“He blamed you when she died.”
That she had stated it as fact instead of a question surprised him, though he wasn’t sure why. Maggie always had a knack for cutting to the chase. Wesley lifted his head, surprised to find her turned toward him, her hand a warm comfort against his arm. Had he been so lost in the past that he hadn’t notice her, sitting so close he could smell the sweet fragrance of Ivory Soap that clung to her like perfume. For a moment, he thought of pulling her into his arms and soothing his battered soul in her warmth, brush his lips across hers and taste her sweetness. Only Maggie had her lips mashed together in that way he had come recognize mean she had something on her mind.
“What is it?” He asked, realizing how much he’d like to hear her what she thought about his situation.
But she simply shook her head. “Nothing.”
Her answer baffled him. Maggie wasn’t one to be shy about her feelings, least of all with him. What was she holding back? Was it that she agreed with his family, that he should have done more to stop Beth?
“If you’ve got something to say,” he prodded.
Maggie hesitated. “It’s just that you and your grandfather don’t seem to think too much of Beth.”
Wesley snapped his head back. “What?”
“You said it yourself, Wesley,” Maggie answered, her fingers drumming against his forearm as if counting off his many sins. “Beth was an ace pilot, which means she had to know the risks involved.”
“But. . .”
Her fingers tightened. “Don’t do that.”
He wasn’t sure what he had done now but whatever it was had made Maggie go rigid. “What?”
“Make excuses for her.” Maggie blew out an exasperated breath. “She got caught in a bad situation and died because of it. But you had no control over what happened to her.” She must have read the disbelief in his expression because she let out a grunt then plugged on. “The truth is that every time you take the blame for her death, you’re saying that she wasn’t good enough to do her job.”
“That’s not what I’m mean.”
Maggie leaned back slightly, but didn’t break her hold on his arm. “Sounds like it to me.”
He felt his back teeth grind against each other. “I was proud of Beth when she got her commission into the ferrying squadron.”
“Then stop blaming yourself,” Maggie dropped her hand to her side and settled back in the swing. “It’s the enemy that did this to Beth. You had no control over it.”
He still wasn’t convinced. Beth could be reasoned with if the danger of situation had been explained to her, and he hadn’t done that. But Maggie had given him something to think about, just not now. Later, when he was in his room, away from everyone.
Wesley drew in a deep breath. “What are you going to do until Major Evans reinstates you?”
If Maggie was caught off guard by his quick retreat, she didn’t show it. She shrugged. “I’m not sure. More than likely help Merrilee out around here. Maybe visit Eliza Beth and the kids in the afternoon when it’s too hot to be out in the garden.” She leaned her head against the wooden slats of the swing. “If Major Evan hadn’t asked me to stick around, I’d probably head home for a few days. Momma’s finally getting out a little bit, and I could see if Dad needed any help with the business.”
In other words, flying. The woman had the determination of Churchill in the dark days during the blitz. “Old Beau isn’t the same as a P-51 Mustang.”
“No, but at least, I’ll be keeping myself sharp.”
Wesley felt his spirits elevate as if caught up in a light breeze. Maggie Daniels would never, ever give up--on her country or her dreams.
What would it feel like if she never gave up on him?
He pushed that thought to the side. Well, he’d talked Major Evans into grounding her. The least he could do was give her the opportunity to keep up her skills. And, he reminded himself, it would make it easier when she was called back into service.
The swing jolted forward as he stood up. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
“What?” She inclined her head, the mischief sparkling in her eyes sending a flash of warmth throughout his chest. Yes, he might enjoy being the focus of Maggie’s single-minded determination very much.
“What are we doing here?” Maggie asked as they pulled up in front of the rundown Ellerbee farmhouse.
Wesley shoved the gear into park and pulled on the door handle. “Stay here for just a minute. I’ll be right back.”
