Reach For The Sky 3v2c2j

Also by James Scott

The Electric Woman Reach for the Sky

Reach for the Sky

A Novel

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James Scott

Also by James Scott:

The Electric Woman Winner, 2017 Book Excellence Awards Writing as B J Scott: The Angel Trilogy: Angel of the Gold Rush Angel’s Daughter Legacy of Angels Light On A Distant Hill Winner, 2011 WILLA Literary Awards The Rail Queen Winner, 2015 Beverly Hills Book Awards Bronze Medalist, 2015 Will Rogers Book Awards Finalist, 2015 National Indie Excellence Awards

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Copyright 2020 James Scott. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

For Mildred Hemmons Carter (1921 – 2011) who would have made a fine WASP pilot. and For Clive Cussler (1931 – 2020) who showed me how to tell a good story.

Table of Contents

Part I - Ashes Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Part II – Phoenix Rising Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Part III - War Chapter 15

Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Part IV – Fire on High Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Author’s Notes

Part I

Ashes

1

Near Running Springs California

Northeast of San Bernardino

April 1929

The grave yawned before the girl, broad but shallow. Room for two bodies. And maybe one more, she thought. She sat on the edge of the grave, cradling the shovel and gasping for breath. The desert soil had fought her all the way, oozing back into the hole when dry, and heavy when wet as the rain began again. It had taken her most of the night. She’d worked like a machine, fearing if she stopped, she might never start again. Her dirt-stained hands brushed loose strands of wet dark hair from her forehead. Then, willing her aching muscles into motion, she got up and grabbed her mother’s booted feet and pulled her into the grave. Then, staggering with fatigue, she pulled her father alongside. For a fleeting instant she considered ing them, lying down on top of them and pulling the earth over her. No more running, no more pain, no more fear. Done, finished with life at fifteen. But a spark of revenge, of payback due, banished the notion. Refusing to give in to overwhelming weariness, she rose to her feet and slammed the shovel into the wet sand. When she patted the last shovelful into place, she collapsed on her haunches, her pounding heart telling her she needed to talk to them one last time, to tell them how sorry she was, to pray God would take them into His bosom, even as she prayed that the grave would not be discovered. But she knew her time was dangerously short, and if she did not leave, she would likely her mother and

father in the ground. Wiping away silent tears, she raised her face to the east. They would be coming.

It was still dark as the beat of horses’ feet sounded near the fresh grave. The horses stopped, breathing heavily, feet stamping the ground. Three mounted figures wearing rain slickers looked down at the disturbed earth. They gazed at the grave for a moment. One, older than the other two, a merciless cruelty branded on his weathered face, looked up, eyes searching the land, out past the Joshua trees and the ocotillo, the sagebrush and desert willow, sensing, probing the dim light. After long moments he looked down at the grave again and spoke, his voice a sharpened blade cutting into the still air. “Dig ’em up.” “Ain’t diggin’ no grave in the dark,” one of the men said in a low growl. The man who had first spoken slowly got off his horse. “Don’t reckon they’ve been dead long enough for ghosts to be walkin’.” He walked over to the nearby overturned buckboard wagon and retrieved an intact kerosene lantern. Lighting a match on the scratchpad of the matchbox he retrieved from his coat pocket, he lit the lantern and placed it on the ground beside the grave. Then he looked at the others. “Dig.” Reluctantly, the other two shed their rain slickers and set to work, taking turns with the shovel they had found nearby. In less than half an hour, they had partially uncovered the bodies. The man who had been spooked by digging in the dark looked up. “Looks like just the two of ’em,” he said. The older man looked down at the open grave, his expression devoid of emotion. His eyes peered into the surrounding pre-dawn darkness again. “The little bitch is alone now.” He turned back to the other two. “Hold on a minute.” He jumped down into the grave, and did something to the body of the man that left the other two nearly gagging in revulsion. Then he hoisted himself out of the grave, brushing the dirt from his hands. “Now cover ’em back up. Let the dead stay buried, I say. And this site needs to be cleaned up. Let’s remove all evidence of this spot. I don’t want no one ever finding this place again. Includin’ her.”

The girl ran through the desert, arms in front of her face in the darkness. Lost, directionless she ran, her feet pounding on the unforgiving ground. There was nothing in her mind now but to run. Cactus and flame-red ocotillo grabbed at her clothes, thorns scratched her cheeks, the salt of her tears stinging in the cuts. Yesterday was buried behind her; tomorrow was a blank slate. She ran, the blackness of night enveloping her. Then the skies opened again.

Three demons rode down from the mountain, the pounding of their great horses’ iron-shod hooves striking fire on the rocks of their age. The horses’ flaring nostrils spouted flame as on they came, their eyes burning coals of death. The riders looked ever forward as their black greatcoats flew out in the wind, cold eyes the color of glacial ice. The girl jerked awake, shaking in the early light of a desert sunrise. A bad dream. Clutching her arms about her chest, she squinted up at the sky, mostly empty now with remnants of the storm lingering in far-off patches of gray clouds. Stiff and aching, she got to her feet. She had taken shelter under a rock overhang barely big enough to keep her dry as a downpour drenched the area. Bracing against the overhang for , she saw rain had filled a depression on top of the rock. Ravenously thirsty, she leaned over and used both hands to scoop water into her mouth. Satisfied, she cupped her hands once more and splashed water over her face, then shook her hands dry. The effort caused her to breathe heavily and lean against the rock as a sudden wave of dizziness swept over her. She had not eaten in too long and knew she had far overworked her slender frame during the night and would pay the price for several days to come. If she was allowed any more days. She looked at the ground and felt a surge of panic. The rain last night had not erased her tracks in the slightest. Her crusty footprints were starting to dry in the sun. There was no time to linger. Relieving herself behind the sheltering rock, she was off and running again, weaving directionless through the forest of cactus and desert mallow.

The trio of riders, now shed of their rainslickers, followed the trail of footsteps to a large rock. One of the men got down to look closer. “She was here last night,” he said. “Must’ve took off first light.” He raised his face to the men on horseback. “Shouldn’t be hard to track.” The older man on horseback raised his weathered face to the horizon, eyes probing the land. “Couldn’t have got far,” he said, his coarse voice a low, rusty rasp in the stillness. He prodded his horse into motion and set off through the scrub. The other two looked at each other, sharing an uneasy expression. Then they mounted and rode up alongside the older man. “So we catch her, then what?” one said. He was a big man, muscular and taller than the older man, with a face like a granite carving of some legendary war hero. The old man said nothing for a long uncomfortable period. The third man spoke, a hint of pleading in his voice. “Look, I don’t cotton to killin’ kids. Grown-ups is one thing. But kids, that ain’t my thing.” “Mine neither,” the other said. The old man was mute again a few seconds, then spoke. “I’m doing what has to be done. You don’t want to be part of it—” “I don’t,” said the man who didn’t cotton to killing kids. “I’m done with this and I’m heading home.” He wheeled his horse around and galloped off into the desert. The other two looked at each other wordlessly, then moved their horses at a measured pace through the brush, as if they had no doubt they would overtake their quarry.

The girl fled blindly, sure there was little chance her pursuers would not catch her, and when they did, she would likely end up in the grave alongside her parents—if they bothered to bury her at all. As she staggered through the cactus and ocotillo, she reflected it would have been infinitely easier to just give up. But she wouldn’t, and stumbled on through the morning light, feet marking the sand for all to see. At last, gasping for breath and stumbling, she fell to her knees and collapsed into a sitting position. She was done, spent, her young body pushed to the limit and beyond. Mother, Father, please forgive me. I’m so sorry I lost everything you worked so hard for. But I can’t run anymore. She sat, head down, and heard a faint buzzing sound. It grew louder. It sounded like it was coming from above. She willed herself to her feet, heart pounding, and looked in the direction of the sound. She trod ahead and came to the edge of a long clearing. To her complete astonishment, about two hundred yards away she saw a yellow aeroplane rolling swiftly along the clearing on two wheels. It was a biplane. As she watched, the biplane slowed and its tail section sank down onto a stick which furrowed the ground as it went. The biplane came to a stop. The propeller was whirling around at great speed, but then it slowed and the buzz she had heard died. The quiet of the desert returned, with no sound but the faint buzz of insects. As she watched, a man jumped out of the machine to the ground. He bent and stretched himself as if weary and cramped. As she looked at the biplane, a daring idea began to form. There were two openings in the flying machine’s body. The pilot had been in the front one. If I could get in that back opening, maybe they won’t catch me. She knew there was no time to hesitate. She had to get down to the machine as fast as she could but remain undetected. She couldn’t count on the man allowing her to get into the biplane; she would have to get aboard unseen if she could. As she watched, the man walked away from the machine, stretching his legs, then, as she blushed, saw him stop and relieve himself on a creosote bush. At least his back is to me. This was her chance. She moved quickly around the perimeter of the open space, thankful for the sound-deadening sand under her feet. The man had finished and was still stretching his legs with vigorous steps when she neared the biplane on the opposite side. Arms still rubbery with fatigue, she laboriously hoisted herself up into the rear opening, then shrank back from the top as far as she could. The little space smelled of oil and kerosene. There was a seat with a harness crisscrossing it. She knew it was not an option; she’d be discovered if she sat in it. She held her nose and took some deep breaths through

her mouth, then sank to the floor in a ball, wedging herself into a narrow space between seat and fuselage. She wrapped her arms around her legs, shivering with fear. She could do nothing now but wait. After a minute, she heard approaching footsteps on the sand, the biplane rocked slightly as the pilot got aboard, and then the glorious sound of the motor turning over, puffing a belch of smoke as it whirred to life. Her hands bloodless and pale from their death grip on her legs, she prayed he wouldn’t find her. There was a moment’s pause, and then the yellow biplane trembled, the taut wires between the wings vibrating in the wash from the propeller. The motor settled into a steady buzz. She heard the engine surge and felt the plane begin to move, and she dared to breathe again. Then to her horror it stopped, and the engine settled back into a low purr. There was the sound of approaching hoofbeats. Her throat constricted as she lay nearly paralyzed with fear. She heard the man in the pilot’s seat making noise as if handling a heavy object. There was a voice from nearby, a voice she recognized for its coldness. There was only one man she knew who sounded like that. “Mornin’, mister,” the man said, speaking loudly to be heard over the motor and whirling propeller. "You gents ire biplanes?" she heard the pilot say. “Not especially,” came the response, and she could feel a tension grip the air. She heard the snort of a horse and a creaking of leather as someone shifted in their saddle. “We’re lookin’ for someone. Little gal about so high, around fifteen. She’s a runaway, and we need to get her back home out of this raw weather. Started trackin’ her yesterday.” “Mister, we’re a long way out into the desert. Doesn’t seem likely a runaway would make it out this far.” The man’s voice turned harder. “She stole a horse.” The pilot paused, staring at the man. “Mister, I haven’t seen anyone like that around here. I just dropped in to stretch my legs for a bit. Now I’m headed back into the air. You’d better back clear of the propeller.”

The man rested his right hand on the handle of the gun on his hip. “Maybe we oughtta have a look in that machine of yours.” The girl clamped both hands over her mouth to keep from whimpering in terror. A brief quiet, then she heard a thump as the pilot set something heavy on the edge of the cockpit. “Mister, I’m already tired of your company,” the pilot said. “I told you I haven’t seen anyone like that. You go for those guns and I’ll wipe both of you out of the saddle in less than two seconds. Now back off.” There was a hushed moment, then she heard the scuffling hoofbeats of horses slowly backing away. The pilot apparently put down whatever he had threatened the men with as she felt a heavy thump. She gasped in relief as she heard the motor surge and the wheels once again begin to turn. The biplane began to roll, faster and faster. Now, she was sure, the horses wouldn’t be able to keep up. Then her stomach threatened to fall to her shoes as the biplane lifted into the sky. Terrified, she sank back onto the floor, in the process laying on two cables running lengthwise, and held on as tight as she could to the seat frame, her eyes squeezed shut in panic. In her mind’s eye, she could see the chilly gaze of her pursuers on the yellow machine, as it flew into the blue-skied distance. On the ground, the younger man broke the stillness. “Think she was in there?” The man who had spoken to the pilot was still staring at the receding flying machine. “I’d lay money on it. Ain’t no other escape out here.” He blew out his breath in exasperation and slammed a hand onto the pommel of his saddle, causing his horse to jerk its head. “Don’t know where that aeroplane is goin’. But it had a number on it, and I got it. We should be able to track it. For now, let’s head home. Wasted enough time on this chase.” He turned to the other man. “We’ll find her. Someday, we’ll find her.”

The girl jerked awake to the drone of the motor. Blissfully, she had ed out not long after they had taken to the air. Now she could feel the flying machine descending, and her stomach with it. Steeling herself and looping an arm tightly under the cable running along the fuselage under her, she dared a peek over the edge of her enclosure. They were rapidly descending toward a broad dirt strip carved out of the brush on the arid landscape. She could see another flying machine near an odd-shaped building at one side of the strip. Dizzy, she sank back onto the floor and held her stomach, hoping it wouldn’t erupt until they were at least on the ground. She hadn’t given any thought to what she would do then. What would happen when the pilot discovered her? Will I be punished? Beaten? Taken to jail? The options chilled her, and she thought her best chance would be to stay hidden until she had a chance to sneak away. She felt the biplane start to turn. But it suddenly jerked and shuddered, and she could hear the pilot cursing. At the same time, the arm she had looped under the cable was suddenly pulled back and forth, the cable sawing at her flesh as her arm was bound between the cable and the fuselage. Panicky, she did her best to jerk it free, and after a few seconds, succeeded, huddling deep in the enclosure until she felt the tires the smooth dirt. The plane rolled along until it slowly came to a stop near the odd building she had seen from the air. The pilot cut the engine and jumped out. More cursing. Suddenly he yelled to someone in the building. “Leroy! This infernal machine’s got a rudder problem!” A man in oil-stained coveralls ambled over. He was past middle age and looked like someone who had long since ceased to care about his appearance. Thatches of gray in his unruly black hair peeked out around his ears from under his grimy cap. “Shouldn’t have given you no trouble. I checked her out myself before you took off. What happened?” The pilot threw his goggles and leather helmet to the ground in disgust. “When I turned to line up for landing, the rudder didn’t want to respond. Acted like it was bound up. It fought me for a few seconds then broke free. But not before it scared the hell out of me.” He stopped and caught a breath. “That’s not all. When I took off out in the desert, it was a little sluggish, like there was extra weight in the tail.” Leroy looked at the flying machine, rubbing his chin in puzzlement. “Drew, I

don’t figger it. But I’ll have a look.” “You do that, Leroy, ’cause I’m not taking it up again ’til you get it fixed.” Both men started to walk back to the hangar, their backs turned to the airplane, and didn’t notice the girl slither out of the rear cockpit and slide down the far side of the fuselage onto the ground. But when she took two steps on the dirt and collapsed heavily into a heap, they heard that. Hurrying around the fuselage, they found a small figure sprawled on the ground face down. Drew stared down in amazement. Leroy scratched his three-day beard stubble. “Hmph,” he said, “there’s yer rudder problem.” The pilot turned to him in astonishment, then back to the still figure on the ground. “A damned stowaway!” He reached down and grabbed hold of a shoulder strap and started to pull upward. But he got only a few inches when the figure jerked awake and began fighting him with the ferocity of a wildcat. There came a muffled volley of obscenities. “Leave me alone! Get your filthy paws off me!” Speechless, Drew hoisted the figure and held it at arm’s length, and for the first time could see the face. “Even worse. A girl! So you were in my airplane, just like those yahoos thought you might be.” “Let go of me!” Drew plopped the girl back onto the ground but still held her at arm’s length. “Not yet. Do you realize you could have got us both killed? That you could have caused us to crash?” “No! Can I go now?” “Nope. You have questions to answer.” He glanced at Leroy. “Let’s get her into the hangar.” He looked down at the girl, who was glaring at him ferociously. “Don’t fight me,” he said. Holding her shirt collar, he marched her into the hangar and sat her down roughly in a ratty office chair. Wanting to stay clear of the whole situation, Leroy walked off and busied himself with a wooden propeller leaning against a work bench but kept an ear to the conversation.

Drew looked down at her. “It’s a hot day. You want a drink?” The girl nodded. “All right then.” He reached for a canvas water bag slung over a nearby post and retrieved a cup, then filled it and gave it to the girl. She grabbed it and drank deep until it was empty. Drew filled it again and gave her the second cup. As he watched her drink, it occurred to him the two riders in the desert who had menaced him had told the truth. Or at least some of it, he thought. Why did they want this little girl so much? He waited as she drank the second cup, looking her over. She was slender, tall for her apparent age, and dressed in a frayed shirt underneath dirty overalls, her feet in scuffed-up boots with badly worn soles. She had intense dark blue eyes, and her dark reddish-brown hair was a tangled mess close around her head. She looked to him to be about fourteen, though he knew so little about young girls that he wasn’t sure. When she lowered the cup he said, “You have a name, girl?” The girl paused for a moment as if lost in thought: “Shannon.” “Nice name. How about a last name?” Nothing. Drew sighed and pulled another chair close to her, where he sat and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, Shannon’s fine for now. Look, you gave me a serious fright up there. So I figure I’m entitled to know why you stowed away in my airplane.” He paused, waiting for a response, but didn’t get it. “Somebody’s chasing you. Looks like they want you real bad too. They were ready to pull guns on me to see if you were on board. Good thing for you I didn’t let ’em. Nobody messes with my airplane.” He sat back and crossed his arms. “You want to tell me what this is all about?” Shannon shook her head, looking at her captor. He was tall and athletic-looking and blessed with rakish movie-star good looks. He had thick brown hair that spilled over his forehead and piercing green eyes over a killer grin. Drew snorted in exasperation. “It must be pretty serious, damn it! A little girl running around the desert all alone—”

“I’m fifteen!” she said, deep blue eyes blazing. Drew involuntarily jerked back in the chair at the ferocity of her response. “You’re still way too young to be running around the desert unless it’s some kind of desperate situation—” “Yeah? How old are you?” “Hmph. Twenty, not that it’s any of your business.” The girl stuck her tongue out. “Stop calling me a girl. I’m half-growed. There’s only five years between us.” “Hmph.” “I told you all I’m going to tell you. Can I go now?” “Where to? Say, where are your parents?” Shannon looked down at her cup. “They’re dead.” Drew shook his head and looked away for a moment. “I’m sorry to hear it.” His expression sobered. “You a runaway?” There was no response. Drew drummed his fingers on his knee for a moment. “I think I need to call the sheriff.” “No!” Shannon yelled, leaping to her feet. “You do and I’m dead.” Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. “Please, please, don’t do it.” He looked amazed for an instant, then rubbed a hand over his chin. With a heavy sigh, he said, “You have relatives you can hook up with?” “Yes. In Los Angeles.” He wasn’t convinced. “That’s a long way. It’s dangerous out there for a girl— excuse me, young lady—to be traveling all alone. How about I take you there?” “I’ll get there myself,” she said, frowning.

Drew sat back in his chair. “Hmm, now why don’t I believe you?” Shannon frowned. “Don’t much care if you believe me. I’m going.” Drew stood up and stretched. “Fine. No place for you around here anyway.” He pointed to the outside. “There’s pretty much nothing but desert for about twenty miles in every direction. I’d say it’s going to reach at least ninety today. You want to go, nobody’s stopping you.” Shannon got up and walked out of the hangar without a word. She broke into the sunlight but didn’t stop, hands jammed in her pockets. Drew leaned against the hangar entrance watching her go, fighting an urge to call her back. Leroy turned from the propeller he had been working on and ambled over. “You gonna let her walk out into the desert, all alone?” Drew sighed. “Right now, I don’t know what I’m going to do. No place for a fifteen-year old here, but I’m not going to let her risk her life either. Though I reckon she’s already done that. No, I’m hoping she’ll decide for us.” He watched the girl’s receding figure reach the far side of the dirt landing strip and slowly come to a halt. She stood staring out at the desert shimmering in heat waves for several minutes, then lowered her head and slowly turned around and began to walk back toward them. “You hungry?” Drew said as she reached the sanctuary of shade provided by the hangar. She seemed to simmer for a moment, then nodded affirmatively. He didn’t press her for more. “Okay, let’s rustle up something to eat. Come on back to the kitchen, and I’ll see what we can do.” She cautiously followed him deeper into the hangar. For the first time, she looked around. There was a dusty wooden sign above the entrance that read Kazminski Aviation. The building was shaped like half of a barrel set on the ground. A curved roof arched over her. The air inside was thick with the same oil and kerosene smell the biplane had, but stronger. There were tools scattered everywhere; she couldn’t guess their purpose. Workbenches with machines and parts of machines lined the walls, which were plastered with faded posters advertising a variety of products, and two or three that trumpeted events showing

biplanes flying grandly through the sky as a crowd below watched. In the rudimentary kitchen, a separate room which was a few shades of grime cleaner than the rest of the hangar, to her relief she saw Drew wash his hands. As she sat at a chipped table, she observed a small cook stove and noisy refrigerator with a big coil on top in the room. Drew rustled around in the refrigerator and came up with lettuce, bread, two apples, and some sliced turkey. Then he set about making sandwiches for them. “No milk,” he said over his shoulder as he worked. “You’ll have to make do with water. Oh, and there’s an outhouse out back.” Needing no urging, she shot for the door and was back in minutes, to find a robust sandwich and an apple waiting for her on the table, along with a glass of water. She shyly went to the sink and washed her hands, then sat down and tore into the sandwich like she hadn’t eaten in days. Drew didn’t disturb her, even when a blot of mustard spilled onto her shirt. When she had finished the sandwich, he said, “I’m glad you came back to us, but you can’t stay here. No beds to spare, and besides, if we kept a fifteen-year old girl—excuse me, young lady—around, there’d be talk, and I don’t need the notoriety. Let me see if I can call in a favor and get you settled someplace where you’ll be safe.” She glared at him between bites of the apple but said nothing. After they were done with the sandwiches and apples, he rose and left the table to go back into the shop. She could hear him talking in low tones on a crank telephone fastened to a wall. After an extended conversation, he hung up and came back to the kitchen. “Good news,” he said with artificial cheer, “an acquaintance of mine, Mrs. Barkley, will be here around late afternoon. She runs a home for homeless children. She’s offered you a place to stay over in Highland. It’s only about 15 miles or so. I think you can trust her. So how about it?” The girl looked at him for a few moments, then shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Drew said. “Until then, feel free to look around. But don’t touch anything.” He left to talk to Leroy, who was still working on the big wooden propeller.

Shannon watched him go, then began to slowly walk around. Outside the hanger’s front entrance, to one side was the other flying machine she’d seen from the air. It was colored a dark blue, and she immediately took a fancy to it. On closer examination, she saw there was a number at the front of the fuselage, below the pilot’s seat, and a large symbol painted near the tail. In large print along the side, letters proclaimed, “Kazminski Air Shows. Airplane Rides $1.00”. She stared at it dubiously. Would people actually pay to have the daylights scared out of them? Curious, she grabbed one of the wire wing struts and hauled herself up onto the right-side lower wing to peek inside where the pilot sat. There was a rudimentary seat that didn’t look too comfortable, a large lever sticking out of the floor in front of it, some gauges on the dashboard, and cables that ran along the floor, along with some features whose purpose she couldn’t guess. She noticed the seat had an X-shaped safety harness lying on it. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” She jumped in alarm and whirled to see Drew grinning at her. “For someone who was hugging my rudder cables on your first flight, you’re taking a strange interest in flying machines.” Shannon slid down the wing and plunked to the ground. “This is a lot different. It’s on the ground, so I figure it’s safe. But you’ll never get me up there”—she waved to the sky— “again. Don’t even think of it.” Drew held his hands up in mild protest. “Suit yourself. Wasn’t my doing the first time.” Shannon looked over at the yellow aeroplane that had brought her here. “Something you did out in the desert got those men to back off. What was it?” “Come over to the plane with me, and I’ll show you.” They walked over to the brightly colored craft, where Drew reached into the cockpit, threw aside a canvas, and hauled out the biggest gun Shannon had ever seen. “This is a Lewis gun,” he said, holding it out for her to see clearly. “It’s a gaspowered machine gun. Invented by some guy named Lewis, I guess. Used a lot during the war over in Europe, but not by American forces. Too bad, something about some political wrangling, I hear. It’s a good gun, very portable, not too heavy to handle, though she does weigh around thirty pounds loaded, and good

for use in aircraft. Here, see how it feels.” He set the gun gently in Shannon’s arms. She sagged under the weight, cradling it briefly, then Drew took it back. It felt plenty heavy to her. It had a long large barrel, with a disc-shaped object on top. “What’s that?” she said, pointing to the disc. “The magazine. It holds the bullets. This magazine holds 97 rounds; the smaller one holds 28. The expanding gas from one round firing powers the next round.” He stopped and fingered the barrel. “There’s usually a cooling shroud around the barrel; it could get damaged if it gets too hot. But for airplane use, the airflow from flight cools the barrel enough so it doesn’t need a shroud. That’s why this one doesn’t have it.” “Fascinating,” Shannon said tonelessly. Drew put the gun back on the floor of the cockpit and covered it with the canvas again. He turned back to her and grinned. “This baby can fire 500-600 rounds per minute.” Shannon pursed her lips. “I can see now why those men backed off.” “Suppose you tell me who they were?” “No,” she said, turning and walking away back toward the hangar. Drew watched her go. “That girl’s definitely got a burr under her saddle,” he murmured. “But about what?”

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Late afternoon came, and with it the sound of a motorcar approaching. In the still desert air, it could be heard long before it came into view. Shannon shyly watched it come from a dark corner of the hangar, a frown on her face. The machine came to a halt, and the motor shut down with a loud backfire that startled her. A stout middle-aged woman heaved herself out from the driver’s

seat as Drew walked out to meet her. They conversed for several minutes in words she couldn’t hear, but the longer they went on, the more unsettled about the woman’s presence she got. Too much talk, she thought. They could be making all kinds of plans for me. Maybe it’s not too late to slip away. She was edging further back into the darkness of the hangar when Drew turned suddenly and called to her. “Shannon! Come and meet Mrs. Barkley.” Rats. Too late to run now. She came out of the shadows and warily approached the pair. “Shannon, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Barkley. She’s going to take you into town to a place where you can stay.” Mrs. Barkley peered down at her with a plump face, a not-entirely-convincing smile on her lips. She was clad in a print dress with a pattern of small carnations all about and a real one pinned below her left shoulder, a soft blue hat with black netting peeking out from underneath, and black open-toed shoes not made for walking off pavement. Her plump legs were encased in sheer stockings with a seam running up the back. She had rouge on her cheeks and smelled of cheap perfume, like the inhabitants of the back pew on a hot Sunday at church. “I’d like to say I’ve heard so much about you,” she said. “But Drew doesn’t know anything. He says your name is Shannon.” Shannon nodded. “Now, as Drew may have told you, I have a home for children who don’t have one. Not to worry; it’s licensed by the county and there is a group of children there who’d be happy to meet you. How’s that?” Shannon shrugged her shoulders. The smile this time was closer to a grimace. “Well, that’s a good start, I suppose.” She looked at the afternoon light in the sky. “I think we’d better be going. We need to get back to town while there’s still light.” She looked at Shannon. “I don’t drive in the dark, dear.” Shannon got in the front enger seat of the four-door touring car. Mrs. Barkley laboriously slid herself into the driver’s seat and looked at Drew again.

“Does she have any belongings?” “Nothing but what she’s wearing, apparently,” Drew said. Mrs. Barkley smiled one last time. “All the more reason to let Mother Barkley have a go at making her look proper.” “Yes, never thought much about it. Now you’d best be on your way.” Mrs. Barkley turned the starter, and the engine galloped into life, emitting another loud backfire. “You ought to let me fix that,” Drew shouted over the motor’s roar. “Chances are your spark plugs are dirty.” “Perhaps next time, dear,” Mrs. Barkley said. “Besides, it lets people know I’ve arrived. Toodle-oo!” With that she turned the motorcar in a large circle in front of the hangar and drove off down the dirt road. Shannon turned with misgiving to watch the biplane hangar shrink into the distance. Then she turned to face the dusty road ahead. Mrs. Barkley chattered nearly non-stop on the trip. Shannon didn’t respond, but the woman was undeterred; seeming to feel her one-sided conversation was quite sufficient. She didn’t notice Shannon’s fixated stare on everything they were ing. After about twenty minutes, they began to encounter structures, and soon were entering a full-fledged town, small though it appeared. Drab buildings and homes lined a dirt street, with the occasional tree and flowerpot here and there. The buildings were fronted by boardwalks; the houses had faded picket fences encoming small yards. Some had grass; most did not. Mrs. Barkley turned off the main street and parked in front of a large home. It once was white, though that must have been some time ago. There were dark blue clapboard shutters. And there was a layer of dust on all of it. Above the front door was a large arched sign that proclaimed, “Mrs. Barkley’s Home for Wayward Children”. Shannon wrinkled her nose in disgust. Wayward? Mrs. Barkley preceded her up to the door, her plump backside jiggling like two pigs fighting in a blanket. Shannon stifled an urge to guffaw, and the woman opened the front door with a grand flourish, as if a trove of unexpected delights

waited inside. Reluctantly, Shannon walked into the house. The living room was sparsely furnished in a functional way, with worn chairs and a sofa accented by a floor rug the origins of which must have stretched back into a distant past. There were two small round tables draped by colored cloths which looked like sheets, capped off by large lace doilies and lamps with a fringe of crystal pendants hanging from their round glass tops. Looks like grandma crap, Shannon thought. As she looked around, other children slowly filtered into the room, regarding her as if she were a carnival sideshow oddity. “What are you lookin’ at?” she said. “Children, be polite,” Mrs. Barkley said. “This is our new resident. Her name is Shannon. She’ll take Olivia’s old room for now.” She turned to Shannon. “Get acquainted. Dinner is at six, prompt. All children wash their hands before dinner, and then assist with cleaning the kitchen afterwards.” With that, she walked off, leaving an uncomfortable quiet in her wake. Shannon looked around at the other children. They stared at her for a moment, then turned away and slowly disappeared into other rooms. One girl lagged behind. “Wait,” Shannon said, coming up close to her as the girl turned to go. “Shannon,” she said, sticking out her hand. The girl looked at it dubiously for a moment, then shook hands. “Gwendolyn,” she said. Gwendolyn had blond hair taken up in two long braids, and soft features, an altogether pleasing appearance. But she looked sad. Shannon leaned closer. “This place an orphanage?” Gwendolyn looked over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t overheard. “Yes. There’s usually about eight children here. Mrs. Barkley gets money from the state for our care, so she keeps the place as full as possible.” “How long you been here?” “Two years. Most kids are here until they’re placed with families or get too old.” “You don’t look like you like it much.”

Gwendolyn looked down and shook her head. “Mrs. Barkley is—” She stopped as Barkley herself entered the room. “Gwendolyn, I need you to assist with the meal,” she said frostily. “You may talk with Shannon later.” Gwendolyn’s eyes flashed a warning at Shannon, then she followed Barkley into the kitchen. Shannon found herself alone in the living room. It was quiet except for the ticking of a clock on the fireplace mantel. Dejected, she sank down into one of the worn-out chairs and sat until she heard the dinner call. As indicated, dinner was called promptly at six p.m. Children erupted from various parts of the house and headed for the dinner table in a controlled rush. By the time Shannon could react, they were all sat at the table, with one seat left for her. She sat down with the others and looked dubiously at the fare. There were mashed potatoes, beets, peas, boiled cabbage, and a sparse amount of sliced ham. There was milk, and it was plentiful. Shannon saw nothing she cared for, but her growling stomach overcame any reservations. “Hands, children,” Barkley called out, and every child presented their hands for inspection. Shannon put hers out, realizing she had forgotten the edict, and, having spent most of the day at the aeroplane hangar, it was obvious. “Shannon, to the sink,” Barkley said, pointing. Shannon went to the sink to wash. “Children, if your food is cold, it’s Shannon’s fault,” Barkley intoned. “Blame her.” Shannon returned to the table in a frosty silence, and, after Barkley led a prayer pointedly reminding the children how grateful they should be for their blessings, they all commenced to eat. Shannon spent the time observing the other children. They looked meekly obedient and docile. But she thought she sensed an undercurrent of fear among them. “The children all attend school,” Barkley said to her as they were eating. “You must them. If you are fifteen, I should think ninth grade might be right. You

must tell me tomorrow how much schooling you’ve had, so we can get you set up to attend.” Shannon picked at her food and didn’t look at her. After dinner, she was told to assist some of the other children in washing the dishes. Sullenly she obeyed but hid her expression from Barkley. During the drying, one of the girls dropped a small glass bowl. It shattered on the floor. The girl clutched herself in panic. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Barkley!” she said, a pleading tone in her words. Barkley gave her a stony look. “Clean that up immediately.” Tearfully, the girl swept up the pieces into a dustpan, and then stood mute, as if waiting for something. As if by magic, Barkley produced a large flat ruler. “Carelessness will not be tolerated,” she said to the girl. “Bend over.” Red-faced, the girl obeyed, and received a solid thwack on her backside. “Now,” Barkley said, “go to your room and stay there studying your homework until time for lights out.” The girl fled. Barkley turned to Shannon, who had watched with astonishment. “Children must be disciplined,” she said, face devoid of comion. “Finish your tasks, and Gwendolyn will show you to your room.” Shannon stared at her defiantly for a moment, then finished quickly and left in search of Gwendolyn. The girl showed her to her room, which was on the second floor. It was sparsely furnished with a table, a lamp, a small bed, and a desk and chair for studying. The walls were mostly devoid of anything except aging paint. Gwendolyn sat on the bed as Shannon stood mutely. “You’re lucky,” Gwendolyn said in a barely audible voice. “You have a room to yourself. Before long, you’re going to have a roommate. You’ll have to share the bed then.” Shannon snorted. “I’m not sharing a bed with anybody.”

Gwendolyn looked alarmed. “Don’t let her hear you say that!” Shannon eyed her for a moment, then sat on the bed next to her. “You’re afraid.” Gwendolyn looked down. “All of us are. It’s the way it is here.” “Hmph. This isn’t right. Have you ever tried to leave?” Gwendolyn shook her head, her long braids swaying. “Other girls have. But they were always caught and brought back. There’s no place to go.” Shannon sat back on the bed. “I’m not staying.” Gwendolyn looked at her in alarm. “If you try to leave, she’ll beat you!” “She can try.” “If you’re going to leave, you’d better try it soon. This is Friday. Monday, she’ll have the county people out here to you. Once it’s done, you’ll be officially cast as a runaway if you leave and hunted down.” She stood. “I have to go back to my room now. Everyone is supposed to be studying this time of night.” She went to the door but turned back and sat close to Shannon, eyes moist. “If you get away, please me.” Then she was gone. Shannon sat on the bed, lost in thought. Eventually, she realized she was tired, and stretched out on the bed. She awoke later and jumped at the sight of Barkley standing in her doorway. “Lights were to be turned off nearly a half hour ago. Yours is still on.” Shannon sat up and rubbed her eyes. “No one told me. I fell asleep.” Barkley eyed her sternly. “We keep strict discipline in this house.” She stepped in and closed the door behind her. “And I didn’t like the way you looked at me in the kitchen this evening. Defiance of house rules and decorum will be dealt with firmly. You’re obviously in need of an introduction.” She advanced and pulled out the ruler from behind her. Shannon rose and pulled herself up to her full height, blue eyes blazing. “You touch me with that ruler and I’ll shove it up your backside.”

Barkley’s face froze in astonishment. Then her ample chin began to shake. “Defiance! This will not be tolerated.” She turned to the door, then paused, fairly trembling in anger. “I will deal with you in the morning,” she said. Then she went out, slamming the door behind her. Shannon flopped back on the bed. I’ve done it now, she thought. But I meant every word. Anyone lays hands—or anything else—on me they’re going to regret it. She eyed the door speculatively. Hmm. If I’m to get any sleep tonight, I’m going to need to secure the door. She got up and moved the desk chair so it was tilted under the doorknob. She turned the light off and reclined on the bed, closing her eyes. But sleep didn’t come. Midway through the night, her suspicions were confirmed when she heard a scraping sound. She looked to the door. The chair legs were moving. Someone was trying to push open the door. But the harder it was pushed, the more the chair resisted. After a minute, whomever was on the other side gave up, and she heard the faint sound of quiet footsteps fading away down the hall. In the morning, Shannon was on edge and hyper-alert when she went downstairs to breakfast. Barkley didn’t even look at her. But Shannon had little doubt that something was coming. Since it wasn’t a school day, the children were left to their own devices. It was very warm outside, and the children congregated mostly in the front yard, using various worn toys, games, and playground structures to relax. Shannon, not knowing anyone, stood under the shade of a large tree to the right of the house. She soon found herself ed by Gwendolyn. The pig-tailed blond girl approached her with a look of iration. “That was very brave, what you said last night,” Gwendolyn said. “I wish I was brave like you.” “Well, it hasn’t gotten me anywhere yet. I’m here with all of you.” “But you have a plan, I’ll bet!”

Shannon twisted her mouth into a wry smile. “Not yet, but I’m working on it.” They settled onto the grass in the shade. From time to time, the other children ambled over to seek relief from the heat. They looked at Shannon curiously. They knew she was somehow different but couldn’t define it. An airplane ambled lazily overhead in the blue sky. Shannon looked up at it. “Someday I’m going to be up there,” she said. A little boy with a crewcut, whom she ed from the previous day as named Peter, ed amazement on his face. “Do you really think so?” Shannon nodded. “That’s my dream. I’ll bet some of you have dreams too.” The boy looked at the ground. “I want to drive a locomotive.” “I want to be a dancer,” said a girl named Mary. Soon all the children were gathered around. Others suddenly broke in about their dreams and desires. But Shannon didn’t feel the fire of conviction behind their words. How many of them will make their dreams come true? They’ve already got one strike against them. And living in this place could be strike two. She felt a sudden urge to take them all with her, but immediately dashed it. It was impossible. “How can I make my dream come true?” said a girl of about eleven. She looked at the faces around her, and realized they were looking to her to say something helpful. I’m fifteen, what do I know? Well, I guess I know one thing, because Da taught me. “Never stop believing in yourself,” she said. She looked up and saw Barkley standing on the front steps looking with annoyance at the children gathered around her. “Time to set the table for lunch, children,” she said. “Dust off, come in and wash your hands.” The children got up in unison, leaving Shannon seated on the grass. She slowly got up to follow as Barkley came down the steps.

“What were you talking about with those children?” she said. “Just kid stuff,” Shannon said. “What they want to be when they grow up and such.” Barkley eyed her suspiciously. “Go inside and wash up. The table must be set. And I don’t want you putting rebellious ideas in their minds.” Shannon slid past her into the house. “I’m not sure you’re going to fit in here,” Barkley said behind her. Shannon deftly avoided Barkley the rest of the day. She swore sometimes the woman was trying to corral her for a reckoning. Eventually she will. As if I needed any more reason to get out of here. Tonight. Just before bedtime she slipped a note into Gwendolyn’s pocket as they went to their rooms. In the privacy of her room, Gwendolyn fished the note out of her pocket and looked at it. I won’t forget you, or the others either, it said.

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Shannon lay awake on her bed until just past midnight. She went to the window and looked out. There was a bright full moon in the sky illuminating the landscape. She quietly slid open the window and looked down. On the second floor, she was too high to jump safely. She had no notion of trying to sneak out the front door; the floor of the old house had too many creaks and groans. She stuck her head out further and examined the wall of the house. Despite what she had hoped for, there was nothing she could get hold of to lower herself to the ground. No nearby tree branches, no ledges, no nothing. There was a trellis ten feet away, but it was too far to reach. Discouraged, she put her elbows on the sill and stared out for long moments. Then the spark of an idea hit her, and she looked above her. The old house had sturdy-looking rain gutters. They looked solid, but would they hold her weight? One way to find out, she thought. If I can

get up on the roof, I can go along to where I can reach the trellis. She hoisted herself onto the windowsill and reached up for the rain gutter, which was within easy grasp at her right. She thought if she could do a pull-up, she could grasp something on the roof to hoist herself onto it. She wrapped her fingers around the edge of the gutter and pulled herself upward. There was a sharp crack as the gutter started to give way. Not that way. Trying the other direction, she reached to her left as far as she could, fingers again wrapped around the gutter’s edge, and put her weight on it. Do or die. This time it held. She dared to take her weight slowly from the windowsill, one foot, then the other, until she was hanging in space. The gutter did not protest. Swiftly, she edged her way several feet to the left until one hand grasped the trellis. It was covered with a rose vine. She pulled herself fully over to it. Scratched by thorns, she stifled a yelp in protest. But with a few feet of descent, she was on the ground. She looked up. There was the bare hint of an approaching dawn on the eastern horizon. Stepping across the yard, she was gone.

2

Drew Patterson wiped sweat off his forehead and resumed brushing resin onto a fabric patch on the lower left wing of the yellow biplane. At least when he bent over the wing, his head was in the shade. Small comfort, he thought, reckoning the temperature to be approaching one hundred. There wasn’t a tree in sight, save two desert willow trees that clung to life around the hangar. The hangar offered the only decent shade to be had. Finished, he stuffed the brush back in the resin bucket, and with a final swipe at his forehead, left the resin to dry and walked back to the hangar. Leroy was working at one of the benches, tinkering with a distributer for one of the biplane motors. He didn’t look up as Drew entered. Drew put the resin bucket down on a bench and flopped into a worn desk chair. “Already hotter’n hell’s half acre out there.” “Tell me something I don’t know,” Leroy replied laconically. A battered hat sat on his head, a hat he wore constantly, summer or winter, as if it was a required piece of equipment for airplane mechanics. Drew poured a cup of water from the ever-present canvas water bag and took a long drink. “Damn it, I wish we weren’t so far from civilization. It’s an hour’s drive into a real town with trees and shade. Why this God-forsaken rathole is here mystifies me.” “An airfield needs lots of space,” Leroy replied, his attention not wavering from his work. “Not this much space. There’s still plenty of room for an airfield closer to civilization.” Leroy finally put down his tools and turned, leaning back against the bench. “Appreciate what we got; we won’t have it forever. Someday the towns will grow out to us. Give ’em enough time and they’ll surround us, ’Bout then,

they’ll demand we move. So, we’ll move farther out into the desert again, and start the process over.” “Hah,” Drew scoffed quietly. “The day there’s towns and houses out this far—” He was interrupted by the sound of an approaching motorcar. He rose and went to the front of the hangar. “Hope it’s some real customers. Crop dusting’s getting old. Haven’t given any airplane rides all week.” But he was dismayed to see it was Mrs. Barkley. She skidded to a stop in the dust, making Drew cough and reach for his handkerchief. He ventured a cheery smile. “Trouble, Mrs. Barkley?” he called loudly. Barkley squeezed out of the car like sausage out of a tube and stomped up to him, plump face quivering with indignation. “Trouble? I should say so.” She stretched up to her full height and raised her chin, dripping righteousness. “Your little girl ran away last night.” Drew put a hand to his face, trying to stifle a chuckle. “Let’s move into the shade,” he said, turning to go inside and leaving Barkley to follow him. “So you find this amusing?” she said. Drew bit down to keep from laughing. “No, I didn’t say that. But it’s certainly not my fault. She’s not ‘my’ little girl. It doesn’t surprise me though. I might be missing a few fingers if I’d gotten them near her mouth when I first saw her. That girl’s a spitfire. She’s mad as a hornet about something. But she won’t talk about it.” Barkley moved a step closer. “She’s caused me a lot of trouble. She’s like to set off sparks in the other children with her defiance. And if the county finds out about this, it could be the end for me.” Drew straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest. “Just exactly what did you do?” Barkley squirmed with effrontery. “I found it necessary to discipline her. She was defiant and uncooperative. Children at my house must follow the rules. They usually get a swat with the ruler if they disobey.” Drew’s expression hardened. “I’d guess you picked the wrong kid to try that on.”

“Hmph. She and I will come to an understanding.” She paused to look around. “Is she here?” “No. Haven’t seen her. Frankly, I’d be surprised to see her here. She didn’t seem to like us much either.” Barkley glanced around again. “Like I said, she’s not here.” There was a hardness in his voice. “Hmph. I depend on these children for my sustenance. If she does turn up, I expect you to return her to me. If you do not, I will the sheriff and inform him you are harboring a runaway minor child.” Drew glared at her. “And maybe it’s time for the sheriff to have a look at how you run your operation. He might not like it if he finds you’ve been physically abusive to those children. Cross me and you’ll get a visit. Now, it’s time for you to go.” Barkley glared back at him, chin trembling. “I won’t let this matter drop,” she said, walking back to her car. She got in, started the motor—again, with a loud bang—and wheeled the car around. Drew watched her go, car wheels churning up twin plumes of dust into the distance. Leroy came out of the shadows to stand next to him, wiping his hands with a shop rag. “Damnation, Drew, you seem real unpopular with the ladies lately.” “Story of my life,” he muttered, turning back into the hangar.

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Two days later, there were unwelcome visitors to the hangar. As Drew returned from an early-morning flight spraying vegetable fields, he could see from the air a black car approaching the hangar. A long trail of dust lingered in its wake in

the still desert air. Something about the arrival unsettled him. He swooped down to an aggressive landing, rolling quickly up to the hangar. The stillness that ensued when he cut the motor was not comforting. He jumped from the cockpit and jogged up to the hangar to see Leroy talking with two men on the far side. Leroy turned to him at his approach. “You know these men?” Drew strode up to them, expression sobering. It was the same two men he had confronted four days earlier out in the desert. They didn’t look any happier now. “Yeah, I’ve seen ’em before. Had a conversation out in the desert four days ago.” He turned to the men. “Thought I’d seen the last of you. What the hell are you doing here? And who are you?” The same older man who had spoken for the other at their first meeting stared at him. He had three-day old beard stubble over a deep tan, and a soiled cowboy hat low over his features. Drew thought him the most merciless-looking man he had ever seen. It was far too hot to wear the hat, but the man didn’t seem to notice, despite a trickle of sweat running down his right temple. There was frost in his voice as he spoke. “Name’s McClary. Wrote down the number painted on your flying machine. A trip to the county records office told me all I needed to know.” The other man, a pistol strapped to his hip, finally spoke. “Where’s the girl?” Drew was suddenly aware of how alone they were, how far from the nearest town. He and Leroy could be killed on the spot and not discovered for days; the killers long gone. The hush, broken only by the sound of crickets in the brush, was oppressive, nearly as much as the heat. I’ll have to work this carefully, he thought. “You’re tresing. I suggest you get back in the car and get the hell out of here. I told you I hadn’t seen her.” “I think you have,” the older man said. Drew felt the tension in the air thicken. Out of the corner of his right eye, he could see Leroy reach for a two feet long spanner wrench hidden behind the wall of the hangar. He quickly realized they would both lose if guns were drawn. He looked directly at the older man. “Gents, I’m getting real tired of this conversation. I’m going to say this one time: there’s no girl here. But just to get this settled, I’ll give you a tour of the place.” He turned his back on them and went into the interior of the hangar. The men looked at each other for a moment,

then followed. “You better stay away from those airplanes,” Leroy called. Once inside the hangar, Drew leaned back casually against a work bench, arms folded, while the two roamed around. “Don’t touch anything,” he called out. There wasn’t much to the hangar, though there was a walled-off upper story under one side of the roof, containing sleeping quarters. After a couple of minutes, the men walked back toward their car. Drew walked out toward them. “Mind telling me why you want that little gal so bad?” The men said nothing. He took a step toward the car. “You show up here again and you’ll be looking down the barrel of a couple of rifles.” They piled into the car, but not before the older man gave Drew a murderous look. Then the car was started, turned around, and began to move down the road into the parched distance. Drew looked at Leroy. “That was big trouble. Good thing she wasn’t here. Let’s hope we’ve seen the last of the girl.”

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But next morning, as he sipped his morning coffee in the shade of the hangar, she was back. Drew was dismayed to see her staring at him from under the sparse shade of a clump of desert willows about fifty feet away. With a sigh, he threw out the rest of his coffee and waved her in. He stood with arms folded, frowning, as she approached. “Girl, if you aren’t seven kinds of trouble. We had a visit yesterday from the same low-lifes who gave me a hard time out in the desert. They were looking for you again. They

had guns.” Shannon walked into the shade of the hangar without looking at him. At this hour, the lingering coolness of the desert night inside the hangar made it a welcome refuge from the approaching heat. She plopped herself into the worn office chair, the roller feet grating across the concrete floor. “Can I stay here?” she said. Drew looked at her in astonishment. “Here? You must be kidding. There’s no place for a girl here. No place to sleep, no place to—well, no place, period.” Shannon shook her head. “I wouldn’t be any trouble. I could help do stuff around here and you wouldn’t have to pay me anything.” “Where the hell have you been? It’s been three days since you bolted from Mrs. Barkley’s. You should be in school.” Shannon scrunched up her face. “Hanging around.” She looked inclined to say no more, but he wasn’t going to let it go. “Not good enough. You’ve been gone for four days. What did you eat? Where did you sleep?” “I stole food from people’s gardens in town. Carrots, tomatoes, peas, that kind of stuff.” “And your lodging?” Shannon shrugged; her blue eyes filled with guilelessness. “Some nights I was lucky enough to borrow a blanket or coat off clotheslines and sleep in people’s back yards. I always returned it in the morning.” “And how did you get out here?” Shannon took a deep breath and blew it out. “When Fatso drove me into town —” Drew interrupted her with a severe look. “That’s Mrs. Barkley to you. I don’t tolerate name-calling from kids.”

Shannon stuck out her lip. “Fine. When Barkley drove me into town, I memorized the route. I let three days go by, then jumped on the back of the first truck headed out this way.” She took on a smug look. “They didn’t even know I was there.” Drew put a hand to his chin. “That would have been the weekly supply truck from town yesterday.” “Yes. I would have come in then, but I dropped off about a half-mile back, and came in real sneaky-like to make sure the coast was clear. Good thing I did. I saw them yesterday.” Drew shook his head. “You’re not the innocent child one would expect for a fifteen-year old.” Shannon looked at him with a level gaze. “I can take care of myself.” “Yeah, I guess. And now you want to stay here.” Shannon hung her head, the first sign of submission he had seen since she walked in. He wasn’t sure if it was genuine or more manipulation. “I got no place else to go.” Leroy walked over to the conversation. “What if the county sheriff was to find out we were keeping an underage girl around here?” “Yeah, there’s that,” Drew said. “And what about school?” Shannon brightened a bit. “I could school myself here. I just need the books. I’m a good reader.” “Don’t like the way this conversation is goin’,” Leroy said, face darkening. “No place for a girl around an airplane machine shop.” Shannon stuck out her chin. “If you send me back to Barkley’s I’ll just run away again.” Drew sighed. “Yeah, no surprise you two didn’t get along. But I am surprised about her letting on she physically abuses those children.”

Shannon frowned. “If she ever tries that on me again, I’ll—” Drew held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear about it.” He sighed and slapped a hand down on his thigh. “All right, you can stay for a couple of nights while I figure out what to do with you. I’ll put together a sleeping space for you somewhere.” Leroy walked away, waving his hands. “Leave me out of this.” Shannon smiled. Drew came closer to her, scowling. “On one condition!” She waited expectantly. “You tell me who you are, why those men want you so bad, and who in hell they are.” Shannon drew a deep breath and let it out. “McClarys.”

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Drew looked across the scarred dining table in the hangar’s little kitchen. He was waiting for Shannon to start the conversation. After she finished the last strand of her spaghetti, she took a drink of water, set her glass down, and looked up at him. “It’s a feud that started in the Old Country a long time ago,” she said. “Nobody knows anymore what started it. There’s only rumors left now. My last name’s Donnelly. As far back as I’ve been told, there’s been trouble between the McClarys and the Donnellys.” “Bad trouble?” Shannon nodded. “Da said in the Old Country there were killings and stolen land and people asking the King for help. Stuff like that. He said it got so bad in the

late 1700s King George sent someone out to tell them to knock it off. There was peace for a time, I guess. But it didn’t last.” Sobered, Drew momentarily stared into his coffee. “You have an opinion as to who’s to blame, I suppose.” “Sure. Damned McClarys. Grandpa used to mumble some stuff about it when I was little. I don’t recall much of what he said, but I he sounded bitter. And angry.” She took a swallow of water. “Hmm. Sounds like the Hatfields and McCoys.” “Who?” “It was a famous feud we had here in America. But I’m getting off the subject. You say it started in the Old Country. Sounds like it didn’t stay there.” Shannon shook her head again. “No. The Donnellys came to America when the potato famine hit in the 1840s. My great-grandparents saw a chance to get away from both the famine and the troubles once and for all.” “Did it work?” “For a while. You might think that in a land as big as this, our paths would never cross with the McClarys again. But a lot of Irish were hired for the building of the big railroad—what did they call it?” “The Transcontinental Railroad.” “Yeah, that. The Central Pacific hired hundreds of Irishmen, including my greatgrandpa’s family. So, it’s not surprising the McClarys showed up too.” She frowned. “Like a bad penny. Guess they’d come over from Ireland like we did. And sure enough, with both clans in the same place, trouble started again. When the railroad was finished, some of the Irish came to work in the timber industry that was springing up around Big Bear Lake. Sure enough, both clans ended up here, and, well—you know. I guess no one can hold a grudge like an Irishman.” Drew stared into his coffee for a moment. “There were many thousands of Irish people who came to America at that time for a better life. Maybe the McClarys wanted to do the same.”

The look Shannon gave him prodded him to shut up with the suggestions. He drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. “So there’s been trouble here?” Shannon nodded. Drew leaned forward, slowly shaking his head back and forth. “Let me get this straight. These two families have been killing and tormenting each other for generations untold, and nobody re what started it anymore?” She flashed an angry look at him. “Doesn’t matter.” Then she mumbled something he couldn’t quite make out. “What?” She raised her eyes to look at him directly. “I’m going to kill them all.” Drew was shocked. He could tell from the certainty her gaze and voice carried she meant every word. He sat back and looked her over in a new light. Fifteen she might be, but she’s carrying a murderous conviction far beyond her years. He sighed and rose to his feet. “That’s more than enough for now. But don’t think I’m done with this. You’re a danger to us, and maybe to yourself. And I’m more ready than ever to go to the sheriff. But I won’t—yet. We’ll talk later. For now, let’s go upstairs and see if I can fashion a somewhat private place for you to sleep.” They trudged up the worn wooden stairs to the second level, which hung from the ceiling by aluminum straps. Shannon eyed it dubiously as she climbed the stairs. It didn’t look all that solid. Drew went into one of the “rooms” on the platform and came up with a single-bed mattress, which he planted on a large plank of plywood he swung down from the ceiling on hinges. “Been a while since anyone had need of this,” he told her. “Should do for a night or two. I’ll get you some clean sheets and a comforter. But first, while I’m doing that”—he reached into a chest of drawers and pulled out a bath towel— “you’re dusty all over. Get yourself downstairs and into the shower. It’s attached to the outer wall of the hangar at the back-left corner. It’s gravity-fed and cool, but in this heat it should feel good. You’ll find soap there ready for you.” Shannon looked at the towel, scrunching up her face in displeasure.

“And by the way,” he said, frowning, “no more talk of killing while you’re here. That’s nothing a young girl should be talking about. And I suggest you put off killing anyone until you’re at least twenty-one. Now go on. We aren’t fancy here, but we don’t live like savages either. And while you’re at it, knock the dust off your clothes against the wall best you can.” Shannon went down the stairs and outside. Drew made the bed neatly with the sheets and comforter, then went down to see Leroy. Leroy looked at him over his glasses dubiously. “You really gonna have that little gal around?” “Don’t worry,” Drew said. “I just thought of a place she could go. I can foist her off on my sister in San Bernardino for a while. I mean, she has a daughter about Shannon’s age who might welcome the company. We get her over to San Bernardino in my sister’s solid household, and maybe we can forget about this crap.” Leroy snorted. “I assume you still want to have a sister?” “Yeah, I know,” Drew said, rubbing his neck. “But Sis is capable of taking her in line. I’m betting she’d be willing to take her in temporarily.” Leroy shook his head slowly. “I don’t know...” “No sense in putting it off. I’m going to call her right now.” He walked off to the wooden telephone box on the wall, picked up the receiver, and dialed the number.

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Shannon sighed with relief at the refreshing coolness of the water coming out of the showerhead in a soft fall that washed away days of accumulated dust. What do I do now? she thought, running her soapy hands over her lithe body. If I stay much longer, Barkley might come looking for me again. Or the county sheriff. That might get me into some home I can’t escape from. She suddenly sobered.

Or the McClarys. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I’ve got a bullseye on me here. And I didn’t do a thing to deserve it. She arched her back, letting the cool water fall onto her face as she scrubbed with the soap. But there’s no place to go. She reached up and turned off the water, reached for the towel and started rubbing herself dry, then stopped as a new thought hit her. These men here have been nice to me. They’ve fed me, tried to find a place for me to be, even if it wasn’t good. They’ve given me a place to sleep. Better than I deserve. She rubbed her legs dry, then stopped again. And they’ve protected me. They didn’t have to do that, but they did. She reached for her clothes. I feel safe with them.

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Drew’s older sister arrived the next morning, pulling up to the hangar in a deepblue motorcar. Drew came quickly out to meet her as she exited the car clutching a small beaded purse. Sarah Pearson, in her early thirties, resembled her younger brother, but with a little more polish. She had fair peaches-and-cream skin set off by brown eyes and bobbed honey-blond hair done up in waves. She wore a tan, round felt hat with a satin ribbon above a modest brim, a bow on one side. Sarah was fashionably clad in a white drop-waist dress which fell straight and loose below the knee, overlaid with a long string of pearls. Her feet were clad in mary jane heels with a single strap across the front. “Sis, so good of you to come!” Drew said, wrapping her tightly in his arms. He drew back and looked at her. “A fashion plate, as always. You look beautiful.” “And you look like you slept on one of your workbenches.” She smiled at him. “Good to see you, brother.” “Nice car,” he said, eyeing the Cadillac Town Sedan. “Looks brand new.” “Not quite,” she replied, smiling. “It’s a 1925. Charles got it for me on my birthday. He’s going to yell when he sees the dust on it.” “What’s he doing these days?”

“Oh, he’s still busy deg that project down at the harbor in Long Beach,” she said as they walked arm in arm into the hangar. “Poor baby, he’s gone for days at a time. Still, it does give me more time to get my caseload done.” Sarah looked around briefly. “Hmm. Hasn’t changed much. Still a mess. But I see you’ve acquired a new airplane.” “You must mean the blue one. Yep, she’s a beaut. We hope to enter her in airshows this summer and get her into the air tourist schedule. By the way, where’s Dot?” he said, referring to Sarah’s fourteen-year old daughter. “She’s home with Grandma. She doesn’t much care for the drive out here.” “Sorry.” Sarah walked over to the worn office chair on wheels and paused. Drew anticipated her wish, and quickly produced a clean cloth he covered the seat with. “Wouldn’t want to see dirt on your beautiful dress.” Sarah sat down and crossed one slender leg over the other. She began to turn slowly back and forth in the chair, an amused look on her face. “So,” she said sweetly, “you’ve accidently acquired a runaway girl.” “Yep. Not my wish, believe me. She dumped herself on us.” “She has no family?” “So she says. From the way she talks, I believe her. This little gal’s carrying a world of burden on her shoulders. She doesn’t say much about it though.” Sarah stopped swinging the chair. “How about I meet her?” Drew nodded and went up the stairs to the second level. He found Shannon lying on the bed, reading a Photoplay magazine she had found among the stuff stacked around her. It was an old issue, but he doubted she had ever seen it before. He tried to look upbeat. “Shannon, I’d like you to come down and meet my sister.” Shannon dropped the magazine on the bed and got up, following him without a word. They reached the floor and walked over to Sarah, who had risen at their approach.

“Shannon, this is my older sister Sarah.” Sarah extended her hand, but Shannon stood motionless. Drew took a deep breath. “Ah, Shannon, I asked Sarah to come out and meet you because I asked her if she might take you in for a while. You’d have your own room, and she could try to get you into school. What do you think?” Shannon said nothing but lowered her head. Sarah attempted a broad smile. “You know, I’ve got a daughter about your age. She could use a playmate, especially with summer coming on. I’m afraid she’s grown quite bored lately.” Shannon turned wordlessly and walked to the edge of the hangar, looking out at the desert. Drew walked over to her and bent down close to her ear. “Shannon, I’m doing the best I can. I don’t have any other way for you.” “I want to stay here,” she murmured. He straightened up. “Shannon, you can’t stay here. You’re a young girl living out in the desert with two men. Sooner or later, word will get out, and there’ll be trouble. I’ll get accused of all sorts of nasty stuff I don’t need to deal with. Now, Sarah is kind and gentle. She would never hit you or discipline you harshly. She has a nice house in San Bernardino. And I think you’d like her daughter.” Shannon was silent for long moments. Then: “Can I come out here on weekends?” Drew was surprised. “You want to come out here?” Shannon nodded. “I want you to teach me about airplanes.” Now he was truly befuddled. “Whew, after your first experience, I figured you’d never want to be near one again.” He took in a deep breath and let it out. “Be reasonable. I can’t ask Sarah to make the trip every weekend. How about, to fill in around the times she can come out, I come into town to visit when I can?”

Shannon puckered up her face. “It could work. But when school lets out, I want to spend the summer here.” She glanced to one side to where she could see the airplanes lined up along the dirt runway. “I want to fly.” Drew frowned but nodded his head. “Deal.” They walked back to Sarah, where Shannon surprised her by sticking out her hand. “Pleased to meet you,” she said, shaking Sarah’s hand. Then she turned and walked the stairs back up to the second level. Sarah tilted her head and gave her brother a mischievous look. She is cute.” Drew snorted. “Yeah, but she’s got claws.” “Hmph. I shouldn’t wonder, living out here with you two louts. Okay, I’ll take her in—for now. What she needs most is female guidance. She’s going to be a woman soon, sooner than you think. Criminy, Drew, it’s bursting out of her.” Drew put a hand on his neck and rubbed. “Honestly, I wouldn’t know.” Sarah began to walk outside. “Exactly. Which is why she needs female guidance. She’s entering a period of profound change. Now go retrieve her and we’ll be on our way.” Drew shook his head in quiet amazement. “Thanks, Sis. I owe you one.” Sarah grinned mischievously. “Oh, I’m sure, given time, I can find a way to collect.” “That’s what worries me.” Then he turned and walked up the stairs and was back in a minute with Shannon by his side. “She has no belongings?” Sarah said. “Nope, nothing but the clothes on her back.” “Hmm. I’ll change that.” She moved forward and put an arm around Shannon to move her into the car. Shannon took two steps, then suddenly turned around and rushed at Drew, gripping him tightly around the waist and burying her head against him.

“Promise me I’ll see you again,” she said. Drew was shocked. He hadn’t expected this. He looked at Sarah, who arched her eyebrows in surprise. Suddenly the cautionary reserve he had held vanished and he saw a frightened young girl with no one to depend on. He bent close to Shannon’s ear. “I promise,” he whispered. “I promise with all that’s in me.” Shannon suddenly whirled away and got into the car. Sarah went to get in too, but Drew pulled her up short. “There’s one thing I should tell you about, Sis. Somebody’s after her. A few days ago, there were two men here looking for her. They meant business. I’d seen them before, during a stop out in the desert. They were looking for her then and weren’t the slightest bit friendly. I don’t think they mean her well. I can’t protect her here; she needs to disappear for a while. I thought you should know.” Sarah’s expression sobered. “You’re pushing the limits on this one, brother. All right, if she’s in some danger, we’ll take her in for a while. But Charles will have a say in how long that will be.” With that, she got in the car and started the motor, then began to turn it around to drive away. As they made the turn, Drew could see the tears still clinging to Shannon’s face.

3

The quiet in the McClary ranch house at Running Springs was oppressive. Niall McClary sat in a chair before a dying fire, the flickering firelight playing across his somber face. A bottle of whiskey and a shot glass sat beside him on a small side table. The shuffle of feet across the wood floor behind him brought no reaction. Even when a figure moved into his view he did not stir. “Da?” the figure inquired. It was Cormac, the oldest of Niall’s three sons. “You’ve hardly spoken a word since we got back.” Niall slowly turned his head, acknowledging his son’s existence for the first time. “What is it?” Cormac lowered himself onto a chair facing his father. “She was there, Da! I saw her footprints all around the hangar.” Niall barely moved his lips. “We can’t be sure it was her.” “Think on it, Da! Look how far away that damned airplane strip was from anything. How sure is it that was another child come to visit? Not likely, I think.” Niall turned back to the fire. His bronzed face bore the lines and creases imprinted by a lifetime of hard work. But it gave no hint whether he had come to this point victorious or defeated. There was merely a residue of weariness. “I’ve spent my life making the McClary legacy something I’d be proud to on to my children,” he said softly to the fire. “Like my father did for me. Like I’ve tried to do for you and your brothers. It’s a vow the McClarys have kept through the generations, in the Old Country and the New. I was proud to be part of it. And when your mother died these two years ago, the task fell on me harder yet.” He paused. “Now it could all blow up in my face, thanks to the accursed Donnellys.” His expression quickly faded to a murderous anger and he suddenly lurched to his feet, throwing the shot glass hard into the fire where it smashed

against the bricks. “I won’t have it!” he shouted, turning to face Cormac. “They’ve interfered with the McClarys for the last time!” He drew a step closer to his son, features highlighted by the firelight, anger burning in his eyes. “Yah, she’d been there all right.” He stabbed a finger against his temple. “I could feel it. We’ll find her. She’s the last of the Donnellys. After she’s gone, they’ll never bother us again.”

Shannon sat on the four-poster bed in her room in Sarah Pearson’s spacious San Bernardino home. She was pleased to have her own bedroom, as she wasn’t feeling much like talking to anyone. The home itself was bright and airy, wellfurnished, with what looked to Shannon to be expensive artwork on the walls. She got up and walked to the window. She could see Sarah’s deep blue Cadillac parked below on the gravel driveway. Though Sarah was home, the house was quiet. She had been sensible enough to realize Shannon might need time to herself, and so had shown her the room, told her to come down for dinner at 6 p.m. if she wanted to eat, and left her alone. Shannon walked back to the bed and stretched out on her back. The room was nicely furnished, and obviously a girl’s room, filled with female colors and decorations. Never had something this nice, she thought, even as her mind chided her, It’s not yours. Around 6 p.m., she could hear clinking and shuffling sounds down below, along with murmured conversation. Her stomach growled, urging her out of the bed. Even so, wary of having to talk to someone, it took her twenty minutes before she haltingly descended the stairs. Sarah looked up from the dinner table to see Shannon standing at the base of the stairs. “Come forward, please, Shannon,” she said with a smile. “You haven’t missed dinner yet. Come, I want you to meet my daughter Dorothy.” Like a prey animal warily walking into an open space, Shannon shuffled slowly forward toward the table. Dorothy got up and stepped toward her. “I’m Dorothy,” the girl said, “but you can call me Dot.” She stuck out her hand in greeting. Dot was a bit shorter and thicker than she, with the same fair and flawless complexion of her mother. Bouncy auburn curls surrounded her smiling face, and she radiated a bubbly personality. “Pleased to meet you,” Shannon murmured, but did not take Dot’s hand as she turned and went to an open seat at the table. Dot returned to her seat, cheeks flushed, as Sarah said quietly, “Give her time, dear.” Shannon eagerly dug into the food, which was plentiful. She ate like she hadn’t

seen a good meal in days—which she hadn’t. Sarah let her eat, then signaled to Dot she could leave the table. Dot excused herself, took her dishes to the kitchen sink, and began rinsing them. Sarah watched Shannon for a moment, then softly said, “I hope you like the bed.” Shannon set down her water glass and nodded. “I’m glad we had a spare bedroom for you,” Sarah continued. “Dot’s cousin Sandy used to come for sleepovers sometimes, and she used that room.” She saw Shannon’s wary look. “But don’t worry,” she hastened, “Sandy doesn’t come to visit anymore, since her family moved into Los Angeles.” She paused for a moment, then continued. “Sometimes I think we should do the same. It’s frightfully hot in the summer here, and I long to feel some ocean breezes.” She noticed Shannon stiffen. “Shannon, it’s just an idea for the future,” she said soothingly, reaching her right arm across the table. “It needn’t concern you right now.” Shannon shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t care.” Sarah thought it best to change the subject. “You know, I got to thinking today since there’s but a month or so left in the school year, it doesn’t make sense to try to get you into classes now. You could wait until next fall.” Shannon said nothing. “You may go now,” Sarah said, seeing efforts at conversation were not going to get any more productive. “Take your dishes to the kitchen, please, and rinse them in the sink. I’ll take care of them from there.” Shannon wordlessly got up, did as told with the dishes, and went back upstairs to her room, closing the door with a soft click.

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At 8 p.m., Sarah got a surprise, as her husband Charles arrived. He was barely in

the door when she greeted him with a firm hug and a kiss. “I didn’t expect you tonight,” she said, taking his arm as they walked into the living room. Charles, a handsome, solidly built man in his mid-thirties, was an architectural engineer. He had dark, expensively cut hair and a smooth face with regular features. His assignment at Long Beach harbor usually kept him gone for days at a time. “Got lucky,” he said, putting his briefcase in a corner by the wall. “I gave them enough to keep them busy for a few days, so I decided to take some extra time off.” He looked at her with a skeptical expression. “Especially since it seems we’ve acquired a house guest.” Sarah nodded. “Yes, I’m sorry to spring it on you like that. I couldn’t tell you much over the telephone. Now, sit down and let me pour you a drink. I need to tell you about our guest.” “Shouldn’t you have consulted with me first?” Sarah brought drinks and settled onto the sofa beside her husband. She lowered her head in contrition. “Yes, I should have. I’m sorry.” Charles reached out his hand to hers. “As much as you disparage that rascally brother of yours, you seem unable to resist whenever he asks you for a favor. And you’ve got a soft spot for every stray waif that crosses your path.” Sarah blushed. “Hush, now. Let me tell you about her.” It didn’t take long for her to tell him how Shannon had come to be in their house. “She’s so damaged, Charles, I knew that right away; I couldn’t say no. And she made a strong impression on me from the start. She has a potent presence for a teenager. You meet her and you don’t forget her.” Sarah put her drink down. “We may wake up in the morning to find her gone; I don’t know. I hope she stays.” “What about family? Doesn’t she have parents?” “Apparently, from what Drew got from her, they’re dead and she’s an orphan.” “Hmm. I’m not opposed to it—for now,” Charles said, a hint of resistance in his voice. “As long as she doesn’t cause trouble. But you’ve got to keep in mind she doesn’t belong to us, and sooner or later word is going to get into the hands of the wrong people. If Child Welfare finds out about this, they’re going to be all over us.”

Sarah moved closer and rested her back against his chest. “I know. But I think we’re doing the right thing. I hope we can keep her long enough to do her some good.”

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In the morning, Shannon was still there. Sarah found her already up and on the back patio, looking out to the west through the early sunlight flooding over the mountains behind her. Sarah poured glasses of orange juice for them and sat down next to her on the patio. Shannon didn’t look at her but took up her orange juice. “I love this time of day,” Sarah said. “It’s so quiet and the air smells fresh. I like to close my eyes and let my mind drift where it will. I guess you could call it my alone time, just for me.” She turned and looked at Shannon. “But I don’t mind at all sharing it with you.” “Thank you for the orange juice,” Shannon said softly. Ah, progress, Sarah thought. “Dorothy and Charles will be up pretty soon. It’s a Saturday and there’s no school, and Charles is taking a couple of days off. I thought it would be a great time for us to take a day trip somewhere.” Shannon said nothing. “I was thinking of, say, a trip to the mountains. It would be nice to feel those cool mountain breezes and see the evergreens.” Shannon visibly stiffened. Sarah noticed. “Is it a problem for you?” Shannon nodded. “Bad memories?”

She nodded again. “Okay, how about this. We’ll go straight up to Big Bear Lake; it takes about an hour, maybe less. There’ll be no stops anywhere unless we need gas or a potty break. Charles always carries a gun in the car on our trips. And we’ll all protect you in case of any trouble. Dorothy would love to go. How about it?” Shannon paused a moment, then nodded wordlessly. “Did I hear my name mentioned?” came a booming voice behind them. Sarah turned. “Charles, pipe down, you’ll wake the neighbors.” Charles was undeterred. He walked around in front of them and smiled at Shannon. “So this is our new house guest,” he said. “I’m Charles, Sarah’s husband.” Shannon stood up and shook the offered hand firmly, looking Charles in the eye. “Pleased to meet you.” Sarah looked on in surprise. It was apparent whatever trauma Shannon was suffering, it didn’t completely override inbred good manners. “Shannon, breakfast will be on soon,” she said. “Please go up and take care of whatever needs you have this morning and come down to the kitchen. After breakfast, I’ll see if I can rustle up something for you to wear for a trip to the lake.” She looked up at Charles. “That is, if Charles agrees.” Charles nodded. “Sounds perfect.” Shannon walked back into the house, and they could hear her climbing the stairs. Charles looked at his wife, eyebrows raised. “Wow.” “Told you.” “How old did you say she is?” “Fifteen, she says.” Charles shook his head. “I’ve never seen such intensity in a teenager. I expected her to be shy, but she looked me in the eye, and there was a deepness there, a

strength, some adults never have. I’ll tell you, Sarah, if she can stay on an even keel, someday she’s going to be a woman no one will mess with.”

The big stranger walked the streets of Highland, where Shannon had spent her disastrous night at Mrs. Barkley’s. Some subtle inquiries around town had given him the lead he needed. After one wrong turn due to imprecise directions, he drove down a dirt side street and stopped in front of a dusty house. A large sign above the front door proclaimed, “Mrs. Barkley’s Home for Wayward Children”. With only a moment’s hesitation, he entered the front gate and walked up the steps to the door. His knock was answered by a heavy-set middle-aged woman. Mrs. Barkley eyed the stranger with suspicion. He was tall and solidly built, with red hair, and an expression trying to project innocence. Elsewhere, she might have thought him attractive, but at her front door, strangers were always met with a heavy degree of skepticism. “You’re not from the County, are you?” she said, frowning. The stranger grinned disarmingly. “No ma’am. Ah, my manners are slipping. My name’s Cormac McClary. I come from up around Running Springs. My father sent me down to Highland. We’re trying to find a lost girl. There was a terrible tragedy at her house about ten days ago. I’m sorry to say her parents were killed. But she can’t be found. We think she ran away in a panic. Nobody’s been able to find her since. We’re sorely worried about her, and we thought she might have come into a town like Highland. Being as you run an orphanage, we thought she might have ended up here.” Mrs. Barkley drew herself up in affront. “I’ll thank you not to call my home an orphanage,” she said. “This is a respectable home for girls—” “I’m so sorry, didn’t mean to offend,” Cormac interrupted. “Please forgive me; I’m just a mountain boy.” Barkley gave him an acid look. The stranger’s “aw shucks” put-on was wearing thin. “Describe her.” “Ma’am, she’s about fifteen, tall for her age, skinny, with short brown hair.” Barkley paused for a moment. “There was a girl like that here. Only for one night. Nothing but trouble she was, defiant and disrespectful. Had the house in an uproar. I’ve hardly been able to get the rest of the girls to calm down since.”

“Since?” Barkley pursed her lips. “She ran away on me the second night. Good thing she did, too.” “Any idea where she might have gone from here?” “She might have gone back out to the airstrip a ways east out of town.” “Ma’am, we already checked. She wasn’t there.” “Then I have no idea. She could be anywhere. Good riddance, I say. Let someone else deal with her.” The stranger nodded briefly and took a step back. “Then I’ll be going. I do thank you for your time.” He went down the steps, out the gate, and was gone. Barkley closed the door. Only later did it occur to her it was strange the man had thought to check for Shannon at the airstrip before coming to her house.

The trip to Big Bear Lake went happily. After arriving, Sarah had come out of the changing house dressed for a water outing. She wore a one-piece swimsuit with broad straps over her bare shoulders and arms. The suit came down to her upper thigh, with a pair of swim shorts underneath which stuck out about three inches below the suit. The suit and shorts had bright bands of color across the bottom. A round swim hat with a white stripe around the margin sat on the back of her blond hair. She had come up with similar outfits for Dot and Shannon, with the exception that their suits ended in shorts, without the overlaying skirt effect. “This is too long for Dot, but since you’re taller, it might be about right for you,” she told Shannon. “If it’s too big in the torso, I’ll pin it up at the back.” Shannon, growing up where she had, had never worn a swimsuit, and looked at the garment with misgiving; it looked far too immodest for her taste. Sarah had gently pushed her toward the changing house, and she had reluctantly gone and donned the suit. It was a sunny day, with gentle breezes. Shannon plunged into the cold water without hesitation. Dot took more convincing, but soon she was in and they were having a great time splashing each other. Sarah and Charles stayed mostly on the sand, Sarah luxuriating in digging her feet into the cool grainy beach surface. Charles took one long swim out to a floating raft and dove for a while, then came swimming back to the shore, breathing hard. “Whew, that was easier ten years ago,” he said, toweling off. “Yes, but you can still do it.” “Hmm. I’ll take small comfort in that.” He looked out at the girls playing in the water. “Her parents are dead?” Sarah nodded. “So she says. I’ll tell you, Charles, her story bothers me.” Charles didn’t take his eyes off the girls. “Me too. And before we get too used to this arrangement, we should dig into this more deeply.”

Sarah turned her head to look at him directly. “There’s more you need to know.”

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The trip back to San Bernardino was mostly quiet. Sarah’s car glided gently down the dirt mountain road from Big Bear with Sarah at the wheel. The girls chattered for a while in the back seat, but as they neared town Sarah’s quick glance in the rear-view mirror showed they had fallen asleep. At home, Sarah and Charles pushed the sleepy girls upstairs to rest, and then settled into comfy chairs in the den. Charles brought tea for them. The den’s big window showed a lowering sun, the dust in the air already starting to bathe the landscape in golden light. He gazed out the window for a moment, then turned to his wife. “Tell me.” Sarah told him what Drew had warned her about. “I know it’s scant information, but that’s all there is at this point.” Charles had a grim look on his face. “Scant indeed. If she’s going to stay here, we need to know more. I won’t allow her to put this house in jeopardy.” Sarah nodded. “I know.” Charles swirled his drink around in the crystal glass. “I have to go back to Long Beach on Tuesday. Can you do some digging while I’m gone?” Sarah frowned. “It won’t be easy to find the time. Things have been slow lately, but it’s going to get busy. The Mulwray case is starting up again, and I’ll be spending a lot of time in court. I’ll see what I can do.”

