But… it had worked. The engine had sparked! The propeller powered up again and began rotating rapidly under the plane’s power!
Wincing, Rhianyn pulled herself back up into the cockpit, her hair now frizzed with static. She grabbed the stick and tried to get the plane level again. She was no more than a thousand feet above the ground now. Then, she noticed the other problem. In making a grab to stay on the plane after being shocked by her own magical maneuver, Rhianyn had inadvertently grabbed and torn a fuel line. She could smell it on her gloves. The fuel gauge confirmed it as well. The H-1 was losing fuel!
Looks like I’m landing here, she reasoned. No return flight over the mountains for this test flight!
Rhianyn took hold of her radio transceiver. The circuits were still hot… she could likely still transmit. I just hope someone local is listening, she thought. There was no way a signal could get over the mountains to Los Angeles… not at her low altitude.
She set the tuner and pressed down on the transceiver. “This is Raven H-1X-629, Raven H-1X-629!” She exclaimed into the radio, using her Hughes Aircraft call sign. “Mayday! Mayday! Is anyone reading?”
The radio crackled with static. Rhianyn adjusted the tuner again, trying another emergency frequency. “Repeat, this is Raven H-1X-629… Mayday! Mayday! Is anyone receiving on this channel?”
There was another surge of static, then a man’s voice came on. “Raven H-1X-629, we’re reading you. This is Hyde Field Tower, Visalia. What’s your location?”
Rhianyn breathed a sigh of relief. “Hyde Field Tower,” she responded, “I’m northeast of Pixley, less than 1,000 feet altimetry, dropping fast…” She paused. The engine sputtered, the last of the fuel being consumed. “Damage to fuel line. I’m going down… will have to land wherever I can…” She paused again, looking out in front of her for a marker. “I can see the Tule River to the east!”
There was another burst of static before Rhianyn heard the tower’s final reply, the radio cutting out a moment later.
“Roger your location, Raven H-1X-629, we’re notifying the Tulare County Sheriff and will advise as to your…”
The radio died mid-sentence. Rhianyn dropped the transceiver and checked her descent. 500 feet… 400… 300…
There was only open fallow field in front of and below her. She gripped the stick and guided the H-1 in for a rough emergency landing.
A Sheriff’s Deputy spotted the plane and arrived to assist Rhianyn. Like Hughes’ first test flight months earlier, the H-1 was only minimally damaged, thanks to its pilot’s work. Rhianyn herself was shaken but unharmed. She was driven to Porterville and called both Lorewyn and her boss. Given that Howard Hughes himself had experienced something similar when he flew it over Santa Ana, he couldn’t really be too upset with Rhianyn, and in fact commended her on the way she managed the crisis, keeping the plane quite intact and mostly free of harm.
Lorewyn was greatly relieved and had to restrain herself from running passionately into her wife’s arms upon seeing her the next day when she drove out to the valley along with Hughes and his personnel to collect both plane and pilot.
And being that Lorewyn knew her Blackbird better than anyone, her question was to be expected. “So… do I want to know everything that happened up there?”
Rhianyn waited until just the two of them were in the car together driving home before answering. But she tried to soothe it with an affectionate caress on her wife’s knee as Lorewyn drove.
“No… I don’t think you really do.”
CHAPTER 11
Hughes made his historic transcontinental flight with the H-1 less than a year later, flying non-stop from Los Angeles to New York as planned on January 19, 1937… in about 7 and a half hours. He was on Cloud Nine for some time after that, taking an enormous amount of credit himself. Rhianyn just shrugged it off. Lorewyn wasn’t so easy-going about it.
“Sure… after you helped work out the kinks!”
Summer of that year brought a new vacation opportunity, largely in part to Rhianyn’s experience with the H-1 test flight. Rhianyn herself was involved with design tests of a new model that would become the D-2, and Lorewyn had just finished working on The Adventurous Blonde.
“Remember our weekend in the Adirondacks?” she had mentioned to Lorewyn. “Well, I think I found something similar, and not too far away. Some place we can go to get away from our big city life in Los Angeles, kind of like we did in New York.”
