by Warren Court
“New York city, huh, Aubrey?” Kevin said.
“You bet; they’re going to send me around the country. I’ll be getting a plane again.”
“Try not to crash it this time. My father says you were lucky to live through that.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll buzz your house when I get it. You can come out and watch me fly overhead.”
“Just be careful. My father says you were the most famous person from Sacred.”
“First off, I don’t live in Sacred and I don’t consider myself to be from Sacred. Our farm is across the town line. I just went to school here. And secondly, what do you mean ‘were the most famous’? Who else you got?”
Kevin stuck his tongue out back at her. Then, their comedy routine over with, he tapped out the telegram and collected the money.
Done earlier than expected, Aubrey sauntered off down the street and ran into her father going into the John Deere shop. She waited outside while he spoke to a salesman he knew. Despite not officially being from Sacred, her father knew every soul in town. He was the second most famous person from the area, she supposed. There was a war memorial in the centre of town with the names of the fourteen boys who had enlisted, including Johnny Millerson, who’d never come back. Those boys should be regarded as the most famous, she thought. Her father would agree.
“Going to take two weeks. Can you believe that?” her father said when he came out of the shop.
“Lucky thing we have a second tractor,” Aubrey said. “And the Millersons have one too.”
Aubrey felt another sharp pang of guilt. Her father was having problems with the farm, and here she was about to take off on a grand cross-country adventure.
They left the car where it was parked and walked arm in arm down the street toward the Birchmount. As they strolled, Colonel Endeavours greeted several shopkeepers and citizens of Sacred. They all seemed concerned about and interested in Aubrey and how she was making out after her crash.
“I just wish everyone would stop talking about it,” she told her father when they were alone again.
“People were worried about you.”
“Were you worried?”
“Of course. Those flying contests, that barnstorming—they put you in awful situations, made you do foolish things.”
“You think I was being foolish when I crashed?”
“I know all about violent down-drafts. Been caught in a couple myself.” He looked at her sharply.
“Of course, Father. I didn’t mean anything by that.”
He hugged her closer. “You survived. That’s the main thing.”
“And now I’m about to get another plane and do it all over again.”
He cleared his throat. “About that. I read the letter a couple of times, Aubrey. I didn’t read where it says you’ll be flying. It doesn’t say anything about an airplane.”
“What else would they want an aviator for, other than to have her do what she does best?”
“Just don’t get your hopes up. Arthur’s offer doesn’t interest you?”
“It does interest me, but my heart and soul belong in the sky.”
“There’s no future in it, kiddo. In a couple of years no one will care about female flyers. You’re just a flash in the pan.”
“We’re becoming commercial pilots,” she protested. “Soon we’ll be flying people all around the country, and there’s always the mail service.”
“Forget about that, Aubrey. Please. I don’t want you flying through some blizzard up in Alaska.”
“I’m just saying it’s opening up a whole world of opportunity for women. Things are changing. We’ve had the right to vote for fifteen years, Father. Has the whole world collapsed as you predicted?”
“No, not yet,” he said, and pulled her off balance in an attempt to make her laugh.
“It’s true, Father. You’ll see.”
They reached the hotel and saw Arthur seated inside the dining room. He raised his coffee cup at them.
“Think there’s coffee in that?” Aubrey whispered to her father. “I mean, Prohibition has ended; you don’t have to hide it anymore.”
“This hotel is dryer than dirt. It was before Prohibition, and it is now. Don’t know why he chose it.”
“Maybe loose lips from alcohol, him being a spy and all.” She gave him a cheeky grin.
“I wouldn’t go around repeating that. He wouldn’t like it.”
“Right. My lips are sealed.”
Arthur Colins met the two Endeavours halfway and escorted them to his table. He ordered coffees for them. “I have a five-thirty reservation for dinner,” he told them when the waiter had departed.
“That’s fine,” Colonel Edmundson said.
Arthur turned his attention to Aubrey. “Did you get your errands in town done?”
“I did. I ripped off a letter to the magazine, the one that advertises planes for sale. And I sent a telegram to New York accepting their offer. I just have to wait for the details now.”
Arthur didn’t show any disappointment. He just nodded, a thin smile on his lips.
“I think she’s a damn fool,” Edmundson broke in. It didn’t dent Aubrey’s enthusiasm one bit, but Arthur scolded him with a look.
“She can make up her own mind.”
“A job with the government is security, and it’s rewarding,” the colonel went on, undeterred. “You saw what happened to her last time she flew. She almost died.”
Of course, the colonel was talking about the last race Aubrey had entered, not the adventure she’d had recently in Europe. That had never been revealed to him; as far as he knew, Aubrey had entered the race and withdrawn due to mechanical issues. As for the truth, he had no need to know. Aubrey didn’t agree with that, but she had promised Arthur she would not reveal what had really happened over there, to anyone, ever.