Maggie sat looking over the dashboard of her aunt’s old pickup. Abner Ellerbee might run with Uncle James’ crowd, but his brother, Clyde had once been one of her father’s best customers, owning one of the biggest cotton producers in the state. But the soil and his body had given out about the same time. Now the once fertile fields lay bare, save a bounty crop of kudzu.
She watched as Wesley knocked on the front door. Why did he think he could take responsibility for his sister’s death? Maggie leaned back into the crack vinyl seat. He had to know, being a pilot himself, that Beth was aware of the dangers she faced. Surely, a few seconds glancing over the bloodstained cockpits when she worked at her grandfather’s airfield had prepared her better than any training film.
Wesley was overprotective, worse than her cousins, and that was saying quite a bit. But it was something else, something in his attitude, as if he didn’t trust his sister to make her own decisions, that got in Maggie’s crawl. She may have always shunned her cousins’ protection, but she’d come to the realization that they respected her enough to encourage her, rather than hold her back.
The passenger door opened, startling her. “You ready?”
She nodded, taking his hand.
After he shut the truck door, Wesley tucked her hand in his elbow. “When I first was appointed to the Bell, I had to give weekly updates to the War Department,” he said, leading her toward the rundown barn at the corner of the lot. “I couldn’t see using a military plane when an old mail plane could get me there just as fast and with less fuel. One weekend, I went home and brought this back.” When he pushed open the barn door, Maggie gasped.
There in the middle of the Ellerbee’s barn sat a De Haviland Tiger Moth, almost an exact replica of the plane she’d used at Avenger Field. But instead of the drab army green, the body of the plane was painted a bright yellow that matched the color of jonquils in the spring. A large bull’s eye was drawn into the belly of the plane, as if to dare the enemy to take a shot.
“She was in pretty bad shape when Pops got her,” Wesley said, running his hand along the fuselage. “We had to drop in a new engine, and rebuilt the whole right wing section.”
Maggie glanced at him. “You and your grandfather did this?”
“Pop took us to an air show while he was visiting the summer before I headed off to Tech.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile. “The pilot barely made it down in one piece. Woman were fainting, kids were yelling. The whole place went wild. The guy hadn’t even made it out the wreckage before Pops walked up to him. Bought this hunk of junk right then and there. We spent the rest of his time here putting it back together”
“He sounds like a wonderful man.”
“He is,” Wesley said, the color rising in his cheeks as if such a gift was still too much for him. “He didn’t want us to forget what we had learned. Which is why I’m letting you use this plane until you get reinstated.”
Wesley wanted her to fly his plane? Maggie blinked in shock. “Are you sure?”
Wesley nodded. “The last thing I need is for you to lose your edge, not when the choice of who is going to fly the first B-29 out of the plant is between you and Jimbo.” He patted the wing, a simple gesture that Maggie found completely charming. “Plus, she always handled better with a woman in the cockpit. Would you take her up, Ace? As a favor to me?”
No words could express how she felt. Maggie nodded, staring up at Wesley, memorizing the lines of his smile, the flecks in his e
yes. Maybe there was hope for a future with Wesley. The thought both thrilled and terrified her.
Slow down. It wasn’t two hours ago that this man was so mad, he would have thrown her in the stockade if only to keep her safe. She may be on the brink of falling in love, but she couldn’t settle for a man who didn’t respected her whether in the heavens and here on earth.
But for now, she’d enjoy these precious moments with him. She held out her hand. “I’d be happy to.”
19
“You and Wesley got plans for this evening?” Aunt Merrilee asked, glancing up briefly from the pot of peas she was shelling.
“Yes, ma’am.” Maggie gave her wet hair a final pat before huddling closer to the stove and picking up her comb. She’d already changed into her jumper, but would have to hurry if her hair was going to be dry before Wesley got home. He’d promised to take her up and show her some tricks he’d learned while dog fighting the Germans over the Channel before the sun set too low.
