Chapter 4
Back to work. It was another sweltering day. Sweat trickled down the back of Hank’s neck as he parked his Model T and headed toward the hangar at Belmont Park.
He spotted the Turf and Field Club in the distance with its ridiculous turrets. For a moment, he was a knight in shining armor, riding on a horse to rescue a princess with blonde curls and mischievous blue eyes from an evil prince who wanted to steal her away.
What the hell is wrong with you, Hawley? He shook his head to clear it.
Coffee. That was what he needed.
Heading straight to the lunchroom, he poured himself a cup, took a drink, and winced. Yup. That woke him up all right.
After a few more acidic gulps, he sauntered out to his Jenny and yawned. Would he ever get the hang of mornings?
At least he wasn’t thinking about Rory Belmont.
He didn’t think about her as he went through the motions of his pre-flight checks. He definitely didn’t picture her perched on the fuselage of his plane, her mischievous eyes following his every move.
As he took off, there was no feminine voice whispering, “Oh, Hank, I’ve never had such a smooth takeoff. Show me how you do it.”
Because he wasn’t thinking about her, damnit.
But despite his best intentions, the fantasy his mind had created slipped into the cockpit with him, straddling him and saying, “Take me higher, Hank. Take me soaring through the clouds.” She moved against him, her taut nipples brushing against his chest through her thin, silk blouse.
No. Absolutely not. Hank had a plane to fly.
Michigan. Think of your family back in Michigan.
That just brought him back to this week’s conversation with his sister. Another sore topic.
“Are you taking care of yourself, Hank?” Kate asked.
He wasn’t, but he couldn’t very well tell her that.
“Yes, Kate. You can tell Ma I’m taking good care of myself,” he said into the phone. “Early to bed, early to rise. Apple a day and all that, I promise. Is she taking care of herself?”
“She’s doing what she’s always done—up at dawn milking cows and feeding chickens and then puttering around the farm all day.
Lately, she’s been canning up a storm. The house smelled like tomatoes for a week.
And we had a bumper crop of zucchini. I can’t tell you when I last had a zucchini-free meal. ”
Hank laughed. “What I wouldn’t give for some of Ma’s cooking, zucchini and all,” he said.
“You should come home for a visit. Ma misses you.”
“I will. I just don’t know when,” Hank sighed.
“It’s been a rough year for her, losing Pops…and Benny. It would mean so much to her if you would come.”
Hank winced at the catch in his sister’s voice as she said Benny’s name. “I will. I promise I’ll try to figure out a time. Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you again same time next week. Give my love to Ma.”
“Will do. Fly safe.”
“I always do.”
Another lie. He took unnecessary risks, and he knew it. Benny was the good son, the one who always did the right thing. If anyone was going to survive the war, it should have been him. Pneumonia took down Pops in the same year. It was just too much.
Hank adjusted his goggles and checked his navigation. Still on course, thank heavens.
But Michigan was still on his mind.
He was the man of the family now, even if he couldn’t think of anyone less suited. He’d never wanted to stay on the farm. With a healthy father and a big brother who was eager to take it on, he never thought he’d have to.
Now he was prolonging the inevitable, putting off his return again and again because he knew if he went back, he’d never escape.
Seeing Ma and Kate all alone on that farm with just Jeremiah and the farm hands to help would break his heart.
He couldn’t leave them to fend for themselves.
But as long as he didn’t go back, he could pretend everything was fine.
He could avoid thinking about the enormous holes Pops and Benny left in their lives.
It wasn’t real. He didn’t have to face it.
Every week, he told himself just one more week, but it had been over a year now since Pops’ funeral.
It was time to go. No more excuses. He should go buy those train tickets to Michigan right now.
Except he couldn’t. Because he was in the air, halfway to Philadelphia.
And there wouldn’t be time when he landed.
He was supposed to change planes and fly to D.C.
He wouldn’t be back in the city with free time until Thursday.
Hell, he’d waited this long, he could wait a few more days, couldn’t he?
He checked his fuel levels and made a slight course adjustment.
As he looked up, a dark stripe appeared in the far distance, and he swore.
The storm clouds moved fast, roiling where the coastal breeze hit the inland heat.
He tried to find a nice field to land in to wait out the storm, but there were no good options.