“And where is this scenic getaway?” Lorewyn asked.
Rhianyn just smiled, showing her a map. She pointed to a range of mountains not far to the east from where she had flown and landed in the Central Valley.
“I saw them from a distance,” she explained. “Especially when I was out…” She stopped. Lorewyn looked at her suspiciously, her eyes narrowing.
“Out… where, Blackbird?”
Rhianyn just chuckled sheepishly. “Out… and about, flying over Tulare County,” she said hastily. “Before I had to make that stellar and highly-skilled emergency landing. Anyway…” She pointed back to the map. “I noticed them again when I was driven to Porterville. They’re quite spectacular mountains! And there’s a national park as well, Sequoia. Supposedly, the highest mountain in all 48 states is located there. I think we need to go check it out!”
And so, they did, spending some time in June of 1937 hiking the trails, exploring the Sierra wilderness, climbing Mount Whitney, and staying in Three Rivers.
“I still miss the rains and cooler weather sometimes,” Rhianyn had commented on occasion during the winter months of 1937-38. She hadn’t been terribly direct about it, but there was a part of her that missed New York in general and was wanting to go back and visit. Lorewyn had picked up on this, and it had taken her a while to confront the issue, understanding that she had been the reason why they had left.
“Blackbird, I miss New York too,” Lorewyn said sympathetically. “And I think we should go back for a visit… but not for another few decades more at least. Just to be sure, you know? Once the generations who knew us, who could recognize us are…”
Rhianyn nodded, understanding. And if she hadn’t been feeling so especially nostalgic and snarky at that moment, she might’ve not said what came out of her mouth a few seconds later.
“True, we might very well run into those twenty or so witnesses from in front of Carnegie Hall that night.”
Rhianyn caught herself, but she had already spoken it aloud. She put her hand over her mouth, embarrassed and feeling horribly guilty at what had just occurred.
Lorewyn’s sympathetic expression shifted in an instant. Her countenance fell, a tear forming in her eye. Her tone just wilted.
“That’s not fair,” she whispered, trying to hold back her angst. She had an impulse to get up and leave that very moment.
Rhianyn was quick on the recovery. “Yellowfeather, I am so sorry,” she exclaimed, a deep sense of regret in her voice. “That was completely uncalled for. Please, forgive me. It just… it just slipped out. I should’ve never said that to you.”
She made sure that Lorewyn wasn’t going to insist on personal space before moving in closer. Lorewyn had an impulse to back away, but she didn’t. She had learned a long time ago that these situations happened occasionally, as they did with people who loved each other and who had been together for a long time, and that the best thing was not to react impulsively. She accepted Rhianyn’s tender embrace and offered her a forgiving hug as well.
So, they talked about it. They held each other first, not saying anything for a while, but then they talked about it. Yes, Lorewyn was still feeling guilty about it. No, Rhianyn didn’t hold it against her. Yes, they both missed New York sometimes. No, there was no blame assessed – under the circumstances, the right decisions had been made, both to save a life and to then leave because of the consequence. Yes, they still loved each other unconditionally… of course.
“Ice cream?” Rhianyn said. “My treat?”
And so, th
ey went to their favorite ice cream parlor, Chapman’s on Westwood Blvd. Rhianyn was still thinking about the weather.
“I do still wish we could see some more rain and a cooler season, though,” she stated, taking a scoop with her spoon.
Lorewyn held up a scoop of her own, showing it to her wife.
“This is cool,” she offered, grinning.
Rhianyn just looked at her for a moment, then shook her head laughing at the memory. “Too bad it’s not green too!”
Lorewyn would make the comment sometime later that people should be more careful what they wish for… they might just get it! And that’s exactly what happened in late February of 1938 when the Los Angeles basin experienced the absolute worst storm that anyone in Southern California could ever remember! Lorewyn’s final doubling cuts for Olivia de Havilland on The Adventures of Robin Hood were delayed, as was most everything else related to the studio.
