Hearts in Flight

by Patty Smith Hall

  Maggie closed her eyes. A bone-weary tiredness weighed down on her, tugging her into a comfortable stillness. She couldn’t tell Merrile about the receipt. It would embarrass her too much. And she had to keep Uncle James in the dark too. No telling what that old grouch would do if he had this kind of information.

  She drew in a deep breath, feeling her body relax even as her mind rebelled against the heaviness tugging at her. She didn’t have time to be tired, not when she had so much to do. Her eyes stung as she forced her eyes open. Her heavy lids proved too much to fight and they slowly fluttered shut again.

  The scent of sunshine and airplane fuel teased her senses and Maggie smiled, burrowing her head deeper into the softness of the leather. Since that kiss they’d shared in the backyard, Maggie had wondered what it would be like to rest in Wesley’s arms, but this, this was better than any dream. She snuggled closer into the solid wall of his chest, her head pillowed against his broad shoulder making her feel safe and secure in a way that only her time in the air had. She stretched, her palm resting gently against his side, her fingers appreciative of the combination of strength and muscle beneath them.

  Maggie sighed. Such a lovely dream.

  The soft brush of lips against her hair forced her eyelids open and she tilted her head back. Wesley’s face was inches from her, studying her with a soft expression of concern and something else her befuddled mind couldn’t quite decipher. She pushed against him and he let her go, stretching his arms along the back of the swing to give her plenty of room to move.

  “Sorry about that,” Maggie lowered her gaze to her hands clenched together in her lap. Her hair fell like a curtain over the heat rising in her cheeks. “I guess the last couple of days finally caught up with me.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He surprised her by capturing strands of her hair and pushing them behind her ear. “How’s everyone doing?”

  “Fine.”

  “And Michael?”

  Maggie couldn’t help but smile. Five years old, Michael Farland had gotten the brunt of Eliza Beth’s cough concoction, so much so, Maggie had quietly feared that the boy might not live through the ordeal. But Wesley wouldn’t hear of it.

  Maggie glanced at Wesley. The memory of him rocking the tiny boy in Merrilee’s dainty rocker, his comforting whispers as he spun tales of King Arthur and the Knights of the Roundtable while Michael snuggled against his chest caused her heart to flutter like butterfly wings in a spring tornado. New dreams haunted her, ones that included little boys with sweet blue eyes, holding their arms out as if taking flight and a little girl who stubbornly adorned her father much like her mother did. Maggie shook the thoughts away.

  “Good. We finally let him and Nellie out of bed this afternoon.” The dreamy hoarseness in her voice made her clear her throat. “Merrilee wants them to rest a few more days before letting them go back to their camp.”

  “Good. The thought of sending them back into the woods had me worried. It’ll be good to keep an eye on them a little bit longer, just to make sure they’re okay.” Wesley stretched his long legs out in front of him. “And who knows? We might need their help if we come down with that horrible stuff.”

  Maggie mashed her lips together. She hadn‘t had a moment to tell Wesley the real reason behind the camp’s sickness since carrying the first batch of kids into the house two days ago. “They don’t have the influenza. They were poisoned.”

  Wesley’s head snapped forward, his gaze pinning her. “What do you mean poisoned?”

  She took a shuddered breath. “The kids came in the other day with a cough so Eliza Beth made up some of her grandma’s cough syrup.”

  “How do you make cough syrup?” His brows shot up in confusion. “Isn’t that something you purchase from the druggist?”

  “If you have the money, you do.” Maggie pulled her legs up to her chest. “And we both know that Eliza Beth doesn’t have a dime. So she used some moonshine she got from Jimbo and made up a batch of her grandma’s cough syrup.”

  Wesley sat back as if stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She sat up, taking a deep breath to calm herself but it didn’t work. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed it or not, but we’ve had a houseful of sick people the last few days.”

  He studied her for a long moment, then pushed the swing into a gentle motion. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  Blast, but she couldn’t stay mad at the man! Not when he was all agreeable and everything! And she needed to stay angry at him, if only to protect her dream.

