“I'll go home in a while, Dad. I just want to do some stuff here.” At seventeen, she was a real beauty. But she was completely unconscious of it, which was part of her charm. And the overalls she wore molded her figure in a way that only irritated her father more. As far as he was concerned, she didn't belong here. It was not an opinion that was going to change, and theirs was an argument that everyone had heard at least a thousand times if they'd ever been to O'Malley's Airport, and today was no different. It was a hot June day, and she was out of school for the summer. Most of her friends had summer jobs in the drugstore, the coffee shop, or stores. But all she wanted to do was help out, for free, at the airport. It was her life and soul, and the only time she worked anywhere else was when she was desperate for a little money. But no job, no friend, no boy, no fun could ever keep her away from the airport for long. She just couldn't help it.
“Why can't you do something useful, instead of getting in the way here?” her father shouted at her from across his office. He never thanked her for the work she did. He didn't want her there in the first place.
“I just want to pick up one of the cargo logs, Dad. I need to make a note in it.” She said it quietly, looking for the book and then the page that she needed. She was familiar with all their logs, and all their procedures.
“Get your hands off my logs! You don't know what you're doing!” He was enraged, as usual. He had grown irascible over the years, though at fifty he was still one of their finest pilots. But he was adamant about his philosophies and ideas, although no one paid much attention, not even Cassie. At the airport, his word was law, but his battle against women pilots and his arguments with her were fruitless. She knew enough not to argue with him. Most of the time she didn't even seem to hear him. She just quietly went about her business. And to Cassie, the only business she cared about was her father's airport.
When she'd been a little girl, sometimes she'd sneaked out of the house at night, and come to look at the planes sitting shimmering in the moonlight. They were so beautiful, she just had to see them. He had found her there once, after looking for her for an hour, but she was so reverent about his planes, so in awe of them, and of him, that he hadn't had the heart to spank her, no matter how much she'd scared them by disappearing. He had told her never to do it again, and had taken her back to her mother without saying another word about it.
Oona knew too how much Cassie loved planes, but like Pat, she felt it just wasn't fitting. What would people think? Look what she looked like, and smelted like, when she came home from fueling planes, or loading cargo or mail, or worse yet, working on the engines. But Cassie knew more about the inner workings of planes than most men knew about their cars. She loved everything about them. She could take an engine apart and put it back together again faster and better than most men, and she had borrowed and read more books on flying than even Nick or her parents suspected. Planes were her greatest love and passion.
Only Nick seemed to understand her love for them, but even he had never succeeded in convincing her father that it was a suitable pastime for her, and he shrugged now, as he went back to some work on his desk, and Cassie went back out to the runway. She had learned long since that if she stayed away from Pat, she could hang around for hours at the airport.
“I don't know what's wrong with her … it's unnatural …” Pat complained. “I think she does it just to annoy her brother.” But Nick knew better than anyone that Chris didn't give a damn. He was about as interested in flying as he was in getting to the moon, or becoming an ear of com. He hung out at the airport occasionally, to please his dad, and now that he was sixteen, he was taking flying lessons, to satisfy him, but the truth was, Chris didn't know anything, and didn't care, about airplanes. He had about as much interest in them as he did in the big yellow bus which took him to school every day. But Pat was convinced, or had convinced himself, that one day Chris would become a great pilot.
Chris had none of Cassie's instinct for it, or her passionate love of the machine, or her genius about an engine. He only hoped that Cassie's interest in planes would get his father off his back, but instead it seemed to make him even more anxious for Chris to become a pilot. He wanted Chris to become who Cassie was, and Chris couldn't. Chris wanted to be an architect. He wanted to build buildings, not fly planes, but as yet, he had never dated to tell his father. Cassie knew. She loved the drawings he did, and the models for school. He had built a whole city once out of tiny little boxes and cans and jars, he had even used the tops of bottles and all sorts of tiny gadgets from their mother's kitchen to complete it. For weeks she had been looking for things, bottle caps had disappeared, small tools, and vital utensils. And then it all reappeared in Chris's remarkable creation. Their father's only comment had been to ask him why he hadn't designed an airport. It had been an intriguing idea, and Chris still said he was going to try it. But the truth was, absolutely nothing about flying enticed him. He was intelligent and precise and thoughtful, and the flying lessons he was taking seemed incredibly boring. Nick had already taken him up dozens of times, and he had logged quite a few hours. But none of it interested him. It was like driving a car. So what? To him, it meant nothing. And to Cassie, it was life itself. It was more than that, it was magic.
