The aviatrix, p.29
The Aviatrix, page 29
“Leo seems to possess an extraordinarily powerful urge to protect.” Aida’s fingers had stopped dancing across her clutch, indicating she had reached a logical conclusion.
“He does,” Mattie agreed in a whisper as her mind flashed back to pulling Leo from the wreckage.
“You. Okay?”
Even lying in the dirt, flames roaring around him, his body mangled after a fall from the sky, Leo’s first words had been an inquiry about her well-being. And it wasn’t just her whom he’d sought to save. He’d turned the Fabin, knowing it would most certainly stall, in order to not risk the lives of the people on the bleachers.
“Men are always saying women like to fuss over their partner,” Aida said, “but men have similar desires and tendencies. It is one of the things that I find magical about society as a whole—our ability to care for each other.”
“I’m not used to anyone tending to me.” Leo had confessed those words to Mattie in the cooling room at the Geyser View Sanitarium. He’d grown up alone, in an orphanage that he’d only described as cold. Yet he had not become frigid himself. “When I got older, I tried to protect the younger ones from his punishments.” Leo made up for his lack of receipt of affection by, conversely, devoting himself to the care of others.
Before anyone could say more, a woman in a white lab coat entered the room, her dark-brown eyes solemn.
“Lizbeth?” Aida clambered to her feet, and Mattie followed, realizing this must be Aida’s surgeon friend.
“Are you Leo Ward’s fiancée?” Lizbeth turned toward Mattie, her expression kind, competent, and thoroughly unreadable.
“She is his partner,” Aida confirmed, saving Mattie from speaking a falsehood.
Lizbeth looked intensely at Mattie, her expression frank and honest. She spoke with a straightforward matter-of-factness that made the details somehow easier to bear. “I’m Dr. Carillo-Barrera, and I helped to triage Leo. He is out of surgery. His right leg was broken in several places, but we were able to successfully set it. We did not detect any signs of internal bleeding, but we will still need to monitor him, as it is often difficult to determine the extent of injuries in a situation like this.”
“But there’s nothing to lead you to think this will be fatal?” Mattie gripped her hands together so tightly her short, blunt nails still managed to slice through her skin.
“He is still sedated, but his pulse is strong, his heart rate is good, and his body has not gone into shock. I cannot offer any guarantees at this juncture, but those are all good signs.”
Mattie lifted her clasped hands to her mouth. Leo was going to be all right! The love of her life was going to survive!
“May I see him?” Mattie asked quietly. She needed to sweep her gaze over Leo and ascertain for herself the extent of his wounds. She needed to touch him and to run her fingers gently through his hair. She needed to talk to him, to reassure him of her love even if he lay unconscious.
“Shortly,” Dr. Carillo-Barrera said, “when he is moved to a bed in one of the general wards.”
“If you have any private rooms available, I shall pay for it.” Vera rose to her feet. “I will be covering all of Leo Ward’s bills.”
Mattie shook her head. “I should be the one. Leo’s accident was caused by my choices.”
“Nonsense,” Vera said. “Like we said earlier, it was Crenshaw’s actions that injured Leo. I consider Leo my friend, and I have more than enough means to take care of the hospital expenses.”
“We do have a few private rooms,” Dr. Carillo-Barrera confirmed. “The money we receive from patients who use them helps keep us funded and able to accept charity cases.”
Mattie found she didn’t have the strength to fight both women. It would be better for Leo if he was in a quieter place rather than a big open room stacked full of beds. When he awoke, Mattie had so much to say to him and ask him that any degree of privacy would be appreciated.
While Dr. Carillo-Barrera and Aida had a quick chat with each other, Mattie sank back onto the wooden bench. Alice materialized by her side and sat down next to her.
“I did not want to say anything until we knew more about Leo’s condition,” Alice told her gently, “but Leo talked to John about you during our first exhibition back in Illinois.”
“Leo did mention that he’d had a conversation with John, but not what it was about,” Mattie said.
Alice nodded. “Leo wanted to know how John does it.”
“Does what?”
