by Jane Peart
Kip began gathering up sheets of newspaper, balling them up in his hands, then took them over to the fireplace where he proceeded to lay a fire. He threw on some kindling from a nearby basket, placed a gnarled log well back into the hearth, and struck a match to it. Soon, with some sputtering and snapping, the wood ignited.
"We'll have a nice fire going in a few minutes," he said, brushing his hands. "It's one of the things I like best about fall. I find there's something intimate and cozy about a fire. Seems to evoke memories and invite confidences." He came over and sat down beside Crystal. "For example, there's so much more I'd like to know about you."
"What would you like to know?" she asked. "My life's pretty much an open book. No deep, dark secrets here."
"Oh, I'm not so sure about that. Everyone has secrets of some sort, some things we wouldn't want everyone to know. At least, not at first. Take me, for instance. I would want you to get to know me and like me a great deal before you found out some of my faults and foibles, of which there are many. I'm sure there are lots of folks in Mayfield who would be happy to supply a list of them, if given a chance." His eyes, intense and searching, held hers. "You do believe me, don't you? I want us to become friends. . . . "
Before she could speak, Luc came running into the room. He was followed by a handsome black woman in a neat, flowered housedress, carrying a tray. Kip got up and took it from her, then introduced Crystal.
"Thanks, Mattie. This is Miss Kirk who's renting Eden Cottage. And this is our Mattie, without whom Luc and I couldn't begin to manage."
Mattie gave Kip a scoffing look and smiled pleasantly at Crystal. "Pleased to meet you, Miz Kirk. The gingerbread's jest out of the oven, so it's a little gooey."
"Just the way I like it." Kip rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Mattie's the best cook in Mayfield County. Here, just sample this." He held out the plate of dark, spicy squares to Crystal while Mattie stood by for the verdict. Luc looked on with interest.
Crystal took a bite of the warm, spicy square, then closed her eyes to signal her pleasure and pronounced it "Delicious!"
Satisfied, Mattie smiled and left the room.
Kip poured them all glasses of icy sweet apple cider, the best Crystal had ever tasted. After devouring his refreshments, Luc took a place on the floor and began building with his logs, and Kip picked up their conversation.
"So, how long do you expect your project here to take?"
"It depends. I'll have to do some exploring first, scout out the houses that seem interesting. Then I always take more pictures than I'll need, though I won't know until I'm back in New York where I'll develop them. But I've brought plenty of glass plates for filming. And if I need more . . . well, I can send away to a photographic supply house in New York or Richmond."
"Do you plan to photograph Montclair?"
She nodded. "With your permission, naturally."
He gave a little bow. "I'd be honored."
Just then Luc interrupted. Holding up a toy airplane, he asked, "Papa, is this the kind you flew?"
"No, son. That's a Curtis Jenny. I flew Spads and Blériots."
Luc made a buzzing sound like an airplane engine, swooping the small model up and down in imitation of flight.
"You fly?" Crystal asked. "You're an aviator?"
"Was. I flew with the Lafayette Escadrille."
"In France? Before 1917?"
"Yes, we were first a mixed group of volunteers—English, Canadians, as well as Americans attached to the French Flying Corps."
"How very brave."
"Some thought it irresponsible and reckless." Kip's smile was ironic.
"Fools to risk death for a cause."
"I would say idealistic and courageous."
"We were all pretty young. Had no real idea what we were getting into."
"My husband was a war correspondent. He didn't have to go, either, but he did."
Kip shot her a look of surprise. "So it's Mrs. Kirk?"
"Yes. But he was killed."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know. I was lucky. Many of my friends were killed." He frowned. Then staring into the fire, he said, "I lost my wife, too. Not in the war, although she was a French ambulance driver—a very dangerous job. Ambulances were often the target of bombs, in spite of their Red Cross markings." He grew pensive. "We met when we were both on leave in Paris. We fell in love and married. She died . . . having Luc."
He looked over at the little boy, who was happily engaged in building a hangar for eight tiny planes, unaware that he was the subject of their conversation.
