re speaking of men . . . I ran into the Ledbetter sisters in town. Dot said there was someone who came through here looking for me and they gave him directions here.”

“Him? Have you been keeping someone secret from your old pop?”

“No.”

“Who was it?”

“I think it was Red Walker.”

“Who is Red Walker?”

“I told you about him. The nice young man from the Texaco station.”

“The tornado watcher?”

She nodded. “That’s him.”

“No one came by here that I know of. When was this?”

“Dot said she thought it was before Thanksgiving.”

“I wasn’t home in November. We took the planes to the races in
Arizona
. If he came by here then, there wouldn’t have been anyone here.”

So Pop had been gone. For a moment she felt a stab of disappointment. She wondered what Red had wanted. If he wanted to learn to fly, she could teach him in
Odessa
or even in
Dallas
when she moved there.

“Do you think it was important?”

She shook her head. “Probably not, or else he’d have come back or contacted you by now.” She walked around the desk, then leaned down and rested her arms on her father’s shoulder, reading the letter from Maggie, figuring it was just a chatty letter between two old friends . . . until she spotted her name. “She’s talking about me in this letter.”

“Yep.”

“Let me see that, you old devil.” She straightened and held out her hand.

He handed her the letter over his shoulder, and Charley began to read as she paced the room.

Dear Bob,

I hope this finds you healthy and happily flying those Ottos of yours all over the Southwest. Coop and I got hitched a while back. He sends his best. As you probably know, he was a major contributor in the
Roosevelt
campaign, which means that we frequent the social events at the White House, where I have been on a new campaign of my own. And now the most wonderful thing has happened. Eleanor Roosevelt has given my plan her complete support.

We are campaigning for a women’s air corps, Bob.

A separate women’s air corps. I feel so strongly that women pilots can handle noncombat jobs and free up the men for duties overseas. Coop is certain we will be at war before the year is out. I suspect you know that as well.

A few months back, Eleanor told the nation about my plan on her My Day radio broadcast. Did you by chance hear it? The response has been overwhelming.

The best news is now General Arnold is on my side, too. But things in DC are at a standstill, stuck in the bureaucratic BS that is
Washington
these days.

However, on the General’s recommendation, I have written to the head of
Britain
’s Air Transit Auxiliary, Lord Beaverbrook. The British are using women, as test pilots, for ferrying planes and airmarking.

Charley read the next paragraph and she couldn’t believe what she was reading. “Pop . . . ” she looked up. “Did you read this?” He nodded.

With Charley’s experience and her qualifications, I feel strongly that she should have the opportunity to join a small test group of American women who I hope will be working with the ATA in Great Britain. If she’s interested . . .

“If I’m interested?” She laughed. “I don’t know a female pilot who wouldn’t be.”

Please have her fill out the enclosed application. In all truth, it might be months before I hear back from Lord Beaverbrook and the answer could be a resounding no. But General Arnold sent a recommendation and notice of his support. So just in case it isn’t, tell her to make certain her passport is updated and ready.

“Is my passport still in the safe?”

“I take it that’s a
yes.
You want to go?”

“Of course it’s a yes. Where’s the application?”

He handed her a few sheets of paper. She snatched them up and began to read them as she crossed the room, then opened a door that revealed a wall safe. She opened it, rummaged through, and took out her passport, then locked the safe and checked the passport expiration date. “It’s still good for three more years.”

“You want me to get up so you can sit down and fill those out now? She says she needs it back in a month.”

She cast a glance over her shoulder. “Are you being sarcastic?” But then she caught that emptiness in his expression again. She had a sudden, sick feeling that she was the cause. “Pop? What’s wrong?”

“There is a war on.”

“Yes, there is.”

“People are dying over there.”

“Would that stop you from going?”

“You know it wouldn’t.”

She crossed the room and set her passport and the application papers on the desk, then squatted down and rested her arms on the rim of the desk and her chin on her arms. She looked her father in the eye. “You have never stopped me from doing anything, Pop. You always said there wasn’t a thing in this world I couldn’t do if I set my mind to it. You’ve never once treated me differently because I’m a woman. In fact, you’re the one who taught me to go after what I want.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Tell me something, Pop. If I were a man, your son instead of your daughter, and I wanted to join the Army or better yet, say, the Army Air Corps, would you try to stop me?”

He was quiet for a long time. Finally he said quietly, “I would still worry.”

“That wasn’t what I asked you.”

“Do you know that when you look at me like that you look just like your mother.”

“Stop changing the subject.”

“Hell . . . ” he grumbled. “I’d join up myself if I wasn’t so damn old.”

“Fifty-three isn’t old. It’s seasoned.” She paused, then went in for the kill. “Surely you aren’t being like this because I’m a woman.”

“If I were, I would never admit it to you. I’d have to run for cover.”

She laughed softly. “I always said you were the smartest man I know.”

“I don’t know how smart it is to let you wrap me around your little finger.”

“Pop, look here.” She pointed to a paragraph of Maggie’s letter. “It says we’ll be air-mapping for the British—which I’ve already done— and ferrying planes and pilots.”

“In a country that’s being barraged with bombs and under attack from the Luftwaffe.”

“I’ll duck first if I see any MEs, okay?”

He gave her a hard look.

“I don’t mean to be flip. I just want you to know I will be so very careful. I swear I will.”

“Part of me understands why you want to do this, kiddo, but you’re all I’ve got. For a few minutes let me be a normal father.”

“You’ve never been a normal father in your life, and please don’t start now. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

Even he had to laugh.

Her childhood had been anything but normal. Despite the fact that they’d settled in
Santa Fe
, he had still taken Charley to air races and on business trips, where she met people like Lindbergh and Earhart. One sunny afternoon when she was about fourteen, she had come home to find Will Rogers sitting in this very room, and for her birthday one year, Pop took her on a special flight to
Dayton
, where they visited Hawthorne Hill and had dinner with Orville Wright.

She took the pipe away from him that he’d just picked up and reached for the humidor herself. “Tell you what. I promise that if I see a German plane, I’ll land or fly out of sight. Okay?” She filled the pipe before she held it out to him rather like a peace offering.

He glanced at it, then looked into her face with a distant and warm expression on his. It was one of those rare moments when things become apparently simple; they were just a father and daughter again, as if fifteen years hadn’t passed by at all. She struck a match, held it up for him, and sat there, waiting.

He took the pipe from her and put it between his teeth.

She shook out the first burning match and lit a fresh one.

“Afraid you’ll get your fingers burned?”

“No, Pop. You are.”

It didn’t take him long to get her meaning. He took the match from her, lit his pipe with a few deep puffs, his forehead wrinkling as if it were difficult to light, but she knew that frown was because he had no good rebuttal argument. He shook out the match and tossed it in a copper ashtray with a beanbag base.