Before he knew it, he was flying into the storm.
Thunder rumbled around him, and lightning flashed.
The sky darkened, and rain began pouring down.
The mail was safe beneath an oilcloth, but he was exposed, protected only by his goggles, leather jacket, and aviator cap.
Rain spattered his face and streamed down his neck, soaking his shirt and pants. I just need to get to the other side. A pocket of turbulence jolted him and made his heart skip a beat. Stay with me, Jenny. Stay with me.
These summer storms never lasted long. Fifteen, twenty minutes of violent drenching, then they disappeared.
He gripped the stick for dear life, praying this didn’t knock him too far off course. Thunder cracked, and lightning struck right in front of him. The sizzle echoed in his ears as he prayed as hard as he’d ever prayed in his life.
The plane seemed to be trying to buck him out.
He fumbled for the safety strap he usually didn’t bother with and fastened it across his lap.
Maybe today was the day he’d lose the fight.
Who would miss him if he didn’t make it out?
His family? A few friends in the Postal Service?
Hank didn’t have much to show for himself aside from a few medals during the war.
If only there was someone special, someone who loved him, a reason to return home.
Hank shook himself as the plane bucked again. This was the whole reason he’d avoided getting close. This right here. What right did he have to someone’s heart when he did this for a living?
No. If he made it out of this, and that was a big if, he was going to keep his promise to himself to remain a bachelor. Because it was only a matter of time before this job killed him. If he fell in love, he’d only end up breaking hearts. It wouldn’t be fair.
As if to prove his point, the plane began to spin out of control. He was losing altitude fast. Instinct and training kicked in and moved him through the motions of recovering. Idle the engine. Ailerons neutral. Rudder opposite the spin. Elevator forward.
A ray of sunshine pierced the clouds ahead. Was he coming out the other side? As he flew forward, the wind died down. The rain turned to a drizzle and then stopped. And as suddenly as it had started, it was over.
Breathing hard, Hank forced himself to relax, loosening the death grip he had on the stick and moving around as if to prove to himself he was still all there.
His brother’s face hovered in his mind’s eye.
Was this how Benny died? A spot of bad weather?
Or was it enemy fire? Or an engine malfunction?
All Hank knew was the debris of Benny’s plane was found near the town of Cantigny.
How his brother died, Hank would never know.
It ate at him. How long would it be before he followed his brother to the same fate?
But it was no good thinking like that. Hank shook his head to clear it and tried to focus on the present.
Examining the landscape, Hank cursed. He’d veered inland and had to get back on course and pray his fuel would get him to Philadelphia.
Adjusting his trajectory, he made a beeline for his destination, letting the hot sun dry his soaked clothes.
Just as Philadelphia came into view, the engine began to sputter.
He wasn’t going to make it. Desperately, he scanned for a field where he could set down and found one in the nick of time—a wheat field by the look of it.
They’d have to compensate the farmer, but it was a small price to pay to keep the Jenny intact, not to mention saving his neck.
It was a bumpy descent that made him think fondly of his landing without power just the other day.
At least then he’d had a beautifully clear runway.
At the moment, he was praying that the stalks of wheat wouldn’t damage his delicate wooden wings as they whipped against the plane with terrifying cracking sounds.
There was no socialite in powder blue waiting for him at the end of this rough and jarring ride, but thank God, he made it on one piece.
No sooner did he grind to a shuddering halt than the farmer came running at him wielding a pitchfork.
“What do you think you’re doing to my field, you young whippersnapper?” the man demanded.
“I’m with the Postal Service, sir. My airplane ran out of fuel before I could land. Can you take me to the nearest telephone? I’d be happy to pay you,” he said, knowing he’d be reimbursed. Because this was a common occurrence, they had a standard operating procedure for it.
The man narrowed his eyes, but he lowered his pitchfork. “I’ll take you for fifty cents, even if you do look like something the cat dragged in.”
It was highway robbery, but Hank had no choice. “Done.” He handed over the money.
After the man dropped him off, he called the airfield and asked for a cadet to come out and bring fuel. The cadet could make the hop to the airfield with the Jenny while Hank drove the truck back.