February 27 and 28, a storm blew in from the Pacific, hitting the Los Angeles area hard, affecting the city and surrounding towns as far east as the San Gabriel Mountains. Water levels rose, but didn’t linger. However, on March 1, a second storm hit, creating gale force winds that knocked out electricity, damaged homes, and caused even more rain to dump on the basin to the effect that the San Fernando Valley was almost completely flooded, up to six feet in places!
Lorewyn and Rhianyn stayed holed up in their second-story apartment in Burbank for three days straight, thankful for their decision to pick the second story instead of the first when they were given the option upon moving there seven years earlier. Rhianyn made the noteworthy and ironic observation.
“Had we been traditional Elves and stuck with a home on ground level, no doubt we’d be swimming by now!”
The rains and wind stopped, however, and by Thursday March 3, the water had lowered some and power to several parts of the Los Angeles area was being restored. Rhianyn got a call from Hughes that morning.
“The damn storm messed up our schedule,” he complained. “We had a D-2 engine test planned for Monday, but no dice. I need you to get down to Martin Field today and run a simulation with the design team.”
“Orange County?” Rhianyn stated. “Even if the roads are drivable, what about the field itself? How can we even…?”
“We can’t delay on this!” Hughes insisted over the phone. “I’m already stalling Odekirk… he’s on a timeline. The cylinder’s been sitting there for the past week, ever since I had it brought from Culver City. Glenn wants it back, fully tested, by this weekend so he can move on the radials starting Monday. I just called Marsha, she’s down in Santa Ana now. She says it’s wet but workable.”
Rhianyn sighed but gathered her gear for the test. She tried to get her Chrysler started, but the flooding had caused too much damage. Lorewyn, however, was able to get the Eagle started, so she drove Rhianyn down to Orange County.
“That’s my Atropos,” she said smugly, patting the Chevy’s dashboard. Rhianyn just rolled her eyes, only partially amused.
The roads south of downtown Los Angeles were somewhat better than those closer to the San Fernando Valley, but there was still a lot of mess. Lorewyn was eventually able to get Rhianyn to Martin Field.
“How long do you think you’ll need?” she asked.
“Hard to say,” Rhianyn answered. “If the weather stays like this, decent and all, maybe two or three hours?”
“No sense in me driving back to Burbank,” Lorewyn considered. “Atropos needs gas. I’ll stop at a filling station, then pick up some dinner for us for after you’re done, okay? I’ll be back in a while.”
“About what I said earlier regarding more rain and cooler weather?” Rhianyn mused, getting out of the car.
Lorewyn just laughed, said farewell, then drove away from the field, making for Harbor Blvd. and a couple places she knew for gas and dinner in Anaheim.
Harlow’s service station on Los Angeles Street in Anaheim didn’t seem to have any other customers as Lorewyn pulled up, the bell dinging as the wheels of her Chevy Eagle made contact with the pavement strips. The attendant on duty came out and approached the driver side.
“Regular or premium, ma’am?” he asked. Lorewyn usually got 110 leaded octane, partly for the engine but also because the country was still in an economic depression, and if she could afford the higher octane to stimulate commerce, she would.
“Premium, please, thank you,” she responded. She had never been to a filling station in Southern California that allowed a driver to pump their own gas, which she thought was a bit silly. She was fully capable.
But… having an attendant means a job for someone who might really need it right now, she had reasoned.
The attendant proceeded to fill gas while Lorewyn stepped out of the car for a moment. Something had triggered her keen Elven senses… she wasn’t quite sure what, but it was something. Just… something in the air. It had taken both her and Rhianyn quite a long time living in this realm to attune themselves to the natural rhythms of the world as they had been in Cordysia. But after a millennium and a half, she was well-attuned, and those senses were alerted for some reason.
She glanced around. Another car had pulled up at the opposite pump, a middle-aged man with a hat. He smiled in a friendly way and lit up a cigarette while waiting for the attendant to finish with Lorewyn’s car.
“Care for a light?” he asked Lorewyn, offering a Lucky Strike.
“No thank you,” Lorewyn replied politely. I hate those things! She couldn’t help but think. If I wanted fire and smoke in my mouth and lungs, I’d be a Dragon!