Cormac McClary came back from Highland to the McClary house in a foul mood. In times like these, which had been all too frequent lately, Niall McClary’s youngest son, seventeen-year-old Brendan, stayed clear of him when he could. This was not going to be one of those times. Cormac was the biggest of the three sons. Tall, thickly built, and infused with his father’s Irish temper and a sour disposition to boot, he seldom saw the need to restrain himself in dealing with others, even family. He entered the kitchen to find Brendan cleaning up from the evening meal. Cormac reached into a cabinet and withdrew a bottle of whiskey. Brendan could tell by the way he walked his older brother was not happy. There had never been any love lost between them, and it made Brendan nervous. Cormac said nothing but poured himself a drink and leaned against the wall, watching Brendan put away the last of the dishes. “You just missed dinner,” Brendan said. “Da’s out to San Bernardino for a few things with Patrick. There are leftovers in the refrigerator if you want them.” Cormac said nothing, and the quiet quickly became unbearable, so Brendan spoke. “Any luck down in Highland?” Cormac took a deep gulp from the whiskey glass. “No. Trail’s gone cold. Gonna have to break off the chase for now. They need us up at the sawmills.” He snorted quietly. “’Cept you.” Brendan flushed. He would gladly have gone if the mills had wanted him. But they were hiring experienced workers only. He grabbed the dishtowel and wiped his hands. “You know I’d go if they’d hire me,” he said softly. Then, more loudly: “Cormac, can’t we let this girl go? I mean, her parents are dead, she’s disappeared, why not forget her?” Cormac leaned against the wall. An uncomfortable few seconds ed. Finally, he spoke. “Sometimes I wonder if Ma didn’t take up with one of the hired hands before you were born. Sometimes you don’t sound like a McClary at all. That’s why Da didn’t take you along when we went after the girl.” Brendan went hot with anger. He was taller than average, though shorter than Cormac, slender, fair-haired, and usually even of temperament. He regarded his brothers as hotheads. “You’d insult our mother like that?”

Cormac was feeling the loosening effect of the whiskey now, his eyes betraying danger. “Aye, God rest her soul, I would. How else to explain you? You say forget it. A McClary never forgets a blood feud when he’s on the losing end.” Brendan leaned against the kitchen counter. “Could be it’s time you did. This has been going on for way too long. It doesn’t make sense anymore!” He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. With his mother dead, the biggest buffer he had had between himself and his brothers was gone. Cormac would feel no need for restraint, especially if Niall wasn’t present. Cormac drained the last of the whiskey and slammed the glass down on the kitchen counter. “One of these days, I might beat some McClary sense into you.” Brendan gripped the counter, ready to launch himself into a quick exit if he had to. “Yes; now there’s no one to stop you.” Then he threw down the dishtowel and walked rapidly out of the room, relieved he didn’t hear heavy footsteps behind him.

The school year was rapidly drawing to a close. The house was quiet when Dot was in school, and Charles was at work in San Diego. Sarah spent a lot of time in her study, working on case files. Society was still less than accepting of female lawyers, especially prosecuting attorneys, so she wasn’t as busy as she had hoped to be. Still, she could see the Mulwray case was going to soak up plenty of time in the months ahead. She did manage to spend some time at city hall and the library, and it didn’t take her long to come up with vital news. She sat down with Shannon in the den two days after Charles returned to Long Beach. “I found a newspaper article at the library, Shannon. Yesterday’s issue. I took a photograph of it and had a print made of it immediately. Maybe you can tell me something about it.” Shannon took the enlarged photocopy of the article with some trepidation.

Long-Time Running Springs Couple

Feared Dead In Flash Flood

Daughter Also Missing There was more. But Sarah saw Shannon’s face turn ghostly pale as the photoprint trembled in her fingers. Then she bolted from the chair and ran upstairs to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Sarah didn’t press her when she didn’t appear for dinner that evening.

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She stood before the grave in the dark. It was strange she was there, as she had expected never to find it again. Something had led her there. Tears flowed for what was buried beneath. Mother, she cried, why did you go? Father, you’re not here to fix this. What do I do now? I’m so lost. I can’t keep this up much longer. Suddenly a rift appeared in the surface of the gravesite, wiggling like a snake, widening, then heaving upward in a fountain of dirt. She stepped back in alarm, hand to her face. Red light flashed from the depths of the rift, and a ghostly figure appeared. But it was neither her mother nor her father. The figure rose and reached out to her, beckoned her, grabbed her arm. She opened her mouth in soundless horror as she recognized it. It was Niall McClary, trying to pull her down into a darkness from which she would never return. Sarah was catapulted from sleep by the sound of a piercing scream. Staggering upright, she pulled on her gown and rushed into Shannon’s bedroom, nearly flying across the floor to the bed and coming to a clumsy halt. Shannon was sitting upright, knees draw up under her chin, sobbing loudly. Sarah sat down next to her on the bed and encircled her with her arms. For once, Shannon did not pull away. Dot came to the door of the room, tears streaking her face. “It’s all right,” Sarah said. “Just a bad dream. I’ll take care of her. Go back to bed and I’ll be there shortly.” Dot lingered at the doorway, then, sniffling, turned back to her own room. Sarah turned to Shannon. “How about you sleep with me the rest of the night?” Shannon said nothing but didn’t resist when Sarah firmly pulled her over to the edge of the bed and helped her get to her feet. Arms tightly wrapped around her, Sarah navigated down the hallway to her and Charles’ bedroom. Sarah put her in bed, went to console Dot for a few minutes and then climbed in with Shannon, spooning up behind and putting her right arm over her. Shannon cried softly for a while, then appeared to settle back into sleep. But Sarah lay awake in the dark, emotions churning. Lord, let me find a way to help this girl.

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After breakfast the next morning, Sarah saw Dot off to school, then went into the den, where she had told Shannon to wait. Shannon was sitting looking out the big picture window. Sarah sat down next to her, and without formalities, picked up the photoprint of the newspaper article and waved it under Shannon’s nose. When Shannon didn’t respond, Sarah plopped the print down in Shannon’s lap. Shannon turned her head to glance at it, bent closer for a second, then turned pale and buried her face in her hands, shaking. For now she saw what she had missed the night before. On the lower-right corner of the page there was an obituary column. And the first item in the column was:

Niall McClary, 78

Head of pioneer Running

Springs family es away.

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Sarah observed her quietly, an unsympathetic look on her face. Then: “Listen to me, young lady. This cannot continue. Drew warned me there were men looking for you. We’ve taken you in, with reservations, but we don’t know what we’ve gotten ourselves into. I’m beginning to think whatever you’re caught up in could be dangerous to this household. I won’t tolerate it without knowing exactly what it is. I won’t allow this family to be placed in a hazardous situation. I’m sorry you had a bad dream, but you’d better tell me everything about how you got

here, and why.” Shannon mumbled, “The old bastard’s dead. That explains the dream. Now there’s three left to kill.” Sarah’s face contorted in anger. “There will be no more of that! I want the truth, now. Do you understand?” Shannon didn’t respond for a moment. She had no choices left. Haltingly, she told Sarah what she had told Drew at the aeroplane hangar. Sarah was as much astonished with the seeming stupidity of it all as was Drew. “How did the McClarys and the Donnellys come to be in this area together?” Shannon took a deep breath and continued with what her father had told her. When the transcontinental railroad was completed in 1869, there were a lot of Irish tracklayers looking for work—and a better climate. There were already at least half a dozen sawmills operating in the mountains around Big Bear Lake by then, and roads being built for them. Among the Irish, the talk was they’d need railroads to get the mill products to market. Her great-grandfather had been one of those tracklayers. He had brought the Donnellys to Running Springs. He’d been overly optimistic about the coming of the railroads. The Southern Pacific didn’t arrive in the area until sixteen years later, in 1875. So the Donnellys started working in the sawmills. Physically, they were in prime shape for it. With that income, and with some of the money he’d saved from building the transcontinental railroad, her great-grandfather started purchasing land in the area, including forested tracts in the mountains, and, curiously, two large parcels of seemingly worthless desert west of Ontario. The McClarys had followed about a year later, with the same idea. It didn’t take long for ownership disputes to arise about land purchases. Stakes were moved, ribbons stolen, false deeds recorded fueled by heavy bribes. Both clans were involved, but the bulk of the trouble was traced to the McClarys. There were threats, fights, sabotage, tit-for-tat revenge, until the county sheriff stepped in. The overt hostility subsided, but still simmered under the surface. The Donnellys made peace offerings, but they were rejected. “Or at least that’s what your grandfather said,” Sarah observed dryly.

Shannon nodded. “We don’t like each other. Never have. And the way the Irish drink, it doesn’t take long for a situation to get out of control.” “You said back in the time of King George, there had been a period of peace. Do you know what caused it to end?” “Yes. The Irish keep good records. Da told me when I was twelve.” She looked off into the air for a moment. “A McClary was shot and killed in his home by a stranger. The McClarys claimed it was a Donnelly that did it.” She paused, turning around to face Sarah. “It hasn’t been forgotten by the McClarys. They still have hate in their hearts about it.” Sarah stroked the string of pearls around her neck. “Is the death of your parents caught up in all of this?” Shannon nodded. Sarah looked into her face closely for a moment, afraid the girl would talk no further. “Care to tell me how?” Shannon turned her face to the picture window. After a few moments, she spoke. “There was a big thunderstorm last spring. Heavy rain. Flash floods came pouring out of the mountains. My parents’ house sits a short distance from a ravine. By the time night fell, the ravine was filled with a raging torrent. The paddock and the barn were closer to it. Da was worried about the horses and other livestock. And there was valuable equipment and supplies in the barn. He and Ma went out and hitched the horses to the buckboard. We couldn’t afford tractors. They figured to get the horses out of the paddock and start loading some of the equipment to get it away from the ravine. But when they got there, they saw the banks of the ravine were being washed away faster than they thought. There was a bridge to the other side of the ravine to get us over to the east side of the property. It was starting to fail. Da loaded some timbers in the wagon and drove to the bridge. He and Ma went out on the bridge to see if they could save it.” She paused, then shakily continued. “I—I was told to stay in the house, but it wasn’t in me to do it. I knew I could help. I put on my hat and coat and ran toward the bridge. Da saw me and screamed for me to stay off the bridge. He and Ma—” she hesitated, voice quavering— “it looked like he and Ma were winning the battle to save the bridge when several horses appeared on the far

side. They were spooked by the lightning and thunder, and I guess they had broken loose. They must have been McClary horses. Their place isn’t far off. And then I saw the riders, dressed in heavy rain slickers, come up to the bridge. “There were three of them. I knew right off they were McClarys. Don’t ask me how; I can tell. They stopped and saw Da and Ma on the bridge. I screamed for them to come back off the bridge. They turned to me and began to run when the bridge buckled and tore away from the bank, collapsing into a heap in the center of the rushing water with Ma and Da on it. I waved and yelled to the McClarys to throw them a rope. But they did nothing. They just sat there on their horses.” Shannon began to sob. Sarah put an arm around her. “I waved at Da and Ma to look to the riders for help. They waved their arms and shouted. I saw one of the riders with a rifle in his hand. Then there was a big surge of water, and—and the bridge was swept away.” Shannon stopped, and Sarah held her close and said nothing, waiting for the girl’s grief to play out. After several minutes, Sarah said gently, “Do you think the riders saw you?” Shannon pulled away. “Not at first. But when the bridge was swept away, they did for sure. I ran screaming after the receding bridge, but soon it was out of sight down the ravine. I fell to the ground. I couldn’t move. The rain lashed at me, but I didn’t care. My whole world was gone. Then I realized there might still be a chance they were alive. I got up into the buckboard and set off downstream looking for the bridge. I knew the ravine flattened out a mile or so downstream, fading onto the desert floor. And I found the bridge and—” She stopped, chest heaving. “I think you’ve told enough for one day,” Sarah said softly. “Perhaps you should finish this tomorrow.” “No!” Shannon said, her voice distorted by emotion. “I’m not telling this more than once.” She paused, breathing heavily. “Da and Ma were there, tangled in the wreckage. They were dead. The water was fading away into the desert. I pulled them free and tried my best to load them up in the buckboard. They deserved to be buried proper, on their own land. It took all the strength I had. Then—then when I was pushing Da onto the wagon, I noticed blood spreading on his shirt. And that’s when I saw the hole in his chest. He’d been shot.” She took a deep breath. “It’s when I knew they’d be coming for me too. I couldn’t go back. I was

the lone witness to what they did. I couldn’t hardly see where I was going, I was crying so hard. But I got up in the driver’s seat, took the reins, and drove the team hard into the desert.” Shannon looked down at her hands, speaking in a low tone. “I don’t know how long we ran. I lost track of time. I think I ed out. There must have been a big flash of lighting, because I came to to see the horses rearing, scared bad. Then one of the wagon wheels rode up on a big rock, and the whole thing overturned. I was thrown out onto the ground. The horses were tangled in the wreckage, neighing and bucking. I got them loose, and they ran off. I could see the back axle was broken from the rock collision. And that’s when I decided to bury my Da and Ma right there.” She got up and walked over to the picture window, looking out. “I knew if the McClarys got hold of the bodies, they’d make them disappear for good to cover up what they did. And I wasn’t going to let it happen. I figured I could go back some day, if I lived, and retrieve them and prove what happened.” She paused for a long moment. “But I think I’ll never find the spot again.” Sarah got up and walked over to the big window. “I’m so terribly sorry. What you’ve been through, I don’t think I could have survived.” She paused, then continued. “What happened to the land your parents had, the purchases you said had been made?” Shannon snorted softly. “Some of our land the McClarys had claimed was theirs, some of the places where they’d fought us on ownership, they’d be favored to own it now.” “Wouldn’t that place suspicion on them for your parents’ deaths?” “Yeah. But see how they did it. They happened along at a time they could make it all look like an accident of nature. Da and Ma were drowned in the bridge collapse, and that was that. No one would know different. Except me.” Sarah took in a deep breath, then let it out. “Don’t you have any brothers and sisters?” “No. Ma had a real bad time birthing me. The doc said another pregnancy might kill her. Da did the right thing for Ma and made sure there’d be no more kids.” “No cousins? Aunts and Uncles who could take you in?”

Shannon shook her head and lowered it toward her lap. “No. I’m the last of the Donnellys in America. In this family, anyway.” Sarah didn’t speak for long moments, looking out the picture window at San Bernardino coming to life for the new day. “You think the McClarys are still after you, don’t you?” Shannon nodded. “Never doubt it. Long as I’m alive, the land they want so much will stay in Donnelly hands, and the wrong from the old country won’t be avenged.” Sarah sighed, fingering the tassels on a couch pillow. “If you’re going to be here, we need to go to the sheriff sooner rather than later.” She took Shannon in her arms. “I’m sorry I put you through this. I had to know.” Shannon drew back and turned to her. “Can we go to the library?” Sarah nodded. “Certainly.”

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Shannon came home from the library with several books on aviation, which kept her occupied for the next two days. Charles arrived from Long Beach in early evening of the second day, bringing fresh food for the table. Sarah put on a fine spread for dinner, after which she settled with Charles in the den as Dot went to her room for homework. “She upstairs?” Charles said, loosening the collar of his shirt. “Shannon? Mm-hm. It’s pretty much where she’s been since we went to the library two days ago. The girl appears to be a voracious reader.” Charles set his glass of wine down. “Find out anything more from her?” Sarah nodded. “I found out a lot.” She filled Charles in on everything Shannon

had said. Charles pursed his lips in thought, a frown on his handsome features. “Hmm. Going forward, there aren’t a lot of alternatives. We can try to keep hiding her, which settles a great degree of uncertainty on us, and eventually may put us all in danger if this McClary clan is still after her. But we can’t keep her presence here a secret indefinitely, especially from Child Welfare, and when they discover she’s here, they’ll probably declare her a ward of the state and take her away. We have no claim on her, after all.” Sarah looked away. “We can’t allow that to happen. She’s been through so much already; it would destroy her. And she has so much potential.” She wrung her hands nervously. “We could turn her out to face her fate alone. But I can’t do that either.” Charles nodded. “So, we can’t hide her here, and we can’t turn her loose to deal with her troubles alone.” “It leaves one alternative,” Sarah said softly. “There is another alternative?” Charles said with some incredulity. “Yes.” She drew closer, eyes pleading approval. “We deal with it head on. We go public and apply for guardianship.”

4

“Guardianship!” Charles blurted. “Are you serious? We’ve known this girl for what, a week?” Sarah offered a soothing smile and snuggled up close. “Now, don’t be so harsh. Ethically, what other choice do we have? It’s obvious she’s in danger and has no place else to go. If we try to keep her presence a secret, we’ll eventually fail. She already attracted attention at the library. She wanted to check out more books than the limit and was clearly disappointed. Trust me, the librarian will her. We can’t even go out on the town together but some of our friends will see us and start asking questions.” She looked past his scowl and could see his resolve crumbling. “How did we get into this so quickly?” Charles said, throwing out a last feeble attempt at resistance. “It was that no- brother of yours again.” “Blame it on me. I’m the one who brought her home.” Charles sighed, giving in once again to the real power in the household. “Okay. But it will have to be you that gets this done. I’m stuck in Long Beach.” Sarah stood up. “I’ll fit it in somehow.” She walked to the stairs. “I’ll bring Shannon down.” She found Shannon on her bed, engrossed with the magazines on flying she had brought home. She looked up at Sarah’s approach. Sarah sat down on the bed next to her. “What have you got there?” Shannon showed her. There were issues of Popular Aviation, Popular Science, Meccano Magazine, and others, all prominently featuring airplanes on the cover and promising thrilling stories about flying, and the machines that did it. “I was hoping to find something here to teach me how to fly,” she said. Sarah raised her eyebrows. “That will require an airplane, I think. When did you

start getting interested in flying?” Shannon stopped turning the pages, her eyes seeming to gaze into a distance. “When I was five Da took me to an airshow. I never saw such things before. I wanted to be around the airplanes, to touch them. I wanted to sit in the pilot’s seat. I was sad when we had to leave. After that I always looked up when I heard an airplane overhead. I would look up and see it moving from one little cloud to another. Sometimes it disappeared behind the clouds, and at first, I wondered if it would come out. I loved looking at the sky, and sometimes I would reach my hands up as high as I could, to see if I could touch the clouds, or at night, the moon. I never could, and I wanted to be up in the sky where I could touch the clouds.” She looked up at Sarah. Sarah could see the desire in her eyes. “I ire your ambition, but you’re getting way ahead of yourself for someone who’s still fifteen. You do need an airplane to learn.” “Drew has airplanes, and he can teach me.” “He doesn’t own both the planes you see at the hangar. I believe he has one rather beat-up crate that’s his.” “The yellow one?” “More likely the blue one. But I’m getting off the subject. I’d like you to come downstairs with me. Charles and I have something to talk about with you.” Shannon looked at her dubiously. “It’s something good, I promise.” Sarah put out her hand, smiling. “Come, please.” Shannon came downstairs with Sarah and sat nervously on the sofa waiting, as Charles and Sarah sat together across from her. Sarah put on a cheerful expression. “Shannon, Charles and I would like to become your legal guardians. What do you think?” Shannon looked alarmed. “The McClarys will find me.”

“Dear, it’s impossible to keep your presence a secret here much longer. Rather than keep hoping no one will find out, we think it best to get you out in the open, make it known you have someone looking after you, protecting you. The sooner we do it, the less vulnerable you’ll be to the McClarys or anyone else trying to come at you.” “What does ‘legal guardian’ mean?” “It means we’re responsible for your care and protection. We’re charged with seeing you’re healthy, well-fed, and have a place to stay. We help you with decisions that might affect your life in times to come. It’s almost the same as if you were our child.” Shannon twisted her fingers in her lap. “Will you let me go to visit Drew?” “Yes,” Sarah said, elbowing Charles, who looked on the verge of protesting, discreetly in the ribs. “This summer, we’ll get you out there as often as we can.” Her expression sobered a bit. “Providing, that is, Drew wants you to come.” Shannon bit her lip. “Then okay.” “Wonderful!” Sarah said. “We’re so glad. Now, I’ll get the forms and submit them. Approval could take most of the summer. Toward the end there’ll be a home visit from the court to see that we have a ive atmosphere here.” “There’s something else we have to get past, something important,” Charles cautioned. “The court might want to declare her parents deceased first.” “Don’t be an alarmist, Charles,” Sarah replied. “There are ways to deal with that.” Shannon looked down to her lap. “They’re dead. I buried them.” Sarah put a gentle hand on her arm. “Can you find the spot again?” Shannon wrapped her arms tightly around herself as if suddenly chilled. “I don’t think so.” “Then this process could take longer,” Charles said. “We should be ready for that.”

“We’ll take it one step at a time,” Sarah said cheerfully.

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The morning of the first day of summer vacation Sarah drove Shannon out to the Kazminski hangar. Dot insisted on coming along. It was a beautiful day, before the oppressive heat kicked in. Sarah pulled up to the hangar and found Drew waiting, leaning against the opening with a sly grin. Shannon jumped out of the car before it had come to a complete stop, ran up to Drew, and came to a swift halt in front of him, a large grin on her face. “I’m back!” Drew grinned back at her. “This is a big turnaround from the scared little girl that stowed away on my airplane not too long ago.” Shannon twisted her feet in the dirt. “I wasn’t ready for riding in airplanes then. But I am now. I’ve been reading all about them!” She paused, ran back to the car, and returned with several aviation magazines she had borrowed from the library, holding them up proudly. “Hmm. Very good. But what do you want from me?” “I want to fly. I want you to start teaching me all about the flying business.” “Hi, Uncle Drew!” called a voice behind her, as Dot came up. “Hello, squirt,” he said, reaching out to muss her hair. “Uncle Drew!” she said, pulling away from his hand. “I’m nearly fourteen so stop calling me squirt. My name’s Dorothy.” Drew looked down at her with amusement. “You’d better listen to her, brother, she’s growing up fast,” Sarah, who had stepped up behind her, said.

“So I see,” he said, shaking his head. He turned to Shannon. “Before it gets too hot, why don’t you give Dot a tour of the grounds here. Stay out of the hangar. And don’t touch anything!” “Sure,” she said. “Let’s go, Dot.” The girls walked rapidly off toward the airstrip. Drew turned to Sarah, who had stepped closer. “Is this necessary?” “I should tell you Drew, I don’t think this airplane stuff is mere teen infatuation. I think it’s for real, and I don’t think it will do any good to try to steer her away from it. You’ll know that better than I. But if you’re convinced it’s real, can you teach her, from the ground up, safely?” Drew sighed, then reluctantly nodded. “I’ll have to make some space for her here. Leroy won’t like it, but I think I can keep her busy enough with clean-up and such to keep her out of his way. I can’t pay her much; that needs to be understood. She’ll have to be satisfied with her learning as payment, which is a long-term process. And her visits will have to coordinate with the days I’m here, and not gone off somewhere on a job.” He paused. “She’ll be safe, I promise you that much.” “Good,” Sarah said brightly. “I have to it I have my misgivings about this whole enterprise, but it fulfills a pledge we made to her. You see, there’s something else I need to tell you.” Drew rolled his eyes. “Let’s have it.” “Charles and I are applying to be her legal guardians.” Drew whistled. “Wow. That was fast.” “If we want to keep her safe, there’s nothing else we can do with her. It will probably take most of the summer to get it finished. The court may want to declare her parents deceased first. And I was thinking you could help with that. You know where you first encountered her out in the desert. I was wondering if you’d be willing to take her on an aerial survey of the area to see if you could spot her parents’ resting place.” Drew shook his head. “Nope. I can’t afford to be using fuel unless it has a

paying customer on the other end. Times are getting unsettled.” “What do you mean?” He rubbed his neck and stared out at the blue sky. “I don’t know what it is yet, but some of my farmer customers are telling me they’re getting nervous about the coming months. So I figure we better play it close to the vest.” “You owe me, brother,” Sarah said, poking him in the ribs. “I think we’re putting things square right now.”

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Shannon led Dot out to the airplanes sitting on the dirt strip. Dot was wide-eyed with wonder. “They’re much bigger up close than I thought they would be,” she said. “They’re the size they need to be,” Shannon said, with an air of authority. “Come on over and look at this yellow one. It’s the one I stowed away in.” She led Dot over to the yellow biplane and peered into the rear seat space. “That’s the place I stowed away,” she said, showing how she had hung onto the cables for dear life. “I thought I was going to die for sure.” “But you didn’t!” Shannon smiled broadly. “Nope. Here I am. And someday,” she said in a voice heavy with pride, “I’m going to fly one of these.” Dot looked over the aircraft doubtfully. “Just don’t ask me to ride with you when you do. I can’t imagine why anyone would do such a dangerous thing.” They looked at the other airplane that was there, then went back to the hangar where Sarah was waiting patiently. “All right Dot, seen enough for now?” “Yes.”

“Good. Drew, I leave Shannon in your hands for the day. I’ll be back in early evening, around six. See you then.” She and Dot returned to the Cadillac and were soon headed down the dusty road. Shannon turned to Drew with a big smile. “What’s first?” Drew backed up a step. “Whoa, Nellie. What’s first is I explain the ground rules. There’s a lot of expensive equipment here, and some of it doesn’t belong to us. It was brought in for repair. That’s Leroy’s department. Stay clear of it! Don’t touch anything unless you get the okay from me or Leroy. Folks who trust Leroy with their lives don’t want to hear there’s a teenager running around the shop who could screw something up. What I’m saying is you’ll be on a short leash. Got it?” Shannon nodded eagerly. “Second, stay clear of Leroy. He’s a gruff old buzzard sometimes, especially if he thinks you’re hampering his work in any way. If he does, he’ll kick you clean out back to Sarah’s, and there won’t be anything I can do about it. This is his shop. He does the mechanic work and I do the flying.” Shannon looked considerably sobered at the thought. “Okay,” she murmured. “Third,” Drew said more softly, “for a while, the learning you’re going to do will be by observing. I don’t have time to step aside and hold a formal class for you. I will try to find some books you can read that will serve as an introduction to this business of flying.” He paused, drawing in a big breath. “I can pay you a dollar a day. But if you can keep a good presence here” —he paused, looking up at the cloudless blue overhead— “the sky’s the limit.” He grinned. “Sorry, a little pilot humor there. Is this all acceptable?” Shannon nodded, smiling. “Good. Now, this shop could use a lot of clean-up. I’ll show you which trash barrels to empty and where to empty them.” Drew took Shannon on a quick tour of the hangar and its surroundings, pointing out her duties. “When you’re done with that, find me.” He noticed her crestfallen expression and softened. “Look, I know emptying trash cans isn’t the slightest bit romantic but hang in there. I think you have a sharp mind, and you’ll pick up some real knowledge just by observing.”

Shannon nodded again and was off to do his bidding. Emptying trash barrels isn’t what I expected, she thought. I don’t know how much I can learn from observing that. When do I get to learn how the aeroplanes go up in the air?

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Sarah sat in the den of her home watching the evening light fade away. Charles had come home from a workout, something he tried to fit in when he was home from Long Beach. The dust in the air made for good sunsets, but it didn’t help with breathing, so he went inside when he could to the gymnasium at San Bernardino Valley College. He came downstairs from the shower in a robe, towel around his neck, and settled in on the couch across from Sarah, rubbing his hair dry. “How’s the guardianship application going?” he said. “I filed the papers yesterday, and it will go how it goes,” Sarah replied dryly. “Which is to say, at its own pace, usually slowly. I’ve got friends at the court, and I’m hoping to get a good judge. But you know how the courts are. And at some point in the process, you’ll need to appear with me at the courthouse.” She looked closely at him. “We’ll have to let that one ride for now.” She paused for a moment. “I’ve noticed you seem distracted when you’ve been home lately. Anything you care to share?” He stopped rubbing his head and put the towel down on his lap. “Yes. I was going to tell you this, but I didn’t want to until I was more certain. You know I follow the stock market and the financial markets. I think the country’s heading into a recession.” Sarah reflected on his words for a moment. “Is it anything we should be alarmed about at this point?” “Not yet, but I’ll be keeping an extra close watch on the stock market. The market’s absurdly overheated right now. Stock values have skyrocketed. I don’t have much faith they’re going to stay that way. There’s nowhere to go but down. If it doesn’t improve, I think we ought to sell the stocks we have. You know I don’t care that much for stocks; I’ve always thought of them as theoretical money. It’s not like hard cash; except for corporate dividends, it’s just cash value

on paper, and it isn’t worth anything until you sell it. And the value depends on too many factors beyond your control. It’s always a gamble. So we’ll see.” Sarah appeared lost in thought. “Sounds like you think this possible recession could turn into something worse.” Charles sighed and reached for a glass of water Sarah had brought for him. “It might.”

Patrick McClary lounged on the leather sofa in the den of the McClary house, scanning the San Bernardino Sun looking for his father’s obituary notice when Cormac came in, dusty and disheveled. Cormac stomped the dust off his boots in the doorway, then came in and closed the door with a thud. Patrick looked up. “Shouldn’t you be doing the stamping outside, before you open the door?” Cormac scowled at him and went to the liquor cabinet. “Shouldn’t you be doing something useful instead of sitting on your butt readin’ the paper? I was out repairing the east side of the barn, and I could have used a little help.” “Sorry,” Patrick retorted, in a tone that held no remorse at all. “I was looking for Da’s obituary notice to see if they got everything right. But it’s been four days since the funeral, and it’s still not posted. Damned paper, takin’ their sweet time.” Cormac poured a generous dollop of Bushmills from the whisky decanter he had retrieved from the cabinet and came around to sit in a chair opposite Patrick. “You check the court filings today to see if there’s any sign of the girl?” Patrick put the paper down. “Not yet. Not a trace of her so far, and I’ve been asking around.” Cormac’s expression darkened. “We’ve got to find her before she goes crying to the sheriff. She’s the only one who knows what happened during that gullywasher. If she fingers us, we’re in a shitload of trouble.” “It’s her word against ours. She can’t prove it was us out there by that bridge anyway.” “No, but she could start the law looking at us close-like. That ain’t going to help if we try to make a move on Donelly’s land.” Patrick scowled and threw the paper aside in frustration. “Why didn’t you throw them a rope? And why in hell did you shoot Old Man Donnelly?” Cormac’s face darkened like a thundercloud and he slammed his glass of Bushmills down with a thunk. “Because they were Donnellys, damn it! What

more reason do you need?” Patrick was as mad as his brother now. “I’m more and more glad we made Brendan stay home. He doesn’t know the truth, and he’s got no part in it.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “The cops ever find those bodies they might see Donnelly was shot. It would change everything.” Cormac waived a hand in dismissal. “Not after what Da did to Donnelly’s body at the gravesite. Aw, relax. If it came to that, we’ll say it was Da did it. With him dead and buried, who’s to know different?” He got up and left the room. Patrick went back to looking over the court filings, disgusted by his older brother’s willingness to put a stain on his father’s reputation, and his corpse barely cooled at that. As for reading the court filings, Cormac had figured sooner or later, Shannon Donnelly would resurface to claim the family property, or there would be an obituary notice regarding her mother and father. So far there had been none. But as his eyes scanned the day’s edition, something brought him to an abrupt halt. Down toward the bottom of page ten, he saw a small item: Petition for Legal Guardianship Sarah and Charles Pearson, San Bernardino, have filed petition for legal guardianship of minor child Shannon Donnelly. Sarah Pearson is a prosecuting attorney and sister of local aviator Drew Patterson.

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“Well, well,” he murmured. He got up and found Cormac, waving the paper at him. “I found something,” he said. “Seems flyboy’s got a sister.”

“I need to go home,” Shannon said quietly as she sat in the Pearson house with Sarah and Dot. “There’ll be the livestock to attend to.” Sarah appeared startled, then recovered, slapping her palm on her forehead. “Of course! You need to see to your estate. I’m so sorry I didn’t think of it. Is there much in the way of livestock?” “Naw, just chickens and two horses. The chickens can fend for themselves for a while, but the horses . . . I don’t know if they’re even there. I hope so. I cut them loose when the wagon overturned out in the desert that night. They were scared and flailing in the harnesses; I had to do something. They might have come home.” “I imagine they’d be awfully hungry by now,” Dot put in. “Yeah,” Shannon said, “but we have an agreement with a neighbor, old Mr. Sanderson, to feed the livestock if he doesn’t see us for over twenty-four hours. It’s been almost three weeks, and as much of a hermit as he is, he doesn’t know if I’m dead or alive. I reckon he’ll be tired of feeding them by now.” Sarah reached out a hand to Shannon’s arm. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Shannon’s focus retreated into a distant place, something she did now and then at unexpected moments. So far, Sarah had tactfully let the moments as they would, until she returned to normalcy—if she ever did. She found Dot looking at her inquisitively, and gently shook her head it was okay. “I was scared to go back,” Shannon said. “Scared of the McClarys. Scared of being there without Ma and Da. Scared of—” She abruptly stopped, voice contorting with emotion. “I need to get my stuff. My drawings, my books, my bear and—and all my stuff.” Her eyes squeezed shut and she put her hands to her face. Sarah moved to her and embraced her gently as Shannon broke into heavy sobs, shoulders shaking. Dot came over on her other side and encircled her with her arms too, as the wall Shannon had built around herself finally cracked, then crumbled completely. She cried for a long time on the sofa in Sarah and Dot’s embrace.

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Sarah’s blue Cadillac rolled over the bumpy dirt road leading up to the Sanderson place. Shannon was in the back seat, her mind roiling with emotion. As they drove up to the front of the old farmhouse, a gaunt old man dressed in OshKosh B’Gosh overalls stepped down from the porch and put up a hand to shade his eyes. Sarah’s car slowed to a halt as dust welled up around them. Knowing how suspicious Sanderson was of strangers, Shannon wasted no time in getting out of the car, at which the old man’s eyes widened in disbelief and he froze in shock. “Shannon!” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You’re alive! Saints be praised, I thought you were a goner for sure after that gully washer. C’mere and let me touch you.” He spread his thin arms wide as Shannon collided with him, burying her head against his chest. After a moment, she looked up at him and managed a faint smile. Sanderson drew back. “Your Ma and Pa?” She took a step backward and shook her head. Sanderson looked down at her for a moment. “I had a feeling. Where are they?” “Buried out in the desert.” Sanderson tilted his head back and looked skyward for a moment, his thin silver hair puffing in a sudden gust of breeze. “You can tell me about it when you’re ready.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” Shannon put her hand up to his arm. “Thanks, Elmer.” She leaned her head against his chest for a moment. “I came over to see to the place. The horses come back?” “Yep, more’n two weeks ago. Hungry they was, but I’ve been feedin’ ’em reg’lar. Them and the chickens. Reckon they’ll be glad to see you.” He stopped and turned to Sarah and Dot. “But who’s this?”

Shannon looked embarrassed. “I forgot my manners. This is Mrs. Pearson and her daughter Dorothy.” She looked back at Sanderson. “It’s a long story.” Sanderson rubbed a hand over his balding head. “I got nothin’ but time. But let’s go over to the house so’s you can have a look around.” They all piled into Sarah’s car and drove the short distance to the Donnelly spread. Shannon lapsed into silence as they approached the weather-beaten ranch house. When Sarah stopped, she got out of the car, walked a few paces forward, and stopped, staring. All was quiet. A potted plant on the front porch sat wilted and dead. A tiny dust devil whirled across the yard and dissipated, but not before the breeze of its age briefly rattled the shutters on the front windows. Shannon’s mother had swept the front porch daily, but now it was covered with a layer of dust. In the distance, Shannon could hear the clucking of chickens. There was no other sound. Sanderson came up behind her. “Sheriff was out here not long after you disappeared. He looked around for quite a while, went in the house too. I didn’t like it, but I had no way to stop him.” Shannon spoke without turning to him. “I’m going inside. Please, all of you wait for me out here.” “Sure thing, Shannon. Take your time.” She crossed the dirt stretch to the house with slow steps, her feet kicking up puffs of dust, and then stopped at the first step up to the porch, heart thudding in her chest. She stood mutely for a long moment, then, licking dry lips, set one foot on the step, her other foot following like it was suffused in molasses. Then she was up on the porch, boots clomping hollowly on the boards. Reaching out with a shaking hand, she slowly turned the knob, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open. She entered, closing it slowly behind her. She stood silently taking in the interior of the house. Everything was in place. The well-worn furniture, the end-table lamps with their fringed lampshades, the place settings on the dining table—all was perfect, as her mother would have left it—as she had last seen it. Her father’s work hat sat crookedly at the top of the coat rack next to the door. Everything was as it always was, but there was a

frostiness in the house. Her footsteps across the wood floor echoed, mocking her age. She went into her parents’ room, staring at the empty bed, made up so perfectly, for a long moment, then quickly retreated. Dead air enveloped her, wrapped itself around her tightly, leaving a numbing void with nothing left but a faint echo of what had been. It didn’t take long before she had seen enough. She sank down on the sofa, put her head in her hands, and cried. When there were finally no more tears, she went to the one place she had dreaded to see—her own room. It was as she had left it. Her stuffed bear sat jauntily near her pillow at the top of the bed. The movie posters she had tacked to the wall—one, ironically, advertising Dorothy Gish in aviator goggles in a 1920 silent movie called “Flying Pat”—were still in place. Her clothes hung slackly in the closet, and her small bookcase still held some of her favorites. Kicking herself into motion, she swept up several books, a sheaf of her drawings, grabbed her stuffed bear, and went out. Shannon closed the front door behind her and walked back to the trio of people waiting for her, the stuffed bear and drawings and books clutched to her chest. “This is all I want,” she said, looking not at them but at the ground. “There’s nothing else for me here.” Sanderson lowered his head, nodding. “Reckon so. But what about your Ma and Pa? They deserved to be buried proper.” Shannon piled into the back seat of the car without looking at him. “Where they are might be the best proper I can give them. I don’t know if I can ever find the spot again.” They drove back to Sanderson’s place without talking. He got out, reached into the back seat and gave Shannon a long, tender embrace. “Promise you’ll keep in touch. You ever need any help with the McClarys, let me know straightaway.” He backed away reluctantly, eyes full of concern. “So sorry, girl. Don’t forget me.” “I promise I won’t,” Shannon said, eyes moist. “Here, take this,” Sarah said, handing Sanderson a card. “I wrote our address on the back. If you’re ever in town, we expect you to drop by.” “Good as done,” Sanderson said, waving them goodbye.

“Elmer,” Shannon called loudly over the noise of the car as it began to move, “how’d you like to buy some chickens and a couple of horses real cheap?”

June rolled into July without any fuss, and all too quickly for Shannon. Sarah was as good as her word in making trips out to the hangar. Shannon dutifully performed the seemingly mundane tasks Drew provided for her but grew restless to learn something of substance. It must have shown on her face, as in the first week of July, he pulled her aside. “You’ve been doing capably” he said with a faint grin. “I’ve got some maintenance work to do today, and I want you to shadow me as I do.” Shannon felt a thrill shoot through her at the thought of learning something useful toward getting into the sky. “I’m ready,” she said. She followed Drew out to the airstrip where he went to the yellow airplane, a light wooden board under his arm. He set the board down against his leg, unsnapped a canvas cover over the rear seat opening in the fuselage, and leaned in. Then he picked up the board, brushed off any dirt which may have clung to it, and turned to Shannon. “This piece of floorboard was supposed to be in place during the flight when you stowed away, but it had been removed for cable maintenance and I didn’t get around to putting it back in place before the flight. It covers the rudder control cables.” He pointed to the cables running across the floor of the fuselage. “You know, the ones you laid on?” he said with a grin. “It’s no wonder the rudder wouldn’t respond when I tried to turn for the landing approach.” Shannon blushed, knowing Drew was gently needling her. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I was so scared. I thought I might fall out, and I was hanging on to anything I could wrap my arms around.” Drew nodded. “It’s water under the bridge now.” He fit the board into place over the cables and secured it with turn button screws. Shannon gazed out at the other airplane sitting beside the dirt strip. Its engine was snugly covered with a tight-fitting canvas jacket, as were the pilot and enger seat openings. “What are the covers for?” she said, turning to Drew. “To keep out the desert dust. Dust in the airplane, especially the engine, is a bad thing. These planes should be inside in a hangar, but we don’t have one, so we do the best we can.” Shannon nodded. “Where do these airplanes come from?”

Drew waved a hand expansively at the planes. “They’re both war surplus. Since the war ended, airplanes have been dirt cheap. Over in England the Royal Air Force auctioned off about ten thousand planes and thirty thousand engines in 1920. For the first time, a huge number of airplanes was available to the public. A lot of the people who bought them were war pilots who wanted to continue to fly, but some buyers were people who had never flown before. Pilots started offering enger rides to people. But as airline enger flights began to become more common, the public got bored with private flight excursions. That’s when barnstorming got its start.” Shannon was puzzled. “What’s barnstorming?” “Think of it as a flying circus. People traveled the country in small teams made up of pilots, mechanics, and stunt performers. Wing walkers would climb out onto the wings in flight and do crazy stunts that would thrill the public.” “Like what?” Shannon asked. “Like doing handstands on the wing or hanging from a ladder under the plane by one hand or one foot. Or driving golf balls off the wing. In the hangar you’ll see a poster advertising one of the circuses. Maybe someday Leroy will tell you more about it. It was his team.” Shannon was dubious. “It sounds terrifying.” “To a lot of the watching public, it was a big thrill. And dangerous as hell. Oops, sorry for the language.” She waved a hand. “I’ve heard worse.” Drew smirked. “Apparently.” He leaned against the fuselage, seeming to warm to his subject. “Some of the wing walkers were young kids.” He turned his head to her. “Like you. I seeing a Movietone News clip last year of a tenyear old girl who did the Charleston on the top wing of a biplane. Still can’t understand how she did it; it didn’t look like she was secured to the wing at all.” Shannon paled. “Then there was the guy who hung from the plane by his teeth.”

Shannon shook her head. “Oh, I don’t want to hear anymore. Was anyone ever killed?” Drew nodded. “Yes, though I can’t say how many. There were some terrible accidents, and it was starting to erode the public’s ravenous appetite for the shows. That’s when the government stepped in. The Air Commerce Act of 1926 put a damper on things. So many of the tricks that had thrilled the public were outlawed that barnstorming wasn’t appealing anymore.” Shannon shuddered. “You’d never get me out onto a wing of one of these.” She ran her hand along the fuselage of the airplane. “But I’d still like to go up. Can you tell me about this one?” Drew smiled. “Sure. She’s a Curtiss JN-4 ‘Jenny’, one of the common war surplus planes. Can’t get ’em anymore though; the feds stopped selling them to the public a couple of years ago as part of the crackdown I mentioned. Too bad too; it’s a perfect trainer aircraft. It’s what it was designed for. There are lots of variations. Leroy got lucky with this one, she’s a JN-4H, an improved trainer with a larger Hispano-Suiza V-8 engine. Original Jennys had ninety horsepower; this one’s got 150.” He grinned. “And he got it for two hundred bucks. Not bad considering it went for over five thousand new. I heard some of these went for as little as fifty dollars still in their factory packing crates after the war.” Shannon stretched as high as she could and glanced at both cockpits. “How come there are controls in each seat opening?” “Those openings are called cockpits, okay? , this is a trainer, so there need to be controls for both pilot and student. Normally, the pilot sits in the back seat and the student in front. The pilot needs to have full controls at the back so he can take control of the aircraft when he needs to. That day you sneaked aboard I was sitting in the front seat, which I usually do when there’s no enger.” “I want to learn about that airplane too,” Shannon said, looking at the blue airplane. Drew patted her on the shoulder. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s head back to the hangar. I think that’s enough for today. Plenty more to learn later, but now we have work to do.”

Cormac McClary sat morosely in a big easy chair before the fire in the den of the McClary house. With a little sleuthing and a couple of greased palms at city hall, they’d found Sarah Pearson’s residence. Now he wanted baby brother Brendan to watch the Pearson house for a sign of Shannon, but Brendan wasn’t cooperating. “Why can’t we forget this?” Brendan said. “Her parents are dead and we’re talking about a fifteen-year old girl. What harm can she do us?” Cormac’s face clouded up. “She’s the inheritor of the Donnelly property. I’ve told you before how valuable it’s going to be in years to come. Word has it the Santa Fe is building an excursion spur right up to Running Springs, and it’s expected to run right through the Donnelly property. As long as she’s alive, she’ll never sell to us.” He paused, a simmering rage rising in his face. “I want that property. It’ll keep the McClary clan in tall clover for generations to come.” He gestured out the window toward the mountains and Big Bear Lake. “You haven’t been up at the logging operations like I have. Those trees aren’t going to last forever, and then they’ll pull out the Shays[1] and shut the whole thing down. Logging will come to an end someday, and we need to be ready.” “But even with Shannon Donnelly out of the way, you can’t be sure we’d end up with the property,” Brendan said, his voice rising in frustration. Cormac snorted. “I think we can outbid anyone else. Too, Da filed motions in court years ago disputing ownership, claiming it’s rightfully McClary land anyway. You were too young to know about it. The court tossed the motions out, but some of the same people who handled it are still there, and so is the memory, if the land comes up for sale.” Brendan stood tall and faced his big brother squarely. “This greed makes me sick. I’d like to think the McClarys once had a higher purpose. You and Patrick have dragged it down to the depths, and now you talk of murder. Killing a little girl is something I want no part of.” Cormac rose, took one big stride forward, and grabbed a fistful of Brendan’s shirt, nearly pulling him off the floor. “In 1771, Niall McClary was shot and killed in his own home by a stranger people swore was a Donnelly. Niall McClary was our ancestor! Da was named after him. I don’t forget it, ever. The Donnellys have been in our way every time we want to rise up and prosper. Now

it’s time to even the score.” “Get your hands off me!” Brendan shouted, swiping Cormac’s hand off his shirt. He took a step back. “Yeah, you don’t forget. Oh no, you nurture it, you preserve it, you keep the flame of this old wrong alive, and wait for the time you can even the score. That’s sick. It was a century and a half ago! Let it go.” He walked over to the coat rack near the door and grabbed his hat. “As far as Shannon Donnelly is concerned, I want no part of this. You and Patrick are on your own.” With that he was gone.

In early August Sarah came home from her office one Friday to find a letter from the Probate Court. It was a surprise; she had expected it to take longer for approval. She tore it open and read, then called the girls down to the den. “We have a court appointment,” she said. “They want us to be there next Thursday.” “Do you think it’s good news?” Shannon asked, voice full of apprehension. “That’s my birthday.” Sarah’s mouth dropped open. “Your birthday! You’ll be sixteen? How wonderful! I can’t think of a better birthday present. Yes, I’m sure it’s good news. We’ll all have to go out to celebrate your birthday afterward.” “Can I go to the courtroom too?” Dot said. “Yes, we should all be there.”

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It was to Shannon an agonizingly long time until Thursday came around but come around it finally did. In the interim, she realized how much she had grown to trust the Pearsons. The Probate Court visit loomed large in her consciousness. Shannon accompanied the family to the county courthouse. Everyone was dressed in their best. They parked Charles’ sleek Nash Advanced Six Coupe in the side lot and walked up the steps. The big double doors to the courthouse opened above them and someone came out. Shannon stopped dead in her tracks and began to tremble. She was face to face with Brendan McClary. Charles had been holding her hand and felt her stiffen. “Shannon, what is it?” Shannon tore her hand away. “Murderer!” she screamed. “Murderer!” She

vaulted forward, took off her shoes, and hurled them at Brendan. “You rotten bastard, I’ll kill you!” She flew at him and managed to land a fist on his chin before Charles caught up to her and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her away. Brendan stood in shock, rubbing his chin as Charles struggled to contain the screaming girl. He lifted her off her feet and still she fought him. “Whoever you are, I think you’d better leave now,” he said to Brendan. Brendan, astonished and speechless at the attack, nodded and walked quickly away, but not without a look back over his shoulder at Shannon. Charles put her feet back on the ground but still held her firmly. A shocked Sarah and Dot had drawn close. He turned Shannon around to face him. “Young lady, and I use the term loosely, whatever that was must not happen again. I will not allow such public behavior in this family. Do you understand?” Shannon didn’t respond, but slowly sank to the stone steps, face buried in her hands. Charles stood over her, frowning and puzzled as to what to do next. “Let me take it from here,” Sarah said, gently pushing Charles aside. “This calls for a woman’s touch.” She sat down beside Shannon and put an arm around her, letting her cry herself out on her shoulder. Sarah looked up at Charles, who was still frowning. “Who was that?” he said. Sarah looked to where Brendan had disappeared down the sidewalk. “My guess is it was one of the McClarys.” She looked back at Charles. “Good thing we’re early.” It took fifteen minutes to calm Shannon down to the point Sarah figured she could keep her composure in the courtroom. Then they all slowly mounted the steps, went in the impressive double doors, and up the stairs to the second floor, where the Probate Court was located. Charles checked them in, and they were told to take a seat; they would be called shortly. Just minutes after their scheduled time, they were called to enter the courtroom. The moment they entered the courtroom, Sarah knew there might be trouble. Her heart sank as she saw the judge was not the one she had expected, an old

acquaintance with whom she had a good courtroom relationship. Instead she faced the one judge she had hoped to avoid, a cranky old courtroom denizen she had had a run-in with a time or two. Calm, Sarah, calm, she onished herself. All our papers are in order and we have a good reputation here. It should be fine. Charles noticed her expression and leaned over to whisper. “Problem?” “Let’s just say the judge and I have a history.” After they were seated, Sarah rose to speak. “Your Honor, we had expected Judge Morrissey to be here today.” Judge Elisha Cummings, who resembled a straight-laced old frontier prophet, complete with chin beard, looked at them sourly over his reading glasses. “So had I. I was called in to replace him at the last minute. Something about a family emergency, I was told.” He looked down through his glasses at the papers before him and mumbled, “As if I had nothing else to do.” Sarah could feel Shannon trembling beside her and took hold of her hand. “Nevertheless,” Judge Cummings said, “I have had time to review your application. Your papers are complete and in order. You have a good income, what appears to be a stable family, and I know you are well-regarded in these parts.” Charles put his hand on Sarah’s back for comfort. “However,” the judge said, “this court was witness, through the window, to the minor child’s behavior on the front steps of this courthouse a short time ago. Such an outburst raises questions about whether your family, Mr. and Mrs. Pearson, is prepared to take in a child with such anger issues.” Sarah’s heart started pounding and she felt Shannon’s hand tighten her grip. She stood up. “Your Honor, both myself and my husband have the benefit of a superior education and are connected locally with the child advocate community through our charity work. Should we need help beyond that which we can personally provide, we know where to obtain it.” The judge pursed his lips for a moment. “Hmm. Duly noted.”

Sarah turned and smiled at Shannon. “However—” the judge intoned. Her smile vanished. “—there is another matter. The fate of Miss Donnelly’s parents is unknown. Until their whereabouts are known, or they are declared deceased, it presents an obstacle to moving forward with this legal guardianship petition.” Sarah was alarmed. “Your Honor! It can take seven years for a missing person to be declared deceased.” Cummings gave her a stern look. “I’m aware of that,” he said. “Nevertheless, it has been only weeks since their disappearance. This court would feel more inclined to grant the petition for legal guardianship if their fate were known.” Sarah knew the old bastard was bending the rules, probably out of spite. Shannon shot to her feet. “I buried them myself!” she shouted. Cummings turned for the first time to Shannon. “Where, then, are they to be found, young lady?” Shannon shook her head, eyes moist. “I don’t know if I can find it again.” “Mr. and Mrs. Pearson,” the judge said, “I would suggest you pursue finding her parents’ grave, if they are indeed buried, with all possible haste. It would make this matter so much simpler. Until then, I believe the state’s best interests will be served by declaring her a ward of the state and placing her in foster care.”

5

“No!” Shannon screamed. “Your Honor!” Sarah said, “We then petition for temporary guardianship. It’s an optional part of the original petition, and all sections have been completed. This should ease any concerns over the whereabouts of her parents.” Cummings looked at her sternly as Shannon clung to Sarah with a viselike grip. “The court is not inclined to reconsider its decision. When the matter of the whereabouts of Miss Donnelly’s parents is settled, you may resubmit your petition.” Sarah trembled with anger. The old tyrant was deliberately putting the screws to her to satisfy a personal grudge over their previous sparring in court. It was time to play her last card. She skewered him with a glare. “I beg Your Honor to reconsider. There is a previous case that bears favorably on our petition. I reference County versus Karlson, 1921.” The judge froze as he was turning away. He slowly turned his head back and glared back at her for a moment, a faint blush of anger on his face. Then in slow motion he returned to his chair. “May I humbly remind the court,” Sarah continued, “that any guardianship decision is ultimately about the best interests of the child, and she has yet to be heard from in this matter.” Cummings nervously adjusted the papers in front of him, cleared his throat, and without looking up, said resignedly, “The court will hear Miss Donnelly.” Sarah turned to Shannon. “It’s your turn now, just like I told you. Say what you would like the judge to know—whatever it may be.” Shannon let go of Sarah’s hand and faced the judge. “Your Honor,” she said in a firm voice, “I want to stay with the Pearsons. They have been good to me and—

and I like them very much.” “Would you like them to be your legal guardians, even though your parents have not been declared deceased?” Shannon took a deep breath and let it out. “Yes, Your Honor.” Judge Cummings shuffled the papers before him, paused a few moments, then, looking like he had suffered an attack of severe indigestion, said, “Very well. The petition for temporary legal guardianship is granted. And I advise you, Mr. and Mrs. Pearson, to the sheriff, if you have not already done so, and share whatever information with him Miss Donnelly is able to provide regarding the disappearance of her parents.” When they were outside the courthouse, Shannon hugged Sarah and Charles, then threw her arms around Dot. “I think we’ve had enough drama for one day,” Charles said. “Let’s go get some ice cream and celebrate Shannon’s birthday.” On the way to the car, Charles looked over at Sarah with an inquisitive look on his face. “County versus Karlson, 1921? Where did that come from? The judge looked like he’d been slapped across the face.” “The case is real, but it has nothing to do with our petition. In fact, I wasn’t even involved. But I was in court when it was on the docket, and I heard something firsthand I wasn’t intended to hear. Cummings accepted a bribe in that case prior to his decision. And he knows I know.” “You never reported it?” “No. It would have made real trouble for Cummings, but in the end it would have been hard to prove. So I decided to keep it quiet as my ace in the hole. I figured I might need it someday for leverage on one of my cases. Looks like today was the day.” “Hmm,” Charles mused. “I’ll leave it at that. I think this is all too much information.”

Brendan McClary came home and went straight to the liquor cabinet in the den. He pulled out the Bushmills and poured himself a shot, then slammed the cabinet door shut. Patrick, coming in from the kitchen, looked on in amazement. “You figure to start being a drinking man?” he said. Brendan turned on him, face twisted in anger. “What don’t I know?” “What the hell do you mean?” Brendan took a swallow of the Bushmills. “I was down in San Bernardino today and stopped by the courthouse to file those papers you gave me. Coming out, I ran straight into Shannon Donnelly. Actually, it was more like she ran into me. The second she spotted me, she came at me full-tilt, screaming murderer, and hit me on the chin.” At this Cormac came in from the kitchen too, a sober look on his face. “She with somebody?” “She was with a family—a man, woman, and a girl. It was the man who pulled her off of me. Seems like it was all he could do to keep her away.” Patrick looked over at Cormac. “Must be the Pearsons.” Cormac crossed the room, face darkening. “Then what?” “I left,” Brendan said. “The man holding her said I’d better clear out, so I did.” He put the shot glass down and stepped closer to Cormac. “So I’m asking you,” he said slowly, gaze burning with anger, “what don’t I know?” Cormac looked over at Patrick, then back at Brendan. “Best you don’t. Leave it that way.” “Damned if I will! This have something to do with the Donnellys?” Patrick spoke. “Da did you a favor leaving you home when we went to round up the loose horses the night of the big storm. He didn’t know it at the time.” Brendan looked at him, eyebrows slowly raising in a dawning realization. “The

Donnellys disappeared that night. This has something to do with them.” Cormac moved forward slowly. “Brother, I’m warning you, let it be.” There had been times in the past when Brendan was convinced Cormac, brother or not, wouldn’t hesitate to do him harm if he thought it necessary. “I can put two and two together. And what it adds up to—” Seeing the looks on his brothers’ faces, he stopped there. “I’m moving out. I want no part of this.” “You better you’re a McClary,” Cormac said. “You better family comes first.” Brendan couldn’t leave fast enough.

After a trip downtown for ice cream, Shannon bubbled with happiness all the way home, but Sarah, looking closely, could tell she was still shaken by her encounter with Brendan McClary. Once arriving at the house, she let the girls loose to play but not before she took Shannon aside for a quiet moment. “You’re sixteen now,” she said affectionately. “The years to come will be exciting and full of discovery. A world of choices is going to open before you. One wonderful day, you’ll discover where you belong in this world. I hope I’m there to see it.” With a tight hug and a whispered, “Happy Birthday,” she let her go to Dot, then settled into a chair in the den near Charles. “Between Brendan McClary and Judge Cummings, Shannon had a tough day.” “Looks like she’s convinced the McClarys had something to do with her parents’ deaths.” “Hmm. The question is, do we want to dig into this any deeper?” “I suggest we let the sheriff do the digging,” Charles said. “And we need to help her with whatever she’s going to do with the property she inherited. It should have been done by now. And the reading of her parents’ will.” “Agreed. But we’ve both been busy. How much longer is this Long Beach project going to last?” “It’s slowly winding down. I hope by October, it’ll be near completion. How about your caseload?” “I’ve got two cases going at present. One of them should be wrapped up soon. The other—there’s no telling.” She took a sip from the glass of iced tea she was drinking, her expression sobering a bit. “What’s the stock market looking like?” “Not good. It’s getting scary. I’m close to jumping ship.” “Okay. Let’s get Shannon back out to the hangar when we can. She deserves to have a good time this summer.”

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The sun was barely above the horizon, but Shannon couldn’t contain her excitement as she stood next to the blue biplane, leather aviation helmet and goggles in hand, waiting for Drew to finish his pre-flight inspection. They were going up—a late birthday gift, Drew said. He had a crop-dusting assignment and he was taking her with him. The blue plane was their primary dusting airplane. It had been fitted with pipes below the trailing edge of the lower wings to spray the crops as the plane zoomed over the fields close above. She looked over the aircraft while she waited and flashed a nervous glance at Sarah. Looked at from the side, the fuselage had a streamlined teardrop shape. She noticed the upper wing was longer from one end to another than the lower. There was a wooden tail skid under the back of the fuselage to keep it from ing the ground upon landing. That’s okay as long as the airplane lands on dirt, she thought, picturing what a harder surface would do to the wooden skid. Two bicycle wheels and an array of struts and cables made up the undercarriage. “Why does it have two wings?” she said when Drew raised his head. He held up a finger, requesting one more moment of patience. “Don’t interrupt during the pre-flight.” “Sorry,” Shannon said, embarrassed. “It’s okay.” He straightened up and turned to her. “Now, as to your question. These airplane engines don’t have much power. The more wing surface you have, the more lift the airplane has, making it easier to get the airplane into the air. Two wings are better than one. There’s a price for it, though. With two wings and the front of the engine, and all those wires and struts, this thing has a lot of front surface area to catch the wind, or as we say, to create drag. So it isn’t fast. Top speed on a regular Jenny is about seventy-five miles per hour. There are times up in the air when I swear I could get out and walk faster than this heap.” Shannon looked doubtfully at the airplane. “How high can it go?” “The ceiling—the upper limit—on one of these is about six and one-half thousand feet. And that’s plenty high enough.” He looked at his watch and gave her a devilish grin. “Time to get started.”

“Follow what I’m doing closely,” he said. “And yes, there will be a quiz later.” He bent over for one last look into the rear cockpit. “Ignition switch in ‘start’ position,” he said, “throttle set low, brakes on and—” he glanced under the fuselage— “wheel chocks in place.” He looked at Shannon, who was watching him intently. “Ignore any of these steps and the plane could start moving off on its own, or the propeller might take your arm off.” He motioned for her to stand back from the aircraft and went to the front. Reaching up to the propeller, he moved it back and forth a couple of times, then gave it a hard pull, which caused it to spin around once. Nothing happened, so he gave it another heave. This time the engine caught, and the propeller began to spin ever more rapidly, the engine coughing spasmodically and then settling into a steady roar. “Takes a couple of spins sometimes,” Drew shouted over the engine’s noise as he approached her. “Time to go, squirt. Up and in.” He lifted her into the front cockpit and made sure she was properly seated, her helmet and goggles were in place, and the harness fixed firmly across the front of her body. Then he gave her the breathing mask he said they would don over the field to be sprayed. Satisfied, he vaulted into the rear cockpit and strapped in. Leroy came out of the hangar and reached under the fuselage to dislodge the wheel chocks and carry them aside. He gave them a wave as the airplane slowly turned and taxied out toward the runway. Shannon was trembling with excitement as they taxied to the takeoff position. The thrum of the engine and the vibration of the fuselage sent shivers through her. She gripped her harness tightly as they turned for takeoff. She heard Drew shout “Ready?” behind her and turned and nodded her head. In seconds, they were rolling, slowly at first, then ever faster down the dirt strip. The sage and cactus rolled by in a blur. Then, sooner than she expected, the Jenny was airborne. Her stomach dropped and her breath caught in her throat as the airplane soared aloft into the clear July sky, leaving the hangar far below. So unlike her first flight as a stowaway, she exulted in the sensation of being thrust upward into the air, her spirits rising as they climbed toward the scattered puffs of cloud far overhead. Drew turned west, and they began the flight to the fields. With the open cockpits, the Jenny afforded excellent visibility to the side, if not so much the view ahead. After about half an hour, Shannon could see the desert slowly giving way to

irrigated farmlands. Soon they were over green fields, the crops stretching out before them in elegant rows. Drew slapped the fuselage behind her, and she turned to see him pointing down to the field below them. Sarah had agreed to the flight upon Drew’s firm assurance the spraying presented no hazards to dodge such as buildings or telephone or power lines. Shannon donned her breathing mask along with Drew as he did a slow cruise over the field to insure there were no new obstacles to avoid. Satisfied, he lined up and swooped down for his first . The rows swept by beneath them at dizzying speed, then at the end of the row, the Jenny swooped upward into the sky to make a horseshoe turn and come back for another . To Shannon, it was like what she imagined a roller coaster to be: dramatic ups, downs, turns, her stomach always a maneuver behind, her breath deep and ragged, her pulse pounding. She exulted in the swooping rise back into the sky at the end of each row. Drew made after , a sea of green flashing below. The irrigation ditches sparkled in the morning air beneath them, the sky was a glorious bowl of blue overhead. Shannon saw small children gathered at the edges of the fields, watching in rapt fascination at each they made. She waved to them in exultation, and they waved back. Finally, the dusting was finished, and Drew flew them peacefully through the still morning air back toward home. The wind teased the curls of hair sticking out from her aviation helmet, the dry landscape rolled by below, and Shannon could see small flocks of birds wheeling away beneath her. She felt a sense of freedom she had never known. The biplane touched down softly and rolled up to the hangar. Shannon saw Sarah and Dot waiting in the shade. When Drew stopped and cut the engine, the second the propeller stopped she vaulted out of the front cockpit and jumped to the ground. But her feet seemed barely to touch the ground as she ran at Sarah, jumping up and down with excitement. “It was so great!” she said with a broad grin. “I can’t wait to do it again.” She looked at Dot. “You should try it!” “No thank you,” Dot replied, clearly dubious about such an undertaking. “I’ll let you be the daredevil.” Drew came up behind them and Shannon turned and gave him a hug. “Hey, you’re getting taller,” Drew observed, noting where the top of her head hit

his chest. Shannon drew back and grinned. Sarah came up and put a hand on her shoulder. “We got a phone call. The sheriff wants to talk to all of us, pronto.”

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San Bernardino County Sheriff James Jeremiah Arnold, commonly known as “J. J.”, was an imposing man. A veteran of the Spanish-American War as a twentyyear old, he had been with Roosevelt’s Roughriders at the charge up San Juan Hill in 1898 during the liberation of Cuba from Spain. With a taste for action and adventure, he had subsequently engaged in various law enforcement occupations out west as the last traces of the western frontier faded away in the early twentieth century. Now in his early fifties, he was still known as a man who was not to be crossed, though he was at times capable of exhibiting a jovial mood. He was not in such a mood now, as Charles, Sarah, and the girls took seats in his San Bernardino office. The sheriff folded his large hands across his stomach, leaned back in his chair, and fixed a laser-eyed glance on Shannon, his brow furrowing in apparent disbelief. He did not waste any time with pleasantries. “Girl, we done been ready to sign your death certificate for weeks, and now we find out you’ve been hanging out with the Pearsons here as free as you please, with never so much as a hint to anyone else you was alive and well.” He turned to Charles and Sarah, frowning. “Now, why was that?” Sarah tried to remain calm and poised as she fought for a respectable answer. Unlike some of her acquaintances and colleagues at the county courthouse, she had no established relationship with this sheriff, though she had seen him any number of times around the courthouse. “Sheriff Arnold, Shannon was afraid for her life. She impressed on me convincingly she needed to keep her whereabouts secret for a while.”

He turned to Shannon and attempted a smile which failed to convince. “Miss Donnelly, don’t get me wrong. I’m powerful pleased to see you’re okay. But tell me, why did you feel your life was in danger?” Shannon looked at him, deep blue eyes flashing in the sunlight streaming in from a window. “McClarys. I was afraid they meant to kill me.” Arnold’s face betrayed nothing. “You don’t say. And why would you think that?” “Because they killed my parents.” The sheriff appeared momentarily taken aback. “That’s a serious charge. What evidence you got?” Shannon leaned forward in her chair, unfazed by the sheriff’s physical presence. Sarah put a discreet hand on her sleeve. “Because I was there. I saw it happen.” Sheriff Arnold was quiet for a long moment, looking away and lost in thought. Then he turned back. “I know there’s never been any love lost between the McClarys and the Donnellys. And we know nothing about the circumstances of how your parents, Miss Donnelly, died, if they are indeed deceased. I’m hoping you can fill me in on the details. I’m going to request my secretary come in, and I ask all of you fine folks to leave except Miss Donnelly and either you, Mrs. Pearson, or Mr. Pearson. And then I would like you, Miss Donnelly,” he said, fixing a sober stare at Shannon, “to tell me everything you can about the circumstances of the death of your parents. And if possible, their resting place.” Shannon chose to have Sarah stay with her as the rest filed out. The secretary came in and was seated, and, at Arnold’s urging, Shannon began to tell every detail of the storm-lashed night her parents had been swept away. When she was at last done, Arnold unfolded his hands and leaned further back in his chair. After a few moments seemingly lost in reflection, he spoke. “Miss Donnelly, this spot where you say your parents lie—do you think you can locate it for us? Finding their remains would be a major step in filling in this mystery.” Shannon shook her head. “Maybe. I don’t know how far out in the desert it is. But there should be some remains of the buckboard there. It would help me.” “All right. I’ll assign one of my deputies to assist you. Now, let’s have the rest of

the family come back in.” The Pearsons filed back in and sat. Apprehension was writ large on Sarah’s face. Sheriff Arnold once again folded his massive hands across his stomach and sat back in the chair, apparently his favorite pose when trying to intimidate. “Mr. and Mrs. Pearson,” he began, dropping into a formal manner, “a number of irregularities have been generated by your clandestine hosting of a minor thought to have disappeared under unknown circumstances, not to mention the disappearance of her parents too. And you’ve been awarded temporary legal guardianship. Perhaps it was premature. It wouldn’t be too difficult to file a convincing motion Miss Donnelly should be remanded to the custody of the state to await further developments in what is now a possible murder case.” Belying her calm exterior, Sarah began to sweat, and she felt Shannon’s grip tighten on her arm. “But,” Arnold said, unclasping his hands and spreading his arms expansively, “I think that serves no purpose. Your family has an excellent reputation hereabouts. I myself regard you as solid citizens. And Miss Donnelly seems to have found a home, so to speak, at least for the present. So, assuming cooperation from Miss Donnelly in this matter, I’ll overlook your lack of respect for proper legal procedure, and we’ll forget about all that.” He gave them a dazzling smile. “What do you say?” Sarah wasn’t sure whether to be genuinely relieved or still doubtful about the impact of Arnold’s words, but she suddenly found she needed to start breathing again. “We’re grateful, Sheriff Arnold. From now on, we promise to cooperate in any way we can to speed resolution of this matter.” Shannon clung to Sarah like a leech and wiped away a tear. Charles knew when it was time to make a quick exit before the sheriff thought of some other reason Shannon should be taken away from them. He stood and offered his hand. “We thank you with all our hearts, Sheriff Arnold. We look forward to working with your office.” He turned to Sarah and the girls. “Time to go, kids. Let’s be on our way.” The sheriff watched the door close behind them, then turned to his secretary. “Call them folks over at the Legion Hall and let ’em know I might be a tad late

for the barbecue. I need to make a visit to the McClarys.”

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Shannon and the Pearsons were in a quiet and reflective mood on the way home. They all realized how precarious Shannon’s continued presence in the home was. After the girls had gone to bed that evening, Charles and Sarah talked quietly in the study. “This was a bit of a close call,” Charles said. “We’re skating on thin ice with this guardianship.” “Yes,” Sarah replied. “But it’s done.” “For now. But we don’t need the burden of worrying about what might happen. I’ve got enough to deal with, including an overheated stock market.” He took a deep breath and seemed to prepare himself for what he said next. “Maybe in the near future, we should think about making Shannon’s presence here more permanent.” Sarah raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Why, Charles, I do believe you’ve grown more attached to Shannon than you’ve let on.” She moved closer and put a hand on his arm. “It’s worth discussing, but for the moment it will have to wait.”

September came around all too soon for Shannon. September meant school and the end of the freedom she had reveled in all summer. Sarah was generous with Shannon’s presence at the hangar, and on one occasion even let the girls have a sleepover, though not without some stern rules made quite clear to Drew. After the sleepover, though, Dot had declined interest in another. While the interplay between the girls had grown strong, it was clear Dot had different interests. Shannon had been faithful in her execution of whatever duties Drew assigned to her. He hadn’t taken her up again, though she made it clear she longed to do so. He had involved her more directly in airplane maintenance, which seemed a never-ending part of flying. She had proven a willing and acute learner, and once shown something, didn’t forget it. She had become knowledgeable enough that Drew put her to work leading tours for the occasional groups of tourists who made their way to the remote airstrip. She had even managed to make inroads with Leroy, once he saw she wasn’t going to get in his way. On the last Saturday before school started, she sought refuge from the heat in a dark corner of the hangar. Drew was there eating a sandwich, part of a generous lunch she had prepared for both of them in the tiny kitchen. Finding a clean surface to prepare it on had been the biggest challenge. She plopped herself down on a low stool next to him, staring outside at the airplanes parked beside the dirt strip. “Something on your mind?” Drew said. Shannon nodded. “I want to know what makes the airplane go up into the air. You haven’t explained it to me yet. If I’m going to give these tours, it’s something I bet a lot of the tourists would like to know.” Drew pushed back on his stool and took a drink of iced tea. “I agree. It’s past time you learned that. But I think Leroy would be better at explaining it than I would. Why don’t you give him a try?” Shannon gave him an Are you serious? look along with a roll of her blue eyes. “Sure, go on,” Drew urged. “You’ve earned time with him, I think.” She finished her sandwich, took a long drink of water, and, with a shake of her

head, walked with firm footsteps across the floor of the hangar. She stopped a few feet away, her body tense. “Mr. Leroy—” “Leroy will do,” he said, not looking up from his work. “Don’t answer to much else.” He hadn’t told her to get lost, so she felt emboldened to take a step closer. “Uh, I was asking Drew how airplanes go up into the air. I understand they have to go fast down the runway and all that, but I don’t know what makes them go up.” She hesitated a bit, gathering her courage. “He said it would be better to ask you.” Leroy snorted and put down the instrument he had been using. “He did, did he?” For the first time he turned to her. “He’s prob’ly right about that. Come on over here.” He pulled a clean sheet of paper from a stack by his side and drew a surprisingly elegant-looking end-on view of an airplane wing. Shannon tentatively stepped over to the paper. “This here’s a wing, lookin’ from the end. Could be a bird wing or an airplane wing, it don’t make no difference, okay?” He looked at her. “The principle of how it works is the same.” Shannon nodded. “Now,” he said, seeming to warm to his subject as if an old retired college professor, “ever hear of a guy named Bernoulli?” Shannon shook her head. “That’s okay, neither has he.” Leroy inclined his head in Drew’s direction. Shannon pretended not to see the rude gesture Drew aimed back at Leroy. “How about Isaac Newton?” She nodded. “We studied him in school.” “All right then. The shape of this wing means something. It has a purpose. As the airplane gains speed going down the runway, because of the shape of the wing, it’s actually lifted up into the air.”

Shannon was puzzled. “Lifted?” “Yep. And here’s how it works. We need principles formulated by both Bernoulli and Newton to explain it. Streams, like streams of air, tend to follow curved surfaces.” He drew long wispy lines flowing across his picture of a wing, above and below. “You’ll notice though the underside of the wing is flat, the top side is curved. Now, the Bernoulli principle states total energy in a steady streamline flow remains constant. It may sound like gibberish to you, so here’s what it means for flight: When the wing is moving forward through the air, there’s a steady stream of air—you can imagine it like water—flowing over and under the wing. Because the top surface is curved, the airflow is different on top of the wing than it is on the bottom. It’s faster on top than it is on the bottom. Straight streamlines produce equal pressure. Curved streamlines produce unequal pressure.” He looked up at her as he penciled more heavily over the lines of airflow past the wing he had drawn. “You followin’ this?” Shannon nodded, eyes bright with comprehension. “Okay. The difference in airflow speed means there’s less pressure on the top of the wing than on the bottom, because the speed of a fluid, or in this case, the airflow, determines the amount of pressure the fluid, or airflow, can exert. And that means less pressure on the top. , this only happens if the wing is moving forward through the stream of air. I’ll get back to that in a bit.” “Now,” he said, circling the leading edge of his wing drawing, “this curve on the front edge of the wing directs the airflow upward over the top. That compresses the air and makes it speed up over the top surface of the wing, providing the unequal pressure between top and bottom. But the Bernoulli principle by itself isn’t enough to explain what makes the airplane lift into the air. We also need Newton’s Third Law of Motion: For every force there is an equal and opposite reacting force.” He paused and looked at Shannon intently. “You want to stop? This too much?” “No, please, keep going,” she said. Leroy tilted his head momentarily. “Okay. Now, as to how it applies to our wing here, it’s like this: , we’re regarding the airflow as being like a liquid. The air coming off the back, or trailing, edge of the wing”—he circled it for Shannon— “is forced downward. So for that downward force, there has to be an

equal and opposite reacting force pushing upward. And that’s what we call lift. So the airplane, as it accelerates, is lifted into the sky.” Shannon’s face was alive with interest. Leroy looked at her soberly. “One more thing to , if you’re going to fly. We have to throw in here Newton’s Second Law: Force equals mass times acceleration. The mass is the weight of the air flowing over the wing, and the acceleration is the change in velocity the wing shape gives to the air.” He at last put down his pencil and turned to her. “In plain English that means the wing is going to generate lift as long as it’s moving forward through the airstream. If the airplane loses its forward momentum, there’s no more lift. Then you have what’s called a stall.” He pointed upward. “You stall up there and you’re going to fall out of the sky like a rock.” Shannon clutched her hands to her chest. “I’ll it, I promise.” Leroy gave her a ghost of a smile. “Good. Now, I gotta get back to workin’ on this instrument.” “Thank you so much!” Leroy was already engrossed once again in his work.

Cormac McCarthy was quiet for a while following Sheriff Arnold’s visit. He and the Sheriff had a history, usually when Cormac was drunk in one of the local bars and causing trouble. Sheriff Arnold was one of the few men around who could look Cormac in the eye and not flinch. Their encounters, uniformly unpleasant, usually ended with Cormac kicked out of a bar, or worse. The one time he had challenged Arnold physically resulted in him lying on the ground in handcuffs and then jailed for assault on a peace officer, with a hefty fine to pay. Especially when he was drunk, Cormac didn’t like to be reminded there was someone in town who could kick his butt. Thus he had taken to avoiding all with the Sheriff when possible. Now the man had come to him, with questions he didn’t want to answer about the Donnellys. Yes, he and Patrick had been out with his father the night of the storm, chasing loose horses. No, they hadn’t seen the Donnellys that night, and knew nothing about them being drowned when a bridge collapsed. Nope, had no idea what happened to them, none at all. Now he sat on the couch in the den looking dangerously angry. He hadn’t even bothered to pour himself a drink, a sign to Patrick it was best to let him simmer for a while. Finally, though, Patrick had had enough, and calmly came into the den, leaning against the fireplace mantle. “What we gonna do now?” he said. Cormac turned and looked at him. “We wait.” Patrick pursed his lips in thought. “Arnold’s got no proof we saw the Donnellys that night. No proof we were anywhere near the place. All he’s got is the word of a girl, a Donnelly who has it in for us.” “Yeah, and we can’t go after her now,” Cormac said. “She’s out in the public eye, people around here beginning to know who she is. And she’s protected by the damned lawyer and her husband.” “Probably wise,” Patrick said, crossing over to the other side of the room and reaching into the liquor cabinet. “Anything happens to her and we’re first on the list of suspects. Sheriff’s got no proof we’re involved, but he wouldn’t be inclined to believe us.” “That’s why we lay low for a while and see what happens. They don’t find those

bodies, nothing can come of this. I’m betting the girl can’t find the spot again. We did a good job of cleaning it up and removing every trace of the buckboard and the other stuff. Looks like any other patch of desert now.” Patrick took a sip of his Bushmills. “Let’s hope you’re right. And let’s hope Brendan keeps his mouth shut.”