  But what if God has more than one dream for me?

  “There is one other thing.” She reached into her pocket for the receipt. “Eliza Beth found this in the shoebox Jimbo gave her.”

  Wesley glanced over the piece of paper and scowled. “This isn’t good. Have you talked to Merrilee about this?”

  Maggie shook her head. “She’s got enough on her plate as it is.”

  Wesley seemed to think on that for a moment. “What about your dad?”

  Maggie shook her head, a sudden heaviness weighing down her chest at the thought of her father. “Last time we spoke, he wasn’t too happy with me.”

  “It’s no wonder. That was the day before Donna crashed.” He paused for a moment, as if choosing his next words wisely. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit unreasonable?”

  Maybe, Maggie thought, but she wasn’t ready to back down. Her father hadn’t even tried to understand her position or respect the job she’d been trained to do. But she had to admit, even in those instances where they didn’t see eye to eye, Daddy had always put aside any hard feelings to talk to her. But not this time. She plunged ahead. “What do you think we should do?”

  Wesley glanced at her, but not before she noticed the slight frown that turned his mouth down at the corners. “We need to figure out what’s going on before we bring your aunt in on this.”

  “Fine,” she answered, liking the way he had included her in this plan instead of the highhandedness she usually got from the male members of her family, most recently her dad. But then, Wesley had always been considerate of her, had always acknowledged that she had a brain in her head, unlike many of the men in her hometown.

  “I still think you need to make things right with your dad.”

  That’s rich, coming from a man who needed to make peace with his own family. She choose to ignore him. “We should talk to Jimbo and find out how he got that shoebox.”

  “Maggie.”

  “Don’t you start in on me about my father, not when. .”

  His expression grew stony. “Not when I’ve got my own problems to handle?”

  She shrugged, despite the miserable knot forming between her shoulder blades.

  Wesley caught her face between his hands and lifted her gaze to meet the sudden anger storming in his gaze. “Are you going to go off the handle every time someone who loves you voices their concerns for your safety? What did he do, hurt your feelings?”

  Maggie opened her mouth to answer, then slammed it shut. Yes, she was hurt. Daddy and Momma had always been there for her, believing in her dreams even when she questioned herself at times.

  “He was just worried, Maggie.”

  She stared back at him, the anger that had flashed so quickly suddenly tempered. “But. . .”

  “Your mom and dad think you can do anything you set your mind to.” Their gazes met and tangled. “So does Merrilee.”

  What about you, Wesley? Maggie eyed him for a moment, hoping for an answer but not getting one. “Let me think about it.”

  “Good. While you’re doing that, I think I’m going to go hunt Jimbo down. It’s time we had a talk.”

  “But. . .” Maggie stumbled over the words.

  “Sorry, Ace, but you’re not going anywhere near that guy unless I’m around. You got that?” Wesley stated matter-of-factly, giving her curl a gentle tug before dropping his hand to his lap.

&
nbsp; Maggie nodded, her heart breaking into tiny little pieces. If Wesley insisted on grounding her around every time danger was involved, how would she ever live out God’s dream for her life?

  If the opportunity arose for her to find out what Jimbo was up to, she’d take advantage of it. But she did respect what Wesley was saying. If Jimbo was running moonshine, the man was more dangerous than either of them could have ever thought.

  22

  “You haven’t talked to Jimbo yet?” Pops leaned the hedge clippers against his legs while fishing a snowy white handkerchief out of his pants pocket. “It’s been four days now.”

  Wesley shoved the push mower over a particularly stubborn swatch of tall fescue, the fresh scent of newly cut grass lifting in a slight breeze. “He had a delivery scheduled in Miami, but got directed to another airfield. I’m expecting him back anytime now.”

  Pops moped the back of his neck with the scrape of cloth. “Good! The sooner, the better if you ask me. How long do you think it will be before Merrilee knows what the rest of us do?”

  “She started asking questions when the Nelson’s moved out before the end of the month.” The metal blades slashed through the grass as he gave the mower a savage push. “Now that Bob Johnson is moving, I don’t think we’ll be able to keep her in the dark much longer.”