"How tragic," Crystal said in a small voice.
"Yes, well. . . there were a lot of tragedies." Kip's eyes were haunted.
"Yet life does go on. Somehow. One can't mourn forever. It's been nearly seven years since Sandy died."
"And there's been no one since?" He was genuinely surprised.
She shook her head. "I wasn't looking for anyone. My work keeps me busy now." With this, Crystal placed her empty glass on the tray and rose. "And speaking of work, I must leave. I have to get organized for my exploring trip tomorrow."
Kip got to his feet. "I'll drive you back to the cottage."
"No, thanks just the same. In fact, I'd enjoy the walk. It's still light, and the woods are so lovely this time of day."
"I know this part of the county like the proverbial back of my hand, so if you ever need a guide, I'm at your service," he said with a mock bow.
"That's generous of you. But half the fun of this sort of thing is taking the byroads, the unexpected turns. Serendipity, you know.
Happy surprises." Crystal went over to the child, where he was at play, and held out her hand. "Good-bye, Luc. I'm very happy to have met you."
"Au revoir, mademoiselle" he said, spontaneously, then clapped his hand over his mouth, glancing at Kip. "I forgot, Papa."
"That's all right, son." Kip tousled his hair affectionately, then explained to Crystal. "Luc's part French. He's only been with me a little more than a year, so I have to keep reminding him that he's an American now."
Crystal smiled. "You must come see me sometime, Luc, at Eden Cottage."
"Could I see how your camera works?"
"Of course. I could even take your picture, if you like."
Luc grinned and Crystal thought what a handsome child he was, what a picture he would make. He looked much like she supposed Kip had looked as a little boy except for his eyes. Those snapping brown eyes were probably a legacy of his French mother. Still, no doubt he'd be a heartbreaker when he grew up. Just like his father.
Kip walked with Crystal to the place where the path through the woods began, then stood watching the slim figure until it disappeared through the pines. He was intrigued. He had never met a woman like Crystal Kirk—staunchly independent, a woman with a life and a career of her own. Not the kind of woman he was accustomed to, yet Kip had always been challenged by the unknown. . . .
As she walked slowly back through the woods, Crystal was thinking about Kip Montrose and his house. Both had captured her imagination. He, handsome, charming, enigmatic; his ancestral home, as mysterious as its master. That Montclair had to be photographed as part of her collection was a given. But it was more than a professional decision. She was drawn inexplicably to the man. . . .
But she felt a check. Kip seemed as haunted by the past as the house. It would be a mistake to become too involved. Attractive as he was, to fall in love would be disastrous.
When Eden Cottage came into view, Crystal quickened her steps. She must get back to reality, back to making plans and being sensible. She had come to Mayfield to work, and she'd better get at it.
chapter
13
THIS IS MADNESS, Crystal told herself. She was seated in Kip's roadster, the wind whipping her hair, as they rushed along the country road on yet another impromptu adventure.
That morning he had shown up at the cottage with a picnic basket in the rumble seat. In spite of all her resolutions, he had
coaxed her to abandon her plans for the day. Now he looked over at her and grinned. "You'll be glad you came, I promise."
She tried to shake her head but found herself smiling back at him instead. "You're a bad influence on me, you know that, don't you?"
"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, and Crystal—well, you know."
"It also makes me hopelessly behind." She sighed. "I really don't know why I let you talk me into these things. I'm usually not this . . ."
"Irresponsible?" Kip shrugged nonchalantly. "People have been calling me that all my life. I disagree. I think I get a whole lot more out of life than most people."
"I wasn't going to say irresponsible. What I was going to say about myself was that I'm usually not this easily persuaded to do things against my better judgment. I do have a contract, a deadline to meet."
"I let you bring your camera, didn't I? In fact, I helped load all your equipment into the car."
"Yes, you did." Crystal laughed. "But you're still impossible!"
"Irresistible, don't you mean? I do hope you find me irresistible." His eyes twinkled mischievously.
