Chapter 6 #2
He guided the plane beneath the cloud cover, and the landscape stretched before him at last. Now he just had to figure out where he was. Where were those rail lines he usually followed? Ah, there they were.
Hell and damnation! Despite his efforts, he’d gone off course. He almost certainly wouldn’t make it to Philadelphia, but he had to try. If only the wind would cooperate, he might stand a chance. But it kept blowing straight at him in tremendous gusts and slowing his progress.
Veering toward the distant glint of steel tracks, he said a prayer to St. Joseph that somehow, miraculously, he’d make it to his destination.
Minutes passed. And then an hour. Then, just as Philadelphia came into sight in the distance, the roar of his engine sputtered to nothing. Damn it! He was out of fuel. He had to find a field or a road where he could put down immediately.
Coasting with no sound but the wind whistling through the wires of the airplane, he made for a patch of green below that looked to be a farmer’s field. He gripped the stick with desperate strength as he carefully maneuvered toward his destination.
The world grew closer and closer. The moment of truth—death or life—approached with the inevitability of the cold hard ground. He pulled up at the last second, slamming down in the bumpy wheat field, skidding to a halt.
He was down and safe. Letting out his breath slowly, he tried to tame the pounding of his heart.
The danger was past, so why wouldn’t his muscles unclench? He shook himself to shuffle off the last of the tension. This was nothing, just a routine, off-site landing. It had happened before, and it would happen again. It was all part of a day’s work, right?
Now to find a telephone and some fuel.
He walked to the farmhouse and caught a family eating dinner.
When he explained who he was and why he was there, all three children leapt up and went running to the field to see the airplane, their mother chasing after.
The farmer kindly gave him a lift to a gas station where he called in his status and filled a canister with fuel.
Less than half an hour later, he was up in the air again, approaching Philadelphia at dusk.
Once again, visibility was against him, and he was forced to guess at his location in the gathering gloom.
At long last, he saw the lights of the airstrip ahead of him and made his way down.
As his wheels touched down, he heaved a huge sigh of relief. Thank you, Lord Jesus.
This wasn’t the worst flight he’d had, but it was close. He looked forward to the peace and quiet of his hotel room for the night.
Thompson was waiting for him when he landed, already dressed in his civilian clothes, his short-cropped black hair immobile despite the wind. “I’m glad you made it, O’Donnell. It was rough out there today.”
Bill pretended a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “You think a little wind could do me in? You know by now I always turn up like a bad penny. Don’t think you can be rid of me that easily.”
“Of course not, you crazy coot. You think Saint Peter wants to put up with your malarkey?”
Bill laughed. “Too true. Say, how is that fiancée of yours? Has she come to her senses yet?”
“Myrtle is doing just fine, thank you, and for your information she still very much wants to marry me.” Thompson threw an arm around Bill’s shoulder. “Let me buy you a drink. You look like you need it.”
With some reluctance, Bill agreed. He wasn’t really in the mood, but he had a reputation to uphold.
Little did his friends know that he usually tapered off the drinks these days as soon as they got sozzled enough to stop noticing.
He could not, in fact, outdrink them despite their conviction to the contrary.
But perhaps a little whiskey didn’t sound so bad after a flight like that.
They settled in at the bar of their usual Irish pub.
Bill had no idea what the place looked like because they kept the lights so low.
All he could see was the dull gleam of the bar and the looming figure of the bartender.
Sipping the golden liquid and letting its warmth trickle down his throat, Bill waited for Thompson’s onslaught.
“So, did you see Hawley dancing with Aurora Belmont? Is it just me, or did they look awfully cozy for two distant acquaintances?”
Bill took another sip, enjoying the way tendrils of relaxation unwound the afternoon’s tensions. “I have nothing to say on the matter,” he said with a wink. “Nothing at all.”
“You know something, you scamp. Confess. I know it’s killing you.” Pritchard knew him too well.
He was dying to spill all about Hank and Rory, but he’d promised he wouldn’t, so he merely hinted. Forcefully. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy. I can’t say a word. You’ll have to ask Hawley.”
“Then they’ve been secretly seeing each other.”
Bill shrugged enigmatically.
“It’s getting serious?”
Bill shrugged again. “I have nothing whatsoever to say.”
“Hawley, you dog.” Pritchard laughed. “To Hank Hawley and Aurora Belmont.” He raised his glass.
With a sly smile, Bill clinked glasses. “Remember, I didn’t say a word.”
“No, you did not.” Pritchard smiled and shook his head.
“So now tell me about you and this sexy widow of yours. Is it true what they say about widows?” Thompson swirled his whiskey and smirked.
Suddenly, the relaxation Bill had been easing into disappeared.
How dare he make insinuations about Ann!
Bill’s muscles tensed as he glared at his friend.
“Not another word, Thompson. Mrs. Prince is a grieving widow, an upstanding woman, and a pillar of virtue. I won’t have her name dragged through the mud of your innuendo. ”
Thompson’s eyes widened. “What’s gotten into you, O’Donnell? You’re usually the first person to sing the unholy praises of the latest loose woman you’ve met.”
Bill winced. It was all too true, but no one, not even his best friends, got to say a word about Ann. “Mrs. Prince is different. I know I’ve talked a lot of nonsense in the past, but she deserves better than our barroom banter.”
“Oh, you’ve got it bad, O’Donnell. Pretty soon, you’re going to be caught in the parson’s trap same as I am. Mark my words.”
Oddly, Thompson’s words filled him with hope instead of anxiety. He didn’t mind the thought of being married to Ann one bit. Not that he was likely to talk her into it any time soon. Nonetheless, he’d had about enough of this particular conversation.
“I should call it a night.” Bill emptied his glass. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“But—”
“It’s been a long day with several near-death experiences. I’d like to rest before tomorrow morning’s flight.” He got up and plunked down fifteen cents to cover his tab.
“Suit yourself, O’Donnell.”
As Bill strode back to his hotel, he couldn’t help wondering why he reacted so violently to his friend’s ribbing when he’d always gone along with it in the past. Something had changed for him, and he wasn’t ready to examine it too closely.
But he sure as hell wasn’t going to put up with any dirty suggestions about Ann.
Maybe he shouldn’t have with previous women either.
Well, there was no time like the present for changing his ways.
He might never win Ann’s affections, but he wanted to be worthy of her with all his heart.
Going forward, Bill O’Donnell was turning over a new leaf.