She stayed out of her father's office that afternoon, and at six o'clock, Nick saw her far down the runway, signaling a plane in, and then disappearing into one of the hangars with the pilot. He sought her out a little while later, and she had oil on her face, and her hair was tied in a knot on her head. She had a huge smudge of grease on the tip of her nose, and her hands were filthy. He couldn't help laughing as he looked at her. She was quite a picture.
“What's funny?” She looked tired, but happy, as she smiled up at him. He had always been like a brother to her. She was aware of how handsome he was, but it didn't mean anything. They were good friends, and she loved him.
“You're funny. Have you looked in the mirror today?
You're wearing more oil than my Bellanca. Your father is going to love that look.”
“My father wants me cleaning house in a housedress, and boiling potatoes for him.”
‘That's useful too.”
“Yeah?” She cocked her head to one side, and was an intriguing combination of absurdity and sheer beauty. “Can you cook potatoes, Stick?” She called him that sometimes and it always made him smile as he did now when he answered.
“If I have to. I can cook too, you know.”
“But you don't have to. And when was the last time you cleaned house?”
“I don't know …” He looked thoughtful, “Ten years ago maybe … about 1926?” He was grinning at her and they were both laughing.
“See what I mean?”
“Yeah. But I see what he means too. I'm not married and I don't have kids. And he doesn't want you to end up like me. Living in a shack off the runway and flying mail runs to Cleveland.” His “shack” was very comfortable by then if not luxurious.
“Sounds good to me.” She grinned. “The mail runs I mean.”
“That's the problem.”
“He's the problem,” she disagreed. “There are plenty of women flying and leading interesting lives. The Ninety-Nines arc full of them.” It was a professional organization founded by ninety-nine female pilots.
“Don't try and convince me. Tell him.”
“It's pointless.” She looked discouraged as she looked up at her old friend. “I just hope he lets me be out here all summer.” It was all she wanted to do now that she was out of school until the end of August. It would be a long summer, hiding from him, and trying to avoid confrontations.
“Couldn't you get yourself a job somewhere else, so he doesn't drive us both crazy?” But they both knew that she preferred to do without any extra money at all than miss a moment at the airport.
“There isn't anything else I want to do.”
“I know. You don't have to tell me.” He knew the extent of her passion better than anyone else. He had
suffered from the same disease himself. But he'd been lucky. The war, his sex, and Pat O'Malley had made it possible for him to spend the rest of his life flying. Somehow, he didn't think that Cassie O'Malley was going to be as lucky. In a funny way, he would have loved to take her up in a plane one of these days, just to see how well she would fly, but that was one headache he didn't need, and he knew Pat would kill him for it. Without meddling in Pat's family life, Nick had his own work to do, and there was plenty of it at the airport.
As Nick went back to his desk to clear up the last of his paperwork, he saw Chris arrive. He was a good-looking boy, a handsome blond with fine features like his mother's, and his father's powerful build, and warm brown eyes. He was bright and nice and well liked. He had everything in the world going for him, except a love for airplanes. He was working at the newspaper that summer, doing layouts, and he was grateful he didn't have to work at the airport.
“Is my sister here?” he asked Nick hesitantly. He almost looked as though he wished Nick would say no. He looked as though he couldn't wait to leave the airport. As it was, Cassie had expected him an hour before and she'd asked Nick impatiently half a dozen times if he'd seen him.
“She is indeed.” Nick smiled at him. He kept his voice low so he wouldn't irritate Pat, in case he overheard him. “She's in the back hangar with some pilot who just flew in.”
“I'll find her.” Chris waved at Nick, who promised to take him up again in a few days, when he came back from a run to San Diego, I'll be here. I came out to practice my solos,” he said solemnly.