But there was something else, something…
The attendant finished pumping, topping off just a bit to round up. “$2.50, please.” Lorewyn nodded, giving him the money and was just putting her pocketbook back in the glove box when a young man, perhaps in his early 20’s, came running up from the direction of Lincoln Ave.
“Frank!” He yelled frantically, trying to get the station owner’s attention. The owner, Frank Harlow, stepped out from inside the garage.
“Frank, the Santa Ana River’s flooding!” the young man continued to shout. “Katella’s under a couple feet of water already… you need to get out of here!”
Frank’s eyes widened as he ran back into the garage. The attendant who was now filling the man’s car dropped the handle and bolted. The man himself extinguished his cigarette hastily and threw the butt a few yards away. Lorewyn inhaled sharply, realizing where they were and what was close by, but soon realized that the butt was in no danger of igniting… for it was thrown into a gutter that was now rapidly filling with water, rising above the sidewalk line. Lorewyn could now see a steady tide washing across Los Angeles Street. A few cars passing by had already pulled over, the water level making it difficult to continue.
“By the grace of…!” Lorewyn whispered in a gasp under her breath. Blackbird! She thought. A moment later she was screeching away from the service station and racing down the boulevard as fast as she could, Atropos leaving a wake of current behind like a jet ski.
Lorewyn initially tried going south, figuring that was the fastest way to Martin Field, but the flooding was already too high. She flipped a U-turn, hydroplaning a bit, then took off north toward Broadway, her plan being to cut across and take an alternate route east with higher elevation back to Santa Ana.
Her plan would’ve worked had she not hit a dip in the road near the intersection of Clementine. Atropos sank, the water coming through the undercarriage, the doors, everything. Lorewyn was quickly soaked from the midsection down, and the car’s engine was flooded. She stalled, unable to start the car again.
She grabbed her pocketbook from the glove box and her now drenched coat from the backseat and leaped up, the roll-top having been down since leaving Harlow’s. She nimbly jumped onto the hood, feeling the car begin to drift with the moving water, which was now passing five feet.
Lorewyn shook her head, realizing her predicament, and looked quickly around. She was w
ithin ten feet of a traffic sign on a steel pole. Beyond that, a dumpster with sufficient height and then a brick wall that seemed to separate a tennis club from an adjacent residential area. She glanced up and down the street. No one was paying attention to the blonde on the hood of the floating car at the moment.
Lorewyn sprang from the hood, catching the traffic sign pole and using it to swing feet-first toward the dumpster. She landed, knelt to catch her stance, then leaped once more to the top of the brick wall, barely a foot wide but manageable.
I guess I could say I’m a gymnast from the 1936 Olympics if anyone notices and asks? She considered. Ugh, never mind. I think we only got one bronze, if that.
She started running along the wall, keeping watch for her next move, when she saw a high-chassis lorry-styled truck parked on Clementine, less than a block from her current location. Aha! She grinned.
Lorewyn sprinted, picking up speed, and jumped from the wall, about a seven or eight-meter gap to cover in order to reach the bed of the truck.
Jesse Owens won the gold in long jump, she mused. Better odds with this one!
She had just landed on the bed, the shocks bouncing a bit with the sudden impact, as a woman who looked to be about 30 suddenly stuck her head out of the cab, looking behind at what she had felt on the truck from Lorewyn’s jump.
“Who on earth are you?” she asked, obviously flustered given what was happening around her.
Startled, Lorewyn steadied herself on the truck bed. The vehicle was stable, however, it’s height and weight sufficient as an anchor in the flood.
“My name’s Liv,” Lorewyn replied. “I’m sorry if I scared you! This is a bit of a scary situation all around, isn’t it?”
“You’re telling me!” the woman exclaimed. “I’ve been trying to get this truck in gear and started for the past few minutes. It’s my husband’s… or his company’s actually. He gave me the keys and told me to get me and our son out of here while there was still time.”
Lorewyn maneuvered herself to the driver’s side running board. The woman made room for her. Lorewyn peeked into the cab. Sitting in the passenger seat was a small boy, perhaps two years old. He looked terrified.
Two Birds, One Feather: The Lives and Times of Lorewyn & Rhianyn in America Page 13