“It’ll be all right, Father,” she said. “I’ll be flying from town to town, showing off my gams and flashing eyes at the photographers to sell a few bars of soap. Nothing to worry about.”
“I bet,” Arthur said. “When you crashed, were you attempting to fly across the Rockies?”
“Uh-huh. It was a race—fastest time over the hump. Women only.”
The colonel looked absently out the hotel window and said, “It’s all just a load of guff. Women flyers.” He harrumphed. “They’re just using you to promote their newspapers or sell their products.”
“That’s right, and I’m going to use them to get my next plane. I’m not flying blind in this.” Arthur smiled at her joke. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve set my course and I intend to fly it. Sure, I might get sidetracked a few times. Who knows which way the wind blows?” She paused. “Actually, I do – sometimes straight down. But I can handle it.” She put a hand on her father’s knee and squeezed it.
“Come on, you two,” Arthur said, getting to his feet. “Let’s see if they’re ready for us in the restaurant.”
Colonel Endeavours was right: even though Prohibition had been repealed two years earlier, there wasn’t a drop of alcohol on the menu. Aubrey knew the family that owned the hotel; they were strict Quakers. She didn’t mind. Alcohol weakened her flying skills; she had to keep them sharp. She could drink with the best of them, but abstained most of the time.
After their lovely meal of lamb with cranberry and asparagus, the two Endeavours said goodbye to Arthur Colins. He had an early train out of Sacred, bound for Detroit. He didn’t mention his ultimate destination, and Aubrey had learned not to pry. Her father certainly didn’t pry. It gave Arthur Colins an aura of mystery she found alluring. She thought again about the funny coincidence earlier: she and her father thinking the same thing about Arthur Colins and a marriage proposal.
They arrived back home at sundown and she saw to Ferguson one last time, kissing him on his mane and then retiring for the night. Her father stayed up listening to the radio and undoubtedly draining some of his stash of scotch. She bid him goodnight and c
limbed the stairs to her room.
The scream broke into her dreams, turning it nightmarish. She thrashed in bed and launched herself bolt upright. Her forehead was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and she clutched at her pounding heart. Had the scream come from her while she slept? The bedroom window was open; a moist breeze engulfed the room. Had it been thunder? Her heart was pounding; she had no recollection of the crashing dream. She was just about to lie back down when she heard it again.
“No!” the shout from her father’s room thundered down the hall. “No, Allan, don’t! Get down!”
She was out of bed like a shot, running down the hall to his room. She forced herself to pause at the bedroom door and cracked it open. Her father was kneeling in the middle of the bed, the sheets scrunched up under his chin, spreading out like a tent.
“No, Allan, you promised. I don’t want you to. Get down, everyone. Down!”
Aubrey’s heart sank, seeing her father so distressed. She walked softly into the bedroom and approached him cautiously. Then she saw the gun in his hand. Edmundson Endeavours whirled, pointed it in her direction and fired. The shot from the .45 splintered the wood panelling a foot from Aubrey’s head.
“Who’s there? Hun bastards!” Colonel Endeavours pulled the hammer back, ready to fire again.
“Father its me—Aubrey.” She ducked down, but he followed her with the business end of the .45. He couldn’t see her, but he could hear her.
“Daddy, don’t! It’s me.”
“Celine?” He called out. Aubrey’s mother.
“No, Father, it’s Aubrey. Your daughter.”
“Aubrey?” The colonel sank back on the bed. He let the sheets fall down from his face. The hand holding the .45 went slack and fell limply onto the mattress. Aubrey leapt up and grabbed the revolver from him. She tossed it into the corner and went to her weeping father.
“Oh, Aubrey, Aubrey,” the colonel moaned. “I’m so glad to see you. Where have you been?”
“Here, Father. I’ve been here all along.”
He stroked her hair and hugged her tight. She felt his tears soaking into her nightdress and cried along with him.
Afterwards, when he was fully awake and breathing normally, Aubrey turned on the lights and he saw the bullet hole. His face turned pale with horror. Then he saw the gun in the corner and he clamped a hand over his mouth as though he were going to be sick. Aubrey went to it.
“Careful with that,” he said automatically, then looked away from her, stricken. “Who am I to talk, eh? What kind of father almost shoots his own daughter?”
“Do you remember the dream?”
He nodded. “Same one every night. A Kraut air raid on our forward camp. Caught us on the ground, chewed up four of our planes.” He wiped away a tear and his lips trembled.
She sat on the edge of the bed again, but put the gun behind her. She would deal with that later.