Shannon felt apprehensive about the start of the coming school year. She had never been a particularly attentive student, and had muddled along in most of her classes, feeling no inspiration about one subject or another. Too, school meant her visits to Kazminski Aviation and Drew would be severely curtailed, probably restricted to weekends. She had had a distraction already, as she went out on horseback with a sheriff’s deputy to search for her parents’ gravesite. She had borrowed the horse she had sold cheap to Old Man Sanderson, a steady mare that seemed pleased to have Shannon once again on her back. Even at sixteen, she was an accomplished horsewoman, and surprised the deputy with her savvy about riding and caring for horses. The deputy had told her the sheriff’s budget for their search missions was limited. As the trips continued to produce nothing, her disappointment grew. If the grave could not be found, it would make it impossible for her to mount a real accusation of murder against the McClarys, instead of her claim being received by the sheriff as mere speculation. When they saw the bullet hole in her father’s chest, she knew they would have to believe her. And she wanted the McClarys on trial for murder, wanted it so badly that under her skin, it consumed every idle moment she had. Unless she was concentrating on something else, it was there, a quiet rage, a fire behind the eyes. She didn’t think anyone else noticed. But she was wrong. Sarah, even Drew, could tell it was there, from her expression in unguarded moments to the occasional times when she seemed to distance herself from those around her. They had decided for the time being to let it be, though Drew had reminded her more than once that when she was at the hangar, he expected complete concentration on whatever she was engaged in. She and the deputy had worked their way outward from where the water-washed gully had dissipated into the desert floor, weaving around the Joshua trees and the cactus, the occasional bunch of desert willow and sage, in search of something familiar. But there had been nothing. All too quickly, they found themselves returning from the last ride empty-handed. The deputy was apologetic. “I’m sorry, Miss Donnelly, but we’ve used up the budget Sheriff Arnold allowed for these searches. We can’t go out again. Maybe with the start of the new fiscal year in November, we’ll have a new budget that

will let us keep looking.” Shannon looked away, hiding her tight expression. “It’s okay. You did your best. Thank you for riding with me.” The deputy pulled down on his cowboy hat in salute. “Ma’am” he said and turned his horse away. Shannon looked to the empty desert stretching away before her, grief etched on her face. I don’t understand. I should have been able to find it. The wreck of the buckboard would show me for sure. But there was no trace of it. Something isn’t right. Attempting to take her mind off the failure, she threw herself into her duties at the hangar with renewed intensity, and pressed Drew harder for more schooling. She nabbed him one day as he strode into the hangar. “Tell me about propellers,” she said, pointing to one before her on a bench. “How come they’re shaped so odd?” Drew grabbed a canteen of water and sidled over to her. “Yeah, I guess it’s time you were filled in on props.” He took a long swig of water from the canteen and set it down on the bench. “Okay, squirt—” “Stop calling me that. I have a name.” Drew looked at her, her blue-eyed gaze burning into him, and noticed for the first time how much she had grown over the summer. She wasn’t remotely the little girl he had pulled off the sand after she had hidden away in the aft cockpit of his airplane. No longer a girl, she was before his eyes suddenly a young woman. Holy cow, he thought, I’ve been asleep. He nodded in respect. But she hasn’t lost any of her pugnacity. “I’m sorry. Shannon it is, then. Now, let’s look at this prop. As it spins, it creates thrust that propels the airplane forward. As you can see, it’s made of laminated wood. The layers are assembled so each layer runs the opposite direction of the ones next to it. It gives the layers added strength and prevents warping.” Shannon ran her hand along the length of one of the blades. “Why is it shaped differently near the center than out toward the tip?” “The center is called a hub,” Drew said. “Picture that the tip of the blade”— he

took a step to the side and stretched out his arm to touch the blade’s end— “travels much faster around in a circle than the hub does. Can you see that?” Shannon nodded. “Okay, the angle of the blade is the shape you’re talking about. We call it the pitch. As you noticed, this pitch is much steeper close to the hub. Because, like I said, the tip moves so much faster than the hub, the pitch is much steeper near the hub and flattens out gradually as the blade lengthens outward from the hub. By the time we get to the tip, the blade is nearly flat. It’s the change of shape that makes the thrust even all along the length of the blade.” Shannon pursed her lips in thought. “How?” Drew sat back and took another swig from the water canteen, then threw up his hands. “I don’t know. Must be some physics thing. You’d have to ask Leroy on that one.” Shannon shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe later.” Her gaze looked around the hangar. “What’s with the airplane skeleton over there in the corner?” Drew followed her glance. “Oh, it’s a frame Leroy’s working on. Come on over; we’ll take a closer look. After you.” They walked over to the partly finished frame. “Leroy’s not around at the moment, so let’s take a look at this one,” Drew said. He pointed to the uncovered frame that formed a wooden skeleton of the fuselage. “Frames are usually made of spruce or ash. Then they’re covered with linen or canvas fabric. It’s applied at a forty-five-degree angle to the frame for extra strength. We cover the fabric with this stuff here called dope”—he reached behind him and came up with a jar of evil-smelling gunk he held up to Shannon, who wrinkled her nose in disgust— “which is turpentine. Dries very hard over the fabric, giving it even more strength. Then you throw in these wires between the wings. You’ll notice they connect the wings to each other in an X-pattern. It forms a strong box shape, but still lightweight. That’s crucial, because as I said before, these airplane engines are low on power.” He turned to her with a sly smile. “Can’t wait for bigger engines. Then we’ll see some real flying.” Shannon looked over the frame, nodded her head, and grinned. “I can see it now.”

Drew looked at her carefully, evaluating her expression. Sarah is right. This is no teen-age infatuation, he thought. She’s lost herself in flying. “Shannon, you’ve worked hard this summer and done your tasks nicely without complaint. I think you deserve some type of reward.” Before he could make a suggestion of his own, she stepped back, eyes shining with intensity, and shot an arm skyward. “Take me up!”

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She stood on the dirt runway beside the yellow biplane, eyes alight reflecting the gentle gold radiance of dawn. With Sarah’s permission, she had spent the night at the hangar so she could be up with the sun, which was starting to show its fiery head above the distant mountains. The desert air was fragrant with the promise of a new day. Now she was ready to call out the pre-flight checklist to Drew in the aft cockpit, who was letting her run it to test her. “Ignition!” she called out firmly, voice striking out through the still morning air and away into the desert. “Check,” he answered. “Throttle.” “Check.” “Brakes,” she said, voice strong and confident as if she had done it a thousand times. “Check.” “Wheel chocks in place!” Drew looked out over the edge of the cockpit. “Check.”

Shannon went around the wing to the propeller. Taking a deep breath, she gripped it firmly, moved it around to where she could get a good grasp on the upper tip, and pulled down hard, stepping back as she got to the bottom of her stroke. The engine coughed, the blade turned slowly around clockwise, then the engine sputtered again and caught, the big prop flashing into motion. With a huge grin, Shannon went around the wing, pulled out the wheel chocks, and vaulted up into the fore cockpit. Having grown visible taller over the summer, and stronger to boot, she no longer needed a lift from Drew. She reached around and fastened her harness securely, checked the chin strap of her flying helmet, and lowered her goggles into place. Then she raised her arms exultantly into the air and gave Drew a thumbs-up. Drew turned onto the runway and seconds later they were rolling, the rising sun blazing directly at them through the spinning propeller. A run on the dirt, speed increasing, and then they were up and away, flashing over the dry landscape below. Shannon felt herself come alive, as if her soul was vibrating with the flying machine, the revolving propeller making her heart beat faster and stronger. The prop blast washed over her; the struts and cables thrummed in the air stream. She breathed deeply of the morning air, exulting as it filled her lungs with coolness. She looked up at the blue sky overhead, felt its calling. This is where I belong, where I’m meant to be. For this special occasion, Drew had broken his earlier assurance to Sarah he couldn’t afford to take Shannon up for a joyride, for any purpose other than business. It seemed to him easy to do now, bowled over as he was by the intensity of her desire to be in the air. I’ve created something here, he thought, or at least had a hand in it. But what? Where is she headed? He had been less than enthusiastic about her choice of destination. “The coast will be beautiful in the morning,” he had told her the night before. “Or how about we fly up into the mountains over Big Bear Lake? It’s spectacular from above.” “No,” Shannon had said. “I want to try to find the gravesite. Please take me back to that dirt strip where I stowed away. What we couldn’t find on the ground might be visible from the air.”

Drew made no secret he was not happy about her request, having been set on showing her something beautiful from above. But with a heavy sigh, he relented. “Okay, if that’s your choice. See you out on the strip at 5:00 a.m.” Now the engine droned as they glided smoothly over the arid landscape in the still morning air. In less than twenty minutes, she saw the long dirt patch below them. She turned in her seat and pointed east. Drew banked the airplane to the left and began a low-altitude cruise. Shannon stared intently at the landscape unfolding before her. For a long time there was near-quiet, broken by the low hum of the engine and the sound of the air rushing past. Then Shannon pounded her palm on the fuselage and pointed downward. Drew glanced around and spotted below what looked like an old road ing through the sparse vegetation. It looked like it might offer a landing place. He banked the biplane around at a steep angle and did another over the road. Maybe, he thought. Calculating the width the narrow age presented, he swooped upward, came around, and lined up for a landing. The craft rushed through the Joshua trees alongside the old dirt road, the clearance slim enough to nearly give him a heart attack. At one point the left wing brushed a Joshua tree. As they came gliding to a stop he realized he had been holding his breath. He looked up at the wings, half expecting to see spiny leaves stuck in the tips. But they were clean. He killed the engine, took off his helmet, and let out a heavy sigh. “This better be worth it, kid,” he said as Shannon, way ahead of him, climbed out of the fore cockpit and lowered herself to the ground. “I saw something familiar!” she called up to him. “Come on, follow me.” She was off and jogging through the cactus before Drew could stop her. He followed along in her wake as she weaved through the spiny plants and spindly desert willows. After about five minutes, she stopped. “Here it is!” she called loudly as Drew came up to her, panting. “This is the rock I slept under the night of the storm.” Drew saw a large boulder, strangely out of place in the desert, with an overhang on one side that provided just enough room for a child—a young girl—to seek shelter. “Where to now?” he said, still catching his breath. “And don’t take off like a jackrabbit again. Cut me some slack here.”

Shannon jumped down from the boulder and nodded. “Okay. Follow me.” She started again, methodically working her way across the sand, head swiveling from side to side. She went on for about twenty minutes, gradually getting slower. “I don’t like being this far from the airplane,” Drew called after her. Abruptly she came to a halt and stood looking around slowly. She held up a hand, motioning Drew to stop. Then, motionless, head down, she closed her eyes as memory came flooding back. The night of the storm washed over her. Willing her aching muscles into motion, she got up and grabbed her mother’s booted feet, pulling her into the grave, then, staggering with fatigue, pulled her father alongside. By the time she patted the last shovelful into place, twilight was coming, her pounding heart telling her she needed to talk to them one last time, to tell them how sorry she was. Shannon’s vision went blank and she started to shake. Drew stood in front of her but she seemed not to notice him, lost in a vision only she could see. He saw her agitated state and reached out tentatively to grasp her arms. “Shannon!” Suddenly her eyes came into focus and she raised a trembling hand to point past him. “There,” she whispered hoarsely. He turned to look at the spot she was pointing to. But she suddenly pivoted to the right. “No. There.” She walked slowly into a small clearing void of desert plants. Drew watched her from a few feet away, fearful as she still seemed to be in a trance. She turned slowly in the middle of the clearing, looking down at the ground under her feet. Then she seemed to come to her senses, seeing Drew for the first time since she stopped. “This is it,” she said. “It has to be it.” Her eyes grew moist. “But where is everything?” Drew stood by content to wait her out. After a minute, she stopped, wiped a hand across her face, and rose to her feet. “It’s gone,” she said. “All gone. The buckboard, the rigging for the horses, the lanterns. It’s not here. How can I prove this is the place?”

Drew looked at her with sorrow. He had seldom seen someone in such pain before. “If this is the place, I’d say someone cleaned up the site.” Shannon shuddered as a chill swept over her. “McClarys were here.” “They probably wanted to prevent anyone from ever finding the grave again. Seems like they did a good job of it.” But Shannon was already staring up into one of the Joshua Trees at the edge of the clearing. “Maybe not good enough,” she said quietly. Drew followed her gaze. Above them, caught in the crevice where two branches parted, was a piece of wood. It was gray, weathered-looking, and at a casual glance might have been mistaken for a piece of a dead branch. But this piece of wood had a definite shape, smooth edges; it looked part of something purposeful —something that could only have been made by the hand of man. And one end, unweathered, looked recently broken. Drew reached up as high as he could and pulled the piece down, handing it to Shannon. She took the piece in her hands, trembling. “It’s part of the back for the buckboard seat,” she said, looking up at him with shining eyes. “It must have broken off in the crash and been thrown up into the tree.”

Patrick McClary came in the front door of the McClary house and strode into the den, where Cormac was studying papers at a roll-top desk. He looked up at Patrick’s approach and saw the expression on his brother’s face. “Something’s happened,” he said. Patrick nodded soberly. “They found the grave.”

6

Shannon stood at the side of the clearing, arms wrapped tightly around herself, as the county coroner’s team began the process of uncovering the bodies of her mother and father. She had drawn a rough shape in the dirt which she thought outlined the grave she had dug months earlier. The pain came back to her powerfully, leaving her mostly mute and unresponsive. Sarah had shoved work aside to be there with her, and she had left strict instructions to Dot she was not to come. “What they’ll find is an experience young girls should not have to bear,” she told her. At the site, Sarah stayed close to Shannon, now and then putting reassuring hands on her shoulders. Now, after a scant fifteen minutes of digging—Shannon had not had the strength to bury them deep—there was a voice from the pit. “We found them,” said one of the diggers. Shannon took two quick steps toward the grave, but Sarah stepped in front of her. “Shannon, you don’t want to see this. Walk away and them as they were.” Shannon was mute for a long moment, then turned and walked out into the desert. She went about twenty yards and came to a stop, head down, then slowly sank to the ground, shoulders shaking. She put her hands to her head and rocked back and forth, spilling her heart onto the dusty soil. The process of exhuming the bodies took a long time. The forensics team took a seemingly endless series of photographs, measurements, and other methods of recording the scene before the bodies were even lifted from the grave. The whole process was overseen by the deputy with whom Shannon had ridden with on their search for the site. His presence was comforting to her. When he noticed she had walked away, he went out to talk to her. Sarah, closely guarding Shannon’s privacy, went with him. He approached the limp form on the ground and knelt behind her, gently

putting his hands on her shoulders. She didn’t respond. “Shannon, it’s going to take a while to finish this. I suggest you go home with Sarah now. There’s nothing more you can do here, and what’s happening isn’t something you should see.” Shannon nodded wordlessly, and with strong hands the deputy pulled her up from the ground. He turned to Sarah. “The coroner will call you when he has the results of his examination. Should be in two days.” “We’ll be there,” Sarah said.

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Two days it was, and this time it was Charles, fortunately home from Long Beach, who accompanied Shannon to the appointment. Shannon was nervous as they sat in the waiting room before they were called into the coroner’s office. They were seated before a crowded desk when the coroner came in, a file folder under his arm. Armand DeRosier was a silver-haired, thin man on the far side of sixty. Dressed in gray slacks and a white dress shirt and tie, he might have come across as a genial grandfather. He plopped the file down onto his desk, settled slowly into his wheeled chair, which he proceeded to roll back a foot or two, and tried to give Shannon a sympathetic look. “Miss Donnelly, let me say first of all how sorry I am for the death of your parents. They were respected here as hard working and honest. I can scarcely imagine the grief you’ve been saddled with the last several months. I’m glad to see you in such sturdy and reliable hands as the Pearsons”—here he gave a nod to Charles— “and wish success for you in overcoming this tragedy.” The words, though undoubtedly sincere, sounded well-rehearsed, and Charles didn’t doubt DeRosier had had to say this speech, with small variations, many times. Shannon nodded in response. The coroner pulled up closer to his desk, picked up the file he had brought in,

and fished wireframe reading glasses out of his shirt pocket. Adjusting them on his nose, he opened the folder and peered at it closely, then looked up and Shannon. “I’m sorry to say, Miss Donnelly, your parents died, as I would have expected, from drowning.” Shannon moved forward on the edge of her chair, waiting for the rest, the finding of the bullet hole in her father’s chest that would prove murder. The coroner adjusted his glasses, looked down at the folder again, and then laid it down. “The sheriff tells me you have alleged your father was shot, thus leading you to believe he was murdered before he drowned.” He looked at her with an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry to say, Miss Donnelly, a thorough examination revealed no trace of a bullet hole.” “What?” Shannon said, and would have jumped to her feet had Charles not been there to restrain her. “But I saw it! It was right here!” She put a fist to her own chest. “I saw it. I did.” The coroner picked up the report again. “I cannot comment on what you saw, or think you saw, Miss Donnelly. “I’m terribly sorry the examination does not bring you the results you sought. Yes, there was a hole in your father’s chest, but it was quite large. He must have been impacted by a large piece of wood, maybe from the collapsed bridge.” Shannon put hands to her face to hide her grief. Charles looked at the coroner’s face carefully. “May we have a copy of the report?” “Yes, I’ll have my secretary prepare a copy and mail it to you tomorrow.” He closed the file folder and removed his reading glasses. “I regret there’s nothing more of interest I can tell you now.” Charles knew it was time to leave, and pulled Shannon to her feet, ushering her out with a steady hand around her waist. Once outside, he guided her to a bench on one side of the entrance and put his arms around her. “This can’t be right,” she murmured. “I saw the hole. He was shot, and now I can’t prove it.”

Charles stroked her hair. “I believe you. So there’s two other possibilities. I was watching his face closely when he told you. We know the McClarys were there. Either one of them went into the grave and messed with your father’s body, or —” Shannon raised her tear-streaked face to him. “Or what?” Charles hesitated for a moment, face contorting in discomfort. “Or someone got to the coroner and gave him a reason to lie. There’s been word for years, never spoken out in the open, that he’s accepted bribes to change the outcome of an autopsy.” Shannon’s face darkened, and her whole demeanor seemed to change. “The McClarys will never answer for Da and Mom’s deaths now.” Charles looked into her eyes and put his arms on hers. “You’re at a very young age to have to learn this, but it’s sometimes the way of the world. Sometimes the guilty escape punishment, and the virtuous are unrewarded.” He looked directly at her. “You’ve got a lot of growing up to do, and it’s going to take all the strength and discipline you can give it. I know you can. Let’s go home.” Later, he would the chilling look she gave him as they left.

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Shannon said nothing at dinner that night, which didn’t surprise anyone. Since she clearly didn’t want to talk, Sarah excused her after dinner to her room. When she checked on her later before retiring herself, Shannon was deep asleep, covers pulled up snugly, clutching the bear she had retrieved from her home. Something prodded Sarah awake in the middle of the night. She lay still in the darkness, moonlight streaming in through the partly open curtains, listening to Charles’ soft breathing beside her. Something tickled at her mind, would not let her turn over and go back to sleep. Silent as a ghost, she glided from the bed, put on her slippers, and opened the door. The hallway was dark and empty. But she could feel something wasn’t right. Quietly she padded down the hallway to

Shannon’s room. Turning the doorknob with exquisite care, knowing Charles never let a squeak go unanswered, she opened the door slowly. Shannon was gone. The covers were turned aside, and the forlorn stuffed bear rested on the pillow in a shaft of moonlight. Sarah’s heart started to pound in her chest as she approached the bed. She peered at the side table. There was no note, no clue. Quickly she fled the room and back to her own, where she shook Charles awake. “Wha—?” he murmured. “Charles, wake up. Shannon’s gone.” That got him upright in a hurry. “Gone?” “Yes. I was just in her room; I woke up with a feeling something was amiss. And I found her bed empty. What was she like at the coroner’s office today?” Charles scratched his head, unruly hair rustling. “The predictable. She got angry. I comforted her as best I could, but I’m not you. That’s about it.” He stopped in mid-scratch. “Wait a minute. She was upset at the thought the McClarys would never face justice. Before we got back in the car, I was trying to tell her this was the way of the world, that sometimes the bad guys escape justice. It was a stupid thing to say, I know. As we started back to the car, she turned to me—” he stopped to catch his breath and looked directly at Sarah— “she turned to me with a look that would curdle a quart of milk.” Sarah put a hand to her face. “Wait here,” Charles said. “I’m going down to the car. Be right back.” He threw on a robe, stepped into slippers, and made his way downstairs and out to the driveway. There he rummaged around in Sarah’s car for a few minutes as Sarah watched him from the bedroom window. Then he came back upstairs. “It’s gone,” he said. “My gun’s gone.” “Oh my God.” Charles pounded the bedside table. “She’s not supposed to know it’s even there.”

Sarah looked apologetic. “I did tell her once, before the trip to Big Bear, that you carried a gun in the car. She seemed uneasy about the trip, and I was trying to reassure her she’d be safe.” Charles nodded. “But she didn’t know where it was. I’ve never opened that compartment where she could see me doing it.” Sarah put a hand on his arm. “Either she’s a lot more observant than we think she is, or she’s got an intuitive feel for where a gun might be stored. Probably both.” Charles rose to his feet. “I’m going after her. Stay here with Dot.” “But we don’t know how long she’s been gone,” Sarah protested. “It’s nearly three a.m. now. How would you ever find her?” she said as she watched him hurriedly dress. He cinched up his belt. “I’m pretty sure I know where she’s headed.” He slipped his feet into his shoes, tied them quickly, and went to the bedroom door. “I just hope I get there in time.”

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Shannon walked alongside the road through the dark of night toward the McClary property, the full moon giving just enough illumination to see where to put her next step. She could feel the weight of Charles’ gun in the rucksack she had slung over her shoulder. She had known from the start she had no chance to reach the McClary house by walking. It was miles away. So she had trod the side of the road until a ing truck trundled by and hopped on the back. She was fortunate the truck took her where she wanted to go—and unfortunate that when the time came to jump off, it wasn’t slowing down. Her salvation was that it wasn’t going all that fast. She had clenched her teeth, gripped the rucksack tightly, and dived for the roadside sand, coming down in a tuck and roll which tumbled her over two times before she came to a stop—dirty, but none the worse for wear.

Her mind had bounced back and forth like a panicked feral cat caught in a trap ever since she left the Pearsons’ house. One moment she was determined to see it through, the next moment wanting desperately to turn around. At first, she had thought she could make it over to the McClarys, do what she had come to do, and make it back home into bed before first light. Shortly after leaving, she had realized that would be nearly impossible. Still, with each ing mile her commitment grew stronger. She knew she was likely throwing away everything she had been given—home, family, flying, everything. Then she would think of her murdered parents and keep moving. At about three-thirty a.m. the McClary house was in view. She approached carefully, not recalling if the McClarys had dogs to sound a warning. But all remained quiet as she got up close to the house. There was a dim light on in a window on the west side of the house. She crept up to the glass and peered in. Cormac was asleep across his bed, still clothed and snoring heavily. Perfect, she thought. She knew it was too risky to chance going in the front door, which in any case was probably locked. It had to be here. The low window was ajar to let in whatever night breeze might spring up. It was a side-hinged window that swung laterally. She carefully pulled it farther open, slipped over the sill, and was in the room. She looked down at Cormac disionately. If ever someone deserved to die, it’s you, Cormac. You think you got away with killing my mother and father. But the Donnelly clan will be avenged. She calmly lowered the rucksack and pulled out Charles’ gun. The big Colt .45 was heavy in her hands, and she had to use both to lift it and hold it steady. She raised it and aimed it at the sleeping Cormac. I won’t give you the easy way out of dying in your sleep. No, I want you to know what’s going to happen to you. Taking one hand from the gun, she reached down and tugged at his pants cuff. Nothing happened, so she tugged again. This time he stirred and awoke with a start. “What the hell—” he groaned, then opened his eyes, blinking several times. When he brought Shannon into focus, gun pointed at his forehead, his mouth dropped open in shock. “Before you die, I want you to know what’s going to happen, and know who did it,” she said. “You murdered my parents and would have killed me too if you

could. But you failed. Now it’s time for payback.” Cormac’s mouth moved, but no sound came out, then a strangled “No, noooo,” escaped his throat. He held a hand up as Shannon steadied the gun. He finger was putting pressure on the trigger when a voice behind her intruded. “Shannon.” Startled, she shot a sideways glance at the window. It was Charles. “Shannon, put it down. It’s my gun and I want it. Don’t do this, or you’ll give the McClarys far more power to punish you than they already have.” Shannon remained where she was, gun still pointed. “This isn’t the right way,” Charles continued, voice calm. “There are other ways that don’t involve spending years of your life in prison. You’d never fly again.” “Yeah, listen to him!” Cormac said, voice hoarse with fear and the certainty he was about to die. Charles slid over the windowsill into the room. He held out his hand. “Give me my gun, Shannon. This is wrong, and you know it.” Shannon began to tremble, her emotionless expression twisted into agony, and finally she lowered the gun. Charles gently took the gun from her hands. “Good, good. Now, go stand by the window.” He looked at Cormac. “You and I are going to make a deal. We’re going to keep this little episode between us. It never happened.” He checked the gun and made sure the safety was on. It was; apparently Shannon hadn’t known. He looked back at Cormac. “Because if this gets out, we’re going to pay a visit to Brendan. We heard he moved out not long ago. It would be interesting to find out why.” He stepped to the window and motioned Shannon to get outside. He turned back to Cormac. “We have a deal?” Cormac nodded. “Good. Make sure you keep it, and we’ll keep our part.” Then he slipped over the sill and both were gone.

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An icy hush filled the car on the way home. When they arrived, Charles pulled into the driveway and got out, gun in hand. He didn’t bother to go around and open the door for Shannon. They barely made the first of the steps up to the entrance when the door burst open and Sarah came practically flying out, rushing to Shannon. Sarah hugged her tightly. “Shannon, you scared us nearly to death! We were so worried. We thought we might have lost you forever.” Shannon stood stiffly in Sarah’s arms, awkward and embarrassed. “Let’s get in the house,” Charles said. “We have a lot to talk about.” They went inside and into the den. Shannon sat alone on one end of the sofa, hands in her lap and head down. Sarah noticed the gun in Charles’ hand before he sat it down with a solid thump on a table. Her relief at having Shannon back was quickly fading. When Charles proceeded to tell her what had happened, it vanished completely. She paced the room in front of the sofa, looking at Shannon. “I’ve always known you had a deep-seated anger about what happened to your parents and who you think was responsible for their deaths,” she began. “And I understand why you would. Believe me, I do. Even so, I thought you were on the path to becoming a responsible young woman. In one night you’ve erased it all. I could say I’m disappointed in you, but that wouldn’t even begin to cover what happened tonight. Not only would you have destroyed the future we’ve all been helping you to achieve, but you would have destroyed our lives too. We all would have been sucked into a nightmare we probably would never recover from. You betrayed not just us, but Drew, Leroy, and every other person who’s been generous in helping an orphaned girl get on her feet. You were very selfish tonight.” A heavy stillness hung in the air.

Finally, Shannon spoke. “I’ll pack my stuff and be on my way. I won’t trouble you anymore.” “You’re not going anywhere,” Charles said firmly, glancing at Sarah for affirmation, which he got with a nod of her head. “I was lucky—and so were you —that I stopped you in time tonight. But it’s over.” He stepped across the room and took a seat on an overstuffed chair opposite Shannon. “This can’t happen again, and it won’t. From now on you will respect the property of others and respect the rule of law. Because the law doesn’t give you what you want is not a reason to take it into your own hands. I believe you when you say the McClarys had a hand in the death of your parents. But we have to let the law take its course. If they’re guilty, eventually it will catch up to them, if not legally, then with karma. They’ll get theirs, one way or another. Do you believe that?” Shannon didn’t react for a moment, then nodded. “Good. Do we have your word you will never try anything like this again?” “Yes,” she murmured softly without looking up. Charles blew out his breath and look over at Sarah. “Sarah, anything you want to add?” “Yes.” She moved to a place on the sofa near Shannon. “Shannon, we love you. It’s going to take a big effort, but we’re going to put this night behind us and move on. I don’t know what you were expecting from us, but we’ve made quite a commitment to you, and neither Charles nor I are about to shirk from it.” She paused, as if gathering strength to go on. “So we were thinking it would help you if you knew your presence here couldn’t be threatened by the law ever again. We would like to adopt you as our own. Would you like that?” Shannon looked up from her lap in amazement. She shot up and flew at Sarah, hurling her arms around her and murmuring “Yes, yes, yes,” into her neck. Charles came over and put one of his big arms across Shannon’s back. “Welcome to the Pearson family, Shannon,” he said softly.

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October

Less than one month before the stock market crash

Shannon looked at her tenth-grade teacher with annoyance. She had given the class an essay assignment. At least it could be on a favorite subject. Naturally, Shannon turned to airplanes and flying. She wrote concise descriptions of airplane structure, the principle of lift, and what is was like to fly in an open cockpit with the wind in her face. Now her teacher, Miss Shuttlesworth, whom Shannon was convinced bore the real name of either Prudence Patience or Patience Prudence and was undoubtedly a graduate of the Old Maid School for Unmarried Schoolmarms, looked down her long nose over her reading glasses at her with an expression of doubt. “Miss Donnelly,” she began, nasal voice loaded with condescension, “I asked for a paper based on both research and personal experience. Surely you don’t expect me to believe you have done all this. If you borrowed the information from a book, you must be honest about it.” “I did all that stuff,” Shannon said firmly, trying to keep her temper in check. “I really have flown in an airplane and was taught about airplanes by Mr. Patterson and Mr. Kazminski out at Kazminski Aviation. I’ve spent a lot of time there. You can call him and ask if you want proof. I really have done all of this.” “Hmph,” Miss Shuttlesworth murmured. “I suppose you have dreams of flying someday, like those pushy women who participate in the air races. You might want to turn your attention to something more acceptable to society. Such behavior as those women exhibit is severely frowned upon, you know. A word of advice so you don’t end up disappointed.” She put the paper down on her desk. “All right. It’s a good essay, perhaps the best in the class. You will receive an A grade. But do think of something more acceptable for an occupation. Now, you

may return to your desk and continue with your reading assignment.” Shannon walked back to her desk, fuming. Dream crusher, she thought. There ought to be a law against people like you, you old prune. But something Miss Shuttlesworth had said stopped her thoughts dead in their tracks. Women fliers in air races? This was something she hadn’t seen. She could think of little else the rest of the day, watching the clock hand’s achingly slow crawl toward the final bell. When the recalcitrant hand finally hit its mark, Shannon was out of her seat and headed for the door an instant before the bell sounded, drawing a severe look of disapproval from Miss Shuttlesworth. She rushed through the crowded hallways toward the exit, strategically slowing down whenever she felt the gaze of the hall monitor was about to alight on her, then speeding up again, weaving through the crush and out the door. She looked for Dot, and after a moment found her at the bottom of the steps. Dot, a year younger, was in ninth grade, so the girls went their own way during the school day but met after school to walk home together. Dot sauntered up to her, her curly auburn hair sticking out from under her hat. They both were wearing uniforms consisting of knee-length skirts—Dot’s plaid and hers plain—full-length stockings, and a uniform jacket over a white blouse, topped with a modest cloche hat. “Let’s go!” Dot said. “It’s a beautiful day, and I want to take our time.” They set off down the sidewalk, chattering away about teachers and ridiculous assignments. “I need to stop at the library,” Shannon said. “There’s something I need to look up.” “I don’t know if we should do that. Mom will worry if we’re late.” “Please, a few minutes. We can run the rest of the way home after. We can still make it on time.” Dot looked dubious. “It better be quick. If you take too long, I’ll have to leave you there and go on home. Then we’d both be in worse trouble.” Shannon ran ahead to the library in the next block, Dot trailing in her wake. She knew what she wanted to find, and it didn’t take long. In the August issue of

Popular Aviation, there was a full-page poster-style ad for the 1929 National Air Races, to be held in Cleveland, Ohio in September. And as part of that event, there was to be a Women’s Air Derby, a race from Santa Monica, California to the National Air Races site in Cleveland. Some of the best-known women flyers, the poster said, had already signed up to participate. Shannon looked up from the magazine, eyes shining with excitement. So it was true! Women were not only flying but racing too. I want to be part of this, she thought. But the event had already ed. And she had known nothing about it. Dot came rushing up and whispered urgently, “We have to leave, right now!” Shannon returned the magazine to its rack and she and Dot walked—more like a tightly controlled run—to the front door. Once outside, they burst into a sprint for home. As often as not, Shannon lost these sprints down the last block to home. Dot was a good runner. But today, Shannon flew onto the front steps of the Pearson house five yards ahead of Dot. For this day, her feet seemed not to touch the ground. Her feet seemed to still have wings two days later, when, in a quiet ceremony at the courthouse, Shannon was legally adopted. The big issues on her shoulders were forgotten for a time, and joy ruled the family she was now a part of. Dot hugged her new sister, and Charles and Sarah wrapped arms around her. “You’re a Pearson now,” Charles said. “Welcome home.” That evening, Sarah sat with Shannon in the den and asked her what she wanted to do with her parents’ estate. The discovery of the bodies of the Donnellys had paved the way for the reading of the will, and it had been read in a private session at the courthouse. Everything had been left to Shannon. And she had no idea what to do with it. “Your parents did leave everything to you, Shannon,” Sarah said. “But they also left some debts. Their creditors have already filed claims against the estate. Fortunately, the claims are fairly small. Still, they must be paid, and as your guardian, it’s up to me to see they are. It’s time to decide what you want to do.” Shannon looked down at her lap and brushed out some ruffles in her plaid skirt. “What does all that fancy talk mean?” Sarah patted her hand in reassurance. “In plain language, it means your parents

owed some money to people. Not much, but now that the will has been read and entered into county records, the people your parents owed money to need to be paid. It isn’t too much, but more than you have. It’s time to think about whether you’d like to sell at least some of the estate to get these people paid. You’d want to see them paid, wouldn’t you?” Shannon nodded. Then: “Why does life have to be so complicated?” Sarah moved close and put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re having to grow up much faster than you should. And I’m sorry. I wish we could slow it all down until you’re eighteen, but we can’t. Have you given this any thought since the will was read?” “Between flying and school, not much.” “I understand. I know you’ve had a lot on your mind, far more than a sixteenyear old girl should. But can you tell me now if you’ve reached any decisions?” Shannon twisted her skirt nervously. “I don’t want to be a rancher. I wouldn’t know what to do. But I think I want to keep my parents’ house, for now. I don’t want to risk it falling into the hands of the McClarys. But it isn’t only the ranch and the land around it. There’s more.” Sarah looked at her in surprise. “More?” “Yeah, Pa told me once he’d bought two large parcels west of here, out closer to Los Angeles. He showed them to me once. There’s nothing on them except sagebrush and cactus. I asked him what he was going to do with them, and he said, ‘Nothing’.” Sarah looked at her quizzically. “Nothing?” “Right. He told me the land was for me, as an investment in the future.” “Hmm. I think we need to see where this land is. I’ll look at some county maps down at the courthouse after I get off work tomorrow. Let’s see if we can figure out what he meant.”

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Sarah found the map section she wanted the following day, photographed it, and had an enlargement made. She studied it for a while but couldn’t see what Shannon’s father seemed to think was an investment. The land was flat, sandy, cactus-covered worthless desert. But when Charles got home two days later, he studied the photograph for less than thirty seconds before he looked up at Sarah in astonishment. “Holy cow, in ten or twenty years this land’s going to be worth a king’s ransom!” Puzzled, Sarah and Shannon crowded close. “Look,” Charles pointed, “the tracts, which are quite large by the way, are just west of Ontario, toward Los Angeles. See what I’m getting at?” Shannon shook her head, as did Sarah. Charles took out a marking pen and drew x’s and arrows at various points. “See where these L.A. suburbs are now, these bedroom communities? They’ve been creeping steadily east out of Los Angeles. Ten years ago, they were way back here”—he drew an arrow westward—“and now they’re here.” He put an X on the map and then drew another large X on the Donnelly tracts. He looked up. “Shannon, now that I know where they are, I can tell you I’ve driven by these tracts time and again on my way to and from Long Beach. I know there’s nothing on them.” He gave her a wink. “But there will be. And what that is, daughter, is someday going to be up to you.”

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Shannon stood on the porch of the old Donnelly house. Two small urns were at her feet. Her parents’ will had not specified what they wanted to be done with their bodies in the event of their ing. Shannon had chosen cremation. She

looked out over the dry, dusty landscape. A slight breeze was blowing, sending whirls of dust chasing each other across the dirt. It was time. She picked up the urns and walked a few steps out into the yard. Sarah stayed on the porch. “This is Mom and Da’s first home in the New World,” she said to the empty air. “They came to it, they built it into something to leave to me. They should be part of this land for all time, not buried in a cemetery in the city. And so they will be.” She bent and picked up one of the urns, opening the lid. Then she turned her gaze out over the land. “Da, this is your land. It always will be. I respect what you built, and I want you to be part of it forever. I love you always. I will strive to live a life that would make you proud. I will forever be a Donnelly.” She set the urn down and lifted the other. “Ma, you earned all you built, and so much more. The sacrifices you made for me will be honored by your daughter. I love you for the gentle wisdom you guided me with, the standards you set for me to keep me wise and safe, and because you were always beside me to comfort me when I failed or the world was cruel. Yes, I am young, but see how I will grow and make you proud. I will not fail you. No matter my name, I am a Donnelly always.” With that, she lifted the urn high, tipped it away from her, and watched as her mother’s ashes spilled, caught the breeze, and fanned out across the land. Then she did the same for her father, watching with satisfaction as their ashes mixed with the dust of the New World for eternity. Sarah watched from the porch in patient calm. She hadn’t been able to hear Shannon’s words, but she thought it best they remain known only to her. After Shannon emptied the second urn, she stood motionless for long minutes, eyes fixed on the land. Then she turned for the porch and sobbed in Sarah’s arms. Sarah held her close until Shannon finally backed away.

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One week later, it was announced parts of the Donnelly estate were up for sale, with some exceptions. The Donnelly house and five acres surrounding it would remain in Shannon’s hands, as would the two large tracts out in the desert west

of Ontario. The remainder was to be sold at public auction two days hence. Shannon was quietly distraught over having to deal with what had been her home and its surroundings. Sarah tried to shield her from the legal proceedings as much as she could, but she could see she was not altogether succeeding, as her daughter’s grades suffered and her teachers reported she seemed distracted in class. “Let’s get her out to the airstrip this weekend,” she told Charles one evening. “That would be the perfect tonic to cheer her up.” Sarah was right about that. Shannon’s mood changed markedly once they got within sight of Kazminski Aviation. She leaped out of the car and ran into the hangar, leaving Sarah momentarily at a loss for words. That girl’s future is somewhere in this airplane business, she thought. I hope it doesn’t kill her someday. Then she turned the car back toward home. At the airstrip that day, Shannon pressed Drew for more airtime. The tours she had led had dried up since school started, and there was little else to do. She was nervous Leroy would declare her excess baggage, and that would be that. Before it happened, she wanted to be aloft as much as possible. Early that afternoon, Shannon was working on an airframe, checking bolts and struts, tightening cables and repairing a rent in the fabric of one of the wings, when she heard the buzz of an approaching airplane. She looked up and saw an orange monoplane turning for a landing approach. The sleek bullet-shaped airplane came gliding smoothly in for a soft landing on the dirt and taxied up close to the hangar. She watched with fascination as the pilot shut down the engine, unbuckled from the harness, and jumped down to the ground. Then surprise. A woman was piloting that beautiful airplane! Shannon stood in mute awe as the woman strode toward the hangar. She was tall and slender, with a short mop of wavy light brown hair. She walked with a confident stride, running a hand through her hair to loosen it up after being under the helmet for so long. She looked over at Shannon, smiling, then continued her stride toward the hangar. Before she got there, Leroy came barreling out and embraced her briefly. Leroy knows her! she thought. They walked over to the orange monoplane and engaged in conversation she couldn’t hear. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw Drew

emerge from the hangar and walk over to them, looking as awkward and selfconscious as a teenager on the way to pick up his first date. He shyly shook hands with the woman, who seemed pleased to meet him. Shannon swore she could see him blush, even at that distance. Leroy walked back into the hangar and left the woman standing by her airplane, while Drew, seeing Shannon standing motionless at the side, walked over to her. “Who is that?” she said as soon as he got close. “She looks so—so put together, so confident.” Drew grinned. “ the big air race for women ending in Cleveland the first week of this month, the Powder Puff Derby, the press is calling it now?” Shannon nodded. “She won third place. In that airplane.” Shannon was speechless. “Sure thing,” Drew said. “That’s her. Why don’t you go over and meet her?” “But I can’t—” “Yes you can. Just walk.” “But look at me! I’m all greasy and—” Drew turned her and gave her a firm push in the back. “Go on, now. Woman to woman. You’ll be glad you did.” Shannon staggered forward awkwardly from Drew’s push, but then regained her balance and started walking toward the woman, who leaned against the fuselage, looking at her with a smile. Oh no, she’s looking right at me! she thought. I’m dirty and wearing these greasy coveralls with rags sticking out of the pockets and I look horrible . . . She willed herself across the space between them and found herself standing in front of the mysterious visitor.

The tall woman stuck out her hand. “Hello,” she said. Shannon numbly complied, extending her right hand to find the box wrench still in it. “Oh!” she blurted, dropping the wrench like it had suddenly become red hot. She wiped her hands on her coveralls in desperation, then tried again. The woman gripped her hand and smiled reassuringly. “I’m Amelia Earhart.” If Shannon was nervous before, now she lost her composure completely. “Oh, ah, I’m—I’m Sh-Shannon, uh, Donnelly. Pleased to meet you.” She had come across the woman’s name repeatedly when reading her aviation magazines and knew Earhart had flown across the Atlantic Ocean the previous year, though she hadn’t piloted the airplane. Now she stood before the woman herself, not knowing what her next words would be. Earhart glanced over her shoulder at the airframe Shannon had been working on. “They trust you to do airframe maintenance around here?” “Y-Yes ma’am, they do. I know all about it, and Leroy trusts me. Uh, I suppose he double-checks later.” “Hmm. If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?” “Sixteen, ma’am.” “Very impressive. How did you come to be an aircraft mechanic here?” “It’s a long story, ma’am, but—but I really want to fly!” “Good. We need more women flyers. Would you like to sit in the cockpit?” Shannon nodded, thrilled, and climbed up into the polished cockpit. She ran her hands over the controls, fingered the gauges, felt the controls move smoothly under her touch. She turned to Earhart, eyes shining. Earhart looked into her eyes for long seconds. “I know that look. I saw it in the mirror when I was sixteen myself.”

Shannon exited from the cockpit as Leroy walked up with a toolbox. “We’d better let Leroy work alone,” Earhart said, motioning Shannon to follow her off to the side. “My airplane needs some maintenance, and I don’t trust anyone but him to work on it.” “What kind of airplane is this?” Shannon said eagerly. “It’s a Lockheed Vega, a favorite of racers.” She grinned. “She’s fast.” Shannon stared at the sleek airplane. “How fast?” “She’ll do 185.” Earhart’s grin grew larger. “I know that from personal experience.” They retired to the hangar where Amelia talked more with Shannon. When Shannon excused herself for a moment, she walked over to Drew, who had hovered nearby. “She wants to fly, Drew,” she said. “She was born to fly. I could tell right away. But she’s awfully young. Can you guide her to her pilot’s license?” Drew looked apologetic. “It’s complicated. She’s complicated.” Earhart leaned back against a workbench. “Doesn’t have to be. Listen, Drew, when it comes to a ion for flying, I know it when I see it. And that girl’s got it. She’s the real thing.” She stood up from the bench. “We’re going to form a group for women aviators. She could be part of it. We need her in the air along with the rest of us. If you can help her get a pilot’s license, I’d consider it a personal favor.” There was no doubt Drew was instantly smitten with Amelia Earhart. Now he felt helpless to resist her. “I, ah, I’ll see what I can manage,” he said reassuringly. “You can count on me. Shannon will fly.”

Part II

Phoenix Rising

7

Shannon was the most popular girl in school for a while. Everyone wanted to know more about her encounter with the famous Amelia Earhart. She gave a talk to her homeroom class and was asked to do the same for other occasions. Since it was all wrapped up in aviation, she was happy to comply. Shannon knew Earhart had spent some time talking with Drew during her stop at the hangar and plied him for details. She was over the moon when Drew told her Earhart was personally interested in seeing her get a pilot’s license. “Really?” she said, practically levitating off the floor. “Yep. You must have made a powerful impression on her.” He grinned. “I’m not surprised. You made one on me too, from the beginning.” “When can we start?” “Hold on there, fireball. I can see you get the airtime requirements, but you’ve got to be trained by a licensed instructor. And you’ve got to a strict physical. And there’s a lot more. You’ll want to take a course on aviation at a qualified school. Not to worry about that one; flight schools are springing up all over after Amelia’s successful flight across the Atlantic. I can find out where the nearest one is. But Sarah—uh, your mom and dad, will have to agree.” “Amelia, huh?” Shannon needled him with a poke in the ribs. “You’re already on a first-name basis with her?” Drew blushed. “I’d like to think so. She is single. Ah, let’s get off that subject. As far as flying goes, there’s good news and bad news. The good news is since you’re sixteen, you’re old enough to hold a private pilot’s license. The bad news is you’re going to be discouraged at every turn. Men generally don’t want women in the air; they’ve got this ridiculous notion women aren’t meant to fly, that they’re not up to it physically and mentally. Even accomplished flyers like Amelia—uh, Miss Earhart, find themselves locked out of lucrative air races

simply because they’re women.” Shannon screwed up her face. “Hmph. What do you think?” Drew put a hand on her shoulder and looked at her directly. “I think it’s all a load of crap. Women can fly as good as men, if not better. And I have a feeling you’re going to show them.”

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Two Weeks Before The Stock Market Crash

The thought she could get her pilot’s license—and that Amelia Earhart, no less, would be cheering for her—transformed Shannon. She was abruptly more focused, more disciplined, and more energetic. At the hangar, Leroy noticed it too, and began to let her in a little. “How’d you like to start learning engine repair and maintenance?” he said one day. When Shannon got over her surprise, she nodded enthusiastically. “I’m ready!” Leroy looked at her with mock skepticism. “We’ll see.” They began that day with some basic maintenance procedures. Leroy noticed Shannon didn’t mind getting her hands dirty and paid rapt attention to his instructions. She needed to be shown only once how to perform certain procedures. It was a quality that quickly endeared her to him. When he was around, Drew watched from the periphery, a smile on his face.

A subdued Charles sat in the den with Sarah, looking over the Wall Street Journal. “How bad is it getting?” she said quietly. Charles put down the Journal and sat back on the sofa. “I’ll tell you, anyone who can look at this and not see trouble coming isn’t paying attention. The economy is weak and market forces are unstable, yet the bull market has continued strong for a long time. These overinflated stock prices are built primarily on speculation fueled by overconfidence. People aren’t in the market for a long-term investment; they’re buying one day and selling the next, assuming prices will keep going up. It’s like speculating on real estate in Florida. First boom, then bust.” “I read about Florida,” Sarah said. “Do you think it could be that bad?” “Could be worse. There’s such a fever, a lot of people are buying stock on credit, or even worse, taking out loans with the stock as collateral. If stock values collapse, they have no money to pay back the loans.” “Are stock prices still going up? “No. Prices peaked on September third. It’s been a continuous slow decline since then.” He sighed and leaned forward. “I have good inside s in New York. Rumor has it even Hoover dumped some of his stocks in April, supposedly saying hard times are coming.” Sarah said nothing for a few moments. Then: “What do you think we should do with our own stocks?” Charles gave her a solemn look. “We sell. While we still can.”

The auction of the Donnelly holdings was held on October fifteenth at the County Courthouse. Shannon’s affairs had come to take up a lot of Sarah’s time. She wasn’t happy about it. They sat in the auction room next to each other on a hard wooden bench. “I’ll tell you something, young lady,” Sarah said quietly, “this has got to stop. I’m spending so much time on you it’s impacting my caseload. If you were a paying client, I’d do nicely on your fee alone.” Shannon hung her head, a tear glistening in her eye. “I’m sorry.” Sarah put an arm around her. “I’m sorry too; I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I think I forgot for a second you’re our daughter now, and there should be no limit on our dedication to whatever you need. Please forgive me.” Shannon leaned into her, her mop of dark brown hair nestling under Sarah’s chin. “I do.” They sat quietly as the attendees filed in. By the appointed auction time, the room was mostly full. Shannon looked over to one corner and found the McClarys, all of them, in attendance. But she noticed Brendan was sitting apart from his brothers Cormac and Patrick. Sarah saw where she was looking, and her face darkened. “McClarys.” “I expected them to be here. They’ll be pretty active in the bidding, I’ll bet.”

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The bidding began on time, and Shannon put her face in her hands and sobbed quietly as one parcel after another of what had been her childhood home was sold off. Unexpectedly, the McClarys seldom bid, and offered little in the way of counter bids when their offer was bettered. Brendan McClary made no moves at all.

It came down at last to one parcel. Shannon could see Cormac and Patrick suddenly sit up and pay close attention. The bidding began. At the first bid, Cormac raised his hand and countered. This continued for a while. They met and bettered every other bid. The price got higher and higher until gradually everyone else dropped out except one determined bidder, a man with a big widebrimmed cowboy hat and a waistline to match. He looked well-heeled in an expensive western suit and bolo tie, right down to his polished boots. “Probably oil money,” Sarah whispered to Shannon. The two parties parried back and forth, the price already higher than anything Shannon could have imagined. Cormac glared at the man between bids, but he was clearly not intimidated. After yet another counter-bid from Cormac, the man suddenly stood up, took off his big hat, wiped the brim with a handkerchief, and smiled at the auctioneer. “Ah, yoah awnah,” he said with a deep Texas accent, “comes a point where that there parcel just ain’t wuth it. Now ah could stand here and bid all day with these local yahoos”—he glanced at Cormac and Patrick— “but we done come to that point. So ah believe ah’ll let ’em have it, and good luck to ’em.” With that he sauntered out, looking vastly pleased with himself. Cormac and Patrick looked at each other morosely, stung by the price they had been maneuvered into paying for a parcel they were sure was going to be the site of a future railroad line. Shannon sat numbly for a few minutes, then gathered her strength and filed out, Sarah at her side. Outside the room’s entrance, she came to an abrupt halt at a voice from behind her. “Miss Shannon.” Shannon turned, and stiffened. It was Brendan McClary. Sarah felt Shannon start to surge forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her. “No,” she said. Shannon stood inside her arms trembling with anger. “What do you want?” “Miss Shannon, I, uh, I would like to call on you at your house if that would be possible. I have a family matter I’d like to discuss with you.”

Shannon’s lips curled in a snarl. “You—” “Enough,” Sarah warned her. She turned to Brendan. “Do you think this is a good idea right now?” Brendan looked down at his shoes for a second, then back up. “Ma’am, I don’t know that it is. But I’d like to try. There’s been too much needless poison between my family and Shannon’s. I’d like to see if I can do anything about it.” Sarah raised her eyebrows in surprise. She looked at Shannon. “What do you think? Could talking hurt?” Shannon was glaring at Brendan and breathing hard. But to Sarah’s surprise, she suddenly relaxed. “I guess not,” she said. Sarah looked at Brendan. “How about tomorrow night, at seven thirty?” Brendan nodded. “I’ll be there.”

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And he was, precisely on time, standing at the door looking like a tall high schooler arrived to pick up his prom date. Sarah, answering the door, saw the clean-cut earnestness of his bright expression, and his well-cut light brown hair, and brown eyes. “Young man, you look very presentable,” she said. “Won’t you come in?” Brendan came in, eyes darting around the room for Shannon. Or maybe checking for quick exits, Sarah thought. She ushered him into the den, where Shannon was waiting, glued to one end of the sofa and looking hostile and uncomfortable at the same time. “Hello, Miss Shannon,” Brendan said, taking a seat Sarah pointed him to. Still not sure if Shannon’s emotions were under control, she kept herself between him

and Shannon. The tension in the room was thick. “Okay, you’re here,” Shannon said. “What do you want?” “Shannon, that will do,” Sarah said. “We will at least try to be courteous to our guest.” Shannon gave her a sulfurous look and turned her head away. “Give her a few moments to get used to your presence,” Sarah said to Brendan, who was looking nervous. “But it’s appropriate to ask at this point, what brings you here tonight?” “I want to strike a truce if I can. We both have Irish blood running strong in our veins. Maybe we can find some other things in common. Mindless hate shouldn’t come between us.” He paused, clearing his throat. “And—and I wanted to let Shannon know I wasn’t there the night her parents died.” Shannon turned her head and looked square at him for the first time. “You weren’t?” Brendan shook his head slowly. “No. Please believe me.” Shannon considered this for a moment. “We can talk,” she said. “Can we come closer together now?” Sarah suggested. “It would make conversation easier.” Shannon didn’t move, but Sarah and Brendan moved closer to her. “You say you weren’t there,” Shannon said. “You’re a McClary. Why should I believe you?” Brendan flushed. “There’s no reason you should, other than that I’ve come to look you in the eye and tell you I wasn’t. If it’s not enough, there isn’t much else I can say. I hope I have something to gain by meeting with you—but also a lot to lose.” “Hmm,” Shannon mused. “It did take a lot of guts to come. Do I take it right your brothers wouldn’t be happy to hear you met with me?”

Brendan shook his head. “Not happy at all.” “Okay. Let’s say I believe you. Can you tell me anything new about what happened the night my parents died?” Brendan looked apologetic. “I can’t. I just want you to know I wasn’t there, that I had no part in the deaths of your parents, and I’m sorry it happened.” Shannon regarded him coolly for a moment. “That’s something, coming from a McClary.” She paused for a moment, squirming as if words were trying to force themselves out of her. “Thank you.” “And I’m sorry for the hard feelings in the McClary family about the death of our ancestor Niall McClary back in 1780. It’s way past time—” Shannon snorted contemptuously. “If you came here to blame the Donnellys for that again—” “Please, I didn’t come here to do that. Please?” “Shannon, calm down,” Sarah said sternly. “ where you are.” Shannon said nothing further, sinking back into her chair, so he went on. “When I was of the proper age a few years back to be told about that, I thought it was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard. And I couldn’t wait for the day to try to do something about it.” He paused, then said quietly, “I kept that to myself. There’d be no future for me in the family if I said it out loud.” Sarah, who had been listening to all of this with a bemused expression, interjected gently. “Shannon, is it possible there’s been mindless hatred from the Donnellys over the years too?” “No,” she spat. “There were plenty of other perfectly good reasons for hating the McClarys.” “And how many of those reasons were created by this mutual animosity between the clans?” Sarah continued calmly. “Shannon, this young man came here—at some risk, I gather—to offer you an olive branch between his family and yours. I suggest you consider taking it.”

Shannon said nothing, head down. Brendan stood up. “I think I should go now,” he said tersely. “I wanted to do some good here tonight. I hope I have.” He got up and turned for the door, going several steps before he heard Shannon coming after him. “Brendan.” He slowly turned to find her standing before him. She gave him a tight smile. “You have. It’s a start. Thank you for being so brave.” Brendan nodded. “Maybe we’ll meet again.” She nodded. “Could be.”

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Shannon sat on her bed, lost in thought. Brendan had left an hour before, and she was still struggling to know how she should feel. There had never been an event like this, not only in her life, but in the lives of her parents, and, so far as she knew, their parents. She felt she was either being played for a sucker for reasons unknown, or she had been presented with a unique opportunity her forebears never knew. “Knock knock.” She was jerked out of her thoughts by Sarah’s soft voice at her door. “Can I come in?” Shannon nodded, and Sarah walked over and sat on the edge of her bed. “Wrestling with something?” she said. “How did you know? I can’t figure out how I should feel. I never expected this.” Sarah gave her a gentle smile. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re sixteen,

with far too much weight on your shoulders. Would you take a word of advice from someone who’s seen their share of forks in the road?” Shannon nodded. “All right. Every instinct I have about this young man tells me you should believe him. You’ve got nothing to lose by doing at least that much. No one involved in this mess ever had such a chance before. You can do something historic for the Donnelly clan.” Shannon chuckled. “I’m all that’s left of the Donnelly clan. This branch, anyway.” Sarah gripped her arm firmly. “Then do it! Realize none of your ancestors had this opportunity. If not now, when?” Shannon sighed and laid down flat on the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. “Okay, Mom, I will. Thank you.” Sarah kissed her on the forehead and stood up. “Good. Get a good rest. Perhaps tomorrow’s a new day for both clans.”

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If Shannon felt any lasting perplexity from Brendan’s visit, it didn’t show. She settled down at school and became a good student. She didn’t press Sarah too hard for trips out to the hangar, by now knowing she would do her best to get her there as often as she could. “Next summer, you’re getting your driver’s license, young lady,” Sarah told her. “Then you can drive yourself there.” The thought of such independence thrilled her. Her hours in the air were adding up, Drew taking her along on work flights as often as he could. In the third week of October, he had good news.

“San Bernardino Valley College is offering flight school classes starting with winter quarter. You should sign up right away. You don’t have to be a student at the college. It’s open to the public. Just pay the fee.” “Where do I sign?” Shannon said brightly. “I’ll go; I’ve got the money.” And indeed she did; the sale of most of her parent’s property had left her with a tidy sum, which Sarah had put in the bank for her—with a word of warning: “Charles and I should make the decisions on how the money is spent until you’re eighteen. Then you can do what you like with it. Until then, we’ll make sure you spend it wisely, if at all. I recommend you let it sit and draw interest.” Shannon’s excitement was tempered at that, and she crossed her fingers that Charles and Sarah would let her pay for ission to flight school when she broached the subject at dinner the night of Drew’s announcement. They were all enjoying dessert when she spoke up. “I have exciting news,” she said, with a big smile. “San Bernardino Valley College is going to offer an evening flight school program this winter. It’s open to the public. That means I could go.” Charles leaned back in his chair, cup of coffee in hand. “Flight school? Are you old enough for it?” “Dad, you can get a pilot’s license when you’re sixteen. I’m old enough.” “But should you?” he said, eyeing her skeptically. “Sarah, did you know about this?” “No.” She turned to Shannon. “You risk piling too much on your plate, young lady.” She sighed and sat back in her chair. “I suppose you’d want to pay for it out of the money you got from the land sale?” Shannon nodded enthusiastically, sensing so far the tide was flowing her way. “I could pay for Dot’s way too!” “Not on your life!” Dot piped up. “I like my feet firmly on the ground, thank you.” “Hmm,” Sarah said. “If you went to this flight school, you’d have to meet

certain conditions. Let Charles and I talk about it this evening, and we’ll try to give you a decision in the morning.” Disappointed in not receiving an immediate answer, Shannon glumly helped clear the table and wash the dishes before heading up to her room for homework before bed. She slept restlessly that night, stuffed bear grasped firmly under her chin, and dreamed of flying, sometimes without an airplane around her, her body floating over a sun-dappled earth below, gliding in and out of fluffy white clouds as she achieved a perfect bliss with the world around her. In the morning at breakfast, she had her answer. Sarah sat opposite her at the table and spoke softly. “I talked with Drew last night. He too feels your fascination with airplanes and flying is no teen infatuation. It’s the real thing. He says there’s no way I can sway you from it or sidetrack it. Mind you, Charles still has serious misgivings about this venture. Even so, he won’t say no. So, the answer is yes.” Then her voice took on a sterner tone. “Providing you meet certain conditions. One, no more incidents of improper behavior. You will be the soul of courtesy and propriety. Two, you must keep up your grades at school. And three, you will inform us of any distracting social s you wish to pursue, such as with Brendan McClary. Do you agree to these ?” Shannon put down the glass of orange juice she had forgotten she was holding. “Yes! I don’t know what pro-propriety is, but if it’s something you want, I’ll do it every day. And right now, Brendan McClary is the farthest thing from my mind.” She got up and gave Sarah a hug. The last part wasn’t exactly true. Ever since his visit, she had felt a strange tingle when she thought about it—about him, which was more often than she would it. Unfamiliar emotions were flying around in her head, together with the excitement of a pilot’s license being now within her grasp. But two days later, the bottom fell out of her world—and everyone else’s as well —as America began a long slide into chaos.

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October 24, 1929

Black Thursday

Shannon was at the hangar, taking advantage of a rare teacher’s conference closure at the school when Drew got the telephone call from Sarah. She saw him listen for a few minutes, then mouth something she couldn’t hear, and hang up. He turned to her, pale. “The stock market’s collapsed.” Shannon had no idea what that meant. She had yet to study the stock market in school, and what its failure would mean for society. “What does it mean?” Drew walked over to her and tried to give her a comforting expression. “It means hard times are coming.” Shannon could sense the gravity of his words. “What will it mean for us?” “No way to tell yet. It will take a while to sort itself out.” Leroy walked quietly over to them, a grim expression on his face. “We’ll see what happens. But likely it won’t be good.” Shannon felt her stomach turn itself into a knot. “Will I still be able to go to the flight school course?” Drew put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in. “The college won’t go out of business, so I reckon the course will still be offered. There’s a lot of demand for it. I wouldn’t worry too much, as long as Sarah and Charles still approve.”

Charles came home that night in a somber mood. Sarah greeted him at the door, a questioning expression on her face. “It’s begun,” he said quietly.

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Shannon’s heart hammered in her chest all the way home from the hangar. Sarah said nothing as she drove. When they got home, Charles was waiting in the den with Dot. “Let’s all sit down,” Sarah said as she retrieved the iced tea pitcher from the refrigerator. When they were seated, Charles spoke. “I don’t know how this is going to affect us yet. Time will tell. Eventually, everybody’s lives might be touched, including our own. I hope it doesn’t last a long time.” He turned to Shannon, who was sitting clenching not only her fists but visibly her entire body. “Shannon, I know what’s on your mind. Don’t worry. Since you’re using your own money, you can still attend flight school.” Shannon’s tight expression crumbled and she sagged with relief. “Thank you,” she said.

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Over the weeks that came, as they watched the economy get worse and worse, Shannon and the Pearsons waited for the hammer to fall on them. Already, it had struck once. Charles’ project in Long Beach, nearly finished when the collapse hit, and with money already allocated to its completion, rolled to a swift finish. But Charles had no other projects lined up behind it, and he suddenly found

himself out of work. As a prosecuting attorney for the county, Sarah thought she could ride out the coming hard times. Or so she hoped. Out looking for work, Charles was also following the developing story of the stock market collapse. “No good news, I’m afraid,” he said one night after coming in the door to be greeted by a kiss from Sarah. “Except our family is still all together. Let’s go into the den.” Settled onto the sofa, Charles began. “I think we won’t go unscathed by this calamity. There’s probably more to come than me being out of work. We might have to sell one of the cars.” Sarah looked down at her skirt for a moment, then back at him with a forced smile. “They’re just cars.” He put an arm around her. “Fibber. I know how precious the Cadillac is to you. We’ll try hard to avoid it coming to that. Mine should probably go first if we have to.” “No, you need that for job hunting and work when it comes.” “We’ll see what happens. But I do think this collapse will eventually affect all levels of society.”

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There had been no news from Cormac and Patrick McClary since they purchased the Donnelly property at great cost. There had been rumors spreading, some said started by them, that the mysterious Texas oil man who ran up the bid on the property had been a plant by Shannon through the Pearsons to drive them into the poorhouse on the purchase. Ascribing evil motives to others seemed to come easily to them. But it was now a possibility the rail line they were sure would run through the property would be delayed indefinitely. And they were still apparently unaware Brendan had made a peace offering to Shannon. More of Brendan Shannon had not seen, though his meeting with her floated

through her mind now and then. At least for one night, he had acted like a gentleman, not the uncouth beast she expected, and she had surprised herself when she thanked him for what he had done. He was rather handsome, she had to it. But she pushed the idea of another meeting to the back burner now as she used every spare hour to concentrate on flying. Drew continued to take her up whenever he could—probably, she thought, prompted by Amelia Earhart’s request. On their most recent trip, she was thrilled when he shouted to her from the back seat, “You’ve got the controls. The aircraft is yours.” Her pulse quickened and she took a deep breath as she grasped the stick. They were flying at about three thousand feet on a beautiful clear day. From that height, she felt isolated from the misery that was spreading over the landscape below. Drew urged her to get the feel of the stick and the foot pedals, gingerly moving the rudder left and right, the flaps up and down. Currents of joy ran through her as she felt the airplane respond to her touch. With Drew’s urging, she pulled back on the stick and gave the airplane more power to gently soar up into the blue sky above. She was flying! After about ten minutes, nearly breathless with excitement, she reluctantly responded when Drew shouted he would take back control. He banked in a wide circle and began the slow descent to home, coming in for a kiss of a touchdown at the airstrip. The moment the propeller stopped turning, Shannon jumped out and secured the wheel chocks. Vibrating with excitement, she waited for Drew to descend from the cockpit, and when his feet hit the ground, she flung herself at him. “Thank you, thank you! It was wonderful. I can’t wait to do it again.” Drew grinned and tousled her hair. “Good job, kid. I want you to become familiar with the feel of the controls when we’re in the air. Yes, we’ll do it again.”

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The flight training class was scheduled to start in early January, right after the Christmas break. Shannon was nearly trembling with energy as she stood outside

the classroom door on the first day. Sarah had expressed strong reservations about Shannon attending evening classes at the college in the dark of winter but Charles, at home for the foreseeable future, agreed to drive her to and from the class. Now Shannon, part of an eager crowd milling about in the hallway, waited nervously for the door to open. Right on time, it was opened by a caretaker, and the crowd of would-be pilots surged into the room in a wave that carried her in. She took a seat near the back of the class amid the eager buzz of conversation around her. Looking around, she found herself seated across from a young black girl. The instructor, a tall, thin man who introduced himself as Mr. Bidwell, came in carrying a load of books under one arm. “All right, class,” he called out loudly over the din, “settle down. You’ll find a paper name plate on your desk. Print your first and last name boldly on the paper with the markers provided and fold it lengthwise so it stands up on the left corner of your desk.” Shannon did as she was told, printing her name in big letters on the paper while thinking, Our instructor is Mr. Bidwell? I hope that bids well for us. Hah-hah. She looked across the aisle and saw somewhat to her amazement the black girl had printed “Josephine Kelly” on her name plate. She leaned over and whispered, “You’re Irish?” Josephine smiled. “Kind of. It was my grandfather.” I need to expand my understanding of what Irish folks can look like, Shannon thought. “Well,” she said, “so am I.” She stuck out her hand. “Shannon Donnelly. Guess we have something in common.” The black girl shook her hand. “Guess we do. Call me Josie.” The class settled down, the instructor called roll, and then began to tell them about what would be covered in the class. Shannon saw a fair amount of the material was stuff she already knew. Maybe the class wouldn’t be so hard after all. During a break, she stood in the hallway outside and got better acquainted with Josie. She was shorter than Shannon, with long glossy black hair, a creamy smooth complexion, and almond-shaped eyes. She was also two years older and

surprised to find out Shannon was sixteen. “You’re sixteen? I would have guessed you were eighteen like me.” She gave Shannon a saucy smile. “A hint of things to come, I’d say.” At the first break, Shannon learned Josie was from Los Angeles and in town for the course, staying with relatives. “It was the closest course I could get into,” she explained. “These courses are so popular now; everyone wants to be a pilot, especially the girls, who all want to be the next Amelia Earhart.” “I met her, you know,” Shannon said. “No kidding! I have to hear all about it.” Josie had more airtime than Shannon, having benefitted from her father’s World War I flying experience. “He flew for ,” she said, a shadow of sadness flitting across her face. “Not like here; over there he was given a chance to prove himself. He didn’t let them down.” Those last words were filled with pride. Josie didn’t have the mechanical knowledge Shannon had been given by Leroy. “I envy you,” she said. “Hah! I envy you,” Shannon replied. “Oops, it’s time to go back.” “So you want to be pilots,” the instructor said loudly once everyone was back. “This course will find out how serious you are. I’d say it’s going to weed out about a third of you. And I want to inform you in advance of one requirement for completion of this course. When it comes time for your final flight, you must furnish the airplane you will test in. Now, let’s get started.”

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Shannon rode home that night with books and papers on her lap, nearly feverish with excitement. Over the weeks that came, Josie would sometimes come to Shannon’s house to study, and the girls quickly became friends.

Around them, the Depression rolled on, spreading its grim tidings into every corner of American society.

In the first week of February, a visit to the hangar brought bad news. “Business has dropped off drastically,” Drew told Shannon as they sat on rickety chairs, sipping sodas outside the hangar. “There’s an oversupply of crops and reduced demand, and some of our customers are plowing their crops into the ground. They don’t need crop spraying. The tourists have all but disappeared too. Times are tough. It’s Leroy’s airplane repair customers that are keeping us afloat at the moment.” Shannon took a swallow of her Grape Nehi and looked out to the two airplanes sitting idle on the runway. “You want to tell me something.” Drew took a deep breath and shook his head. “Always right to the point. Okay, what it means is that I can’t take you up anymore just for the airtime. Got to conserve fuel.” Shannon was crestfallen for a moment, then seemed to brighten. “What if I pay you for the lessons?” “Pay? With what?” “, I have money in the bank from the land sale of my parents’ property.” Drew dropped his empty bottle of Orange Nehi on the ground beside the chair and turned to look at her. “Yeah?” “I’d have to get Sarah and Ch—I mean Mom and Dad to agree to it but I think they will.”

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But Sarah and Charles put their collective feet down and said no. “One thing at a time, young lady,” Sarah said when she brought the subject up.

“You’re going to school full time and taking this night class in aviation. You’ve got enough on your plate. When school is out next summer, we might approve of it then, depending on the cost.” Shannon was disappointed but didn’t try to fight it. Deep down, she knew they were right. Keeping her grades up in both high school and the aviation course was exhausting at times. And she was tired. She was undergoing a growth spurt, her body growing taller seemingly by the month as at the same time her hips and breasts grew larger. “This rapid growth is contributing to your tiredness,” Sarah explained when the two were alone. “You’re getting used to this new body.” Dot wasn’t home and she had chased Charles out to the patio, citing the need for some “girl talk” with Shannon. “Hmm,” she said, looking her over. “I also think it’s time we go shopping. You’re outgrowing everything you have.” Clothes were something Shannon had been indifferent to. Working so much around the greasy airplane parts and lubricating tools, she had always worn something she didn’t mind getting dirty, which was usually overalls. Even the school clothes Sarah had bought for her hadn’t interested her much. But now, she found the thought of new clothes attractive.

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The flight school course was eight weeks, at the end of which successful participants would go through the examination for their private license. As predicted, some students dropped out when confronted with the formidable learning curve. But Shannon and Josie quickly became two of the top students in the class, Shannon helping her with principles of flight and studies of the airframe, and Josie with flight instrumentation and rudder and aileron use. And Shannon took Josie out to Kazminski Aviation a couple of times to show her the airplanes and what Leroy had taught her. They were required to become familiar with the effects weather conditions had on flying, including identifying cloud formations and what they forewarned, wind changes, the effects of humidity and temperature, and other crucial weather

data that could affect a decision to take off or stay on the ground. Class time was evenly divided between classroom and time in the air with the instructor. During the latter stages of the class, he threw problems at them while in the air, such as sudden loss of engine power, how to react to a stall, how to exit from a spin, loss of rudder control, dead-stick landings and other potential crises. Josie aced every test he sprang on her, exhibiting unshakable confidence Shannon could only envy. They were immersed in the study of Air Commerce Regulations pertaining to pilots’ privileges and limitations, aircraft inspection and pre-flight requirements. It was a heavy load for a sixteen-year old, and Sarah sometimes found Shannon asleep at her desk in the bedroom face down on a book, gently putting her to bed and drawing the covers up under her chin. February drew to a close, and the level of excitement rose among the class. One more week to go. Shannon’s regular schoolwork had suffered a little, and Sarah had strongly nudged her in the direction of the library, where she could study without distractions and catch up. Thus it was on a Saturday afternoon at the library that, with a weary sigh, she closed her geography book, sat back, and rubbed her eyes. Studying about something she had no interest in was challenging, and she repeatedly had to force herself back on track when her thoughts drifted off to flight. Why do I have to learn this gunk? she thought. I don’t care what the altitude of Bolivia’s capital city is. I want one thing—to be in the air. She looked at her watch. She had an hour left before the city bus arrived to take her home. She shoved her chair back, picked up her book bag, and headed for the soda shop next door. She ordered a malt at the counter and found an empty booth, slumping into it and shoving her book bag to one side. She dived into her chocolate malt with enthusiasm, fished her geometry book out of the bag, and opened it to the test she had to complete for the next Monday. She sat there for about ten minutes when she felt the presence of someone standing nearby and heard a voice directed at her. “Mind if I you?” She looked up and froze at the sight of Brendan McClary. Then she recovered

and frowned. “Uh—I don’t want to be rude—” “All the other booths are full,” he said, waving an arm around the shop. She took a quick look around and saw he was right. “I’m studying for an important test on Monday.” Brendan flashed her a broad smile. “So am I. I need a place to sit. It would be nice to do it with you.” Shannon flushed. Nice to do it with me? What does that mean? Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, girl. And mind your manners. She looked up at him with an attempted smile. “Very well. Have a seat.” Brendan sat, and Shannon tried hard to concentrate on her geometry book, but it was of little use. I’m sitting in a booth with a McClary. He’s two feet away! It isn’t supposed to be this way. I’m supposed to be hating him for what he is. But try as she might, she couldn’t muster up enough hate to get up and leave or ask him to. Occasionally she raised her head from her book, only to see his face buried in his own book. He was true to his word. She gave up on the geography book for the day and closed it with a thump. “Want to finish my chocolate malt?” she said. “I don’t want any more of it.” He looked up and grinned. “I guess I wouldn’t mind it at all,” taking the tall glass as she pushed it over to him. He took a swallow and sighed. “Thanks. I was getting thirsty. Now look at us sitting here and talking. A month ago, I wouldn’t have thought it was possible.” “I don’t plan to make a habit of it,” Shannon said coolly. She saw a large gold ring on his right hand, and a symbol on it. Her curiosity was aroused. “What’s on the ring?” “This? Oh, it’s got the McClary clan crest on it.” He moved his hand across the table toward her, and she leaned closer, lifting his ring finger into the window light with her hand. “Nice. If the Donnelly clan has such a thing, I’d like to have a ring like that.” He was about to reply when he sensed a change in the room, a quieting, a collective focus of the other patrons on something. He looked to his right and

saw the reason. Cormac was standing motionless ten feet away. He looked astonished and his face was flushed. He was trembling, as if ready to charge. Then it ed, and he turned slowly and went out the door. Brendan turned to Shannon. The conversational mood between them had vanished. “I’m sorry. Guess I should go.” She looked at her watch. “Yeah, me too. About time for the bus.” She got up and walked out the front door. He waited for a minute to make sure she had time to be clear of what awaited him when he walked out the door. He figured whatever it was wasn’t going to be pleasant. He was right about that. Going out the door of the malt shop, he saw Cormac sitting at the bottom of the stone steps, smoking a cigarette and glaring at him. Slowly Brendan walked down the steps. Cormac got up at his approach and flicked his cigarette away. “What the hell was that?” he said, face red. “You and that Donnelly bitch were sitting face to face.” Brendan had reached a point where he was no longer going to be intimidated by Cormac. It just made it worse. “Not that it’s any of your business, but—” Cormac’s face twisted in fury and he moved an inch closer. “Damn straight it’s my business! It’s McClary business! That little bitch pulled a gun on me in my own bedroom.” Brendan was surprised. “What?” “Yeah, didn’t know that, did you? Middle of the damn night, I wake up and find myself staring down the barrel of a .45. No telling what she might have done if Daddy hadn’t come in and took her home.” Brendan was momentarily speechless. “I can’t believe it.” “It happened. And now I find you sitting together in the damn malt shop.” “We were studying our own lessons. I needed a place to sit and her booth had the last space.”

“You were holding hands!” Brendan suddenly realized it might have looked that way when Shannon had lifted his hand to study the ring closer. Cormac moved his face in close and Brendan could smell alcohol on his breath. “You’re a damn traitor. We got nothin’ to do with Donnellys.” He leaned in closer yet, face twisted into a snarl, and grabbed a lapel of Brendan’s shirt. “If we weren’t in the middle of town, I’d beat you bloody like I said I would.” Brendan pushed him back hard with both hands, tearing the hand free and creating a little space. It was his turn to be angry now. “Someday we might see about that. But you better what I know.” Cormac looked at him through narrowed eyelids and spat in disgust. “You don’t know nothin’.” “I know you and Patrick are hiding something about the deaths of the Donnellys. That’s enough to raise some serious suspicion if the right people heard about it.” Cormac stepped back and seemed to settle into himself. “One of these days, brother. One of these days, you’re gonna get yours for what you’re doing to the family.” He backed away slowly, then turned and shambled off down the sidewalk, leaving Brendan standing on the steps. I hope Shannon didn’t see that, Brendan thought. This bridge-building between our clans is going to be dangerous somewhere down the line.

8

But Shannon had seen it, or at least part of it, as she sat in the back of the city bus awaiting departure. She couldn’t hear what the two men were saying, but their body language was unmistakable. And it wasn’t good. The memory of her holding the gun in Cormac’s face flashed across her consciousness, and she instantly felt a pang of guilt. Could be I’m as much to blame as anyone for this, she thought. The bus had pulled away while the men were engaged, so she couldn’t see what ultimately happened to Brendan, turning her head around to the front as the men were lost from view. He’s a McClary. Why should I care what happens to him? But the words echoed in her head unconvincingly. The remainder of the flight school course rolled along swiftly. Shannon could see about a third of the class had indeed been washed out. Stripped of the glamour and romanticism surrounding flight, the hard truth of a responsibility for not only their own lives but those of others, and the strict requirements of safe flight, had caused some of the less stout to drop out. Of those that were left, Shannon and Josie were among an elite few of the top students. And if there was one standout, one top student, it was Josie. In early March, the students that remained got the results back from their private pilot’s application to the Secretary of Commerce. Shannon had studied the requirements intently: an applicant must be of good moral character. American citizenship is not required; an applicant for a private license could be a citizen of any country. Prospective pilots must a flight physical before any of the final tests are given. Eyesight must be within stated limits, with normal visual fields and color vision, and there must be no organic diseases of the eye or inner ear. Shannon and Josie ed with no trouble, as did the rest. Quickly, it came to the last week of class. Mr. Bidwell looked solemnly over the class for a moment, and then, much to the relief of his students, smiled. “You are the real pilots in this class,” he said. “You’ve survived a rigorous learning curve and done well in your flights with me. I have confidence in every one of you.

