Magnolia Gods (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 2)

by Thomas Hollyday

  “ ‘Ownership papers?’ he insisted.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  “ ‘Bring them along,’ he said.”

  “ ‘Where do you want my pilot to deliver the airplane?’ I asked.”

  “ ‘Where is it now?’”

  “ ‘In the air on the way to New York,’ I said.”

  “ ‘You can’t bring it here. This is a downtown building,’ he said and became very excited.”

  “ ‘It's a seaplane,’ I explained.”

  “ ‘We can arrange to take the seaplane in the harbor when it arrives.’”

  “ ‘I want an official there to take possession,’ I said. I could hear him conferring with someone else in his office.”

  “ ‘The only higher level official in New York this Fourth of July is the Minister of Agriculture,’ he said, when he came back on the line.”

  “ ‘He’ll be fine,’ I said.”

  Vallery didn’t send for a few minutes. Then the code came in again. Vallery sent, “When should I have the greeters available?”

  Before Jesse could answer Vallery, another ham broke in. “What you fellows doing there?” He identified himself as an operator from Atlantic City.

  “We are delivering a steam airplane to the United Nations.”

  “Steam airplane. That is so cool. Why do you want to give it to them jerks? Give it to Uncle Sam.”

  Mike looked at Robin. “Can’t please everybody,” he said.

  “We got the plane so we got the say,” she replied and adjusted the trim.

  Jeremy called out. “Guess what? The only food on this crate is World War Two issue.”

  “God, don’t open it,” said Mike. “Talking as a museum man, the stuff is worth a fortune to collectors but only if we keep it in the original packs.”

  The fireworks displays of the cities below them became brighter as the night wore on. The rockets trembled upward and some exploded very close to the craft. It was like anti-aircraft fire.

  “Friendly fire from Americans,” said Mike.

  “No,” said Robin, “It’s like they are apologizing to Captain Lawson.”

  More code came in.

  “We're here,” Jesse answered. “Go ahead, Vallery.”

  “Just thought you'd like to know. The politicians are having a great time with the disposition of the Magnolia Whispers.”

  “What is happening?”

  “The United States and the United Nations are arguing about who gets the plane. The United States government has demanded the airplane be turned over to them. The United Nations has refused. The conference was just on television. Television reporters are interviewing prominent politicians who are giving their opinions on the air of what to do with the Magnolia Whispers. Mike, you're probably going to be asked to address the United Nations Assembly.”

  Mike put his hand on Robin’s shoulder. “You got your chance to fly the kind of plane the great aviators flew. You always said that was your dream.”

  She started shaking. Tears came from her eyes.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I can’t do it anymore.” She looked at him, sobbing slowly. “The shooting, the weakness of the aircraft, the fight you had with that man, it’s all too much for me. The small landing area. I can’t do it anymore.”

  “You’ll be all right, Robin,” he said, stroking her shoulder.

  “You’re going to have to land her in Lake Success. You’re the only one.”

  “You’ve had all the float plane time,” he tried to reassure her.

  “I’m scared, Mike. Don’t you understand? That lake is more like a pond. I’ll crash and kill us all.”

  Mike looked at her. She was scared. He had never seen her this way. She had been so brave, taking off in all that gunfire. He knew she was right, that he had no choice, that no one else could land the plane. He reached forward and took the controls. Robin fell back in her seat, her face in her hands, sobbing. The plane trembled slightly under his hands and then straightened.

  “I’ll get us down,” he said. “Don’t worry. He felt suddenly strong, stronger than he ever had before, with no fear of the airplane, of what was ahead, of the danger. All he had in the back of his mind was his love for Robin and his desire to save her life and the lives of the others.

  He looked at the chart and said to her. “We’re pretty close to the lake. We better have a looksee.” Mike circled the big seaplane, dropped the wing floats and began the descent.

  The radio crackled.

  “They want to know what we are doing,” said Jesse. “The control tower radar reports we’re not close enough to New York Harbor.”