Before long, he was at the airfield, taking a shower and putting on clean, dry clothes. It made him feel human again. He ate some lunch and smoked a cigar before heading off to D.C. in a different Jenny.
Everything went exactly according to plan on the second leg of his journey, and he landed in D.C. by suppertime. Lieutenant O’Donnell was there when he landed, as was Lieutenant Thompson, who he hadn’t seen in about a month. “You got tomorrow off, Hawley?” Thompson asked.
“I do.”
“Thought so. We’re going out on the town tonight. Join us?”
“With pleasure.” A night out with the boys. That was what he needed to keep his mind off things.
“Oh good,” O’Donnell said, rubbing his hands together. “Maybe we’ll finally pry out of you who this mystery woman was.”
“Mystery woman?” Thompson asked. “Tell me everything.”
“I thought you were engaged, Thompson.” Hank shook his head.
“Engaged isn’t dead, Hank. Spill the beans.”
“He won’t say where he met her or who she is. All we know is that she’s a rich blonde with blue eyes.” O’Donnell stopped in his tracks. “Saaaayyyyy, that Belmont girl who came to the airstrip the other day fits the description. It isn’t her, is it?” O’Donnell’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
Hank lit a cigar to hide his alarm. “As if a girl like that would even deign to speak to me.”
“That’s not a ‘no,’” said Thompson, nudging Hank in the ribs.
“You two are worse than a sewing circle, you know that?” Hank said, waving his friend off with his cigar. “Now let’s go find some nice girls that think we’re goddamn heroes and show them a good time, shall we?”
Thompson led the way to a waiting cab. “I heard about this place from Ericson. He says the jazz is hot and the ladies are hotter. It’s on Massachusetts Avenue by Dupont Circle.”
They rode the short distance to the bar and got out of the taxi.
Hank could hear the ragtime piano spilling out of the High Flyer from the sidewalk.
As they walked inside, the scent of beer and hot pretzels permeated his nostrils.
Peanut shells littered the floor, and a wooden propeller hung on the back wall with a sign claiming it was from the Wright Flyer.
Hank chuckled. Fat chance of that. Everyone knew the Wright brothers were more secretive than the Military Intelligence Division when it came to their planes. But it was fitting somehow for a pilot bar. What pilot didn’t make a tall claim from time to time?
The place was hopping even though dinner hour had only just begun. A group of young women out for some fun settled into the table beside them. Before long, they were all on the dance floor together doing the turkey trot.
Hank found himself with a brunette named Sarah. “I work at a flower shop, and everyone says I have very discerning taste!” she yelled to him above the din.
He smiled indulgently. Normally, he would be turning on the charm, but for some reason he wasn’t feeling it this evening. He listened politely and danced politely, and when she said it was time for her to go, he didn’t try to stop her.
“What’s with you?” O’Donnell asked when the brunette he’d been entwined with all evening went to the powder room. “She was cute. You’re not still pining for your heiress, are you?”
“’Course not,” he said quickly, attempting a nonchalant laugh. How could it possibly have anything to do with Rory? That would be ridiculous. “She just didn’t interest me that much.”
“Ha! Sure. You know, there’s a cute blonde over there alone by the bar. Maybe she can take your mind off a certain other blonde who remains nameless?”
With limited enthusiasm, Hank made his way to the buxom blonde by the bar and introduced himself.
She had kind, warm brown eyes that made him feel instantly at ease.
He asked her for a dance, and she obliged.
Then she let him buy her a drink. She told him about her job as a telephone operator, and he listened attentively, wondering why he felt no spark with her.
Normally, a girl like her would light him up like a Christmas tree, but if he was being honest with himself, he was going through the motions.
He leaned in and kissed her, willing himself to muster some heat, but the kiss was as tepid as bathwater, at least for him.
She seemed enthusiastic enough. He tried to imagine making love to her as he nuzzled her neck and ran his hands up and down her back.
It was appealing in theory, but he felt numb, detached. Maybe he’d had too much to drink?
At that moment, the door opened, and in walked a silver-haired man oozing power.
This guy had to be a politician or a business executive, someone who was accustomed to bending others to his will with a rakish smile and daunting eyes the color of ice.
His perfectly tailored gray suit looked like it cost more than Hank’s annual salary. And on his arm was…
Oh no.