  “Poor girl. Life’s cruel like that sometimes.” Pops swiped at his forehead in fierce strokes. “But she’ll get through this. We’ll be there to help her.”

  Wesley stopped and wiped his sweaty palms against his rough denim of his jeans, dismissing Pops’ words. The man hadn’t thought losing Beth was a cruel twist but a failure on Wesley’s part. “I just wished Eliza Beth had kept her mouth shut.”

  “Sometimes, a person lashes out in anger or in pain and find they regret it later.”

  Wesley stretched out his arms, the sudden tightness in his muscles threatening to cut of his breathing. Had that been what happened with his grandfather? Had the pain of losing Beth caused them both to react so badly? His grandfather full of anger while Wesley festered in guilt?

  Tilting his head back, Wesley closed his eyes. I’m tired, Lord. I can’t carry the weight of Beth’s death anymore. Please help me, Lord. Please help Pops forgive me.”

  Wesley opened his eyes to a clear blue sky. The heaviness that had been a constant companion since Beth’s death shifted slightly. Lightened. He lowered his head and glanced over at his grandfather, love for the man who had always been there flowing through him.

  “You’re getting a little burnt there, Pops. Why don’t you take a break over there in the shade?”

  Shaking his head, Pops wrapped his weathered hands around the wooden handles and snapped the sharp edges of the clippers together. “We promised to get this lawn cleaned up.”

  “True, but you’re not use to this heat.” Wesley walked over to his grandfather and gently took the blades out of Pops’ hands. “Merrilee and Maggie would both have my hide if you fell out with a sun stroke.”

  “Then at least, take a break yourself. I could do with the company.”

  The longing Wesley heard in his grandfather’s words was balm to his weary soul. He nodded. “Maybe for just a minute.”

  They walked over to a nearby oak. A thin cushion of recently fallen leaves carpeted the area directly under the tree’s foliage provided a comfortable shade as Wesley and Pops sat down.

  “What do you think will happen to Jimbo?” Pops leaned back on his forearms and stretched out.

  Wesley picked up a leaf and tore it in half. Whatever the authorities had in mind was too good for the man, especially if the man had anything to do with Donna’s crash and that threatening note to Maggie. “He deserves to be horsewhipped.”

  “The United States Army will know how to handle him, I’m sure,” Pops answered. Wesley glanced up to find his grandfather staring, studying him as if the old man could almost read his thoughts. It had always been like this between them, probably the reason Wesley had never gotten into too many scrapes.

  Wesley drew in a deep breath through his nostrils. “I certainly hope so.”

  A screen door slammed shut, and Wesley looked up to see Edie carrying two quart jars, brimming with chipped ice, slices of lemon and what could only be Merrilee’s sweet tea. Claire skipped in her wake.

  “Here, Edie. Let me help you with that.” Wesley bounded to his feet and met them halfway. The cold glass felt good A against his palms.

  “You taught him well, Mr. Hicks.” Edie smiled as both she joined them under the tree.

  “He’s always was a good boy.” A mixture of pride and respect were in the glance Pops gave him. “He hasn’t disappointed me as a man either.”

  Wesley’s heart swelled. Maybe his grandfather had already forgiven him. He gave an awkward chuckle. “I think you may have gotten a little too much sun, old man.”

  “Well, maybe that tea will help.”

  “Momma thought you might need it, seeing how you’re cleaning up the yard.” Claire said, swinging one leg over the lowest limb and pulling herself up.

  “Where is your mother, monkey?” Pops leaned back to look at the little girl climbing on the next branch. “I haven’t seen her since breakfast this morning.”

  “She had some business in town with Uncle Jeb, then she was going to the post office.”

  Wesley swiped his forehead with the back of his shirt sleeve. Hopefully, Maggie had made peace with her father before her trip. Wesley glanced over at his grandfather as the old man claimed one of the glasses of tea. Building back a broken relationship was tougher than outmaneuvering the Germans in a dog fight.

