The Invitation (13 page)

William was smiling and the sun on his face made him especially handsome. “I can't give you everything, but I'd love to marry you and give you as many kids as you want.”

Jackie knew he was serious and for a moment her mouth was dry. There was an almost overwhelming urge within her to say yes. The feeling was every bit as intense as what she'd felt the first time she saw an airplane. Then she'd known nothing about the world. She'd had no idea of the cruelty of people, how they were going to judge her and her abilities before they met her. Now she was older and she'd experienced a great deal of pain as well as joy and she knew what people were going to say. If she married William they would see nothing except the age difference.

“Don't answer,” he said, forcing a smile. “It was just a thought.”

“Yes, just a thought.” She tried to compose her face so that when she turned to him he wouldn't see what was in her eyes. “We are too serious. What we
should
be thinking of is who is going to clean up the kitchen. And you are going to put my kitchen back the way it was, the way
I
want it. And my desk, too.”

“Ha! Do you know that you have a packet of needles and thread in your desk and a stapler in your sewing basket?”

She didn't know any such thing, but didn't doubt it. Sometimes a person got busy and put things where it was handy, but that wasn't any of his business. “It doesn't matter where I put things. It's
my
house.”

“Only temporarily. Did I mention that I own all the houses in Eternity, as well as the land?”

At that Jackie laughed. Only a Montgomery could say he owned a town in that offhand tone of voice. “So, did you get the buildings for your twenty-first birthday?”

She meant it as a joke, but from the way William's face turned red, she knew she had guessed right, and she gave a whoop of laughter. “Every other person on earth would ask for a trip around the world or a mansion or even a diamond necklace, but what does my rock-solid, always-thinking-ahead William ask for? A ghost town! A run-down, worthless old town that people didn't want even when it was alive. What in the world made you ask for this place?”

When he looked at her, his eyes were intense. “I could build a landing field here.” His answer was simple, but it said so much. He'd said that he was always planning, and the town and the airfield had been a lure to her. Even though she had been married to another man and had had no intention of returning to her hometown, William had been planning to bring her back. What was it he had said? That if you plan hard enough you can make things happen. Was she here today because he had wanted her so much, planned so hard, that she had returned?

She smiled at him. Whether things worked out between them or not, she couldn't help being flattered. Charley had never courted her; he'd always made her feel that he was doing her a favor by taking her away from two-bit Chandler. He had let Jackie court him with work and more work and more work. But now here was a man who had spent years planning to win her.

“You make me feel valuable,” she said softly. “You make me feel as though I am the most precious object in the world.”

“You are.”

There was such sincerity in his voice that Jackie didn't know whether to be pleased or embarrassed. She was some of both. In the end, all she could say was “Thank you.”

T
his is heaven, Jackie thought. Next to fifteen snap rolls one after another, this was as good as life got. She was on her pretty couch, doing the best she could to keep her mind on the radio program that William had on, but the truth was, she was watching him as he polished a foot-high stack of shoes, both his and hers. She complained and she hated his presumption, but maybe it was rather nice to open a sewing basket and take out a pair of scissors instead of a stapler. And it would be nice to put on shiny shoes.

It was raining outside, so William had built a fire to take the chill off the cool mountain night. He'd insisted that Jackie stretch out on the couch, a thick blanket draped over her, and she was to do nothing but be quiet and listen to the radio. And watch him, she thought. Who would have thought that seeing a man do something as domestic as polish shoes could have such an effect on her? In a way this simple action made her think more of love than all his kisses did. As Jackie well knew, it wasn't passion that made for a good marriage, it was the little things. If something needed to be assembled, could one of you read the directions while the other constructed? In Jackie's experience, a man didn't like to take orders from a woman for anything at all. Did the two of you bicker? That petty arguing could ruin evenings and afternoons.

Jackie had learned that it wasn't enough for two people to fall in love; they had to get along on a day-to-day basis, had to be able to live in peace and harmony.

And that was her problem with William. He was
very
easy to live with. Forget that he had really stupid ideas about organization and was obsessed with putting things into what he thought of as the proper order. Day by day he was very easy to be with. When he was hungry, he didn't look to the nearest woman to produce hot, delicious food as though it were a gland secretion. Nor did he expect her to do everything on earth for him. Right now he was polishing Jackie's shoes, something she'd done only a couple of times in her life. After all, who was going to notice whether her shoes were polished or not? The other pilots? Charley? The airplanes?

