The aviatrix, p.11
The Aviatrix, page 11
Leo shifted on his haunches as he worked on a sloped roof. “There was so much destruction. Shells had torn up roads, fields, entire villages. Places that had stood for centuries. I saw refugees who’d lost their homes where their families had lived for generations. The war blew up so much tradition, so many connections and ties. But then I’d see one of the old châteaus rising from the ground, and there was a sort of strength in that. A promise of continuity.”
Mattie didn’t speak for a moment, wanting to make sure she wasn’t interrupting. She had so many questions, but she didn’t want to make him relive anything he didn’t want to about the war. Instead, she made an observation that gave him the choice to alter the direction of the conversation. “I didn’t know you liked old buildings.”
“I find a certain peace in a structure that’s stood for year after year, no matter the changes around it.”
Mattie placed a blade of grass above one of the windows like a lintel. “Not a fan of the modern skyscraper?”
“They have their purposes.”
“I love tall buildings,” Mattie admitted.
“Old stone structures are solid.” Leo was situated between Mattie and the sun, so she had to squint to make out his features in the brilliant light. He looked so sober, not at all like a man creating a whimsical sandcastle. She wondered, for a moment, if he’d positioned himself purposely in the glare.
“I didn’t know you felt so strongly about the past,” Mattie admitted.
“I like order.” Leo tilted his head to inspect the rear of the castle, effectively putting a barricade between them. “The past is a known entity. The future is not.”
“That’s precisely what I like about the future.” Mattie added some decorative dribbles to the castle. They landed haphazardly but in a rather delightfully wild way. “Ever since the end of the war—the horrible, horrible, life-altering war—there’s a . . . I don’t know . . . a change in the air, like spring’s rebirth after winter’s devastation.”
“There was a château that was my favorite. It was one of my landmarks when I was over German-occupied territory.” Leo suddenly shifted back to their previous conversation, and Mattie wondered if she’d made a mistake mentioning the Great War again. “It got hit by shells, maybe even from the Allies, since it happened during one of the last drives of the campaign. I don’t know if they’ll ever rebuild it.”
“Maybe they’ll erect something better, stronger even?” Mattie suggested softly. “Maybe it’ll even be designed by an architect like Mary Colter.”
“The Santa Fe Railroad architect? Her ideas wouldn’t make much sense in the French countryside.”
Mattie peered over the castle. “I didn’t mean her precisely—just that a female might create the new structure. We’re not just shortening our skirts and bobbing our hair; we’re trying to do so much more.”
Leo didn’t snort like her brothers would have done. Instead, he shifted so he could regard her fully, the sun no longer blocking his face. “Maybe some traditions need changing, but that doesn’t mean we discard everything, does it? Cautious change is good.”
“I’m all for a little revolution. We women have waited too long for incremental advances.”
Leo rocked back on his heels. An odd whisper of excitement shot through Mattie as his blue eyes bored into hers. She didn’t know if he’d ever held her gaze this long. Certainly, he’d never done so without talking. Part of her wanted to squirm, but she remained still, allowing both the inspection and the burgeoning awareness growing inside her.
The sound of the lapping water and the cries of the birds cocooned them, holding them in this moment and safeguarding them from the interruptions of the world. Mattie had never felt so conscious of another human being before. An odd connection seemed to shimmer between them, not visible, certainly not tangible, but palpable all the same.
Leo opened his mouth to speak, but Vera’s voice called out from the knoll above them. “So this is where you two disappeared to! I can’t wait to hear what you’ve dreamed up. I hope you haven’t been too much of a bluenose, Leo.”
Mattie shaded her eyes and caught sight of Vera silhouetted against the clear blue sky. The wind caught the bottom of her green skirt, ruffling the fabric around her knees. Vera lifted her cocktail glass, and Mattie could just make out the maraschino cherry cheerfully floating on top.
“Come rejoin us. Aida and Alice just devised the most outrageous stunt. It involves a motorcycle. Leo, I don’t suppose you rode any during the war?” Vera must have meant the question rhetorically, because she had already turned, her drink still held high in the air as she picked her way through the tall grass.
