The Way Home (3 page)

She found a spot near a fence post at the edge of the field and watched as Tyler McKendrick got out of the first plane, stepping onto the wing and then jumping to the ground. He reached up to tug off the close-fitting leather helmet and goggles he wore, and the late-summer sun found blue highlights in the thick blackness of his hair.

Meg was hardly aware of Jack Swanson’s plane coming to a halt just behind Tyler’s. She didn’t notice the way the sun turned his hair to polished gold or the warmth of his smile. If Lucky Lindy himself had stepped into sight at that moment, she still wouldn’t have taken her eyes off Tyler McKendrick’s tall frame.

Helen McKendrick was the first to reach him. Meg wasn’t close enough to hear what she was saying, but from the agitated movement of her hands, it wasn’t hard to guess that she wasn’t happy about her son’s demonstration of his flying skills. Meg dismissed her worries as pure foolishness. Anyone could see that Ty had been in perfect control. It just wasn’t possible to think he might have crashed.

He’d never be like Icarus, she thought, remembering the story she’d read in a book from the library. He’d be able to soar as high as he wanted and never fall. Meg wrapped one thin arm around the fence post and leaned her cheek against its rough surface, her eyes never leaving Ty’s lean figure.

He was, as far as her ten-year-old mind was concerned, the epitome of masculine perfection. When he smiled, she thought that the sun shone suddenly brighter. She sighed unconsciously, her eyes growing a little dreamy. Her sister, Patsy, could sigh over Rudy Vallee and John Barrymore but, as far as Meg could see, neither of them held a candle to Tyler McKendrick.

“Are you coming home now?”

At the sound of his mother’s voice, Ty straightened away from the Jenny’s fuselage and turned to look at her. She was approaching across the dirt like an oceanliner steaming across the Atlantic. Such was Helen McKendrick’s presence that it took a moment for Ty to notice that his father was with her, trailing half a step behind, his expression resigned.

“Mother. I thought you’d already gone home.” Ty leaned down to brush a dutiful kiss across her lightly powdered cheek, surprised, as always, by how small she was.

“Your father and I thought you might need a ride home.”

Nice of her to include his father, Ty thought, knowing perfectly well that it hadn’t been Elliot McKendrick’s idea to come back to the fairgrounds.

“Actually, it’s going to be awhile before I’m ready to go,” Ty told her. “Jack’s parents left the Packard for him. He’ll give me a ride home later.”

“I’d prefer it if you came home now, Tyler.” Helen’s eyes clashed with her son’s and Ty felt his temper rise.

In his entire life, he’d never once seen his mother gracefully accept the possibility that she might not get her way. When he was a boy, he’d had little choice but to accede to her wishes. But he was not a child anymore. He was a man and perfectly capable of deciding when he wanted to go home.

“I’ll be home shortly,” he said, making a determined effort to keep his voice pleasant.

“You’re not going up in that
thing
again?” The words hovered somewhere between order and question.

“I don’t know.” The truth was, he’d had no intention of taking the Jenny up again. The sun was low in the western sky. He was tired. His shoulders ached from the hours of flying he’d done that day, taking passengers up for a quick taste of flying. His ears still buzzed with the sound of the plane’s motor, and he hadn’t planned anything more vigorous than going home and having a hot meal, a bath, and a good night’s sleep.

But he’d take the plane up and fly all night rather than give in to his mother’s iron will.

It had been Jack who’d suggested that they could earn some gas money by working the fairs, providing rides for people who’d never been up in a plane. And he’d been right. In some parts of the country, planes had become such a commonplace that there wasn’t much excitement about their arrival. But they were still enough of a novelty around Regret that they’d had all the passengers they could handle. At two dollars a ride, they wouldn’t have to worry about gas money for a while.

“I can’t believe you actually left college to spend your time in that … that
thing.”
There was contempt in Helen’s voice but there was a genuine bewilderment as well, and that was what softened Ty’s anger.

“I want to fly,” he said simply.