His voice made her head come up. “Jackie,” he said, and the innocence of his tone immediately put her on guard. He sounded as though he had done something he shouldn't or was about to do something he shouldn't.

“Yes?” she said with what she hoped was just as much innocence.

“While I was straightening your desk, I came across something rather interesting.”

“Oh? And what was that? A pair of scissors half an inch out of line?”

He ignored her sarcasm, so she knew he was after bigger fish. “I found a letter from a national magazine asking you to please write something for them about flying.”

“Oh,” she said and tried to think of some way to get him onto another topic. But she knew that his main goal was to put her into the history books, and if he couldn't do that by making her win races, maybe he could do it by turning her into a writer.

“I think that's a splendid idea,” he continued innocently. “What you know about airplanes is invaluable. You could help a new generation of young women learn about flying, make them want to fly. You could share your skills and inspire a whole nation.”

“True, but if I were
that
good, I wouldn't ever need to get inside a plane again. I could just sprout wings and fly myself straight to heaven.”

Again he ignored her. “Look at this. The magazine has sent a sample article: ‘Nita Stinson, the Flying Typist, talks about her first flight.' ” Looking at the article, William gave a snort of derision. “Flying Typist, indeed.
You
are a real pilot.”

“For your information, Nita happens to be a friend of mine, and she's an excellent pilot.” There was some hostility in her voice, as though she were ready to fight for her friend.

“I apologize. I meant no offense. Forgive me if I happen to think that you are the best pilot, male or female, in the world. Your flying could make the Angel Gabriel sick.”

When she glanced at him, he gave her a smile that let her know he was paying her back.

“So,” he said, “why don't you try writing?”

With a helpless look on her face, she held up her bandaged hand, showing him that she was incapable of such a task.

Instantly William grabbed pen and paper. “Tell me what you want to say and I'll write it.”

“Flying is fun. I like it. You should try it.”

“Come on, Jackie, be serious. You must have something you'd like to say to the millions of young women out there who wonder what it's like to be a pilot.”

She thought for a moment, then smiled. “Yes, there
is
something I'd like to say to the world. Got your pen ready?”

With a smile of satisfaction, William began to write as Jackie spoke.

“Whatever is the lowest occupation a woman ever has, that's what she is for the rest of her life. Even if she becomes president of the world, people will say, ‘Miss Jones, a former receptionist, is now president of the world.' The implication is that she is getting above herself, because we all know that deep down inside, Miss Jones is really only a receptionist. On the other hand, if a man becomes president of the world, people say, ‘Mr. Jones, who used to work in a mail room, is now running the world.' The implication is that Mr. Jones is magnificent for having pulled himself up from his lowly position. The difference between the two is that Miss Jones is a receptionist pretending to be a world leader while Mr. Jones was a world leader in the making even when he was sorting the mail.”

Before she had completed the first sentence, William put down his pen and stopped writing. When she'd finished the whole statement, she smiled at him in a smug way. She wasn't about to write a bunch of sugar-coated, violet-scented articles to try to make young women enter aviation. A woman needed to have all the conviction in the world to fly an airplane, because the flying world was tough. It was tough facing men who felt certain that you were going to fail merely because you were female and therefore, in their opinion, not intelligent or competent.

“Is that what you had in mind?” she asked sweetly.

“It's what
I
had in mind, but I don't think it's what the magazine wants. Come on, I'm hungry. Let's go argue about who cuts up your food. I love the way I get to win.”

Laughing, she allowed him to help her into the kitchen.

 

When Jackie awoke the next morning, it was to a delightful sense of well-being. She was still sick, wasn't she? Well, not really sick, but incapacitated enough to feel that she did not have to make a decision about William leaving. When she was well, he would, of course, have to leave, but for now she could put off that decision with a clear conscience. He was a friend and he was helping her. That's all there was between them.

What a glorious Sunday morning it was! William made blueberry pancakes and served them smothered in butter and syrup, and they laughed together like children. It was odd how childish two adults could be when they were alone. Everything either of them said seemed to be brilliant or funny or both to the other one. She didn't remember their laughing this much when they were children. Jackie had always considered life a challenge, something that had to be conquered, and William had seemed to think that Jackie was his challenge. Whatever had been in the past was now different, for they fit together easily and happily.

