The gunshot to start the race was fired in Cleveland and transmitted by radio to Clover Field. One by one the lightweight planes took off. Mittie was third in line. Calista fourth. Whatever happened now was up to Mittie. When she was airborne, she gripped the wheel and lifted her chin. She shouted into the wind, the feel of it on her cheeks intoxicating.
A short sixty-eight miles later, Mittie coasted into the San Bernardino airport for the first stop, where another crowd greeted them and rushed out on the field to see the planes and the women who flew them. When all had arrived, they were whisked to the hotel and the banquet that awaited, euphoria the tide they rode.
The day’s excitement and tension had taken its toll, though, and not even Calista’s chattering could keep Mittie awake once her head hit the pillow.
An hour later, shouting and banging erupted outside her door, and when she went to see what the ruckus was, a woman she recognized from the banquet said, “Get dressed. To the airfield now. All the planes have to be checked.”
They were bussed to the airfield, their insides coiled with an unknown fear. The night crew had discovered that two of the women’s planes had oil in the gas tanks. Bobby appeared at Mittie’s side and told her he’d check hers and Calista’s, that more than likely the crew was inexperienced and that it was just an unfortunate error. She could have kissed him for offering to help. Only two were found to be affected, but the next morning, rumors of sabotage circulated among their ranks.
Still, as Mittie readied for the second day of the race, confidence surged through her. The highway below led her through the high desert mountains to the oasis of Palm Springs. She consulted the map to verify when to bank right and head south. She skirted the edge of the Salton Sea, the aquamarine patch on the landscape a short respite from the vast barrenness of the desert. Heat shimmered on golden sand below, a raw beauty of its own. Joshua trees with their spiny limbs reached up from clumps of dry grass and mounds of stone. Endless miles stretched before her, a ribbon of road the guide that would take her to Calexico for a required flyover. The sun was intense, cooking her from above and from the reflection of the desert floor below. Mittie wiped a drip of sweat that trickled from beneath her leather helmet, the wind in her face that of a furnace blast. She flew low over the crowd in Calexico who came just to see the swoosh of planes go by, then nosed up and headed east toward Yuma. She ran her sandpaper tongue over her lips to moisten them, the swigs of water from her canteen inadequate to quench her thirst.
The little canary plane bucked with the wind that whipped sand up from the earth, blinding her, pelting her skin. Her eyes burned as she flew higher to avoid the sandstorm, but wherever she went, the grit and current went with her. Her shoulders ached from gripping the wheel. Her legs, too, from keeping the rudder steady. She prayed she wouldn’t run into one of the other planes with the poor visibility. She prayed that her face wouldn’t melt off. And she uttered a prayer of gratitude when the sand thinned into a gritty veil and the airfield at Yuma came into view.
Calista was already there and welcomed Mittie when she emerged from the cockpit. “Isn’t this beastly, all this heat and ferocious sand? Amelia crashed coming in, and Bobbi flipped her plane on its back.”
“No! Are they all right?”
“Amelia has a busted propeller, and they’re still looking at Bobbi’s plane.”
Mittie tipped up her canteen, draining it, her mouth filled with grit, and together, she and Calista huddled under the wing of her little bird and waited for everyone to arrive. News spread among them that Marvel Crosson, a sweet, outgoing girl from Alaska, was having engine trouble and having a new one sent to Phoenix. Thea, who’d come all the way from Germany, received a telegram warning of sabotage.
A sense of unease wound through their ranks as Amelia’s plane underwent repairs and Bobbi’s plane needed more work. In quiet fear, the women took off for Phoenix, their last stop for the day. If Amelia could crash in her heavyweight plane, what fate awaited the rest of them?
Mittie made record time flying over rough terrain and its unpredictable wind patterns. It was still hot, and her lips had blisters from the heat and sun, but another kind of quiet had settled within her. Resolve to finish. To give it her all. When thoughts of Ames flickered in, she shoved them out. There would be time to think of him later.