  “Tell them we’re having mechanical trouble. We’re going to have to come down on Long Island.” Mike could see the lake shore and the lights of small cottages.

  The radio spoke again, “We’ve got you. You are over a golf course at Lake Success. Nothing there but a small lake.”

  “We thank you for the information,” Jesse radioed back. “Can you have the houses turn on their lights? We’ll need all the lights we can get. We have to make an emergency landing at Lake Success.”

  A few moments went by. Then, lights began to go on down below, first one house, then two or three more and then automobiles and all the other houses, all outlining a large ring. Even small pinpoints of light were moving back and forth.

  “The people are waving their flashlights,” said Jeremy, watching through his porthole.

  Jesse reported, “They’re following us on television. That’s how these people in Lake Success got the message so fast,” said Jesse.

  Mike had brought the seaplane lower. He was in a glide path that would bring him in over some high rise apartment buildings and then down into the water. He aimed the nose toward the small circle of lights and braced for the impact.

  “Stand by with that steam pressure,” Mike called to Regal. “We may need to climb real fast if we start to run out of lake surface.”

  Robin raised her face from her hands. “Brace yourself,” Mike said to her. She put her hands against the control panel in front of her.

  Mike was now close enough to see the water surface, and the light from the automobile headlights reaching out over the reeds and shallow water at the lake edge.

  “We’re going to be all right, Robin,” he said, softly, as he used the last of his strength to hold the controls steady.

  As the plane glided over the first few feet of the lake surface, Mike could catch glimpses of people holding flashlights, waving from porches of the lakefront houses.

  Then Mike heard again, pounding in his mind, the old song that his mechanic had whistled a few days ago, so long ago that it seemed like forever. He began to mouth the words, his hands and feet fighting the controls.

  “Ha, ha, ha, you and me,

  “ little brown jug, don’t I love thee!”

  Robin joined him, chanting,

  “Ha, ha, ha, you and me,

  “little brown jug, don’t I love thee!”

  The others sang too, louder and louder, repeating the stanzas, fighting their fear as the plane finally touched the water, sending a great wave of water and spray up along the side of the hull. The metal of the plane groaned and trembled, its own noise cascading against the voices of the singers, all of them shouting the lyrics like a prayer

  “little brown jug, you and me,

  “little brown jug, how I love thee”

  Mike, his lips still moving with the song but his voice silent, reversed the turbines and the plane slowed, still hard to steer, moving quickly through the water like a racing boat. Robin, no longer sobbing, grabbed and held the controls adding her strength to that of Mike as they tried hold the plane straight, while the vibration threw the two of them from side to side in the old pilot seats.

  Through the noise, Mike heard Jeremy’s voice screaming from below, trying to tell him something. Jeremy gripped the fuselage beside him, fighting the thrashing back and forth of the plane’s impact against the w
ater surface. He managed to climb up from below and stand beside Mike. Then Mike felt the water at his feet and knew what Jeremy was trying to say.

  “We’re sinking, Robin. Everybody. Let’s get ready to get out of here,” Mike yelled.

  “It’s all the holes from the ground fire, the machine guns,” Jeremy’s voice finally came through.

  “Get everyone up here in the pilot’s compartment,” said Mike. “We’ll have to get out the forward escape hatch.” He looked ahead into the lights of the cars and the buildings. The shoreline was coming close and fast. The plane was going to hit the treeline.

  “Give her reverse,” yelled Regal. “She’ll do it for you.”

  “Giving her reverse,” said Mike, his hands gripping the controls. “Hold on, everyone.”

  “You’re going to make it,” said Robin, her hands tight on the controls.

  “I like that. Confidence in my flying,” muttered Mike, as the plane lurched back and forth, fighting his attempts to slow it down.

  The turbines were whining a shrill high speed noise. The plane was shaking even more, the forces on the wings far more than the old ship had been designed for. One of the wing struts suddenly pulled loose from the hull and sent up a sheet of spray as it began to rip apart a section of the wing.