After breakfast William washed the dishes while Jackie, with a great show of pain that she didn't really feel, dried them. When the dishes were clean they went into the living room where William offered to read her the comics from the newspaper. It was the most natural thing in the world that she should sit in the circle of his arm so she could see the pictures. And she was eating an apple, so she'd take a bite, then give him a bite, then take one herself. It was a scene from paradise.

The sound of a horn and the crunching of gravel at the approach of a car sent a look of horror across Jackie's face.

“It's Terri,” she said in fear, as though the worst possible thing had happened. The next second she had thrown William's arm off her shoulders and she was standing upright, frantically trying to straighten the room. It seemed that everywhere were signs of William's cohabitation. She
had
to remove all trace of him!

“What's wrong with you?” he asked, not having moved from the couch.

“That's Terri,” she said, as though those words explained everything. William's house slippers were on the floor by the big chair. His shirt with a torn pocket was draped across her sewing basket; she'd promised to repair it for him when her hand healed. There were three magazines with his name on the subscription labels on the coffee table. His coat hung on the peg by the door.

Frantically she tried to gather up every trace of him, and when her arms were full, she looked about for some place to hide everything. What if Terri had some reason to look inside the coat closet? What if she wanted to look in the pantry? Jackie headed toward the bedroom, then stopped. That was the
last
place she should hide William's things.

Calmly William came forward and took the things from her arms. “I'll take care of them,” he said softly.

There was something in his tone that she didn't want to hear. No doubt she had hurt his feelings, but she couldn't think of that now. She'd have to worry about soothing him later. “Terri can't see that I have a man living here with me,” she said, trying to cover her actions with a lie. But one quick glance at William's eyes told her that he didn't believe her. He knew that she was embarrassed because the male things in her living room belonged to an “inappropriate” man, a younger man, and therefore not a man she wanted to introduce to her friends with pride.

As Jackie scurried about, looking for any other evidence of William's presence, she tried not to think about what she was doing. Later she'd make William—and herself—believe that she was only trying to protect their reputations.

She looked up at him, standing there with an armload of things that were clearly his. “Maybe you…” she began.

“Sure,” he said, then turned on his heel and went toward the stairs.

She started to call after him but caught herself just as there was an urgent knock on the door. She turned and went to answer it.

“What in the world were you doing?” Terri asked. “I must have knocked four times. I just heard about your accident this morning. Why didn't you call me? Maybe I could have come out here and taken care of you.”

“How kind of you to offer, but I was fine. Really.”

“That's not what I heard.” Terri walked past Jackie and looked around the room. There weren't many clues to the presence of another person but, even to Jackie's eyes, the room was different: less messy, more perfectly ordered, too tidy.

“Something is going on,” Terri said as she turned and looked hard at her friend. “What's going on?”

“Nothing,” Jackie answered, but she had to clear her throat in the middle of the word. Even to herself she sounded as though she were lying.

“Mmmm,” Terri said, obviously not satisfied. “So what have you been doing with yourself this week?” As though she felt extremely tired, which she did, Terri plopped down on a big down-cushioned chair. Her husband had lost another job this week, and they'd had a blazing fight. “A job isn't like a set of keys,” she'd yelled at him. “You can't just lose it for no reason. What did you do?” It was better not to remember what had happened after that. Only because Jackie had been injured was Terri allowed out of the house today.

But she didn't want to talk about her life. She didn't want to talk about it or think about it. Jackie had the exciting life; Jackie had everything that was good in life, everything a person could have.

Easing her weight off her bruised hip, Terri put her hand behind the cushion of the chair, and like Little Jack Horner, she pulled out a plum in the form of a man's sock.

Holding it up, at first she looked puzzled. Then, when she saw the redness of Jackie's face and when Jackie snatched the sock from her hand, Terri began to laugh. “You have a man,” she said, smiling. “That's why it took you so long to answer the door. Oh, do tell me who he is.” It seemed that even a bad marriage could not cure a woman of hopefulness about romance. Even though her own man was no good, Terri honestly believed that somewhere out there was a knight in shining armor who was made for her.

At the look of embarrassment on Jackie's face, Terri began to push. “Who is he? I can't believe that something is going on and you told me nothing. I haven't heard a whisper of anything in town, so you're doing a great job of hiding it. You must tell me who he is.”

“No one,” Jackie said tightly. “You want some tea?”

“Sure, but I want information more.”

It was all Jackie could do to keep from snapping that what was going on in her life was none of Terri's business. But Terri was an innocent, and so Jackie tried hard not to lose her patience no matter how many awkward, probing, embarrassing questions Terri asked.