Not a breath of air stirred when Mittie landed in Phoenix. A single cloud, maybe the size of a mattress, floated across a brilliant blue sky. The first news was that Thea from Germany had crashed shortly after takeoff in Yuma. She and her plane were no worse for the wear, but when she investigated, she found garbage stuffed in her carburetor. She cleaned it and took to the air again, arriving safely. One by one, the women arrived, but as the afternoon waned on, Marvel still hadn’t come in. Was it another act of sabotage or the cranky engine Marvel was going to replace in Phoenix?
Pancho gathered the women together. “Someone is trying to stop the race. We don’t know who, but if we squawk too loud, it will feed the notion that women aren’t fit to fly and they’ll win. I’m asking for more security. Not asking…demanding.” The officials agreed to the security issue, and when reporters tried to get the women to talk about the vandalized planes, they stood firm and said the rumors were simply that—unfounded hearsay.
A chorus of ruddy-faced women with pale circles around their eyes where goggles had been sat down to another meal of baked chicken. Marvel still hadn’t arrived, and search parties were activated, but no one felt like celebrating the day’s winners. The only thing any of them wanted was to see the wide smile and dimpled cheeks of the girl from Alaska they’d come to regard as a kindred soul.
Tempers were short and tension as tight as a kite string the next morning when there was still no news of Marvel. Bobby checked and rechecked everything possible on Mittie’s plane, and when they met for the hug they always shared before she left, he held her close. They stood facing one another, fingers clasped, his eyes as clear as the cloudless sky. Mittie broke the trance with a smile, but Bobby stepped closer and, with an oil-smudged finger, tilted her chin. He ran his tongue along his lower lip, warmth radiating between them. Her breath caught as Calista’s words danced through her head. Open your eyes, darlin’.
For an instant she thought he would kiss her, but someone yelled, “Places, ladies!” and broke the spell. Relief zipped through her. Calista and her flippant remark had put ideas in Mittie’s head that she wasn’t ready to think about.
Bobby gave her a hurried hug and said, “Take care, dear Mittie.”
With the wind at her back, she soared across the mountains toward Douglas, Arizona, where news of Marvel’s fate awaited. Her plane had crashed in a mesquite jungle, her broken, lifeless body discovered a hundred yards away. Her parachute was half open, but both it and her plane had failed her.
Mittie had neither the heart nor the courage to call her parents and tell them what happened. After the banquet that evening, a somber time of realization that their quest was one of uncertainty and danger, Bobby asked if she would walk with him. With mountains in the distance and stars overhead, they walked in silence until they came to a small park with a gazebo in the center. Bobby sat on the second-to-last step and patted the spot beside him.
“Sweet little town, isn’t it?” Mittie said as she pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them.
“Another fascinating part of America.”
“Are you enjoying the drive with Victor?”
“Very much, but not nearly as much as what I’m doing at this moment.”
“It’s good to get away from the crowd for a few minutes.”
Bobby stretched his legs out before him and leaned back on his elbows. “I actually had a reason for taking you away. It’s been a sobering couple of days, and this morning, with Marvel still missing and you getting ready to fly across unknown territory, a feeling gripped me so strongly that I almost asked you not to go.”
“We’ve all felt the strain and worry about Marve
l. And now the terrible sadness. But we have to go on. All of us.”
“I know that, but what I finally understood was what Catherine must have felt every time I flew. The fear that I might not come back. The inability to live with that fear. That’s what I felt about you this morning—a mortal panic that it might be the last time I saw you laughing and twisting your hair up under your flight helmet. Or the last time I saw you teasing Peach, so full of life.”
Her breath caught. A nick in her heart. “You know I have to do this.”
“Yes—no matter what anyone thinks or feels, it is something you must do. And that’s why, when news of Marvel came, I knew what I needed to do as well.”
His words hung in the air, the chirp of a cricket nearby. Mittie held her breath, unsure of what he would say next. She turned her head, eyebrows raised, and waited.