  Then, as by a miracle, the plane began to slow down. The noise of the water rushing by became quieter as the hull slowed. The spray against the windshield ebbed and Mike could see the outside lights more clearly.

  “We’re going to hit soon,” said Robin.

  The water was over Mike’s ankles. Mike turned to Robin. Just as he did, the plane lurched, pushing all of them toward the windshield. The seaplane’s nose burrowed into the shoreline and Mike heard the sound of tree limbs scratching the fuselage and wing surfaces. Robin had fallen on top of him, her arm across his chest. Jeremy was hard against the windshield.

  The plane had stopped. He clawed his way back to the pilot’s seat and shut down the engines. The water in the cockpit was slopping forward and back around Mike’s waist. Robin got back to her seat and Jeremy stood and began to loosen the hatch.

  “We’re on bottom,” said Jeremy. “She won’t sink any further.”

  Through the cockpit windows it looked like they had landed at the foot of the golf club at the end of the lake. Mike finished turning off the rest of the switches and called to Regal to release steam pressure. White vapor rushed around his shoulders as the valves opened. Above him, he saw that the great propellers had stopped.

  Without the swish of the propellers and whine of the turbines, he heard only the sound of escaping steam. Then a new kind of noise came through the plane. It was a sound of human voices. The seaplane was surrounded by people, screaming, yelling, cheering. A television camera was thrust against the canopy glass, the photographer banging against the windows with his lens guard.

  They had done it. Mike had done it. He had met the challenge. His father’s face was momentarily there, a glimmer he thought he saw on the inside of the windshield, then it faded away. He reached for Robin’s hand.

  “I finished it,” he said.

  “I wanted this to happen,” she said, starting to smile. “I wanted it with all my heart.”

  At that moment, seeing the joy in her eyes, Mike realized what had happened, what she had conspired to do. She had fooled him. She had never been afraid. She had pretended fear knowing that he would take over the controls, knowing that if he did, he would prove to himself that he could overcome the past. He would prove to himself that he was no coward, but more important, he would prove to himself that he was as good a man as his father. Knowing what she had done for him and also knowing that she would never admit it or accept any gratitude, he bent down and slowly kissed her hand.

  “Excuse me, folks,” Regal mumbled as he squeezed by them and reached outward to help Jeremy open the hatch. As he pushed against the window, it opened and the cool Long Island air rushed in. Jesse had climbed forward from the radio section and was standing behind them. As the air came in, he said, “That’s the best air I’ve ever tasted.”

  Hands reached in from outside the window.

  “Welcome to Lake Success,” a voice shouted.

  “You outside, we got a wounded man to be helped,” Mike yelled in return.

  A camera lens was inserted in the opening and began to wave back and forth over Robin’s head. Then, other hands pushed away the cameras. Soldiers dressed in military camouflage uniforms reached inside to help them. Other cockpit windows were pulled open from outside, and many arms and hands were extended.

  “How do you feel?” a reporter screamed holding a microphone to Mike’s face. The newsman had a grin on his face that was too big to be ignored and Mike grinned back.

  “Glad to be here,” Mike replied.

  The water had stopped rising. Mike was wet up to his waist. He looked at Robin and she smiled. He reached down in the water, found the small safe that held all the papers on Captain Lawson and Aviatrice and took a firm grip on it. Then he turned to the reporter and said, “We feel just fine, thank you.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  10 AM, July 5

  Lake Success, New York

  “So it’s all over and we’re still alive,” Mike said to Robin, smiling as he folded the newspaper he had been scanning.

  They were sitting on a patio, surrounded with rose bushes and with a view of Lake Success. Behind them were large sliding glass windows of the Lake Success Country Club main building. In front of the veranda was the small lake where they had set down the Magnolia Whispers last night. To their left, behind some trees, they could see the seaplane itself, the metal of the bow crumpled slightly where it had hit the beach.

