Chapter 2 #2
Mixed with the leather scent was a distinct odor of man sweat.
Who knew how many had used this before her?
Stifling a shudder, she climbed in and started to button up the front.
The arms and legs were too long and bunched at her wrists and ankles.
It felt like it weighed twenty pounds and made movement difficult.
“How am I supposed to fly when I can hardly move?”
“Better this than trying to fly with frostbite, believe me.”
She’d seen the men in their suits. She knew this was required. That didn’t mean she had to like it. Finishing the last of her buttons, she turned toward him.
He barely stifled a laugh.
“Go ahead. Let it out. You already think I’m a joke.”
A chuckle escaped. “I’m sorry, Miss Aldrich, but you do make quite a picture.”
With gritted teeth, she pulled on the leather boot covers and strapped them around her sensible saddle shoes. Last, she put on the wool-lined gloves. She already wore a fur-lined aviator cap with goggles atop. “I’m ready.”
A diving costume couldn’t have been more awkward than what she was wearing. She wobbled her way out to her plane, trying to ignore the snickers of pilots and mechanics as she passed. A trickle of sweat dripped down her back.
Arriving at her plane, she pulled off her gloves to perform final checks. Every movement felt like swimming through mud.
As she concluded her checks, Pritchard came over, looking thoroughly at ease in his suit, damn him. “Are you ready? We can head out as soon as you are.”
“As ready as I’m going to be. I don’t know how you fly in these suits.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
Millie made her way awkwardly up the ladder into the cockpit and settled in with an undignified plop.
“Oh, and, uh…Miss Aldrich? I hope you used the powder room because it’s four hours to our next pit stop.”
“Of course, I did,” she lied, praying that cup of coffee she drank didn’t come back to haunt her. He waited until it was too late for her to do anything about it to remind her, didn’t he?
“All right, then. Off we go.” He clapped a hand against the fuselage as if it was a horse he wanted to giddyap.
Pritchard strode over to his own Curtiss R-4 and climbed in gracefully, as if he wasn’t encumbered with twenty pounds of leather. He started up his plane and taxied out to the runway.
Millie signaled to a mechanic to swing the propeller for her, and she opened the throttle, following Pritchard out. She watched as he picked up speed and left the ground, and she followed.
At last, the familiar freedom of lifting off the ground and soaring up into the heavens.
It was a beautiful, clear October day, and she could see for miles as they climbed and climbed, the world shrinking away until it looked like a patchwork quilt beneath her, punctuated by the fiery colors of fall.
This was what she lived for. Even her giant leather suit couldn’t bring her down now.
And neither could a certain blond pilot who didn’t think she could handle the danger.
Well, this was the day she was going to prove him wrong.
She reveled in the sun on her face until it got too hot, and she unbuttoned the top of her suit to get some air.
The sun beat down relentlessly as they soared above the clouds.
Sweat ran into her eyes behind the goggles, and she had to blink it away, trying not to take her eyes off the controls and the landscape she was supposed to be memorizing.
The other plane hovered just ahead, a beacon to follow.
Then a chill started to creep in as they climbed higher still. The breezes got stronger and crisper as they hit maximum speed. The sun didn’t warm her the way it had, and she found herself buttoning up again.
About an hour in, she put on her gloves as the cold started to sink in and make her ache.
On the ground, it was in the fifties, but up here, it was freezing.
Ice crystals formed on the glass faces of her instruments, and she brushed them away awkwardly with her glove.
The bottle of whiskey fastened to the controls told her she was flying level.
They couldn’t use water because it would freeze up here.
Two hours in, her nose started to hurt. She wiggled it and wrinkled it, trying to improve blood flow, but it didn’t help. Putting her gloved hand over her nose gave her some relief. But that got in the way of her ability to study the landscape, so she had to let it go.
Three hours in, damn it all, she had to pee. The cursed coffee caught up with her, and there was nothing she could do but wait and watch the clock. And the landscape, of course. Just one more hour until sweet relief.