“Now, before each of you take your final class flight, let me remind you of a couple of things. Even if you succeed in getting your license, you’re still student pilots. As such, you’re exempt from some of the requirements of a true private pilot’s license. These include an examination on the rules of air traffic and those portions of the Air Commerce regulations that pertain to pilots’ privileges and limitations, and to the inspection and operation of aircraft. Also required are ing of a series of flight tests performing specific maneuvers correctly.” He paused and skewered the class with a penetrating look. “So if you want to get your unrestricted private license, you’ll have to go on to satisfy those requirements. But I know you all can do it.” He paused to erase the blackboard behind him, then turned. “Now, this coming Saturday is our final flight test. It’s going to be an all-day affair to get all of you in, and I’ve assigned you time slots for your appearance. You should arrive at the airstrip thirty minutes before your flight time, but no earlier. I don’t want a bunch of you grouping around the hangar. Once you’ve completed your last flight with me, I request you leave the airstrip and return home, and do not discuss your flight with any classmate.” With that, he raised a pull-down chart with a flourish, and revealed the flight schedule on the blackboard behind it. “Be there at the Colton airstrip thirty minutes before the time listed for your name. If you arrive late, you will not fly!” Shannon studied the list and turned to Josie with excitement. “We’re together, one after the other!” But Josie didn’t seem the least excited, turning away with a pained look on her face. Shannon knew something was wrong. “Josie, what is it? Did something happen?” Josie’s voice quavered as she forced out the words. “I don’t have an airplane for the test.” “What? I thought it was all set. You said your father was going with that rental company in Ontario.” Josie put a hand to her forehead, partially hiding her face. “My dad and I went into the company three weeks ago to confirm the reservation.” She paused, then resumed in a voice so quiet Shannon could barely hear her. “They wouldn’t rent to me.” Shannon would reflect later—and curse herself for being a blockhead—that she hadn’t understood the meaning of what Josie had said. Excited as she was, not

only for herself but Josie too, she shrugged it off. “No problem. If you can pay for the fuel, you can use the airplane I’m using.” Josie raised her head, amazement on her ebony features. “I can?” Shannon laid a hand on her arm. “Sure! I’ll arrange it. Shouldn’t be a problem.” But the truth was she wasn’t at all sure it wouldn’t be. Early in the class, she had laid what charm she thought she had on Drew—plus a little fuel money—for the use of one of his planes for the flight, and, since he currently had little other gainful employment for the airplane, he had agreed. Now she had to ask to add her best friend to the agreement. She called Drew that night as soon as she got home from class. Quivering with nerves, she listened to the telephone ring. Drew answered at the third ring. “Whoever this is, it’s late,” he mumbled sleepily. Shannon felt a pang of fear course through her. “Hey, Drew, it’s your favorite stowaway!” she said breezily. “Sorry to call so late, but it’s important and I don’t know when I’ll have a chance to call again.” She heard a sigh on the other end. “Dang, I’ve got to learn to resist you. Okay, shoot; what’s so important?” Shannon gripped the telephone receiver white-knuckled. “Like I told you a few weeks ago, this Saturday is my last test flight for the class.” “Yeah, I know, I know. The plane will be there Saturday morning, early.” Shannon giggled nervously. “I didn’t think you’d forget. I know I can depend on you. But there’s this problem that’s come up.” “Oh no, no problems allowed,” he said, suddenly wide awake. There was heavy dead air for a few seconds, Shannon frozen on one end, waiting. She could hear him rustling around, banging stuff and moving things. Then: “All right, kid. You never seem to wear out your welcome here. Either that, or I’ve got no backbone. What is it?” “It’s my friend, Josie. She doesn’t have an airplane for the test.” She could hear him scratching his face vigorously.

“That the colored girl you brought out here a couple of times?” “Yep,” she said as cheerily as she could muster. “Didn’t you tell me she had an airplane reserved with some outfit in Ontario?” A pall of sadness fell over her. “She did. But she told me tonight she and her father went to the rental about three weeks ago, and the company said they didn’t have a plane available on that date after all.” Drew’s voice was suddenly chilly. “Even though they had previously arranged it.” “Yes.” “Shannon, can’t you see what’s going on here?” “Uh—no.” There was a brief hush that made Shannon’s heart pound. “They wouldn’t rent to her because she’s colored.” She was momentarily speechless, her mouth hanging open in dismay. “I—I don’t understand. I mean, what difference—” “Give yourself a few more years, and you’ll understand. I suspect you led a pretty sheltered life while your parents were alive. Get out in the world and you’ll find this sort of mindless and irrational prejudice. It’s out there. And it just made itself visible to you. I suspect the original rental agreement was made over the telephone. When Josie and her father went into the agency, the owners saw they were colored and now you know the result.” Shannon felt anger rising. Any thoughts of this sort had never been allowed in the Donnelly household. There had been no mention of it, no discussion. The subject had never come up. Now she couldn’t imagine the pain her best friend was suffering. “But this is wrong! Why would anyone do such a thing?” Drew sighed. “Kid, if we knew the answer to that, the world would be a much better place.”

She felt a chill settle over her. “But—but will you still—” “Tell Josie the airplane will be ready and waiting for her Saturday morning.”

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She had fallen all over herself gushing her thanks to Drew. After a fitful night’s sleep, she had called Josie with the news the next morning before school. Josie’s response was a restrained gratitude that underwhelmed Shannon. She had expected her to be more excited, but then let it go. The important thing is she’ll fly, she thought. Now she stood with her best friend inside the hanger at the Colton airstrip. It was Saturday; the day had come. The cold of the late winter morning desert seeped through the massive hangar doors. Shannon huddled with Josie inside the little coffee shop that nestled in one front corner of the large building, trying to quash her nerves. In a nearby booth were Charles, Sarah, and Dot, come to her in her big moment. In another, Josie’s parents waited for their daughter’s time to fly. Josie had made introductions when they arrived. “Shannon, I’d like you to meet my mother and father.” Shannon shook hands with Josie’s father. He was a handsome, trim man with bright eyes that seemed to look right into her. Then she turned to Josie’s mother. “I’m pleased to meet you,” she said. “So you’re Shannon,” Mrs. Kelly, shorter than she, said. “I’ve heard a lot about you; Josie does go on at times about her favorite classmate.” “Don’t worry; it’s all good stuff!” Josie interjected. Shannon released the woman’s hand with a perception that Mrs. Kelly, in that moment, had been evaluating her in depth. Returning to the front windows, she looked at her watch. She hadn’t wanted to be first, but she especially hadn’t wanted to be dead last. Something in the

middle would be nice, she had thought. She had gotten neither. She was to be the second flight of the day, and Shannon third. She glanced over at Josie, who looked rock solid and confident. “You ready for this?” she whispered. Josie gave her a smile. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s get it done.” “Roger,” she said, gripping Josie’s arm. The pilot finishing the first flight of the day swooped down from the sky and made a one-bounce landing on the dirt airstrip, taxied toward the hangar, and came to a stop. When the propeller spun to a stop and a flight line attendant put the wheel chocks in place, one of the girls Josie knew exited from the airplane and walked toward the hangar alongside Mr. Bidwell. They stopped near the building and were engaged in deep conversation. Shannon tried to read the girl’s body language, searching for some clue as to how the flight had gone. She saw the girl lower her head toward her chest, her shoulders slump as she walked away. Apparently, it hadn’t gone as satisfactorily as it could have. Just what I need to pep me up, she thought. Then she saw Mr. Bidwell walking toward her. Aargh. This is it. Bidwell entered the hangar and walked up to her, making a checkmark on the clipboard he was carrying. “Ah, Miss Donnelly. Or, excuse me, is it Miss Pearson?” With a start, Shannon realized the subject of her last name in public had not come up. Though it had been changed to “Pearson” in official records, including school, neither Charles nor Sarah had asked her if she wanted to retain her family name. It would probably hurt them to hear me use my maiden name, she thought. After all they’ve done, I can’t bear to do that. But I’ll always be a Donnelly. She looked at Bidwell in ill-concealed discomfort. Guess I’ll wing it for now. Ha-Ha. “Donnelly, please.” “All right.” He looked at Josie. “Miss Kelly, I don’t mind you being here since you’re next. But please remain inside the hangar until we’ve returned.” Josie turned away with a mouthed “Good luck!” to her. Bidwell turned back to her. “Let’s go out to your airplane.” They walked out to the airstrip. Shannon was using the blue Jenny; Drew had

told her it was the most stable. “I have a new device for you to use today,” Bidwell said, reaching up into the rear cockpit. He came down with something in his hand. “This is a headset for you to wear like you would earmuffs in cold weather. I have one too. With this, we can easily communicate during flight without shouting at each other. Just speak into the microphone near your mouth. You control the volume with this little device here”—he showed her a small black box with a dial on it—“which you’ll wear around your arm. It’s got an adjustable strap.” With that he put the strap over Shannon’s left arm, cinching the box snugly in place. “It will always be on; don’t forget it’s there.” Shannon sailed through her pre-flight inspection sequence without a stumble, warming to her task. Mounting to the front cockpit, she called out the instrument checklist while Bidwell stood on the ground below, marking his clipboard. Finished, he mounted into the rear cockpit. Shannon got out and walked around to the front of the engine. He gave her a thumbs up: ready to start. “!” she shouted and gave the propeller a heave. It caught immediately and began whirling smoothly. Drew, or more likely Leroy, had prepared the Jenny ably. She walked around the wing and mounted into the front cockpit, snugging her borrowed flight jacket more closely around her. It was going to be a cold ride. She put the headset over her head and ears and made sure her flight goggles were firmly in place. “Can you hear me?” came Bidwell’s voice in her ears. “Yes.” “Turn up your volume, Shannon. You’re a little low.” “How’s that?” “Perfect. We’re ready. Proceed to the departure spot.” Shannon gave the signal to an airstrip attendant standing at the ready to remove the wheel chocks. Done, she gave the engine a little throttle and they were rolling to the takeoff point. Her heart thumped in her chest as the Jenny rocked back and forth to small undulations in the dirt.

Then they were there. Shannon deftly whirled the Jenny around and came to a stop facing the runway. They sat at idle for a few heart-stopping moments as Shannon fought to breathe normally. Then she heard Bidwell’s voice in her ear. “We’re cleared for takeoff. Proceed, and good luck.” Shannon gave the engine more throttle, watching the tachometer rpms climb as she kept her foot firmly on the brakes Leroy had added post-war. The engine didn’t falter, seemed to strain against the brakes, eager to be away. She released brakes and they were rolling. The hum of the engine poured powerful energy into her. She was breathing deep but strong, nerves tingling with a familiar joy. At precisely the right moment, she pulled back on the stick and they were aloft, the Jenny lifting eagerly into the morning sky. Bidwell’s voice in her ear instructed her to climb to three thousand feet in 500feet per minute increments. She glanced to her wrist at the flight watch Drew had loaned her and began the ascent. The sky in the vicinity was clear; off toward the horizon patchy white clouds stood guard. Shannon didn’t feel the cold wind blasting at her. So caught up in the moment was she the flight test momentarily faded from her mind as she climbed higher into the chill blue sky. Even though student pilots weren’t required to perform certain maneuvers for their license that private pilots were, Bidwell had told the class he would include some of them in their flight test, even though they would not count in their final score. When the Jenny reached 3,000 feet, he instructed Shannon to perform three steep figure-8 turns to 4,000, which she did satisfactorily. For the next thirty minutes, Shannon aced every maneuver Bidwell threw at her. Then suddenly the engine coughed and quit. To her astonishment, the big prop whirled to a stop in front of her. She was surrounded by what no pilot wants to hear—quiet broken only by the rush of air around them. “Engine failure!” Bidwell’s voice sounded loudly in her ear. “What do you do?” Now she knew why he had provided the headphones. He was taking no chances of her not hearing him as he ambushed her with a crisis. Taking a deep breath, she forced down a rising gorge of panic and replied, “Engine failure! Emergency checklist.” She had practiced this routine over and over with Josie, but would she the sequence?

“Point toward landing site,” she called out. She looked down and saw the Colton airstrip far below and turned the Jenny gently so that it was lined up for an approach. “Check. Fuel level good, check. Hit fuel boost and adjust mixture to full rich, check. Establish best glide airspeed, check. Engine failure confirmed, check. Following restart procedure.” She went through the procedure and the engine blessedly sputtered into life, the big prop whirling in front of her again. They were back under power. “Proceed to landing,” Bidwell’s voice sounded in her ear. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she could feel a hint of a smile in the words. With a private smile of her own, Shannon descended smoothly and brought the Jenny in for a landing at the designated marker for a gentle kiss of a touchdown. Bidwell instructed her to taxi over to the place she had begun from. She brought the Jenny back into its parking spot, went through the shutdown procedure, and, when the propeller stopped turning, raised her arms to the sky in triumph. The flight attendant chocked the wheels, and she hopped out of the cockpit. Bidwell approached and they walked slowly back to the hangar. “Overall, very nicely done, Miss Donnelly,” he said. “You impressed me up there today. You handled the engine shutdown calmly. I have minor suggestions for improvement. I think you’re ready for your license.” Shannon couldn’t suppress a grin. “Thank you.” “You’ll receive my full notes on the flight and your final score and accompanying paperwork in about ten days. For now, congratulations, and please return to the hangar.” Shannon turned and ran for the hangar. Before she reached it Dot exploded out of the doorway and sprinted toward her, followed closely by Charles and Sarah at a more sedate pace. “Wow!” Dot shouted, running up to hug her. “We could see you up there for part of the flight. I bet you did great.” “I think I did,” she said, embracing her sister. Charles and Sarah reached her, broad smiles on their faces. “Wonderful,” Sarah exclaimed.

“We had our fingers crossed,” Charles said, at which Sarah gave him an elbow. “And we were praying for you.” Shannon felt like her feet were about to lift off the dirt. “We need to go inside. Save some of your prayers for Josie; she’s next.” Waiting for her in the coffee shop was Drew, a huge smile on his face. “Good flight, lady,” he said as she threw herself at him with a tight hug. “Couldn’t have done it without your teaching,” she said grinning. “I owe you so much.” Drew got a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hmm. Could be you do. We’ll just have to find a way to take it out of your hide.” Shannon gave him a smack on the arm. “Name it.” “I’ll think on it.” They all settled into the booths near the windows and watched with rapt attention as, minutes later, Josie lifted the Jenny smoothly into the air and eventually disappeared from view. After a tense period in which Shannon discovered she was chewing on a napkin, she checked her watch. It seemed like Josie had been gone longer than her own flight. She went outside the door, even though it was against Bidwell’s rules, and strained to look into the distance. Finally, just as her last nerve was fraying, she saw the Jenny materialize dimly in the distance. It came straight in and touched down smoothly, gliding to a stop at its place of origin. Josie met with Bidwell beside the Jenny, then shook hands with her and walked toward the hangar. Josie sprinted toward the hangar with a smile Shannon could see even at a distance. She started to go to her, but Sarah put a hand on her arm. “Wait for her parents first.” Josie’s parents hurried to embrace her; her mother appeared ecstatic. Today in the coffee shop had been the first time Shannon had met them, and she was

pleased for their joy. She waited until the happy group got back to the hangar and hung back until Josie broke free for a moment, then ran and embraced her in gleeful delight. After a moment, Shannon drew back to look into Josie’s almond eyes alive with jubilance. “You were gone longer than usual; I was starting to worry about you.” “Bidwell threw everything he could at me. I mean, he put me through the wringer. That’s why it took extra time. And he says I’m the top student in the class!” “I knew it all along,” Shannon replied. She turned to see Drew engaged in conversation with Josie’s father, and saw a handshake between them. When Josie’s father returned to his wife and daughter, she approached Drew. “Looks like Mr. Kelly appreciated the loan of the Jenny,” she said. Drew looked over at the man and his family huddled together. “I think it meant more to him than simply the use of an airplane.” Shannon followed his gaze and nodded in agreement. Drew zipped up his flight jacket. “And now, little Queen of the Skies, it’s time to get the old crate back home.” Shannon nodded and lightly punched his arm. “See you around.”

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Shannon and Josie received their packets from Bidwell just over a week later. They and the rest of the victorious students were now Private Pilots, Student Class—which meant their learning curve was about to get a lot steeper.

9

Two Years Later

May 1932

“You look amazing,” Sarah said at sight of Shannon coming down the stairs in her senior prom dress. Not that the dress was a revelation; Sarah had overseen every step of its construction, from picking out the fabric to design to sizing and finally, sewing the pieces together. It was no surprise it not only fit perfectly but tastefully showed off Shannon’s now considerable female assets. She had experienced a growth spurt during her junior and senior years so relentless that at times she was silently pleading please stop to her body. But her body refused to listen; she had grown taller and taller until, at least for the present, she had mercifully stopped at a statuesque five-feet-eleven. The wearing of even modest heels put her at six feet. Nor had the growth neglected the rest of her figure, as she had become full in the bust, though her hips had thankfully grown somewhat less in comparison. She kept her dark hair, a short, tousled chaos on top of her head, in the fashion of Amelia Earhart, her personal heroine. She had not lacked for male suitors her senior year, though some of them were eventually driven off by her obsession with flying. It didn’t take long for them to see where her heart—and her attention—were. The death of the Lindbergh baby earlier in the year had cast a pall over the aviation community and the entire country. In March, Charles Lindbergh’s twenty-month old son had disappeared from his upstairs bedroom crib and was feared kidnapped. The kidnapping fears became all too real. Tragically, his body was found in May alongside a road not far away. No one who flew a plane was

not sobered by the news. Charles and Sarah fought to stay positive about Shannon’s ambitions. They didn’t overtly discourage her, but the tragedy made Sarah’s reservations stronger.

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Shannon had obtained her unrestricted private pilot’s license the previous summer. First on the list for that was ten hours of solo flying, and her first solo was indelibly etched in her memory. It had been a good day for flying at Kazminski Aviation as the blue Jenny sat waiting for her on the airstrip in the gentle desert light of early morning. Leroy, fussy and grumbling his objections all the way, had spared nothing in flight preparations as he went over the airplane. “She’s as ready as I can make her. You’ll be bringing her back in perfect order or —” he groused. “I will,” she said, stepping forward and embracing him before he could finish. “You’re such a dear. I don’t believe a word of your protests.” He drew back and frowned at her. “Nevertheless, don’t try anything fancy. Just straight, level flight. And watch for other air traffic! Be back in forty-five minutes, or I’ll come looking for you.” She nodded. “Forty-five it is.” Shannon turned to her family, who had come to see her off. Dot couldn’t stay still, walking around in worried anticipation. Charles feigned a male stiff upper lip that she could see right through. Sarah couldn’t hide her fear. “I wish you could put this off,” she said, twisting the scarf in her hands nervously. “Say, until you’re about twenty-five.” Shannon embraced her. “Please don’t worry, Mother. I know how to do this.” “It’s a mother’s job to worry. Someday you’ll understand.”

“Yeah, someday,” she said, and turned to the airstrip, where Drew was waiting. “I’m off,” she called over her shoulder. Wish me luck.” Drew leaned against the fuselage transfixed with wonder as he watched Shannon walk toward him, her stride a living embodiment of grace and sensuality, her face and figure the pinnacle of all it meant to be young, female, and arresting. She doesn’t know it yet though, he thought. When she figures it out, God help the men who fall for her. Which included him, he reflected ruefully, no less immune to her now-considerable charms than any other man. What was it she said when I first met her, and she was so defiant? She said something like, “I’m fifteen . . . half growed . . . only five years younger than you!” Now she’s nearly nineteen. And a woman with a capital W. He fell out of his trance as she stepped close and grinned broadly at him. “I’m ready,” she said. Though she knew every inch of the airplane had been inspected by not only Leroy but Drew too, she went through the pre-flight inspection because it was her responsibility. Satisfied, she vaulted up into the front cockpit and went through her instrument checklist, then gave the sign for Drew to spin the prop. He gave it a mighty heave and the engine caught immediately. She sat letting it warm up for several minutes, then gave Drew the thumbs-outward symbol to remove the wheel chocks. He did and stood clear. She taxied the Jenny to the head of the strip and sat idling as she cinched up her flight jacket, gloves, and goggles. Then, with one last wave to the crowd at the hangar, she increased throttle and began to roll. The Jenny dipped and bounced over the undulations in the dirt strip, faster and faster, until at the right moment, she pulled back on the stick and she and the Jenny rose into the clear air. There was a muted cheer from the people at the hangar as they watched her fade into the morning sky. Sarah turned from the strip, fighting tears. Charles put an arm around her. “She’ll do fine.” Sarah nodded in agreement. “I know, but . . .” Seeing Dot was emotional too, Charles pulled her into his arms. “Come on, girls,” he said, leading them to chairs to sit. “She’s a pilot. Let her fly the airplane.” He looked at the last faint view of Shannon fading into the distance. “It’s what she wants to do. And she was born to do it.”

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Shannon took the Jenny smoothly to five thousand feet and headed south. Visibility was good, and the Jenny was flying untroubled. She looked down at the land ing below her—traffic on the roads, the outline of farms and ranches to the west toward Los Angeles, hawks and turkey vultures circling below her. I’m above you, she thought to the birds. Hope your flight is as good as mine. Off to her left loomed Big Bear, and she could see the sparkle of Big Bear Lake in the morning sunlight. She saw in the distance the Donnelly lands, now possessed in part by the McClarys. I wonder if I’ve seen the last of trouble from them, she mused. Probably not. But I’m above them now. You can’t reach me here. She felt a current of peace wash over her, and on a sudden irresistible whim, took off her flight helmet and let the wind rip through her hair. She was flying, and it was good. Cruising along at five thousand feet, she looked below and saw a train slowly making its way north. It was pulling a long string of boxcars. Something about the cars looked odd to her, and she decided to get lower for a better look. It’ll be good practice anyway, she thought. She descended to about one thousand feet and cruised parallel to the train. She peered at the boxcars and suddenly realized why they had looked odd from above. The boxcars were festooned with rail riders. They jammed the big door openings and covered the roofs, legs hanging over the edges. There must have been hundreds of them. Probably riding north to the Salinas Valley in hope of finding crops to pick, she thought. She felt a pang of sadness at the sight. If Da was still alive, he might be on that train too. Charles had been careful not to discuss the ongoing effect of the Depression, which seemed to get worse, in her presence. But she could read, and she knew 1932 was the worst year so far. Farmers who had already been facing a depression of their own in the 1920s were now succumbing to foreclosure and abandoning their farms. There had been food riots in some of the cities. There was talk of revolution. She turned the Jenny away, back up into the sky. For a while, she could be above it all—the Depression, the pain, the loss of everything for so many people. When it was time to return, she reluctantly turned the Jenny back toward home. I

would have kept going if I could. All the way to wherever I wanted to go, coming down to refuel and then rise into the air again, headed for—headed for a magical airport where there were always airplanes to fly, and the fuel was free, where I could live in the sky if I wanted to. Right on time, she saw the Kazminski Aviation airstrip ahead, and began a smooth descent, touching down smoothly but with a pang of sadness on the dirt strip and pulling up to the hangar. She brought the airplane to a stop and went through a quick shutdown. Drew came out and put the wheel chocks in place. She unbuckled, flung her goggles into the air, and leapt down into Drew’s waiting arms. “It was perfect,” she said with a broad smile. “Well done,” he said, grinning ear to ear and lifting her off the ground, feeling the push of her breasts into his chest. “Well done, pilot.” At the hangar, Sarah and Charles watched their daughter and Drew in embrace as Dot went out hesitantly to congratulate her. “He sees her differently now,” Charles said, looking on. Sarah, face flushed with relief, nodded her head. “Who wouldn’t?” Shannon and Drew walked jubilantly arm-in-arm into the hangar. She noticed Leroy wasn’t present, separated herself from the tightly clustered group, and sought him out. She found him seated in a corner, a cup of coffee in his hand and a somber expression on his face. As she walked up to him he rose with a smile. “Congratulations, girl,” he said, giving her a brief hug. “You’ve come a long way since we pulled you off the ground when you stowed away. You know, I believe in signs of things to come, and your presence in that yellow Jenny, scared as you were, told me deep inside you were meant to be in the air.” Shannon tightened her arms around him briefly. But when she pulled back, she found the sober, reticent expression on his face had returned. Her brow furrowed in worry. “But there’s something wrong. Leroy, what is it?” He turned his back to her briefly, then slowly came back to face her. “The

Depression’s hit us hard,” he said quietly. “Business is bad. Crop dusting has all but dried up. Tourists don’t come for Sunday rides anymore. If it wasn’t for the repair work, we would have folded already. Much as we appreciate the fuel money you’re giving us for your solo flight today and those to come, it won’t stop what’s coming. It’s a question of time until we fold up shop.” Shannon put a hand to her mouth in dismay. “But what would you do?” Leroy chuckled and wiped a hand on his coveralls before sitting down and reaching for his coffee cup again. “I reckon it’d be time to retire. Always did have my sights set on a vacation to the South Seas.” She gave him a penetrating look. “You don’t want to do that,” she said quietly. Leroy shook his head. “No.” “I’ve come to know you pretty well. Airplanes are your life, your blood. There’s nothing sweeter to you than to hear the sound of a repaired engine ready to take an airplane into the air again. You can’t walk away from that. Not yet.” Leroy didn’t reply, but instead looked off to the side. She stepped forward and hugged him again. “I owe you more than I can say. I have big plans. I’m going to try to make you and Drew part of them. Please keep believing in me.” He looked at her again and managed a smile. “You know, I do.”

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It was what seemed like a long time ago to her now. Now it was senior prom night, and her date was due any minute. When she accepted his invitation, she had had to do some real pleading to get the prom committee to agree to let her bring him, and it was only because he was an alumnus they reluctantly agreed. The doorbell chimed, and Shannon’s heart skipped a beat. Sarah went to answer

while she stood posed in the living room, trying not to break out in a sweat. Sarah opened the door. Brendan McClary stood there, face reddening when he saw Shannon standing in the living room. She looked shyly at him and then away as he stepped inside at Sarah’s invitation. He was at a loss for words. He had seen her more than once, of course, but never like this. She usually didn’t seem to pay much attention to what she was wearing, and of the few times he had seen her, she was often in oily flight coveralls, with a smudge of grease on one cheek for good measure. But this wasn’t a tomboy anymore. This was a woman, flawless and beautiful, beguiling and yet shy at the same time. He managed to stammer out a greeting and compliment her on her prom gown. “It—it’s beautiful. And so are you.” Shannon put a hand to her mouth, flushed with embarrassment. “Oh please, stop.” Sarah wasn’t letting her get away with that. “There’s no denying it, Shannon, so be gracious.” Shannon took a step toward Brendan. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to being thought of as beautiful.” Brendan felt emboldened. “Then you need to look in the mirror more often.” “You don’t look so bad yourself. Nice tux.” Sarah could see the conversation was awkward. Neither one of them had practice at this rite of age. “That’s enough of this mutual iration. You can practice it later. Get on your way now. And Brendan,” she said, a noticeable change of tone in her voice, “I want Shannon back here no later than midnight.” He attempted a grin. “She won’t turn into a pumpkin if I’m late, will she?” “Very funny. Just have her back on time, or you won’t see her again. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am. Midnight.” At the car, he opened the enger door, and Shannon, by this time a bit embarrassed, got in. Brendan got in the driver’s seat and started the motor. Sarah watched the car slowly make its way down the street and disappear, then felt Charles at her side. “You tell him what I said about getting her back home?” “Yes, I told him. And thank you for letting me handle this. I didn’t want the poor boy scared to death on prom night.” Charles looked at her with a sly grin. “What, me scare him? Nah. We’d have come to a man-to-man understanding.” “Mm-hm.” She suddenly turned and put her face in his chest, breathing hard against him and grasping his shirt. “Charles, we’re losing her. She’s going to be gone before we know it.” Charles put his arms snugly around her. “It happens. Too soon, I know. But we’ll have to go through the same thing with Dot next year.” She punched him lightly in the chest. “Last time I turn to you for comfort.”

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Shannon floated across the floor of the gymnasium amid the sparkling lights as if on a cloud. She didn’t know how to dance, but Brendan seemed to have some knowhow, and she did her best to follow his lead. She was captivated by the feel of his hand at her waist, and her hand in his. It was all new. She peeked at the dancers and onlookers around her as they whirled to the music. It wasn’t hard to see her presence with Brendan was drawing looks ranging from surprise to disdain to astonishment. The blood feud between the McClarys and the Donnellys was no secret here, and some plainly found it hard

to believe she had brought him. So do I, she thought. She wasn’t sure why she had accepted his proposal to bring her to the prom. He was after all a McClary, civil exterior or not. Two years earlier, she would not have believed it possible she’d be in the arms of a McClary at her senior prom. But here she was. At a break from the music, Brendan momentarily excused himself and she found herself quickly surrounded by a group of girlfriends. “Shanni, I can’t believe you brought him!” one of them said in a loud whisper. “He brought me. It was his idea.” “But isn’t he—aren’t you—” another sputtered. “Yes and yes. But I don’t feel like hating anymore. He’s been a gentleman so far. But he’s definitely here on approval. I’ll see how it goes.”

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The punch and music flowed into a happy evening, and Shannon felt a warm glow as she sat in Brendan’s car on the way home. She wondered if he would try to kiss her and began to imagine what her response would be. But before she could decide what she’d do, they were there. Brendan got out and opened her door with all the flourish of a polished gentleman. “It’s midnight on the dot,” he said as they stood together beside the car. “Your mother will be pleased.” “Yes,” she said, stepping toward the door, where she turned to face him. “I had a wonderful time. You’ve been a gentleman all night, and it makes me feel good.” Brendan smiled. “I had a great time too. Seems like we’re good for each other.

Do you think we might get together again some time?” She gave him a broad smile. “We might.” He took her hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “I’ll look forward to it.” Then he turned away for the car. Shannon watched him go, one hand on the doorknob, and waved to him as he drove off. Phew. No kiss, she thought as she went inside.

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Josie had received her unrestricted private license too, not long after Shannon. The airplane rental company in Ontario that had refused to rent to her had had a miraculous change of heart. She received a letter notifying her of their regret for the previous incident and offering her a rental whenever she needed one. It probably had nothing to do with a discreet visit to the company from Sarah—one Josie would never hear about—whereupon she described the unholy legal hell she would unleash on them if they continued such behavior.

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And all around them, the Great Depression dragged on. The coming winter of 1932-1933 would later be regarded as the most desperate of the Depression. Banks failed by the hundreds, then the thousands. No one escaped its blanket of misery, no matter what their social strata. Charles, even as an engineer, struggled to find work. For a brief period, it looked like Sarah would have to sell her beloved car. It was averted at the last minute by Charles finding work in San Bernardino. It was far below his skills, but it was work nonetheless, more than many other men had. They reached a compromise and put Sarah’s car up on blocks in the garage. As for Sarah, she no longer changed clothes several times per day, as was the current fashion for many well-to-do ladies. She thought it

ostentatious in the face of the distress around her, and made her clothes last longer. Shannon graduated in June, and suddenly found herself adrift. But Sarah had no shortage of guidance as they sat in the den soon after. “Now you’re out of school, it’s time to seek some gainful employment and contribute to the household income.” “But what can I do? I don’t know how to do much of anything except fly or repair airplanes.” Sarah put an arm around her and waved the other arm in the direction of town. “There’s always the soda shop, the movie theater, the—” Shannon paled at the thought. “But those are just—” Sarah leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I know. But it’s nothing permanent. Just something to bring in income while you think grand thoughts about your future.” Desperate for an idea to do something that could avoid not being in the air, Shannon went to the library and leafed through aviation magazines. One after the other she went through them, with increasing dejection. They seemed devoid of anything she could put to practical use without the exotic lifestyle and high incomes of people portrayed posing by expensive, top-of-the-line aircraft. Obviously, the ments weren’t going to produce inspiration. Nor could she find an article about anything she could do aviation-wise that paid. Dismayed, she was about to leave when she reached out for one last magazine, the new issue of Popular Aviation. Wearily going through, her fingers turned a page and stopped abruptly. She looked closer, heartbeat pounding. Pictured was something she hadn’t thought of since she was sixteen, having been so busy between school, aviation classes, and license qualifying. It looked dangerous, but it could bring in money. And I can do it, she thought. Hurriedly, she put the issue back on the rack and went outside to the newsstand down the street where she bought the same issue, then hopped on the bus for home. As the bus rolled along, she thought about how she could properly present the idea to Sarah and Charles. There was a chance they might not like it, but surely when they saw she could bring in money for the household—and for Drew and

Leroy too—it might be they’d agree to it. She had to broach the subject carefully, which she did that night after dinner. Sarah’s response was definitely not what she was hoping for. She sat quietly, going over the article intently while Shannon fidgeted. Finally she looked up, a sober expression on her face. “There’s no way on God’s green earth I’m going to agree to that.” She closed the magazine and put it down. “When I think about all the time and trouble we’ve been through—I—it’s that you’ve come so far, and to see you risk everything now with this—” That didn’t go well. I was hoping for more understanding. Charles came home and Sarah held up the article to him. He was even less agreeable, face turning a shade of red. “Shannon, I know you have ambition, and we value that in you highly. But air racing? This is dangerous!” Shannon was by now exasperated. “What isn’t dangerous when I’m in the air? You know I’m going to fly, one way or another. This can bring in money.” “If you win or place,” Charles countered. He moved closer and put a hand on her shoulder. “Daughter, you could also die. I read the newspapers. I’ve seen articles about these races. Air racing can be fatal. Flying at high speed barely 200 feet above the ground, making tight turns around pylons on a closed course within a few wingspans of other airplanes—something bad is bound to happen sooner or later. Pilots make mistakes, airplanes come apart in the air—” He couldn’t finish, sighing and stepping back. “We love you far too much to see you risk your life in these races,” Sarah said. “I’m sorry; I can’t give my approval to this venture.” “Neither can I,” Charles said. “It’s great you want to bring in money. But we won’t let you risk your life this way.” There was a heavy, uncomfortable quiet for long moments in which Shannon felt a spark of her old rebellious nature coming back.

“I’m nearly nineteen. I can do what I want.” Sarah and Charles looked at each other. Sarah made a hand gesture to Charles: it’s yours now. Charles took in a deep breath and sank into a chair across from Shannon. “Yes, legally, you can do what you want. And when it comes right down to it, we can’t stop you.” He sighed. “But if you defy us on this, that doesn’t mean you can continue to live in this house.” Shannon looked up, fear on her features. “You’d kick me out?” Sarah was by now tearful. “Shannon, think about it tonight, okay? Just think about it, please?” Shannon stood up and went upstairs to her room. Sarah sank heavily onto the sofa and looked at Charles. “There are times when I think all we’ve done the last few years is temporarily tame a wild animal.” Charles nodded and got up to sit next to her, putting his arms around her and pulling her closer. “And now the taming is wearing off.” Shannon’s sleep that night was restless; she woke time and again roiled with emotions. She knew Sarah and Charles didn’t deserve what she was asking them to agree to. And she regretted saying she could do what she wanted to now she was nearly nineteen. Charles’ response had left her shaken. The thought of being told to leave terrified her. They had given her so much, and now she showed her appreciation with—defiance. Still, some raging spark of ambition wouldn’t let her dismiss the idea completely. Despite her remorse, it was as if a little demon sat on one shoulder whispering into her ear: You could always live with Drew and Leroy out at the hangar. The next morning, she came downstairs and apologized for her rudeness. She thought she detected a slight coolness in their response. Miserable, she asked to borrow the car to take a trip out to the hangar. She had gotten her driver’s license the previous summer, but with the Depression, opportunities to drive had been severely curtailed.

“I need to talk to Drew and Leroy about this,” she said to Sarah. Sarah glanced up from the kitchen sink, where she had been depositing the dishes. Looking into her daughter’s eyes, she could see the longing for the advice of her closest friends. “All right. It’s a Sunday; we won’t need the car this afternoon. You may go but be extra careful; you haven’t driven in a while. And just to the hangar, nowhere else, and be back in two hours. Understand?” Shannon nodded agreement with a smile. “I promise. Two hours it is.”

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To her surprise, Drew was also less than enthusiastic when she showed him the article. And Leroy was just plain opposed to it. “For one thing, what airplane you plan on using?” Leroy asked her point blank. “One of the Jennys, I was thinking. With your permission, of course. Maybe I could bring in enough money to keep you going here.” He frowned. “You haven’t thought this thing through, have you? The Jennys are getting old. They shouldn’t be doing the stressful maneuvers air racing puts on the airframe. They could come apart in the air on you.” “But—” “I’ve seen it happen. And I don’t ever want to see it again. ’Specially with you in the cockpit.” Drew was as blunt about the idea as Leroy had been. “I’m surprised you’d even consider doing this to my sister—and your mother, now,” he said. “She and Charles pretty much saved your life.” Shannon frowned, head down. “Charles threatened to throw me out of the

house.” “I’m not surprised.” She looked at him plaintively. “If he did, I could live with you and Leroy here at the hangar, couldn’t I?” Drew shook his head. “No, you couldn’t” “Why not? I did before.” The look he gave her made her uncomfortable. “That was then; you were a young girl. A lot has changed in the last few years. Including you.” “Yeah, but—” It was Drew’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Shannon, you’re not a girl anymore. You’ve been so wrapped up in aviation you haven’t even realized it yet, but it’s time you did. You’re a traffic-stopping woman who can turn heads wherever she goes. Any man who sees you is likely to want you.” There was a long pause. “Including me.” Shannon turned her head to hide the flush of embarrassment on her cheeks. “You mean—” “I do. I’m no different from other men in that respect. I’m very attracted to you.” Her cheeks turned a brighter shade of red and she looked away as she put her head down, staring at the floor. “Oh.” “I don’t mean to embarrass you,” he went on. “But you can see now why you can’t stay here anymore. That time has ed.” She sat morosely without speaking. Finally she got up and turned to leave. “Shannon.” She stopped in mid-stride but didn’t turn to face him. “Please understand I’ve always respected that head on your shoulders. You’re driven, and you’re gifted for flight. You’re going to be great at it someday. And

I’ll help you get there if you’ll let me. But you have to understand how men see you now. How I see you. And act accordingly.” He stepped close and put his hands on her shoulders. “Okay?” She nodded, gave him a quick smile, and walked away. It appeared her dream of air racing was over before it started.

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There was no hiding her disappointment once she got back home. Sarah noticed it the moment Shannon came in the door and plopped herself dejectedly down on the sofa in the den. She came over quietly and sat down next to her. “You look disappointed from your trip to the hangar. Did you talk to them about air racing?” Shannon nodded. “I can guess they weren’t enthusiastic about the idea either.” Shannon nervously intertwined her fingers and shook her head. Sarah looked at her for a moment. Hmm. That isn’t all. “Was there something else?” Shannon hesitated, searching for the right words. “I told Drew Dad threatened to throw me out if I went ahead with the air racing.” Sarah put her hand on Shannon’s. “He didn’t actually say that.” “I thought if Dad kicked me out, I could stay at the hangar if I had to. But—but Drew said I couldn’t stay there anymore.” She paused. “Because of—of what I look like now.” “What? What exactly did he say?” “He said I’m a beautiful woman men are attracted to.”

Sarah could see Shannon was having trouble with this new vision of herself. “Dear, it’s true. I wasn’t sure you realized it yet. Looks like Drew said it first.” Shannon was still twisting her fingers. “And he said that he was attracted to me too. That’s why I couldn’t stay there.” Sarah couldn’t resist a smile. “At least he was honest. I could wonder what the nature of my brother’s attraction is, but that’s a subject for another time.” She leaned over and put both arms around Shannon, pulling her close. Shannon didn’t resist. “I could use some of that attraction,” Dot put in from the bottom of the stairs. She had been listening undetected. Sarah gave her a gesture that conveyed not now. Then she turned back to Shannon, stroking her hair. “Listen, daughter, he was right. You are beautiful. You’re a head-turner, that’s for sure. And I’ll tell you right now it’s something you’re going to have to deal with most of your life. It will color everything you do.” She drew back and looked into Shannon’s face, stroking back loose strands of hair from her forehead. “But being beautiful can have its advantages. Some things will come easier for you. You need to how men see you and be aware of their motives.” Shannon pulled away. “But do you—do you think Brendan’s like that?” Sarah shook her head. “Everything I see about him so far tells me he’s not. He looks to be a gentleman, and I think he’ll be respectful of you above anything else. Time will tell. I hope you’ll give him that time.” She searched Shannon’s eyes. “Do you like him?” “I think so.” Sarah drew back. “You know, there’s something you’re overdue for. I want to show you everything I know about how to make the most of the natural beauty you have, if you’ll let me. How to dress, walk, apply makeup, how to engage in conversation, and more. Can we do that together?” “Yes. I think I’ll like being beautiful.”

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To everyone’s surprise, perhaps even his, Charles proposed another idea when he came home that night and heard what had happened out at the hangar. He gathered everyone into the den. “I’ve been thinking, and I’ve decided I was too harsh with you, Shannon, when I hinted you might not be able to live here if you pursued this air racing idea. I’m sorry I put it so bluntly. I don’t want to get in the way of your dreams. But it’s our job to do everything we can to keep you safe while you’re still with us. We can only give you our best advice. You should take a closer look at air racing, and then see what you think. There’s a race over in Los Angeles next weekend.” He turned to look at the rest of them. “I say we all go and give Shannon a chance to see it up close. Then we’ll take things from there. What do you think?” “I’ll go!” Dot said. “That would be exciting.” “I guess we could,” Sarah said. “I’ll have to get used to the idea between now and then.” She shot Charles a frosty We’ll talk about this later look the girls didn’t see. Shannon got up and hugged her dad. “Thank you,” she murmured.

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When the girls were in bed, Sarah expressed her discontent about not being consulted first about the trip. “We’re supposed to be trying to put out this fire, not stoke it.” “Yeah, about that, I’m sorry I didn’t check with you first. After I saw the notice in the newspaper, it seemed like a good idea. Maybe it’s not. But look, she’s an adult now. We can’t stomp on her dreams indefinitely.”

“I agree, but we shouldn’t encourage her either, if those dreams are dangerous. We don’t know what her response is going to be if she sees a race in person. And hinting we might turn her out if she pursues this is a self-defeating proposition. She’d only be on her own and still determined to do it, but without any guidance from us. That’s even worse than letting her pursue it with our guidance. If she’s determined, she’s going to do it one way or another, with us or without us.” “All true, and do you realize you talked yourself into ing my position?” “Oh. I guess I did.” She sighed. “Can we afford the trip?” “We can. I would never have brought it up otherwise.”

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Long rows of bright gaily-colored flags fluttered in a slight breeze at the race site outside of Los Angeles as the Pearsons arrived early on a Saturday morning. The vast grandstands were already filling with people, precursors of a crowd that would top 100,000 before the races got under way. Shannon embraced the excitement heavy in the air, and her pulse rate went up. She looked up and down the racecourse at the fifty-foot high pylons that marked the near end of it. It was configured much like an automobile racetrack. Charles guided the women up to an elevated part of the grandstands, and all took seats. Except Shannon. “I want to have a look around,” she said. “Take Dot with you,” Sarah said. “She’d enjoy it. We’ll hold your seats.” “Sure. C’mon, Dot, let’s look for something exciting.” Once down on ground level, Shannon headed straight for the racing airplanes paddock. She felt a thrill run through her as she and Dot got close to the long rows of racers. There were a myriad of colors and configurations, with a mixture

of biplane and monoplane. Some of the craft were emblazoned with the symbols and names of sponsors. “I’ve heard of that company,” Dot said, pointing to one of the planes. “Why is their name on the side of this plane?” “I think they’re advertising their brand. In exchange for their name on the plane, they help pay for the cost of racing the plane. Which is probably a lot.” They saw several Jennys and a Ryan Stearman, but Shannon didn’t recognize most of the aircraft. One caught her eye. It was drawing a crowd of irers. Pushing her way into the mass and leaving Dot behind, she got a better look. She’d never seen one of these in person. It was a monoplane, short, stubby, and fat-looking, with an enormous engine, and an unusually rearward cockpit with a small stubby vertical stabilizer close behind it. In truth, it looked more like a flying engine, the rest of the aircraft an afterthought. “I think it looks tubby,” said Dot, who had managed to squirm her way to the front. “Like a blimp with wings. I wonder if it can really fly. What is it?” “I think I’ve seen pictures of these in the aviation magazines. It’s a Gee Bee. I read they’re dangerous. Let’s go see the rest.” They made the rounds of all the aircraft on display, stopping to gawk at another craft that had drawn a crowd. This one, another monoplane with a teardropshaped fuselage, had wings like Shannon had never seen. They were shaped like seagull wings, riward from the fuselage before going outward, giving them the same arch that a bird wing would have. In the rear, the horizontal stabilizers were oval-shaped. It was hard to find a straight line anywhere on the fuselage. All this was topped off with a paint job of glossy red and plentiful markings. Dot was transfixed. “What in the name of Creation is that?” “Hmm,” Shannon mused as she read the sign. “The sign says it’s a Hall Bulldog. It reminds me of a moth as much as an airplane.” “I hope it wins!” Dot said with a smile. “It’s my favorite. Hey, I’m thirsty. Let’s go to the concession stand.”

“Not yet,” Shannon said, eyeing something farther down the row of bright planes. A small crowd was gathered around one of the airplanes they had not yet seen. “Come on,” she said, “let’s see what the commotion’s about.” As they neared the small crowd, Shannon could see they were talking with a pilot. And it was a woman. She immediately found her way up to the rope separating the crowd from the pilot, who was standing in front of a gaily painted Granville Gee Bee Zee monoplane, her name painted beside the front cockpit, and a big number “21” on the tail. Leaning over the rope, Shannon called out to the woman. “Hey, I’m a pilot too!” The woman turned her head at the sound and sauntered over to Shannon, ignoring the rest of the crowd. She was short, curvy, and blonde, a ponytail laying across one shoulder. With perfectly painted fingernails, flawless makeup, a scarf set rakishly around her neck, and fashionable flight jacket and pants, she was the picture of every female pilot Shannon had ever seen in the aviation magazine ments. “Hello,” she said, offering her hand. “Always glad to welcome another sister to the skies. I’m Nancy Farris.” Shannon was thrilled to be shaking hands with a female racer. “Shannon Donnelly. Is that your plane?” she said. “Nobody else’s,” Nancy said. “Been racing her this year.” “Miss Farris, if you don’t mind me saying, that looks like a lot of airplane for a woman. Have you won any races?” she blurted out before realizing the question might be inappropriate. Farris smiled broadly, displaying perfect teeth. “Not yet. I’m still learning to handle it.” She brightened. “But today is my day. Who knows? A win today and Hollywood might come calling. Wish me luck!” With that, she turned away and went over to greet other irers. Dot leaned close with a look of distaste on her face. “She looks like she stepped off the pages of Marie-Claire. Too much makeup.”

“I guess it’s all part of the package of attracting attention. And sponsors, I’ll bet.” Dot punched Shannon’s arm lightly. “The concession stand? Now?” The girls fought their way through the mob to the front at the concession stand, ordered food and drinks, and took them back to Charles and Sarah. “There’s still time left before the races start,” Shannon said. “I’m going to go down and look around more.” “Okay but stay close. We want you to spend some time with us when the races start,” Charles said. Sarah nodded. “Go on, and have fun.” Shannon skipped down the steps and went loping down to one end of the grandstand area. In fact, something had caught her eye as she and Dot were coming back from the concession stand. Down at one end of the grandstands was a shiny Ford Tri Motor, with a big crowd gathered around. She wanted a closer look. Taller than many in the crowd, she could see from the back what the fuss was about—besides the Ford Tri Motor, that is, a major attraction in itself. There was a woman standing on the stairs descending from the enger cabin. She recognized her right away as the top female aviator in the country. She longed to get closer and be able to talk to her, but the crowd around the woman was tightly packed and noisily engaged in hurling questions. Shannon decided to look over the Tri Motor instead. She circled around one end of the crowd and got close to the fuselage. The airplane was like a vision from tomorrow come to earth. She gazed up in wonder at the three big radial engines, looking ruggedly powerful with their exposed cylinders and shiny teardropshaped casings behind the two engines under the wings. It was exotic, visionary, intimidating, and beguiling, all at the same time. She looked closely at how the broad wings were set, the lines of the fuselage, the placement of the high cockpit, the tail and undercarriage, until seemingly every facet of the big aircraft had fallen under her inquisitive gaze. Stepping back from the airplane, she could see the crowd around the famous

aviator had not lessened, and decided she had no chance of getting close. Reluctantly she walked off and came across another example of the Gee Bee she had seen earlier with Dot. She leaned on the top rail of a fence surrounding it. It looks hard to fly, she thought. “Stay away from those,” sounded a voice behind her. “They’re fast, but very dangerous.” Shannon turned with a start, and her eyes got big at sight of a tall, slender woman with short dark hair—the woman who had been standing on the steps of the Tri-Motor! She had managed to get away from the crowd. Shannon’s mouth opened but she was suddenly tongue-tied at standing before the most famous female aviator in the nation. The woman put forth a hand. “Louise Thaden.” The right words, any words, wouldn’t come. All she could say was, “I know.” Then: “Oh! I’m sorry.” She thrust out her own hand and shook the woman’s own. “Shannon Donnelly.” Thaden seemed pleased. “You know who I am.” Shannon’s face flushed with excitement. “What woman pilot doesn’t? You won the Powder Puff Derby in 1929.” “Oh, you’re a pilot too?” Thaden spoke with a gentle, disarming voice. “I sensed that.” Shannon was still having trouble finding her words. “Y-Yes ma’am. I have a private pilot’s license. I wanted to get close to you earlier, but the crowd was too thick. I didn’t expect you to come to me.” She raised a hand to her face in embarrassment. “I noticed you looking over the Tri Motor. Everyone else was looking at me, which I’ve had more than enough of. But you were studying the airplane intently, and it looked like you knew what you were looking at. Then I saw you gazing at the Gee Bee. I wanted to get away and find out who you were. You do stand out in a crowd.” Thaden paused for a moment, making Shannon squirm under her gaze. “I’m here on a publicity obligation. But what brings you to the

races today?” Shannon couldn’t believe her good fortune. She was talking one-on-one with Louise Thaden, but was barely keeping her nerves in check. “I, uh, want to try my hand at air racing. This is my first chance to see it in person.” Thaden’s expression changed to a more somber look. “Walk with me.” Shannon stumbled her feet into gear and fell in alongside Thaden. They headed for an area behind the grandstands, and Thaden stopped when they appeared to be momentarily isolated from the crowd. She turned to Shannon. “We need more women in aviation. Finally, the men are letting us in, letting us compete, bit by bit. But you don’t want to do this.” Shannon was crestfallen. She had expected encouragement. “It’s far too dangerous,” Thaden continued. “I’ve traveled to too many of these spectacles. This is the last season I’m going to do it. I’ve seen too many bad things happen.” She paused and looked away. “I’ve seen too many pilots die. I hope we can get through this day without another.” Shannon rested her arms on the fence before her, looking away at the crowds. She couldn’t look at Thaden. “It looks so exciting and glamorous in the magazines. I thought it would be a good place to prove women can fly as well as men.” “Has anyone else encouraged you to do this?” Pause. Then: “No. My parents are against it. So are my mechanic and the man who taught me to fly.” Thaden put a hand on the top of the fence, looking out at part of the racecourse. “I’d start listening to them. So many things can happen, and at this low altitude there’s little margin for error. Flying so low, a bird strike is always a possibility. An oil leak might obscure your wind screen. Or the stresses of the turns might be too much for your airframe. These airplanes weren’t made to take this treatment. Or there might be a collision. The competition in the turns makes for some tight flying at times, and with the Depression, some pilots are desperate enough for the prize money to get aggressive and throw caution to the winds. Some of the

more powerful unlimited class airplanes have engines turning out one thousand horsepower. They can do three hundred miles an hour on the straight. When those pilots come screaming in for the pylon, the gravitational forces on those tight turns can make them light-headed. And that’s dangerous.” She turned back to Shannon. “Don’t do it, my dear. I’d bet on a bright future for you in aviation. Don’t jeopardize it with this nonsense. The purses aren’t big enough to make the risk worth it.” She could see Shannon was considerably deflated. “Shannon, I want you to keep in touch. Here’s my private mailing address.” She fished a card from a pocket of her coat. “Please keep it confidential and write to me from time to time. Tell me what you’re doing.” She pressed the card into Shannon’s hand. “I’d like to know.” She gave Shannon a brief hug and was gone. Shannon stood along the fence for how long she didn’t know, staring out at the racecourse through a break in the grandstands. She felt she’d blown the unexpected encounter, the type of chance meeting that every young female aviator dreams of. But then again, maybe it wasn’t chance. Thaden had sought her out. Maybe the message she gave her was meant to be. Still, she was disappointed. She stood there mulling it over in her mind, looking at the crowd and the airplanes around her until she was interrupted by the announcer calling for the assembly of competitors for the first race. Charles had been studying the program while she was gone. “The race is ten miles long,” he told them. “There are eight laps, each lap being one and a quarter miles around. The airplanes go around this long oval course, turning tightly around the pylons at this end and the other. Look way down there in the distance and you can see the pylon at the far end of the course. It’s like the Indy 500, but in the air. The start and finish line is here in front of us. They’re going to use the new mass start today, where every plane starts at once, so it should be exciting to see. “There’ll be different classes racing today,” Charles added. “Some of the classes will be limited, meaning they all have about the same power. Pilot skill is important in those. But the big races are the unlimited ones.” “What’s that mean?” Dot said.

“It means that as far as power and design, anything goes,” he said with a smile. “Any crate you can put in the air, as long as it’s certified for flight, with whatever power you can achieve, is eligible. For those, racing is also a proving ground for advances in aircraft design.” Sarah gave Charles a poke in the ribs to stop the lecture. “The engineer in you is showing, honey.” “I wanted to make them informed as to how it all—oh, never mind.” Starting time for the first race neared, and Shannon looked over the program. She was thrilled to see that the fifth race featured a woman among the pilots. In fact, it was Nancy Farris, whom she had talked to a short while before. She immediately decided she would cheer for her. Soon the gaily painted biplanes were lined up across a broad field at the starting grid. At the starter’s signal, they rolled forward and took to the air, quickly reaching the turn around the first pylon. Then they were off down the back straightaway. Shannon looked in her program and followed the progress of the racers with each turn. A yellow Laird Super Solution won the first race, piloted by a rookie. A Beech Travel Air Mystery Ship the second. So far, Shannon noted, there had been no issues in the air. She hoped Louise Thaden would get her wish for a trouble-free day. But it was not to be. In the fourth race, one of the racers returned from the far end of the course with his windscreen obscured by a thick film of oil leaking from the engine. Shannon could see the pilot desperately wiping his goggles clear and swiping at the windscreen as he approached the pylon. It apparently didn’t help as he turned inside the pylon, lost altitude, and went straight off the course. He didn’t quite clear the top of an outlying building in his path. The undercarriage sheared off, and the engine, out of oil and smoking, coughed to a stop. The airplane sank to the ground in a long glide, slamming ungracefully into the desert soil, and came to a shuddering halt on its nose as the propeller shattered against the ground. The crowd gasped in horror at the sight but breathed a sigh of relief as the pilot jumped from the cockpit and staggered clear of the wreck just before it caught fire.

Charles looked at Sarah, who had a hand to her mouth in dismay. An unspoken message of We didn’t come to see this flashed between them. Dot put hands to her face in surprise. Shannon looked at the burning wreck, her expression unreadable. Then she shrugged it off and checked the program for the next race. This was the one with the female pilot, Nancy Farris. When the airplanes hit the start line, she jumped to her feet, yelling and clapping her hands for Farris. Farris came zooming up on the first lap among the lead group. After four laps, she was closing in on the leader, and Shannon’s excitement grew. By the next time around, she could see the airplanes on approach and Farris’s Gee Bee Zee had taken the lead. She yelled encouragement as the gaily colored airplane flashed past the grandstands, first into the pylon turn. Farris completed the turn and zoomed off down the back leg of the course in the clear blue sky, pursuers in her wake. Only three laps to go. Shannon stood and strained to see into the distance at the far turn. This would be the day Farris would win, she was sure. A woman would triumph; there would be another aviation milestone. In the distance she could see the flight of airplanes approaching, bearing down on the pylon at ferocious speed. Farris was still in the lead! In mere seconds, her plane flashed past; Shannon was jumping up and down and screaming encouragement. In a heartbeat, everything changed. Farris turned tightly around the pylon and was still in the turn on the far side when her airplane’s right wing sheared off. Shannon watched in speechless horror as Farris’s airplane dove and started cartwheeling across the ground on the remaining wing. Three, four times it spun. On the last rotation Farris was ejected, spinning through the air onto the ground ahead of the airplane, which exploded in a ball of fire. Horrified, Dot put her head between the grandstand seats and threw up. Sarah turned pale and Charles put his arms around her. Shannon, weak in the knees, sank to her seat and put her head in her hands, crying. In the distance, ambulances and fire engines raced toward the wreck, sirens blaring. All the racers remaining in the air were radioed to touch down on their next approach.

Shannon felt sick. The woman whom she had talked to an hour or so before, the vivacious and confident air pioneer, was almost certainly dead. There would be no triumph for women today. The thin line between life and death had once again proved all too easily crossed. “We’re leaving,” Charles said, and stood up as Sarah embraced a crying Dot. “I didn’t bring you girls here to be exposed to this. Let’s go.” They descended the grandstands and ed a crowd of others also headed for the exits. Once in the car, Charles maneuvered through the milling vehicles and got back on the highway. There was an uncomfortable quiet on the way home. No one felt like talking. As she sat in the back seat with Dot, Shannon looked out the window, eyes on the ing landscape but not seeing it. Her mind was elsewhere, with a curvy, confident blonde and her airplane, with Louise Thaden and her advice, with the racers who had challenged the air that day and lost. Where she would go from here she did not know.

10

There was a subdued atmosphere in the house after they returned home from the air races. Sarah comforted Dot, who was still badly shaken by what she had seen. Charles and Shannon huddled in the kitchen. “I’m so sorry for what we saw,” he said. “I didn’t want you girls to experience something like that. And I didn’t bring all of us there to prove a point to you. I don’t want to discourage you from flying. I hope you believe me.” “I do,” Shannon said quietly. “The point was proven, all the same. But I don’t blame you for it.” She reached a hand to him. “I love you, Dad.” Charles took her in his arms, stroking her hair as she put her head on his shoulder. “You’re going to do something great someday. And there’ll be danger along the way. But I’ll be right there, in spirit if not in person.” The newspaper the next morning brought news of the accidents. The male pilot who had grazed the outbuilding and plowed into the ground was bruised and shaken, but all right. The female pilot who had been ejected upon crashing was taken to the hospital unconscious, but the doctors couldn’t save her. Nancy Farris was dead. Shannon was sitting on the back patio in late afternoon, playing with a loose strand of hair as she stared vacantly into the distance when the telephone rang. Sarah answered it, listened for a moment, then stuck her head out the door. “Shannon, it’s Brendan.” Shannon didn’t answer for a moment, then said listlessly, “I don’t want to talk to anybody right now.” A second later her head snapped up. “Wait!” She bounded out of the chair and headed for the kitchen, taking the receiver from Sarah, who discreetly left. “Hello?”

“I heard about the air race yesterday. I ed you said you were going. I’m sorry you saw the tragedy.” Shannon sighed. “Yeah, thanks, it was pretty scary. I don’t know that I’ll be trying that sort of thing.” She took a deep breath. “Say, could you give me a lift out to Kazminski Aviation if you’re not busy? I need to be out there today.” “Sure thing. See you in twenty.” Shannon put the receiver back into its cradle and ran upstairs to get a light jacket. She was flying down the stairs two at a time when Sarah held up her hands. “Whoa, what’s this? Going somewhere?” Shannon stopped at the bottom, buttoning up the lower button on her jacket. “If it’s all right with you, I need to go out to the hangar. Brendan said he’d take me.” Sarah looked at her for a moment. Then a doubtful expression crossed her face. “Shannon, this isn’t a good idea.” “No? Why not?” “Hmm. I shouldn’t spell everything out for you. I’ll let you think about it for a while.” Shannon mentally ran through Sarah’s possible objections as she waited. Maybe it was her state of mind. She had been rather down in the dumps since the air race. And no wonder, she thought. I saw a woman die. Or maybe she’s worried I’ll take a plane up and do something foolish. She should know me better than that. Or maybe she doesn’t. I—. She was interrupted by the sound of Brendan’s car pulling up outside. “See you later,” she called to Sarah, and was out the door. Brendan started to get out to open the car door for her, but Shannon hopped in on her own. “Thanks anyway,” she said. “And thanks in advance for the ride.” If Brendan was put off by her abrupt entry into the car, he didn’t let it show. Shannon was silent as they drove out to the hangar. Brendan could feel a strange

atmosphere about her and was content to remain the same. As they drove up to the hangar a short while later, Shannon saw Drew leaning against the wall near the front doors. And then Sarah’s objection hit her like a bolt of lightning. Shanna, you dolt! She clutched her head tightly and banged it against the dashboard. Too late she realized what Sarah had been trying to warn her about. There were two men who had eyes for her, maybe only for her, and she had brought them face to face. Brendan looked at her in alarm as he brought the car to a halt. “Something wrong?” Shannon, still clutching her head, gasped, “Nothing I can do anything about.” She did her best to compose herself as she got out of the car. “If you say so.” Drew gave her a quizzical look as he walked over to the car. “What’s up, fly girl?” Shannon sighed and gathered herself as best she could. “Drew, this is my friend Brendan McClary.” Drew stuck out his hand. “So we finally meet. Been hearing a lot about you.” Brendan shook his hand. “Likewise. Heard you taught Shannon how to fly.” The handshake lasted longer than one might expect, Shannon thought, as she watched the two men sizing each other up. Shanna, you are such an idiot. Well, there’s nothing to be done for it now. “What brings you out?” Drew said. “I heard about the air race yesterday. Too damned tragic. And it happens too often in those things.” Shannon sobered. “Yeah, I was there. Not something I want to see again.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I was wondering if I could rent one of the Jennys for a flight.” Drew seemed to ponder the question.

“You know I’m good for it,” Shannon said. “Figured you could use the rental money.” Shannon still had nearly all of the money she had received from the sale of part of the Donnelly property. It was hers, though most of the time she let Sarah guide her on its use. Drew looked at her with an expression she couldn’t read, then turned his head to Leroy, standing over in one corner of the hangar at his workbench. Leroy nodded almost imperceptibly. “Yeah, okay. Is he going?” he said, indicating Brendan. Shannon looked as if the idea hadn’t occurred to her. Maybe it would be a good thing, she thought. I want him to know he can trust me. She turned to Brendan. “Would you like to go up with me?” Brendan looked from her out to the airstrip where the airplanes sat. “Ah, suuure,” he said, his answer drawn out by inescapable doubt. “Be happy to!” Drew looked anything but happy. “Take the yellow Jenny,” he said. “I’ll prep her for you.” Shannon rooted around in the flight clothing locker and came up with flight jackets for both of them. “Here, try this on,” she told Brendan. He did, and it fit well enough. With Drew out of earshot, he looked at her doubtfully. “This a spur-of-themoment thing?” Shannon finished pulling on her flight jacket. “I’m sorry. It kinda is. I didn’t mean to put you in a tough position. I was in a mood after the races yesterday. I felt this strange pull to be in the air, to prove to myself I can fly safely. And after I asked you to get me out here, I think I owe you something. If you don’t want to go, it’s okay to change your mind.” Brendan stepped forward and put his big hands on her shoulders. “It’s all right. I’ll go. I like to be with you.” He brought his face closer. “And I trust you.” He leaned in and kissed her. Her body seemed to take on a will of its own as it responded involuntarily, lips pressing into his without hesitation. Then it was over as they drew apart.

There it is, she thought. First kiss between us. I like it. She looked away shyly. “I need to concentrate on flying now.” Brendan nodded, a wave of excitement flooding his senses and then washing away. “Sure thing. Sorry.” She smiled. “It’s no problem.” They walked out to the flight line where Drew was waiting. “Is she ready?” Shannon said. “Yep. I’ll turn it over to you now. Best not do any aerobatics today. Wouldn’t want your enger to lose his lunch.” He winked at her. Shannon stepped close to Drew where only he could hear her. “Just stop. You’re trying to scare him. It’ll be strait and level all the way.” Drew gave her a flip of a salute and stepped back. She turned to Brendan. “Don’t mind him, he’s—well, a little rude.” Brendan looked at Drew’s retreating figure with raised eyebrows. “If you say so.” She ran through her standard pre-flight checklist, then got Brendan buckled into the harness in the front cockpit. “I’m putting you up front so you can signal me if you need to. If at any time you want to return to the ground, stick out your arm and point down. It might be easier than trying to hear you. Okay?” Brendan gave her a smile and a thumbs-up. “Pull your flight goggles down and make sure they’re secure.” He did and nodded affirmatively. “We’re going to start the engine now,” she said, as Drew walked up to the front of the Jenny. He gracefully moved the prop backward and forward a couple of times, then shouted, “!” and gave it a mighty heave. It caught

immediately. Shannon jumped into the rear cockpit, fastened her harness snugly, and pulled down her flight goggles. She gave Drew the thumbs-out sign to pull the wheel chocks, and he did. She waited a few minutes for the engine to warm up, then moved slowly over the dirt to the starting point. The sun was on its downward arc when she lifted the yellow biplane into the still air of a desert evening. She climbed slowly to 3,000 feet, then leveled out and headed west. She could see Brendan in the front cockpit looking down at the landscape ing beneath. Content to drift through the dusky sky, she flew out over the coastline, breakers crashing onto the sand far below them. When they saw late beachgoers enjoying the waning rays of the sun, she knew it was time to turn back. She couldn’t afford to be in the air if darkness fell. The Jenny had no landing lights, nor did the hangar have any runway lights to mark its presence among the expanse of cactus and desert willow. If they lost their way, they might wander above the desert in the dark, desperately searching for a landing place on a desert floor she couldn’t see. The trip back was serene as they glided across the dry landscape underneath the evening sky, the air golden from dust. She called out to Brendan and he responded with two hearty thumbs-up. She was glad he was enjoying himself but regretted springing the idea on him with no warning. I’m not trying to test him, she told herself. But a nagging little voice inside told her maybe she was. The purple shadows of twilight were gathering below them when she brought the Jenny home for a silky-smooth landing and rolled up to the hangar. She went through shut-down procedure and the engine fell silent. Drew rose up from putting the wheel chocks in place. “Show-off! Nice landing.” “Sure, because I knew you were watching.” She jumped out of the cockpit and helped Brendan safely do the same. He took off his flight helmet with a grin of delight. “Fantastic! I’ve never been flying before, and I didn’t imagine it would be such fun.” “I hope I didn’t scare you.” “I have to it the takeoff was unnerving, but once we were in the air, I never

doubted you as my pilot.” They walked back to the hangar, where she asked Brendan to wait in the car while she finished business inside. He walked off and she went over to Drew. “I owe you one,” she said. “I didn’t intend for this to happen. I wasn’t thinking.” To her relief, Drew didn’t look angry. “At least I got a look at the competition. I can see I don’t have anything to worry about.” Shannon punched him in the arm. “You egomaniac! Competition exists only in your fevered imagination.” “Sure, if you say so.” She walked out to the waiting car and Brendan. Night had fallen and they drove home with the windows rolled down to bring in the cooler air. Once back at the Pearson house, Brendan jumped out and opened the door for her before she could do it herself. They walked up to the front door of the house together. “Thanks for a great time,” he said, leaning toward her. She put a gentle hand on his chest. “Your first kiss was nice, but let me think about it for a while before the next one, okay?” Brendan was visibly deflated, but he retained his gentlemanly manners, wished her a good evening and drove off down the dark street.

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The reality of the ongoing Depression came crashing back onto her the next morning. She had her pilot’s license, but now what? She’d seen the folly of pylon air racing, Leroy and Drew were about to shut down their business, and she couldn’t keep renting airplanes to fly. Everything she’d been aiming for

seemed derailed. She went downstairs, dreading more of Sarah’s prodding about finding a job. She, a licensed pilot, working at the soda fountain? It wasn’t right. To top it all off, now there was another complication. She sought out Sarah in the kitchen, got a cup of coffee, and sat, looking down into her cup. “Brendan kissed me.” “Hmm. I’m not surprised,” Sarah replied, taking a sip of her coffee. “Was it before or after the flight?” “Before.” “Shannon, whether you intended it or not, that flight was a strong move. It ups the ante in your relationship. In effect, you asked him to trust you with his life. Maybe the kiss was to show you he did.” “Oh. I guess I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to men.” “Don’t worry; you’re following your natural instincts.” She put her cup down on the table and gave her a penetrating look. “I think you wanted him with you in that airplane.” Shannon broke a ghost of a smile. “Yeah, I guess I did.” Sarah reached out and took Shannon’s hand in hers. “Just take it easy. Let things develop as they will—or as they won’t. This all may fall by the wayside. You’re young yet, and you have plenty of time to get into something serious. But now is not that time.” Shannon sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.” She squeezed Sarah’s hand. “Thanks, Mom.” She pushed her chair back from the kitchen table with a sigh. “Guess I’ll go downtown and apply for work at the soda fountain.”

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Shannon filled the last order of her afternoon shift at Gruber’s Soda Shack and

went into the back room to wearily remove her apron and sit down. She put her head in her hands for a moment, then sat back in the chair, the blessed relief of being off her feet washing over her. She had been at the job for two months. It was a block down the street from the high school, and it was common for her old high school friends to drop in. None of them seemed to look down on what she was doing, since with the Depression on, any job was worthwhile. If there was any emotion from them, it was envy she had a job while others didn’t. But it was no help for the melancholy that lurked in the back of her consciousness. Sometimes on her breaks, if she was sitting outside, she would hear an airplane overhead, and a desperate longing to be in the air would rush over her. I should be up there. She would be subdued the rest of the day. She hadn’t expected to get the job, but it was as if the owner was waiting for her to walk in the door. She had no doubt she had been hired at least in part for her looks. She curtly deflected the not-infrequent come-ons from the boys who came in to sit at the counter, doing her job with a dogged efficiency. She thanked her lucky stars Brendan hadn’t shown up yet, though she knew it was a matter of time. He had called her not long after their airplane flight, but since she took the job at Gruber’s she hadn’t felt much like talking to him and had not called back. What would he think of me if he saw me now? she ruminated. Here’s the glamorous female pilot, queen of the skies, grounded as a soda jerk. She tried to steel herself against that inevitable encounter. But nothing could have prepared her for what awaited when she came back from break. The counter was busy, filled with customers from one end to the other. “All yours!” her co-worker Millie, a bouncy girl with a head of black curls, said with false cheer as she headed for the back room. “Mind the guy at the far end. He’s been in before, and he’s always a jerk.” “Great,” Shannon mumbled, tightening her apron around her. She grabbed a coffee pot and went down the line, filling cups as needed, until she got to the end. And stopped dead, suddenly shaking in horror. It wasn’t Brendan. It was Cormac. His ill-tempered expression froze, as did the spoon he was stirring his coffee

with. Then his face tightened into a sick smile. “Ain’t this a surprise!” Shannon backed up a step, coffee pot shaking in a suddenly trembling hand. She felt her cheeks burning, her tongue unresponsive. Cormac’s gaze burned into her. “Damn, this is just too good! You know, I’ve been lookin’ for you. And now here we are. Hey, that night in my bedroom?” he said, loud enough for the man next to him to clearly hear. Shannon lowered her head in shame, a single tear rolling down her cheek. All the foolish teenage bravado she had had three years earlier had deserted her. His expression changed to one of irritation. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue? Girl, you done put me off my feed. Guess I ain’t hungry after all.” He stood up to go, flipped a quarter on the counter for the coffee, and suddenly leaned over toward her and spoke in a whisper only she could hear. “I have a long memory.” Still frozen in place, Shannon felt the big bulk of Ivan “Bear” Gruber, the owner, at her side. “McClary, you botherin’ my girls again? I told you what would happen the next time. Get out.” “Not meanin’ no harm. We were talking over old times. Some girls are sensitive, I guess.” He turned his back to them and sauntered out the door. Bear turned to Shannon. “I don’t want to know what that was about, but when Millie comes back from her break, I want you to go home. You look like you need it.” Shannon nodded. “Thank you.”

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Shannon tried to calm herself on the bus ride home, but she knew the encounter

wouldn’t be easily dismissed. He had threatened her, she was sure of it. Would she ever be free of the McClarys? She suddenly felt lost and lonely. She hadn’t heard from Josie, who had graduated a year before her down in Los Angeles, for a while. She had kept up a regular correspondence with the black girl since they both achieved their pilot’s licenses, but lately there had been nothing, and it left a void in her days. But when she got home, her spirits brightened a bit. There was a letter from Louise Thaden. Shannon had written to the famous aviator not long after their meeting at the air show. She bounded up the stairs to her room and flopped down on the bed, tearing open the letter. There was a lovely hand-written letter inside, wishing her well and once more requesting she keep in touch. Also included was an invitation for her to the Ninety-Nines, an organization for women aviators founded by Amelia Earhart in 1929. A thrill ran through her at the prospect of being in the same organization as her personal heroines. She wasted no time in filling out the entry papers and preparing them to be mailed, and then wrote a newsy letter of thanks to Louise that also touched on her frustration at being grounded in the soda shop.

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Charles could tell something was wrong with Shannon that night. At dinner he shot a quiet look at Sarah that conveyed a message something was amiss. After dinner, he asked Shannon to come into the den. “Something’s on your mind, Shannon. Would you care to tell us about it?” Shannon kept her gaze in her lap, twisting her fingers as she spoke. “Cormac was at my counter today at Gruber’s.” Sarah looked alarmed, but Charles’ features didn’t change. “Did he say something to you?” Shannon nodded.

“Something unpleasant?” Shannon nodded again, face twisting in anguish. “He threatened me.” She told them what had ed between them. Charles got up and moved closer, putting an arm around his adopted daughter. “As long as there’s breath in this body, I won’t let him harm you. Do you believe that?” “Yes,” she said, wrapping her arms around him as she began sobbing. Sarah and Charles exchanged looks of surprise. “It’s been a long day for you, Shannon,” Sarah said. “Why don’t you go on up and get ready to turn in? I’ll be along shortly.” Shannon nodded, got up, and went quietly up the stairs. Sarah looked at Charles and read the expression on his face. “Don’t.” “I’ll kill that son of a bitch if he ever comes near her again. He needs to know that.” “I’m glad Dot didn’t hear you say that. You may make things worse! You go out and confront him and one of you may end up dead. Now, I want you to be the same calm man who took the gun away from her that night three years ago in his bedroom.” Charles frowned. “This is the deal I’ll make with you. I won’t seek him out, but if I ever see him around town I’ll tell him what I just told you.” Sarah sighed and got up to go comfort Shannon. She swore she could smell the testosterone in the air.

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Shannon continued at Gruber’s through the next month, raising her spirits by

dropping a line to Louise Thaden every week. But she couldn’t keep her frustration from showing in the letters. Thaden, in her letter of the first week of August, had finally heard enough.

August 2, 1932

My dear Shannon,

Don’t feel sorry for yourself. We need more women pilots in the air. And aviation needs us. Try harder! The opportunities are out there. There may be opportunities for U. S. Mail pilots. I also suggest you investigate getting a multiengine rating. There are more and more planes with two or more engines. Now get out there and get flying!

All My Best,

Louise

Shannon felt shame blush her cheeks upon reading the letter. She had to it she had been too focused on the glamour of flying to recognize the mundane but necessary. Could flying the mail be a possibility? Shannon went to the library and researched listings for federal jobs. Sure enough, buried in an obscure place in the classifieds, there was an ad soliciting applications for U.S. Mail pilots in southern California. As soon as she got home, she was on the telephone to Josie. “Girl, are you flying?” she said.

“No. Why, do you have something?” “Maybe. I found an ad for U.S. Mail pilots.” “Hmm. I’m all ears.” “Then let’s do it!” Shannon said in a burst of enthusiasm. “We’ll be flying again.” Josie reeled her back in. “Hold on there, sister. You’ve got us in the air when we’re not even on the flight line. How do I apply?”

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Both women applied for the program. They weren’t sure when they could expect a reply. In the meantime, Shannon returned to her job at Gruber’s, though not without hesitation. She hoped Bear Gruber’s massive size would keep Cormac or his brother Patrick away. Two weeks later, she got a reply. She had been accepted into the program and would report to Los Angeles in two weeks. A quick telephone call to Josie revealed the happy news she had been accepted too. Shortly after the news, Brendan stopped in at Gruber’s. Shannon saw him first and tried to duck into the kitchen, but he had seen her. She stopped in front of the coffee pot stand and met his gaze with a shy smile, then turned back to the coffee dispenser. He’s seen me now. Good thing he sat down at Millie’s station. She can keep him occupied. But Millie, a perky soda shop veteran, was anything but helpful. She sauntered up to Brendan’s seat at the counter with her trademark saucy smile. “I know you,” she said. “Brendan McClary, am I right?” Brendan doffed his hat, sandy hair spilling out around his forehead. He pushed an errant lock back with his fingers. “Aye, lass, the very same,” he said, putting

on his best Irish accent. “Coffee?” Millie said, pitcher poised over his cup. Brendan nodded, and she poured. Millie was a born busybody, and she knew about Shannon and Brendan. It was no secret, but Millie had pressed her for extra details and concluded there was a budding romance. “You come in to see Shannon?” she said, pulling a pencil out of her black curls. “Yes. You think I could get a moment with her?” “Why?” Brendan blushed. “I’d like to ask her out to dinner.” Millie got a shrewd look on her face. “Sure, you can talk to her. Slide on down the counter to her station. A spot just opened up. But if you want to spend time with her, you better get a move on, hon. She’s leaving for the coast in a couple of weeks.” With an alarmed expression, Brendan slid down the counter, where he stopped in front of Shannon. Shannon shot Millie a How could you? look and pulled her by the arm back into the kitchen. “What are you doing?” she said fiercely. “I told you I didn’t want to talk to him here.” Millie shrugged her shoulders. “I figured it was urgent, what with you being gone in two weeks and him wanting to ask you out to dinner.” “Wha— you told him?” “I didn’t know it was such a big secret!” Bear came by and shot the two women a look of disapproval. “The customers are out front, ladies.”