Mattie exchanged a look with Leo and tipped her lips up into a smile. “Revolution?”
He jammed his hand into his hair as he stared after Vera. “Chaos. Pure chaos.”
Chapter Seven
“What is that?” Vera pointed one rose-colored nail in the direction of a watermelon stuck to a stick in the middle of the training field. The white half-moon tip stabbed in the direction of the offending fruit.
Alice left Mattie’s side to link her arm with her cousin’s. “That represents you, dear. Isn’t it clever? I came up with it.”
“I need a target to aim at when I practice buzzing the ground for the stunt where you grab onto a ladder extending from my wing,” Mattie explained.
“Mattie and I calculated how high you would be when standing in the Duesenberg,” Carrie said. “The twig that we lashed to the stick is perfectly aligned with where your hand would be as you reach up.”
“It looks nothing like me.” Vera cocked her head and studied the melon disapprovingly as it slowly dripped red juice down the pole.
“It’s supposed to be a generalized representation, not an accurate model,” Aida pointed out. “You typically possess an extraordinarily healthy and active imagination, Vera. Picture it as you.”
Vera tapped her finger against her chin as she studied the speared fruit from all angles. “It needs a hat.”
“A hat?” Leo, who had been standing on the fringe of their group, choked out the words.
“Yes.” Vera gave a sharp nod of patent satisfaction. “One of my cloches. I know just the one.”
Vera waggled her fingers without even looking back at the group as she headed toward her Duesenberg and climbed in. When a Model T came puttering up the road from the castle, Vera tootled the horn merrily.
“I believe that is my family,” Alice said, shielding her eyes. Sure enough, when the black motorcar stopped, three children poured out, followed by a tall ginger-haired man.
A chorus of Mamas rang through the air as the little trio dashed toward the aerialist. The youngest, a little moppet with a wild mane of strawberry-blonde hair, did her best to keep up with her older siblings, who looked to be about seven and ten. She did an admirable job, her sturdy little legs pumping furiously as she clutched a blue toy plane in her hand.
Alice crouched down to enfold her offspring in her outstretched arms. A chorus of high-pitched voices rang through the sedges.
“I found a bug, Mama.”
“We saw three airplanes on our way here!”
“I have a cut on my finger.”
“I just finished Anne of Green Gables, and Papa bought me Anne of Avonlea.”
“I’m reading The Story of Doctor Dolittle. He can talk to animals.”
With surprising adroitness, Alice parsed through the cacophony of voices and addressed each comment solemnly. “Oh my, Milly, that is a big caterpillar and so fuzzy . . . do you know that you’re going to get to ride in some airplanes? Let me see that scrape. It looks like it’s healing nicely, but I’ll still give it a kiss . . . that is wonderful, Ruthie. Anne Shirley is such a lovely character . . . how fascinating, Eddie. He communicates with animals! And what do they have to say?”
Standing up with her daughters and son still dancing around her, Alice turned toward her husband, who was standing slightly to the side of the little throng, his mossy-green eyes warm and a smile below his thin, barely there mustache.
A faded recollection flashed to life in Mattie’s mind, like a water-damaged movie reel. She did not have many memories of her mother. Most were flickers of sensations. The warmth of a hug. The faint smell of the lilacs her mother had loved. A cool hand in the midst of a fever.
But suddenly—although the image still remained slightly out of focus—Mattie could see her father come up behind her mother as she sat in her favorite armchair. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and she lifted her fingers to cover his. Then she tilted her head, and their gazes met in a quiet rush of mutual love.
Mattie witnessed that same look now as Alice and her husband regarded each other over the heads of their children. To Mattie’s surprise, a deep longing seeped into her. She wondered what it would be like to have a partner—someone who supported her with a wordless glance full of strength and affection.