When the skyline of Philadelphia finally came into view, she wanted to dance a jig. After she went to the bathroom, of course. Sweet Jesus, relief was in sight!
At that moment, Pritchard’s plane dipped dangerously. Something was wrong.
She stopped breathing, her heartbeat sped up.
A thin line of smoke came out of the fuselage.
He was losing altitude. Oh, God, no.
This high up, if he lost control of the plane, he was a dead man. If the wooden fuselage caught fire, he was done for.
His only chance was to glide to a safe landing with the engine off before the whole plane went up in flames.
She forgot her discomfort. Nothing mattered but trailing him down and seeing him safe.
He knew what he was doing, she reminded herself. He’d probably made dozens of emergency landings, possibly hundreds.
Cold sweat trickled down her back as she watched him descend, helpless to do anything but follow. She had to force herself to breathe.
Down and down he went as the land rose up to meet them. Where was he headed?
She scanned the landscape for a safe landing place, then she spotted it. He was making for a farmer’s field just ahead. She couldn’t tell what he was growing from this height. It seemed to be a lot of green with flecks of orange.
More smoke billowed from his plane. If he didn’t touch down soon, he risked being burned to a crisp.
The stinging scent of burning oil filled her nose as she followed his trajectory unblinking.
At long last, Pritchard touched down for a bumpy landing. Thank God he was safe! He leapt from the plane and opened a panel in the fuselage. Even more smoke poured forth as he peered at the engine. It was a near miss.
She circled once and landed behind him. What could be causing her to bump around so much? She didn’t have an engine malfunction. Her plane ground to a halt, and she got out.
Pumpkins. They’d landed in a pumpkin patch. Well didn’t that just beat all? Two trails of smashed pumpkins stretched out behind them, reminding her of the wreckage that could have been but for Pritchard’s quick thinking.
She slid down the side of her plane and wobbled over to Pritchard, who was doing something to the engine.
“It’s the drive shaft again. Damned thing was just fixed.” He fanned away the smoke with his hand. “Let’s go talk to the farmer and find out where the nearest phone is.”
“Thank God you’re all right. That could have gone very badly.”
“Death or glory, as they say.” He winked at her. Something inside her clenched. Oh, dear.
The farmer had a phone and, God bless him, let her use the bathroom. He had a good laugh over her getup, though. “Never seen a lady dressed like that before. I guess there’s a first time for everything.” And he cackled. Oh, how he cackled.
When Pritchard got off the phone, he said, “I guess you get to be a passenger for the rest of today’s East Coast tour. I’ll fly us to Philly in your plane. They’re sending a crew to pick up my broken one.”
She helped him load the large canvas bags of mail from his plane into the front cockpit.
He climbed into the back cockpit as she started the propeller.
Then she climbed up and squeezed herself in between bags of mail, and they took off.
It wasn’t the most dignified way to finish off her first day of work, but there wasn’t much choice.
After a short hop to Philadelphia, they were able to deliver the mail largely on schedule.
With deep relief, she shed the leather suit and headed with Pritchard to the modest, two-story hotel by the airstrip where the airmail pilots always stayed.
She thought about demurring and going to one of the more upscale hotels downtown she had grown accustomed to, but she decided it was best to keep a low profile for now.
“Congratulations, you made it through your first day as an airmail pilot.” He led her into the shabby lobby with peeling wallpaper and the stale scent of cigarettes. “Tomorrow, we fly to DC in the morning and back in the afternoon. Are you ready for a full day of flying?”
“I’m ready.”
“You surprised me today. You did better than I expected, and you haven’t complained once.”
That hushed the litany of complaints on her lips. He was complimenting her? She thought he wanted her to quit. But suddenly, he was being…nice.
“Thank you,” she said, then cleared her throat. Maybe he wasn’t so terrible after all.