Shannon let out a low growl and hustled back out to the counter, trying desperately to compose herself. Brendan didn’t waste any time. “I came in to ask you to dinner after work. We haven’t seen each other in a while. Would you come to dinner with me?” Shannon couldn’t think of a good enough reason not to, other than her embarrassment at talking to him in the Soda Shack. “Okay,” she said with a sigh. “I get off at 5:30.” “Great. I know a good Chinese place down the street.”

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Shannon slid into a booth at Mei Li Kang’s Chop Suey Palace as Brendan sat down opposite her. The restaurant was cheaply elegant in the Chinese style. An ornate purple paper lantern, light glowing softly inside and red tassels dangling underneath, hung over them. Two menus lay on the table before them. They perused the menus for a few minutes as a quiet tension settled over the booth. A Chinese waitress dressed in a red cheongsam took their orders and left. Shannon looked directly at Brendan for the first time. “I’m sorry I hadn’t told you I was leaving,” she said. “I was going to.” The truth was she hadn’t even thought about it, so in the clouds was her mind about the prospect of being in the air again. She had owed him the courtesy and hadn’t done it. “I have to it I’m disappointed to find out this way,” he said. “Every time we’ve been together it’s been wonderful. I’ve been hoping it would continue.” He paused. “I like you a lot.” Shannon blushed. “I like you too.” “Were you embarrassed I found you working at Gruber’s?”

She looked at the tabletop and nodded. “I’ve known nearly since you started,” he said, causing her to raise her head in surprise. “I hadn’t had the time to drop in yet.” He paused. “I want you to know I think you’re a pretty terrific pilot. When we were up in the air, I was nervous at first, but then I felt at peace. The way you handled the airplane, I felt safe with you.” He reached a hand across the table to hers and gave it a brief squeeze. Any hesitation she had left wilted. How can I say no to all that? “I’m truly sorry,” she murmured. “I should have told you.” “You can tell me now.” They talked over dinner, trading smiles and forkfuls of each other’s food. Shannon told him everything she knew so far, which wasn’t all that much. She knew the important thing to him was that she was leaving. Where do I want this to go from here? He’s given me no reason not to like him, other than being a McClary. He comes with dangerous brothers. Can that be overcome? How I wish I could erase all that hatred! She thought for a moment about his reluctant but gentlemanly accommodation when she had denied him a second kiss. “Why are you staring at me?” Her mind jolted back into the Chinese restaurant. She didn’t realize she had been staring. “I’ll tell you what. When I get the assignment to my first workstation, I’ll write to you. You can come visit me if it’s not too far.” He grinned. “I’d like that.” “I want to tell you one more thing. I want you to that first my heart belongs to the sky.” They walked the streets for a while after dinner, chatting amiably and holding hands. When it was time, Brendan drove her home. They stood outside her door underneath the porch light. “I had a wonderful night,” she said. “Thank you for dinner and the good company. I meant what I said about coming to visit me if you can.” “That’s great,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. Their bodies were close.

They fell into an awkward silence, and Shannon thought she knew why. Poor guy, he’s not sure how to say goodnight after I put him off on the kiss last time. I can fix that. She tilted her head to look up into his handsome face. “You know how last time I said I wasn’t ready for another kiss? I’m ready now.”

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Shannon’s excitement grew as the days before departure dwindled down to four. She packed, tore it all apart, and packed again, seeking perfection for no good reason she could think of. It seemed the right thing to do. Sarah put calming hands on her shoulders. “You’re getting overheated about leaving for this new chapter in your life. Take a break. Come down to earth. Okay?” Shannon nodded. “By the way, Drew called this morning. He wants you to stop by the hangar tonight about seven. Shall I tell him you’ll be there?” “Yes. I want to see him and Leroy anyway before I go.”

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Shannon drove up to the Kazminski Aviation Hangar right on time. She didn’t see Drew as she entered but found Leroy at his workbench. “Leroy, I’ve missed you,” she said as she walked up and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Okay, no need to get slobbery about it,” he said gruffly. Shannon knew the gruffness might once have been genuine, but now it was an

act. “You don’t fool me. Come on, it it, you missed me.” Leroy couldn’t hide a mirthful smile that gradually suffused his features. “Dang right I did.” He took off his battered cap and ran fingers through his messy hair. “Danged if you’re not prettier every time I see you.” “You’re sweet,” Shannon said. “I always knew you had it in you.” She looked around the hangar. “Where’s Drew?” Leroy gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. “The playboy’s outside. Best you get out there ’fore he loses a wing or somethin’.” She gave him a quizzical look but walked across the hangar to the other side. She stepped outside—and halted in wonder, her feet stuck to the sand. Evening was falling. Dust motes danced in the golden rays of a lowering sun. A sudden ing gust of breeze caught her scarf and fluttered it about her neck. Then it was gone, leaving her standing speechless. Drew stood on the flight line at a table covered with white linen. On the table were two formal place settings of fine china and shining tableware, tall fluted champagne glasses beside them. Two long-stemmed candles glowed at the center. At one corner, a silver bucket of ice held a bottle of champagne. At the other corner, a domed silver cover hid something. Drew stood tall in his leather flight jacket and black slacks, a white towel draped over one arm and white gloves on his hands, looking like a polished maître d’. “Miss Donnelly-Pearson,” he said with a smile, “your table is ready.” Shannon put her hands to her face in astonishment, trying to find words. Embarrassed, she moved forward on halting legs as Drew pulled back a chair. She sat numbly, still trying to find something to say. Drew lifted the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket and proceeded to pop the cork. Then, with a polished motion she had not thought him capable of, he filled the champagne glasses and sat down. He removed the white gloves, then raised his glass. “To you, and your new job.”

She sat staring stupidly for a moment, then grasped her glass and raised it to his. He sat back in his chair. “Surprised?” “More like shocked,” she managed to get out. “Good. Do you like it?” She nodded. “Yes. I like it very much.” He removed the silver domed cover from the dish below it and revealed an elegant meal. Shannon looked it over in wonder. There were smoked salmon, rolls, corned beef salad, orange gelatin, and black bottom pie with whipped cream. Shannon gasped. “There’s a depression going on. How did you afford all this?” He cocked his head. “Oh, I have my ways.” In truth, he had drained his bank to procure it. And well worth it, he thought as he looked at her. They filled their plates and ate in peace for a while, the chirp of desert crickets the lone sound in the gathering dusk around them. Shannon was still taking it all in. There could be no mistaking his intentions, she thought. But how to receive it? As the sun dipped below the horizon, they finished their pie and champagne. But Drew had one more surprise up his sleeve. He got up, went to a table, and pulled a cover off what looked like a small aluminum suitcase or briefcase. He opened the lid, and to Shannon’s amazement, revealed a portable record player. “It’s an RCA/Victor Special Electric Phonograph. I borrowed it just for tonight.” She noticed a long electrical cord running from the machine back into the hangar. As she watched, Drew withdrew a record from a sleeve at the back of the machine under the lid and placed it on the turntable. Drew came back to her and offered a hand to pull her out of her chair as a slow dance waltz began to play.

Shannon hesitated, frantically trying to get a grip on her emotions. No, this isn’t — Failing, she took his hand and slowly rose to her feet. He escorted her a few steps out onto the runway, where the dirt was more tightly packed. There he put his right arm around her, took her right hand in his left, and began to lead her on a slow excursion across the makeshift dance floor. Shannon was still trying to mentally catch her breath, dizzy from the champagne and dancing in the dirt in Drew’s arms. She tried to look out into the desert in the fading twilight as he led her, but it made her dizzier yet, so she kept her eyes on his chest, gamely holding on as they turned in the slow rhythm. The music faded away and came to a stop. She clung to him, breathing deeply. “One more,” he whispered in her ear, as the next waltz began. But when she heard the music, her dreamy mood turned to dismay. It was a popular song that had risen to Number Three on Your Hit Parade in 1930. And she knew the lyrics all too well. It was called The Kiss Waltz.[2] Oh no, she thought, not that one! How do I get out of this? This isn’t what I should be doing. She stepped back but Drew pulled her into his chest firmly and she numbly complied. He was starting to breathe more deeply himself. Again he could feel Shannon’s ample breasts pushing against his chest. The last strains of the waltz played out, with its inviting closing line: So kiss me, sweetheart, kiss me, While I dance the Kiss Waltz with you. As the last word sounded, Drew stopped and took Shannon’s head in his hands. She didn’t resist as he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her firmly. She felt an urgent desire to flee. She hadn’t wanted to do this with Drew after kissing Brendan shortly before. But he had gently and smoothly broken down her defenses. She found herself helpless to the wave of heat that washed over her as their bodies fused tightly together in the desert twilight. Drew, with his rakish movie-star looks, was sweeping her up in something she both feared and was unable to resist. She put her arms around his neck and threw caution to the winds, ardently kissing him back.

After long moments, he drew back and gazed into her eyes. “I’m falling in love with you, Shannon. I wanted you to know before you go. I don’t want to leave things hanging when you go off to a new life. I’ll keep pursuing you unless you tell me no.” He kissed her lightly one more time. “Do you want me to stop?” The spell broken, Shannon stood with her arms wrapped around her, feeling vulnerable and confused. What she wanted didn’t seem clear. A romance with two men, neither of whom she could resist? And she had told Brendan her heart belonged to the sky. Now it felt weighed down. I need to get back in the air as soon as possible, she thought. That’s the cure for this. But . . . Drew’s soft voice drew her back in. “Shannon, I don’t want to hurt you. Can we continue?” She heard the quiet pleading in his voice for the answer he wanted. He’s given so much of his time to me, mostly for free. He’s responsible more than anyone for me being a pilot. She looked at her feet and saw the circles in the dirt their shoes had made in the dance. “Yes.”

11

Man trouble, Shannon thought, was the last thing she needed before heading off to a new job. She sat at the breakfast table with Sarah the next day, telling her about her encounter with Drew the previous evening. “Now I’ve got two men after me,” she moaned over coffee. “I know you didn’t plan this,” Sarah said. “But I also know men, and they did. Don’t get me wrong; I like Brendan a lot. He’s been a perfect gentleman so far, and I don’t see that changing. Drew can put women on the fast track when he’s interested. But he is my brother. Please be careful how you treat him. He’s a bit of a rascal, but a good man at heart. I don’t know what the nature of his attraction to you is—whether it’s purely physical or more than that—but I know him. He won’t hurt you.” Her tone became more serious. “I think it’s a good thing you’re going off to this new adventure now. You need to keep your mind focused on flying. As for them, if they’re serious, they’ll make it known, and there’s plenty of time for that.”

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Shannon threw her arms around her best friend in the lobby of the federal building in Los Angeles. They had come for training and orientation for the Air Mail program after both were hired. Josie drew back and tossed her long lustrous black hair. “Girl, you get taller every time I see you.” “I think I’ve finally stopped. I sure hope so, anyway.” She smiled brightly at Josie. “I’m excited we’re going to do this together.”

“Me too. The routes they’ll assign will probably separate us though.” “We’ll still be sisters in the sky, and I’m sure our paths will cross at some point.” The class lasted one week. They were put up in a nearby hotel. Class material included a cram course in navigation, how to respond to weather conditions, logbook keeping, aircraft maintenance, and more. At the end of the week, they received their assignments. “I’m working for Pacific Air Transport,” Shannon said upon reading her assignment paper. “Home base is Santa Maria. That’s up the coast, probably about thirty to forty minutes flight time. It says I’ll be flying the Los Angeles to Santa Maria to Santa Cruz and return route a lot of the time, with stops along the way. It cautions there may be occasional flights on other routes.” Josie’s face scrunched up with distaste. “Desert Air Transport out of Las Vegas,” she said dryly. “I’ll be flying the Las Vegas to San Diego and return route. With occasional variations.” Shannon glanced at Josie’s paper. “They’re sticking you out in the boonies.” Josie waved a hand at her. “Don’t fret. I’m used to it. There’s still a chance our paths will cross.” She gave Shannon one last tight hug. “See you in the skies.”

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A tearful Dot embraced her big sister one last time at the airport in Los Angeles. “I don’t want you to go. It won’t be the same without you, and I’ll worry about you all the time.” Shannon tightened her arms around her little sister. “And I’ll worry about you. Now, I want you to buck up. You’ll be a senior this fall and have lots of responsibility. Make Mom and Dad proud.” Dot drew back. “I want to be like you—except the flying.”

Shannon took Dot’s hands in hers. “That’s as good a compliment as I could ever get. Thank you. I promise I’ll send pictures.” She turned to Charles and Sarah. The whole family had come to see her off. “I’ll miss you so much. Don’t worry for me; I’ll be fine. I know my way around an airplane.” Charles put his hands on her shoulders. “You’ve come such a long way. You’ve made us proud.” Sarah seemed at a loss for words and hugged her tightly. “Santa Maria’s not far,” Shannon said. “You could probably drive it in two hours or less. Come to visit me if you can.” She paused, putting a hand to her throat. “I love you.” With that, she picked up the worn suitcase Sarah had given her and walked toward the waiting Ford Tri Motor that would take her north.

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Shannon gazed out the window of the airplane, looking down through the dusky late afternoon light as the small farm town of Santa Maria appeared beneath her. The town was on a flat plain near a range of bare coastal hills. To the west was the sea. The town was surrounded by farmlands; she could see precise rows of crops stretching into the distance. At the north end of town was the dry riverbed of the Santa Maria River. To the north of the riverbed, vast groves of eucalyptus trees covered stretches of a dry landscape given to scrub brush and grasses. The airport came into view and she could see groves of eucalyptus surrounding it too. The pilot brought the big Tri Motor down for a smooth landing on the oiled dirt runway and taxied up to one of the hangars. Once off the airplane, Shannon retrieved her suitcase and sought out the reception center she had been told about. After a moment’s search, she found it tucked away in a corner of a building near the main hangar. She checked in and was told where to find her quarters. She stood in front of the doorway to her room, which she found on the back side

of a wooden building about one hundred yards down the flight line from the main hangar. It was one of a series of rooms, all fronted by two steps, along the building. If there were any occupants of the other rooms, they were either away or quiet; there was no sound but a cricket in the narrow strip of grass in front. Taking a deep breath, she stepped up and inserted the key she had been given. Swinging open the door, she saw a small room with a tiny bathroom and shower at one side. The wooden walls were painted—freshly it looked—with a pale blue color that was altogether pleasing. There was a bed to one side of the room. More like a cot than a bed, she thought, with a small bedside table, lamp, and one chair she surmised had seen plenty of use. A scarred dresser sat against the wall at the foot of the bed. Purple curtains flanked the window. There were no cooking facilities. So there must be a chow hall around here somewhere, she thought. The one nod to her femininity was a vase of fresh roses on the bedside table, a jolt of color in the otherwise drab room. She took that as an encouraging sign. All in all, it was very spartan. Shannon wearily plopped her suitcase on the floor and stretched out on the bed, plumping up the pillow and putting her hands behind her head. It isn’t much but it’s home for a while, she thought. Maybe I can put up some pictures. That reminded her there was one that needed to be placed first. She opened her suitcase and rummaged around underneath her clothes, retrieving a family photograph. In the photo she stood close to Dot, who had a broad smile as she cuddled inside Sarah’s arms. Charles looked properly patriarchal but managed a slight smile. She lovingly placed the framed photo on the little bedside table in front of the lamp, then put two fingers to her lips and pressed them against the glass in the frame. “Thank you for getting me this far,” she whispered. Then a wave of sudden fatigue hit her and she sank back on the bed, closing her eyes. Tomorrow was going to start early.

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Shannon was up with the sunrise. After finding the chow hall and breakfast, she was standing on the flight line at seven a.m. watching the approaching figure of a man with clipboard in hand. From the way he walked, Shannon marked him as

ex-military. “I expect you’re Miss Donnelly,” he said loudly as he got closer. “Yes sir.” She stuck out a hand when he reached her. “I’m pleased to meet you.” He was about her height, had a square, pleasant face with tanned skin that betrayed years of exposure to wind and weather, and gray eyes with a penetrating gaze. “And I’m even more pleased to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand. “We need good pilots around here. I’m Tom Matheson, chief of operations here for Ryan Air Transport. What do you say we go flying?” She did her best to quash the bit of nervousness that had deviled her since she got up. “I’m ready,” she said firmly. “Your plane’s over there.” He pointed to a scarlet-red monoplane parked along the flight line. The design looked familiar to Shannon, but at first she couldn’t know why. Then she knew. “It looks like The Spirit of St. Louis,” she said to Matheson. “Lindy’s plane.” “Sharp eyes,” Matheson said as they approached. “Made by the same company. You’ll never mistake it for another here; it’s the only red plane we have. It’s strictly utilitarian, but it gets the job done.” “Does it handle well?” “You’ll find the handling familiar, but better than what you’re probably used to. It’s got a thirty-six-foot wingspan, and it will carry 1150 pounds. The engine’s a Hispano-Suiza 150 horsepower. Top speed is 125 mph, and she’ll go about 400 miles.” “I’ll take good care of it,” Shannon said as she ran her hands over the fuselage and glanced into the cockpit. The cockpit was mostly enclosed, a big improvement over the Jenny. She turned to Matheson and nodded affirmatively. “She’s not fast and can’t turn like a racer,” Matheson said. “But she’ll get you where you need to go—and back.” He grinned. “Let’s go flying.”

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They took off and flew down the coast above the surf breaking white beneath them, past Goleta to Santa Barbara, where she did a smooth touch and go landing at the airport, then on south over Ventura and Oxnard before turning inland, as Matheson had instructed. There was mostly blue sky above them, and the air temperature was pleasant as they flew above the orchards of Santa Paula in a wide U turn back to Santa Maria. The Ryan responded beautifully to Shannon’s touch, and she felt completely comfortable. They drifted north, over the sparse Santa Barbara National Forest, then west over the San Rafael Mountains, finally touching down on the compacted dirt runway at Santa Maria. Shannon taxied up to her starting spot, turning the plane with precision to its exact original position at the tie-downs. She killed the engine and vaulted out of the cockpit to put the wheel chocks in place while Matheson remained in place with his feet on the brakes. Then he got out and ed her on the ground. Matheson checked off two items on his clipboard, then looked up at Shannon with a smile. “That was a good flight. I look for confidence in my pilots, and you had it even with an airplane you’ve never flown. I never doubted you for a moment. We’ll do another flight tomorrow, and if it goes as good as this one, I’ll get you certified on this airframe.” He reached out a hand and shook hers firmly. “Same time tomorrow,” he said as he walked away. Shannon was still smiling when she got back to her room, where she immediately dashed off a letter to home.

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Certification did come, as promised, and Shannon received her first route assignment. Ryan Air Transport had bid for and won the western section of the main transcontinental mail trunk route. They subcontracted the north-south coastal route to Pacific Air Transport. Mail had to be gathered from and disseminated to various other points of destination. On a warm Thursday morning, her first mail shipment aboard, she rose into the sky just as the sun showed its head above the horizon. The Ryan purred above the surf-kissed beaches below her. Shannon felt as one with the plane, a part of it, a vital cog in the flying machine. In the air she could forget all the imperfections of the world below, fly above the Depression, which had, alarmingly, gotten worse, fly above the unsettling attention of the two men who were clearly pursuing her. Closer to the heavens, there was her and the aircraft, and that was all she needed. The first month went by quickly, and Shannon settled into the routine. Returning to home base in Santa Maria always gave her a boost, and she felt a surge of happiness when the airport came in sight. But lying on her bed at night, a pall of loneliness descended. She knew no one here except Matheson, and that only a casual professional acquaintance. To make matters worse, she was the lone female pilot at the airport. She wasn’t sure, but it seemed like the male pilots were a little standoffish—when they weren’t angling to get her into town to a nightspot. She had already had several offers, but had turned them all down, saying she preferred to concentrate on her flying. That much was true, but the real truth was she didn’t know what she wanted. She found herself hoping for letters, from her family, from Josie, but most of all from Brendan. His sweetness and decorum clung to her memory. She had had plenty of time to explore how she felt about him and had decided she was looking forward to his visit. Of Drew, she was not so certain. His movie-star looks fairly swept her off her feet; he had plenty of charm and knew how to use it. During their last encounter as they danced in the desert, she felt helpless in his arms. He might be a little dangerous but he was certainly enticing. She missed Josie as much as anyone. They were sisters in flight, and on the ground. Qualifying together had made the bond between them even stronger. Shannon was thrilled when Josie’s first letter finally arrived. It was full of cheery news, though Shannon knew a letter couldn’t express everything. But it also contained a list of Josie’s flight schedules. She knew right away why she had sent it, and immediately compared it to her own. She was scheduled to fly an

odd route three weeks away, filling in for another pilot. To her amazement, Josie was also on an odd route that week and the two schedules came together for one day in of all places, Barstow, far to the east from Santa Maria. She immediately fired off a letter saying she’d be there. The letter from Josie seemed to break a drought. The following day there were letters from the Pearsons—and from Brendan. She opened the Pearsons’ letter first, setting Brendan’s letter down on the bedside table with nerves tingling. When she finished the letter from home, she steeled herself to calm down, opening Brendan’s letter with care. She plunged into the words eagerly, trying to read meaning in each one. He was doing adequately, he said, keeping himself busy as much as possible, not easy during the depth of the Depression, but he was managing to keep body and soul together. Then he came to the part Shannon was eager for: he was coming to Santa Maria to visit her. I want to see you, he wrote. I miss you and can’t wait any longer. He was coming to visit in ten days. Shannon’s heart skipped a beat, then she held her breath as she grabbed her flight schedule. Yes, she’d be in town! She held the letter near her face, her fingers tracing over the lines of his signature. Yes, I’ll be in town.

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But first came the meeting with Josie. When the day came, Shannon was on edge as she flew into Barstow. She parked the Ryan next to the dilapidated hangar and went inside to wait. An inquiry at the desk told her she’d arrived first. She bought an iced tea at a grubby deli counter and sat down to wait. The sun was on its downward arc when an aircraft approached from the east, turned for final approach, and gently touched down. The pilot taxied up near Shannon’s plane and shut off the engine. Shannon was there with the wheel chocks. She grinned as the pilot finished shutdown procedures and turned to look at her. “I’d know that landing anywhere!” she said.

Josie jumped down from the cockpit and ran at Shannon. The two women collided into a tight embrace for long seconds. Finally Josie drew back and fixed an enormous smile on Shannon. “I missed you,” she said quietly. “Lady, the same goes for me.” Josie shot an iring glance at the Ryan. “Nice plane.” “Thanks.” Shannon looked at Josie’s worn-looking Stearman 4DM Speedmail with disgust. “I wish I could say that for you. It never stops, does it.” Josie retrieved her flight pack from the airplane. “No. In some places, it never does. You come to expect it. I’ve got until noon tomorrow before I’m due back in the air.” “I’m due out at 1 p.m.,” Shannon replied. “We don’t have much time, so let’s make the most of it. No accommodations at the hangar; we’ll go into town and get a hotel room.” “Sounds good.” Shannon said nothing more about Josie’s worn-looking aircraft. But a picture of her world was starting to get clearer.

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There was one hotel in the small town, and it looked like it didn’t get much business. “I’ll wait outside,” Josie said. “You get us a room.” Shannon looked at her quizzically for an instant, then went inside and got a room with two beds. When they went in together, the clerk glanced at them and paused for an instant, then bent back over his work. They stashed their travel packs in the room and went out onto the street. It was twilight, and there was a fresh desert breeze blowing gently through the air.

“Let’s see if we can find something decent to eat,” Shannon said. “I’m hungry; let’s do it.” They found a small café with a menu they liked. Both women ordered and sat back in the booth, visibly relaxing for the first time since touching down. “How have your routes been?” Josie said. “Sometimes they’re fun, but most often pretty boring. But nothing like you’ve encountered, I’ll bet.” “Hmph. I’ve seen enough desert to last me a lifetime. I long for sight of a tree, though I did see a few on my way here.” She toyed with the straw in her water glass. “Any troubles with the Ryan?” “None, so far. It’s been a good craft.” “I should be so lucky. The Stearman’s a good plane, but I’ve had to put down twice because of engine troubles. Good thing for me the desert landscape is forgiving. I tried to use the radio to notify base, but I guess I was out of range. There wasn’t a soul around. It was going to be up to me to get back in the air. I got it fixed well enough to take off because of stuff you showed me, and had it fixed properly at my next stop. So I owe you.” She paused and took a sip of her water. “How are things going with the men?” Shannon blushed. “I got a letter from Brendan last week. “He’s coming to visit me in Santa Maria in just a few days.” She lowered her head shyly. “I’m sort of looking forward to it.” Josie looked at her closely, studying her eyes. “More like, ‘I can’t wait’, I’d say.” Shannon turned her face away in embarrassment. “Mm-hmm,” Josie purred. “How about that other stud? Mr. Hollywood?” Shannon chuckled. “Nothing yet, thought I expect he’ll show up before long.” Josie sank into a bemused expression. “Mmm. That grifter[3] could take flight with me anytime.”

“Nothing personal, but he seems to have eyes only for me.” “A girl can dream, can’t she? You don’t want him, send him my way.” “It’s a deal.” Dinner arrived, and the two ate while they talked about flights and airplanes. Josie noticed after a while Shannon seemed to lose interest. “Is this too much work talk?” Josie said. “Your thoughts seem to be elsewhere.” Shannon moved her straw idly around in her glass of Hires Root Beer. “Up in the air, you get a lot of time to think. And I’ve been thinking that, long term, there’s no chance for growth in this business.” Josie was startled. The thought hadn’t occurred to her. “Think about it,” Shannon went on, looking out over the tables in the dimly lit cafe. “We do the same thing every day. Ten years from now, if they’ll still have us, we’ll still be doing that same thing. Maybe that’s not so bad, but—” She turned back to look at Josie. “Just a thought.” Josie sighed and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “I suspect big dreams are rolling around in your head again. Right now, we’re lucky to have a job, so I intend to hang onto this one until something better falls in my lap. Don’t blow your wig[4] on me yet, okay?” “Aw, don’t take me too seriously. I know I’m lucky to have a job. And as long as you’re in the air, I want to be up there with you.” She paused and took on a pensive look. “Uh, there was something I’ve been wondering about. Back at the hotel, why did you tell me you’d wait outside while I went in and got the reservation?” Josie said nothing but held up her dark-skinned hand between them. “Ah—oh.” Shannon looked down at her lap for a moment, mortified. “I get it. You think if you’d gone in with me, we might not have gotten the room?” “Girl, I know how to game the system. It’s something I’ve learned. Not a problem for you.”

Shannon couldn’t meet her gaze. “I’m sorry.” Josie reached out her hand and put it over Shannon’s. “Don’t let it burden you. It’s just the way it is.” They finished their meal, and Shannon checked her watch. “It’s still early. Fancy finding some dancing action?” Josie pursed her lips. “Hmm. I don’t know, this place looks like a real redneck town to me.” “If it makes you uncomfortable—” Nah,” Josie said, picking up her purse. “Let’s go see what we can find.” They went out onto the street and looked back and forth. Shannon could see virtually the entire downtown at a glance. “I see two places that look like nightspots,” she said. “Okay, let’s try the one down to the right.” They walked two blocks to the night spot, which had loud dance music spilling out onto the sidewalk. “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Josie said. “Your call.” She sighed. “Let’s give it a try.” With a nod to each other, they went in. It was crowded and smoky inside. The music was recorded, though there was a small stage to one side where live musicians could play. They went to the bar and ordered drinks. Shannon thought the bartender gave Josie a long look but she shrugged it off. It didn’t take long before they garnered extra attention from the plentiful men present. One of them slid onto the bar stool next to Shannon. He might have been handsome as a youth but now was worn-looking, in need of a haircut, and with a couple days growth of beard. She quickly marked him for someone she’d rather not talk to.

“You’re new in town, sweetheart,” he said, cuddling his beer glass with one hand. “Buy you a drink?” “Already have one,” she said, pointing to hers. He was undeterred. “Aw, come on now,” he purred. “My name’s Jake. What’s yours?” “Jennifer Jailbait.” His face froze for a couple of seconds, then his expression soured. “Well, ain’t that somethin’,” he murmured, slinking back into the crowd. “Slick, country girl,” Josie said in iration. “You have to know how to game the system,” she said, mimicking Josie’s earlier phrase as they both broke into laughter. The night spots in Santa Maria, where she never lacked for attention, had toughened her up a bit. Before long, the music drove them from the bar stools and onto the dance floor. The two attractive women didn’t lack for partners. There were more calls of “Buy you a drink?” and “Where you stayin’, honey?”, but both women deftly sidetracked them. An hour later, when a slow dance wound down to its end, Shannon politely disengaged from her dance partner, though he was clearly reluctant, and checked her watch. “Time to go,” she said to Josie. “I’m ready. We need a good night’s sleep for tomorrow.” They headed for the exit. The cool night air washed over them like a wave. “Smells like rain,” Shannon said. “Let’s get back to the hotel.” They started off down the boardwalk and had taken three steps when a voice behind them brought them to a halt. “Didn’t know they allowed coloreds in this part of town.” The women slowly turned and saw a surly-looking cowboy sprawled on a bench

with his boots across the boardwalk and his head against the wall behind him. His clothes were faded and dusty, and he had a few days’ growth of beard. A near-empty whiskey bottle was in one hand. And he was staring at them. Shannon attempted to discourage him. “We’re both pilots working for the government. Don’t bother us. Uncle Sam wouldn’t like it.” She turned to Josie. “Let’s keep walking.” They turned and began walking again. “I didn’t know coons could fly either,” he called out. Josie stopped abruptly. Her body stiffened, seemed to inflate. Her face settled into a venomous expression, and her head came up. She put her right arm behind her back underneath her jacket and brought it out, a snub-nosed .38 Special in her hand. She took three swift steps toward the man and jammed the barrel against his forehead, pinning his head against the wall. “You say something, you cracker?” Dazed with booze, the man’s heavy-lidded eyes flew open with surprise. Josie lowered her face near his. “Didn’t your mama teach you nothin’? I reckon you got nothin’ to say after all. Do you?” His face ed a dawning shock, mouth open. “Like I thought,” Josie said. “Nothin’. Best keep your mouth shut ’til you learn some manners.” Glaring at him, she slowly pulled back, and shoved the gun into the back of her pants. “ this.” She turned to Shannon. “Let’s go.” Shannon, open-mouthed with astonishment, nodded and took off with her at a fast walk. At the hotel, Josie fell asleep as if nothing had happened. But Shannon lay awake in the dark. She was still shocked not only that Josie had a gun, but at the transformation she had seen. She thought she knew Josie but clearly, she had a lot to learn.

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In the morning, Josie was up and tossing clothes into her traveling bag when Shannon opened her eyes and saw the gun on the bedside table. Josie noticed she was awake and turned to her. “I’m sorry about last night. But I don’t take any crap from anybody, okay?” Shannon nodded. “I believe you. I—I just was wondering, where did that come from?” “My dad,” Josie said, going back to packing. “He’s the same way. That’s part of how he got to where he is. He told me, ‘Hold your head high, stand your ground, and don’t take any crap from anyone.’ And when I left for U.S. Mail orientation, he gave me this gun”—she retrieved the pistol from the side table and tossed it into her bag— “and I’m never without it.” Seeing the stricken expression on Shannon’s face, she sat down on the bed beside her. “I didn’t want to scare you—just him.” And I’m sorry ing that word, ‘cracker’.” She grasped Shannon’s hand. “Please don’t let this cause a problem between us.” Shannon melted and hugged her. “Don’t worry; it won’t. I’m glad you stood up for yourself. And I’ll bet that cowboy will think twice before mouthing off again.” They broke into laughter, wiping away the tension. Josie went to the window and peered out through the blinds, surveying the street. “Let’s skip breakfast and get out to the hangar. I have a feeling we’d better be gone as soon as we can.” At the hangar, as soon as they had done their pre-flight checks, and with a final hug and mutual onishments to stay safe, Shannon watched Josie taxi out and take off into the overcast sky. Shannon thought it best to leave early too. The airplane was ready, and after the previous night, so was she. She taxied the Ryan out to the takeoff point. Waiting for the engine oil to warm up, she looked over to the hangar and saw a sheriff’s car pull up. A jolt of unease went through her. Maybe Josie was right; it’s a good

idea to get out of town early. She saw two men in uniform get out of the car, go over to the hangar and speak with one of the attendants. To her utter dismay, he pointed at her and the men turned their heads to look directly at her. Gotta go, she thought as she pushed the throttle forward aggressively, rolled down the runway, and lifted the airplane into the gray sky.

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She was never so glad to see the runway at Santa Maria before her as she glided down to home. She taxied to her parking space, went through shutdown procedure, and turned the Ryan over to a flight line attendant. Back in her room, she reclined on the bed. She had been thinking about what she had said to Josie about their jobs most of the way back from Barstow. She knew she should feel good about her circumstances. She had won the respect of the male pilots on the base, flight hours were piling up in her logbook, and she had a steady income. Yet the job was less than exciting. You’re spoiled, she chided herself. You’re lucky to have a job. And you’re flying. What else do you want? She didn’t have an answer. She had the next day off and was coming out of the cafeteria after breakfast in the morning, walking along the runway, when she saw an all-too-familiar yellow Jenny descending out of the morning sky. It touched down gently and taxied right up to where she was standing. The pilot shut down the engine, stood up, and took off his goggles. “You’re going to get in trouble parking that thing here,” Shannon called to him. Drew grinned his trademark devilish grin and slid out of the cockpit to the ground. “Boy, did I get lucky! I fly in and here you are waiting for me. Couldn’t resist making a big entrance.” “Yep, that’s you.” She walked up closer to him. “I see the old crate’s still flying.” “She is, but not long for this world I’m afraid. Leroy says he’s about out of chewing gum and baling wire.”

Shannon smiled. “What are you doing here, you nut?” Drew unzipped his flight jacket and came up close. “I came to see you, Shannon.” His eyes twinkled. “Oh. You did get lucky. I have the day off.” Drew pursed his lips. “It’s good to see you too.” Shannon blushed. “Sorry. You caught me by surprise. Yes, it’s good to see you.” “There! That was easy enough. Oh, I almost forgot. Hang on a second.” He walked back to the Jenny, reached into the cockpit, and came up with a bouquet of flowers—daisies, black-eyed susans, and other assorted blooms. “This is for your room. I don’t imagine it’s any too fancy.” Shannon couldn’t repress a broad smile. “Thank you; they’re beautiful. Yes, my room’s rather spartan. Let’s go brighten it up.” They walked to Shannon’s room where she paused before unlocking the door, looking left, right, and behind. Then she turned the key and they went in. “What was that all about?” Drew said. “Sorry. There’s a rule about entertaining of the opposite sex in your room. The rule is, ‘Don’t’. But we might be okay as long we keep it short.” “Sure thing,” Drew said, smiling as he took the chair, pulling it away from the bed. Shannon found a tall water glass for the flowers, filled it, and placed the glass on her bedside table. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” They exchanged pleasantries for a while about flying and airplanes. Then Drew changed the subject. “I’d like to take you out to dinner.” She looked at him for a few seconds. Then: “That sounds wonderful, but I don’t think you should go to the expense. I don’t see you can keep affording these

dinner dates, times being what they are.” “You let me worry about that.” “Sorry; I do worry about it. I don’t want to see you go beat[5] because you’re entertaining me.” He leaned closer and gave her a penetrating look. “I’m not beat—yet. But I’d do it if that’s what it took.” Shannon felt a warm feeling spreading through her body despite her attempt to remain cool. “If that’s what it took to do what?” “To win you.” She involuntarily leaned back on the bed. “Oh.” Now she was flustered and took a few seconds to collect herself. “I’m kind of a novice at this dating thing, so I don’t know what to expect from a man. But I do appreciate how direct you’ve been with me. You’ve always been clear about your intentions. I want you to know getting involved with a man is not something I’m looking to do now. I’ve got dreams for my future that are best to pursue alone. My flying career is tops for me. Please understand that.” He didn’t hesitate. “Understood.” “Good. But I still like your company, and I don’t mind going out to dinner with you.” Drew sat back in the chair and grinned. “Great! What do you say we go downtown and grab some chow?”

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As she sat at the restaurant table with Drew, Shannon couldn’t escape the thought that Brendan was due in town in four days. This business of entertaining two men was getting to be too big a distraction, and she knew she had to deal

with it. But how to do it in a sensitive manner? They returned to the airport late that evening. Shannon stood on the steps outside her room, Drew’s face even with hers as he stood on the ground. “The trip was worth it,” Drew said, “to see you again.” “I had a good time. Thank you.” Drew leaned in for a kiss, but she turned her head at the last second and his lips ended up on her right cheek. “Ah, I think we should leave it right there,” she said. “Thank you for a perfect evening. I’ve got an early fly-out in the morning and I should get to bed.” Drew pulled back and seemed to shrink a little. “Sure,” he said, nodding. “It’s that Irish kid, isn’t it? McClary?” She put her hand on the doorknob. “That’s not for you to know. But if he were here, I’d tell him the same thing. I’ve got responsibilities, and they’re big ones. I need to stay sharp.” He sighed. “Okay. Had a great time tonight.” He backed up a step and pointed his finger at her. “Be seeing you, kid.”

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Brendan arrived as expected four days later. Shannon was in one of the hangars working on her plane with one of the aircraft mechanics when he showed up, standing shyly at first nearby until she looked up and noticed him. She broke into a big smile and walked over to him. “Think that thing’ll fly?” he said as she stopped in front of him. Shannon wiped her hands on a rag she was carrying. “I’d bet on it. In fact, I do, every day.” She sized him up. “You look good.”

Brendan nodded, the shock of hair on his forehead bobbing. “I’m even better now. I’m glad to see you.” Shannon grinned. “You’re not such a bad sight yourself. Look, I’m about done here with the plane; can you wait for me out on the flight line while I wash up?” Brendan nodded. “Sure can.” Minutes later she ed Brendan, talking back and forth they walked along the flight line. “How’s the job going?” he said. “It’s good. Lots of airtime piling up in my logbook, and I get to see a lot of country. “Any troubles in the sky?” “None so far, knock on wood. But we never take our airplanes for granted. On any given day, there could be a breakdown. Josie’s had to put down out in the desert a couple of times, but she managed to get back into the air.” She turned her head to him. In her stack-heeled boots, she was nearly as tall as he. “How about you?” “I decided to go back to school. I’ve been taking classes in business istration at the community college in San Bernardino.” On impulse, she linked her arm in his. “Sounds ambitious.” He took a few more steps, then stopped and turned to her. “Damn, you look good! You’re more beautiful than ever.” Shannon was taken aback by the sudden outburst. Brendan flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I—I’ve missed you a lot. Walking with you is a real treat.” She put her feet in motion. “Then, let’s keep walking.” Otherwise, things could get awkward.

They strolled on, not talking, for a couple of minutes. Shannon was, as she had been before, charmed by Brendan’s sweet innocence. In that, he was the exact opposite of Drew, who didn’t hesitate to use his charms to further his objective. I like it this way, she thought. They found a quiet spot in town for dinner that night. Brendan, ever the gentleman, was attentive to her conversation and showed interest in her job. “That plane you were working on in the hangar, that’s the one you take up?” he said. “Yep. We’re assigned an airplane when we start, and it’s the one we’re charged with maintaining. We get to know it intimately, to know its little quirks, and how it should sound when it’s running right. We never have to fly out in an unfamiliar aircraft, which is something I don’t want to do.” There was one subject she was reluctant to bring up, but the buried-deep bit of darkness that was always there around a McClary wouldn’t let her ignore it. She took the conversation on an abrupt turn. “What about your brothers?” she said. “Cormac as much as threatened me at Gruber’s.” Brendan stopped in the middle of a swallow of his coffee. He slowly set the cup back down. “I don’t know much,” he said. “I don’t see them often. They keep to themselves, and I’m happy they do. It’s one of the things that makes me glad you’re all the way over here in Santa Maria. Because Cormac can hold a grudge like nobody else. And Patrick’s a follower. He’ll fall in with whatever Cormac wants to do.” Shannon had to force her next words out. “Am I safe?” Brendan took a deep breath and let it out, then looked at her intently. “I think so. But I’d put my life on the line to make sure you are. Think of me as your eyes and ears back home. Next time I’m over at the house I’ll see if I can pick up any sense of trouble.” She reached her hand across the table to grasp his. “Thank you.”

They decided not to go dancing, Shannon claiming fatigue, and so went back to her room where—with a careful eye for onlookers—she welcomed him in. They talked for a long time, and Shannon made it clear to Brendan, as she had to Drew, that her flying career came first before men. “That’s okay with me,” Brendan responded. “I think long term.” Shannon sighed. If she had hoped stating her intentions about her flying career would discourage either man from continuing to pursue her, she was mistaken. And she didn’t have the guts to tell either one of them to go away. She enjoyed their company, in different ways. But she also knew she had to tread a fine line between discouragement and leading them on. She had learned being beautiful was a delicate dance. “I have an early flight,” she said after they had talked for an hour. “I need to get to bed.” They moved out into the darkness on the steps outside the room. Brendan put his hands on her waist. “Write to me?” “Yes, I will,” she replied, putting her hands on his arms to forestall any more of an advance. “I’ll do the same.” He leaned forward. No, no, no. No kiss. No! But as he closed in on her, her body simply wouldn’t obey her wish to turn her head to the side. She froze and his lips landed squarely on hers. Worse yet, she didn’t pull away. After a long moment, Brendan did. “It was wonderful to see you. I’ll be in touch.” Then, with a squeeze of her hand, he backed away and walked to his car. Shannon was left standing on the steps, the indelible feel of his kiss still on her lips.

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A week later, she rose early for her next assignment. The sun was coming up to the east behind the San Rafael Mountains. She cheerily greeted Marco, the flight attendant who was wiping the windscreen of the Ryan clean of overnight dew. “Marco, how goes it? She ready for takeoff?” Marco was a veteran of the flight line whom she trusted. “Morning, Miss Shannon,” he said with a grin, smoothing a lock of hair from his forehead. “She’s fueled, oiled, and ready for your hand on the stick.” Shannon smiled. “Thank you, Marco. I’ll take her from here.” She put her logbook and travel sack in the cockpit and started her thorough look around the fuselage. She looked for cracks in the wing and struts, stains from leaking oil or other fluids, tears or holes in the wing fabric, proper tire inflation, and anything else that could signal potential trouble. She tugged on the wing struts and examined their connection points to the wing and the fuselage. Satisfied, she climbed into the cockpit and pushed on the rudder bar to check proper rudder function, then moved the control column back and forth to observe the rudder and ailerons. All was good. She climbed aboard and went through the cockpit checklist. As she did so, she felt something faint nagging at her, something she couldn’t identify. She knew the senses sometimes record things the consciousness doesn’t . She got out and went around the airplane again, re-checking everything. Nothing seemed amiss. She got back in the cockpit, the nagging feeling still faintly there in her consciousness. She looked at her watch. She was due in the air now. She had to go, or do some fancy explaining to Matheson. She requested clearance for engine start and taxi from the airport’s tower over the radio and got it. “Clear!” she shouted, then turned the magneto for electric start. The engine sprang to life, and a minute later she taxied out to the takeoff point. After she waited for oil warming, she received clearance for takeoff and rolled the red Ryan down the runway into the morning sky. An hour later, Shannon’s boss Tom Matheson rolled slowly along on a small motorcycle on his daily examination of the runway. Nearing the takeoff area, a bright blotch of color caught his eye. He bent to examine the object closer. It was

a strip of airplane wing fabric, scarlet red.

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Matheson was up and on the motorcycle instantly, throttle twisted to maximum. He was at the hangar in seconds and did a slide in the dirt, laid the motorcycle on its side, and dashed into the radio room. “Give me that thing!” he said to the radio operator who sat in front of the microphone. The dazed radio operator slid out of his chair, nearly landing on the floor as Matheson bumped him aside. Matheson grabbed the microphone. “Base to Flight 47, come in. Shannon, do you read me?” No response. “Base to Flight 47, do you read? Shannon, come in!” Silence.

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Shannon was over the Santa Lucia Range when she began to feel a vibration from the right wing. Minutes later she found herself leaning into the control column, applying constant pressure to the left to keep the Ryan on course. Shannon was so busy fighting with the aircraft she didn’t hear the first radio call, and nearly missed the second, when she finally heard Matheson’s voice in her ear. She grasped the control column firmly with one hand and her knees and pressed the radio mike button with the other.

“Forty-seven to base. I’ve got trouble! Something’s wrong with the right wing.” “Shannon, you may be losing wing fabric on the right!” Matheson bellowed. “Do a visual.” Shannon looked up. The big wing was above her. Nothing unusual was visible on the underside. It must be on the top. But there was no way to see it. “Bottom side clear, negative visual on top side!” she shouted back into the mike. “It must be up there.” The pull to the right was getting stronger. That meant the right wing was losing its lift. Just then she heard a loud tearing sound and saw a large patch of red fabric rip off into the air stream. Horrified, she turned to see it twisting in the air behind her. Without being able to see the damaged area, she knew the more fabric tore off, the more the wing would resist the wind rather than slip through it, and create yet more pressure on the remaining fabric, until so much tore off the wing lost all lift properties and acted like an anchor fastened to the fuselage. At that point, the Ryan would go into a clockwise spin she couldn’t recover from, ending in a rapid spiral descent to the ground—and death. Scared but calm, she knew she had very little time to reach the ground alive. A steely determination settled over her. I am not going to lose this aircraft. She began to descend. “Shannon, use your ’chute!” Matheson yelled in her ear. “Too low and bad terrain below. I need both hands on the stick. I’m bringing this thing down. Forty-seven out.” Matheson was shouting something in her ear, but she was fighting the aircraft in desperation now. She grasped the control column with both hands and pushed it to the left while simultaneously pushing hard with her left foot on the rudder bar. That raised the aileron on the left wing, decreasing lift, while it lowered the aileron on the right wing, increasing lift on that side. What little’s left to be had. Even as she was fighting for control, her mind recited the steps for emergency in flight: Number one wasn’t going to help her; the engine was not the problem. Number two: Look for a landing site. As she wrestled with the airplane, she looked below. It didn’t look good: a hilly landscape with nothing resembling flat land. Gotta keep my airspeed up, or I’ll stall out and fall like a rock. She pushed the

throttle forward. The remaining right wing fabric was shredding into strips. The land below would bring what it would bring, no time for being picky. Five hundred feet off the ground, she saw nothing but low hills. At three hundred feet she spotted what appeared to be a small pasture ahead. That was it, do or die. Her hands clutched the control column in a death grip, her left foot cramping on the rudder bar. She glided lower toward the pasture, trailing strips of scarlet. One hundred feet off the ground, the drag on the nearly skeletonized upper wing was finally too much, and the Ryan went into a spiral. Still moving forward, it augured into the ground like a spinning top. Shannon was slammed against the right cockpit wall and felt her ribs crack. Simultaneously her head hit the wall. She felt the jolt of a second impact. Then everything went black.

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The shepherd had been enjoying a calm morning moving his sheep around the pasture when he heard the droning noise overhead. He looked up into the blue sky and saw a terrifying sight. A small airplane was coming toward him, shedding strips of red fabric as it came lower and lower toward the hills. It appeared to be aiming right for him. “Madre de Dios!” he gasped in surprise, backing up and frantically tried to herd his sheep over to one side of the pasture. But the plane was coming down fast. When it was nearly down it suddenly went into a tight spiral and bounced onto the ground like a whirling dervish. The wheels tore off with the first impact, it bounced into the air, then hit again and spun in the dirt before finally coming to a labored stop. He stood frozen in shock. He could see the pilot, still in the cockpit, was not moving.

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Shannon slowly came back to consciousness. She was still in the cockpit, the airplane around her. She tried to move her head to look up at the wing and a bolt of agony shot through her neck. She tried again, gritting her teeth as she forced her head up. The right wing was mostly a skeleton; random strips of fabric still clung to the frame. The lower right wing had big strips of fabric missing, and the rear wing edge was festooned with torn strips. Dizzy and breathing hard, she looked to the ground. The Ryan’s wheels had been torn off by the impact and lay behind her. Otherwise, the airplane was intact. Miraculously, the prop was still turning. She reached over and shut the engine down, then saw a man running toward her. She tore off her flight goggles, groggily rubbing her forehead. Feeling a wetness on her right temple, she put a hand to her head and brought it into focus before her. It was covered in blood. She laboriously reached for the radio button around her neck. “Forty-seven to base. I’m down.”

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Matheson had been in a controlled panic at the base, wanting to commandeer emergency equipment but not knowing where to send them. Shannon’s sudden voice over the radio sent a small wave of relief washing over him. “Shannon, good to hear your voice.” He could hear her breathing hard. “Are you hurt?” Shannon pressed the mike, which seemed like a major task at the moment. “Not too bad. Some cracked ribs, I think, and I hit my head. The aircraft will fly again.” She paused, coughing. “Need to send a flatbed for the Ryan, and a car for me.” “Great, where are you?” She looked around. The man who had been running toward her stood beside the fuselage, eyes big with dismay. “I—I don’t know. Somewhere along the coast.” She felt a wave of dizziness grip

her. “Don’t—don’t know. Nothing but hills all—around.” She looked down and saw blood dripping from her chin onto her flight jacket. She gazed blankly at the man standing nearby. “Dizzy,” she said into the radio. Matheson could hear her hyperventilating into the mike. “Shannon, are you hurt? You don’t sound good.” Shannon used all her strength to push the mike button one more time. “Need someone—” Then she ed out. “Shannon!” Matheson screamed into the radio. “Damn it, where are you?” The radio crackled and a strange voice came over the airwaves. “Hello? Hello?” Matheson jumped at the stranger’s voice. “Who are you?” “I am Andoni. I have flock of sheep here. Lady crash into my pasture. Airplane hurt bad. She hurt bad too, I think. She out. Have blood on head.” Matheson lowered his head and gripped the mike so hard it shook. “Can you tell me how to get to your pasture?” Minutes later Matheson stormed out and ran for the flight line.

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Matheson lowered the Stearman over the welter of hills below, scanning the land below for Shannon and the wreck. Pushing the Stearman to the limit, he had reached the area in less than 30 minutes. Tense with frustration, after two es over the area identified by the shepherd, he spotted the Ryan below. Looking around for a landing place showed him no possibilities. Then I’ll make one. Grimly he searched for a place to set down, and finally decided on the narrow

dirt road that led to the pasture. It was a bumpy set-down but a feat of astonishing flying skill. He shut down and vaulted from the cockpit, running the last two hundred yards to the wreck. On the radio at the base, he had asked the shepherd to do everything he could to keep Shannon’s head cool. Andoni had taken a scarf from his neck, wet it in a watering trough, and draped it over her forehead. He had also strung up a makeshift sunshade with his shirt. Periodically he poured cool water from the canvas bag draped in front of his truck’s radiator over the scarf. And in between, he spent considerable time on his knees praying for divine intervention. When he entered the pasture and ran up to the wreck breathing hard, Matheson found a semi-conscious Shannon still in the cockpit, dried blood on the right side of her head and face. He checked her head and found it still cool. He thanked Andoni profusely and spoke softly to Shannon but could get no coherent response. When the ambulance stormed into the pasture forty minutes later, it was all the crew could do to get him to back off and let them do their job. Getting Shannon’s long body out of the cockpit and into the ambulance while cradling her head wasn’t easy, but it was done. Meanwhile, an agitated Matheson questioned the shepherd, who could tell him nothing new. He looked at the Ryan, gazing in wonder at the shredded wing fabric and making a mental note that it had taken a great deal of skill and coolness to bring the airplane to earth with its pilot still alive. Matheson had had the foresight to insist a pilot come with the ambulance crew. He turned the Stearman over to him and hopped into the ambulance with the crew. There was no way he was leaving her side again.

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Matheson agonized over each bump in the road on the way south. Finally reaching Santa Maria, the ambulance headed straight for the hospital, where Shannon was rushed into X-ray. The ambulance team had kept her head cool all the way; now it was re-wrapped in ice. Through all this she drifted in and out of consciousness, staying lucid long enough at one point to ask Matheson to call her mother. He did, dreading the call with each digit he dialed. It was Charles

who answered. After that he went to the hospital’s waiting room and sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands. Two cups of coffee later, one of the doctors caring for Shannon walked into the waiting room. Matheson jumped out of his chair. “She’s going to be okay, I think,” the doctor said. “She has three fractured ribs and a concussion. X-rays don’t show any damage to her neck vertebrae, but the crash wrenched the hell out of her neck muscles, and I’m putting her in a neck brace for at least a week. Oh, and she had a gash on her scalp I had to stitch up. But it’s beneath her hair. No one will see it.” Matheson wearily rubbed his hand over his face. “That’s good news, Doc. But you said you think she’s going to be okay. Why aren’t you sure?” “Because you can never tell with head injuries. We didn’t detect any unusual brain swelling when she got here, so that’s good news. The shepherd must have done a good job of keeping her head cool; he should get plentiful thanks.” Matheson blew out his breath. “He’ll get more than that.” The doctor scratched the back of his head. “I’ll tell you, Mr. Matheson. The ambulance techs described the crash site to me. That’s a fine pilot lying in there.” “Doc, you were never more right. Can I see her?” “Yes, she’s awake now but groggy. Follow me.” Shannon’s room was semi-dark and quiet. She was lying in a bed with her head swathed in cooling bandages and in a neck brace. She had an IV drip in her left arm. She tried to turn her head at Matheson’s approach, but the brace wouldn’t let her. “Hi, Tom,” she whispered when she saw his face above her. “How you feeling, sugar?” “Been better,” she said, barely audible. “I want my mom.”

Matheson grasped her right hand. “She’s on her way, the whole family. But it’ll probably be another hour before they arrive.” Shannon labored to talk. “What’s the damage?” He attempted a smile. “First, Doc thinks you’re going to be okay. I’ll leave the technical to him, but he told me you have three fractured ribs and a concussion, plus some wrenched neck muscles. That’s the reason for the brace. Oh, and you have a gash on your head he had to stitch up.” “Ohhh.” He stood up. “You should get some rest until your family gets here.” Shannon squeezed his hand. “Call Drew Patterson. And Josie.” Then her eyelids slowly closed.

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It was almost two p.m. when the Pearsons burst through the doors of the hospital. But they had brought someone with them. Brendan McClary hustled down the long corridor with them to Shannon’s room. They all tried to fit through the door at once, then the others reluctantly stood back and let Sarah enter first. Sarah approached Shannon’s bed and gasped, hand to her mouth. Shannon’s face was severely bruised on the right side around her temple, and her right eye was blackened. She was still on an IV drip and her head was firmly held in a neck brace. Sarah choked back a sob as Dot saw Shannon and started to cry. “It won’t help, dear,” Sarah told her. “Let’s be strong for Shannon.” Charles and Brendan looked from behind them, Charles’ face grim and Brendan’s slack in shock. “She’s been sleeping for a couple of hours,” the nurse who had accompanied

them into the room said. “I’m reluctant to wake her but it would lift her spirits to see you.” She reached out and put a hand gently on Shannon’s shoulder. “Shannon, your family is here.” Shannon moaned and slowly opened her eyes. At sight of Sarah, she teared up and her lip trembled. “Mom,” she rasped. “I’m a mess.” Sarah pulled up a chair and grasped Shannon’s right hand. “You are still my beautiful daughter. Look who else is here.” Dot came forward, eyes moist. “Don’t cry, sister,” Shannon said feebly. “I love you.” She tried to smile when Charles leaned over and grasped her hand. “Dad. Need your strength now.” But when Brendan’s face appeared above her, she moaned and tried to turn her head away, even though she was restrained by the brace. Brendan looked at Charles, puzzled. Charles shook his head. “Give her time to be herself.” After a short period, Shannon seemed to tire. She motioned she wanted to talk to Sarah alone, so the others reluctantly withdrew. Shannon summoned what little strength she had. “Mom, why did you bring Brendan?” Sarah was taken aback. “There seemed to be no reason not to. I’d assumed you would have wanted him to know right away and see you the first chance he got. Was I wrong?” Shannon’s face twisted in anguish and she put her right hand over her eyes. “I didn’t want him to see me like this.” Sarah looked down at her lap. “Oh. Shannon, if he really cares about you, this won’t make the slightest difference. Give him some credit.”

Shannon reached out her right hand and squeezed Sarah’s arm. “Thank you for being here. I’m so tired. Can you come again in the morning?” Sarah took her daughter’s hand and pressed it gently to her breast. “Yes, we’ll see you in the morning. You need lots of rest.” With that, she reluctantly went out into the hallway, where she found the others talking with a stranger. Charles made an introduction as she approached. “Sarah, this is Shannon’s boss, Tom Matheson.” Sarah took his hand briefly. “Mr. Matheson, are you able to determine what caused the crash?” “I can’t go into the cause yet. The feds are going to be coming in on this, and they’ll want me to talk to them first. The airplane she was flying will be here on a flatbed in the morning. That’ll be the first time I can give it a detailed examination. I promise to keep you updated at the earliest time I can. “Mrs. Pearson,” he continued, “Shannon’s best friend Josie Kelly has been notified. I know Shannon would like to have her here. But it may take a couple of days to get her back home. She asked for one other person, Drew Patterson. He said he’d be in tomorrow morning.” Sarah’s face betrayed surprise, then recovered. “Good. Just the person I want to talk to.”

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Drew touched down at nine a.m. the next morning, this time in the blue Jenny. He did a hasty shutdown at his parking spot and turned the airplane over to a flight line attendant. Then he took a cab to the hospital, barely keeping from running as he flew through the double entrance doors. He headed down the hall at a fast clip and was almost to Shannon’s room when a familiar voice from the shadows stopped him. It was Sarah. “Not so fast.”

Drew came to an abrupt halt and turned around. “I know that tone. You have something to say, make it quick.” Sarah approached him, face full of righteous anger. “This is what your pushing her into this pilot business has led to. I tried to get her to see her future more reasonably. But you’ve enabled all this to happen. You went against my wishes.” “Me? I never pushed her one bit. She’s been one step ahead of me since the day I first met her. I was always catching up to her desire. And if it wasn’t me showing her the ropes, it would have been someone else. I reckon you would have liked that even less.” “This is all wrong for her!” “It’s what she wants. That’s a damn fine pilot lying in there.” Sarah was on the verge of tearing up. “And she’s a damned fine daughter! I want her to live a long life, not risk it every day in these flying machines.” “And do what? Work at Gruber’s Soda Shack? Sarah, this is the wrong time for this. We’ve got to focus all our energy on her.” Sarah looked at the floor, deflated. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Go in and talk to her. She asked for you.” Drew’s appearance seemed to energize Shannon. She pushed her eyes open wider and tried to raise her head. “Hey, kid,” Drew said softly, taking her right hand. “Lay back, now. Heard you came down hard.” Her voice was still weak and raspy. “Yeah, but I brought her down mostly in one piece. Proud of that.” “Hmph. From what I heard it took a good pilot to do it. The plane may be mostly in one piece but how about you?” “Cracked ribs, concussion, sore all over. And stitches in my scalp. Guess I’ll be grounded for a while.”

“No getting around it, I’m afraid. When you’re better, the feds will send in a flight doctor to clear you.” He squeezed her hand. “You’ll be back up there before—” He stopped abruptly at the sound of feet behind him. Brendan was standing in the doorway. At sight of Drew, Brendan’s body tensed. The two men stared wordlessly at each other in uncomfortable hush. It had about stretched to the breaking point when Tom Matheson entered. “Drew, they’ve brought the airplane in. Thought you’d want to have a look.” Drew straightened up slowly. “Yeah, sure do. Lead on.” He walked slowly past Brendan, the two making eye all the way.

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In a hangar at the airport, Drew stood with Matheson on the bed of the flatbed truck where the Ryan rested. They were both staring at the right wing frame, exposed almost entirely by the loss of fabric. “This just doesn’t happen,” Matheson said. “This airframe is a year old. It’s been capably cared for all the way along.” “You’re right,” Drew said. “It shouldn’t have happened.” He moved in to examine the wing closely. “But it did. Why? Shannon’s as conscientious a pilot as I know. She’d never shortchange her pre-flight check. Did she miss something?” He moved so his head was within inches of the wing’s leading edge. He ran his fingers along the bare spruce wood. He stopped and sniffed for a moment, then turned to Matheson. “This thing been patched recently?” “No. I keep close track of everything done to these aircraft, and I can tell you without a doubt it hasn’t been patched since we’ve had it. Why?”

Drew frowned. “I’m getting a whiff of fresh dope, just a trace. But it shouldn’t be there. And there’s something else I’m smelling too, but I can’t identify it.” Matheson walked over to him. He looked closely at the leading edge. “Look here,” he said, running his fingers along the wood as Drew had done. “Look at the discoloration in the spruce at periodic points along the edge. That shouldn’t be there either.” “What would do it?” “Some kind of acid, I’m guessing. It’s probably what else you’re smelling. It brought out the dope smell when the fabric—” He stopped; his eyes seemingly focused on something not present. Drew’s face went slack in a dawning realization. Matheson nodded. “Somebody tried to kill her.”

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Brendan approached Shannon’s bed warily. He came to her side and stopped, looking down. “Glad to see me now?” Shannon looked unhappy and started to tear up. “I’m so sorry. It was just that I didn’t want you to see me looking like this. I have stitches in my head!” Brendan bent down and embraced her carefully, planting a kiss on the bandage over her stitches. “They’re under your hair. No one else will know.” He drew back. “You must have known I’d do anything to be at your side when I found out. There was no way you could keep me away until you thought you looked better. You think it matters to me you’ve got bandages on your head? It doesn’t. Seeing you alive is all I care about.”

Just then the doctor and two nurses came in. “Time to sit up,” the doctor said cheerily, as the nurses went to either side of her bed and elevated it so she was in more of a sitting position. “That’s got to feel better. Let’s get the IV out of your arm.” One of the nurses complied. He bent over and took her pulse and temperature. “I think you’re going to make a full recovery. It helps to be nineteen. I’m kicking you out of here tomorrow. Now, I’m going to leave—and I suggest your young man here leave also—and the nurses will wrap your ribs.” Shannon looked up at Brendan. “I’m sorry. We can talk later.” She squeezed his hand. “Thank you for being here. I hope I didn’t offend you.” “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “See you later.” The nurses turned to her. “Now, young lady,” one said. “This will probably hurt a bit.”

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Outside in the hallway, Brendan ran into Sarah and Dot coming in for a visit. “You don’t look entirely happy,” Sarah said on seeing his face as Dot continued into the room. “Is she doing all right?” “Yes, she’s a little more together this morning. It’s just that I don’t know what she’s thinking about me.” “Oh, you mean her reaction last night when you were with us. I wouldn’t spend any more time worrying about it. She didn’t want you to see her all banged up. That means she genuinely cares what you think of her.” She put a hand on his arm. “It’s how girls think. And it’s a compliment.” Brendan blushed. “Thank you.”

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Matheson and Drew waited until the afternoon, when Shannon’s visitors had been gone for a while, to talk to her. They found her sitting up in bed, but still in the neck brace. “This is a big improvement,” Matheson said. “How are you feeling?” “Sore all over, a headache, and dying to get out of this brace,” she said. She looked at Drew and then back at Matheson, studying their faces. “You have something you want to tell me.” Drew pulled up a chair and sat, then reached out to Shannon’s left hand, enveloping it in his own. “Shannon, your airplane was sabotaged. Someone tried to kill you.” She looked at him in amazement, then at Matheson, who nodded soberly. She put a hand to her mouth, then her face crumpled in dismay. “Are you sure?” Matheson sighed. “The leading edge of your right wing was coated with some acid sometime during the night. It was slow acting, apparently, and weakened the fabric, but didn’t show itself until you took off and got up into the airstream. Then the fabric started to let go.” He put a gentle hand briefly on her shoulder. “It was a hell of a job bringing that plane down, young lady.” Shannon sighed and nodded to herself. “That’s what was different when I did my pre-flight check. After I got into the cockpit something didn’t feel right. I got back out and went through the checklist again. I still couldn’t find anything wrong”. She looked at Matheson. “But it was something I smelled, not anything I saw, that was wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I was up against the clock for takeoff, and I didn’t want you on my back about being late.” Matheson put a gentle hand on Shannon’s arm. “Shannon, I never want you to worry about being late for takeoff if you’re not satisfied with the aircraft. Got it?”

Shannon nodded. Drew leaned over and embraced her. She clung to him for long seconds. “Shannon,” Matheson continued, “who knew the Ryan was assigned to you?” Shannon let go of Drew and sat back, thinking for a moment. “Everyone here at the airfield did. But they wouldn’t—” “No, I don’t think so either. The male pilots are an arrogant bunch, but I know them all pretty well, and they’d never wish you harm. In fact, if it became necessary, they’d protect you.” Drew seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then: “Who outside the airfield knew it was your airplane?” Shannon thought for a second before it hit her. “Brendan.” “That’s right,” Drew said. “Brendan McClary.” “No! He wouldn’t—he’s—” “In love with you?” Drew said dryly. “Are you sure?” Shannon’s cheeks flushed with anger. “Stop it; I don’t want to hear that.” “All right, I’m sorry. I can’t see him ever doing something like that either. I can tell he cares deeply for you.” He paused. “But his brothers don’t.” Shannon’s face froze momentarily. “But how could they know? He’d never share that with them. He knows they hate me better than I do.” “How could they know? I’ll grant you Brendan wouldn’t tell them. But if they found out where you were by tailing him, it doesn’t mean they didn’t send one of them here to either shadow Brendan or observe in secret which airplane you took off in each morning.” At this Shannon began to sob quietly. “We’re going to place all the aircraft here under twenty-four hour guard from now on,” Matheson said.

“Good idea,” Drew said, “but it won’t help her at the other end. Can you arrange the same security there?” “I’ve got some good will I can trade on. Should be able to get it done.” He turned to Shannon. “You’re grounded until the flight doc clears you. He should be here in a week. Once you’re cleared, I’ll leave it up to you as to when you want to fly again. That should give us time to repair the aircraft.” He backed away from the bed. “And now I’ll leave you two alone.” “Wait,” Shannon said. “I don’t want my family to know a word of this, at least for now. Make up whatever story you like about why the fabric failed. But please, don’t let them know the truth. Let me deal with it at a time of my choosing.” Both men nodded agreement.

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The next morning, after the Pearsons had come in to say goodbye and were waiting in the hallway, Brendan came in to say his own reluctant goodbye. “I’ve got to get back home,” he said gently as he sat at her bedside. “Your family is leaving, and I have to go with them.” Shannon took his hand. “I know. Thank you for being here.” Then in a rush of emotion, she suddenly felt a deep need to confide in Brendan. “Oh, Brendan, someone tried to kill me.” “What?” She gripped his shirt. “But don’t tell my parents!” She described the discovery of the acid Drew and Tom Matheson thought was spread on the wings. Then she looked away and spoke in a quiet voice. “Cormac would do this.” Brendan’s mouth tightened. “He would, the bastard.” “But he had to know which airplane was mine. Somehow, he found out.

Brendan, I’m so sorry, but when you came to visit me before, why did you ask if the airplane I was working on in the hangar was the one I flew?” “It was idle curiosity. I—” He stopped. “You think I told him?” He was suddenly up and pacing. “Does all the time we’ve spent together mean nothing to you? Do you honestly believe I could do a thing like that? Haven’t I made it obvious how much I care about you?” Shannon started to cry. “No—I mean yes. I didn’t—I mean I wasn’t—it’s only that Cormac might have followed—” Brendan was too angry to hear her. “If you want to believe it, fine. Looks like my time with you has been wasted. I hope you make a full recovery.” He turned on his heel and walked toward the door. Shannon was frantic. “No! Please, come back!” But she was talking to empty air.

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Back to his breezy self, Drew came by an hour later to say goodbye. “See you soon, kid,” he said, bending over to give her a kiss on the forehead. “Hope you’re back in the air soon.” “Thank you,” she said softly, looking away. The perfunctory response wasn’t lost on Drew. “Something wrong?” “It’s nothing,” Shannon said, hiding a tear with her hand. Drew sat down on the side of her bed. “You women have a habit of saying that. And it always means something is happening that’s far more than nothing; you just don’t want to talk about it. Or you do, if you thought we’d listen.” He looked at her closely. “Is it the Irish kid?”

Shannon turned her head away from him, as much as she could with the neck brace still on. Drew sighed. “Yeah, I thought so. It’s none of my business, so I’ll be on my way. But , I will listen if you want to talk it out.” He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Take care of yourself, angel.” With that he was up and walking away. She wanted to call after him but she didn’t, her mind a turbulent roil of emotions. In just hours, she had managed to offend both of the men that cared about her.

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In early afternoon, Shannon was released from the hospital, and rode on a cart back to her small room. She found it filled with cards and flowers, some from the other pilots she knew at the base. She sat gingerly in the lone chair, reading over every card. After she had tearfully read the last one, she went into the bathroom, turned on the light over the mirror, and pulled her tousled hair aside, staring at the stitches in her scalp. Her eyes brimmed with wetness at the thought of the scar that would remain, but with extra effort she was able to arrange her hair over the area, and it became invisible. Back on the bed, a heavy loneliness settled over her. She couldn’t fly, all her visitors were gone, and her friends at the base had gone back to their jobs. There was one remedy. That remedy arrived two hours later when she answered a knock on her door to find a smiling Josie standing on her step. Josie stepped in and carefully gave her a long and loving embrace. “Girl, I’m so sorry. This was the fastest I could get here. I pleaded for an earlier flight, but the twits wouldn’t bend.” She drew back. “You’ve looked better.” “Yes, don’t I know it. I’ll be shouting for joy when they let me take this neck brace off.”

“I’ll bet. Hmm. Even so, you look kind of weepy. Man trouble again?” Shannon nodded. Josie helped her gingerly stretch out on the bed, as she took the chair. “Tell me everything.” Shannon spent the next half hour detailing what had happened, how she had successfully fought the airplane all the way to ground, and how she had driven Brendan away with her ill-described suspicions and Drew away with her obvious interest in Brendan. “That’s serious all right. The plane crash was bad too.” Shannon finally broke into a smile and realized how long it had been since she had. She slowly sat up. “There’s one more thing to show you. Walk with me down to the hangar.” The two women walked along slowly, Josie pouring out the frantic emotions she had had when learning of Shannon’s crash. “I knew you’d crashed and were injured, but I couldn’t get to you. I was so angry it’s a wonder they let me up in the air. At first, I thought about taking the plane and flying over to you, and to hell with the mail. Please forgive me for not being with you sooner.” Shannon winced as her foot stumbled on a rough spot and pain shot through her ribs. “It’s okay, dear friend. They would have been after you in a hot minute if you’d done that. Then I’d have to be the one to come see you—in jail.” They arrived at the hangar and went inside, where the Ryan remained for study and repair. Shannon showed Josie the tattered wing. “My God,” Josie muttered. “What could have done it?” Shannon looked up at the wooden frame. “It was deliberate.” “What? Are you saying someone tried to kill you?” “I’ll fill you in, but it has to be kept confidential. First I need to sit down. Let’s go for those freight boxes over by the wall.”

They walked over to the boxes and Shannon eased herself down. Then she told Josie the rest and swore her to secrecy. Josie sat quietly for several seconds when Shannon had finished. Then she sighed. “You think it was Cormac McClary?” “No doubt in my mind. But it’ll be hell proving it. He probably hired someone to do it. It would have to be someone who knew airplanes. Whoever it was, they’re probably long gone.” Josie got up and hugged her. “Girl, I’m so sorry. But this could happen again. How are you going to cope with it?” “Matheson is putting all the planes under twenty-four-hour guard.” Looking away, Josie spoke in a voice so low Shannon could barely hear her. “Maybe you should quit this job. It’s not worth your life.” Shannon snorted. “You know me better than that. I will not quit. They fooled me once, but they won’t fool me twice. I’ll be ready. Besides, he could come at me no matter what I’m doing.” The effort seemed to drain her energy. “Josie, I’m tired. Let’s get back to my room.” Josie helped Shannon to her feet. As they were about to leave, one of the aircraft mechanics walked up. “Good to see you up and about, Miss Shannon,” he said, giving a nod to Josie. “I see your best friend is here. I sent you flowers.” “I know. I read your card. Thank you for the good wishes, Earl. It means a lot to me.” She looked behind her at the stack of freight boxes. “Say Earl, what’s with this bunch of boxes? They came in last week and they’re still here.” Earl shook his head. “Hmph. It’s air freight. They should’ve been gone last week, too. Can’t get anyone to fly ’em out yet. The men don’t want to do it. They think it’s beneath them.” He walked off, still shaking his head. Josie stared at the boxes for a long moment. “I’d fly them,” she muttered. “So would I,” Shannon said. She turned to look at Josie.

Josie looked at her. And abruptly it became one of those crossroads moments when a light shines on a new path, a moment that could happen when the minds of two close friends were suddenly perfectly in sync.

13

Brendan strode into the McClary ranch house to find Cormac and Patrick lounging on the leather sofa in the den. He promptly picked up a brass candleholder and flung it at Cormac’s head. Cormac ducked aside, the candlestick holder flying past his ear and crashing through the glass of a display cabinet behind the sofa. Astonished, he started to rise from the sofa but Brendan rushed him and smashed a heavy blow to his jaw. Cormac flew back onto the sofa and barely missed another blow. He launched off the sofa and hit Brendan hard on his right cheek. Brendan was rocked back but he waded in with a hard left that caught Cormac on his left ear. Cormac fought back with a thunderous blow to the chin that staggered Brendan, knocking him back two steps. At that Patrick jumped in and wrapped up Brendan, lifting him off his feet and flinging him back away from his brother. “Stop it, damn you!” “Let him go,” Cormac said, wiping blood from his mouth and trembling with rage. “He’s overdue for a beating.” He moved toward them but Patrick held up a hand. “Stop now before you do something you’ll regret.” “Won’t be no regrets over this. Should’ve been done a long time ago.” “You damned worthless goon!” Brendan shouted. “You tried to kill Shannon.” Cormac charged and aimed a punch over Patrick’s head that missed. Brendan stumbled backward and crashed into the dining room table, where his hand found the other candlestick holder. He moved forward, the brass holder held high and Patrick’s hand still against his chest. Cormac wiped blood from his face, murder in his eyes. “I tried to have somebody killed? What the hell you talkin’ about?”

Brendan was shaking with fury. “You know damn well what I mean.” Red-faced, Cormac straightened up and walked a few steps to the side, never taking his gaze off Brendan. “Yeah? My memory’s hazy. Before I beat you bloody, fill me in.” Brendan wrenched loose from Patrick’s grasp, glaring at Cormac. He told him what had happened to Shannon, and that it had revealed itself to be deliberate. “Ain’t been to Santa Maria in six years,” Cormac said. Brendan turned to look at Patrick, whose stocky, muscular form went rigid with tension. “You leave me out of this or you’ll have two of us on you.” Brendan straightened his clothes, rubbing the knuckles on his right hand. “Liars. I’m done with you.” “You’re done all right,” Cormac said, walking slowly toward him, fists clenched. “You ever set foot in this house again, I’ll kill you. I ever see you hangin’ out with that Donnelly bitch again, I’ll kill you. Only reason you walk out now is the blood between us.” He moved a step closer. “Next time blood means nothin’. Get out now while your luck holds.” Brendan walked out, knowing any family bond between him and his brothers was forever severed.

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Shannon and Josie were giddy with excitement over the sudden revelation they had when Earl told them about the air freight situation. They went back to Shannon’s room and talked far into the night. Josie had to fly out the next morning on a Tri Motor shuttle back to Las Vegas. Shannon made her way down the flight line to Tom Matheson’s office, holding

her ribs steady all the way. She told him about the air freight sitting waiting for a pilot. “Yes, unfortunately it’s not an unusual problem,” he said. “The men have delusions of grandeur that doesn’t include ferrying air freight. They avoid it unless they’re forced to. Meanwhile, boxes like the ones you saw sit waiting.” “Flying is flying,” Shannon said. “Josie and I are both ready and willing to ferry the freight to wherever it’s bound. We’re offering to do it on our days off.” Matheson frowned. “Take a deep breath. Those days off are for you pilots, you know. You’re allowed so much airtime per week. It’s a health and safety issue.” Shannon visibly deflated. She had known it, but in her excitement had been in denial. “But I think it’s a fine idea,” Matheson said, “and it shouldn’t go to waste.” She looked up and saw a glimmer of hope in Matheson’s expression. “What do you mean?” “I mean somebody needs to deliver that freight in a timely manner. It might as well be you. Don’t let me discourage you if the two of you want to try it. I’d hate to lose either one of you, but I like people with vision. Now, let’s keep this conversation strictly confidential. My superiors wouldn’t like it if they knew I was encouraging two of my best pilots to strike out on their own. Just be careful —with your dreams and with whom you discuss this.” Shannon looked out the window for a moment, and there was a shift in her demeanor. When she turned back to Matheson, her eyes were moist. “I could have died in that accident.” “Yes,” Matheson said, handing her a tissue. “I’ve got the sheriff looking into it. He and I go back to our Army days. Different units, same battles. I don’t know how much progress he’ll make in finding the goon who did it. But he’s on it.” He leaned forward. “And since that airplane was a U.S. mail plane, the feds are taking a keen interest in the accident. If they ever catch the hatchet man, he’s in more trouble than he can imagine. They okayed my use of guards on the aircraft for now, until the report is final. But that could change. And it worries me.” He sighed. “It should worry you too.”