Bobby sat back up, reached for her hand. “I know that whatever has transpired between you and Ames has probably not played its course, that there are frayed edges that need mending. I’m not trying to rush that or alter what time alone can heal. But I also can’t let you go off another day without declaring my feelings for you.”
The night swirled, stirred by Bobby’s mention of Ames, her unexplored feelings, the pain she hadn’t worked through. But a thought she couldn’t quite capture also niggled.
Gently, Bobby rubbed a thumb along her finger and continued. “I love you, Mittie. I have since the day I first saw you, but I wouldn’t allow myself to hurt someone again, to take the responsibility for another woman’s emotions so soon after Catherine. And then you fell in love with Ames. May still be in love with him…”
The memory of Bobby saying he’d fallen in love with Kentucky and someone there slammed her chest. Her. He was talking about her.
She struggled for air and said, “I don’t know what I feel for Ames. Numb. Betrayed. I suppose outraged, but you’re right—I’ve not worked through it.” And she certainly wasn’t ready to fall into another man’s arms. Not even one who had tugged at the corners of her heart from the moment they’d met.
“I only want you to know that when you have, I’ll be waiting. I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love another human being.”
Mittie blew out a long breath, another cricket joining in the chorus. “I think it’s time for me to sort out those feelings.”
He rose and took her hand, pulled her up, and asked if he could kiss her. She kissed him first. A sweet, sisterly peck on the cheek.
Chapter 31
Two stops were scheduled before the next overnight, and as Mittie flew over the sagebrush and rocky prairies of southern New Mexico, she opened the envelope in her mind that contained the puzzle pieces of Ames. If she were cold and calculating, it would be easy. He’d taken her daddy’s money and used it foolishly. He’d broken the trust between them and lied. He wasn’t trustworthy. But neither was Mittie’s heart. More of Ames bubbled beneath the surface of that rakishly handsome smile. The tenderness when he visited with children at barnstorming. The excitement he couldn’t contain when they met after a long absence. The way he picked her up and swung her around in his strong arms. The delicately woven bracelet made from Gypsy’s mane and tail. The grandfather who drank and provided no moral compass. His niece, Lela, who brought a softness to his eyes when he spoke of her.
He lied. He took Daddy’s money. He skipped out on responsibility.
Like the tangled underbrush of the belly of New Mexico, her thoughts wove in and out. She screamed to the sky to give her an answer. She prayed to God Almighty to touch Ames, to make him remorseful. He was that, of course, but following through and making amends eluded him.
The wheels beneath her bounced when Mittie touched down at the border town of Columbus, New Mexico, no closer to knowing her heart than she had four days ago.
It was a quick stop and she was back in the air, back to the ponderings that left her arms numb and precipitated an ache behind the eyes. Below her white sands shifted like the sea, waves of steel blue and stark white, a dark ridge that gave way to dunes of soft gray. Shifting like the many faces of Ames. Ames the drifter. Ames the dreamer. Ames the one who made her heart dance and her knees turn to jelly. She had no future with him—of that she was sure. At least the moral compass that her parents had given her was enough to point to true north. To right and wrong. To doing the right thing when it mattered. And when it didn’t. The landscape darkened with a cloud that hovered over the sand and in her heart. She consulted her map, checked the gauges, and looked for the airfield of El Paso below. To her left, the sky lit up with a jagged streak of lightning.
Giant raindrops pelted the earth like arrows as she taxied and pulled into the slot the flagman indicated. She stuffed her maps under her flight jacket and dashed for the terminal. She was next-to-the-last person to make it in, but the thunderstorm had grounded them all. They wouldn’t finish the day’s itinerary.
Taking advantage of the unexpected night off from the “rubber chicken” circuit, some of the women organized a trip to Juárez for a night of fun. Mittie pulled Bobby aside to tell him of the plans. “You should be a lot more worried about what happens across the border than me flying in the sky.”
He laughed and told her to have a good time, that he and Victor were going to find the biggest steak in El Paso.