“Supports, loves, and has a lasting relationship with a woman who chooses a profession that puts her in constant peril.”
“Leo asked about that?” Despite all the pain, a thrill shot through Mattie’s heart. Leo understood her more than she’d given him credit for.
“He did indeed.” Alice folded her hands in her lap in an uncharacteristically solemn gesture. “John told him that Leo should try being more of your flight partner instead of a flight leader.”
Leo’s attitude toward her flying had changed after that first show. He’d listened more and suggested instead of commanded. He’d tried to be her partner, but had she ever considered him hers? Had not part of her always seen him as her competitor or, at least, as someone trying to hold her back and prevent her from achieving her dreams? Had part of her even been afraid to treat him as a partner? When she’d lost Alfred—her twin, her best friend, her coconspirator in life—she had lost an integral piece of herself. Was part of her afraid of exposing herself to such grief again?
“How do you do it?” Mattie asked.
“What do you mean?”
“How do you stay strong and independent while being a wife and a mother? How do you balance your desire to soar on the trapeze with John’s need to keep you safe? How do you watch him fly through the air yourself?”
Alice thought for a moment, and then a broad grin broke over her face. “Why, what John said—a partnership. We talk to each other about our stunts, give each other advice. Sometimes I take it; sometimes I don’t, but I always consider it. I never dismiss it outright. I listen. John does the same when I’m the one making suggestions. There’s a mutual respect and understanding.”
Partnership. Mutual respect. Equals. All those words were two sided, connected. They didn’t weigh a person down or restrict them. They were supportive, constructive, freeing even. Yes, it opened a person to the potential pain of loss, but the gains were so much greater. Mattie had let these wonderful women into her life, and each lady had made her stronger.
“Thank you for telling me this,” Mattie told Alice and then pressed her eyelids tightly closed.
She prayed that Leo would wake up. She prayed that she would be with him when he did. And she prayed that they would remain that way. Together. Side by side.
Leo awoke in a sea of grogginess and pain and an incongruous sense of warm comfort. He focused on the latter despite it being the faintest. He drew strength from the sensation as he battled through the heavy sleepiness that threatened to drag him back down into the dark oblivion. His leg throbbed, and his entire body felt as if it had been tossed around in a human-size saltshaker. The head of the orphanage had firmly believed in corporal punishment, and Leo had learned early to deal with discomfort, but this was greater than he’d ever encountered.
But Leo knew how to fight it. And this time he had that wonderful whisper of warmth. He clung to it, using it to leverage his body out of the morass of agony. His eyelids fluttered open, and an overwhelming sense of white and light struck him. Fuzzy and disoriented, he almost slipped backward past the hurt in order to reach the forgiving blackness. Then he heard her. Mattie.
“Leo?” Mattie’s voice sounded softer than he’d ever heard before. She was scared, worried, frightened. He had to reassure her, comfort her. He forced his eyes open this time. His mouth felt dry, cottony, and his body curiously heavy.
“Leo?” Mattie’s tone was stronger now, and her beautiful green-gold irises appeared in his line of vision. She squeezed his hand, and he realized rather sluggishly that her touch had been the source of his sense of succor.
“Hey.” His voice sounded raw and shaky even to him, but the word was audible at least.
“Oh, Leo, I’m so sorry I didn’t take your concerns more seriously.” Mattie brushed her lips against his cheek, and it felt good, so good. He hadn’t lost her after all. He’d feared he had from the minute he’d jumped into that cockpit and prevented her from flying. He’d thought she’d withdraw from him the way she had all those years ago when he’d ratted her out to her brothers and that she’d leave him like everyone else. But she hadn’t. She was here, holding his hand . . . apologizing to him . . . watching over him.
“S’okay,” he breathed out. It took so much energy to talk. He didn’t feel like he was dying, though—just fuzzy, so fuzzy. “Hard to think.”
“They gave you morphine,” Mattie explained, “and something to keep you unconscious during surgery.”
“Don’t like.” He knew he sounded grumpy, but he’d rather face the agony, especially if it meant talking to Mattie more clearly. He wanted to say so much.