“Who is Allan?”
“A replacement pilot. I never got to know him. You didn’t want to—you understand? He didn’t last a week. Never had the chance to learn. I never had the chance to teach him.” He looked past her at the gun. “Damn it, I almost killed you.”
“I’m taking this gun out of here.” She got to her feet.
“A good idea. I need a drink.”
“I think that’s part of the problem. You should quit it, Father. What would Mother say?”
“She’d call me un vieil imbécile, an old fool.”
His imitation of his wife was spot on, and Aubrey laughed. He grinned, despite himself. She flicked off the light.
“Try and get some sleep.”
“The sheet is soaking wet.”
“I’ll open the window. It’ll dry.” She left him with his nightmares, the .45 firmly in her hand. She unloaded it and made it safe before putting it away in her nightstand. Her father had taught her how to shoot and handle guns since an early age; she had a healthy respect for them.
She also knew that he could not be near that firearm anymore. That was the gun he’d carried to war and back, but it must be taken away now, she decided; sold or buried in the field. They had no need for firearms out here. There was an old shotgun above the fireplace, but the shells were long gone. Her father had given up hunting when he came back from the war. He told her he’d killed enough and he was ashamed. He’d kept the .45 for sentimental reasons only. She opened the nightstand drawer and looked at the gun, then closed the drawer again, undecided. Maybe he could have it back, if she just removed the bullets from the clip. She would discuss it with him tomorrow when he was calm again.
Aubrey encouraged Ferguson over the last jump. They’d been set up years ago, three jumps spaced along the riding path through the clump of woods at the edge of their property. She would take Ferguson through the jumps, turn him around and do them on the way back. He needed no encouragement. Glad to have her on his back, Ferguson carried her triumphantly through the forest. She’d gotten up early, and now she caught the morning dew on the lily pads by the pond as she thundered by on her steed.
She slowed Ferguson to a trot on the way back up to the house. She saw the Western Union truck in the driveway, the uniformed delivery man coming down the steps. Her father was standing in the doorway, reading the telegram. She goosed a bit more out of Ferguson and cantered into the paddock.
The truck had already turned around and was speeding off by the time she’d placed Ferguson in front of the trough and hurried over to her father. She took off her elbow-length leather gloves and her father looked down at her from the porch.
“Is that what I think it is?” she asked breathlessly. “Of course it is. It’s from New York, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“You read it?”
“Sure. I signed for it. It was just marked ‘Endeavours.’” He looked sheepish.
“Oh, Father. I don’t mind.” She climbed the steps, hand outstretched. Colonel Endeavours hesitated, then handed the yellow card over.
She read it fast. Her face, at first ablaze with excitement, suddenly turned sour.
“I’m sorry, Aubrey. I know it wasn’t what you were hoping for. Still, it’s a job. It might lead to other things.”
She fanned herself with the card. The words on it were ringing in her head. Details on the promotion, a flat refusal to finance a plane, the tour to be conducted by train, forty-five cities in six weeks. Reimbursement for expenses only, minimal daily stipend. Maybe that’s why her father was now keen on her accepting it: there would be no flying.
“I’d hardly call that a job. They pay for my train tickets and meals. Big deal.”
“It could lead to other opportunities. You’d be famous again.”
“Hardly—selling soap out of the back of someone’s pickup. Me and bunch of other hotty-totties strutting our stuff in swimwear. No thanks. Not this gal.” Suddenly, her face brightened. “When was Uncle Arthur’s train?”
Colonel Edmundson checked his watch. “Leaves in forty-three minutes.”
“The truck...”
“I drained the oil overnight. I’d have to fill it.”
“No time.”
There was a whinny behind her. She tucked the envelope in her pocket as she sprinted for Ferguson. He seemed delighted with the unexpected ride as she swung herself up into the saddle. She put the reins to him crossways across his neck like she’d seen Tom Mix do in the movies and galloped down the driveway.
4
Arthur Colins’s driver brought the drab grey government-issued Dodge around to the front of the Birchmount. He jumped out of the car and snapped to attention as Colins emerged carrying a suitcase and leather-bound grip. As the driver took the luggage from Colins, there was the sound of a horse’s hooves at a gallop on the paved main street. It had been a dirt track up until ten years before; there were still a few hitching posts along the sidewalk.
Arthur’s jacket was thrown over his shoulder; he held an unlit cigarette between his lips. He looked up from lighting it as Aubrey
brought Ferguson to a halt in front of the hotel, caught the reins and put the cigarette back in its case.
“Aubrey, you devil, flying down the street like a banshee.”
She was out of breath, almost as much as Ferguson was. A country boy from Kansas himself, Arthur lashed the reins to a fencepost while she caught her breath.