Shannon wiped away a tear and nodded. Matheson let her sniffle for a moment. Then: “Here’s what I think you should do. I’d like to keep you both but if you decide to resign and strike out on your own, be prepared to go all out. Set down what you’re willing to do, where you’re willing to fly, and so forth. Start making influential s. And make sure your licenses are appropriate for freight delivery. He could tell from her startled expression that the idea hadn’t occurred to her. “Now, when the time is at hand, I can give you a letter of introduction to the head of Pacific Air Transport in Los Angeles.” Shannon stood up carefully, one hand bracing her ribs again. “How can I thank you for all this?” Matheson stood up with her. “Fly straight,” he said. She turned to go but he spoke again. “One more thing. Do you want to tell me what happened in Barstow a while back? There’s talk going around among the men.” One hand on the doorknob, Shannon stopped. “Some other time, please. For now, let’s just say Josie and I aren’t going to get the key to the city if we go back. And we’d rather not go back.”

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Two days later, Shannon’s neck brace was removed, and received instructions on physical therapy she could do herself. She took to walking around the base, and tried jogging softly, but her ribs weren’t ready and the wrap restricted her breathing. While she was walking, she tried to tell herself Brendan’s angry departure didn’t bother her, that after all she had flying to do, and once she got back in the air it was all she would need. But it wasn’t working. Ten days after the crash, the federal flight physician arrived, and put her through a series of tests, both mental and physical. In the end, he cleared her to return to

the air in ten days. She chafed at the additional wait time but had no choice but to accept it. The next day, Shannon’s doctor removed the stitches in her scalp and gave her clearance to remove the rib wrap when she felt she was ready. She popped in at the hangar nearly every day to see how the repairs to the Ryan were going. Earl the mechanic greeted her warmly, not annoyed in the least by her frequent presence. “She’ll be ready before you are,” he said, looking over the airplane. The undercarriage had been rebuilt, and there were two technicians carefully applying new fabric to the right wing. “The whirling motion when it hit the ground might have thrown every connecting point angle out of kilter, so we checked for alignment and signs of strain everywhere,” he continued. “The fuselage is in good shape thanks to its tubular steel construction. Yep, she’ll be ready. It’ll be good to see you both back in the air.”

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On her last day before returning to work, she had run out of things to do and returned to the hangar for one last look at the Ryan, which sat shining and ready to fly. She gingerly climbed into the pilot’s seat, reveling in the feel of the controls under her touch once again. She closed her eyes, pulled back on the control column, and could almost feel the airplane rising into the sky. Reluctantly, she climbed back down to the ground. “See you tomorrow, bright and early, Earl,” she called to the mechanic. “She’ll be waiting,” Earl said. “I plan on sleeping with her tonight.”

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The sun was a brilliant ball on the horizon, chasing away the indigo of night and

bathing the landscape in warm light when Shannon climbed into the Ryan. She had done a deliberate pre-flight check and was ready for the sky. “Clear!” she shouted, then wound the magneto and hit the start button. The engine sputtered twice and roared into life. She gave the flight attendant the sign to remove the wheel chocks and waved a salute to Earl, who was watching like a proud papa. She had no doubt Matheson was watching from the radio room. She sat for a few minutes letting the engine oil warm, then headed out to the runway. Granted clearance for takeoff, with a shiver of excitement she shoved the throttle forward, and seconds later lifted into the fresh morning air. There were no incidents with the aircraft over the next two weeks. She had considered taking a sleeping bag and sleeping under the aircraft if she had to, but Matheson was as good as his word with the ground security. She and Josie wrote regularly, tossing around ideas for air freight piloting. February 14th brought a new one from her friend. I’m on board with this idea, Josie wrote. But it’s a huge step. And flying freight for someone else wouldn’t be much different than delivering the mail for someone else. Consider this: maybe we ought to go into business together and form our own air freight company. What do you think? Shannon shivered with excitement when she read the letter. It was an audacious idea, but one fraught with uncertainty. Could two young female pilots make a go of it in a male-dominated profession? She wrote back: Hot idea! Matheson had offered to give us a letter of introduction to the head guy at Pacific Air Transport, but I like your idea better. If we strike out on our own, we can control our own destiny, and if we’re successful, we can grow. If we fail, we could always try working for Pacific Air Transport later. But so many things to consider. Where would we base our operations? Can we handle the piloting duties by ourselves? How do we acquire airplanes that can haul a significant amount of freight? How would we get business? Lots more, but let’s keep talking about it.

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A few days later, she returned from a mail run to the north on a cool day. The cockpit had been cold, and she was glad to get back to her room, where her little electric floor heater could warm her toes. As she walked from the flight line, her thoughts turned once again to Brendan. The way he had left—and the knowledge she had caused it—was still an ache on her heart, and there was no doubt she missed him. I thought flying again was all I needed. It used to be. But now. . . How can I fix this?

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March was upon them. Shannon’s cracked ribs healed quickly, and her neck muscles soon allowed full rotation of her head with minor pain. To her dismay, Brendan hadn’t reappeared. After what she had done, she didn’t have the courage to make the first move toward a reconciliation. Shannon had done some checking around and found out the air freight problem with the men was not uncommon. Plunging ahead, she and Josie had met with Charles and Sarah several times to discuss how to get their business off the ground. Charles had agreed to be their financial advisor and Sarah, still with strong reservations, their legal advisor. “You’re going to need a permanent base,” Charles said at their first meeting. “You can’t fly around the state looking for freight to deliver. Get a home and the freight will come to you.” Shannon wrung her hands nervously. “We were thinking Leroy out at Kazminski Aviation might agree to let us use his field.” Charles looked at them with doubt. “Again, you girls haven’t thought this out very well. Even if he agreed, Kazminski Aviation is too remote a location to ship air freight to. I suggest you try to lease a bay at Mines Field[6]. It’s going to be the city’s municipal airport before long, and it’s only going to grow.” “And how would you acquire the aircraft you need?” Sarah said, noting the question seemed to make the girls squirm even more.

Josie spoke in a voice that could barely be heard, gaze scarcely rising above the carpeted floor of the den. “We, uh, were figuring on asking Leroy if we could rent one of his airplanes. They’re hardly being used now, what with the Depression going.” Charles attempted a comforting smile. “Girls, the aircraft he’s got are old Jennys. The biplane era is about over. People are turning largely to the new monoplanes. You air freight service with biplane delivery, and you’re not going to get many takers.” Embarrassed at their lack of business acumen, the girls could hardly look at each other. “And lease is the proper term you’re looking for,” Charles said. “You don’t rent aircraft like that. It would be too expensive, and renting implies short-term use. Of course, leasing is going to cut significantly into your profits. You wouldn’t have much profit for the first couple of years. And leasing leaves you vulnerable. The aircraft wouldn’t be yours, and if something happened during the lease that you lost use of the aircraft, your business could crash.” Shannon looked at her mother. “What if we bought them?” “Daughter, with what?” Sarah said. “I know you’ve often talked about owning your own airplane someday, but—” “Um, I’ve been checking. If renting, er, I mean leasing, is a bad idea, I have enough money left from the sale of my parents’ homestead to put a down payment on a used aircraft. We’ve even been looking, and we found a good deal on a Consolidated Fleetster.” She caught herself referring to her deceased mother and father as “parents”. Even though they were, she tried to avoid using the term in Charles and Sarah’s company. This time she had failed. “What’s a Fleetster?” Dot said, having come into the den. “It’s a monoplane.” Josie said. “It’s got a wooden wing, but the skin is metal, and it has a radial engine. It was designed to carry up to eight engers, but it can be set up as a cargo carrier too. The nice thing about the one we saw is it’s already been set up for that.” “Hmm,” Sarah said, looking at Shannon. “I was hoping you’d use that money for

something valuable for your future.” “Mom, what could be more valuable than this?” Shannon said. She got down on the carpet in front of Sarah. “Please, Mom, I want your okay for this. There’s nothing else I’d ever want to spend the money on than this. And with what’s left over, I have enough to start the lease.” Sarah reached out and put a hand on the side of Shannon’s head. “Every nerve I have is telling me no. But I my parents were opposed to me going to law school. I wanted more for my life than they did.” She paused, stroking Shannon’s hair. “And you want more for your life. From the first, I sensed you were a girl who was going to dream big and go after it. At times that scared me. But I can’t stand in your way. I’ll give my approval, knowing that win or lose, it’s what your heart is telling you to do. But you’d better ask your financial advisor.” She looked at Charles. He didn’t speak for long moments as Shannon squirmed. Then he looked at Josie and Shannon and nodded almost imperceptibly. “Give it a try.” Shannon broke into a joyous grin and bounced up and down on the sofa. “Mom and Dad, I love you.” “However,” Sarah said sternly, “on one condition, young lady.” Shannon drew back, suddenly crestfallen. “What?” “That whenever you go to look at an airplane to lease or buy, you take Drew with you and follow his advice. I’m still not speaking to him much, but he knows airplanes inside and out.” Shannon looked over at Josie for an instant, then turned back to Sarah, grinning broadly. “Sure thing, Mom!”

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Drew stood looking up at the Fleetster with Shannon and Josie at his side. It was

a sleek-looking aircraft, with an enclosed cockpit and four rectangular windows on each side under the broad wing. He had tried everything he knew to discourage them, but the power of their insistence had won the day, and they had practically dragged him to Los Angeles to see the airplane. “I still think you’re getting in over your head,” he said. “But I have to it, it’s a fine-looking airplane. And the enclosed cockpit makes it extra nice.” Shannon was practically stamping her feet. “So can we take it up for a test flight?” “Yes, but I’m piloting. Understood?” Shannon pouted. “I’ll give each of you time at the controls, okay? , I’m running the show.” Drew walked over and talked to the owner, and forty-five minutes later, they were in the air. He flew down the coast for a while, then turned the controls over to Josie, who flew the aircraft as if she had done it for years. “She’s good, isn’t she?” Shannon said to Drew. He nodded. “That she is. A natural like you, I think.” Then it was Shannon’s turn. She was delighted by the feel of the controls and the comfortable enclosed cockpit. The 575-horsepower radial engine was thrillingly responsive. No more wind in her hair. No more freezing ears. No more scarf whipping itself into a frazzle behind her. It was real luxury. They touched down about an hour later. Drew taxied back up to the spot where the plane had been sitting. He went through shutdown, then turned to the girls. “You don’t know the challenges you’re going to face with this venture. Beyond the normal struggle for recognition and customers, you’re also going to face the challenge of being women. It isn’t just unfair; it’s flat-out wrong. But it’s there. You’re going to have to work twice as hard to prove yourselves. that.”

Josie took a step toward Drew. “You think I don’t know about that? You think I haven’t experienced what it’s like to have to work twice as hard to prove I can do it? Mister, Shannon’s the dreamer. But I’m going to be the solid rock of this partnership. I’m going to be the foundation.”

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They had, with some misgiving, severed their ties with the U.S. Mail program when the year ended. But the excitement of the new venture which lay before them had made the decision less difficult. They had both acquired their transport pilot licenses in December. The hundreds of flight hours they had put in in the U.S. Mail program served them nicely in meeting the solo flight hours requirements. Some features of the test had been daunting. They’d had to study and learn more of the Air Commerce Regulations, exams in airplane rigging, mechanics, meteorology and air navigation. In the air, they’d had to demonstrate skill in 180-degree turns preceding a landing, and show skill in emergency maneuvers, including spirals, side slips, climbing turns, and stalls. Shannon and Josie had scored so high on the tests the test proctor labeled them “show-offs.” Shannon had sorrowfully said goodbye to her sparse little room in the barracks at Santa Maria Airport. It had been her first home away from home, and though it was strictly utilitarian, it would always hold a tender spot in her heart. When she carefully packed her last item, the family portrait, she picked up her suitcase, went out, and quietly closed the door.

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Charles had gone over the lease proposal for a bay at Mines Field in detail, suggested a couple of proposed changes they could present, and given his conditional approval. Shannon had taken a big gulp and put down the first two months’ lease payment. Bay Four at Mines Field was theirs, at least for the

present. The venture had needed a name, of course, and the girls went through several ideas as they sat in a café near the field. “How about Two Irish Girls Air Freight?” Shannon suggested. “I mean, you don’t look Irish, but you’ve got the name going for you.” “Hmm,” Josie said. “Uh, no. Not good to this is a female operation. Let’s keep it under cover as long as possible. And by the way, Miss Abercrombie[7], there could have been a colored Irishman or two in the Old Country. You never know.” She stuck out her tongue. Chastened, Shannon went on. “How about, uh, Quicksilver Air Freight? We want to we’re fast.” “Okay, put it on in the list of possibles.” She brightened. “We studied the ancient Greek and Roman gods in school. There was this Greek god Hermes. He was the god of commerce, and he was also the fastest of all the Roman gods. That name could portray speed.” Shannon scrunched up her face. “Yeaaaah, if people knew about him. And I don’t like the sound of ‘Hermes Air Freight’. Doesn’t sound good rolling off the tongue.” Josie thought for a moment. “Okay, Miss Particular, what about his Roman counterpart, Mercury? He’s usually depicted with wings on his feet and on his headband. Everyone connects him with speed. And we could use his image on our business card that shows him seeming like he’s moving fast. Of course, he was also a guide of souls to the underworld, but we can leave out that part.” Shannon looked up at nothing for a long moment. “I like it. I mean, not the ‘guiding souls to the underworld’ part, but overall it sounds good. How about it, then? ‘Mercury Air Freight’.” Josie stuck out her hand. “I like it.” With that decided, Josie’s father, manager of a management consulting and printing service, set about deg and printing business cards, stationery, forms, flyers, and everything else he thought a business office would need.

Shannon was dismayed with the outlay of cash before they had even begun operations. “I wish we could have some paying customers first,” she told Josie. “Don’t put the cart before the horse. We’ve got to attract business before we can have it. And we have to look professional to do that.” A week after they had signed the lease, Josie’s father showed up at the bay with an armload of paper. “Here it is, girls,” he called loudly, his voice echoing in the empty bay. He plopped the load down onto the battered desk Shannon had procured from another nearby bay whose previous tenant had left some items behind. “There are standard business forms in here you’ll need. Got your business cards made up too. Hope you like them.” “Where’s Mama?” Josie said. “She’ll be along any second. She was right behind me.” And at that moment, Josie’s mother walked in. She was a middle-aged woman shorter than Josie, well-dressed, with Josie’s almond-shaped eyes. But she didn’t project the same self-assurance Shannon could see in her father. There was a reserve about her; Shannon saw a wariness in her eyes, as if having been disappointed too often had generated a sense of mistrust. Mrs. Kelly greeted Shannon warmly, then took Josie aside where they could talk privately. “You sure you can trust this white girl?” Josie gave her a disdainful look. “Mama, you have to let go of that. I’d trust Shannon with my life.” Her mother lifted her chin. “Seems to me that’s just what you’re doing.” “No more, you hear? In this life, sooner or later you have to trust someone to get ahead. I know you’ve been let down. But I have to take my chances if I’m going to get anywhere, like Daddy did. I’m betting all I have on Shannon to be the true friend she’s always been.” Her mother sighed and nodded. “I don’t want to see you disappointed.” “Mother, the only disappointment I’d have would be not doing this. Win or lose, this is something I have to do. And Shannon’s the one to do it with. End of

story.” That afternoon, Drew arrived with the Fleetster. He parked it in a private area reserved for commercial airplanes not far from their bay and stopped by to drop off the keys to the cockpit. Each of the girls got a hug of congratulations, Shannon’s a little longer. “Nice digs,” he said, looking around the bay. “It’ll do,” Shannon said. “It’s got a small office space in the back, and a toilet. That’s about it. Anything else, we’ll have to bring in.” She stopped from looking around the bay. “How’s Leroy?” “Retired. There wasn’t enough work to keep him going. He closed down the shop, sold the Jennys for what little they were worth, and moved into San Bernardino. But I doubt he’s happy. That’s a guy who needs to be working.” “What about you?” Drew attempted a smile and pushed a lock of thick brown hair back from his forehead. “At loose ends, at the moment. But don’t worry about me. I’ve got prospects.” “I hope so,” Josie said. Drew gave them a jaunty salute. “Good flying to you!” Then he walked away. Josie watched him go. “What a dreamboat,” she murmured, giving a sly glance at Shannon. “I think he likes you.” Shannon nodded. “Yes, he does. Now, let’s look at this stuff your father dropped off.” She picked up a stack of business cards and handed one to Josie. A thrill of excitement ran through her at sight of the business name, and their names, on the card. “Can you believe it?” she said, “it’s real now, isn’t it?” Josie gave her a big grin. “Yep, we’re in it now. We’d better get a move on. We need to get these flyers out and about. I’m going to saturate the airport with them. Every billboard, pilots’ lounge, deli, you name it.” “And I’ll make sure every business in the bays has one too,” Shannon said.

“Let’s go.”

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That evening, weary after their first day of canvassing the airport, Shannon and Josie sat in the two old chairs they had scrounged for the bay, drinking root beers they bought from a roving food truck. “What luck?” Shannon said. “Encouraging. I put up flyers everywhere they would stick. While I was doing it, I got some interest from onlookers and found some air freight sitting around they’re going to direct our way.” “Great. I hit every business at the field. Definitely stirred some interest. And I got our first customer. They’ll have an order ready to ship tomorrow!” “Wow! We’re off and running,” Josie said. I don’t know if she realizes it, but this is where it helps to be beautiful. The men around here will fall all over themselves to do business with her. And hope it develops into more than business. Shannon was momentarily lost in thought. “Where are you at?” Josie said. “Oh, ah, this is a great start, but I was thinking about how little money we have at the moment. We can’t afford to stay at the hotel we’re in, but then what? How do we get the money for daily living? I mean, getting an apartment doesn’t seem like it’d work. And then we’d have to furnish it, buy food, pay the electricity, and . . . We drove off a cliff with this thing, didn’t we?” “Yeah, and our parents are letting us learn by experience.” Josie drew closer and looked her in the eye. “You want to make this work? Then we do whatever it takes. We go bare bones. We can sleep on a cot in the office and trade off on shifts. We have a toilet here; and I found a place to shower today. We cook our

meals on a small portable electric stove in the office, and generally do without fancy clothes and makeup. We skimp. We save. We make do. That’s how we’re going to make it work.” Shannon’s eyes were shining. “We make do.” She reached forward to hug her. “With you all the way.” Early the next morning, they loaded up their first delivery in a motorized cart provided by the airfield and took it out to the Fleetster. On the way, they ed over a roll-on/roll-off scale that weighed their load, an important consideration to avoid exceeding the airplane’s cargo limit of about 2,000 pounds. “Oof! This stuff is heavy,” Josie said as they struggled with getting a crate into the cargo hold. “I can’t see us doing this indefinitely.” “Me neither,” Shannon said. “And this is a small load. I hope soon we can hire someone to load it for us.” Their first delivery wasn’t much, consisting of five crates of supplies to be flown up to Bakersfield. But it was a start, and that made it doubly important. They loaded the cargo into the proper place in the hold and carefully secured it with straps. Then they stepped out to catch a breath and look at the shining Fleetster ready and waiting for the sky. Josie had won the coin toss the night before for the first flight. She did a careful pre-flight inspection, Shannon checking alongside her, circling the plane as she had been taught to do, but from the opposite direction. All was good. The two young women clasped hands in the morning sunlight. “Okay, partner,” Shannon said. “She’s all yours. Mind the cargo weight now. It won’t respond like it did empty when we went up with Drew.” “Got it,” Josie said. “Wish me luck.” She climbed a small ladder into the cockpit, strapped in, did her instrument and controls check, then gave Shannon a thumbs up out the window. “Clear!” she shouted, and the radial engine roared to life. When Josie was satisfied, the big Fleetster began to roll. Shannon walked to the flight line, where chills shot through her as she watched

Josie take their first load into the air. It’s not a dream anymore, she thought. This is really happening. Shannon went back to the bay and began fashioning a makeshift filing system in the battered old desk, which had been moved to the small back office room, for the various forms Josie’s father had made for them. She looked around the bay. It was empty, and when she moved her chair, it sent an echo through the space. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine a day when the bay was full of boxes waiting to go out, when customers were streaming in, and the Fleetster was so busy they’d begun to think about acquiring a second airplane. “Hello, anybody home?” a deep voice said. Shannon jumped at the sound and looked out to find a man whom she recognized as one of the merchants she had met the day before. “Sorry,” she said. “I got distracted for a moment.” She walked from the back of the bay to greet him. “Can I be of help to you?” The man was handsome, but past due for a haircut, solidly built with an disarming smile he displayed now. “I was interested in your operation when you came around yesterday. I thought it was a good idea to come down and see if I could meet your pilot.” “Oh, of course. I’m one of the pilots. The other is my partner, Miss Kelly. She’s out on a delivery this morning.” The man’s face ed surprise. “You’re the pilot? And your partner is a girl too?” Shannon’s Irish temper was stirring. “Yes. This is our business. Does it make a difference?” “Well—” She could see his demeanor quickly change. “We have a good aircraft and we both have plenty of time in the air. We flew for the U.S. Airmail last year.” The man scratched his neck and looked doubtful. “I dunno. Let me check it out with the boss and see if we have anything needs delivering. Thanks.” With that he turned on his heel and walked away.

Probably won’t be the last time it happens, she thought. Men can’t take it when a girl steps up and does something. She shook herself free of the disappointment and set off to find a cot, or something she and Josie could share for sleeping. Josie was back around one o’clock. She came back to the bay full of excitement. “It was great!” she said. “Perfect flying conditions, good landing at Bakersfield, and I got a delivery to bring back here.” “You’re kidding!” Shannon said. “You got freight to fly back here?” “Sure did. And it’s a good thing too, because flying back empty from a delivery would be a money loser for us. I would have come back sooner, but I had the good sense to take some flyers with me and put them up around the Bakersfield airport.” “Great idea. Let’s make it a permanent habit. We take flyers with us and put them up wherever we fly.” Shannon’s face took on a sober look. “I didn’t have that much success while you were gone. A potential customer came by to meet our pilot. When I told him it was me and you, he got disinterested real fast, and left.” Josie snorted. “Pig. Don’t fret; he’ll be back someday. Now, come help me unload the freight.”

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Summer had begun and Mercury Air Freight was attracting just enough business to keep going. Any thought of leasing a second aircraft was abandoned. But the girls made up for it by operating the Fleetster on two shifts. Josie slept while Shannon delivered, and vice versa. The aircraft proved reliable. Some people refused to do business with the company when they found out it was operated and piloted by women. There was nothing they could do but keep going and work with those who were more “civilized”, as Josie labeled it. Shannon had bought a large cot with some of the last of their dwindling funds, and a soft pad to make it more comfortable to sleep on. Sarah had provided

sheets, blankets, and pillows, though she fretted about the girls sleeping in the bay. Shannon and Josie went out to use the shower facility at the field and applied make-up as best they could in the cracked mirror over the toilet at the rear of the bay. They were tired, but they were working and making money, something that gave them great hope as the continued gloom of the Depression tainted everything around them. “At least we’re surviving,” Shannon noted. “A lot of people aren’t.” “If this cursed Depression would lift, I’ll bet we’d do much better,” Josie said. If anything, it had gotten worse over the preceding winter.

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Four months after they had opened, they were both in the bay counting boxes for their next shipment when they heard a fast-approaching car. It came to a screeching stop in front of the bay. The door popped open and Drew got out, flourishing a radiant smile and a bottle of champagne on ice. Shannon and Josie stood open-mouthed for a few seconds, then Shannon recovered enough to ask, “Wow, is that for us?” “Partly,” Drew said, striding in and setting the ice bucket down on the floor. As if by magic, he withdrew from the ice bucket three slender champagne glasses. “And you’ve earned it. But mostly, it’s for me.” He lifted the champagne bottle out of the ice and put his thumb on the cork. After a moment it popped, sending a small fountain of foamy champagne down the sides of the bottle. He filled each glass, handed one to each of the girls in turn, and then raised his own. “Ladies,” he said, holding the glass high, “I’m flying again. I’ve been hired by RKO Radio Pictures as a stunt pilot for their next film. I’m off to Hollywood!”

14

“What?” Shannon cried. “You’re in the movies?” “Why am I not surprised?” Josie murmured with a chuckle. Drew held two fingers straight up. “Scout’s Honor. It’s called ‘Flying Devils’.[8] Filming starts in April, next month. Some of the shooting will be out at a ranch near Agoura Hills, and some in Van Nuys, and even—” he waved his hand with a flourish— “some right here at Mines Field.” Shannon took a long sip of her champagne. “That’s fantastic. So who’s going to be in this movie? Anybody we know?” “Yep,” Drew said, smiling broadly. “Bruce Cabot and Ralph Bellamy. That’s all I know for now.” “Ralph Bellamy’s pretty dreamy,” Josie said. “Do you know what type of airplane you’ll be flying?” Shannon said. “Not yet. I have to show up on the appointed day, and they’ll tell me.” “When do you think the movie will be out?” Josie said. “They say it’ll be released in July. I’ll try to get you two free tickets when it is.” He refilled everyone’s glass, and the champagne was quickly gone. “I won’t keep you ladies. Heard you’re doing okay. Go to it, and I’ll see you around.” With that he took the ice bucket, the glasses, and the empty bottle, put them in the car, which Shannon had no doubt was rented, and drove off. Shannon watched him go with a shake of her head. “I thought he might pull off something like this.” “You did, did you?” Josie said. “If he flies good, it could lead to bigger things.

Wait ’til they get a look at that mug.”

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Sarah was surprised to answer the doorbell at the Pearson home and find Brendan McClary standing there. She knew he and Shannon had come to an acrimonious parting, and Shannon was despondent over it. She also knew what had touched it off. “Brendan, I’m surprised to see you,” she said, forcing an amiable expression. “Yes ma’am,” he said, looking uneasy. “May I come in?” “Yes. Please do.” Brendan entered and let Sarah direct him into the den, where he, waiting until she had seated herself, sat down in a chair opposite the sofa. Sarah could see how uncomfortable he was. “What brings you here?” Brendan set his mouth in a grim line. “I need to talk to you about Shannon.” “Fine, we can do that. Dot’s gone downtown with friends and Charles is upstairs in the study working on some papers, so we should be undisturbed.” Brendan self-consciously moved his hands from his knees to his lap, twisting his fingers. “Mrs. Pearson, I’m—I’m trying to get some help in getting us back together. I know I was way over the line in what I said last time I saw her. Can you help me understand Shannon better so I can know what to say to fix this?” Sarah lowered her head for a moment, then looked up. “I’ve always thought you were a fine young man, and never discouraged Shannon from being with you. I still think so. But your family name, from what she tells me, has meant trouble to the Donnellys for centuries. And vice versa,” she hastily added, seeing Brendan’s expression. “I know there’s been plenty of hate from both sides.”

Brendan looked repentant. “Yes ma’am.” “I’ll do the best I can, but there are limits to what I can tell you. If Shannon were my blood, I’d have a much more intimate picture of her thought processes. But she’s not. Don’t forget she had a traumatic childhood and blames the McClarys for it. Shannon’s got a big heart, but she guards it closely. She’s cautious. She told me what she asked you in the hospital in Santa Maria, and I don’t blame you for your reaction. I know it sounded like a personal insult. But you’ve got to look past it. She was recovering from an accident that could have killed her. Then she found out it wasn’t an accident. That’s a lot of grief for a nineteenyear-old to process. She can’t take back what she said, though I know she desperately wants to. My advice to you is to not try to square that point with her. Let it go and start anew.” “I’m afraid to call her,” Brendan said. “If you don’t, you’ll never know what would happen if you do. Meanwhile, you’ll stay in a perpetual state of distress. It would be easier to write to her, and if she doesn’t respond, at least you’ll know. So, write to her. That’s my recommendation.” Brendan looked aside for a moment, then turned his head back. “Yes ma’am, I think you’re right.” Sarah leaned back on the sofa. “I’m caught in a delicate situation, you know. It’s no secret my brother Drew is pursuing her, and from what I gather, this time he’s not fooling around.” “Someday she’ll have to make a choice between us.” “It may be neither of you. She’s nineteen, , still young and on the cusp of a great adventure with this business. She’s got big dreams, Brendan. Whatever you do, don’t get in the way.” Brendan rose to go. “No ma’am. Thank you for talking with me. I want it to work between Shannon and me. What you’ve said helps.” Sarah showed him to the door. “I’m glad. She’s a handful, and it might be good if there was a steady hand at the tiller to help guide her. But don’t rush her.”

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A week later, Shannon was in the bay writing up a new order when the postman stopped by. “Letter for you today, Shannon,” he said, shuffling through a stack in his hand. Shannon thanked him and put the letter aside to finish her order. But an accidental sideways glance at it made her nearly drop her pen. It was from Brendan. She picked up the letter and stared at it for long seconds, as if she were trying to divine what was inside right through the envelope. Then, hands trembling, she opened the envelope and unfolded the paper.

Dear Shannon,

I hurt you and I’m sorry. I want to say that first. Ever since that day, I’ve wanted to find a way to make things right. I want to see you again, but I don’t know what you’re thinking. I hope you want to see me too. I asked your mother and she suggested I write you a letter. I hope you’re healthy and suffer no lingering effects from the accident. I long to see you healthy and smiling, like the Shannon I every day. I hope you will write and let me know you’re all right, and there is a chance we can repair this. If you don’t respond, that will tell me everything. Please write.

Faithfully,

Brendan

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She did write, apologizing in kind for her own words. Over the coming weeks they exchanged letters on an irregular timetable, letters full of everyday life and pleasantries, letters intended to convey a sense of normalcy. The ugly scene in the hospital was not mentioned. And gradually, a connection began to rebuild, and Shannon began to think of the day she might see him again. Flying Devils was released on schedule in July. Although it was considered a B movie, the aerial scenes were a favorite with audiences, and it became a minor box-office hit. As promised, Drew obtained free tickets for Shannon and Josie, who attended and were excited to see someone they knew zooming through the air on the big screen. Drew’s flying was highly regarded, and he received offers from other studios for stunt pilot work. He didn’t hesitate to accept. Mercury Air Freight continued a slow growth by fits and starts. The girls fanned out from Mines Field to canvas every business within five blocks of the airfield. The rejection of the company’s services because of its female ownership, when it occurred, was not hidden. Some men weren’t reluctant to publicly say women didn’t belong in the air, weren’t good pilots, and were irrational during their period. “We can only prove them wrong by example,” Shannon said. “Let’s keep doing good work.”

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By late August, Drew had done stunt pilot work in three features. And then what Josie had predicted came about: he was offered an on-screen role in an feature film titled Wings of Angels, from Big Picture Studios.

“It’s a major production,” Drew said to Shannon over the phone, bubbling with enthusiasm. “I don’t have a lead role, but it’s a key part in the story. This movie’s got a good budget, big name stars, the whole thing. And you’ll like this: it’s going to feature women pilots, and even show them in a positive light.” “Now that’s what I call progress,” Josie said when told the news. “I’m happy for him,” Shannon replied. “I knew sooner or later they wouldn’t be able to resist that handsome face.” “There was more on the call,” Shannon said, a trace of unease in her voice. “He wants me to attend the premier with him. You know, the limo, the red carpet, the press, the whole thing.” “Wow. I think he should at least wait until they start filming before offering that. What did you tell him?” “I’m not at all sure I want to go, but I said I’d think about it. I told him one thing I did want was for you to be there too. He sounded willing enough. . .” Josie could hear a tiny bit of uncertainty in her voice. “Let me tell you something, girl,” she said firmly, “if he wants to take only you, then I want you to go. Be sensible. This is a big deal, at least to him. If he wants to appear at the premier with you on his arm, go for it.” Shannon looked down. “Okay, what else is bothering you?” “I—I’ve been writing to Brendan. And he writes back. I think I’d like to see him again.” Josie stood up from the chair she’d been sitting in. “That’s fine, but you’re not exactly engaged. Take the offer from Drew. It should be a fun experience. And I’ll tell you, if you don’t want to go, I’ll gladly fill in for you.”

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Shannon leaned wearily against an air freight box in the back of the bay. She was tired, and it was clear to her Josie was worn out too. They had been making the alternating shift and shared sleeping cot arrangement work for months, but it was hard to get a good sleep in the bay. They’d continued to do their own package handling, stacking boxes in the bay, loading them onto the motorized cart, and loading and unloading the Fleetster. Even with periodic hired help in handling the larger crates from a young man who hung around the field looking for work, it was proving to be too much. She rose at Josie’s approach and handed her a shipping manifest. “Here you go.” Josie looked at her closely. “You’re tired.” Shannon nodded. “More than you let on,” she said, taking a seat in one of the two chairs they had. “I’ve been feeling the same. Look, we’re getting dangerously run down to be flying. We need better sleep than we can get here. And I for one am sick of showering elsewhere and trying to dress and put on makeup in that tiny toilet room. I’m proud of how we’ve kept our promise to make do. But it’s time for a change. Our safety in the air depends on it.” Shannon nodded, a hand to her forehead. “And we’ve got a down day for scheduled maintenance on the Fleetster coming up. We can’t both sleep back there.” They sat and studied their books for a while. They were making enough money to survive, plus a little more. Any added monthly expense would bite into their modest profits. But it had to be done. They would move into town. It took some searching, but they found a two-bedroom furnished apartment two blocks from the field, and moved their few possessions in. Shannon and Brendan continued to exchange letters, and bit by bit trust between them was rebuilt. Brendan was busy with school. He had decided to go on when he was finished with the city college, and major in business istration with a minor in ing at one of the universities around Los Angeles or San Francisco. He’d have to work his way through, he said, and take classes as he

could afford them. Shannon, busy with the air freight, thought it sounded dry as dust, but didn’t let on. In early November, Drew called and said Wings of Angels would be released in two weeks and asked Shannon again to accompany him to the premier. “I still don’t know if I want to go,” Shannon said to Josie after the call. Josie was incredulous. “Are you kidding? Walking up the red carpet at a movie premier on the arm of one of its stars? Look, you and Brendan don’t have an arrangement like you’re bound to each other, so I don’t see you’re cheating on him. When a man asks you to something like this, it’s flattering.” “But I don’t have anything to wear to something like that. You think I should go in my flight jacket and pants? It’s going to be at Grauman’s Chinese Theater. Everyone will be dressed to the hilt in clothes I could never afford.” “You’ve got two weeks to take care of it. It’s a big town. We could probably find a costume rental company around here somewhere.” “Phooey. I’ve got freight to deliver.” “Girl, the freight will keep an extra day if necessary. We’ve got time to carve out a break in the schedule for you and believe me you need it. Seems to me you’re trying to talk yourself out of going.” Shannon closed her eyes and sighed in weary surrender. “You are such a cheerleader. You’re going to nag me until I give in to this thing. Okay, I’ll go, if we can find a gown suitable for the occasion.” Brendan had by this time figured the time was right to see Shannon in person again. Excitement and longing propelling his pen across the paper; he wrote her he’d like to visit. She wrote back and agreed, though no date was set.

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The night of the premier of Wings of Angels came all too soon. Shannon sat in the back of a Cadillac limo on Hollywood Boulevard, trying to keep from shaking. This was so far out of anything she had ever experienced she didn’t know how to deal with it, and definitely didn’t feel prepared. “This is worse than my first prom date. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act,” she told Drew, seated snugly next to her. Drew covered her left hand with his own. “Just be yourself. It’s more than enough for this crowd. I’ll be close to you and guide you along. You don’t have to say anything. Okay?” Shannon nodded, and squeezed his hand. The week before, Drew had pried her away from the bay and taken her shopping for a gown. He drove up Rodeo Drive like he was a regular customer and they walked along perusing the shop windows. Everything he tried to interest her in appalled her. There were sleeveless gowns, strapless gowns, backless gowns, and nearly frontless gowns. She was horrified and told him so. “You’re not getting me in anything like that. Leave the shopping to me, and I’ll come up with something more suitable.” “But how will I know—” “How will you know if it looks right? Please, trust me.” Drew looked unhappy but nodded. “Okay, I put my trust in you.” She and Josie had found a formal wear rental store not far from Mines Field. They sat viewing gown after gown until the saleswoman brought out one that stopped everything. “This one?” she said. “I can see you like it. Formal but simple, elegant but modest.” “Modest by Hollywood standards,” Josie murmured in her ear behind a covering hand. The floor-length gown was pure white, with a simple unadorned line that swept

the eye downward to where it branched out into subtle flares just below the knee to the ground. It was long-sleeved and closed at the base of the neck, with a flared collar. It had a short train at the back, but there was a diamond-shaped cutout over the bosom that gave Shannon pause. “This was worn by Bette Davis, dear,” the saleswoman intoned in hushed iration. “This one?” “Well, it’s a copy of one of hers. I have a photograph of her wearing it.” As if by sleight of hand, she produced a photograph of Bette Davis in the gown, looking elegant with hands on hips and a challenging stare. “Try it,” Josie urged. With a grimace, Shannon took the gown into the changing room with the saleswoman and came out a few minutes later. Josie opened her mouth in speechless wonder as Shannon whirled to face herself in the mirror. Shannon’s eyelids flared open when she saw the considerable cleavage the gown revealed. “Oh Josie, I can’t wear this! My boobs are showing.” Josie stood up and came next to her, putting a reassuring hand on her back. “Yes you can. There’s a saying: ‘If you’ve got it, flaunt it’. And girl, you’ve got it for sure. This gown is meant for you. And you were meant for it. Take it.” Shannon gave her an acid look, the blush in her cheeks fading. “I don’t flaunt.” She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Drew suggested I wear a feather boa around my shoulders. I told him no. But now I’m thinking it might be a good idea.” Drew had heartily approved of the gown when he had stopped by Shannon’s apartment to pick her up. Now, riding in the limo and nearing Grauman’s, Shannon drummed her fingers nervously on her knee. Drew reached over to the seat on his left side and turned back with two objects. One was the feather boa, which happened to be a cerulean blue that

magnificently offset the white gown. He helped her put it around her shoulders. Shannon arranged it so that it covered most of her partly bared breasts. “That’s better, thank you.” Drew brought up the other object: a beautiful orchid flower for her hair. “This is for you,” he said softly, reaching up and trying to get it to cling to Shannon’s hair. Like most men in that situation, he had little success. “Let me do it,” she said. She reached up with both hands and presto! In seconds, it was firmly attached to the left side of her head. Drew shook his head in amazement. “I don’t know how you girls do it. You reach up, wiggle your fingers for a few seconds, and shazam, your hair is exactly the way you want it.” “Trade secret,” she said, relaxing a little. “They teach it to you in Girlhood 101 when you hit puberty.” “Ah, I see. Look, we’re here.” The limo had slowed to a halt and was waiting in a line of other limos to pull up in front of the theater and disgorge its engers. Their limo gradually reached the appointed spot and came to a halt. “This is it,” Drew said. “You’re out first. , be yourself. That’s the you I like.” Shannon took a deep breath as the door was opened by a liveried attendant. She put one long leg out, turned, and was up on the sidewalk. An explosion of flashbulbs blinded her momentarily. She was dimly aware of a crush of people being held back from engulfing her by rope barriers. Drew was beside her in seconds, putting an arm around her waist. She heard a voice introducing Drew to the crowd and then they were moving forward toward the theater amid a forest of waving arms reaching out for an autograph. She recoiled into Drew’s grasp, afterimages of flashbulbs still floating in her vision, and collected herself enough to smile and wave at the crowd as they moved along.

The doors to the theater beckoned in front of her, and she couldn’t wait to reach them. But Drew was stopped momentarily by a female reporter with a microphone hurling questions at him. Drew politely answered her. She heard the reporter ask her name. “This is Shannon,” Drew said. “My date for tonight.” Then they were moving again; she sagged into Drew as they were blessedly inside the doors and into the sanctuary of the lobby, but it was crowded elbow to elbow with people. She felt a surge of dizziness and fought to stay on her high heels. Drew noticed and escorted her to a bench. “Wait here.” He left and returned with a glass of seltzer water. “Drink this. Champagne can come later.” She took a sip of the seltzer and felt better. Warmed by the pressing crowd, she slipped the boa off her shoulders and looked around the room, amazed at the movie stars she was mingling with. She was both in awe and repelled. This is too much for a small-town girl, she thought. I don’t belong here. At that moment Drew came back and helped her to her feet. “Come with me,” he said cheerily. “I want to introduce you to a few people.” The next twenty minutes was a blur as she was introduced to one film star after another. She found herself face to face with Norma Shearer, Ann Sheridan, James Cagney, Ginger Rogers, and Jackie Cooper. There were others, but she couldn’t them later. Her knees nearly failed her when she was suddenly standing in front of Errol Flynn. They all smiled politely. The men asked about her. “Who’s this you’ve brought along, Patterson?” “Where did you find her, flyboy?” “Mind if ask for her number later, Patterson?” Shannon did her best to smile back and maintain her composure, but the introductions were making her feel weak. “I need to sit down,” she whispered to Drew.

“Fellas, the lady needs a rest,” Drew said loudly. “She’s not used to all this glitz and glamour. I think we’ll go into the theater.” He looked at his watch. “It’s about showtime anyway.” Mercifully, he steered Shannon through the crowd and into the semi-darkened theater, where he showed her to a seat. Then he left and brought her more water. “That was a success, I’d say,” he said cheerfully. “You look magnificent, by the way. I think everyone was impressed by you.” “I’m glad,” she said faintly.

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Brendan drove up to Shannon’s apartment pulsing with excitement. He had found her letters encouraging. It was clear she wanted to see him again, and maybe even more than that. She had given her approval to a visit any time Brendan was ready to come over. So he had decided to surprise her, flowers in hand. He got out of the car and went to her door, knocked and waited. There was no answer. The interior was dark. This was worrisome, but then he hadn’t told her he was coming. He tried again—still no answer. Discouraged, he turned from the door and saw a neighbor standing on his front porch. “Do you know where Shannon Donnelly went for the evening?” he said. “I came to surprise her.” The neighbor, a middle-aged man smoking a cigar, eyed the roses Brendan clutched in his hand. “Looks like it. She went downtown to Grauman’s for some movie premier. Heard she got a special invite. Her roommate went out for dinner.” Brendan was temporarily crestfallen. “Oh.” But he had come too far to quit so easily. There was nothing to do but plunge ahead. He would go there and find her. “Grauman’s you say?”

“Yep. The movie must be in progress by now. She sounded real excited, so I reckon she’ll be there.” He paused, eyeing the flowers again. “Dunno goin’ down there’s such a good idea.” Brendan was oblivious to the remark. “Thanks, mister.” He turned to his car and got in. He knew where Grauman’s Chinese Theater was from previous visits to downtown Los Angeles. He would go there and surprise her all the more.

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The lights darkened in the theater and Wings of Angels, preceded by a Movietone newsreel, began. Shannon found she liked the movie, and especially Drew’s flying and dramatic parts. To her pleasure, the plot lines featuring female pilots were still there, and the women were presented in a positive light. When the lights went up, there was sustained applause from the theater audience. Drew, who had been holding her hand for the last twenty minutes, leaned over and said, “What do you think?” “It was very good,” she said, smiling. “And so were you. You flew great, and you sure looked good on screen. You should be proud.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “What I’m proud of tonight is my companion.” With that, they rose and went into the lobby. Shannon found herself more relaxed now amid the throng of moviegoers and stars. She found a full-length mirror in a corner of the lobby and took a good look at herself. She saw not a girl but an elegant sophisticated-looking woman she barely recognized. She had never looked like this in her life. The beautiful orchid was still in place. Then a sudden urgency told her it was time to find the ladies’ room. “Drew, I need to go freshen up. I’ll be back soon.” “Promise?”

“Promise. Just a few minutes.” But there was a line at the ladies’ room and she had to wait ten minutes to get inside the door. After she was done, she went to the sinks below a big mirror to wash up and check her makeup. A glance to her left made her freeze. She was standing next to a platinum blond actress applying lipstick and recognized her immediately as a major Hollywood star. Shannon badly wanted to say hello but was too intimidated to speak to her. The famous actress glanced at her in the mirror and spoke first. “Ain’t you a doll. Tall, too. You here with one of the cast?” “Drew Patterson.” She was so in awe her voice came out as a squeak. “Oh, there’s a real up-and-comer. Big future for him if he keeps his head on straight.” The woman finished applying her lipstick and dropped the tube into a pearl-beaded purse. She gave Shannon a sultry look, sizing her up. “Now the studio bigs have seen you. You might find yourself with a movie contract before long. A dame like you would light up the big screen.” She turned to go but stopped and put a hand lightly on Shannon’s arm in ing and spoke sotto voce. “But watch yourself. This life ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Then she was gone, leaving Shannon tongue-tied at the mirror. When she returned to Drew, the lobby was starting to empty. He saw her coming and walked over, smiling. “Time to go,” he said. She took his arm and walked through the front doors, met by another cascade of popping flashbulbs, cries for autographs, and fans crying out to know who she was. Drew steered her good-naturedly down the walkway, but in no hurry and obviously determined to prolong the experience.

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Brendan parked his car two blocks from Grauman’s and walked hurriedly toward the theater, the bouquet of roses clutched in one hand. When he got in sight of it, he could see people from inside were starting to exit. My timing is good. Maybe I can catch her on the way out. He wriggled through the throng into a good

viewing point at the rope barrier. He was there only a minute when he caught sight of Shannon. She stood alone, and he was stunned at sight of her. He had never seen her like this. She was sleek, alluring, with a beautiful flower in her hair. Like nothing he had ever seen, nothing he had ever imagined she could be. Like a Hollywood star. But even transformed as she was, she was still the woman he wanted, now more than ever. She was walking closer, and he got ready. Then his mouth dropped open in dismay. She wasn’t alone. Drew came up to her and she put her arm on his as they walked toward him. Shannon was looking just feet in front of her, stopping as Drew paused to sign an autograph when her gaze lit on Brendan. She froze, saucer-eyed and mouth open. Then a look of pain crumpled her features. She took a step toward him. Drew looked up and saw him. He put a restraining hand on Shannon’s arm. “You’re with me.” She looked disoriented as he pulled her against him. “Keep walking,” he said, still smiling at the throng. “We’re almost to the limo.” Brendan stood immobile in shock, shattered. He had been so close to her, but suddenly she seemed a world away. Shannon, walking unsteadily, turned and glanced once more at him, a stricken look on her face, before Drew put a hand on top of her head and maneuvered her into the limo. Brendan turned from the rope and backed off from the crowd in a daze. Forcing his feet into motion, he turned and began to walk away in the dark. He was nearly back to his car when he realized the flowers were still in his hand. He looked down at them for a moment, then tossed them into the gutter, where they landed in a stream of water. One of the roses broke free from the rest and began to float away. Fifteen feet down the street it dropped into a drain and was lost from view.

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The limo carrying Drew and Shannon pulled away from the curb. Shannon stared at her lap. “Okay,” Drew said, “That was a success all-around, I’d say! The attendance was good, the audience was enthusiastic, and you, Shannon, may have been the hit of the red carpet. I want to thank you deeply for being at my side tonight. You looked magnificent, you met a lot of important people, and made a great impression, I think. No one there tonight was as beautiful as you.” Shannon couldn’t look at him. “Please take me home,” she said softly into her lap. Drew took a moment to respond. “I want you to who you came with tonight. Yes, I saw him. He was intruding on our evening if you ask me. I’m sorry you were ambushed like that. But our evening isn’t over. There’s a postpremier party at the Coconut Grove. It's a great place to see and be seen.” Shannon turned to him at last. “Please. I want to go home.” Seeing her face, Drew softened. “All right.” He rapped on the glass separating them from the limo driver and gave him Shannon’s address. “I’m sorry; I guess this was all a bit much for your first time. To tell the truth, it was nearly a bit much for me. I’m grateful for the time we had together tonight. Maybe we can do it again some time. But right now, my greatest wish is you get what you need. You’re too precious to me to do otherwise. I’m sorry I pushed you about the party.”

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Shannon heard the limo pull away as she fumbled with the keys to her apartment. She opened the door. All was dark and quiet. She figured Josie must be in bed. She put her purse on the kitchen counter, removed her fancy shoes, and sank onto the sofa, giving in to the emotion she had suppressed all the way home.

Josie cracked open the bedroom door and trod lightly in her nightgown to the living room. She had not yet gone to sleep, and the faint sound of sobbing had driven her out of bed. She stopped and saw Shannon on the sofa. Quietly she went forward and knelt in front of her, taking her hands in her own. “What happened?” Shannon raised her tear-streaked face. “We were coming out of the theater when I came face to face with Brendan.” Josie sighed deeply. “Oh God.” Slowly she pulled more details about the evening from Shannon. Before the encounter, it sounded like fun. She put a hand on Shannon’s arm. “Were you having a good time with Drew up to that point?” Shannon nodded. “And then Brendan showed up and everything changed.” She nodded again. Josie took both her hands again. “Girl, your heart is talking to you right now. Listen to it.” Shannon withdrew her hands from Josie’s. “I just want to get some sleep.” Josie walked her into the bedroom and helped her into the covers. “Try to put your mind at ease,” she said softly. “You had a big night, too big for small-town girls like us. Let’s get a good rest. We’ve got freight waiting for us tomorrow.”

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Sarah Pearson rifled through the Sunday Los Angeles Times, looking for the article she’d had a call about. One of her neighbors had alerted her Shannon was mentioned in the newspaper. Finally, she found it in the entertainment section, in an article by one of Hollywood’s top gossip columnists. Sarah detested the woman and what she did and frowned when she saw an accompanying picture of

Shannon on Drew’s arm. Her mouth dropped open at sight of her daughter dressed like a screen star, with an orchid in her hair. Sarah had never seen her like this. Her slow simmer increased to a full-blown boil as she read the article:

Dateline Hollywood by Louella Hopper

Well folks, our little city is still buzzing about last night’s gala movie premier for Wings of Angels. Oh, the picture was great all right. But the real buzz is about the looker on the arm of up-and-coming actor Drew Patterson. Who was that dish? A tall slender brunette reminiscent of our beloved Amelia Earhart, she stunned in a lily-white gown topped with a blue feather boa and an orchid in her hair. She had the crowd begging for her name, the men begging for her number, and the studio bigwigs begging for five minutes! But not to worry, your intrepid reporter won’t rest until I get her name! Watch this column tomorrow for more news. We may see this hot mama on the big screen herself before long!

There was more unrelated news in the gossip column. Sarah threw the paper down in disgust. Her innocent daughter, thrown into the Hollywood cesspool. And by her own brother! She looked closely at the picture again. Shannon was elegant beyond description but had a dazed look on her face. What had Drew gotten her into? She was going to have a talk with him in no uncertain , that was for sure.

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By the end of the week, Shannon’s name was out in the press. Someone had done a lot of digging. And it quickly became known she was co-owner of a company called Mercury Air Freight. It wasn’t long after the paper hit the streets that a small horde of reporters descended on Bay Four, notebooks and flashbulbs in hand.

“She’s out on a delivery,” Josie said, facing them down with calm. “She’ll be back soon.” A look of disappointment settled on the faces, but it was clear they were willing to wait. “Who are you?” one asked. “May we get your name?” Josie settled into an authoritative pose. “I’m Josephine Kelly. I’m co-owner and chief pilot for Mercury Air Freight.” She didn’t mind fibbing a little; this was going to be fun. The faces expressed wonderment. “So Shannon Donnelly is a pilot too?” asked one reporter, pen poised. “You girls fly the freight and run the business?” asked another, as if such a thing were truly astonishing. Which to them it was, especially that one of the owners was a colored woman. “No one but us,” Josie said. “And we don’t run it; we own it.” She looked behind them out toward the landing strip. “Ah, here she is now, coming in for a landing.” The reporters rushed toward the runway to get a better view of the landing. Shannon taxied the Fleetster to its parking spot, shut down, and climbed out. The reporters surged forward. “Hold it!” Josie cried sharply. “Stay off the taxiway!” Chastened, the crowd waited, shuffling with nervous energy. They watched with increasing awe as Shannon walked toward them, her long strides propelling her curvy body in sensuous rhythm. She took off her helmet and shook her head from side to side, fingers running through her tousled dark hair, a move that sent audible aahs from the men in the crowd. Flashbulbs began to pop. Shannon stopped about twenty feet away, spread her arms, and mouthed, What the hell? to Josie. “Some people to see you,” Josie called out.

Shannon frowned and walked forward into the bay, reporters dogging her steps. The reporters began firing questions. Josie could see Shannon wasn’t going to handle this well. “One at a time, please!” she shouted. The crowd settled down into an interrogation. Where are you from? Are you really a pilot? How long have you known Drew Patterson? Where did you two meet? Do you have aspirations for the silver screen? And on and on until Josie held up her hands. “That’s enough for today. We have work to do. So I’ll ask you to leave and let us get to it.” The group shuffled away, some still scribbling in their notebooks. Once out of the bays, they broke into a run, eager to be first to get Shannon’s story out to the press. Shannon sank into a chair. “I hope there’s no more of that. I’m not looking to be famous.”

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But there was no turning back. Once the story hit the news, there was a notable jump in Mercury Air Freight’s business. Some people were curious to try out an air service owned and run by women. The two took it in stride, glad for the increased business and hoping Shannon didn’t have to appear in public periodically to keep it going. Drew stopped by the bay, hat in hand and apologetic. “I’m sorry things happened the way they did. I hope we can still, uh—” Shannon nodded. “I’m sorry too.” “Have you heard from Brendan?” She raised her head in surprise. “No.”

In fact, Brendan was nowhere to be found. She had asked her mother to check around for him. Sarah had had no luck. “He seems to be gone, dear. I’m so sorry. He dropped out of college and hasn’t been seen here. He seems to have disappeared.” Shannon’s mood further darkened at the news. She wanted more than anything now to see him. And he was gone. “I’m still here,” Drew said. “I’ll always be here. Please that.” She nodded and embraced him briefly. “I will. Thank you.” With that he left. Josie watched him go with a cynical look on her face. “Girl, you need to take stock of what you’ve got. We’ve got a good thing going here all by ourselves. Why do you need a man, anyway? They complicate things.” Shannon lifted her head and gazed out to where the big Fleetster sat on the runway, waiting for her hand at the controls. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t need a man in my life. Maybe I don’t need anybody.”

Part III

War

15

Nine Years Later

November 1942

Shannon shaded her eyes against the sun as she watched the bulldozers carving out an extension to the runway for Mercury Air Freight. The two tracts of undeveloped land she had inherited from her parents had lain dry and barren until nine years earlier, when she and Josie faced the truth: that even with the Depression still raging, their business had outgrown any rental facility Mines Field, now Los Angeles Airport, could provide them. When Roosevelt’s WPA, founded in 1935, began a rail line project out of Ontario headed toward San Bernardino and Big Bear Lake, they knew it was time to take action. For the proposed line ran through one of the Donnelly tracts. “You can bargain with them now or wait for them to take the right-of-way through your property by eminent domain and believe me they’ll do it if they have to,” Charles had told them. They took his advice, and he had helped them bargain with WPA overseers for a rail spur off the proposed line that would terminate at the new air freight terminals to be established. Here they would have easy rail access at their terminal, enhancing and expanding their delivery capabilities. And they wouldn’t have to pay rent or the landing fees Mines Field charged them.

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“One other thing to be aware of,” Charles had said, “is that the rail line will continue toward Big Bear through your former property, Shannon. That means now through the McClary Brothers property. The tourist line they hoped for will be much more now. They should do well with it.” “They don’t deserve a bit of it,” Josie said.

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Since Shannon’s close call with the crash years before, there had been no new efforts to kill her. But she didn’t doubt Cormac still harbored a deadly grudge. After all he was a McClary. But he wouldn’t get his hands dirty by doing it himself, and the trail of a possible collaborator in his attempt to kill her had grown cold, though the sheriff had pledged to continue to pursue the case when he could. And through all the years that had ed there had been no word or trace of Brendan. It was clear to Shannon he must have given up any hope of winning her and had gone on to other pursuits. But his absence was still a private ache in her heart. Drew’s efforts, on the other hand, had not gone away. He had continued to pursue her, though he was careful not to expose her to another movie premier for a while. His career in Hollywood had taken off and he had branched out from flying films to other fare. He was being favorably compared as an up-andcoming version of other film actors of the time such James Stewart and Gary Cooper. Though she continued to be seen with him, Shannon was far more cautious about the circumstances. And each sighting of her with him around Hollywood brought a bump in business to Mercury Air Freight. Though her heart wasn’t always in it, there were some times now when she enjoyed being seen on the arm of a popular actor and hobnobbing with movie stars. She was twenty-eight now, and her beauty was, if anything, enhanced by maturing into womanhood. She still turned heads everywhere she went. As predicted by gossip columnist Louella Hopper, she had several times been solicited by film studios to appear onscreen. She

politely declined each request, and after a while the studios got the message. Shannon could tell Drew badly wanted to take the relationship further; he had at times obliquely hinted at a desire to bed her. She stiff-armed those invitations, but it was becoming harder to do so as her interest in him strengthened. Josie could see Shannon was still torn between two men, and sat down with her one day for a talk. “Shanni, if you’re leaving Brendan behind, for heaven’s sake do it. It’s been nine years and not a trace of him. Cut him out of your heart and move forward.” “I didn’t leave him behind. He left me behind,” she replied softly, eyes downcast. “I know. But the result is the same. Girl, I suggest you either move on or get off men altogether. You certainly don’t need them. You’re young, successful, and an accomplished pilot. What more could a girl want?” Shannon gave an embarrassed smile. “You’re right. But Drew has been kind to me.” Josie sighed. “I know, I know. But that’s hardly a good reason to get married. Most any man would be kind to you if they thought there was something in it for them. Be careful, okay?”

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By 1934, they had become one of Hollywood’s prominent young couples. Reporters began to toss out questions as to if or when they would wed. It was getting harder and harder to dodge them. And so on a Sunday in the summer of 1935, Drew had taken her for an early-evening drive up to the new Griffith Observatory on Mount Hollywood. They had sat on a deck at the rear of the massive building, at a private table Drew had arranged for the occasion. From there, they could look out over downtown Los Angeles, Hollywood, and the Pacific Ocean. Champagne was brought to the table as twilight set in. The distant city lights began to twinkle and the sky slowly turned a russet red as the

setting sun reflected off the bottom of low clouds. Drew raised a toast. “To us,” he said. Shannon raised her glass too. “It’s a beautiful evening,” she said as a wisp of breeze ruffled her skirt. “A perfect setting,” Drew replied. “For a perfect woman.” He reached a hand into a pocket and withdrew a small velvet box. He opened it and set it on the table in front of her, looking at her intently. “Shannon, will you give me the honor of your hand in marriage?” Shannon stared at the box and its content, a beautiful diamond ring, in consternation. She hadn’t expected this. True, Drew had been persistent in his pursuit of her. And she had confessed to herself that she was lonely at times, especially mornings. But she thought they had reached a level of equilibrium, a balance of being seen together at times while maintaining their own personal freedom and careers. “I’ve waited a long time for this,” Drew continued, “and I know what I want. I hope it’s what you want too. Can you give me an answer?” Shannon took a deep breath and looked away for a moment, her cheeks flushed with emotion. “I’m sorry, you took me by surprise. Can you—can you give me a day or two?” Drew shrank like a deflating balloon. His big moment was not going to be realized that night. He hadn’t swept her off her feet. A “yes” later wouldn’t be the same. But he had no choice but to agree. “Sure, of course. Take whatever time you need. But I hope the answer is soon. I love you.” They sat in an awkward quiet at the table for a short time, then Drew took her home. His final hug at her front door conveyed both desire and disappointment.

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Adrift with her emotions, Shannon sought advice, first from Josie. Josie was blunt. “No. No, no, and no. Shanna, I’ve always thought he was a good guy, and handsome as all get out. But he’s part of that Hollywood crowd now, and it might have changed him. Like I said before, you don’t need this distraction.” “Josie, I’m tired of waking up alone.” Josie got up and planted her hand firmly over Shannon’s heart. “Brendan’s still in there. Don’t lie; you’re not good at it.” “I know, but—” “You didn’t get the happiness you thought Brendan could give you, so now you’re seeking it elsewhere. But Brendan isn’t as gone as you’d like to believe.” Shannon pushed her hand aside. “He is gone, damn it! What am I supposed to do, wait forever in hope he’ll show up? It’s been two years. I don’t need a man for success, but—but Drew’s been good to me for a long time. I need someone next to me when I wake up in the morning, someone who’ll put his arms around me and tell me he loves me.” Josie sighed. “What about the business?” Shannon looked away. “We can work something out.”

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Charles and Sarah were equally unenthusiastic. But Sarah couldn’t deny her daughter the chance for the happiness she clearly sought to heal a heart broken by Brendan’s disappearance. Shannon had already been through too much travail in her young life. She had in the end reluctantly given her blessing, and, somewhat grumpily, Charles had too.

Shannon, misty-eyed and flattered, met with Drew again two days after his proposal, on a bluff overlooking Malibu Beach. Drew was so nervous his hands were trembling when she took them into her own. She smiled. “My answer is yes.”

Dateline Hollywood by Louella Hopper

Folks, guess which Hollywood star’s long-time companion is sporting a new sparkler on her ring finger? Our very own Queen of the Air, Shannon Donnelly, that’s who! My insider sources tell me beau Drew Patterson took her up to the new Griffith Observatory for a romantic night out and popped the question while they drank champagne looking out over the city lights! Now, I’ve expected this for a long time, but it appears Shannon made him sweat a little. He’ll be sweating even more now until the day he puts that wedding ring on her finger! Sorry, guys, this hot mama is off the market. No news of a wedding date yet but stay tuned. No one will know before I do!

They had wed a month later in grand Hollywood style. It was much too grand for Shannon, who was embarrassed by it all. But Drew would not be denied. The guest list was a Who’s Who in Hollywood roster. Josie, Charles, Sarah, and Dot were there, and even her old mentor Leroy Kazminski, whom Shannon had made a special point of inviting. “We don’t get married without him,” she insisted. Shannon was a vision of ethereal beauty in a wedding gown by Adrian Greenberg as Drew slipped the ring on her finger. Sarah and Charles looked on, smiles pasted on their faces. “She’s a dynamo,” Sarah said to Charles quietly. “A driven, fearless dynamo of a woman. She’s already achieved more than I ever thought possible. But I’m not sure she’s ready for the life she’s about to enter.” “Nor am I. I hope she doesn’t get hurt. Did you make clear to her those two conditions I suggested to you?”

“As firmly as I could. She said she’d tell Drew before the ceremony: One, no children until she wants them, and two, she is to keep operating Mercury Air Freight just as she has been, no difference. She pursues her business dreams, and Drew pursues his Hollywood career.” Charles sighed. “Let’s hope they both can stick to it.” They had, so far. And Drew had proven to be a faithful and tender husband. Not to mention a good lover. After the ceremony and following party, he had taken her to his relatively modest house near Holmby Hills. Drew carried her over the threshold, through the living room, and deposited her directly on the large bed. Then he sat for long moments looking at her. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are.” “I was going to say the same thing,” she replied. She rose and went to him, slowly putting her arms around him and laying her head on his shoulder. “Take care of me always,” she said softly. “Count on it,” he whispered. Then with exquisite slowness, he began to unfasten her wedding gown, link by link. She put her forehead against his tuxedo and waited. Long moments later, the dress lay on the floor. He lifted her slip over her head, and her breasts were free. Trembling, he reached for her panties, but she stepped back, and slowly lowered them to the floor, standing naked before him. At a loss for words, Drew looked at his bride in wonder. At the fullness of her breasts. At the creamy-smooth skin over her thighs and the delta of brown hair where they met, at her long slender legs, her taut stomach and gently flaring hips. “My God,” he finally whispered, “you’re perfect.” “For you,” Shannon said softly. She reclined on the bed while he undressed and lay next to her. Drew stretched out beside her and gently reached out a hand to caress her breasts. Her nipples became erect under his touch. “Lead me,” she whispered. And he did.

Over the years that followed, Drew had, for all she could tell, been faithful. There was no scandal, no betrayal, nothing for the gossip mongers to feast on. He cared for her deeply, and tried to be attentive to her needs, and showed an obvious thankfulness she was his wife. But the speck in her heart that was the memory of Brendan was still there, and Shannon sometimes wondered if she was unfair to Drew in accepting his marriage proposal. Their busy lifestyles sometimes kept them apart for extended periods. Drew was sometimes out of town for weeks at a time as studios began to venture beyond their back lots for filming. When this happened, Shannon found she wasn’t handling it like she had expected to. She had looked forward to finding Drew’s warm body in their bed when she woke up, and too often he wasn’t. The disappearance of Amelia Earhart in 1937 cast a pall not only on the aviation community but all of America. Later that year, there was a memorial service in her honor, but its location in New York made it impossible for Shannon and Josie to go. Josie noticed Shannon’s focus on the business wasn’t always what it ought to be, and it wasn’t just the loss of Amelia Earhart. One day she’d had enough and confronted her about it. “I want to talk to you. It’s clear to me your mind isn’t as sharp as it should be on business, especially when Drew’s out of town on a shoot. I want you to all the privation we went through to start this business and keep it running—working alternate shifts and sharing a cot in the back room for sleep, eating on next to nothing for food, wearing ourselves out loading and unloading freight. And have you forgotten the commitment your parents and mine made to this enterprise? The time, materials, and brainpower they donated?” Shannon looked away, embarrassed. “This was our dream. We made it happen, and now sometimes you don’t seem to be here even when you are. You’re off living that Hollywood dream, bumping elbows with the big stars, while I’m carrying the burden of keeping this business in the black. Hmm, I like that turn of phrase. Anyway, I want you to start focusing on Mercury Air Freight again. You love to fly. Show me that again.” Shannon was speechless. She put her face in her hands in embarrassment.

Josie came forward and put her arms around her. “I’m sorry. But I had to say it. I want the old Shannon back, the one who couldn’t wait to be airborne. The one who said flying was all she needed.” Shannon raised a tear-streaked face to her. “I’m sorry too.” From that day forward Shannon’s focus improved. The business continued its growth, and they found they had outgrown the bay at the airport. With deep breaths, a lot of faith, and business loans engineered by their parents, the women broke ground on one of the two large tracts of Donnelly land east of Ontario for construction of their own airfield. No other air freight carrier could say that.

Now, as Shannon stood on a small rise watching the bulldozer in the distance sweeping aside the sage and sand, she looked at the two hangars and headquarters building that sat to one side, and the rail spur that ran up to them. The increase in freight traffic had required a second airplane, and Mercury Air Freight now leased a Bellanca Aircruiser P-300, an airplane considerably larger than the Consolidated Fleetster. Though a single-engine craft, it could still carry four thousand pounds, more freight than the Ford Tri Motor. Shannon hoped to buy it when the lease period was over. Their two new hangars could shelter both airplanes from desert dust storms and keep them safe from vandalism. She had fretted at first about the fact that relocating the business to the patch of desert would require longer commutes and thus even less time with Drew, but she saw no way around it.

Shannon slowly came awake on a sunny Sunday in early December. She could hear Drew in the kitchen making his morning coffee. Drew was between films, and Shannon had given herself the luxury of not working on Sundays after working seven days a week in the early years of the business. Assistants were out at the terminal logging in freight which she’d fly out tomorrow. She got up, put on her robe, and went to the kitchen, giving Drew a kiss on the cheek as he poured his first coffee. She got a cup for herself as he went into the living room. “Drew, what’s the date today?” she called. “December seventh, I believe. Say, when you come in would you turn on the radio?” “Got it.” She walked over to the Philco radio and turned it on. From the living room Drew could hear an indistinct voice from the speaker. But he sat up straight when he heard the thunk of Shannon’s cup hitting the floor. He walked into the kitchen to find her standing rigid and white-faced, coffee spilled on the floor around her. “Shannon, what—” he started to say. Then he heard the radio. “I repeat, we interrupt this program to bring you a special news bulletin. The Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor Hawaii by air, President Roosevelt just announced . . .”

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They looked at each other in shock for a moment, then were tightly in an embrace as they listened to the rest of the message. “What does this mean?” Shannon said into his neck. “War.”

In the coming months Americans, still feeling the effects of the Great Depression, which was declared “ended” two years earlier, now had wars on two fronts hanging over their heads. But the wars gave America a purpose again. Shannon and Josie saw a steady increase in business at their new location, much of it war materiel for the Army. Hollywood began churning out patriotic films, and Drew starred in two of them. It had been a while since he’d had a big hit in the movie theaters, so he welcomed the exposure the war films gave him. Drew came home in January 1943 with a strange light in his eyes. Taking Shannon’s hand, he went to the sofa. “I have something I want to talk to you about.” Shannon was instantly uneasy. “More and more actors are ing the war effort. Henry Fonda and Clark Gable are already in, and Paul Newman as well. Jimmy Stewart ed up before Pearl Harbor. I think I need to up too.” Shannon’s eyes became moist. “But you don’t have to, do you?” “I could take my chances with the draft lottery, but sooner or later they’re probably going to get to me. Right now, no, I don’t have to. Look, Shannon, my last two films didn’t score big at the box office. I could serve my country and give my image a boost too.” Her eyes were wet now. “You’d to give your image a boost?” Drew shook his head. “It’s not that. Hell, I’m a red-blooded American; I want to help us fight this war.” Shannon put a hand to her mouth. “You might be killed.” Drew nodded, and reached up to wipe away a tear on her cheek. “Don’t cry. I might be. But I could have been killed in any number of flights I’ve done for the movies. Face it, flying is a dangerous occupation. You know that as deeply as I do, you might have—” He didn’t finish, but Shannon knew what he was going to say. She stifled a sob. “This—this all seems so sudden. Is there another reason?”

Drew looked away for a moment, then turned his head back to her. “To tell the truth, this business of each of us going our own way in our careers has begun to wear on me.” He drew closer. “I think on you too. This would give us a break, give us time to find a different way to live.” She got up, withdrew her hand from his, and walked over to the window. “Yes, it’s been hard for me too. There are times I’ve wondered if we can make it work. I hope you’re not harboring any thoughts about me giving up Mercury Air Freight. This is a great price to pay for a break in the routine.” He stood up and came over to her, putting his hands on her shoulders from behind. “It is. And I’d be in pain every moment I’m apart from you. But if Clark Gable is over there fighting the Nazis, who am I to stay behind?” Shannon had nothing to say, then or for the rest of the day.

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Drew applied, and all too soon was accepted and ordered to officer training school as a pilot candidate. Shannon said goodbye to him at home, not wanting to let the tabloids see her crying at the rail station. She gave him a small picture of herself as a going-away present. When his taxi disappeared down the street, she sank to the sofa and wept.

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The first day he was gone, she was in constant agony. She didn’t eat and found herself sometimes standing at the doorway to the bedroom, staring at the empty bed. She tried to sleep and couldn’t. She automatically set the table for two for dinner, then stared at it and burst into tears. Josie called, but Shannon wasn’t up to conversation or comfort.

But the day after that, she got an unexpected visitor. She responded to a knock and was astonished to see Bette Davis standing at her door. “I heard your man’s gone to war,” Davis said. “I thought you could use some company.” A tongue-tied Shannon fumbled for words. “Miss—Miss Davis. Please come in.” “Bette will do fine. No need for formality among us girls. By the way, I saw pictures of you at the movie premier for Wings of Angels some years back. You wore the dress better than I did.” She gave Shannon a swift head-to-toe appraisal. “And you still would.” Bette Davis’ visit buoyed Shannon’s spirits temporarily, but the emptiness of the house soon weighed heavily on her. Sarah called twice a week, pleading with her to come home. But wanting to be near the business, a welcome distraction now, she finally called Josie and gave in to her friend’s invitations to stay with her.

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In early September, Shannon was preparing the Bellanca Air Cruiser for a flight when she looked up to see a Western Union telegraph agent standing at the entrance to her hangar at Mercury Air Freight. Perplexed, she thought it might be something from Drew, though he had written only letters so far. He had been assigned to the European combat theater and was flying missions out of the Royal Air Force Burtonwood base in Lancashire, England. So far he had been unscathed, but the letters did little to ease Shannon’s worries. She took the packet from the Western Union agent and tipped him. The telegram was not from Drew. She resumed breathing. And there were two of them, one for her and one for Josie. They were from the Department of the Army. Uneasy, she took the telegrams into the office. “Josie, I got a telegram from the Department of the Army,” she said, waving the envelopes in the air. “So did you.”

Josie rose from her desk. “Department of the Army? They haven’t started drafting women, have they?” “Haven’t heard they are. Don’t know what it could be.” She tore open the envelope as Josie took hers. She read the telegram, mouth falling open in amazement. She looked up at Josie, who was staring at hers with the same reaction. “It’s an invitation, from something called the Women’s Flying Training Detachment,” Shannon said, voice heavy with wonder. “They’re inviting women to fly planes for the Army.” Josie looked at her, face blank with astonishment. “Mine says the same.” The women stared at each other for a long moment, then suddenly were falling all over each other’s words. “What if we—” “Could we possibly—” “How could we even think—” Shannon held up a hand, then looked at the telegram again. “Hmm. We’re in the middle of the acceptable age range, and both high school graduates. They want a commercial license, cross-country flying experience, and 500 logged and certified hours of flying. We both meet the requirements in spades.” “We’ve both got over one thousand hours,” Josie said. “They also want a 200horsepower rating.” “The Bellanca has 715 horsepower, so we’re way over on that.” “Says here we’d have to a government medical exam. And at the end of the application process, we have to a personal interview with a Jacqueline Cochran.” Josie’s voice didn’t reflect the same excitement Shannon felt. “They want the first group to report for training in—” Shannon looked up from the telegram— “no more than two weeks away!”

Josie held up her own hand. “Stop. What’s happening here? Are we considering jumping ship from our business? Do we for one minute think we could walk away from what we’ve built?” Shannon said nothing for long moments. “I don’t know. Drew’s over there fighting the Nazis. Could be this would be a chance to contribute to the war effort too. I’d like to apply and see what happens. Meanwhile, if you’re fired up about this too, we could be talking about how we can pull this off and still keep the business going.” “Don’t you think you should tell Drew about this before you go gallivanting off into a new venture?” Shannon’s expression tightened. “Yes. But the telegram said the first class reports for training no more than two weeks away. It would take at least that long for him to even get the letter, maybe longer. I think he’d be proud of me for ing the war effort too. And I don’t want to miss this chance. I’d like to have his approval. But I can’t wait for it. So, are you with me?” Josie sat down, shook her head slowly, and gave her a smile. “Girl, you’re not doing anything without me.” The next twenty-four hours were a whirlwind. Shannon took the Bellanca on a freight delivery run while Josie talked to her parents. “I know it sound crazy, but look at it this way,” she said, “it would give both of us a chance to contribute directly to the war effort. Shannon’s husband’s overseas fighting in Europe, and I know she has a strong personal interest in helping him and the rest of the pilots.” John Kelly sat for a long time without saying anything. But just when Josie was about to declare it a lost cause, he at last spoke. “You know I’ve always believed in you, daughter.” Josie nodded. “Yes I do. It’s part of what got me to where I am.” “I believe in your vision for the future. And we both know how you love to be in the air. I say give it a shot. My company isn’t doing good business, an aftereffect of the Depression. There isn’t much call for management consulting when so many people are just trying to survive. The future looks a little shaky too. I

think I could take the risk to manage Mercury Air Freight in your absence. Mind you, this is if you get accepted.” He took her hands in his. “I’m already proud of you, Josephine. But oh, how proud I’d be to see you serving your country during the war this way!” Josie looked anxiously at her mother. If Mom was opposed, Josie knew she wasn’t going anywhere. Her mother looked into her eyes for a long moment. Then she almost imperceptibly nodded affirmation. Josie leapt up and pounced on her, then her father, throwing her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Mom and Dad. I love you!” John Kelly chuckled. “You’ll have to hire some top-notch replacement pilots. That will cut into your bottom line no small amount.”

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Shannon received an unexpectedly low-key reception from Charles and Sarah when she brought the news home. “I don’t like it, Shannon,” Sarah said. “You and Josie are doing so well now. And this sounds dangerous. You jumped from the U.S. Mail program to get into your own business. Would you now jump from that into this new venture?” “No, Mother. First, this is temporary. Second, Josie’s father has agreed to manage the business for us while we’d be gone. And one more good thing: it should keep the McClarys away from me for a while.” Charles put his arm around Sarah. “Dear, I thought you’d recognize impenetrable obstinacy in your daughter by now. She’s not here asking for our permission; she’s asking for our blessing. Me, I’m not crazy about it either, but if she goes, I’ll throw in and do what I can to keep Mercury Air Freight on solid ground while she’s gone.”

Sarah lowered her head with a sigh. “Yes, I guess she is. Shannon, I’ll help you in any way I can. Go apply, and best of luck to you.” The next day, both women responded to the telegram, and shortly thereafter received instructions to report the following day for a medical exam and interview in downtown Los Angeles.

Shannon and Josie looked up at the entrance to the federal building where the application process was to be held. “Phew! Even the building looks intimidating,” Shannon said. “Not as intimidating as we are,” Josie replied. “Let’s go in and knock their socks off.” Holding hands for mutual , they walked forward and through the imposing doors. The selection process was to be held on the third floor. They found the room and were each given a lengthy application. There were a handful of other young women in the room, and Shannon tried not to look at them. Once the application was turned in and perused for the better part of fifteen minutes each, they were shown to another room, where they went through a commercial pilot physical. “We’re still in tip-top shape,” Josie said after they each ed the physical with ease. “Except my nerves are worn out,” Shannon replied. After a lengthy wait, Shannon was escorted into an interior office, and introduced to an attractive woman with a pleasant face, finely wrought mouth, and dark blond hair. The woman stood up and extended her hand, introducing herself. “I’m Alice Mills. Pleased to meet you, and have a seat.” They both sat, and the woman looked at Shannon oddly for a moment. “I have a feeling I’ve seen you before. Your face is familiar.” Then the light dawned. “Of course! You’re Drew Patterson’s wife.” “Yes, that’s me. I’m also co-owner of Mercury Air Freight.” Mills nodded. “I heard Drew volunteered for the Army earlier this year. How’s he doing?” “Flying P-51s over Europe. He’s been lucky so far, some scary encounters, but nothing serious.” She paused, her head sinking. “At least, that’s what he tells

me.” “You’ve got to be worried about him, I know. Now, let’s talk about your application.” She went on for thirty minutes, prying deep into some issues, particularly the “accident” that could have been fatal. Finally, she appeared satisfied, and laid the application down on her desk. “I think you’re an excellent candidate,” she said. “Your background is strong, and you’ve demonstrated grace under pressure. So you have my recommendation to continue to the final interview. Can you report to the Palmer House in Chicago three days from now?” Shannon’s mind raced. Be in Chicago in three days? She didn’t know quite how she’d pull it off, but there was only one thing to say. “I’ll be there.” Josie was next, and afterward reported a similar experience. She too had received in invitation for a final interview in Chicago. They left the room and went down to the lobby where they took seats on a bench in a corner. “Can you believe this?” Josie said. “But to Chicago. Can we pull it off?” “This expense is really eating into our reserves. I’m worried about it. But yes, we can.” The rest of that day and the following day were full of frantic activity. Shannon called in two pilots who had done temporary work for them, and they agreed to take over freight delivery—for a while. Josie’s father agreed to sit in at the office until they got back. Early the next morning, they caught a flight for Chicago. They arrived late in the day and grabbed an evening meal from a small deli around the corner from the hotel. Morning came all too soon, and they bumped hips at the bathroom mirror getting ready. Shannon finished applying her lipstick as Josie combed her newly-shortened hair. “You think the shorter hair makes me look more mature and responsible?” Josie said. “Without a doubt. You notice I’ve kept mine short.”