“I’m not surprised. You two have been spending quite a bit of time together here lately.” Merrilee smiled, picking up another pea. “What are you doing? Trying to soften him up so he’ll let you go back to work?”
A knot of hair tangled beneath Maggie’s fingertips. “Why would I want to do that?”
“I don’t know. I just figured you’d be biting at the bit to get back to work.” Merrilee rose and went to the sink.
“I am,” Maggie replied, working through the knot, her wet hair against her flushed skin cooling the heat gathered in her cheeks. Truth was her reinstatement hadn’t seemed quite as important in recent days. Between canning vegetables from Merrilee’s victory garden, checking on Eliza Beth and the others, and preparing the house for Donna’s release from the hospital, Maggie found her days to be incredibly full. But it was the evenings, when she slipped off with Wesley to the Ellerbee’s farm she looked forward to the most. She didn’t get as much air time as she would have liked, not with the afternoons growing shorter, but she didn’t care. Sitting beside Wesley, bumbling along the rough roads in the moonlight lifted the wings of her heart higher than any rocket could.
Not that Wesley had given her any indication that he felt something for her too. Since their talk on the front porch, he had been his usual kind and attentive self, always ready to accompany her downtown to see Donna or carry a load of supplies for her to the tent camp. But he’d kept his distance since she’d learned about his sister. Maggie couldn’t help but wonder if his quick retreat had anything to do with protecting his heart.
Maggie freed a strand of hair from the knot. “I knew it was going to take a while to investigate Donna’s crash.”
“That’s what I thought to, but Evans seems to think we’ve wasted too much time as it is.”
Maggie glanced up through a curtain of damp, stringy hair, and her heart did a flip. In a crisp white shirt tucked into a cuffed pair of blue jeans, Wesley stood just inside the kitchen, his hand still holding the doorknob. His hair was slicked back, it’s golden hues dampened to the color of field wheat after a sudden downpour. Until like the precise captain she knew him to be, this man had an air of uncertainty, as if he were truly a stranger in a foreign land.
Maggie flung the damp strands from her face and froze. Wesley gaze was fastened to her face, his eyes roaming gently over the flow of her hair, from the tendrils rioting around her face to the curls forming along her shoulders. Her mouth went dry.
“What does that mean?” Merrilee asked, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.
“General Arnold has given the okay for Maggie to be put back on the flight schedule,” he answered, giving Maggie a grin that caused her heart to stutter against her ribcage. “Starting next week.”
“That’s great,” Maggie said, pushing the comb through her hair one last time, happy to have that situation settled. But the excitement she usually had to harness, the sheer joy of fulfilling her dreams didn’t overwhelm her senses as it always had done in the past.
Dreams change, Maggie.
“You found out who wrote that ugly note to her?” Merrilee asked, interrupting Maggie’s thoughts.
“No,” Wesley hesitated, scrubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “I haven’t caught them yet, but I will.”
Dropping the pan in the sink, Merrilee clenched her hands into a worrisome knot. “Then Maggie is still in danger.”
“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, Merrilee,” Maggie laid her comb down. She gave Wesley a quick glance. “General Arnold isn’t the type to take any chances.”
But her aunt didn’t look convinced. “I bet if he had a niece who was a WASP, he’d think twice about it.”
“The general cares about the girls, Merrilee.” Wesley answered, walking over to stand beside her aunt and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “He’s going to do everything in his power to make sure nothing happens to them.”
“See, Merrilee. You’re worrying for nothing.” Maggie glanced up at Wesley to thank him, but instead found concern shadowing his features. Oh, nothing blatant that Merrilee would pick up on, but an underlying uneasiness that Maggie had glimpsed briefly at times when they were in the mist of a difficult project.
Her aunt ignored her, instead focusing all her attention on Wesley. “Will you watch out for her? Make sure she stays safe?”
