On a short day trip to Woodburn, Cricket learned that Officer Davis had moved his family and his brother’s family from Akron into the Hastings’ home. They already had a cow, twenty chickens, plenty of firewood for the coming winter, and plans for an enormous garden in the spring. For the three-mile ride to the police station, Officer Davis rode a bay Quarter Horse, a gift from an elderly couple he had saved from vandals. Cricket had told the officer the bay needed company and he agreed, saying that he first needed to see his two teenage boys—who loved the prospect of each having their own horse—work for the purchase of enough hay and grain before the first snow.
Cricket and Fritz finished the preflight and first walked over to the mechanic’s pickup truck and then the troop carrier. They wished them all a good drive down to the Holaday farm and reviewed the signals from the Mustang. They next went over to the Humvee, which had already pulled alongside the Barracuda.
Standing between the two vehicles in the tall grass, Fritz explained: “Cricket and I will keep flying several miles ahead, scout the terrain, and circle back and overfly you folks. We’ll be about two thousand feet above the ground. If we need you to stop, I’ll come screaming in low right over the treetops. Of course if you see us go after some bad guys with the Mustang, we all stand and fight.”
“Wow,” came the boys’ response, and the girls watched the handsome pilot, hanging on his every word.
Everyone was quiet, sober, listening to the instructions. Only Diesel smiled, tongue out, panting loudly.
Fritz added, “We need to be tuned up for the unexpected, but I’m counting on an uneventful, pretty drive down south. Stick close to the Guardsmen. They’re good guys and heavily armed.”
“We’ve got the fire power to neutralize threats,” Cricket said. “You’ll be safe. Now, you’ll see some traffic—trucks, cars, tankers, normal stuff. Just be careful going around abandoned vehicles. Take it slow. We plan on arriving at the Holaday ranch by three this afternoon and having an early dinner.”
A cheer went up.
“A blessed, safe trip is my prayer,” Sister Marie said.
Everyone got out of their vehicles for a last round of hugs and kisses. Ethan and Caleb eagerly scrambled out of the Humvee to kiss Cricket. Sister stayed put and when Lily and Lee Ann jumped back in, they leaned over the front seat, brushed back Sister’s hair, placed a Cleveland Indian’s ball cap on her head and took turns kissing her, careful not to touch her bad shoulder. The soldier driving the Deuce and a Half leaned out from the cab and saluted everyone.
Cricket and Fritz headed to the Mustang; Cricket had won the coin toss earlier.
Minutes later, they took the grass runway. Cricket applied the power smoothly and just as smoothly brought up the tail without any change in heading. Perfect rudder control. Airborne, Cricket climbed to three thousand feet to check out the first miles of their journey. She circled back and gave the all-clear by simply overflying the caravan on a south heading and rocking her wings.
Following the Humvee, Lawrence put the old muscle car in drive and drove slowly through the tall grass and onto the two-lane road that would lead them to the freeway.
The Mustang roared through the skies in pursuit of freedom and peace, just as it had over seventy years ago. The horizon was vast, and the dramas yet to be played out across that cosmic stage even more so. Both pilots scanned the road and countryside ahead. For now the world’s beauty matched the happiness felt above and below. A supreme moment of efficiency and love had returned.
Acknowledgments
I want to especially thank my editor David Swindle for his early and continued support for Pulse of the Goddess. David’s input and keen insights really helped to bring the story to completion. And thanks to publishers David Bernstein and Adam Bellow at Liberty Island for giving Emily Cricket Hastings and Company their day in the sun. And a big shout-out across time and space to Steve Buck, who passed away in 2017: Your inspiration and friendship burns as strong as ever.
About the Author
Fred Tribuzzo spent his young adult life splitting his time between music and flying. He received a fellowship from the Ohio Arts Council for piano, oboe, and string compositions, played electric bass in a number of fine bands, and performed on several CDs while steadily building his flight hours. From grassroots aviation to flying the Citation Ten--the world’s fastest business jet--he incorporated those experiences into his memoir, American Sky: Good Landings and Other Flying Adventures, published in 2014. Fred also flew internationally for eight years on a Boeing 737. And it was on the far side of the world that he wrote Saint Nick, a modern-day Scrooge tale.
Currently, his creative hours includes playing guitar and electric bass for singer/songwriter Marilyn DeFrange. Fred can be heard at Outbound Music playing bass on Marilyn’s song “You Chose Me.” The rest of his day is spent “reporting” on the ongoing trials and adventures of heroine Emily Cricket Hastings.
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Pulse of the Goddess: American Blackout Book One Page 30