“Yeah, the second coming of Amelia Earhart. That poor woman. She must be lying dead somewhere.” Shannon nodded. “I miss her.” She threw her hairbrush into her purse. “Let’s go.”

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The Palmer House was a large rectangular sand-colored building on Monroe Street. Shannon’s mouth fell open at sight of the lobby, a big, high-ceilinged space ed on the sides by large columns that instantly reminded Shannon of pictures of Egyptian architecture, though they were flat instead of round. The columns flared up at the top into the amazing ceiling, which was richly covered with mosaic designs that appeared to offer endless variety. The lobby was one big work of art. Josie reached over and put a finger under Shannon’s jaw as they walked through. “Best close your mouth before you trip over that lip. We may be small-town girls at heart, but we don’t have to look like it.” Embarrassed, Shannon shut her mouth. They asked for directions at the desk and took an elevator to the fifth floor. Finding the proper room, they stood outside the door and held hands for a final squeeze of before entering. They were seated inside for fifteen minutes, then Shannon was called in first. She entered the interview room and sat before a large government-issue desk that looked out of place with the elegant nature of the hotel. The room was empty at first, but a woman entered through a side door and greeted her. “I’m Olivia Loring,” she said. “And you are, I presume, Shannon Patterson. Your reputation has preceded you. I hope you don’t mind us taking you away from Hollywood for a bit.” “I’m glad to be away for a while,” Shannon said. “It can be a strain at times.” Loring sat down behind the desk. “I don’t doubt it. I’ve been designated by

Jacqueline Cochran to conduct the interview. Now, let’s get to business.” Over the next half-hour, Shannon went through the same questions she had been asked in Los Angeles. As she went through the subjects again, a tiny detached part of her consciousness was aware that Loring was visually sizing her up. At the end, Loring closed the folder on Shannon and sat back in her chair. “Mrs. Patterson, I like what I hear from you.” She stood up and put out her hand. “I’d like to welcome you into training for the Women’s Army Flying Service. The woman at the front desk will give you a packet of instructions as to when and where to report.” Shannon shook Loring’s hand, thanked her and went out, relief roiling in her gut. She entered the waiting room and gave a thumbs-up to Josie. Josie was called. With a smile over her shoulder, she went through the door into the interview room. Shannon waited, eyeing the clock and nibbling at her fingernails. But instead of the half-hour she had experienced, Josie came out after only fifteen minutes. But she didn’t look at Shannon, brushing right past her mumbling, “Let’s get out of here,” and went out into the hallway. Stricken with fear, Shannon raced after her. “Josie, what—” Josie whirled on her, face a mask of rage. “I didn’t get accepted. She asked me to withdraw my application.” Shannon stood before her in shock. “But why—” Josie held up her hand close to Shannon’s face. “Because I’m colored!” Shannon’s mouth fell open. “No, they couldn’t! Are you sure?” “They as much as said so.” Her voice was heavy with grief. “Not this time,” she mumbled. “Please, God, not this time.” Shannon’s face darkened. “She’s not going to do this.” She whirled and charged back down the hallway.

Josie ran after her and grabbed her around the waist. “No! You’ll ruin your own chance.” But Shannon was literally dragging her down the hallway. Josie whirled around Shannon and pushed against her chest. “Stop! If I can’t go, you’ve got to.” “Get out of my way, damn it.” She braced with all her strength, but Shannon was pushing her backward toward the door. Realizing she was fighting a losing battle, she slapped Shannon hard. Both girls looked at each other in shock for a moment. “I’ll fix this,” Shannon said, trembling with rage. “By God, I’ll fix this. I’ll get Mother on the case. I won’t let it rest. I’ll—” Josie glared at her, face contorted with anger. “Stop trying to be my white savior!” she screamed. Then she turned and ran toward the stairs to the lobby. Numb, Shannon stared at the empty hallway. Minutes later, she found Josie in the lobby, seated with her head down and her arms resting on her legs. “Let’s get back to the room,” Josie said, barely audible. Sleep did not come easily that night. Shannon lay awake, turning over and over in her mind the unfairness of it all, tormented by the truth that there was nothing she could do about it. Josie lay still in the dark beside her, clutching her arms to her chest and lost to some place Shannon could never go.

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The flight back to California felt even longer than it had in coming to Chicago. Neither of them said much. Shannon turned over in her mind what Josie had screamed at her but could make no sense of it.

As they neared touchdown at Los Angeles Airport, Josie spoke softly, looking straight ahead in her seat. “I’ll take care of the business while you’re gone. You’ll come back to see it grown into the biggest regional carrier on the west coast.” The tone in her voice told Shannon it was as good as done.

16

As Shannon waited for the day of her departure, the atmosphere around her was nothing but awkward. Josie had gone home to be with her mother, for how long Shannon didn’t know. She had returned to Mercury Air Freight’s office, halfheartedly looked at the books, prepared freight for delivery and asked her substitute pilots to stay on until Josie returned. Josie’s father, John Kelly, graciously agreed to stay until his daughter returned to duty. For Shannon’s first day back, she could hardly look at him. She didn’t understand what had happened. It didn’t take long for Kelly to detect that Shannon was stewing about something. The next day, when they’d seen another load of freight off into the sky, he turned to her. “Shannon, let’s go back to the office and sit for a while. I want to talk to you.” Without acknowledging him, she walked back and sat in one of the office chairs, as he sat down opposite her. After a few seconds, he spoke. “Shannon, I’m not happy with Josie for saying what she did to you, and I’ve asked her to apologize. Chalk it up to a moment of extreme distress. And I know you don’t understand why she said it. Let me see if I can explain it better. “I brought Josie up to be a fighter. I knew it was the only way she was going to survive and maybe even prosper in white society. Forgive me for speaking frankly. She’s become all I could hope her to be—pugnacious, assertive, and self-confident. But there’s a downside to it. “ years ago when you were both qualifying for your pilot’s license, and that airplane rental company wouldn’t rent to Josie? Your mother gave them holy hell for it, and they changed their tune.” “You knew that?” Kelly nodded. “I did. Josie saw it as a huge favor, coming from a white family. But she was disappointed she couldn’t fix it herself. Now you proposed to fix

this latest rejection. It was too much for her. Please forgive me for speaking frankly; I mean no offense. I appreciate your willingness to fight for her. But she doesn’t want her problems to be solved by white people. She wants to do it herself.” Shannon leaned forward in the chair. “Mr. Kelly, I’d do anything for Josie.” Kelly nodded. “I know you would. But sometimes you’re going to have to let her do it herself.” “What if she can’t?” “Then let her live with it. She knows there are some things she isn’t going to be able to fix in this world. Things like what happened in Chicago. I think someday all this is going to change. It will take more time than it should. And I may not live to see it. But Josie might.”

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Shannon was scheduled to fly out of Los Angeles Airport the next morning bound for orientation in Wilmington, Delaware. She drove out to the hangar for one last visit before she left. She was conversing with one of the substitute pilots at the back of the hangar when she became aware of someone behind her. She turned to see a figure silhouetted against the light at the front of the hangar and knew at once it was Josie. “Leave us for a while,” she told the pilot, who took the hint and bowed out. She tentatively walked toward Josie, who didn’t move. Then Shannon could see her shoulders shaking as she began to cry. Shannon walked up and took her in her arms, pressing her to her chest and stroking her hair. “I’m sorry,” Josie said. “So sorry.” Shannon drew back and put her forehead against Josie’s. “I love you, sister,” she said softly.

“I love you, sister. Please forgive me.” “Fly high,” Shannon whispered. “Fly high.”

Shannon looked out the window of the Douglas DC-3 as it taxied on the runway of the Houston Municipal airport. As they neared the enger terminal, she could see among the crowd several people holding up greeting signs for engers. One of those signs would have her name on it. She was tired after the long flight from Delaware. The trip, the whole venture, would have been beyond her if not for the success of Mercury Air Freight. She, like the other women selected, had to pay for their own flights to their training sites, the training itself, room and board, and uniforms and supplies. The cost was too much for some applicants. Now, as she disembarked, she saw her name. She greeted the sign holder and was shown to a waiting car, then driven to a hotel where the class would gather until the following morning. She shared a room with a woman from Boston, whose accent delighted her. The next morning, Shannon and the other trainees boarded a bus bound for the Houston Airport. There were about thirty or so of them. Unfamiliar accents sounded around Shannon as the bus filled with nervous chatter on its way to Howard Hughes Field. Once at their destination, they disembarked and were lined up military-style. From her vantage point in the back row and being nearly a head taller than most of the women, Shannon could see a motley collection of rumpled clothing in a broad spectrum of colors across the group. A woman in a crisp uniform, who identified herself as Jacqueline Cochran, came front and center before them. She gave a speech of welcome, and then launched into a list of what they would not get, sure to discourage all but the most determined. There was no housing for women pilots at the base; they would have to find their own. The best prospect was to share a room in a boarding house with another recruit. In the interest of time, they would be assisted by the program in finding housing nearby. There was minimal medical care, no life insurance, no fire or crash trucks, and an ambulance borrowed from the Army. Cochran looked over the group. “Any woman wants to bow out now, I hold no grudge.” No one moved.

“Good, that’s what I expected. Ladies, I won’t sugarcoat it for you. The Army needs you, but it isn’t ready for you. Everything we get will be second-hand, including a hodgepodge collection of military aircraft to train in. You’re all licensed pilots, but we’re going to train you to fly the Army way. You’ll be held to the same standards as the men—at two-thirds the pay. “Speaking of the men, you’re going to face resistance and prejudice every step of the way. When the war started, Uncle Sam was desperate for pilots. It still is, with some of them bound up in training programs across the country, training new pilots. Your mission is to replace the men now being used in training programs and ferrying aircraft from the factories to their duty stations so they can go into combat. But I think that secretly some of them don’t want to go overseas. The men don’t think you can fly these planes, and some are hoping you can’t. None of them will give you respect until you earn it, until your skill is too obvious to ignore. It’s a critical cause. The men don’t think you’re up to it. But I do.” Cochran spoke on briefly, then dismissed the group. Those that still needed housing were taken in tow by staffers and driven off to find it. Shannon had been about to them when a small young woman with a head of blond curls came up to her. “Would you like to room with me?” she said. “I already have a place close by.” “Oh. I guess if you need a roommate and I need a room, we’re a match made in heaven. I guess my answer is yes. Show me the way.” “Let’s go over to headquarters and pick up your supplies,” the woman said. Shannon looked her over on the way to HQ. She was very short; Shannon towered over her. The minimum acceptable height was five-feet-two inches. “You don’t look tall enough to be here. You’re really five feet two?” The woman grinned slyly. “On my tiptoes I am. What they didn’t notice won’t hurt me.” Shannon decided she liked this woman right away. They entered the HQ building and were taken to a room where supplies the women had ordered be sent to the base were kept. Shannon found hers after a brief search, stuffed into a military style duffle bag. It was a cool day, and she was glad she had been able to send

her flight jacket along with the rest of the items. To her delight, the woman also had her own car. “Drove it all the way from Savannah,” she said proudly. “Something tells me we’re going to need it to get to class on time.” She stuck out a hand. “I’m Delia, by the way. Delia Loudon.” Shannon shook her hand. Before arriving, she had given some thought to trying to keep her identity secret as long as possible to avoid creating a distraction, but then realized it was hopeless. “Shannon Patterson. But you can call me Shanna.” The woman scrunched up her shoulders and grinned in embarrassed delight. “I was right!” Delia drove her car off base and down a narrow lane of tree-studded yards, stopping at the first house on the second block. It was a large old house, nicely kept up, with vines climbing tall trellises up to the second floor. “That’s my place,” Delia said, pointing to a door at the top of a flight of exterior stairs leading up to the second floor. “And now yours.” Shannon followed Delia up the stairs, laboriously lugging her duffle bag to the top. Once inside, she saw how lucky she was. The two-bed room was decorated delightfully for female occupation, with curtains, tastefully covered Queen Anne chairs, and flowered bedspreads. It would do just fine. Shannon dropped her bag on one of the beds. Sitting beside her bag, she suddenly thought of her first proper act in claiming her new quarters—pictures. She fished around in the duffle bag and came up with a picture Josie had given her some time ago. She was posed next to the Bellanca, wearing her leather flight jacket, a big scarf around her neck, and a helmet with goggles on top. She had a big smile on her face and looked every bit the flying ace she was. Shannon lovingly set the framed photo on the table next to the bed. Delia watched her place the picture, face ing alarm. “You’re not a kiki[9] are you?” Shannon turned from her task. “Oh. Certainly not. This is Josie, my best friend

and business partner.” She was suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, is this your bed?” “No, you’re fine,” Delia said. She sat on her bed and regarded Shannon with a smile. “I’m sorry I was so forward out there on the flight line. But I knew who you were the moment I saw you! And I had to snap you up before one of the other girls did.” Shannon sighed and nodded. Her cover was blown on the first day. She’d known it would be hard to hide; she was nearly six feet tall. “And this,” she said, removing Drew’s photo from her bag with a flourish and placing it beside Josie’s, “is my husband, Drew.” Delia giggled. “Oh, I have so many questions about Hollywood. Have you ever met Rita Hayworth? Or Clark Gable?” Shannon paused a moment, thinking about how best to handle someone obviously smitten with Hollywood stars. “Okay, I’ll answer a few questions now, but in the future, we need to keep this Hollywood talk to a minimum. That’s not what we’re here for. Let’s stay focused on becoming good Army pilots. No, I haven’t met Rita Hayworth or Clark Gable, though I’ve been to parties they were at. But I have met Errol Flynn, among others, and I’m friends with Bette Davis.” Delia’s mouth dropped open. “Do tell . . .”

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Shannon didn’t make it through the lunch break the next day before word got out with the rest of the squadron who she was. She didn’t think Delia blew her cover; it seems others came to the realization on their own. Minor bedlam erupted in the mess hall, and the whole crowd gathered around her, pummeling her with questions. This lasted about five seconds before the officer of the mess came in and bellowed for everyone to take their seats. “What have we got here?” he said. He was a young second lieutenant with fuzzy red hair, and he was obviously enjoying lording it over this rash crop of Army

pilot wannabes. “Somebody want to explain?” One girl timidly raised her hand. “Sir,” she said, pointing to Shannon, “this is Shannon Donnelly, Drew Patterson’s wife.” The lieutenant paused for a moment, a blank look on his face. Then he ed. “Ah, the actor. Yes, fresh from Hollywood. Is your husband helping our war effort, Mrs. Patterson?” This guy must live in a cave, Shannon thought. “Yes sir, he’s flying combat missions over in Europe. It’s one of the reasons I’m here. I want to do my part.” For a split second, Shannon thought she detected a trace of a smirk on the lieutenant’s face. “A noble gesture,” he said. “We don’t have time for celebrities here, ladies. So I don’t want to see this hero worship interrupting our time again. Save it for the off-duty hours.” He turned and started to walk away. “When you get them,” he said over his shoulder. Five women in unison stuck out their tongues at his retreating back. “Jerk,” whispered one. “I’ll bet I could fly circles around him.” “Poor guy,” said another. “I’ve seen his type. Never had power over anything in his life, and now he’s got it. And he’s going to make the most of it.” After that, the annoying lieutenant always referred to Shannon as “Hollywood”, a name she detested. But her polite protests bore no fruit. She slowly settled in among the rest of the girls, patiently answering their questions about her life in the fabled city.

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She found time to write to Josie at the end of the first week.

Dear Josie,

Sorry to take so long to write, but they are putting us through the wringer here. We’re up and on the flight line in the nippy darkness and divide our days between flying and classroom training. We get little time to eat, and just when you think your day is over, they call a night class. Last night, they called one at 8 p.m., so we got to bed late.

I have a room offsite with a girl from Georgia named Delia. She’s a great gal, and a real card at times. Our squadron blew up when they discovered I’m Drew’s wife, but things have calmed down now. They still pester me with questions now and then, obviously fascinated with the silver screen life and its inhabitants. I try to be polite.

It looks like we’ll be here four months. After that, we’ll be assigned either to ferrying service, target towing (no thank you!) or testing damaged airplanes after they’ve been repaired. If that last sounds like we aren’t valued much—well, it’s true. We’re second-class citizens around here. The men don’t respect us or want us around. I even heard some bigshot officer at another base got in trouble for treating women badly. Apparently he said the training planes and the women were expendable.

I should mention here the planes they gave us to train with. It’s a motley collection of various types of aircraft, some of which I haven’t seen before. A few of them are scarred, and most show signs of having been repaired. Not thrilled about flying any of them.

Though we’re not in the military, we’re still expected to salute officers and stand and march in formation. I’ll tell you, any woman who makes it through this course can be proud of being one tough cookie—and a good pilot.

Too tired to write more. Tomorrow, like most days, will start early. Please write and let me know how you and the business are doing.

Love,

Shanna

And the next day, to her family:

Dear Mom, Dad, and Dot,

I am very tired, but I wanted to write, as I’m sure you’re worried about me. It seems like I’ve been on the run since I got here. Don’t worry, we’re being fed adequately, though I wouldn’t brag about any of the fare.

We’re not in the military, though we might as well be. They teach us and drill us like we were soldiers. It seems the military has a particular fondness for getting us up and in formation on the flight line in pitch dark. They call the time “Odark-thirty”, I’m told. And this may be Texas, but it’s cold out at that time of the morning. Some of the girls don’t have jackets, and I feel bad for them.

All of my supplies arrived; Dad thank you for seeing to it. We don’t have uniforms, and have been told to wear whatever shoes we have, and we have to wear hair nets on the flight line. The only clothing they have given us are men’s coveralls, which, needless to say, are ridiculously baggy. The girls immediately

dubbed them “zoot suits”, and there’s no way to look feminine in them.

The regimen is exhausting. All that stuff I’ve learned in ground school is being taught again, in greater depth, plus more—hydraulics, Morse code, aerodynamics, physics, math, airplane maintenance, and, oh, there’s more but I can’t think of it right now. And for all that, we get paid the princely sum of $150 per month, minus money held back for board. Head getting fuzzy now. Got to get some sleep. I’ll write again soon when I can carve out a few minutes.

All My Love,

Shanna

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As the weeks went by, Shannon tried to hide her impatience when she was taken up to fly Piper Cubs and Fairchild trainers. It was like going back to her student pilot days. But she flew superbly, and before long it became evident to the other girls she was one of the better pilots in the squadron. They slowly came to ire her and look to her for leadership and advice. Though she was younger than some, she was older than most, and to her dislike at first, was regarded by some as a mother figure and confidant. The washouts started early, and it became clear the failure rate was going to be higher than they had hoped. Every time a woman was told she was going home, a feeling of loss spread through the squadron. They were in the process of becoming buddies, fellow soldiers, mutually ive, and united in their fight to qualify. Each one who left raised the level of anxiety in the rest they might be next. There was nothing to do about it but train harder.

Shannon came off the flight line and into an empty recreation room one afternoon to find a woman sitting alone, sobbing. She recognized her as Mary, one of the younger women and a soldier’s wife like herself. She had heard flight training hadn’t gone satisfactorily for Mary and she had been struggling in the classroom. In truth, she herself had been struggling at times with math and physics. Shannon quietly walked over and sat on the bed close to her, gently putting an arm around her. “You’re still a pilot,” she said softly. “Don’t ever take that for granted. You’ll fly again. You need to be strong for your husband now. And he should be proud of what you did.” The woman raised a tear-stained face to Shannon and nodded. “It hurts,” she said, voice distorted with pain. “I tried my best.” “I know all about that,” Shannon said. “But hold your head high and uplift your man while he’s away. He needs you to be strong. , you tried, and you should be proud of that.” In next morning’s formation, there was one empty spot.

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Despite the rigorous military-style training, Shannon found Jacqueline Cochran, whom she had learned was director of Women’s Flying Training, warm and ive. She had spoken to her a time or two in ing. But now Shannon had something more serious in mind, and when she found Cochran alone on the flight line one afternoon—a rare occurrence—she approached her and rendered her best salute. Cochran smiled. “Mrs. Patterson. I’ve been hearing you’re superb in the air and I’ve been meaning to compliment you on it.” “Thank you, Miss Cochran. I hope I’m not interrupting if I ask for a moment of your time to talk about something that bothers me. It’s hard to find you alone.”

Cochran’s brow furrowed with concern. “If there’s something troubling you, I certainly want to hear about it. You’re one of our best students.” Shannon hesitated, then took a deep breath. “Miss Cochran, there’s a pilot who should be here and she’s not. She’s a better pilot than I am.” “Why isn’t she here then?” Shannon’s throat tightened. This was probably her only chance to correct what had happened to Josie. “She applied but was turned down because she’s colored.” Cochran said nothing for a long moment, then raised her chin and looked up at the sky. “I see. This is a delicate subject. In truth, she’s not the only colored woman who’s been turned down. But it’s not as personal a decision as it seems. Let me explain. You know the prejudice you women are fighting here. The men don’t want you here, they don’t think you can do the job, and they smirk when there’s a failure. They can be rude, dismissive, and unhelpful. Not all of them, mind you, but too many. It’s difficult enough fighting prejudice aimed at females without additionally battling race discrimination.” Shannon at last understood. But that didn’t make it any easier to accept. “I’m sorry,” Cochran continued. “But the decision comes from above me. There’s no fighting it. I hope someday it will be gone.” Shannon nodded, eyes moist. “Yeah, someday. Thank you, Miss Cochran.” “You’re a wonderful pilot,” Cochran said. “Keep up the good work.” Shannon saluted and walked away, discouraged. She had done all she could, and nothing would be changed. Cochran’s explanation made sense in a sick way. But it didn’t entirely hold water, for Shannon had seen within her squadron a Chinese woman and a Native American woman. Why was there was no concern about fighting prejudice with them? She knew she would never get a straight answer.

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The weeks flew by. Shannon received letters from Drew, which took a while to reach her, and made her fear what was in them was old news. She realized then any letter from a combat zone was old news the next day after it was written. Now and then there were words that had been blacked out. Apparently, letters were subject to review. He couldn’t say where his flights took him to, but so far he had come back safely. Drew was hungry for details on her training, but in reply she found out there were subjects she couldn’t talk about either. She privately cursed the military aspect of her training as she wrote him back.

Drew,

How I wish I knew where you are. But I understand the need for secrecy. We have it here too. You’d be proud of my flying. We take off in big groups with all of us returning about the same time, because it would take too long to fly one girl at a time. A lot of the airplanes they give us to fly are cast-off junk, patched together in some cases. They throw everything but the kitchen sink at us in the air—stalls, banks, figure-8 turns, you name it. I’m doing well, but I may not be flying for the next several days because too many of the planes are in the shop for repair, and the trainers will take up the girls who are behind on their air time.

We carry thirty-pound parachutes when flying, and heavy “zoot suits” borrowed from the men. You’re either cold or hot. We get up in the dark to prep the airplanes, fly half the day and are in the classroom the other half, and sometimes more classes in the evening. The food isn’t bad, but sometimes we’re too tired to eat and just fall into bed. I can’t imagine you went through anything worse than this. We’ll compare notes after all this is over.

Love,

Shannon

It was early May now, and the women were getting restless as the end was in sight, though the training had not slacked off. One thing the women enjoyed— perhaps different from their male counterparts—was marching. Marching down the flight line in formation for review, flag bearer before them, they felt proud to be part of the war effort. They had long since graduated from the first trainer aircraft, low-powered single-engine Cubs and other craft some referred to disdainfully as “sewing machines”. They were now flying Bell P-63s, P-40s, and other advanced and powerful planes. Through the course of training, they had practiced take-offs and landings, snap rolls, parachute bailouts, night flying, and even aerobatics. They were used to the military routine now and felt a part of the Army. It griped some that they weren’t. They were flying the Army way in the same planes the men flew and doing it capably. And yet reports of efforts to discourage them filtered in from other training centers now and then. Some male pilots flatly refused to acknowledge the women’s ability, or believed the women were too small to handle the airplanes. Some base commanders gave the WASP pilots “undesirable” planes to fly. Others deliberately gave unfair evaluations of their skill. They were not given as much time to practice as the men were. And on and on. Shannon and the rest of the women in the squadron suffered under such deliberate snubbing, but there was no remedy other than to keep flying and hope they could someday prove their worth. And then one day, at last, after months of pushing on through dark frigid mornings, steamy afternoons, sandstorms that put grit in their teeth, inferior pay, skeptical instructors, meals that were generally chow hall fare, and being too tired to eat anyway, they came to graduation day. Shannon was never so proud as when she stood to attention and had the gleaming wings insignia pinned to her uniform, signifying her as a pilot for the

Army, and then marched in review with the rest of the squadron. They had acquired uniforms by this time—a white silk blouse, tan slacks, an overseas cap, and a gray gabardine jacket with square shoulders and brass buttons. Only a few of us have them, though, she wrote home to Charles and Sarah, since we have to pay for them. I’m lucky Josie sends me regular payments out of the Mercury Air Freight profits. It’s safe to say most of the girls here have either a well-to-do husband financing their training, or some other source of income from civilian life. A few don’t, and I feel sorry for them as they are barely hanging on money-wise. But they are hanging on!

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Shannon was nervous with excitement after the march in review as she went into the headquarters building with the rest of the girls to receive her assignment. She took the papers from her assigned slot with trembling hands. Because of her civilian flying experience and because she already had a multi-engine rating on her license, the assignment was not a surprise: she was being sent to Ohio for B17 ferrying training. She squealed with delight and clasped the paper to her chest. Then she turned to her roommate Delia, who had retrieved her assignment and come up to her. Shannon showed her the paper, grinning. “Hmm,” Delia said, feigning disinterest, “I can’t say as I’m so lucky. I’ve been assigned to target towing. But,” she brightened, “at least it’s in Georgia. So it’s back home for me!” Shannon hugged her long and tight. “I’ll miss you, dear friend. Promise me you’ll write?” Delia crossed her heart. “I promise. You write too. Let’s keep in touch.” Shannon went into the recreation room and dashed off a letter to Drew.

Dear Drew,

How I wish you could have been here to see me get my wings! I looked so good in my uniform. I wish I was over there flying missions alongside you. We’d put a scare into the Nazis! My big news is I’ve been assigned to ferry B-17s. Uncle Sam is giving me a four-day break, then it's off to Ohio for multi-engine school. I ache for news from you. Please write soon.

Love,

Shannon

The next morning, with tearful departures and promises to keep in touch, the women split up and went their separate ways. Shannon boarded a plane for Los Angeles, and home.

17

The crowd waiting for her at the Los Angeles Airport was bigger than she expected. The Pearsons and Josie and her parents were there along with a few others she didn’t recognize. Proudly wearing her flight jacket with its gleaming silver wings on the front, Shannon stepped off the plane and into the terminal, where she was surrounded by hugs, especially from Dot, who didn’t hesitate to say how worried she had been about her older sister. “You look tired,” Josie said, when she finally got her turn. “No surprise there. They put us through hell. But the worst is over now.” “Come on out to the business when you’re rested. I want you to see our progress.” “I will, dear friend. I’m going to spend tonight with my family, and then I’ll see you tomorrow.” She went home happily. The Pearson house was a warm comfort to her now, after being away from home for so long. They all sat in the den and Dot peppered her with questions, most of which started with, “Did you have to—” or “Did they make you—”, to which she almost always answered, “Yes, they did.” “Did you jump out of an airplane?” Dot continued. “Yes.” “Were you scared?” “You bet your boots I was. But I couldn’t let on.”

After a while, Dot finally wound down, and was sent off to bed. Charles, recognizing a time for girl talk at hand, claimed the need to get to something or other, and Shannon was left alone with Sarah. Sarah smiled. “Daughter, you’ve made us all so proud,” she said quietly. “I can’t believe you’re going to be flying those huge planes.” “I can hardly believe it myself. It’s going to be a new experience.” “I haven’t heard as often as I would like from Drew. But I suppose all of us here in stateside say things like that. What do you hear?” Shannon sighed. “Not as much as I would like either. He’s still flying missions in Europe, but I don’t know where. His letters take so long to get to me that I always wonder what’s happened since he wrote them.” She lowered her gaze to her lap. “I wish he’d come home.” Sarah moved closer to her on the sofa. “So do I. But I want to tell you he may not be the same when he comes back.” Shannon looked up, eyes suddenly moist. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to frighten you. But you should be prepared. My father fought in World War One. He wouldn’t talk about it much, but when I was a child, I once asked him what he saw. He said, ‘I saw things men aren’t meant to see’. I didn’t ask him again. I hope it’s different for Drew. He’s somewhat isolated from the worst of it, up in that plane.” She could see this conversation was a bad idea, so she changed the subject and adopted a cheery demeanor. “How are you two getting along? You were one of Hollywood’s hot young couples before he left. Even after you left, you’re still mentioned in the tabloids now and then.” Shannon rolled her eyes. “I don’t miss the attention. I got some of it in Houston, though, when they found out who I was. As for us, I guess you could say we’ve kept our agreement to give each other the freedom to pursue our careers.” “Is it working?”

Momentary silence. “Mother, you’re prying.” “I’m sorry. It’s just that we have such an unusual relationship here. You’re my daughter and he’s my brother. I love you, and for all our disagreements, I love him too.” Shannon looked away for a long moment, then turned back. “There have been times this past year when I was no longer sure we could make this arrangement work. Sometimes when he’s shooting a feature out of town, he’s gone for weeks. If I dare to be seen with another man, no matter it’s business, the gossip columns are full of it. One of the reasons I married was I got tired of waking up alone. Too often, I still am. Oh, I don’t begrudge him his career; it makes him happy and I think when he comes back he’ll be bigger than ever. But the time we spend apart wears on me.” Sarah reached out her hand and laid it over Shannon’s. “I was afraid someday it might. My fondest wish is that you two can be successful in your marriage. Please know I want happiness for both of you.” She leaned in and put her arms around Shannon. “I’m so lucky to have you both in the family.” Shannon, able to let go for the first time in months, suddenly leaned into Sarah and cried softly into her shoulder. Sarah put an arm around her and let her cry. Eventually she pulled away, quiet for long moments, as if she had no more to say. But in the stillness of the den, she had one more startling question. “Have you heard anything about Brendan?” Sarah froze for an instant. “Why, no. There’s been no word of him. I’m frankly surprised you ask.” “Please don’t mention this to anyone, Mother.” “I won’t, be sure of that.” She looked at her daughter’s tall frame hunched over on the couch, and with that unique mother-daughter bond, she knew. Her eyes closed momentarily in dismay. “This isn’t good. You still haven’t let go of him, have you?” Shannon shook her head. “I’ve tried.” Sarah nodded her head, rose, and began pacing, arms folded across her chest.

“This puts me in a difficult situation. Am I to be torn between wanting the best for you and the best for my brother? They might be mutually exclusive.” She stopped and sighed. “I won’t bring it up again. But Shannon, I think you’d better get your mind straight on this before Drew comes home. He deserves to have a wife giving her full when he’s over there, thinking of him, and even more so when he comes home.” “Mother, I want you to know as long as he treats me with gentleness and respect, I will never leave him.” She said nothing further for a few seconds. Then: “Any news on the McClary brothers?” “No. I’ve heard nothing on either Cormac or Patrick. I guess they’re enjoying their newfound money from the WPA project. How much they’re getting I don’t know. Do you think they’ve let go of their hatred by now?” “I wouldn’t bet on it. Blind hate like that has a long life. I’ll hear from them again someday, when they think the time is right.”

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The following morning, Shannon drove to the Mercury Air Freight terminal, where Josie greeted her warmly. There had been no talk of Josie’s final interview rejection, and Shannon hoped it would remain that way. But back in Josie’s presence, she was still embarrassed by it. Josie wasn’t alone. Shannon found her with a handsome young black man. “Shanna, I’d like you to meet Langston Jeffries. Lang, this is my partner, Shannon Patterson.” The man stepped forward with a smile and grasped Shannon’s hand firmly. “Wow, this is an honor,” he said. “I don’t want to sound trite, but I’ve heard so much about you.” He was slender but looked firm and muscular. His smile was dazzling; he had refined features and warm brown eyes.

Josie’s body language told Shannon this wasn’t just a routine acquaintance. “I’m sure you’ve heard about me more often than you wished. I get in the papers a lot.” She turned to Josie. “So, where did you two meet?” “Two months ago at one of the cafés at Los Angeles Airport. I got my food and couldn’t find a place to sit. The place was jammed. He had a table with a free space, so I asked him if I could sit with him. He said yes, and when he stood up and pulled out my chair for me, I knew I’d found someone who knows how to treat a lady. It turns out he’s an intern at St. Vincent’s Hospital.” She’s overdue for a good man, Shannon thought. “I’m sure I’ll see you again.” Josie excused herself from Langston, who left with a cheery wave. “Good catch,” Shannon said, prodding her playfully. “About time, I say. Now, let’s get to business.” She went over the books with Josie. Business was steadily growing; the air freight tonnage was up twelve per cent in the months she had been gone. Shannon gave her a big smile. “You’re every bit the good steward I knew you would be. You’ve got a head for business.” “You can give my dad credit for a lot of that. He’s kept things on an even keel while you were gone. Now you’ve seen our progress. Do you have any ideas for expansion to leave me with?” Shannon looked intently at their map of operations for long minutes. Finally, she raised her head. “I want us to lease another airplane, another Bellanca if we can get one. And I’d like to see us look into expanding into northern California and western Nevada. I think we’re ready to go regional. What do you say?” “I say I’m totally with you. But if you don’t mind, I’ll bounce it off my dad first.” They sealed the idea with a handshake and a hug.

Shannon tingled with excitement as the airplane touched down at Lockbourne Army Air Force station in Ohio. She was tired from the long and uncomfortable journey on military transports from Los Angeles but couldn’t suppress her emotion upon seeing rows of B-17s flanking the flight line. After exiting the airplane, she checked in and was shown to her quarters. There would be no private housing here; the women would occupy the ground floor of a large three-story barracks, hastily converted, it appeared, from male to female occupancy. Affording some privacy, the long open bays had been converted into smaller bays, each holding six women. Shannon walked into her assigned bay carrying her military-issue duffle bag. There were already two women present, lounging on the beds. “Hi,” she said, lowering her bag to the floor. “I’m Shannon Donnelly. I guess this is my bay.” One of the women perked up, gaze growing bigger. “The Shannon Donnelly?” “It’s her, all right,” said the other, grinning. “Spitting image of the tabloid photos. Hi,” she said, rising and extending a hand. “I’m s Green. And Big-Eyes here is Blanche Osborn.” “Pleased to meet you,” Blanche said as she rose to her feet, blushing. “We’ve been hearing about you,” s said. “All good, of course. They say you’re quite the pilot.” “I hope I can live up to that. These B-17s are going to be a whole new thing. By the way, which bed is mine?” “You can have that one if you like,” Blanche said. “No one’s claimed it yet.” Shannon lowered her bag onto the indicated bed. Then she looked around at what would be her new home for the next several weeks. It was spartan in the Army way. Each bay was structured to hold six women. There were six beds little larger than a cot, six chairs, six lockers, and two study tables with three stations apiece. Further exploration revealed her bay was connected to another six-woman bay by the toilet and shower rooms. There were two showers, two

toilets, and two sinks in the between-bay area. Hmm. Two showers for twelve women? This is going to be interesting. To Shannon’s delight, the fourth woman in her bay, arriving an hour later, was one of her squadron mates from Houston, a woman from Wisconsin named Patty McLaughlin. The two embraced, relieved to see a familiar face. “Are there any more of us here?” Patty said. “I don’t know yet, but I’m guessing there has to be.”

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B-17 ground school started early the next morning after breakfast with a march out to the flight line where the airplanes were kept. They stopped in formation under one of the giant wings and were greeted by an Army captain with silver pilot’s wings on his chest. “Good morning, recruits,” he bellowed. “What you’re standing under is a fortress—a flying fortress. There are several generations of the B-17, each one badder than the one before. This particular plane is a B-17B. She has a wingspan of 105 feet, seventy feet from nose to tail, fifteen feet high, and weighs in at about 32,000 pounds empty. Loaded, she can weight up to about 55,000 pounds. She has four 1,000 horsepower Wright-Cyclone engines and full-feathering propellers to get this big ship into the air and keep her there.” He paused for effect. “And you’re going to learn to fly it.” After a few minutes of further information, the group was marched back to the classroom, and ground school began. A small group of the women, including Shannon, took their first look inside the B-17B the next day. Entry was by a hatch in the bottom of the fuselage, and a door near the back. This day it seemed apparent that their instructor wanted them all to use the front hatch. The women stood looking up at it with doubt. How were they to get in? The shorter women couldn’t reach the hatch at all. One of the women turned to a ground crewman. “Is there a ladder?”

“Nope,” he said curtly. “No breaks for the female sex. You’ll have to get on board the same as the men do.” “And how is that?” another woman said. “Like this.” He got under the hatch and reached up to a wooden bar set just inside. Grasping it like a pull-up bar in a high-school gymnasium, he vaulted his body up through the hatch and grasped the interior framework inside. “Oh no,” murmured one of the women. “I can’t do that.” The looks of doubt spread. “Now don’t get agitated,” the ground crewman said, coming back down. “First of all, some good news. It takes ten people to crew a B-17 in combat mode. But not all of you will enter through this hatch. Five of you—the pilot, co-pilot, upper turret gunner, bombardier, and navigator—will use this hatch. Just like the men do. The other five use the hatch toward the back of the fuselage.” He pointed to the hatch toward the back of the airplane. “Can’t we all use that hatch?” one of the women said plaintively. “That looks easy.” Several other women nodded their heads enthusiastically. “Sorry, no,” the crewman said. “As you’ll see, the interior is quite restrictive. It’s hard to move around. The age over the bomb bay, for instance, is so narrow that no one wearing a high-altitude suit could get through it. Once aboard, crew tend to stay put. But today, I want all of you to use this forward entry hatch, to get an idea of how confining the interior can be in places. Sorry, ladies. Let’s see if you can use teamwork to figure out how you can all get aboard using this hatch.” “I think this is our first test with the plane,” Shannon said, looking around at the other women. She could easily grab the wooden bar but knew some of the other women were too short to reach it. She turned to her friend Patty. “Let’s give it a go.” She knelt on one knee, her other knee out laterally. Patty instantly realized what to do. She put one foot on Shannon’s thigh behind the knee, stepped up, and grasped the wooden bar. From there, she was able to swing herself up and aboard.

“Ow,” Shannon said, rubbing her leg. “I think the idea needs refining.” Some of the women were incapable of swinging upward even grasping the bar. They were lifted by two women, each grabbing a leg and lifting straight up. Since Shannon didn’t need any help, she boarded last. They were greeted in the crowded interior by a young lieutenant who looked as if he’d rather be doing anything else but squiring a gaggle of females around. “I’ll be your guide, ladies,” he said, sounding bored. The myriad cockpit instruments were overwhelming at first glance. Shannon walked back through the plane trailing the others, and soon heard animated conversation ahead. She approached and looked over the heads of the women before her. They were staring at something truly unexpected. Toward the back in the fuselage, just aft of the rear hatch, was a toilet seat, wedged into a narrow space beside the walkway. “A toilet on a B-17?” one of the women said incredulously. “That’s right, ladies,” said their guide. “It isn’t widely used though.” “Why not?” one of the women asked. The lieutenant grinned, obviously warming to the subject. “It’s all well and good —until you hit an air pocket, or the plane makes a steep dive, or rolls sharply to one side. When that happens, s tend to get a good splash from the contents below them. And God help any crew that does a 180-degree roll. You get the picture. Damned if I know why they couldn’t provide a seal-tight hatch. But then, this is an Army plane. Not to worry; very few B-17s have them.” By now the women were all scrunching up their faces in disgust, and a murmured ewww ran through the group. Shannon vowed she’d never sit herself down on one of those, never, never. “This is bad enough, but the smaller planes like the P-51 don’t have anything for us,” complained one woman. “Any chance of that changing?” “No. As you probably realize by now,” said the lieutenant, “the male pilots in

those planes use a tube if they have to. Anything more serious, they have to wait until they land. But there isn’t room in the fighters for accommodations for you ladies. On big aircraft like this, or on others that have no such facility, the men have been known to open a hatch and . . .” He left the rest to their imagination. There was another round of ewww. That night, Shannon put pen to paper in a letter home to Josie.

Toilet facilities on the B-17, when there are any, are primitive and disgusting, she wrote. Lacking even that, and on the smaller fighters, if we women are in the air and we have to go, ah, we have to land somewhere . . .

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Classes were no less than Shannon expected: rigorous. But the women who had made it this far were tough and determined. Shannon and her bay mates helped each other when necessary, turning studying into a group effort. More time was spent out on the flight line though, learning the thorough pre-flight check required for so large a plane. The women spent a lot of time studying photographs of the cockpit, and in the actual cockpit, to become familiar with all the instruments and their purposes. The onboard pre-flight checklist was so lengthy it was intimidating at first. “The checklist is far too large for even the best pilot to memorize,” said their flight instructor. “So we provide every airplane with one, in the co-pilot’s seat. It’s the co-pilot’s job to read out the checklist items and each item has been performed. I’ll tell you ladies, one mistake, one switch improperly set, or one instrument overlooked is an invitation to disaster. Never take the checklist lightly. Too many accidents that were at first classified as pilot error were found to be the failure of pilot and co-pilot in performing the checklist protocol properly.” The instructors had the women aboard in short notice. Shannon was thrilled to sit

in the co-pilot’s seat for the first time and call out the checklist items. “Louder, Patterson,” the pilot-instructor said. Shannon read louder. She called out one item that brought no response from the pilot, and she looked at him quizzically. “It’s your item, Patterson,” he said. Shannon flushed with embarrassment. There were indeed a few items that were checked off by the co-pilot. But she missed no more after that.

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Every girl looked forward to mail call. Emotions ran the gamut, from the deep disappointment of no letters to the happy excitement of receiving one. Shannon was not the only one who had a husband fighting overseas, and letters from Europe brought special joy. Letters from the war zone were an affirmation that at least at the date of the letter, their men were still alive. Shannon had been receiving letters from Drew on a regular basis about every two weeks. During the second month of training, she received one she found unsettling. The date was listed, but the location was, as usual, blacked out.

Dear Shanna,

They say a cat has nine lives. If humans have multiple lives then I guess I’ve probably down to six about now. Had some close calls and nasty firefights, but I’ve made it home in one piece every time. The air war is intensifying over #######, but my trusty P-51 has Jerry running for cover when he sees me come flying in. Not without a few bullet holes in the canopy, though, and a few more along the wings.

How I miss you! My obligation will be up before long, and I am chomping at the bit to get back to you and Hollywood. Got silver screen fever about now. They ought to put me in a war picture. I’d be perfect for the part. They could call it “The Scourge of the Nazis” or “Flying Aces” or something heroic like that. I’ve certainly lived the part.

I’ve been thinking about our future when I return. I know our times apart before I left have been hard on you. Me too. I was thinking when I get back, we could be together all the time if you could find someone else to run your air freight business. You could sit back and rake in the profits. You’re too good and entirely too beautiful to be flying cargo around. I’d like to see you have more time to tap into what Hollywood has to offer. Maybe we could co-star in a feature. Wouldn’t that be something!

Uh-oh, gotta run. I’ve just been called into the briefing room for the next mission. I’m sending all my love to you in this letter. I miss you terribly.

Your loving husband

Drew

Shannon tapped the letter on her knee in thought as she sat in the recreation room. It was surprising and disappointing. Drew knew better than anyone of her ion for flying and her dedication to the business she and Josie had built. But he seemed to have forgotten it. I wonder if he ever really understood, she thought. Hollywood has nothing I want, and I won’t immerse myself in that society. She suddenly ed her mother’s cautionary words: He may not be the same when he comes back. Had she meant this sort of thing, or might

there be more to fear? A letter from Josie the next day lifted her spirits, especially when she revealed she was seeing more of Langston Jeffries. Thank God. She deserves to have someone special in her life. Throughout the training, there was a sense of urgency. The Army was still short of pilots and needed to get everyone they could to the front. Urgency, of course, did not overrule safe and thorough training, but it was there in the background. Thus, sooner than she expected, Shannon received notification it was time for her first stint as B-17 pilot. On a Wednesday morning, she stood on the flight line looking up at the big sixteen-ton-plus war machine, marveling again that something so big could fly with grace. Then she entered the lower hatch and walked up to the pilot’s seat. Captain Marshall Ellis, a veteran pilot and flight instructor, was waiting for her in the co-pilot’s seat. “Ready?” he said with a smile. “Yes sir, I am.” She had already gone through the thorough ground check. Now she fought jittery nerves as they went through the lengthy pre-flight checklist. One mistake and she might fail the test before they even got off the ground. She wiped her sweaty hands on her pants and prayed Captain Ellis wouldn’t notice, at the same time thinking, He sees it; I know he does. At last they were done. “We have permission to start,” Ellis said. “Yes sir.” “Master and ignition switches on,” Ellis said. “Check.” “Batteries and inverters.” “Check.”

“Turn on Number One battery.” She did, then repeated the steps for engines four and two. “Volt meters,” Ellis said. “Twenty-six volts, check.” “Inverter on normal.” “Twenty-six volts, check.” “Connect ground power.” Engine Number One could start on battery power when necessary but ground power was always used when available. Once Number One was running, power from it could be used to start the remaining three engines. Shannon reached out the window and gave the signal to the generator attendant to connect ground power, the fist of her right hand rammed into her left open palm. She saw the expected other man standing nearby with a fire extinguisher. “Parking brake on,” Ellis continued. “Check.” Hydraulics at 800 lbs. pressure.” “Check.” “Booster pumps and pressure on.” “Check,” Shannon said clearly. “Carburetor air filters on.” “Check.” “Fuel.” “Check.”

There were several more steps to be done before she could start, and she could feel herself settling down as the familiar ion for flight enveloped her. She was running through her procedures patiently and professionally as she had always done. When the final item was done, she yelled “Clear!” out the window, and visually ed for the ground crew member ready with the start generator. The other man with the fire extinguisher was stationed under the wing behind the engine, ready to quench any flames that appeared. Shannon held the starter switch for Number One down for twenty seconds, simultaneously setting the primer pump and pumping it a few times to get any air out of the lines. Then she held the starter switch and the mesh switch down simultaneously, and the big propeller began to turn. Engine Number One cranked over a few times, then with a mighty cough and puffs of smoke roared into life. Shannon felt the vibration of the big engine and its turbo supercharger throughout her body. The last trace of nerves vanished. She was fully in control of her aircraft and ready to fly now. “Check oil pressure,” Ellis said. “Check.” If the oil pressure didn’t rise within thirty seconds, she’d have to shut the engine down. She adjusted the throttle for 1000 RPM, then set the vacuum pump selector switch to left. She repeated the procedures for the other three engines, checking after Number Four ignited that the level flight indicator was indeed level, and soon all four engines were whirling, waiting to unleash four thousand horsepower at her command. “Set all trim tabs at zero,” Ellis said. “Zero, check.” “Check oil pressure.” “Forty pounds, check.” They went through several more check points, then Ellis got on the radio.

Ellis got on the radio. “Lockbourne Tower, this is 364641, over.” “Six-four-one, this is Lockbourne Tower, over.” “Lockbourne Tower, this is 641. Request taxi instructions for one-hour local flight. Pilot Shannon Patterson, over.” Shannon’s heart felt like it skipped a beat at mention of her name as pilot of the massive war machine. “Six-four-one, you are cleared for Runway One-Zero to the southwest, over.” She heard Ellis run through his checklist, requesting information on the wind and the altimeter setting for the aircraft. When he had that, and had been given his landing code, he terminated the conversation. “Six-four-one out.” Shannon throttled the four big engines all the way back and got ready to taxi, then signaled the ground crew to remove the external power source and move the wheel chocks clear. She increased throttle on the outboard right-side engine to turn the aircraft to the left and line up for takeoff. “Wheel lock off,” Ellis said as they approached the turn. “Wheel lock off, check.” The moment they completed the turn, Ellis called out, “Wheel lock on.” “Wheel lock on, check,” Shannon said firmly. Locked into a straight line ahead, the wheel would not turn to the side and take the rear of the plane with it while moving to takeoff speed. “We’re cleared for takeoff,” Ellis said. “The aircraft is yours.” Shannon stared at the runway in front of her, gaze burning into the long strip of concrete, the thrum of the engines coursing through her like a fire in her blood. She had never been so ready. “Brakes off,” she said. She advanced the throttles and the B-17 began to roll, ever faster until at one hundred miles per hour the wheels parted from the ground and the big aircraft roared into the blue sky ahead.

In the air, Shannon showed good control of the aircraft that impressed Ellis. It was as if she had flown it before. After an hour of flight around the Lockbourne area, it was time to come home. Shannon set the B-17 down with but the slightest bump. As she taxied back to the hangar, she could see her bay mates and several other WASPs jumping up and down and thrusting their arms into the air in excited congratulations. She went through shut down with Captain Ellis, and as the last propeller stopped turning, she felt hopeful. Ellis finished his notes on the pad he held, and then turned to her. “That was well done,” he said. “You’re going to make a fine B-17 pilot.” She thanked him, took her parachute and exited the lower hatch, barely able to hold herself to a walk until she was clear of the aircraft and off the runway. Then she gave in and broke into a run toward the crowd and was quickly enveloped in a mass of back-slapping, grinning women. Her bay-mate Patty McLaughlin gave her a firm hug after forcing her way through the tight crowd. “Nice landing,” she said loudly into Shannon’s ear above the crowd noise. “You’re up next,” Shannon said, giving her a big grin. “Go show him what you can do.”

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That night she wrote to Drew.

Dear Drew,

I flew the B-17 today! The instructor says I did well. Nailed the landing too. Not

much time left in training here. Soon I’ll be out ferrying the 17s to various bases. Making some true friends here; I hope I can fly with some of them when it comes time to go.

I don’t think I mentioned this before, probably too embarrassed. The brass won’t let the girls fly when we’re in our period. They think we’re “too irrational” at that time. So for all their hurry-up-we-need-you-badly attitude, every girl gets a little time off each month until it’s over. These men are stuck in the last century. Just let me out of here to fly with a good woman in the co-pilot’s seat and I’ll be happy.

I fret about you constantly. Your last couple of letters make it sound like you’re beating the odds over there. I pray your good luck continues to hold. Meantime, I want you to think and how we can both be satisfied when you return. You and flying are my life.

Love,

Shanna

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Two days later, she was delighted to get a letter from her Houston roommate, Delia Loudon. But when she read the letter, her mood quickly vanished. Delia was in the hospital. She had been shot in the foot. Delia had been assigned to target towing, an exercise in which she flew a T-6 Texan low, trailing a target while gunners below practiced shooting at it.

The idiots decided to shoot at my plane instead, she wrote. They didn’t realize they were supposed to fire at the target. Bullets came up through the bottom of the fuselage. One went through my right foot. If that’s the kind of dunderheads they’re sending over to fight the Hun, we’re doomed. I can’t press down on a rudder bar with my right foot, and they’re not going to let me back in the air until I can. Even worse, I heard I’m not the first WASP this has happened to.

The letter was shocking and disappointing. Shannon felt bad for Delia and wished she could have been given a better assignment. Like, say, testing repaired airplanes to see if they’re airworthy? Sure, test ’em on us, she thought. It’s like that one base commander said: we’re expendable. But the truth is, we’re not. If they didn’t need us, we wouldn’t be here. Shannon had heard rumors about other troubles for the women that tempered the excitement of accomplishment on the base. There had been at least one incident of suspected vandalism to aircraft. WASP Director Jackie Cochran had found sugar in the gas tank of one crashed WASP aircraft. Resentment to their presence had not gone away. Graduation day came, and they got their assignments. Shannon was pleased to have three women she knew in her flight foursome, including Patty McLaughlin. B-17s were made at three factories in the U.S.: Seattle, Long Beach, California; and Burbank, California. For Shannon and her mates, their first assignment was to ferry B-17s from the Burbank factory to RCAF Station Goose Bay in Labrador.

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Shannon stood beneath the massive wing of her B-17 at the Douglas Aircraft production facility in Long Beach, her crew beside her as they went through the ground checklist. They had all arrived on a military shuttle the day before. The Pearsons and Josie were there again, pressed against the glass of the enger

terminal. It took all her discipline to keep from running to meet them, but she forced herself into a dignified walk until she was inside. Sarah seemed reluctant to let go of her. “Daughter, I’m so proud of you.” Josie hung back until family got their hugs in, then embraced Shannon. “Good to see you, sister,” Josie said. “It’s been too long.” “I missed you,” Shannon said, hands on Josie’s shoulders. “Look, I’m engaged!” Josie said, holding up a finger with a diamond ring on it. “Wow, is it Langston?” “Of course. He couldn’t be here tonight, but I’ll send you a picture, I promise. We’re going to wait until the war is over to get married.” “A wise idea. I approve.” She turned around to her crew behind her, none of whom had family in the area. “Everyone, meet my crew mates Patty, Laurel, and Rose. We’re all flying the big bird together.” There were hugs and handshakes all around, after which Charles bellowed, “Dinner’s on me!”

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Now, in the shadow of the aircraft with the ground inspection finished, she saw the other women board, then boosted herself and her parachute up into the aircraft and walked forward to the cockpit. She was the designated pilot for this trip. The moment Patty settled into the co-pilot’s seat they began the pre-flight checklist. There were to be six B-17s in the flight, and by 0800 hours all were lined up and ready for takeoff. There was a suppressed but detectable undercurrent of excitement in the radio chatter between the planes with new crews. All were

eager to be gone. And soon they were, six bombers streaking across the skies eastbound toward Labrador. “It’s a beautiful day for flying, ladies,” the voice of Flight Leader Joyce Ford came over the radio. “Welcome to our new crews. Our destination is about 3100 miles to the east at RCAF Station Goose Bay in Labrador. We’ll be making a refueling stop in Minnesota. Total estimated flight time is about ten and a half hours. If anyone has any questions, give me a call. Otherwise let’s keep radio chatter to a minimum. Ford out.” The refueling stop was uneventful, and the flight arrived at RCAF Goose Bay on schedule. Over the next few weeks, Shannon settled into the routine of ferry work, but never let herself become complacent. She was in the air so much she found she cherished her time on the ground. And being constantly on the move meant it took longer for mail to find her. The letters she received now were her connection to the life she had set aside. Drew’s letters came on a fairly regular basis. His commitment would be up in the coming summer, and he was clearly eager to come home. Shannon kept the letters with her in her flight log. His picture, which she had taken out of its frame, she stuck on the instrument of each B-17 she ferried. The girls with her were enchanted with the idea of being married to a movie star. “What a dreamboat,” one said, gazing at Drew’s picture. “It sounds so romantic.” Shannon chuckled. “Believe me, it’s not that romantic. He has long hours and sometimes he’s out of town for weeks. In fact, most married couples have a more regular schedule and more time together than we do.” “Mm-hm,” said the girl, clearly not convinced. A dreamy expression on her face, she sauntered off.

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In early August, Shannon was designated flight leader for her next ferry mission, a distinction she took pride in. The flight was to ferry four B-17s from Burbank to Morrison Field in Florida. And miracle of miracles—it was going to be an allfemale flight. Often, the ferried aircraft had two engers in company of the WASP pilots, usually a ground crew chief or a male pilot. This time they were going to be on their own, the way she liked it. They’d been out an hour when Shannon realized Patty had been shooting sideways glances at her. She turned her head. “What?” “You’ve been quiet. Something isn’t right with you. Want to share?” Shannon kept her eyes straight ahead out the windscreen, but there was no hiding her troubled expression. “I haven’t had a letter from Drew the last two weeks.” “Oh. Hey, it’s war after all. He might be in a situation where it isn’t possible to get a letter out. We can’t expect regularity in those conditions. I know it’s hard but give him a little slack.” Shannon sighed. “Yeah, slack.”

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They were somewhere over Oklahoma when Shannon’s radio crackled. It was one of the other B-17s. “Eight-thirty-six to Flight Leader,” came the voice. It was Elizabeth Thompson, with a new crew, flying to her left. “Flight Leader to 836, go ahead.” “Eight-thirty-six to Flight Leader. Shannon, I gotta pee.” Shannon sighed and shook her head, a faint smile on her face. So far she had avoided situations like this. Until now.

“Flight Leader to 836. Didn’t you go before we left?” “Affirmative, Flight Leader. But, ah, it’s more than that now.” “Can’t you use the facility in back?” Or find a bucket for heaven’s sake. “We’ve hit some air pockets. I’d sooner squat in a crocodile swamp.” Shannon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. To tell the truth, she sympathized with the girl, and a break on the ground for a leg stretch and some hot food sounded welcome. It’s probably what they really want, she thought. “Okay, 836. Stand by.” Patty McLaughlin was once again in the co-pilot’s seat. “Patty, look at the map. We have any airfields ahead of us where we could all put down?” McLaughlin studied the map for a minute or two. “Yeah, there’s a county airport about thirty miles ahead at some little burg called Prairie View. It’s listed as an optional refueling site. The map says the runway is big enough for us.” She looked at her watch. “We left early and we’ve had a good tail wind. We’re ahead of schedule. We can probably afford a max ninety minutes on the ground.” “Okay,” Shannon replied. “That’s our target. Spread the word to the rest of the flight.” She got on her radio. “Prairie View Tower, this is Flight Leader, B-17 665301. Request permission to land four heavy bombers. Over.” The radio crackled and then cleared. “Uh, 301, say again?” Shannon repeated the request. “Three zero one, who is this? You got a pilot on that plane?” “Prairie View Tower, this is 301, Flight Leader Shannon Patterson. You want to talk to a pilot up here, I’m the one.” She could feel her Irish temper starting to stir. It was not the first time they’d been treated with discourtesy. “We’re four heavy bombers on U. S. Army Air Force business. One more time, request permission to land, over.” There was a pause, then a halting, slightly garbled voice. “Three-zero-one,

Prairie View Tower. You are cleared to land on runway One. Local conditions, clear and calm. Breeze out of the southeast at five miles per hour. No local air traffic present. Over.” “Prairie View Tower, this is 301. Understood. Expect us shortly. Over.” The rest of the approach was uneventful, although Shannon did hear a snarky “Are we there yet?” from one of the other B-17s. In the Prairie View tower, the air traffic controller sank into his chair, rubbed his forehead and then turned to a man standing nearby. “Ernie, you ain’t gonna believe what’s comin’ in.”

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They came out of the western sky, lined up one after the other like cars on a highway. Shannon and crew came down first, kissing the worn runway gently. While descending she had seen what looked like an outdoor gathering of some kind, maybe a community picnic, on the far side of the tower on a stretch of green grass. The air traffic controller in the tower trained binoculars on them as they turned the B-17s and lined them up neatly side by side not far from the tower. When the propellers had come to a halt, after a few minutes, he was amazed to see women begin to emerge from the big bombers and start walking toward him. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief and looked again. Still women. All four of the flight crews approached the tower. By this time, there was a throng of people gathered at the edge of the tarmac. “Looks like we drew a crowd,” Patty said. “Wouldn’t have thought there’d be many people out at the airport,” Shannon said. “Word of our approach must have spread fast.” They walked over to the tower building and Shannon went inside to the

necessary information with the office for refueling. When she came out, Patty and the rest of the women were engaged with the crowd that had suddenly materialized. “What’s going on?” she asked Patty. Patty disengaged for a moment. “Seems there’s a big town picnic going on in the park on the other side of the tower. When they heard our big engines coming in, they all ran over to see what was happening. And guess what? We’re all invited to lunch.” “Fantastic; I’m hungry. Gotta be better than my sack lunch. Hope they’ve got fried chicken and watermelon. Where’s Elizabeth?” “Still in the latrine. She’ll be along when she smells the food. That woman can put it away.” They all followed the delighted townspeople around the building to a small park on the other side. Shannon and the rest were peppered with questions and even requests for autographs. “Are you all really pilots?” said one teenage girl, obviously rapturous with the notion of girls flying airplanes. “Are there men on board to fly the airplanes for you?” said a middle-aged woman, who apparently still didn’t believe it was possible no men were needed. The questions went on as they were invited to sit at picnic tables, and hearty helpings of fried chicken, potato salad, fresh vegetables, and yes, Shannon was pleased to see, watermelon were provided. They ate their fill, reveling in the celebrity status the townspeople were giving them. “This is amazing,” Elizabeth said as she autographed yet another piece of paper thrust at her. “They’re treating us as heroes. We should bring along photos to autograph for next time.” “Enjoy this to the max,” the woman seated next to her said. “It isn’t always this way. I’ve been to a few stopovers where the locals were hostile. At one of them, they wouldn’t let us into the local restaurant because we were wearing pants.”

Shannon looked at her watch and decided it was time to go. She stood up. “Wrap it up, ladies. Time to get back to flying.” Still surrounded by a good number of picnickers, they walked back to the flight line, showered with good wishes and expressions of envy from the young girls in the crowd. Shannon went into the tower office once again for the fueling confirmation papers. When they all took off, the knot of townspeople was still there near the tower, waving them goodbye. Up in the tower, the air traffic controller watched the B-17s fade into the distance. “Hmph,” he said to the other man. “Still think there’s men in them things doin’ the flyin’.” Ernie looked at him sleepily. “If there are, they surely missed out on some fine fried chicken.”

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The last leg of the flight to Florida was uneventful. It gave Shannon time to ponder again that she had not heard from Drew for over two weeks. He had usually sent at least one letter a week so far in the new year. She tried to tell herself that after all, there was a war on and any number of things she couldn’t conceive of might have prevented him writing, or his letters getting to her. But she couldn’t make herself believe it. They flew into Morrison Field just ten minutes behind schedule. No one on the ground raised an eyebrow. When they were all released from their duties, Shannon and Patty went to the quarters that had been provided for them. Patty wearily opened the door and flipped on the light switch. The room was spartan in the Army way, as they had expected. But it would do. “I’ll take this one,” Patty said, plopping her bag down on one of the beds. “That is, if you don’t mind.” She began to open her bag and didn’t hear a response from Shannon. She turned and saw her frozen, trembling, staring at the end table beside her bed. On the end table was a telegram. If there was one thing women with husbands fighting in the war feared more than anything else, it was a

telegram. Telegrams came from the War Department. And they usually held bad news. Shannon slowly sank onto her bed, looking at the telegram. Patty sat beside her, not knowing what to say. Shannon put a hand to her cheek and rocked forward a little. Her expression crumpled. “I can’t open it. I can’t.” Patty put a gentle hand on her arm. “Let me do it, okay?” Shannon nodded, and Patty picked up the telegram, stared at it for a moment, then tore it open and read.

Western Union

______________________________________________

3:46 pm 8-8-43

Mrs. Shannon Patterson

c/o Army Air Forces Ferrying Command

WASP Detachment 362

Morrison Field Florida

The Secretary of War desires me to express his deep regret that your husband First Lieutenant Drew A. Patterson has been reported missing in action since twelve July over Austria. If further details or other information are received, you will be promptly notified.

T P Brewer

The Adjutant General

______________________________________________

“Shanna, it doesn’t say he’s dead, okay?” Patty put a comforting hand on her arm. “It says he’s missing in action, so he could be alright.” Shannon nodded tearfully, choking back a sob. She knew missing in action telegrams almost always were followed by killed in action telegrams. It was only a matter of time. Her fragile bravado collapsed and she sank onto the bed, sobbing. Patty reclined behind her and put an arm over her, pulling the two together. “If you want to be alone, say so and I’ll go.” There was no response. Shannon curled up in a fetal position on the bed, Patty lying still behind her, for nearly an hour. When she still showed no sign of wanting to move, Patty pulled herself away. “I’m going to go out for a while.” She got her purse and paused at the door to look back at Shannon once more. “I’m so sorry.” Then she was gone.

Shannon sat for a few minutes, then took a deep breath and reached with a shaky hand for the telephone. She had trouble inserting her fingers into the holes to dial Sarah’s number. It rang on the other end rang once. Twice. Three times. She almost hung up, but on the fourth ring Sarah answered. “Shannon?” “Oh, Mother.” She started to cry again. “Shannon, I got the same telegram. I’m so sorry.” Shannon tried to speak but couldn’t. Drew was not Brendan, the man she wanted more than anything. But he had been a good husband and lover and had provided for her in style. She had no reason to complain. “I wish I could be with you now,” Sarah said. “Where are you?” She calmed enough to speak. “Florida. I’m due to fly back to California tomorrow.” “I’ll be there to meet you.”

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Shannon sat on the sofa in the Pearson home. She could think of nothing but that Drew was missing, and wait for the second telegram she knew was coming. At the end of the week, it did. “The Secretary of War desires me to express his deep regret that . . . ” Drew was gone.

18

The flag-draped coffin sat on its carriage beside the open grave in Arlington National Cemetery. It was a brilliant, sunny day with a ghost of breeze, seeming to mock the solemnity of the occasion. Beside it were Shannon, the Pearsons, Drew’s old friend Leroy Kazminski, and three Army pilots who had served with him. Nearby was a crowd of Hollywood celebrities, some of whom she recognized, some not. There would be more when a separate memorial service was held in Hollywood the following week. Shannon sat beside the coffin with the Pearsons and Leroy, face veiled in black. She was numb as the folded American flag was presented to her at the close of the service. A long line of guests ed in front of her. Some whispered gentle blessings and wishes for strength, others ed with only a soft hand on hers. When she finally rose, one of the Army pilots came over to her. He was a handsome young man about Drew’s age, with pleasing features and sorrowful eyes. “Mrs. Patterson, I want you to know the three of us had the privilege to fly with Drew many times. There was no finer pilot. He took out a lot of the enemy. His dedication to his country won’t be forgotten by me or the other men who came to honor him today.” Shannon looked up at him. She wanted to say something but couldn’t. “I don’t reckon the Army told you how it happened,” the pilot went on. “He went out with guns blazing, I’ll say that. We were over Austria when we got jumped by a group of Messerschmitts coming in from the east. We took out half of them before Drew—before Drew was hit bad. He didn’t have a chance to parachute. His P-51 exploded in mid-air. We marked the spot as best we could. Ground troops were able to reach the wreck a week later. They brought him back.” Shannon nodded. “Thank you.”

The other two pilots followed him and offered their brief condolences. When all those who wished to by her had done so, she and the others slowly turned from the gravesite to the waiting cars. Left behind, the casket gleamed in the sunlight, waiting to be lowered into the ground and in harmony with the thousands of others who lay below.

Josie, unable to attend the Arlington Ceremony, stood in for Shannon at the Hollywood memorial service for Drew. She was pressed by a lot of people, some of whom she recognized but never thought to meet, with condolences and promises to Shannon when she came home. Shannon accompanied her family back to San Bernardino for the remaining time of her leave. The Army had offered her the option to withdraw from the WASP program, but she politely declined. Sarah was not happy about it. “Shannon, don’t you think it’s time to come home now? You’ve done so much, more than I could have ever imagined. Let the war go on without you. You deserve better than what you’ve been doing. It’s not without its dangers too, from what you’ve told me.” It was not, in truth—several WASP pilots had already been killed on duty—and the treatment the women received sometimes made it less rewarding than it should have been. Shannon was especially embittered upon learning of the foolish accidental death of Dorothy Scott, a WASP who had been in Houston with her. Scott and an instructor had been flying an AT-6 trainer. They came in for a landing at Palm Springs and collided with a student pilot flying a P-39 also on a landing approach. All three were killed in the mid-air collision. Blame was later placed on the student pilot and the tower. “I’m not quitting, Mother. That wouldn’t honor Drew’s sacrifice. This thing is inside me now to a depth I can’t describe. Please respect my wishes.” Sarah quietly turned and left the room. That afternoon, Shannon drove out to Mercury Air Freight. Work was progressing on a new istrative building; thanks to Josie’s work they had outgrown the old one. No one was in the office when she got there. She figured Josie was out on a freight delivery. Shannon let herself in and went to her desk. She took a card from her pocket and held it in her hands, staring at it expressionlessly for nearly half an hour. Finally, she picked up the telephone and dialed. There was an answer on the third ring, from a thick, hardened voice. “Slade Investigations.”

Shannon swallowed and gathered her courage. “Mr. Slade, my name is Shannon Patterson. Yes, that one. I need your help. Are you available?” Pause. “Yes, tomorrow is fine. Where?” She scribbled the address on a piece of blank paper. “Okay, what time? Noon? Yes, thanks; I’ll be there.” The following morning, leaving the chilly atmosphere of the Pearson home, Shannon drove into Los Angeles to the address she had been given. It turned out to be a quiet, out-of-the-way little dive of a restaurant. The sign on the door said “CLOSED”, but at her approach it swung open and she was ushered inside by a burly figure. She jumped as the door closed quickly behind her and stood rooted to the spot, going no farther from the door until she knew she had the right man. “Mr. Slade?” The man nodded. “You got him. Come with me.” He wore a suitcoat and matching baggy slacks, but no tie. The suit was rumpled and worn. He was heavyset and looked out of shape, but she saw a coiled energy in the way he moved. He led her back through the empty restaurant, beyond the darkened kitchen, where he ushered her to a small room near the janitor’s closet. She hesitated for a moment, suddenly realizing that if this man was a danger to her, no one knew where she was. She looked in the room. Two chairs and a small desk. Slade was looking at her expectantly. She took a deep breath and went in, taking the chair he motioned her to. Slade sank into his chair. He had a fleshy face, careworn and sagging, that had once belonged to a handsome young man. He eyed her while he took a swallow from a bottle of seltzer water on the desk. He didn’t offer her any. Shannon was jittery and ready to spring up and run on a second’s notice. “This isn’t like what I expected. I thought we’d be meeting at your office.” Slade put the bottle down. “I do. But it’s not always the most private of places.” The voice was terse, the words spare. “I get watched too you know. Sometimes I meet new clients here until I see what type of privacy they need.” He chuckled. “Don’t let appearances fool you. This place has the best ribs in town.” Then his amiable manner vanished. He straightened in his chair, lit a cigarette, and looked at her with a penetrating gaze. “Mrs. Patterson, let me say I’m deeply sorry to hear of your husband’s death. From what I heard, he was a fine man and a good husband. I offer my sincere condolences for you and your family.”

Shannon nodded in thanks. “Now, Mrs. Patterson, what can I do for you?” Shannon sat up, stiffening, and did her best to return his gaze. “I want you to find someone for me.”

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On the way back from Los Angeles, she realized she had left Spade’s card on her desk at Mercury Air Freight. But this time when she got there she wasn’t alone. She had no more than opened the front door when she found Josie sitting at her desk, going over shipping manifests. “I thought this was your day off,” Shannon said, startled. “You know me. But I didn’t expect to see you here either.” “I came back to pick up something I left earlier.” Josie looked at her in a discomforting way. She held up something between two fingers. “Was it this?” Shannon’s heart suddenly began to pound. Josie was holding up Slade’s business card she had used for the telephone call earlier. She snatched the card from Josie’s fingers. “No need to be so nosy.” Josie held up her hands. “None of my business, but we’ve always been honest with each other. Just curious why you need a private eye.” Shannon sank into a chair, suddenly weary. Her secret, barely an hour old, was already in danger. She’d never been able to keep something from Josie, who was all too right when she told Shannon once she was no good at lying. The secret would fester until it was revealed. “This is a secret you have to keep.” Josie didn’t move, just looked at her with a catlike concentration. “I always

have.” She let out her breath in a big sigh. “I hired this guy to find Brendan.” Josie’s face went slack in shock, then it returned to an expressionless mask. She looked at Shannon for a long moment. “Drew’s barely cold in his grave and you’re already turning away to someone else? Are you serious?” “It isn’t someone else. It’s Brendan.” “Oh, excuse me.” “I didn’t ask for your approval.” “No, you didn’t. But I’ll tell you how it’s going to look if it gets out. This is in poor taste to say the least. This is not the character I know you have. I can’t imagine the hurt this is going to lay on Sarah and Charles. Not to mention what the tabloids will do if they get hold of it. You should give it a few months, at least, before doing something like this.” Shannon stood up and glared down at her from her considerable height. “Drew is gone. If you think I don’t cry for him, think again. He was an honorable man, worthy of love, and part of me will always love him. I was a good wife to him; I was faithful and did all the things a good wife should. I would have kept my vows and remained with him forever if it came to that, and I told Sarah so. I didn’t count on this happening. But it has, and fate has given me the chance to be with Brendan. This is a new chapter in my life. Maybe he doesn’t want me anymore; maybe he’s gone off and married someone else. I don’t know these things, but I’m going to find out.” She paused, trembling and breathing deeply, a tear in her eye. “Because I can’t rest until I do. Life is for the living, Josie, and it’s also very short. And I’m cursed with loving two men. I’m not going to wait any longer. And I’m counting on you to let me search in secret.” Josie sat for a few seconds looking at her. Then her expression softened, and she slowly rose and embraced her, the top of her head resting under Shannon’s chin. “I’m sorry I was so harsh. I don’t understand, but I’ll stand with you. I’ll keep your secret.”

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Two weeks later, Shannon reported for duty. The Army had told her she could decide when she was ready to return to duty. But the time off had given her too much time to think of Drew—and of Brendan. She needed to keep her mind occupied. Sarah and Charles had seen her off, Sarah still clearly unhappy, but Charles less judgmental; he whispered “Good luck” in her ear when he embraced her. Reporting for duty, she had had to clear a rigorous mental fitness interview, which she had, apparently without trouble. She dove back into the ferrying work, escorting B-17s to various locations on the east coast, with an occasional assignment to P-51 fighters. Shannon was fond of the power and speed of the P51 and being in the cockpit kept her mind busy with piloting. A month went by. In her room some nights she still cried for Drew, which caused her roommates to either discreetly leave for a while or try to comfort her. She couldn’t tell them she was crying for lost Brendan too, something she had never dared do when Drew was alive. She felt alone; sure she would find she’d lost them both. At the end of the fifth week, the completion of a ferrying assignment left her alone in her room in Florida for the evening. She was about to drift off to sleep when the telephone rang. Dazed, she looked at it stupidly for a moment. It rang again, and perspiration sprang to her forehead. She knew who was calling. She reached for it quickly. The voice was distant and scratchy, having crossed 3,000 miles of wires to reach her from Los Angeles. “Mrs. Patterson?” “Yes. Hello, Mr. Slade.” “It wasn’t easy, but I found him.” Shannon sat up, heart thudding in her breast. “Let me give you a timeline of what I uncovered,” Slade continued. “After the last time you saw him, he pulled up stakes and left town. Next place I found him

was San Francisco, where he finished his two-year degree in ing and enrolled at the University of San Francisco, majoring in Business Management. Graduated in ’36 and went on to get an MBA. Smart boy. After graduation in ’38 he started working for a firm up in the Bay Area.” Shannon had to force the next words out, terrified of the response. “Is he married?” “Not as far as I can tell. No evidence he ever was.” She felt her throat constricting. “Where is he?” “I found out, but you’re not going to like the answer.” “Tell me.” “He’s in Europe with the 83rd Infantry.” “No!” She dropped the telephone receiver. “Not both of them!” God, please, not both of them, not both. Please, God, no. Slade’s voice was tinny in the receiver at her feet. “Mrs. Patterson, you still there?” She stared at it for a moment, then picked it up, shaking, and held it to her ear. “Yes, I’m—I’m sorry. That wasn’t the news I was hoping for.” “I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad tidings. I know you lost your first husband in the war, so I can understand how devastating this is.” Shannon was fighting to keep together enough to talk. “How did he end up there?” “In 1942, he ed the Army. They sent him overseas to Europe last year. And he’s still there, as far as I’ve been able to learn.” She ran a hand through her hair in idle frustration. “Thank you for what you found. Can you do one more thing? Please try to find out his overseas address.” She could hear Slade sigh on the other end.

“I’ll try, but I had to call in a favor to get this much. It won’t be easy.” “I don’t care what it costs; I’ll pay it.”