  “If I had known how small that lake was, I don’t think I would have tried this stunt,” said Robin, looking out at the lake, her hand up to shade her eyes from the morning sun.

  People in Lake Success had treated them with great respect and had given them a hero’s welcome. A luxury motel in the area, a short walk from the Country Club, had set aside its best rooms. A motel van, escorted by the town police, had arranged to take them to their lodging when they finally left the seaplane.

  Now, gathering for coffee with the others in the morning sunshine, Mike could begin to put perspective on what the experience had accomplished. Jesse sat with him and Robin, his arm in a sling. Jeremy had telephoned that he would join them soon. The waitress, a young woman in a green dress with the country club name across her right chest pocket, was smiling at each in turn as she took their orders and served coffee.

  Mike stretched back in his chair and noticed Robin’s bare feet. “What happened to your shoes?”

  “With all the shooting, I lost them somewhere,” she said.

  “You flew the Magnolia barefoot?” Mike asked.

  “It’s not that hard,” she said, smiling. “I’ll teach you.”

  She sipped her coffee. “You know, last night I think I understood how Lindbergh must have felt coming into Paris. I saw the headlights of the cars along the lake and I felt like I was opening up a new era.”

  “Like the joy of pulling it off,” said Mike.

  She nodded. “Then I noticed all the souvenir hunters and I started to worry about Magnolia Whispers, whether she would survive. That was what happened to Lindbergh. I think some of the wing fabric was taken. Even Regal was saying to me that he was afraid people would get inside and take the steam instruments.”

  “The water came in too fast for that.” Mike said, trying to see the plane behind the trees.

  “They’ve put restraining lines and large flotation balloons on her,” he said as he stood up and looked out.

  “They must have been at work on her all night,” said Jesse.

  “The Navy did all that,” said Mike. “They had to get permission from the United Nations before they could touch her though. The United Nations security people are in place around her. I can see some patrol boats. I don’t think any souvenir hunters
can get within a hundred yards of her.”

  Robin said, “The desk clerk at the motel told me this morning that the roads into Lake Success are filled with cars. People are coming in from all over, especially the city and Connecticut and New Jersey.”

  Jesse smiled and added, “I got here this morning a little before you, Robin, and a reporter asked me what I thought of the Magnolia Whispers fable, the old Nanticoke legend. I guess it’s become a subject for debate, the Nanticokes and their fears.”

  “What did you tell him?” Robin asked, looking at Jesse.

  “I said that it’s better if people figure the story out for themselves,” said Jesse.

  “I have more good news,” said Mike. “Vallery called me to say that the Philadelphia police have released some more information on Lawson’s case. They were given a letter from a sailor who put the munitions on the Magnolia back in 1946.”

  “That’s good police work,” said Robin.

  “Apparently, the man died several years ago,” said Mike. “He left a letter with his daughter that he wrote just before he died. When the television shows began going over the story of Captain Lawson, she thought the time had come to give the letter to the authorities. I went and bought the newspaper. Here, you can read it.”

  Mike handed the New York Times to Robin. Under a large photograph taken of the cockpit window of the Magnolia Whispers was the headline, “Sailor’s letter confirms Lawson diary.” The undated letter was printed in a box in the center of the page.

  To my daughter, December 1970

  “I had mentioned to you before that I had been involved in some shady business during the time I was in the Navy. I want to make sure that you know the real story. In 1946 I was in charge of maintaining seaplanes at the Naval Aircraft Factory in Philadelphia, where, as your Mom always told you, I was stationed just before I got out of the Navy.

  “I was pretty good at my job and my officers gave me a lot of responsibility. Then, one day just before the Fourth of July, I was asked to check out one of the prototype seaplanes. I thought it strange that I was being asked to service the plane. Up to now, Captain Lawson, one of the special projects engineers, had done it all himself. Besides, the airplane was hard to service because most of the stuff on it was experimental and I had no up-to-date instruction manuals.