Calista danced on top of a table in the second cantina they visited, shaking the maracas one of the locals provided and eating up the attention. Mittie settled for feasting on rich tamales swimming in borracho beans, accompanied by ginger water laced with tequila. It was just the frivolity they needed, and as they trooped down the street, arm in arm with the heat of the desert drying their bones, the bonds that had held them together for five days strengthened. They would need it, for trouble was brewing in Texas.
At breakfast, the news was delivered that a Texas oil tycoon had demanded the air race be halted because women weren’t capable of flying, and that without men for guidance, they were handicapped.
Outrage at the statement united the women even more, and a prompt rebuttal was issued by the race officials. They were off to Pecos with clear skies above them and more determination than ever. In Pecos, Blanche reported she’d had a fire in her baggage compartment and had to make an emergency landing to put it out. Since she was miles from anywhere, she had to prop her own plane to finish the trip. That day also, Pancho, who’d been their leader and biggest supporter, crashed on landing into a car that had infringed on the runway. Pancho was uninjured, but her plane was demolished, putting her out of the race.
When Mittie landed in Fort Worth, she expected Calista to greet her since she’d been ahead of her on their two touchdowns in West Texas, but the little orange plane wasn’t there.
A knot twisted in Mittie’s stomach that grew tighter as the day waned on. When Bobby suggested she might be lost, Mittie snapped at him. “Calista has better sense of direction than a homing pigeon. Something’s happened—I just know it.”
Mittie refused to leave the field and get ready for the evening banquet. Bobby sent Victor on and stayed with her, offering only the comfort of his presence. Mittie paced around the hangars outside, her eyes peeled to the west where ribbons of clouds turned fiery red and then purple, softening with the dusk into deep violet and burnt umber.
Someone shouted behind her. “Hey, Kentucky!”
Mittie turned and ran to her dusty, ragged friend, their arms entwined while Calista told her and Bobby what had happened.
“One minute everything was fine, then the engine started sputtering and the fuel gauge went to empty. I sort of panicked and started looking for a place to land, but I was over some rocky hills and there were oil derricks in every direction. I waited too long and nosed down too fast. Peaches landed headfirst in a yucca thicket.”
“And you? Were you hurt?”
“Rattled is all.”
Her flight pants were shredded, her hands scratched, but she was safe.
“Some guys from
an oil rig found me walking around in a daze and gave me a lift.”
“You’re here—that’s all that matters.”
“But I’m out of the race. The plane’s a total wreck.”
“That stinks.”
“It’s up to you now, Kentucky.”
Calista wore one of Mittie’s dresses to the banquet that night where the other women gathered around with hugs and tears in their eyes. Back in their room, Mittie begged Calista to ride the rest of the route with her, but she refused. “This is your show now. You won’t let me down, will you?”
“I’ll do my best not to.”
“Good, because I’ll be in Cleveland, the first to welcome you.”
Calista left the next morning with her team to go back to Atlanta. Their parting wrenched Mittie’s heart. She would make it to Cleveland. For both of them.
Being in Fort Worth had also stirred up memories of Ames and his connections there. A desperation to sort out her conflicting feelings clawed at her bones. The skies hadn’t given her the answers, and as near as she could tell, God was also silent on the issue. They touched down in Tulsa to pay homage to Wiley Post and Will Rogers, then zipped off toward Wichita, where a huge reception for their hometown girl, Louise Thaden, awaited.
Mittie slept terribly that night and awoke feeling sluggish, but while she was packing her gear, the locket on the gold chain fell from the blouse she was folding. A shiver went through her. This was the niggling thought she’d been unable to bring to focus.
Why would Ames give her a family heirloom with the picture of a grandfather he couldn’t wait to get away from? Speaking to Ames about it—even if she could—would only bring another set of excuses and lies. But there was one person who might shed some light—Ames’ sister in Iowa. Now if she could only remember the name of the town where Fern and Lela lived.
A Flying Affair Page 26