“Planey wants to see the big air-o-planes.” The little girl had a high, lilting voice, but she spoke without a speck of hesitation. The child held her toy aloft and made buzzing sounds as she whirled around, her brightly patterned gingham skirt a swirl of color. As her offspring danced around the field, Alice made the introductions. When she reached Leo, John flashed a set of white teeth, looking every inch the performer that he was.
But unlike with Leo’s press face, John’s smile seemed genuine and not just manufactured to please the crowd. “You’re the Flying Lion, one of America’s greatest aces! I thought I recognized you.”
“What’s an ace?” Milly asked as she swung her plane around her father’s knees.
“A fighter pilot,” John explained.
The movement of the toy stopped. Milly scrunched up one side of her face. “Pilots don’t fight. They fly.”
“Remember how Papa fought in the Great War?” John said. “So did Mr. Ward here, but he did so in the skies, not in the trenches.”
Milly sucked in her bottom lip and began to chew it. “Did the planes get hurt?”
“We took care of them the best we could.” Leo’s blue eyes had deepened as he regarded the little girl with the seriousness that he’d show an adult. “We had mechanics who watched over our birds and patched up any scrapes.”
“Did you kiss the scrapes?” Milly’s moss-green eyes had grown even wider.
Mattie watched Leo curiously as he hesitated, a bit of red spreading to his cheeks. He coughed and slid a glance first in her direction and then in John’s. “Uh, no, but I might have patted my old Nieuport and then my SPAD once or twice.”
A warmth crept through Mattie as she watched the tinge of scarlet on Leo’s face deepen into the color of a ripe strawberry after his confession. Although she and her brothers openly showed affection for their machines, she hadn’t suspected that Leo ever did the same.
“What were their names?” Milly asked, seemingly satisfied that Leo had adequately cared for his wartime fighters.
The red seemed burned into every inch of Leo’s face now. He reached up and rubbed the back of his head. Almost surreptitiously, he slanted Mattie a look. She couldn’t completely read it, but she knew two things for certain. He had named those machines, and for some reason, he didn’t want to admit what those monikers were in her presence.
Before anyone could question Leo further, the crunch of the Duesy’s wheels on the gravel heralded Vera’s return. She’d brought Ruby with her, and the spaniel sported a ridiculous brown aviator’s helmet on her domed head and matching goggles. The latest accoutrements had arrived yesterday, a custom order straight from a Paris fashion house.
“Cousin Vera! Cousin Vera!” All three children ran like aircraft in a formation to the heiress. She gave each child a hug and spun Milly around, who giggled uncontrollably as her cotton skirt once again formed a large puff around her white ankle socks and canvas shoes.
“What did you call your planes?” Mattie asked Leo softly as soon as everyone else was focused on helping Vera decorate the makeshift mannequin.
Leo’s gaze shifted away from hers, and before he either answered or further evaded her question, Vera called out, “Mattie, are you ready to prove you’re not going to bodily injure me when you dive to collect me? Be aware that I do like my head firmly attached to my shoulders or, in this case, the representative stick. I’ve grown surprisingly attached to that melon after dressing it up.”
“The breeze might knock off the cloche,” Mattie said, “but I won’t touch a hair or vine on either of your heads.”
“Perfect!” Vera blew Mattie a kiss, her gold snake bracelet glinting in the overhead sun.
“Want to come?” Mattie asked Leo almost spontaneously. It had been a long time since they’d gone up in the air together in the same plane, and she suddenly missed it.
A slow smile crept over Leo’s face. “Yeah. I’d like that. A lot.”
“Race you to the plane!” she shouted. It was an old, almost forgotten game of theirs.
He beat her like he always did, but he let her climb in first. As soon as Mattie tipped the nose of her Jenny upward, she felt the shift in her own body. When she gained enough altitude, she executed several barrel rolls, spinning like a lathe straight over the airfield. Flying next in the inverted position, she skimmed at a low altitude over their group several times. Aida lifted her Kodak camera to capture a picture. Little Milly dipped her plane in perfect unison with Mattie’s.
“She’ll be an amazing pilot someday,” Mattie shouted as she righted the Jenny.
“What?” Leo called, clearly not hearing her voice over the thunder of the motor. He turned around.