  Pops waited until Claire had climbed a bit higher before nodded his head toward Edie in thanks. “Well, I hope Merrile doesn’t hear about this mess Jimbo has caused. I swear, prison is too good for that man.”

  “Prison?” Edie whispered, her voice shaky.

  But his grandfather must not have noticed the woman’s upset. “He’ll never make it, you know, not with his taste for spirits.”

  “Everyone deserves a second chance,” Edie replied, her face suddenly pale.

  With a quick thanks, Wesley lifted the tea to his lips, canvassing the young woman’s face for clues as to why she had this unwarranted compassion toward Jimbo. While her voice had steadied, the sadness, the curtained grief in her expression spoke volumes. Was she blind to the man’s faults? Or was it something else? He didn’t have time to dwell on it.

  “Well, it would have been nice to clear this thing up before Maggie got back from Augusta.” Wesley lifted the glass to his lips.

  “When’s our girl coming in?” Pops asked.

  Wesley patted his forehead with the back of his shirt sleeve, smiling softly at the endearment. Pops had taken to Maggie like a duck to water, spinning tales of his days with the Wright Brothers, listening to her own flying escapades.

  “This afternoon,” Wesley finally answered.

  “Oh good. Merrilee has missed her terribly this time,” Edie replied, casting a quick glance at Claire who had settled on a limb. “But Maggie has been gone longer than usual, hasn’t she?”

  “The CO in Augusta wanted her to stay for a while, but Major Evans decided that we were too understaffed for us to loan her out.” Wesley nodded, setting his glass on the ground beside him. No sense telling them that he had vetoed the idea of loaning Maggie out when Major Evans had presented it to him. With the problems mounting at Merrilee’s along with the threats Maggie had already received, he wasn’t comfortable with her being eighty miles away.

  And he couldn’t deny that he missed the woman like crazy.

  “I’d say those tykes missed her too.” Pops threw Wesley a knowing smile before turning back to Edie. “How are our little patients?”

  “Reigning terror on the house.” Edie laughed. “Michael knotted up poor Claire’s jump rope so bad, I don’t think the Boy Scouts could get out all the knots. When I asked him why, he said something about capturing his horse so that he could tr
ack down Sir Lancelot.”

  Wesley chuckled along with the both of them. “That kid has got a wild imagination.”

  “He’s not the only one.” Pops winked at him. “Though it must be hard on Merrilee, with all the children running about.”

  “I don’t think so. If it was, I’m sure she wouldn’t have asked them to stay until after Donna’s coming home party.”

  Wesley turned to his grandfather. “Another girl pilot, Pops, and a friend of Maggie’s.”

  “Why, they’re floating around here like dandelion seeds on the wind!” The corners of the old mans’ mouth curled up in laughter. “And to think, old Orville wouldn’t allow women in his flight school.”

  “The Orville Wright?” Edie’s eyes grew wide. “The inventor of the airplane?”

  “One of the inventors, my dear,” Pops answered with a soft chuckle. “I believe his brother had a hand it though some think his sister was instrumental in some of the calculations.”

  Wesley stood up and stretched, shaking his head as Pops launched into his acquaintance with the infamous Wright Brothers. They’d loved Pops’ stories, he and Beth, though he had favored the ones about Orville and Wilbur’s flying exhibitions while Beth had loved the ones about their younger sister, Katherine.

  He smiled. Maggie had loved the stories too.

  The old man had just started the tale of his meeting with the Wrights while at an airfield for an exhibition when a rustle of leaves caused him to look up. Behind Edie and Pops, Jimbo edged along the fringe of the backyard, a sledgehammer swinging close to his side, his pockets full of something Wesley couldn’t quite make out at this distance. He glanced around the yard, not seeing the group tucked under the tree before disappearing into the woods.

  Wesley had to follow him, find out where the man was going. He glanced over at Pops and Edie, deep in the the story now. Even Claire had climbed down to a lower limb so that she could hear. An idea formed in Wesley’s head.