“I'm impressed.” Nick raised an eyebrow, amazed at how badly the boy obviously wanted to please his father. It was no secret to Nick that Chris really didn't enjoy his lessons. It wasn't that he was afraid, it was more that they just bored him. To him, flying meant nothing. “See ya.”
Chris found Cassie easily, and she left her newfound friend very quickly once she saw her brother. She was quick to berate him. “You're late, now we're going to be late for dinner. Dad'll have a fit.”
“Then let's not do it.” He shrugged. He hadn't even wanted to leave work as early as he had, but he knew she'd be furious with him if he didn't.
“Come on,” she blazed at him. “I've been waiting all day!” She flashed an angry look at him, and he groaned. He knew her too well. There was no escaping Cassie when she set her mind to something. “I'm not going home till we do it.”
“Okay, okay. But we can't stay up for long.”
“Half an hour.” She was begging him, pleading with him, turning her huge blue eyes imploringly to his gentle brown ones.
“Okay. Okay. But if you do anything to get us into trouble, Cass, I swear I'm going to kill you. Dad would have my hide for this.”
“I promise. I won't do anything.” He searched her eyes as she promised him, and he wanted more than anything to believe her, but he didn't.
Together, they walked toward the old Jenny their father had had for several years. It had been built as a trainer for the military, and Pat had told Chris he could use it now any time he wanted to practice. All he had to do was tell Nick, and he just had. Chris had a copy of the key, and he took it out of his pocket. Cassie almost salivated when she saw it. She was standing close to him, and she could feel her heart beat as Chris opened the door to the small open-cockpit airplane.
“Will you stop it?” He looked annoyed at her, “I can feel you breathing on me. I swear … you're sick …” He felt as though he were helping an addict supply his habit as they walked around the plane, checking the wires and ailerons. Chris put on his flying helmet and goggles and gloves, and then got into the plane in the rear seat, and Cassie climbed in quickly ahead of him intending to look like a passenger, but somehow she didn't. She looked too knowledgeable, too comfortable, even in the front seat, especially once she put on her own helmet and goggles.
They both buckled in, and Cassie knew the plane was well fueled, because part of her deal with her brother was doing all the scutwork for him; and she had done it herself that afternoon. Everything was ready and she inhaled the familiar smell of castor oil that was characteristic of the Jenny. And five minutes later they were headed down the runway, with Cassie watching Chris's style critically. He was always too cautious, too slow, and once she turned around to signal to him to go faster, and pull up. She didn't care if anyone saw her. She knew that no one was watching now, and everything she knew, she knew from listening and watching. She had watched her father and Nick, transient pilots, and barnstormers. She had picked up some real skills, and a few tricks, and she knew flying by instinct and by sheer intuition. It was Chris who had had the lessons, and yet it was Cassie who knew exactly what to do and they both knew she could have flown the plane easily without him, and a lot more smoothly.
Eventually, she shouted at him over the sound of the engine, and he nodded, willing her not to do anything foolish. But they both knew exactly why they had come up here. Chris was taking lessons from Nick, and in turn he was giving Cassie lessons. Or, in fact, the way it had been working out, Chris was taking her up in the plane, and letting her fly it, and she was giving him lessons. Or just enjoying the opportunity to fly. She seemed to know how to do everything, a lot better than Chris did. She was a natural. And she had promised to pay him twenty dollars a month for unlimited opportunities to fly with him in their father's plane. He wanted the money to spend on his girlfriend, so he had agreed to do it for her. It was a perfect arrangement. And she had worked hard all winter, at odd jobs, baby-sitting, and loading groceries, and even shoveling snow to save the money.
Cassie handled the controls with ease. She did some S turns, and lazy eights, and then moved on to some deep turns, which she did carefully, and with perfect precision. Even Chris was impressed with her easy, careful style, and he was suddenly grateful to her for how good she would make him look, if anyone was watching him from the ground. She was a splendid pilot. She moved into a loop then, and then he started to get nervous. They'd been up together several times before, and he hated it when she did anything fancy. She was too good, too fast, and he was afraid she might get out of control completely and do something really scary. For twenty bucks, he wasn't willing to let her terrify him. But she didn't even notice him. She was concentrating on her flying. So he just glared at the back of her helmet, and watched her red hair fly in the breeze around it. And eventually, totally fed up with her, he tapped her hard on the shoulder. It was time to go back, and she knew it. But for a few minutes, she pretended to ignore him.