“Milly.” Mattie raised her voice even more. “She’ll be an amazing fly girl.”
“One day!” Leo yelled back. The two of them shared a quick smile before Mattie returned her attention to the stick and pedals.
Vera wanted Mattie to swoop in from high in the heavens, her engine at full speed. In this trial run, Mattie was supposed to hook a large ring onto the twig representing Vera’s outstretched hand.
“Don’t come down too sharply,” Leo advised. She glowered at him as she focused on tilting the nose of her plane toward the ground.
“I’m the one who taught you.”
“I did a lot of strafing during the war, including observation balloons.” Leo didn’t say the words boastfully but as a matter-of-fact statement. It was the closest he had ever come to acknowledging his war record in Mattie’s presence.
“Would you say the same to my brothers? That they were diving too quickly?” Mattie asked.
“Absolutely,” Leo shouted, the wind carrying his words past her ears in a roaring rush.
She eased back on the descent. He grinned then. Not cocky. Not self-satisfied. But sweetly shy.
She buzzed over the melon-Vera. Although she had no way of actually seeing how close she’d come to the cloche-wearing fruit, she knew she’d nailed the trick. Zipping into the air, she swerved the plane back around in a sharp turn and executed a barrel roll. Skimming inverted over the path she’d just come, she caught sight of the melon with the peacock hat still proudly perched on its bulbous crown. A matching scarf tied around the center of the fruit flapped in the wind, as if cheering Mattie too. Even better, the brass hoop seemed to wink in the sun as it hung around the outstretched twig like an oversize bangle.
“Good job!” Leo turned back in her direction to yell to her. His voice wasn’t exactly brimming with exuberance, but that was just Leo. Those two words coming from him were high praise, and she could hear the faintest rumble of excitement in his deep tone.
“Thanks,” Mattie called. She started to let out a whoop, but it died in her throat as she spotted a figure in the woods, a camera in his hands. Benji Pringle. There was going to be a new photograph and article in the Chicago Advance Leader, and it most assuredly wouldn’t be about her successful stunt.
Chapter Eight
The photographic evidence has only confirmed that any performance by Vera Jones’s Flying Flappers will be certain to disappoint even the least discerning of airplane enthusiasts. By all appearances, it seems that the girls believe banal displays of hilarity, such as dressing up a melon as a vamp or a toy dog as an aviatrix, will entertain audiences. Unless one is amused by such lowbrow tricks, it may be best to stay home and listen to the radio instead of attending the gals’ inaugural show in nearby Platt, Michigan, in three days’ time.
—Benjamin Pringle, Chicago Advance Leader
“What do you mean, the loan is due by late November?” Mattie whispered urgently into the mouthpiece, not wanting anyone in Vera’s household to overhear her. “You originally said we had until May of next year to make the final payment.”
“I thought I’d be able to get an extension from the bank, Swift,” her father said wearily. Although she couldn’t see him, she knew he was rubbing his chin. Mattie herself began to march back and forth like a mechanical toy on a short track.
“You didn’t mention this before,” Mattie breathed out, trying to douse the anger rising inside her. Her pa was worried—she could hear it in his voice—and part of her didn’t want to make it worse.
“We thought it best—”
“Not to worry me,” Mattie finished for him, unable to keep the hurt and betrayal from her voice. “What happened to us, Pa? We always leaned on each other during the war. Now you’re keeping secrets, trying to protect me. I’m tough. I’ve always been.”
“I . . .” Her father’s voice faltered for a minute. “I wish you didn’t have to be. I should’ve done better by you, looked after you more, not placed so much on your shoulders.”
Mattie felt tears prick the backs of her eyes, but they didn’t fall. They rarely did. It seemed like she’d poured out all her reserves sobbing over Alfred’s death all those years ago.
“You’re hurting me more by shutting me out,” Mattie said quietly.
Her father swallowed hard. “I’m sorry about that, Swift. I thought that I had this handled. You should be thinking about your own future, not worrying about my financial troubles.”