Mattie gave him a rather watery smile as she gently brushed back his hair. He would have closed his eyes at the remarkable tenderness of her touch, but he was afraid he would fall asleep immediately.
“The doctors have every hope you won’t need strong medicine for long,” Mattie said. “By some miracle, the worst injury appears to be to your right leg, and that will heal.”
Leo had more time with Mattie, then. He wished he could tell her that, express that, but it would take too many words. Instead he, who had always hidden his emotions, tried to convey his feelings with his eyes alone. He greatly feared, though, that his gaze looked as bleary as he felt. Yet somehow, Mattie read his silent message, and even better, she returned it.
“I love you, Leo.” Mattie pressed the lightest of kisses against his lips. “I love you.” A flicker of memory winked through him. He’d heard her say that before as he’d lain on the ground, his mind drifting away from Mattie when he’d so badly wanted to stay.
He yearned to verbally say the words he’d held inside himself for so long . . . too long. But he didn’t have the energy, so he smiled. As he grinned, a gentle, soothing sleep claimed him once more.
When Leo awoke again, the degree of pain had increased, but his mind felt clearer. It took him much less effort to open his eyes. The room had descended into darkness, lit only by a single lamp. Yet still, in his hand, he felt Mattie’s. He slowly shifted his head to find her curled in a decidedly uncomfortable-looking chair. Her slight body seemed jammed into several impossible angles, yet somehow, she’d fallen asleep. She snored slightly, and the faint little snorts made him smile. Even in rest, Mattie couldn’t stay still. She had to make some noise, some movement.
But he didn’t like the light bruising under her eyes. She needed real sleep, not some facsimile in a noisy hospital, her body folded like a lady’s fan.
Mattie must have sensed his gaze, for she shifted, stretched the hand not holding his, and blinked. When she spied him awake, she bolted upright.
“How are you feeling? Are you in a lot of pain? Should I call for a nurse? They said to let them know if you needed more medication.”
“I’ve had enough fog for a lifetime,” Leo grumbled and then realized that complaining was not how he wanted to spend his time with Mattie. Relaxing his scowl, he rubbed his thumb gently over her knuckles. He had never told another being that he loved them, not even in the platonic sense. He huffed out a breath, but when the words finally came, he found them surprisingly and wonderfully easy to say.
“I love you, Mattie McAdams.”
He’d always found Mattie beautiful. It didn’t matter if she had a smudge of grease on her face or diamonds hanging from her ears. But the look she gave him, the utter glow shining from her golden eyes, the sheer love in her smile as her pink lips tilted upward . . .
It undid him. It was as if everything inside him unspooled so it could wrap up in her.
“You told me you were sorry for not listening to my concerns.” Leo swallowed hard. “I wanted to apologize, too, for taking that plane. But once I saw it was tampered with, I knew I couldn’t let you climb into the cockpit.”
“Why did you fly it? You knew it would crash, yet you still tried to operate it,” Mattie asked, her eyes wet again. The sight slayed Leo. Mattie rarely teared up, and he’d never seen her cry until now.
“I couldn’t save Alfred.” The confession came in a rush, the awful truth that felt like a secret but really wasn’t. Everyone knew Leo had returned from the front . . . and the beloved McAdams brother hadn’t.
Mattie blinked, clearly not expecting this. Then her entire face softened, not hardened as he’d expected. “Leo, Alfred was brought down by enemy fire. There was nothing you could have done.”
“He wasn’t brought down by enemy fire, not at first.” Leo had told this story only two times before. The first to his commanding officer and the second in a letter—that damned misguided letter. Then he’d never spoken of it again. Not once. He hadn’t ever wanted to relive it, but in some ways, by not thinking about it, he’d enshrined it inside himself. And it had become a part of him.
“I know he accidentally flew into an ambush.” Mattie’s voice wobbled a bit when she spoke, but Leo barely heard the catch as his own guilt roared through him like thunder.