“But you’ll need a degree if you ever want to run for office,” she protested. “You could work for your uncle Matthew’s firm for a few years. When you’re a little older, you could try for your grandfather’s old seat in the Senate. People loved your grandfather, and you can never underestimate how far sentiment will take you,” she said shrewdly.

“I don’t want to be a lawyer, Mother. Or a senator,” Ty said, his voice holding the weariness that came of having said the same words more times than he cared to remember. “I want to fly.”

“Nonsense. You can’t spend your life flying. How will you earn a living?”

“We didn’t do too badly today,” Ty pointed out, aware of his pleasantly full pockets. He saw no reason to say anything about the short rations he and Jack had been on the past few weeks.

“Today is one thing, but what about tomorrow? It’s not like you have a real job where you can count on a paycheck. Do you plan on spending your life just flying from town to town like some hobo?”

“Actually, Ivan Gates has asked us to join his flying circus. Jack and I are leaving for New York tomorrow.” He couldn’t keep the pride from his voice. Gates Flying Circus was one of the biggest and best in the country.

“A flying circus!Oh, my heavens.” Helen put her hand to her forehead as if she actually felt faint at the thought. Though the gesture was theatrical, the fact that she disarranged her fashionable cloche hat was an indication that she was genuinely upset. “Next thing we know, you’ll be marrying some tart in a spangled costume and expecting me to welcome her into the family.”

Ty could have pointed out that she had the wrong kind of circus, but he decided it would be a waste of time. He could talk until he was blue in the face and nothing he said would ever reconcile her to his decision to leave college.

“I don’t know where we went wrong,” Helen said, looking at Ty in bewilderment. “Your father and I have done our best for you, and
this
is how you repay us.”

“Now, Helen, don’t exaggerate.” Elliot spoke for the first time. “Tyler’s a grown man and he’s got a right to do as he sees fit.”

“Even if it means ruining his life?” She pulled an embroidered linen handkerchief from her handbag and dabbed at her eyes.

“I doubt he’ll ruin his life, Helen.” Elliot threw his son a sympathetic look. “Sometimes a fellow’s just got to kick up his heels a bit, that’s all. He’ll do just fine. Now, why don’t you and I head on home? Tyler can follow when he’s of a mind to.”

“I just don’t understand it,” Helen said, looking at Ty as if she’d couldn’t believe he were really her son. “Dickey would never have acted this way.
He
would have understood the importance of finishing college.”

Ty stiffened at the old, familiar lament. His older brother had been dead for almost ten years now, but his shadow still loomed large in the McKendrick family.

“Dickey’s gone now,” Elliot said firmly. “And the boy had a mind of his own, which you sometimes choose to forget.”

“How can you say that?” Her wrath veered toward her husband. “Dickey was an absolutely perfect son. He would never have disappointed me this way.”

Ty paled and a muscle began to tick in his tightly held jaw. But he didn’t say anything. What could he say? He’d been barely ten when Dickey was killed in France. In his eyes, Richard McKendrick
had
been perfect — or at least as close as it was possible for an older brother to be.

“How can he waste his time in one of those silly airplanes?” Helen asked, shifting the topic back to her remaining son’s lamentable lack of perfection. “He could be president someday, if only he’d apply himself to it.”

“Now, if everyone who thought that actually applied themselves to becoming president, there wouldn’t be anybody left to run the country,” Elliot said with chiding humor. “He’ll do just fine, Helen. Now let’s go home and let the boy alone.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders and turned her away, giving Ty another sympathetic look.

Ty watched them walk across the packed dirt of the field. It wasn’t until they’d walked down the shallow slope that led to the area where most people had parked their cars that he allowed some of the tension to leave his shoulders. He thrust his fingers through his hair, ruffling it into dark waves, and his mouth twisted with bitter humor. A full day of flying had not been nearly as tiring as five minutes of conversation with his mother.

“I think flying an airplane is much more exciting than being president.”

Startled, Ty turned toward the childish voice. A little girl stood on the other side of the wing, the late-aftemoon sun catching in her long blond curls.