She wanted to do a spin, but there was no time and she knew Chris would have a fit if she tried it.
But in his calmer moments, he'd have had to admit that his sister was a very smooth pilot. Even if she did scare the pants off him more than half the time. He just didn't trust her. At any moment, she was perfectly capable of doing something really crazy. There was something about airplanes that went to her head and made her forget all reason.
But she lost altitude carefully, and then let Chris take over the controls again, before they landed. As a result, his landing was not as smooth as hers would have been. They touched down too hard, bumping awkwardly down the runway. She was trying to will him to land the plane properly, but Chris had none of her instincts and as a result he'd done a “pancake” as he landed, hitting the ground hard after leveling off too high for a proper landing.
When they got out of the plane, both of them were surprised to see Nick and their father standing near the runway. They'd been watching them, and Pat was grinning broadly at Chris, while Nick seemed to be staring at Cassie.
“Nice work, son,” Pat beamed. “You're a natural pilot.” Pat looked immensely pleased and overlooked the shabby landing, as Nick watched them. He'd been watching Chris's face, but he was much more intent on Cassie as he had been from the moment she stepped out of the plane. “How was it being up there with your brother, Cass?” her father asked her with a smile.
“Pretty good, Dad. It was really fun.” Her eyes dan
ced like Christmas as Nick watched, and Pat led Chris back to the office, as Nick and Cass followed behind in silence.
“You like flying with him, huh, Cass?” Nick asked carefully as they sauntered toward the office.
“A lot.” She beamed at Nick, and for reasons best known to himself he wanted to reach over and shake her. He knew she wasn't telling the truth, and he wondered why Pat was so easily fooled. Maybe he wanted to be. But those kinds of games could be dangerous, even fatal.
“That loop looked pretty good,” Nick said quietly.
“Felt good too,” she said, without looking at him.
“I'll bet it did,” he said, watching her for a moment, and then, shaking his head, he went back to his office.
A few minutes later, Pat drove the kids home with him. When Nick heard their car leave, he sat at his desk, thinking of them, and the flying he had just seen. He shook his head with a rueful grin. He knew one thing for sure. Chris O'Malley had not been flying that plane. And he couldn't help smiling to himself, as he realized that somehow Cassie had found a way to fly. And maybe, just maybe, after all her hard work to get there, maybe she deserved it. Maybe he wouldn't challenge her for a while. Maybe he'd just watch and see how she did. He smiled to himself again, thinking of the loop he'd seen her do. Next she'd be flying in the air show. But why not? What the hell? Everything about her told him she was a natural. She was more than that. He sensed instinctively that woman or not, she needed to fly, just like he did.
2
When Pat, Cassie, and Chris walked into the house that night, all of Cassie's sisters were in the kitchen helping their mother. Glynnis looked like Fat, and at twenty-five, had four little girls of her own, and had been married for six years. Megan was shy like her mom, and looked like her, though her hair was brown. At twenty-three, she had three sons, and had married six months after Glynnis. Their husbands were farmers, and had small properties nearby. They were decent, hardworking men, and the girls were happy with them. Colleen was twenty-two and blond, she had a little boy and a little girl, both were barely more than toddlers, and Colleen had been married for three years to the English teacher at the local school. She wanted to go to college, but she was pregnant again, and with three kids at home there was no way she could go anywhere, except if she took them with her. It wouldn't be fair to leave three kids with her mother every day just so she could go to school, and her father wouldn't have let her anyway. Maybe when the kids were older. For the moment college was only a dream for her. The reality of her life was three babies and very little money. Her father gave them small “gifts” from time to time, but Colleen's husband was proud, and he hated to take them. But with his own wages so small, and a new baby only a few weeks away, they needed all the help they could get, and Colleen's mother had given her some money that afternoon. She knew they needed it to buy things for the baby. Depression wages had hit the schools, and they could hardly eat on what David made, even with regular gifts from her parents, and food given to them by her sisters.
Wings Page 3