“It wasn’t just that,” Leo admitted hoarsely, and Mattie’s delicate fingers tightened on his. He almost stopped, but he’d already said too much. If he did not continue, her mind would create increasingly worse scenarios, and Mattie possessed a vivid imagination.
Leo swallowed once, then twice, before he could continue. “After he got mixed up, Alfred dived too quickly after an enemy pilot. One of the major weaknesses of our Nieuports was that the canvas would tear off in rapid descents. Alfred knew that—we all knew that—but that didn’t stop him from swooping down. You fly so similar to him. Fast. Heedless to danger. Absolutely fearlessly.”
“Is . . .” Mattie paused to take her own steadying breath. “Is that why you were always urging me not to fly stunts?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “When you dive too sharply or when you free-fall without warning, the images blur, and I think I catch sight of Alfred’s plane on that last plummet. It was worse, much worse, when I just returned from the front. That’s why when you told me that you planned the stall maneuver during Alfred’s memorial service, I . . . I panicked. I ratted you out to your brothers in hopes they could convince you not to try the trick. I didn’t realize they’d stop you from flying altogether.”
“Oh, Leo.” Mattie lifted her other hand and placed it over his, sandwiching his fingers between her two palms. “I never thought, never considered. I should have, but I was just so, so focused on thinking that you wanted to curtail my flying because I am a female.”
“That was never the reason, and I should have told you that years ago,” Leo admitted, “but I let you believe that because I thought it was easier to keep you safe.”
“But why?” Mattie asked. “I might have listened more if I’d understood the truth.”
“But you also would have realized how much you meant to me, Mattie,” Leo confessed.
“I rather like knowing.” Mattie’s voice sounded as pleasant as heat from a coal stove on a cold winter’s day, and he wanted to warm himself in the glow. She leaned closer to him, as if to impart a secret. “Because I feel the same about you.”
Ignoring the protest of his abused body, he lifted himself on his elbows and planted a quick kiss on her lips. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the energy for a longer one. He collapsed back down on the bed, feeling not exactly at ease but not as troubled as he’d thought he’d be by the confessions he was making.
“I was afraid that once you understood your power over me, I wouldn’t be able to keep you from danger, because you’d see that you could persuade me to agree to anything,” Leo admitted. “And I was also afraid of admitting how I felt.”
Mattie tenderly brushed back his hair and kissed his cheek. “Says the man who jumped in a sabotaged plane to prevent me from flying it, even after we became sweethearts and argued over whether I’d compete that day.”
“I underestimated my own stubbornness.” Leo lifted one side of his mouth.
“But not mine,” Mattie said softly, “but that is going to change.”
Leo searched her face, trying to understand what she meant. She looked more solemn than he’d ever seen her. Her determination was there too. Fiery. Intense. Fierce.
“I won’t always take your advice, and I’ll always make up my own mind, but I promise to do a better job of listening. But you have to understand that we’ll protect each other. I’ll be worrying about you too. You frightened me today in ways that I didn’t know that I could be frightened. It made me understand why you worry, and I reserve the right to fret too. You’re not the only one with fears about losing someone they love again.”
Any other time Leo would have shifted uncomfortably, but he suspected his body wouldn’t appreciate the unnecessary movement. Instead, he kept his gaze on Mattie, and the patent affection he saw on her face soothed him more than any amount of fidgeting ever could. This was Mattie. Mattie, who had been in his life and in his heart for so long. If he loved her enough to protect her, then he should also love her enough to let her protect him, love him—in all its manifestations.
It was time for him to share the burden he’d carried for years. The burden he and Walt McAdams had paid over and over to keep buried.
Leo needed to open himself fully to Mattie, to allow her to understand him, maybe even parts of him that he didn’t fully comprehend himself. If Leo wanted her to turn toward him, he had to lean on her. He had to stop fearing she would reject him, leave him.
“There was a chance Alfred could have landed his plane. Many pilots did. I have. We were too deep in enemy territory for him to glide to safety, but he was a skilled aviator. He could have coaxed that bird to the ground. He would have become a prisoner of war, but he would have survived. He would have survived.”