“You do, huh?” He grinned at her.

“Yes.” Her eyes were a beautiful deep blue and surprisingly solemn for one so young.

“How do you figure that?” Ty leaned against the fuselage, feeling the last of the tension draining away.

“Well, anybody could be president, but to fly …” Her voice trailed off as if she sought the right words. “It’s like the story about Icarus,” she finished in a rush.

“Didn’t he fly too close to the sun and end up falling into the sea?”

“You’d never do that. You could fly as high as anything, I bet.” She flushed, her eyes dropping to the ground, embarrassed by her own enthusiasm.

At twenty, Ty was old enough to recognize a case of childish hero worship when he saw it and still young enough to be flattered. Her blatant admiration went a long way toward soothing the sting of his mother’s contempt for his flying.

“Well, I don’t think I’m in much danger of getting too close to the sun,” he said, smiling at her.

“No.” Her voice had dropped to almost a whisper and she couldn’t seem to lift her eyes.

“You’re Meg Harper, aren’t you?” he said, suddenly putting a name to the sweet, childish face. She nodded, flushing as if embarrassed to find herself the focus of his attention. She glanced up at him and Ty felt his chest swell a little at the blatant hero worship in her eyes.

“Have you ever ridden in a plane, Meg?”

“No.” She threw a look at the Jenny that was nearly as admiring as the one she’d sent Ty himself. “I never did.”

“How’d you like to ride in this one?”

“For real?” She flushed again and then paled, her eyes big as saucers as she contemplated the incredible possibility he’d just suggested.

“For real,” he said, feeling downright beneficent.

Meg slid her hand in the pocket of her skirt, her fingers worrying the two nickels that resided there. Her mother had given her a quarter that morning, cautioning her to spend it wisely because there’d be no more when that was spent.

Since a quarter was the most money of her own Meg had ever possessed, she’d taken her mother’s advice to heart and spent carefully. A dime had gone for a hamburger and some ice-cold lemonade for her lunch, and she’d used a nickel to buy a ride on one of the swings. She’d spent most of the afternoon watching Tyler McKendrick and his friend fly, which hadn’t cost anything. Still, she only had two nickels left. And even if she hadn’t spent any of the money, a quarter fell far short of the two dollars she knew he’d been charging to take people up in the air.

For a moment, she considered the possibility of letting her lower lip quiver a little and allowing her eyes to fill with the tears that hovered close at the thought of not being able to go up in the sleek red airplane. She’d watched her older sister Patsy use those techniques to get her way with Pa since she was little.

If Pa was sober, more often than not, Patsy got whatever it was she was angling for, whether it was money to go to a picture show or a nickel for an ice cream soda. Since Pa had been killed in an automobile accident last winter, Patsy had used the same quivering lip on Mr. Davis, who’d started coming to call on Mama. And it usually worked on him, too. Patsy said that men were suckers for a pretty girl, especially one who knew how to use what the good Lord had given her.

Though Meg couldn’t imagine Tyler McKendrick being a sucker, maybe the same kind of persuasion would work on him. She knew Patsy, with the wisdom of her almost sixteen years, would certainly think so.

Ty watched her, wondering what was causing the quick shift of emotions across her expressive face; wondering if she remembered that summer day by the creek. Probably not. She’d been little more than a baby. He hadn’t thought there was any real question about her accepting his offer so he was surprised when she shook her head slowly.

“I don’t have two dollars.”

Ty opened his mouth to tell her that he hadn’t planned on charging her, but something in the proud lift her chin had him swallowing the words. He remembered all he’d heard about the Harpers, or at least about her father. Lazy and good-for-nothing were probably two of the more complimentary descriptions. Along with the denigration of George Harper usually went a sigh for his family. What a pity Ruth Harper and those two girls have to live with a man who was little better than white trash. And generally there’d be a wise nod or two and some comment about the nut not falling far from the tree and blood telling. The fact that her father was dead wasn’t likely to change the way people viewed his family.