Her aunt was wrong to ask Wesley to make such a promise. Just like his grandfather had been. But Wesley, being the man that he was, would take ownership of that kind of responsibility. Well, she wouldn’t stand for it, not when she was a grown woman who could speak for herself.
Standing, Maggie walked to where her aunt stood. “That’s not fair, Merrilee. You know Wesley has no control over what happens when I’m up in the air. Only God does.”
Merrilee placed her hand over her mouth, but not before Maggie caught the slight tremor in her lower lip. “It’s just I worry about you so much. What would your momma and daddy do if something was to happen. . .” She broke off, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
Lord, help her. Maggie faced danger every time she’d climbed into the cockpit and had accepted whatever possibilities awaited her in the skies, with the full knowledge that her life was in the hands of the Father. But she had never realized how hard it must be to wait for those waiting on the ground. Merrilee did, holding on to her memories of John from all those years ago. So did Wesley. Yes, he understood better than most the pain of waiting for someone who wasn’t coming home.
“You need to stop worrying about that, Merrilee. You’ve got to know that I’d protect Maggie with my life.” Wesley answered in a solemn voice.
The way he said it, so natural, as if the words were a very part of his being, sent a tiny thrill through her. He must feel something for her to make such a statement. Her pulse soared at the thought.
“Thank you, Wesley.” Relief softened the worried lines in Merrilee’s face. She wiped her hands on her apron then headed for the kitchen door. “I’d better get up to the house and make sure Claire is doing her homework.”
The hinge had barely clicked shut when Wesley spoke. “I know you’ve probably got something to say, but before you blow your lid, could you point me toward the peanut butter and jelly?”
“You didn’t eat lunch?”
Wesley shook his head. “I’ve been in meetings all day.”
“Then sit down and rest for a second.” Maggie turned toward the sink and with a few quick pumps, washed her hands. “I’ll fix you something.”
“You?” Wesley leaned back against the counter top. “I didn’t think you were the traditional kind of woman.”
“If you mean, can I cook? Then, the answer is yes.” Opening the cabinet door, Maggie lifted the jar of peanut butter from it’s resting place and set it on the counter alongside the bread. “A person has got to eat whether they have a career or not, don’t they?”
“I guess so,” he answered, his voice filled with a playful kind of awe. He snagged two glasses off the drying bo
ard and set them on the table. “Nice kitchen, by the way.”
Maggie stopped cutting the loaf of bread mid-slice. “You’ve never been in Merrilee’s kitchen?”
“She always chases me out of here before I can get too comfortable.”
“Ah,” Maggie answered, slicing through bread before pointing the tip of the knife at Wesley. “That’s because she’s been taught that the kitchen is a woman’s domain. No men allowed.”
“Seriously?” Wesley walked over to the icebox and opened the door. “Pops did all the cooking at our house.”
Maggie stared at him, open-mouthed as he pulled out an unopened bottle of milk. “That’s a bit odd.”
“I don’t think so,” Wesley said, walking to the table then pouring first one, then another glass of milk. “Mom might have been a great business lady but, God bless her, she couldn’t boil water without burning it.”
“That’s an awful thing for you to say.” Maggie reach to the center of the table for a jar of Merrilee’s apple jelly.
“It’s the honest truth.” The smile he gave her almost made her drop the knife she’d just retrieved from the utensil drawer. “Pops decided the only way we were going to survive is if he took over kitchen duty.” Wesley found a couple of paper napkins and folded them next to the plates that Merrilee had set out. “What about your family? Did your old man ever venture into the kitchen?”
“Well, nobody knows this.” Maggie glanced toward the closed kitchen door. It was so easy, this intimate back and forth between them. Something told her she was going to have a hard time giving it up when this assignment was over and they were reassigned. “Daddy’s homemade soup won first prize at the county fair the summer before the war started.” Maggie grabbed the nearby jar of jelly and opened it. “But then Momma and Daddy are different from most folks around here.”
“What do you mean?”
Hearts in Flight Page 16