Crystal threw him a disparaging look as if his arrogance was simply too much. Yet in her heart, she knew it was going to take all her willpower to resist his undeniable charm.
When they turned into the gates of Bennett's Airfield, Crystal wasn't too surprised. She knew that flying was still an ongoing interest of Kip's and that he flew regularly. Maybe he wanted to show her the plane he piloted. His real motive in bringing her here was totally unexpected.
They got out of the car, and Kip preceded her to where a small two-seater plane was parked. The mechanic who was checking the fuselage, looked up at Kip's approach and hailed him.
"Is she all set, Mike?"
"Filled up and ready to go, Kip." Glancing over his shoulder at Crystal, he jerked his head in her direction. "Got a passenger, eh?"
Kip grinned. "If she's game."
Crystal felt her whole body tense. So that's what he was up to! She returned Kip's provocative look, knowing she could not refuse the challenge. This was some kind of test, and Crystal was determined not to fail it.
Kip turned back to the mechanic. "Got an extra jacket and some goggles, Mike?"
"You bet." Mike gave him a broad wink, reached into the second cockpit and brought out a short leather jacket, a helmet, and goggles. He looked over at Crystal, raising shaggy brows.
Kip laughed. "How about it, Crystal?"
She walked toward the two men, her heart in her throat but her head held defiantly high. Mike helped her into the jacket, and she tucked her hair under the helmet and fastened it under her chin. Then adjusting her goggles, she turned for their approval. "Well?"
They exchanged a look that gave her a temporary feeling of triumph. Then they assisted her into the cockpit, and Mike showed her how to put her arms through the harness straps. "You okay?" he asked, sounding doubtful.
She nodded vigorously and smiled while clenching her teeth tightly together so they wouldn't chatter. Her heart was pumping wildly.
She saw Kip don his gear, then spring into the pilot's seat behind her, while Mike ran around to the front and spun the propeller. A deafening roar alerted her that Kip had pushed in the starter and the engine was turning. She felt the first movement as the small plane rolled into position and began bumping down the runway.
Crystal's heart throbbed. She swallowed hard, her hands clutching the rim of the panel in front of her. She felt like screaming, Wait! Let me out of here! But before the words could escape through her gritted teeth, she felt the lift of the plane's wheels, the swish of the wind on her face. Then they were airborne.
Gradually her tense fingers loosened their grip, and Crystal dared to turn her head to the side and look down. She had no idea how high up they were, but below them the Virginia countryside spread out like a patchwork quilt—the soft green of the meadows; the river, like a silver ribbon; the autumn foliage, brilliant gems of color in the sunlight.
Suddenly she began to feel a sensation of heightened awareness. The noisy plane vibrated beneath her, but somehow it seemed part of her now, or she part of it. There was no fear anymore, only a sense of elation like nothing she had ever experienced.
Kip shouted something, but over the din of the engine, she could not make out his words. To reassure him, she gave him a thumbs-up.
Almost too soon, Crystal felt the plane bank and turn slowly, and she realized that they were heading back to the airfield. Then, she felt the gradual descent and the faster thrust of the wind as they lost altitude. Kip was an excellent pilot, she could tell, for she barely knew when they touched down, and the landing was executed with hardly a bump. Before she knew it, they were on the ground, rolling down the field toward the hangar, where they came at last to a full stop.
Crystal's ears were still ringing when Kip jumped down and held up his arms to help her from the cockpit.
He looked a trifle sheepish. "Are you okay?"
"Fine!"
"Do you feel I played a dirty trick on you?"
"No, not exactly," she said, taking off her helmet and shaking out her hair. "But you could have asked me ahead of time."
"I guess I didn't give you enough credit. Sorry. You're a real sport, Crystal." There was a glint of admiration in the look he turned on her. Then, his hand resting on the wing tip, he stroked it unconsciously, almost affectionately. "She's a sweet little bird, isn't she?"
In a flash of insight Crystal recognized the bond between the man and the machine. Kip was among those bold, brave, even reckless explorers who had destroyed the myth that mankind is earthbound. That kind of man would never be satisfied with the ordinary. Without that thrill, that rush of adrenaline achieved in the air, life would seem dull, lacking in excitement. What could such a man possibly do with the rest of his life that would compare?
Before she thought, Crystal blurted out the question in the back of her mind: "Kip, what are you going to be when you grow up?"
The stricken expression that crossed his handsome features at her remark startled her. She had not meant to wound. Her light comment had been made in jest, but his reaction lay somewhere in between. There was something perennially boyish about Kip that was as disturbing as it was attractive.
"What's so great about being grown up!" he shrugged. An edge of bitterness crept into his voice. "Oh, I've thought of becoming a stunt pilot. There's a big demand for that sort of thing at State Fairs. Or I could do loops and long spins for the crowd at Air Shows. But there's something macabre about that. Everyone's waiting, half-hoping there's going to be a crash." Then, to Crystal's vast relief, he reverted to a bantering tone. "Then I've thought of barnstorming . . . even crop dusting." He sighed and again there was a spark of steel in his voice. "I'm a father, after all. I've got to be responsible, become a pillar of the community. Maybe I'll run for public office, who knows?"
He gazed off into the distance. "I'd like to tell people about flying. It's the wave of the future, you know. Air travel, transportation, cargo, mail distribution—all will eventually be accepted as safe, economical, practical. People have the mistaken notion that aviation is a kind of circus performance, a hobby, a plaything for men who haven't grown up. . . ." He halted, then looked at her, a whimsical grin on his face. "Well, who am I trying to convince? You did enjoy it, didn't you? Come on, let's have our picnic."
"Just a minute. First, I want a picture."
"Of me? A memento of the day?" Kip put his hand melodramatically over his heart. "I didn't think you cared."
"I know a good shot when I see it," Crystal replied coolly. "Stand over there next to the plane," she directed with authority. "Rest your elbow on the edge of the cockpit . . . that's good . . . now turn your head a little to the left and lift your chin. That's right. Look up. . . ." She found him in the viewer, centered it. The sun slanted at just the right angle, accenting Kip's strong features, his eyes squinted slightly as he gazed into the sky.
&nbs
p; Crystal caught her breath. The expression on Kip's face was that of a man looking at his beloved.
"All right?" There was a trace of impatience in his tone. "Did you get it?"
"Wait, please. I want to get a second . . . just to be sure." She slid another plate into her camera, pressed the bulb, knowing this one was perfect.
Afterward they lunched on the contents of the basket Mattie had packed for them—sandwiches of thin sliced Virginia ham on homemade bread, savory pickles, deviled eggs, containers of chicken salad, a thermos of delicious lemonade, and another of coffee.
"Oh, Kip Montrose, you're ruining me!" moaned Crystal as she munched on an oatmeal and raisin cookie. "What am I doing here, having a leisurely picnic when I should be working?"
"Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'Carpe diem'—'Seize the day'? Why don't you just relax and enjoy all this?" Kip's sweeping gesture encompassed the cloudless sky, the fragrant meadow. The only sounds were the distant hum of bees buzzing in the clusters of wild purple asters and Queen Anne's lace.
Crystal sighed. "I suppose it's because I come from a long line of Yankee Puritan ancestors. The work ethic is strong in me. I can't change."
"You will, when you've been here a while longer."
Kip's words struck Crystal sharply. His smile was complacent, confident. She felt the tug of his charm. It frightened her because there was truth in what he said. She had already begun to change.
When Kip dropped Crystal off at the cottage, she steadfastly refused his invitation to dinner and took stock of her situation.
The work-filled agenda she had mapped out for herself was fast going by the wayside. In spite of her best intentions, Kip Montrose kept invading her time . . . and her thoughts. He had made a habit of dropping by Eden Cottage just as Crystal was getting ready for the day's outing, armed with her list of stops at the sites of various buildings that had been suggested as "musts" for her photographic project.
Crystal was honest enough to admit she had not put up much resistance to all these diversions. The fact was that she had fallen under his spell, so much so that it was easy to neglect her original objectives.