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Shannon went back to Los Angeles for her next ferry assignment, but she had to fight to keep her concentration. She knew just one visible lapse and she’d be pulled off the ferrying crews. Right now, she didn’t want that to happen. The work gave her life purpose, even more than her freight business. Ten days ed since Slade’s call. Then the telephone rang. Shannon’s nerves were so amped up she could barely speak. Slade’s thick voice was never so welcome. “Got his address. I couldn’t find out his occupation, but with his training, they’ve probably got him in some technical non-combat role.” She found herself shaking with relief. “Stand by to copy his overseas address. Be aware letters sometimes take weeks to get there.” Shannon listened intently and wrote the address down. It contained strange words and numbers. When she had it, she profusely thanked Slade and hung up. Now what? I have his address, but how can I say what I want him to know in a letter? And it could take weeks for it to get to him. Meanwhile, he’s in danger and could be kil— She couldn’t finish the thought. This is all too slow. I need to give him the best possible reason to survive and come home, to tell him I love him. I lost one man to this war. If it’s within my power, I will not lose another. And at that point a truly audacious idea began to form in her mind. When Drew was killed, and she made it clear that she had no intention of

reg, the Army had given her time off, up to 60 days total if necessary. She had used three weeks of that. She put in a request to use the remainder at a time of her choosing. Army brass weren’t happy about it; she was one of their best pilots. But she was a war widow, and hard to refuse. She waited impatiently through the ferrying assignments until she had one that would suit her purpose. She got it when she and the rest of her flight delivered six B-17s to RCAF Station Gander in Newfoundland. The time had come. Coming in off the flight line from the delivery of the B-17s, she went directly to the base commander’s office. Going through a couple of layers of protocol, she found an RCAF secretary in the outer office, and quietly asked for a few minutes with the commander. The secretary excused herself and went into the commander’s office. A minute later, she came back out. “The commander will see you now,” she said. Shannon thanked her and was shown into the office, followed by the secretary, who promptly took a seat at one side of the room and whipped out a notepad. Brigadier-General André Archambeault rose to meet her and offered her a chair. He looked a military man to the core, robust and steely. His entire body looked pressed to a sharp crease, and he had short-cropped gray hair, a square jaw and penetrating light blue eyes. Shannon took the offered chair, fighting to keep from trembling. “My secretary tells me you asked to see me,” he said. “I’m glad to give a few minutes to anyone from the Ferrying Command. You women do great work for the war effort, and it’s appreciated more than you know, and certainly more than you’re told. What can I do for you?” Shannon took a deep breath. This was the crucial step. How understanding would he be? “Sir, tomorrow at 0700, there’s a flight of B-17s leaving for Europe. I’d like to be aboard one of them.” Archambeault’s eyes betrayed nothing. He leaned back in his chair and put a hand to his chin. “An unusual request. Why?” She was trembling now. “Sir, as you may know, my husband was killed while serving his country when his P-51 was shot down over Austria.”

Archambeault’s eyes flickered. “I’m sorry to hear it. I didn’t know.” “Yes sir. Uh, this is hard to explain, but there is another man precious to me. He’s over in Europe now with the 83rd Infantry. I want to go there, to see him, to let him know—” she stopped, choking back a sob, “—to let him know I want him to come home, that I—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Archambeault said nothing, giving her time to get out what she wanted to say. Shannon gathered herself for one last rush of words. “—that I love him. That I have for a long time.” If any emotion was stirred in the general, he didn’t betray it. Finally, he moved in his chair, leaning back a little. Shannon could see he was studying her with a gaze that seemed to penetrate deeply. “Hmm. It’s an ambitious request, one that’s fraught with difficulty and roadblocks even if you should succeed in making it into Europe. Frankly, your chances of success on such a mission are next to nothing.” “Yes sir,” she said, fidgeting with her hands. “I know that. But I have to try. The war has cost me one man. I don’t intend to let it cost me another.” “What does WASP command have to say about this idea?” “They don’t know, sir. I’m going to be doing this on my own time, on temporary leave.” Archambeault sighed and appeared lost in his thoughts for a while as Shannon waited in agony. Finally, he seemed to return to the room. “I wish I’d heard none of this. I’m reluctant to turn down any request from a war widow. You’ve already suffered a great loss, a husband serving his country. You deserve whatever chance at happiness life still affords you. But such a request is highly irregular. It implies all kinds of responsibilities I don’t want to get involved with. I’m sorry, but I must turn you down. If you want to communicate with this man, I suggest you write a letter, like other service wives do.” He made a note on a piece of paper before him.

Shannon turned her head to the side, suffused with disappointment. Archambeault stood. “I’ll see you to the door.” Numbly, she stood and followed him as the secretary remained behind, finishing her shorthand of the meeting. When Shannon reached the door, she was startled to find Archambeault’s hand against her body, probing the left pocket of her flight jacket. Then as quickly as she felt it, it was gone. “Good night, Mrs. Patterson. Again, I’m truly sorry for your loss.” Shannon walked away into the dark and stopped in a pool of light coming from an exterior lamp on the side of a building. She reached into her jacket pocket. Her fingers closed on a slip of paper. Trembling, she took it out and opened it up, straining to see the words in the dim light. Her eyes slowly adjusted, and she read it with some effort. The note said: 0630. No. 532. She immediately walked back to her room and dialed Josie’s number.

Sarah was surprised to see Josie standing at her door when she answered the bell. “Why Josie, this is a pleasant surprise. Please come in.” Josie came in but Sarah noticed she had a somber look on her face. “Do you have news about Shannon?” Sarah said as she offered Josie a seat. “Yes, I do,” Josie said, remaining standing. “But I’d rather everyone was present to hear it.” Sarah was suddenly tense. “All right.” She called Charles in from the den and went to the stairs to call Dot down from her room. When all were gathered, Sarah turned to Josie. “Is she all right?” Josie nodded. “She’s okay.” Josie paused, not relishing what she had to say next. “I’ve been carrying a secret Shanna swore me to. I didn’t like doing it, and I especially didn’t like withholding it from all of you. But I owe her a lot, and I reluctantly agreed to keep it. She says I can tell you now. I apologize I couldn’t let you know sooner.” She took a deep breath. “She found Brendan.” There was a sudden heavy quiet in the room. “But—but you mean she’s been looking for him?” Sarah said, finding her voice. “Yes, since not long after Drew’s memorial service in Hollywood. I was shocked when she told me. I let her know I thought it was a mistake and would make her look bad in the press. Not to mention with you.” Sarah slowly sat down on the sofa, numb. She looked up. “This is terrible. It’s insulting to Drew’s memory.” Charles spoke softly. “I’m not completely surprised. Sarah, let her live her life. She’s lost her husband. I can understand her not wanting to lose Brendan too.” “But couldn’t she have waited—”

“Yes, she could have. And I wish she had. But I’m not going to condemn her. After what she’s been through, I don’t feel like judging her harshly for it.” Sarah turned to Josie. “Where is he?” Josie took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “That’s one of the reasons she couldn’t wait any longer. Brendan’s in Europe with the 83rd Infantry. And she’s gone to look for him.”

Part IV

Fire On High

19

Sunrise saw the B-17 in smooth flight across the waves rolling far below. Shannon was snugged into her seat in the radio room, flight jacket zipped up against the chill of the interior. She was still pondering how she had gotten aboard. It wasn’t likely General Archambeault had had a change of heart—not officially. Rather, he appeared to have been moved enough by her request to facilitate her being a stowaway, whose presence was known only to him and the crew. Of that, there were two, pilot and co-pilot. The rest of the crew was waiting for them in England. Sneaking aboard would absolve Archambeault of any responsibility if she was discovered. His secretary had heard him turn her down, and he could plausibly deny any knowledge. Some excuse might be worked out for the crew too if the operation all went south. She might have climbed aboard when they weren’t looking and hid back in the tail section somewhere. In the blackness of pre-dawn she had moved stealthily along the fence bordering the flight line until she saw the B-17 with the number 532 on its side. She remained by the fence in the deeper shadows of a large overhanging bush. Soon she saw a lone figure amble toward the fence, light a cigarette, then speak without turning to her. “Hello?” came the low voice. “I’m here,” she said. The figure took two steps closer. He spoke, his voice harsh. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but the general says you’re coming on board on the sly. I’ll tell you right now I’m not happy about it. Neither is the co-pilot. But the old Canuck rules the roost and turning him down wouldn’t be a good idea.” He took a step closer. “So grab your gear and let’s get on board before it gets any lighter. I’ll give you a seat in the radio room, which I suggest you keep yourself in. Don’t touch anything and stay away from the cockpit. Are we clear?” “Clear.”

She walked swiftly behind him up into the aircraft, and took the seat in the radio room. She said nothing and did not stir from her seat the first hour. About then the pilot who had brought her on board came back to check on her. “Sorry for the bum’s rush earlier,” he said. “I was a little paranoid about getting you on board unseen. I understand you’re a war widow. We’ll do our best to see you get to where you want to go safely. I’m Captain Alex Rollins, by the way.” “Thank you, Captain. I’m Shannon Patterson. I’m pleased to be aboard.” Captain Rollins’ eyes flared ever so slightly. “So it’s you. I’ve heard of you. I know you were married to Drew Patterson. Very sorry to hear of his death.” “Yes, thank you.” “Our destination is Prestwick, Scotland. We should arrive at Prestwick around 11:15 hours. We stay overnight and then fly on to RAF Burtonwood the next day. I don’t know at what point you wish to depart us, but the longer you’re aboard the greater the risk of your discovery. If we can get you through to Burtonwood, that will have to be the end.” Shannon sighed. “Understood. And please give my sincere thanks to the copilot.” “Will do. Mrs. Patterson, I was gruff to you earlier, and again I apologize. You’ve contributed to the war effort, and we want to honor that along with your husband’s sacrifice.” “I understand. Thank you, Captain, for everything. I’m deeply in your debt.”

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Shannon was hoping for the cover of darkness at their destination, but the big B17 touched down in midday at Prestwick. She knew she couldn’t risk staying on the plane overnight as ground crew would soon be swarming all over it. She exited with Captain Rollins and the co-pilot and nonchalantly walked over to

base operations with them, staying closely behind Rollins. When they got near, she split off, walked away, and waited. Luckily, no one at the base had been watching their exit from the airplane closely, and since two crewmen were listed on the flight manifest, there was no reason to look for another. The men got their quarters assignment for the night, then brought Shannon along with them. But the room wasn’t designed for more than two. “I’m sorry Mrs. Patterson, but it’s the best we can do,” Captain Rollins said. Shannon looked dubiously at the room. “We’ll make do. I can sleep on the floor.” “No, you take one of the beds,” said the co-pilot, a First Lieutenant named Ben Harbour. “I’ll sleep on the floor for the night.” “You’re very kind.” “We’re going out for a while,” Rollins said. “We’ll bring you back something to eat. In the meantime, stay here and stay low.” “Sounds good to me. I won’t forget your generosity.” “We appreciate that ma’am, we truly do,” said Lieutenant Harbour. “But I think it would be best if this little episode is forgotten and never mentioned again.”

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In the morning, Shannon slipped aboard the B-17 in the pre-dawn darkness. Rollins and Harbour came aboard a half-hour later with breakfast for her. They were soon rolling down the runway for takeoff.

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They touched down at RAF Burtonwood less than an hour later, and Shannon boldly walked to the command center with Rollins and Harbour. With her height —she was nearly as tall as both men—and her Army-issue flight jacket, she could easily for a crewman from a distance. And no one was expecting a woman. Disguising her distinctly female walk was harder, though, and she discreetly walked closely behind the other two. When they neared the base operations building, Shannon nonchalantly parted from the other two, found a taxi station, and took a taxi off-base. With the driver’s help, she was able to secure a room for the night.

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Shannon waited two days, asking around about conditions on the English Channel. It was discouraging. The Channel was closed to air and sea traffic. The Nazis controlled , and the only air traffic going toward Europe were military flights on a war mission. She decided she would have to first try the direct approach, as she had at RCAF Goose Bay. On her third day, she used her WASP credentials to try to gain entry to the base. The gate guards were surprised at her presence, to say the least, and made a telephone call to headquarters for advice. She was itted, with the understanding she would be escorted at all times and her access was good for only four hours. She soon found out that an audience with the base commander, Group Captain Alfred Ainslie, would not be possible. She was shunted instead to a younger officer identified as Wing Commander Kenneth Bedford. She waited nervously in an outer office for twenty minutes, then was shown in. “Absolutely not!” The thunderous reply to her request pushed Shannon back in her chair. It came from an impeccably groomed man whose RAF uniform fit like it had been custom tailored. He had precision-cut dark hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, the posture of his slim body ramrod-straight in his chair. He was the

essence of spit and polish in the finest English military tradition, and Shannon could tell immediately she would receive no quarter from him. He looked at her with dark eyes and appeared to practically vibrate with indignation. “What do you really hope to accomplish here?” he said. Shannon couldn’t meet his gaze, and looked away. “I just want to be as close to the man I love as I can. I already waited at home for one man. Then the telegram came telling me he was killed in action. I won’t wait for another telegram for this man. I want to be as close to him as I can. Maybe somehow, I can get word to him that I’m here waiting—” she flushed with embarrassment— “that I still love him. I thought that with your, uh, the RAF’s help, I might even get over to the continent to seek him there.” She looked down at her lap. “I know it’s insane,” she murmured. “But I’m trying to pursue every possibility.” “I’ll entertain no such request,” Bedford said. “This installation will not be party to a ridiculous suicide mission. I understand your strong wish to your husband, but we have neither the time nor the inclination to involve ourselves in such a venture. I see you’re American, so maybe you haven’t heard that the Nazis control virtually all of Europe at this time. If you somehow entered Europe, you’d stick out like a sore thumb. You’d most likely be captured and accused of being a spy. You’d disappear into the Third Reich and never be heard from again. The only parties headed toward Europe are sent to fight the Nazis.” He paused, momentarily looking down at papers on his desk. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news. I don’t know where your husband is and wouldn’t tell you if I did. Such information is classified. Now, I’ll thank you not to bring this up again with anyone here. We’re very busy.” Shannon let go his erroneous assumption that Brendan was her husband. She didn’t discourage it, but it didn’t matter anyway. She was not going to get there with the Royal Air Force’s help. Bedford hadn’t even bothered to ask for her identification papers, so the name discrepancy it showed hadn’t come up. Bedford looked at her without a trace of pity, then went back to papers before him. “If there is nothing else, you can find your way out.” Shannon fought to stay calm. “Is—is there someone else here who might have any news about him?” Bedford hesitated a moment, then scribbled something on a note pad, tore off the

slip of paper, and thrust it at her. “There is an American contingent on the base that may be helpful. This paper will show you how to get there. Give it to your escort, and he’ll see to it. That will be all.” Her escort was, happily, also an American, which gave her a small comfort. He was a slender wiry man, shorter than she, with black hair and a heavy beard shadow, dark eyes, and a strong nose. He looked at the address and they set off immediately in the little enclosed cart he had first met her with. They rolled along toward a cluster of buildings a few hundred yards away. “Pleased to meet you; I’m Nicky D’angelo,” he said breezily as they went along the long stretches of concrete mottled with dark lichen and moss. “What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?” “Shannon Patterson.” “Nice to have another American around. These Brits give me a pain sometimes. I’m from Queens. You?” “San Bernardino, California,” she said, not feeling up to conversation. “Nice flight jacket you got. You a pilot?” “Yes.” “Yeah? What do you fly?” Shannon was looking out the windscreen at the ing scene. “B-17s, mostly.” Nicky shot her a sideways glance of astonishment. “You’re putting me on.” Annoyed, Shannon thrust out the part of her flight jacket with her WASP insignia on it. “I’m a U.S. Army Air Forces Ferrying Command pilot. I’ve got over two hundred hours in B-17s, plus time in P-51s and every other airplane the Army flies. You name it; I can fly it. Good enough for you?” Nicky turned his gaze back forward, shaking his head. “Whatever you say, lady.” He felt it was time for a change of subject. “Don’t want to pry, but you ain’t looked happy since I first picked you up. Even worse after you came out of Bedford’s office.”

Shannon looked out the little windscreen at the approaching buildings ahead. “I’m here on a personal matter. I don’t want to talk about it.” “Suit yourself. Ah, here we are.” Shannon got out. “Please wait for me.” Nicky gave her a big smile. “Lady, I got orders not to let you out of my sight. I’ll be here.” Shannon turned and walked into the gray building in front of her. Inside, she immediately felt the atmosphere of an American installation, and a small wave of relief swept over her. She went up to the reception desk and explained in careful detail what she was after, again using the fiction that Brendan was her husband, knowing she probably wouldn’t get much information if they knew he wasn’t. She was told to have a seat. Minutes later, a man in Army uniform came out and greeted her with a smile. “Please come with me,” he said, leading her back along a short hallway and into one of the offices. “Have a seat,” he said. “I’m Tech Sergeant Masters. Coffee?” That sounded good about then. “Yes, please.” The man poured for both of them and took a seat behind a cluttered desk. “We get requests for information about soldiers constantly,” he said, “but usually not in person. You’ve got great dedication to your husband to have come so far. But before we proceed, may I see your identification?” Shannon flinched. With Drew’s death, her WASP identification had reverted to her maiden name. It didn’t show Drew’s last name or Brendan’s. “Yes, here it is.” She gave him her ID. Sergeant Masters looked at it closely. “All right. And your husband’s name?” She nearly bit her tongue. “Brendan McClary.” “Hmm. That name doesn’t appear on your ID.” “I’m an independent woman. I kept my maiden name when we married.” That

much was true enough, but it had been with Drew, not Brendan. Masters scratched an ear and nodded. “So how should I address you? Miss or Mrs.?” “Mrs. McClary is fine.” “Okay. Give me what information you have on your husband and I’ll see what I can do. But keep in mind information about his location will be confidential. We don’t reveal troop locations to the public.” Shannon gave him what she knew, which wasn’t much beyond Brendan’s name and his unit. Sergeant Masters went out and was gone for ten minutes. Then he returned with a piece of paper in hand and settled into his chair. He looked unhappy, took a deep breath and let it out. “There’s probably a telegram waiting for you at home, Mrs. McClary.” Shannon turned pale. “Your husband’s unit was overrun in a surprise Nazi counterattack a week ago. The fate of him and the rest of his unit is unknown.”

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Nicky D’angelo sat in the little cart outside the building Shannon had entered, glancing at his watch. Her authorized time on the base was getting close to expiration. If she didn’t show soon, he was going to have to enter the building and get her. Just as he looked up expectantly one more time at the entrance, she came walking swiftly out. But instead of coming to the cart, she stopped and sank down on a patch of grass, her body shaking. She was crying, he could see that. Unsure of what to do, he slowly walked up to her and knelt, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I take it you didn’t get good news.”

“Take me back to the gate,” she said, barely intelligible through her sobs. “Come on, then,” he said, helping her to her feet. “It’s none of my business,” Nicky said as they sped toward the base entrance. “But I can guess you’re here trying to find out if your husband is alive or dead. Maybe no mail for a while, huh? Damn Army takes its time in getting the word out. Did they tell you where he is?” Shannon shook her head. “No, of course not.” He was silent for a couple of minutes as they sped along. “Listen, like I said it’s none of my business. But I got connections. I’m ex-Army. I was stationed here. When my time was up, I decided to stay awhile. Nothing waiting for me at home. I have a cousin down in Plymouth who owns a fishing boat. Thought he might take me on if all else fails. But I got a job running errands for the Army and I do whatever else I can scrounge up to keep the money coming in. Anyway, I still know a few guys on the inside. You want info, I might be able to get it for you.” Shannon continued staring straight ahead. “Don’t toy with me, Mr. D’angelo.” “God’s truth,” he said, holding up a hand. “You need it, I can probably get it. In private, they call me ‘Info Angelo’ around here.” The little cart rolled up to the gate and stopped. Shannon didn’t move. D’angelo looked at her. “What do you hope to do here anyway? This sounds like a fool’s errand to me.” Shannon looked down at her lap. “It probably is. I—I wanted to get as close to him as I could, maybe get word to him I’m here. And I figured that if he comes back from the war, this might be the first place they’ll take him. I wanted to be here to greet him, to let him know —” Her voice trailed off. Then: “But I don’t have very much time. I wish I knew where he is.” A tear rolled down her cheek. D’angelo sat in silence for a moment, then turned his face to her. “I’m sorry I suggested you were a fool. There’s nothing wrong with your reasons for being here.” He looked at his watch. “Your time’s up. Tell you what, there’s a little pub just outside the gate. It’s called Mrs. Beadle’s. Nice place, looks like an old

cottage. They serve good food. You meet me there and we’ll talk about it. If you don’t show, I’ll know you’re not serious. Seven o’clock sharp. Whaddaya say?” Shannon sat unmoving for a few seconds, then slowly nodded.

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Shannon was there at seven as promised. On the outside at least, Mrs. Beadle’s Pub had all the English charm Nicky had described. Nicky was waiting for her, standing near the door in the light mist that had begun to fall. “Come on in,” he said, holding the door for her. He showed her to an out-of-theway table in the back, shadowed and obscure. Nicky offered to pay for her dinner, but she declined. “I’ll pay for my own, thank you.” “Suit yourself.” The waiter came and they ordered. As soon as he disappeared back into the kitchen, D’angelo leaned forward. “Now, while we’re waiting, tell me what you want to know and I’ll tell you if I think I can get it.” She told him, his face lighting up at various times. A dawn of understanding appeared to wash over him as she finished. “Wait a minute, hold on. I thought I’d seen your face somewhere. Couldn’t place it, but now I know. Seen it in the papers. You’re Drew Patterson’s wife, aren’t you?” She nodded. “Yeah, that’s it.” He swept a hand over his head. “Holy sh—, uh, I mean that’s amazing. I when it happened. Lot of the guys here were down about it. Includin’ me. I saw some of his movies. Good pilot. His death was a real blow.” He looked at her pale face. “Hey, I’m sorry. None of that’s important.” Just then their meals came, and they ate mostly without speaking, broken by

occasional idle chatter about the food or what was going on back in the States. When they were finished, Shannon could see Nicky was waiting patiently but expectantly, pulling on a draft beer he’d ordered. Haltingly, she told him about Brendan, how far back it went between them, and how much he meant to her now. When she finished, he nodded his head. “I might be able to help you. Lot of people around here would be glad to help out Drew Patterson’s widow. You’d need to give me a day or two.” “I’m scheduled to go home in ten days if I’m not successful. I appreciate your offer of assistance, but I’m sure you wouldn’t do all this for free, even if I am a war widow. So let’s talk about price. How much would you charge?” A calculating look came over Nicky’s face. “That depends on what you can offer,” he said quietly, gaze boring into her. Shannon knew exactly what he meant and skewered him with a glare. “I’ve waited a long time for this man. I want him to know I love him while he still lives, that I’m waiting for him to come home to me. I will not come to him defiled. That’s a price I will not pay.” Nicky looked at her blankly, taking a long pull of his draft beer. Then a sudden change swept over his face. He grinned. “No problem. Hey, I hadda ask, you know?” “I know you had to. Now, if there’s nothing else you’ll accept, I’m going back to my flat.” D’angelo slapped his palm on the table. “One hundred bucks American.”

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They met at Mrs. Beadle’s Pub two days later and were able to get the same secluded table. Shannon had negotiated what she regarded as the outrageously

high one-hundred-dollar price down to fifty, with a promise to pay the rest if the information was of use to her. Even at fifty dollars, Shannon chafed at its subtraction from the money she had brought, money she had been setting aside since this absurd idea had first come into her head. “Got something may be useful to you,” Nicky started off. “One battalion of the 83rd was sent on a mission to Brest on the French coast. I assume their job was to liberate it or secure it. Brest is a good way southeast of here across the channel. Seems like your man was in that battalion. If his specialty was a noncombat field, he might have been pressed into a battle unit if necessary. I can’t be sure he stayed out of combat. “Anyway, when they reached Brest, they were overrun by unknown units of Nazi troops still in the area. His unit was separated from the rest of the battalion. What’s happened since, nobody knows.” He slid a paper in front of her. “Here’s a map of the French coast. You can see where Brest is, right here.” She looked at the irregular coastline of western . Brest was located on a large jagged finger of land jutting out into the Atlantic south of the British Isles. She stared at the map in silence. “Mrs. Patterson,” Nicky said quietly, “you’ve done all you can do now. You can’t reach him; you can’t communicate with him. You’re going to have to wait for more news, if and when it comes.” She said nothing at first. Finally, she lifted her head. “I know all about waiting.” She shifted in her seat, stretching stiff muscles. “I can wait a few more days to see if something more comes in. Then I need to go. In the meantime, here’s the other fifty dollars.” Nicky nodded and took the money under the table. “I’ll be in touch.”

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Shannon spent the next day back at Sergeant Masters’ office at the American headquarters on base. Dropping his name and saying she wished to visit the

American office only, it was less daunting to be afforded ission to the base this time. She hung around the reception area and hoped for something. When they visibly got tired of her, she tactfully moved outside, and since the weather was generally pleasant, sat on a bench. In the afternoon, Sergeant Masters came out and found her. “I have something,” he said. “Come inside.” Shannon sprang to her feet and followed him. “I wouldn’t do this for anybody but you,” he said sternly once they reached his office. He closed his door. “We got a radio transmission from the unit we think your husband is in. It was picked up by an Army plane on patrol far off the French coast. The transmission was short and partially garbled, but we understood this much: the battalion from the 83rd got caught in a fierce fire fight with a Nazi force of unknown size. The message didn’t say how many Nazi troops they were facing. Casualties were high. Part of the battalion was cut off and went into hiding. That’s who we got the transmission from.” He looked up from the message. “That’s all there is, Mrs. McClary. Your husband may or may not be in that unit, but as of 0800 this morning, the unit seems to have survived. They probably cut off radio transmission to avoid being discovered. I don’t know if we’ll hear from them again.” “How soon—” “How soon can we mount a rescue mission? Unknown. It would take a couple of days for other units from the 83rd to get there. The best hope is that the unit remains hidden until they can make an escape or reunite with other units of the battalion.” “Will—will you be trying to them again?” “Yes, we’ll keep trying periodically.” Shannon took a deep breath and then another flying leap of audacity. “Could you mention my name in your next transmission?” Masters’ eyes narrowed. “Ah, I don’t think that would be permissible.” He paused and looked at the ceiling. “Then again, what harm could it do? If your

husband is there, it might inspire him and his unit to hang on. Okay, I’ll make the transmission myself. Now,” he said, standing up, “this is all I can do for you. If it weren’t for the fact you’re not only a war widow but also a WASP pilot, you wouldn’t have been afforded this much information. And this is to remain strictly between us. Are you clear on that?” “Yes, thank you.” Shannon went back to her flat and began to pack. The Army wasn’t going to tell her where he was, and she’d reached the end of her rope on her own. It didn’t make any sense to stay in England, and she didn’t want to be there alone any longer. It wouldn’t help Brendan. I should go home to my family and wait for a letter. Or a telegram. Her telephone rang late at night. It was Nicky. “What do you want?” she said. “It’s late.” “Meet me in thirty minutes behind your boarding house. There’s a grove of woods back there. And for God’s sake make sure you’re not followed.” “I’ll be there.” She was there at the appointed time. At first she saw no one, then heard a voice from the trees. “Come into the woods toward the sound of my voice.” She slowly walked into the trees, and Nicky materialized out of the darkness. They stood together in stillness for five minutes before he was satisfied she wasn’t being followed. “I got ahold of something I shouldn’t have,” he said quietly. “But I have it. It’s too hot to keep long. If it ever got out either one of us had seen this, we’d both be doing time in Leavenworth. Got it?” Shannon was numb. “Y-Yes.” His voice was low and muffled. “I know where your man is.” Wordlessly he led her deeper into the trees. Reaching a more heavily wooded spot, he stopped.

“Don’t think I suddenly developed a streak of charity. I’m taking this risk because I expect a big reward for it. Otherwise, I don’t see a lot of breaks coming my way in this life.” “Fine. You’re a selfish bastard after all.” “Now ya got it.” “Before you go any farther,” she said, “I’m about out of money. What’s left I need to get back home.” There was a slight pause. “Fine. But what can you get from home? I’m taking a huge risk here.” “If you say so. I’m co-owner of an air freight company. I can get more money. You’d have to trust me on that.” “Hmph. If I don’t trust you, I don’t profit. Okay, let’s say I trust you. Make me an offer I like, or I walk.” “First of all, you say you know where he is. You may have found his unit, but how do you know he’s there?” “You’ll have to trust me on that.” Shannon pondered for a moment, wondering if it was worth it to pursue this further. It was either that or go home and wait. I can’t survive that way. I can’t sit and wait, wait for either good news or the final telegram. I waited once. I can’t do it again. She took a deep breath. “Understand first the offer is good if I see information I can put to use. I’m probably not going to get anything else out of Sergeant Masters, so this needs to be something I don’t already know, and I can make use of.” She took a breath. “Five hundred dollars U.S.” “No good,” he said, and turned to go. He took three steps before Shannon called out. “One thousand dollars U.S.” “Forget it. See ya.” He started walking again.

Shannon went after him. She caught him by the shoulder and threw him against a tree trunk, towering over him, and grabbed the lapel of his jacket. “One thousand dollars and a guaranteed job offer with my company when you return stateside. Final offer, take it or leave it.” Nicky looked into her eyes for a long moment. “Deal.” He wrested himself away from her and knelt on the ground. “Come down here,” he said. With one more look around, Nicky withdrew a blackout flashlight from his jacket pocket. He pulled something from another pocket and smoothed it out on the ground. It was a photograph. He shielded the flashlight beam as she got on her knees to look. “I’m burning this when we’re done, so get a good look. This was taken yesterday by an aerial recon plane.” Shannon held the photo with trembling hands. It was an aerial photo of the city of Brest and its surroundings at the coast. Not far away she could see what appeared to be a runway. She peered closer. “Do you have a magnifying glass?” she asked Nicky. He fished around in a pocket and brought one forth. “Always have one when I’m looking at an Army recon photo.” She looked through the glass and started to shake. Visible on the runway at Brest was the unmistakable shape of an airplane she knew very well. She looked up. “Mr. D’angelo, our adventure may be only just begun.”

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In the radio room across from his office, Sergeant Masters listened intently through his earphones to a transmission coming in from an Army airplane off the coast of England. He had forwarded the requested call to the airplane, to be relayed to the trapped unit at Brest, and included, reluctantly, Shannon’s name. “Repeat, this is 046 to base, over,” sounded in his earphones.

“Base to 046, go ahead, over.” “O-four-six to base. Message delivered.” “Base to 046. Response?” “Weak and garbled. Made out partial response.” “What was it?” “It sounded like ‘Holy shit’.”

20

“Are you out of your ever-lovin’, stinkin’ mind?” Nicky D’angelo’s shout reverberated off the walls of Shannon’s flat as he paced the carpet. They had gone there after he had burned the photograph, and Shannon had told him what she had in mind. He stopped pacing and pointed a finger at her. “You’re one crazy broad, you know it? You see a B-17 in a picture and you go nuts. You tell me the craziest idea in the history of ideas, and then ask me if I can help you do it. Oh, it’s no big thing: just sail you over to Nazi-occupied and drop you off, oh excuse me Private Schultz, just dropping off a enger and I’ll be on my way. Please don’t shoot until after I cast off. Well, you can count me out! You want to go and get yourself killed or captured by the krauts, be my guest. Sheesh.” He started pacing again, face flushed with anger. “Why can’t you be a normal dame, if there is such a thing? Why can’t you go home and wait like other wives?” He fell into unintelligible muttering, running a hand through his wavy hair. Shannon stood still as a tree. “Are you finished now?” Nicky shot her a glance. “Oh, I’m not done. You’re, you’re—” “I know, crazy. Stop pacing, will you? Sit down. I have something to say.” Nicky sat, a jumble of fried nerves. Shannon sat opposite him on the bed and began slowly. “You want me to go home and wait. I did that once. I waited like a good, dutiful wife. Until one day the wait was over. I got a telegram. You know, the one that says, ‘We regret to inform you . . .’ And with that all that I built, all that I planned for, the vows I took, all my ideas for the years ahead, were gone.” She fought for control. “He wasn’t the man I wanted most, but I promised to be faithful to him. And I was. He was my tomorrow. And suddenly tomorrow wasn’t going to come.” She shifted on the bed. “I lost one man while I sat at home and waited. I will not lose

this one sitting at home. Without him, I—I—” She stopped, voice distorted with pain, and glared at Nicky. “If I couldn’t do anything to save him, I’d go home right now. But I can, by God, and I won’t let it go. You hear me? As long as there’s breath in me I won’t let it go. If he and I die together over there, I couldn’t ask for more.” She took in a big gulp of air. “If you want all that I promised you, earn it!” With that, she turned away. “I have no right to ask you or expect you to help me. But I hope you will.” He didn’t respond for nearly a minute. Then slowly Nicky raised his head and looked at her. “I wish I’d never told you my cousin had a fishing boat. But I did, and that’s brought us to here. Ah, what the hell, life’s been boring lately. Let’s do it.”

At midday the following day, they headed south. The drive to Plymouth would take the rest of the day. The petrol for the journey had not been easy to come by. “Good thing I know the right people,” Nicky said over the hum of the engine as the Austin 10 sedan rolled along the wet highway. Dark clouds overhead threatened more rain. “Gas has been rationed since the war started. Let’s hope no one stops us to question how we got it.” No one did, and the threatened rain held off the rest of the day. They arrived in Plymouth after dark. Nicky threaded the sedan through narrow and winding streets to the harbor, the blackout headlights giving off minimal assistance in lighting the way. Shannon was scared of a collision with another car, or more likely, she thought, with a building. But Nicky appeared to know the way even in the dark. They pulled up to the waterfront. Nicky parked the car, and they walked to a wharf lined with fishing boats. He stopped at one of the smaller ones and helped her onto the deck. She noticed the name Elizabeth I painted on the stern. “Wait here,” he said, taking off toward a light coming through a window in the wheelhouse. Before he got there, a door in the wheelhouse opened and a stout figure emerged holding a pistol in one hand. “That you, Nicky?” the figure said. “It’s me. We’re here.” “Glad you called. Might have shot you otherwise.” “That’s my cousin. Always quick with a joke.” Shannon wasn’t at all sure it had been a joke. “Mrs. McClary, come on up,” Nicky said. “I’d like you to meet my cousin, Tony Lombardi.” Tony Lombardi was a tall heavy-set figure wrapped in a sturdy-looking pea coat. He had a thick gray beard and bushy eyebrows over a weathered face. One massive hand still gripped the pistol. He eyed Shannon with misgiving. “So,

you’re the B-17 pilot, eh? Come on in where it’s warm.” He opened the door to the wheelhouse and bade her enter. Lombardi got hot tea for them as they settled into seats in the cramped wheelhouse. He then sank into a chair himself and gave Shannon a long look. “Cousin Nicky here says you lost a man in the war,” he said, voice deep and rumbly. “Yes. My husband was a P-51 pilot. His plane—” She bit down on her lip. “His plane was shot down over Austria.” Lombardi nodded. “Too many,” he said softly. “Too many.” He set his teacup down and rubbed his big hands on his pant legs. “I lost a son. Over in Belgium somewhere. Maybe after the war I can find the spot. He was barely twenty.” “I’m sorry to hear of it,” Shannon said. Lombardi shrugged. “Lot of sorry goin’ around these days. Doesn’t seem to help much. Still, I appreciate it.” He looked at her with more warmth. “You and me, we have a bond, Mrs. McClary. I hate the krauts like a righteous man hates the Devil. You got a mind to stick a pie in their face, I’m ready to help.”

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The Elizabeth I left at first light with the addition of one more crewman. Shannon had been exhausted and they let her sleep on a pile of fish nets, lulled by the soft undulations of the boat across the water. They sailed south along the coast of England, staying within sight of land until they reached Falmouth, where they turned out to sea. Lombardi told Nicky they’d probably not attract too much attention as a working fishing boat. He came up with appropriate coats and hats for he and Shannon to look like fishermen. The crewman, a genial sort, even instructed them on net mending as they cruised along.

The weather had turned in their favor, with a calm sea and blue skies overhead. The casual-appearing journey to the French coast off Brest would take a while. Early in the afternoon they attracted company. Two German Messerschmitts appeared on the horizon, at first high overhead but then visibly descending toward them. “All hands on deck for net mending,” Lombardi called out from the wheelhouse. Shannon and Nicky quickly went aft and ed the other crewman. Taking up their tools, they bent over a net and started working. The Messerschmitts came in low and slow, one ing on each side. Shannon could see the face of one of the pilots as he cruised by. “Keep your head down,” the crewman said. “I’ll do the looking.” The fighter planes streaked by them and started climbing up into the blue sky, flying away. “Just down for a look,” the crewman said. “I think we ed the test.” Lombardi emerged from the wheelhouse. “We can’t get much closer without arousing suspicion. We’ll wait off the coast until dark, then we’ll make our way to land. Hoping for a clear sky and a bright moon tonight. I know the coast off Brest; I should be able to get us in close.”

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Under the light of the full moon he wanted, Lombardi moved the Elizabeth I slowly toward shore after nightfall. All lights on the boat were quenched. When they got within fifty yards of the shore, the crewman broke out a raft. “I’ll stay just offshore for the remainder of the night,” Lombardi said. “Come sunrise I’ll move five miles out and run up a French flag. That’s still a risky distance; it depends on how thorough the Nazi coast recon is. If we’re stopped and searched, I may have to at least make a show of returning to sea.” A grim

look settled on his face. “ this: if the plane isn’t there anymore, you’ve got twenty-four hours to be back at this spot. If you don’t show by then, I’ll have to go back to Plymouth. It’s not safe to hang around the French coast any longer than that.” “I understand,” Shannon said. “Good. I was in Brest a few years ago. The airport runway points to the ocean, and you should find it about a mile in from the shore. As for the unit you’re searching for, if they’re still in the area, I can tell you a good place they might have chosen to hide out. I suggest you look there and only there. Wandering around could get you killed. You’ve got twenty-four hours; make the best use of it.” He stopped and gave Shannon a severe look. “I hope you understand how dangerous this is. You could run head on into krauts the moment you top the cliff.” “I’m committed,” Shannon interrupted. “I’ll pray for the best.” She turned to Nicky. “This is your last chance to stay. You’ve done all I could ask you to do.” Nicky stood close to her in the dark. “Not a chance, doll. You’re my damned meal ticket, and I’m going to be sure you stay as safe as I can make you.” Shannon nodded, and they lowered themselves into the raft and paddled for shore.

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An inky blackness enveloped them when they stepped into the trees after reaching the top of the short rocky bank of earth that met the sea. The moonlight didn’t penetrate through the trees. “Better wait here until dawn starts to break,” Nicky said. “Can’t even see my hand in front of my face.” “Agreed. Let’s get some rest until first light.”

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Dawn light was filtering through the trees when Shannon awoke with a start. She raised up from the ground to see Nicky looking through the trees. “Time to get moving,” he said quietly. “Right. Let me take care of business and then we’ll go.” They moved slowly through the trees, taking each step with care. “Let’s avoid obvious places to put your feet if you see them,” Nicky warned. “There could be land mines here.” “I hadn’t thought about that. It scares me.” “What, you weren’t already scared? That’s okay; I’m scared enough for both of us, sister. I’m recalculating our chances every five minutes, and I can tell you our odds are getting worse all the time.” “I see the landing strip,” Shannon said about thirty minutes later. “Let’s get closer.” They did and stopped at the edge of a forest that surrounded the strip. The B-17 was still sitting at the far end of the landing strip. “What on God’s green earth is that doing here?” Shannon whispered. Another look made her nearly speechless. “And it’s got a swastika painted on the tail!” “Yeah, and an Iron Cross amidships. The Nazis marked it up real pretty.” “I’m confused,” she said. “Me too. There’s some other stuff there.” He pointed past the B-17. There were two small buildings and a couple of small military vehicles. They could see an Iron Cross painted on both.

Nicky shuddered. “I see two armed security guards. Gives me the willies being this close to them goons. Okay, we seen the airstrip, now let’s make tracks outta here for the spot your cousin gave us.” Shannon turned reluctantly and followed him. She couldn’t let go of her fascination with the aircraft. Why is it here? Why the Nazi markings? I’ll have to let those questions rest for now. Lombardi had told them about a spot he figured was about a mile away, a large ravine he had come across while hiking on the one visit he had made to the area. Because of an optical illusion in the forest, it couldn’t be seen until a hiker was right on top of it. “If they’re still in the area, that’s where they’re likely to be,” Lombardi had told them. They hiked slowly through the forest, staying in the deepest cover they could find, constantly on the lookout for German troops. Off in the distance, they could hear the thunder of battle. “Sounds like there’s still a firefight going on with the 83rd,” Nicky said. “Hope that’s keeping the krauts busy.” Shannon stayed quiet as they progressed. After a while they stopped to eat from the meager food supply they’d brought. “You’ve been quiet for a while,” Nicky said. “Getting cold feet?” Shannon looked off into the trees then turned her head back. “Now we’re here, I see how crazy this is. It was exciting to think about, but pretty scary to be doing.” Nicky nodded. “Now you know what I’ve been thinking from the start.” He shook his head back and forth. “You are one crazy dame, but you’ve got something makes me want to follow you. Or I’m a sucker for sob stories.” Shannon stood up. “Let’s go, if you’re done.” They continued filtering through the trees, their sense of orientation gone in the thickly forested landscape.

“If it weren’t for knowing the sea is that way, I’d be lost,” Nicky said. Shannon stopped. A strange feeling had been creeping over her for the last few minutes. She hadn’t felt it in years. But there was no mistaking it. She turned to Nicky in amazement. “They’re close,” she whispered. “I can feel it. I can feel him. It’s only—” Her voice was cut off abruptly as a large hand clamped over her mouth and her head was jerked painfully back. She felt a knife at her throat and tried to scream but couldn’t. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Nicky staring at the muzzle of a large rifle.

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Brendan McClary brought out the yellowed newspaper photo from his inner jacket pocket one more time. It was faded and stained, but the spark in Shannon’s eyes was as bright as ever. She was in her early twenties when the picture was taken by a Hollywood newspaper reporter. In the photo she was smiling, on the arm of her husband. She looked happy, but Brendan had always imagined he could see a small hint of sadness behind the smile, a tiny trace of trying to turn away, even though she no longer could. He had cut it out of the newspaper and kept it in a small metal playing-card case ever since. Faded photos were all he had of Shannon since the last time he had seen her at the terrible scene in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theater, when he realized she was lost to him, that Drew had won. But he had followed her life from a distance, kept the photos, and waited. He did not marry. He held fast the memory of Shannon, the scent of her, the feel of her body in his arms, the smile in her eyes when she looked at him. Maybe, he thought, there would be time enough in his life that the wheel would turn to a place where she could come back to him. And so he had remained faithful to her memory, of her touch on his arm, her lips on his. Years had ed, but part of him was stuck in time with Shannon, wedded to a past that had moved on and left him stranded. Every man in his unit had seen

this photo at one time or another, the sight of him gazing at it was a familiar one. They had asked about her, and he had described her in detail: tall, curvy, with tousled brown hair and intense deep blue eyes that focused on the sky, gentle but determined, cautious but persistent. A fine pilot. A woman who would not be denied the place she had chosen for herself. They had been impressed. “She’s a doll,” said one. “A real looker,” said another. “You’re a lucky man.” He never told them he had not seen her in years. To them, she was just another girl waiting for her man to come home from the war. And he didn’t tell them he had dozens of other newspaper photos and articles back home in a scrapbook he had lovingly assembled, that he had kept track of her life, had followed her accomplishments with pride. Now as he put the picture back in its little metal case for the thousandth time, he felt something stir inside. A feeling that brought his head up to look around him. Nothing had changed, but the feeling was there. Something was different. He gazed at the battered remains of his unit. Several men lay with bloody bandages wrapped around wounds, others in a stupor of fatigue and hunger. Small clusters gathered near each other, but none of them talked, but rather stared emptily. They were almost out of ammo. The last of the food had run out the day before; the water would be gone today. They were sure the rest of the 83rd Battalion was still somewhere in the area. They had waited for rescue, but none came. The hand-crank field radio had taken a glancing blow from a bullet in battle and finally succumbed. Their choices were few: remain in the ravine and slowly starve and see the wounded die, surrender to the Nazis to an unknown fate, or find the reserves to wait even longer for the 83rd to break through the Nazi line and rescue them. Brendan stood, weight shifted to keep a load off his bandaged right leg a rifle bullet had ed through.

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Shannon gasped for breath when the meaty hand on her mouth was removed. But the knife at her throat didn’t slacken. “Who are you?” came a hard voice behind her. “They don’t look like Nazi scouts,” said the man who held a rifle on Nicky. “Don’t look like locals either.” The GI who was holding Shannon took the knife from her throat and turned her around. He looked at her, a cruel expression on his face. “That don’t leave much in the way of options. We oughta just shoot ’em and be done with it.” “Guys, you got this all wrong,” said an alarmed Nicky. By now Shannon could see they were American GIs. “I’m Shannon Donnelly,” she said, figuring her maiden name might be more recognizable to them. “Who?” the man who had held her said. “Did you get the last radio message from England? My name was mentioned.” The man looked at her. He had several days’ growth of beard and was obviously tired and near the end of his rope. But a light of realization dawned in his eyes. “I heard. I’ve heard your name a hundred times.”

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Brendan limped through the men scattered on the ground. He bent down to check on a wounded man, then straightened up again—and froze in shock. Now he knew the hunger and fatigue, the stress of combat, had finally gotten to him. He was hallucinating. Because Shannon was standing before him not twenty feet away, and that just couldn’t be. She couldn’t be real, not here, not now. His knees gave way and he collapsed to the ground. Then the hallucination moved. It was coming toward him. He climbed painfully to his feet and started walking forward, agony shooting through his right leg. He

got close. The figure spoke. “Brendan.” He reached out and touched her, felt the solidity of the flesh on her arm. She was real! “Oh my God!” he cried and pulled her to him. She collapsed into his arms and pressed her body against him, shaking and keening a wail of pent-up love denied for years, sobbing so hard she couldn’t speak. After a long moment, Brendan pulled back and held her face in his hands. “It is you!” he gasped, running his hands over her head and shoulders again and again as if reassuring himself of her solidity. “Oh God, Shannon, how is this possible? How can you be here?” Shannon couldn’t stop crying, looking at him through tear-filled eyes. “Brendan, I love you.” “And I never stopped loving you, Shannon.” It was wonderful to say her name. “Shannon. I’ve waited so long to say your name out loud and mean it. I waited so long, and now you’re here.” He gulped for air. “You’re here.” He crushed her to him and murmured, “God is good.” He looked again into her eyes. “But why? This is insane.” Shannon felt like she could never let him go, like she would stay frozen to this moment forever. She was in his arms and knew nothing else, wanted nothing else. Finally, she drew back and put her lips on his, holding his face close to hers, trying to pour into him all the years of love she had kept. Brendan broke the embrace and pulled back, eyes full of doubt. “Drew—?” Shannon lost her smile. “Drew was killed over Austria when his P-51 was hit. There’s so much to tell, but it will have to wait.” The world around them slowly intruded. They both became aware of a group of soldiers looking at them with disbelief. “He always said there’d be a time,” said one. “Didn’t figure it to happen here.”

“Men,” Brendan said turning his gaze to them, “this is Shannon.” “You didn’t lie,” said a second soldier. “She’s beautiful.” Slowly a quiet sound of clapping rose from the group, even from the wounded soldiers on the ground. Brendan regained a small measure of composure. He looked into her face with wonder. “How—” She put a finger to his lips. “By boat. It’s a long story I’ll tell you about later.” Momentarily forgotten, Nicky at last stepped forward and stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet the guy who drives her like a woman possessed.” “Brendan, this is Nicky.” “Who’s he?” “I’ll tell you later. I wouldn’t be here without his help.” He looked at her in consternation. “But how are you here? And why? We don’t know if we’re going to make it out of this alive. You could be killed along with the rest of us. Why did you put yourself in harm’s way?” One of the men on the ground stood up, a man with Sergeant’s stripes. “Ma’am, no offense but I think you’re crazy. We ran out of food yesterday, and the last of the water goes today. We’ve got men wounded bad that need medics, the woods could be crawling with Nazis—I think you put yourself in a bad spot. You wouldn’t be a medic, would you?” “No, I’m not.” Another spoke up. “Ma’am, if you ain’t got the picture yet, we’re trapped here. And now you are too.” Shannon detached herself from Brendan and walked a few steps into the group of men. He followed, never taking his hand from her. There were about twenty of them, and overall, they didn’t look good.

“We came here by boat to see if we could help you,” she said. “We were lucky to get this far. But this is what I would do for Brendan. And now for you too.” One of the men walked up close and spoke in a low voice. “Ma’am, a couple of the men here aren’t going to make it another day or two. What about that boat? Can we escape on it? Shannon shook her head. “We thought of that. It’s a small boat. Even if we could get you all on board, you’d have to be put down in the hold; deck space is too small. And the hold won’t take all of you. The captain said if word about your escape got out, the boat would be a target for the Nazi coast patrol. It’s a risk he’s not willing to take. Besides, it’s more than a mile to the coast. I don’t think we could get you all there. But I saw a B-17 sitting on the airstrip we might use to fly us out of here. I don’t know why it’s there, but it is.” “That’s great, lady,” said one, “but we don’t have a pilot.” Shannon looked at him. “You do now.”

21

“It came in four days ago,” Sergeant Matt O’Brian said. “We don’t know what they’re planning to do with it, but the krauts have it under guard day and night. Every day they load wrapped objects up into it.” Shannon lay alongside the sergeant and two other soldiers under the cover of trees, looking out at the B-17 sitting on the airstrip two hundred yards away. “That’s an F model,” she said. “How did the Germans ever get hold of it?” “No idea. I’ve heard rumors about captured B-17s,” O’Brian said. “First time I’ve ever seen one.” “What would they do with a captured B-17?” O’Brian rubbed his whiskered chin. “Depending on how crazy they wanted to be, they could try to fall in with a squadron returning from a bomb run over , pretending they were Americans, and then drop their bomb load over London. It’d be a suicide mission. But it’d be lethal.” Shannon shuddered. “Or I’ve heard sometimes they paint a swastika on the tail and use the plane for various air purposes in the Luftwaffe.” “And no idea what they have this one here for?” O’Brian shook his head. “I have a suspicion, but it doesn’t matter why. We just need to get hold of it. I’ll show you something in a few minutes. What about power for engine start?”

“We won’t have the luxury of a ground power connection,” Shannon said. “Without that, Engine Number One is battery start. Once it’s going, it provides power to start the other three.” “Good enough,” O’Brian said. He turned to the other two soldiers. “Get back to the rest of the unit and tell them to start prepping for departure. We’ll be along shortly.” The two men disappeared into the forest. O’Brian jerked his head left, indicating he wanted Shannon to follow. They walked through the trees for about ten minutes, then O’Brian held up his hand. “Far enough,” he said. “Look out there.” From their hiding place, Shannon could see about five hundred yards away a graceful, three-arched old stone bridge over a placid river. It was festooned at regular points by large red banners adorned with a swastika symbol. On the far side of the river, beside the bridge, was a large, long three-story tan building with dozens of small windows and numerous dormers on the rooftop. “Area’s crawling with krauts,” O’Brian whispered. “Haven’t been able to get near the river. They guard that bridge carefully. I think that big building on the other side houses a museum. I’ll bet that’s where the packages are coming from.” Shannon looked over the building, then turned to O’Brian. “They’re looting artwork.” “No doubt. Probably planning to fly it all back to Berlin soon. Now, let’s get back to the unit.”

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There had been general astonishment among the battered soldiers when Shannon announced they now had a B-17 pilot. “What, you mean him?” one asked, pointing to Nicky.

“No, she means her,” Brendan said. “Haven’t you heard of WASP pilots?” “Uh, yeah, but I ain’t never seen one.” “So you’re telling us she can really fly that thing?” one doubtful-looking soldier said. “Guys, I’ve known her a long time. If she says she can fly it, she can fly it.” There were grumblings of doubt among the group, until Sergeant O’Brian stood up. “Anyone got a better idea?” No one did. Shannon made the rounds in the group that afternoon, visiting each man. Brendan went with her. The touch of a woman’s hand did a lot to bolster their spirits. “We’re out of sulfa powder, along with just about everything else,” Brendan said. “A couple of the wounded aren’t going to last much longer. If we’re going to go, it has to be now.” Shannon nodded. “We have a problem. I hadn’t thought about how many of you there might be. The B-17’s not meant for troop transport. There’s a narrow catwalk down the middle of the fuselage, and except for a wood platform for the waist gunners to stand on, and a small floor in the radio room; that’s about it. We’d have to string the wounded out along the catwalk. There’d be no place for the walking to step.” “We’ll make do.” He looked at her in wonderment. “What?” “I still can’t believe you’re here, next to me. Sometimes I have to touch you to make sure you’re really here, and I’m not hallucinating. I’m afraid that if I turn my eyes away, you’ll disappear. But I almost wish you hadn’t come. Our chances of making it out of here are pretty slim.” She reached out and kissed him, long and lovingly. “They’re better than they were. We’re going home. Tonight.”

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Shannon got as much information about the guard schedule from the men as she could. There were two of them at a time, in three eight-hour shifts. As observed from the trees, they didn’t seem particularly alert. “They’re probably the pilots and crew,” Sergeant O’Brian said as they peered out from under cover. He was a squarely built, muscular man with the eyes of a soldier who’d seen too much. “The krauts would want to take as few soldiers out of combat as possible. They’ve got no reason to be suspicious. They don’t know we’re here.” “Yeah, but they do check in with somebody by radio every thirty minutes,” Brendan said, lying alongside Shannon. “If we take them out, we’ve got thirty minutes to be in the air.” “That’s thirty minutes to get the engines started, get everybody aboard, and take off. It’s not enough,” Shannon said. “You don’t just hop in a B-17 and go. There’s a long checklist to go through. You can’t skip it. Miss an item and it might prove fatal. Let’s pray there’s a pre-flight checklist aboard. I will have to skip the ground checklist though. There isn’t time for it.” She looked at Brendan and sighed. “If the checklist is as important as you say, even the damn Nazis need it, so it’s probably there,” Brendan said. “Right,” Shannon said, smiling at him. “I need you in the co-pilot’s seat running through it with me.” “Right where I want to be.” She turned to O’Brian. “Somebody needs to show me either how we can make thirty minutes work, or how we can get more time.” “There’s one thing should give us a few extra minutes,” Sergeant O’Brian said. “That’s how long it will take to respond in person after they don’t get a radio call

by the guards at the thirty-minute mark.” Brendan looked at Shannon with raised eyebrows. “I hope so.” “Let’s get back,” Sergeant O’Brian said. “Time to prep for the move.”

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By nightfall, all the men had been moved to the cover of the trees around the airstrip as close to the B-17 as they dared. The wounded had been brought on makeshift stretchers, those able to walk staggered through the forest. Shannon looked over the group of men sitting and lying under the tree cover. “They don’t look good,” she said to Brendan. “They’re not. For a couple of us, it’s tonight or not at all. Don’t think you’ll find a man here that would surrender. We fly or we fight.” Shannon reached close and kissed him. “We fly.”

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They had decided to wait until the darkest hour, just before dawn. About that time, O’Brian materialized out of the night. “The check-in phone call is coming up soon. Immediately after it’s been made, we strike. Levine and I will take out the guards.” He looked at Shannon intently. “Once that’s done, we’re committed. Look for my signal by flashlight,” he said. “Three short flashes means get on board. McClary, set your stopwatch at that point.” “And if I don’t see the flash?” O’Brian’s look didn’t need light to get the point across. “You will.” With that he disappeared into the darkness.

Brendan put a hand on Shannon’s arm. “I’ll get the men ready.” “Good luck. Every second counts.” She turned to look at the two small outbuildings near the aircraft. Ten minutes went by. Then, three flashes. Immediately she was up and running. She went to the underbelly of the B-17 and opened the entry hatch. Grasping the wooden bar inside the fuselage, she swung herself up and into the airplane, and was in the pilot’s seat in seconds. She whipped out the small flashlight she had brought in anticipation of a night start-up. Shining the beam around the cockpit, she saw the vital checklist on the co-pilot’s seat. Just then Brendan was at her side. She held up the clipboard with the checklist. “Still the English version too.” “Good to see we’re in business,” Brendan said, plopping into the co-pilot’s seat. “How’s the leg?” “It hurts like hell, but I’m ignoring it.” “Let’s get started. Here’s the flashlight. And pray Number One’s got juice in the battery.” She reached for a switch from memory and the instrument lit up. “So far so good. We check battery power by turning on the inverter for Number One.” She did so and was rewarded with a loud whistling hum. She managed a tight smile at Brendan. “Battery power is good. Tell O’Brian we’re go for loading. Then we start the checklist.” Brendan was back in seconds and picked up the clipboard with the checklist. “Controls lock removed.” “Check.” “Aileron lock removed.” “Check.” “Rudder.”

“Check. Feels like it’s working. Let’s hope it is; there’s no waist gunner to it for me.” “Trim tabs.” “Check.” “Fuel shutoff switches.” “Open.” “Intercooler.” “Check.” “Gyros.” “Check.” Brendan went methodically through the checklist at a steady pace. “Time check,” Shannon said. Brendan looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes left.” “Keep going.” “Cowl flaps.” “Open and locked left and right.” Behind them they could hear bangings and scrapings as the men were loaded via the rear hatch. Getting the men on makeshift stretchers up into the airplane required some twisting and turning. More items on the checklist fell, faster than Shannon was comfortable with, but it couldn’t be helped. They ed through the high-rpm switches, de-icers and anti-icers, cabin heat, generators, and more. Finally, Brendan looked up and said, “That’s the last item. Did we skip anything?”

“No, but it was faster than advisable. Goes against everything I was taught. Perfection is a habit. Ever heard of flying on a wing and a prayer? That’s us tonight. Now, let’s switch to headsets. It’ll be easier to communicate; it may get noisy.” Sergeant O’Brian bounded forward. “All aboard. Hatch secured.” Shannon turned to him. “The guards?” He looked at her with an expression that made her shiver. “Payback’s a bitch.” “Time check.” He looked down at his wristwatch. “Thirty minutes. We’re out of time.” “Sergeant, you’ll find a headset amidships near the waist gun stations. Put it on please.” “Roger.” He clapped her on the shoulder. “Good luck.” Then he disappeared aft. She turned back to Brendan. “I’ll take it from here. Master and ignition switches on. Batteries and inverters, check. Voltmeter, 26 volts, check. Throttles to creep stop point, then closed, check. Advance throttles for 1,000 RPM on start, check.” She took a deep breath. “Engine start, Number One.” She held the starter switch on and pressed the mesh switch down. “Pump the Number One hand primer, there,” she said, pointing quickly. “Unlocking mixer control.” Engine Number One’s big propeller began moving in an agonizingly slow motion. The engine coughed twice. “Come on, baby, light up for Mama,” Shannon said. “Do it!” The engine coughed again, caught, and in a cloud of smoke came roaring to life. Brendan gave her a thumbs-up gesture. “Watch the oil pressure,” she said. “If the oil pressure doesn’t start to rise in thirty seconds, we’ve got trouble.” She glanced down at the gauges. “Mixer control back, check. Fuel pressure good at sixteen pounds. Fuel supply at half, all tanks. Starting Number Two.”

She and Brendan went through the same routine. Number Two came up fast, belching the customary cloud of smoke as it caught hold. “Oil pressure on Number One good,” Brendan said. “Starting Number Three,” she said. Number Three lagged, spitting and coughing nearly enough to give her a heart attack before erupting into life and settling into steady rhythm. “Oil pressure good on Two,” Brendan said loudly over the roar of the engines. “Starting Number Four.” But before she could move, O’Brian’s voice shouted in her headset. “We got company!” Shannon opened the pilot’s window and thrust her head out. She could see two bouncing sets of lights coming fast through the trees behind the aircraft. “Looks like two small military vehicles,” O’Brian said. “You have anybody back there who can operate the tail gun?” Shannon said. She heard O’Brian shout the question. “Meeks jumped up and headed back,” he said. “Think we got it.” “We need another thirty seconds and then we’re rolling. Can he give it to us?” “Try my best!” came a shouted voice, whom she assumed was Meeks. “Starting Number Four.” Below on the tarmac the two vehicles came into view and whirled around the B17 in confusion. “They don’t know what’s going on yet,” Brendan said. “They will when they find the guards,” O’Brian said. They did, seconds later, when both vehicles came to a stop and the occupants got out. They gathered around one of the bodies. After a moment, all faces turned

and looked up at the B-17 with the chilling gaze of uniformed zombies. At that instant Number Four caught and came to life with a deep-throated roar. Shannon raced through the post-start checks, unlocked the tail wheel, and put the big aircraft in motion. At the same time she heard the tail gun growl, spitting twin streams of .50 caliber bullets toward the soldiers gathered below, who scattered like roaches from a sudden light. Meeks targeted one of the Nazi vehicles and it exploded in flames. “Tail wheel unlocked, rolling toward takeoff,” Shannon said. “Advancing throttles to 1200 RPM for warm-up. O’Brian, get everyone who can walk up into the radio room or as close as you can, now.” “Roger,” O’Brian’s voice sounded in her ear. At that moment, a hail of gunfire shattered the pilot’s side window where Shannon’s head had been moments before. She could hear other bullets slamming into the fuselage behind her. She advanced the throttle on the Number Four engine—the outboard engine on the right side—to swing the big bomber through a tight left turn to line up for takeoff. Shannon brought the B-17 around square with the runway. “Tail wheel locked,” she said as a storm of bullets tore the air below on the tarmac where Meeks and the tail gun battled with the Germans. She looked through the front windscreen and saw a Nazi officer standing in front of the plane, arms raised. Then he drew his service revolver and pointed it at her. “I think he wants us to stop,” she said. “What are the chances?” “About zero,” Brendan said, aiming his weapon out his side window. He pulled the trigger twice and the man flew backward, falling flat onto the runway. “O’Brian, brace for takeoff!” Shannon shouted above the gunfire below, then muttered to herself, “If there’s one thing I don’t want to do, it’s take off in the dark on an unlit runway where I can’t see the end.” She peered into the darkness ahead, a thin strip of runway dimly visible in the first hint of dawn light. “What’s our oil pressures and temperatures? We should have forty pounds on the oil.” “Good on One, Two, and Three; Number Four is getting there slowly.”

“Can’t be helped. Brakes off. I need your hand on the throttles on takeoff. I’ll take Engines One and Four above, you take Two and Three below my hand. Copy my hand movement.” Brendan put his hand on the lower throttle levers. “Ready when you are.” “Advancing throttles. This is it.” Shannon put her right hand on the throttles and eased them forward. Brendan followed her movement forward underneath with his. The big bomber began to move. Brendan sensed motion outside his window and looked to see one of the Nazi vehicles racing alongside them. “They’re going to try to block us!” he shouted. “Gonna have to take ’em out.” “Don’t take your hand away. Now, more.” Shannon gave the throttles another nudge, and Brendan followed suit. The B-17 surged forward. “We need 100 miles an hour for takeoff,” she shouted. “Nothing less. Let’s hope they can’t keep up.” For a brief moment, the race was in doubt. Brendan aimed his pistol out the window and emptied it toward the car. The car jerked suddenly and veered off to the right. “Think I got the driver,” he shouted. Shannon stared intently at the runway ahead. Nearly seventeen tons of Flying Fortress bumped along the uneven runway at a frightening speed toward the darkness. “Takeoff speed reached,” she said, pulling the control column smoothly back toward her chest. The B-17 responded instantly, as if eager to be away. There was a blessed smoothness as the wheels left the ground and it rose into the sky. Shannon could hear a muted cheering from amidships through her earphones. “Gear up,” she said. O’Brian’s voice sounded in her ear. “Miss Donnelly, you’ve got a happy bunch of guys back here. Good show.” Shannon allowed herself a tiny smile. “Thanks. Damage report?” “Just some holes in the fuselage. It’s a miracle no one was hit.”

“Okay. Tell the men to move back to their previous positions along the fuselage. Gathering near the radio room was for better weight distribution on takeoff. Didn’t want the tail to have enough weight to sling us around.” “Understood. I should tell you we’re a long way from free and clear. The krauts wanted this plane on the ground bad. Could be something on board they don’t want to fall into American hands. I wasn’t surprised to find a bunch of looted artwork stashed wherever they found a space. I expect the Nazis are already trying to track us with ground radar from the French coast. They’ll relay our location to fighters and guide them into range for an attack. We’ll probably see fighter pursuit sooner rather than later.” “Right. I have to keep our altitude low. We don’t have electric heated suits for everyone, nor oxygen masks. So we’ll stay at 5,000 feet. I don’t like it, but that’s the way it has to be. It’s still going to be cold.” “Anything else we can do?” O’Brian said. “Not much. We’re running with lights out, but daylight is creeping up. When we get closer to the English coast, I’ll break radio silence and then when we get over land, turn on our lights. We’ll be flying at max airspeed soon. Let’s pray we can outrun any pursuit long enough to reach friendly territory.” Shannon had a sudden thought. “Say, see if anybody can figure out how to use the waist guns or any of the turret guns, if they’re up to it. They’re electric-powered and should be operational now.” O’Brian hesitated for a moment. “Yeah, some of the guys are feeling better about now. I’ll check for you.”

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The B-17 streaked toward England at three hundred miles per hour. Shannon hoped they could at least get within radio of the RAF before they were caught. But Shannon was barely through her post-liftoff checklist when it happened. O’Brian had been right. She could feel something tingling the back of her neck just before a German fighter plane whooshed past like a streaking ghost

and vanished into the fading darkness. “We’re in for it now,” Brendan said. “That was a look-see . He’ll be back, and you can bet he’s not alone. They must realize by now they can’t turn us back to , so they’ll try to knock us into the ocean.” Shannon bit her lip. “Brendan, I want you to move back to the radio room. It’s too dangerous in the cockpit.” Brendan shook his head. “Not a chance. I don’t leave you, period.” She spoke into her earphones. “O’Brian, they’re on us. Any luck with those guns?” “Besides Meeks, we think we have the waist guns and the top side ball turret ready to go. Sorry to say that’s all.” “I’ll take it. Meeks, are you there?” “Yes ma’am, ready to bag some Nazi scum.” “Good. You’ll have your chance.” “Roger that.” Two Messerschmitts came at them. Tracers lit up the sky as the fighters came streaking down from above. The B-17 shuddered from multiple hits along the fuselage. Shannon looked out her window and could see rounds striking the wings. “She’s a sturdy gal, but she can’t take unlimited strikes,” she shouted above the roar of the top turret gun above them. “Top turret, eyes forward when you can. They’ll be coming in targeting the cockpit.” “Roger that,” came the voice in her earphones. Another fighter screamed by at close range, preceded by a volley of rounds that struck the right wing. Brendan looked out his window and saw flames erupting from Number Four.

“Fire in Engine Four!” he shouted. Shannon’s hands darted over the control . “Feathering prop and cutting fuel. Fire suppression control, lower right corner in front of you,” she shouted over the roar of the turret gun above her. “Turn the selector needle all the way to the right.” “Done.” “Now pull the red handle on the right-hand side.” Brendan pulled the red handle hard as a bullet shattered a of the plexiglass windscreen directly above his head. The flames erupting from Number Four flickered, shrank, and slowly went out. They flew on, Number Four trailing a river of smoke. “Got lucky there. Are you alright? That one was close.” Brendan brushed chips of plexiglass off the top of his head. “My head’s still attached. I’ll let you know if that changes.” Shannon spoke into her headset. “Meeks, how’s it going back there?” Silence. “Meeks?” There was no answer. “Our tail gunner might be down,” she said. “O’Brian, can you check on Meeks? And give me a damage report?” “Will do,” came the reply. “I’m going to try to make now,” she said to Brendan. “B-17 44-3589 to RAF. Mayday, mayday. We are incoming from under attack from Nazi fighters. Twenty-two souls aboard. Request immediate air and landing coordinates. Mayday, mayday, this is B-17 44-3589. We are under attack.” The speaker crackled. “B-17 3589, this is RAF Tangmere Air Control. We have you on radar. Please repeat previous, over.” A hail of bullets came crashing through the fuselage right behind the pilot’s seat. Small flames sprang up. “Fire extinguisher!” she yelled to Brendan, who jumped up and grabbed the extinguisher. The flames rapidly died.

“RAF Tangmere, this is 3589. Under attack. Request immediate fighter and landing coordinates. One engine down. Damage to aircraft. Over.” “Three-five-eight-nine, this is RAF Tangmere. RAF fighters closing your location. Scrambled ten minutes ago when you first appeared on radar. Sounds here like a woman. Identify yourself, over.” “RAF Tangmere, Shannon Donnelly, U. S. Army Air Forces Ferrying Command, over.” O’Brian’s voice sounded in her ear. “Cap’n, Meeks is dead. The gun is smashed. A couple of the guys back here caught Nazi lead. I’m sorry.” There was a momentary silence accompanied by air rushing through the broken cockpit windscreen at her left. Then: “Acknowledged.” “Shannon, fighter diving from above,” Brendan said, looking up through the hole in the plexiglass. “I can’t believe these guys,” she said with exasperation. “We’re damned near on the English coast and they’re still with us. They want this plane destroyed bad.” She banked the B-17 left as much as she dared with loose cargo in back. Flaming rounds missed the aircraft by what must have been inches. “Won’t get that lucky again,” she shouted to Brendan, just before another storm of bullets slashed through the cockpit. The instrument jumped from multiple impacts. Shannon jerked and screamed. “Shannon!” Brendan shouted. Shannon stared down at her left leg in shock at a chunk of metal half-buried in her thigh, blood pulsing from a ragged hole around it. “Look at that,” she said. “Going to make it hard to press on the rudder bar.” Then she ed out. “Shannon!” No response. Brendan looked down and saw blood pouring from her thigh. Taking a knife from his pocket, he ripped the legging away. He knew he had to stop the bleeding soon. He removed his belt, wrapped it around her thigh above the entry point, and cinched it tight. The pain shocked Shannon into consciousness. She looked around, bewildered.

“What—” Brendan cradled her head, looking anxiously into her blue eyes. “You’re hit. I tried to stop the bleeding.” He looked down. “Could have done a better job. Shannon, we all need you so much. We’re nearly there.” She sat up straight, a move which made her grit her teeth in agony. “Got a little left in me." Brendan pressed his talk button. “Sarge, Shannon’s hit. Find a med kit and bring it up here ASAP. I don’t know how much longer she’ll stay conscious.” He heard a muffled curse at the other end. There was a violent burst of flame outside the left window as Brendan saw one of the Messerschmitts blow into pieces and fall away. “Our escorts are here,” he said. “Hang on, sweetheart.” Brendan pressed his talk button. “RAF Tangmere, 3589. Be advised, we are flying with Nazi insignia. Repeat, Nazi insignia on fuselage. We have an Iron Cross at the waist and a swastika on the tail. Please do not shoot us down.” They saw an RAF Spitfire come up alongside them on the right. The pilot gave them a look. “Thirty-five-eighty-nine, this is the Spitfire on your right. We took care of the Nazi fighters. We have orders to shoot you down immediately unless we’re convinced you aren’t Nazis. Women don’t fly B-17s.” Brendan was furious. “Damn you, this one does! Where have you been? She’s a Ferrying Command pilot, fully qualified.” “Thirty-five-eighty-nine, RAF Spitfire. “You’re going to have to do better, and soon.” O’Brian had appeared with the med kit and was wrapping Shannon’s leg with a clean strip of cloth. She grimaced when he lifted her leg to run the strip underneath. The bleeding slowed. “She gonna be okay?” he asked O’Brian, desperate for assurance.

“I don’t know. There’s a lot of blood on the floor.” Brendan ran a hand through his hair in frustration, then got back to the Spitfire. “All right then, ask me a question no Nazi would know the answer to. Something about baseball, maybe.” There was a few seconds’ pause, then an American voice sounded in his ear. One of the American units must have been listening in. “Who was the American League batting champion last season?” Nicky’s voice piped up on the headset. “Luke Appling, Chicago White Sox. He hit .328 for the year.” “Nicky, little friend!” Shannon said, feeling delirious. “I forgot about you.” “Yeah, story of my life. Get this big bird on the ground.” “You ed the test,” came the reply from the Spitfire. “Great, damn it, now give us a place to touch down,” Brendan said. “And get medics to the plane. We have injured aboard. Our pilot took a hit. Hurry!” “We’ll guide you in. Follow my lead.” The Spitfire pilot they had spoken to sped up, turned on his lights, and settled in about a mile ahead of and slightly below them. Brendan looked down and saw English countryside flashing below them in the dim morning light. He turned to Shannon. “Shannon, we’re over land.” He pressed his talk button. “RAF Spitfire, how long to touchdown?” “Thirty-five eighty-nine, three minutes. Begin descent to five hundred feet. Be advised, crosswind from the right at twenty kilometers per hour.” He glanced at Shannon. She was fighting to keep her eyes open. “Gonna need your help with the brakes when we touch down,” she mumbled. “Not much use for this left leg.” “Where are the brakes?” Brendan said, trying to conceal his frustration. “Top of the rudder pedals. Push hard on the very top of the pedals and you’ll get

brakes.” “Okay. Three minutes, baby.” “Rudder not responding,” she murmured. Damn it. “RAF Spitfire, we have rudder damage. We need a straight-in approach. And we’ll only get one at this.” “Thirty-five eighty-nine, understood. Follow me. I’ll do a touch and go ahead of you. The runway boundaries will be lit up.” “Roger, Spitfire,” Brendan said. Shannon wasn’t talking, concentrating on the Spitfire ahead. “Thirty-five eighty-nine, descend to one hundred feet. Landing strip directly ahead, two kilometers.” Brendan put a hand on her shoulder as her head sank to the right, then corrected. She pulled a lever on the control . “Gear down. Check out your window.” Brendan glanced back out his window. “Gear down right.” “Going to need help with the brakes when we land,” she slurred without turning to him. “Can’t press hard with my left leg.” “I’ll press for both of us if I have to. There! I see the lights.” Two rows of small flickering lights lit the dark ground ahead. Brendan felt the bomber sinking beneath him. “Sarge, this is it,” he said into his mic. The Spitfire did a smooth touch and go ahead of them. Shannon gently lowered the big bomber and touched down barely past the first markers. “Brakes!” she said, slamming the throttles to zero. She tried to push with her injured leg, but it wouldn’t obey. Brendan reached over with his left leg and pushed her foot off the brake, pushing down with his as hard as he could while he pushed his own brake with his right. The bomber was drifting to the right, responding to the greater brake pressure on his side. He knew enough about airplanes to know that

if they ran off the runway at this speed, it could rip the landing gear off. He slacked off on the right brake and pressed harder on the left, but the awkward angle of his left leg didn’t make it easy. He could feel the B-17 drifting back to the center, but he saw the runway marker lights ending less than two hundred feet ahead. Almost imperceptibly, the bomber was slowing. He pressed harder, the aircraft wavering back and forth but slowing, slowing, until at last it rolled to a stop, the front wheel carriage on the grass just off the end of the runway. Loud cheering sounded from the back of the airplane. “Amen, guys,” he said into his mic. “We’re down.” The sound of an approaching ambulance buoyed his spirits. He turned back to Shannon. “Baby, we’re—” Shannon was slumped over the control column, unconscious.

22

Shannon’s eyes fluttered open to late afternoon sunlight. She blinked but everything was blurry. Something was close to her. Slowly it came into focus. It was Brendan’s smiling face. “Hello, sweetheart.” She moved her head back and forth weakly, tried to move her arm to touch his face but couldn’t. “I love you,” she whispered. “Where am I?” “You’re in an RAF Hospital. You were brought here this morning after we landed.” “The men—” “They’re here too. I suspect when they hear you’re awake, you’re going to have a lot of visitors.” Shannon closed her eyes again, then slowly reopened them. The room whirled. “Ohhh—” “No need to talk. Let me tell you what happened. The ambulances arrived right after we touched down. The first stretcher was brought up to the plane. The medics started to go for the wounded men. But to a man, every single one of them, no matter how desperately they needed help, insisted you be brought out first. That’s how much they respect you.” He reached forward to lovingly brush locks of errant hair from her forehead. “I picked you up out of the pilot’s seat—” Shannon frowned. “Your leg—” “To hell with the leg. Nothing’s more important to me than you. I picked you up out of the pilot’s seat and carried you back to where the medics were waiting. They lowered you down to the hatch and then onto the stretcher. Only then did the men consent to being looked at.” Shannon’s brow furrowed. “We lose anyone?”

Brendan looked sad. “We lost Meeks at the tail gun. You probably that. I’m sorry to say we lost two more among the injured when they were struck by Nazi bullets. But of the ones who made it here, everyone’s doing fine.” He put a hand gently on the side of her head. “Which brings me to you. You were struck by a piece of metal blown loose by rounds that hit your side of the cockpit. Buried itself pretty deep in your thigh. But the docs got it out and stitched you up nicely.” At that Shannon raised the sheet and looked down at her bandaged leg in dismay. “I’ll have a scar.” Brendan nodded. “Yes, no doubt about it. But you’ll have a hell of a tale to tell our children someday.” She let the sheet fall and turned to look at him. Had she heard him say “our” children? She squeezed his hand with the one hand free from the IV drip. “I’m so glad you were the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes.” Brendan reached forward and kissed her long and lovingly. “I intend to be the first thing you see every morning from now on.” She suddenly started crying. Brendan was puzzled. “What—” “I’m so sorry,” she said, sobbing. “I’m so sorry I made you think I was accusing you of helping to plan the accident, that day in the hospital. I didn’t mean—” Unable to speak further, she collapsed on the bed, her body heaving in sorrow. Brendan put his arms around her and gently lifted her. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s just fine.” He stroked her hair. “It’s just fine.” She couldn’t quite drifting off to sleep again, but when she woke in the afternoon, one of the RAF doctors was at her bedside. “You’re quite lucky,” he said genially. “The piece of metal that punctured your thigh missed a major artery. We removed it and stitched you up. You’ll have a scar and will have to be on crutches for a while. From what I hear, you’ll decide how long that will be.”

She frowned. “Will I have a limp, Doctor?” He ticked off an item on the chart he was holding. “It’s impossible to say at this point. You may end up using a cane.” Shannon squeezed her eyes shut, picturing herself with a cane. “Not on your life.” The doctor chuckled. “You’ll be on pain medications for a few more days. I’ll remove the stitches in about ten days.” “That long!” “Afraid so. We don’t rush these things. When they’re taken out, you’ll be free to return to America.” Shannon suddenly teared up, her face twisting. “Brendan—” “Corporal McClary is doing nicely. He’s in better shape than you. I believe we’ll be releasing him tomorrow. Now, I have rounds to make. Rest yourself.” He turned to go, then stopped. “By the way, Miss Donnelly, they told me about what you did in bringing these men back.” He shook his head. “Extraordinary. Truly extraordinary.” When she woke later, her first visitor was Nicky D’angelo. He came strolling in, bringing an air of welcome casualness with him. “You’re lookin’ good, doll,” he said breezily. She grasped his hand. “Nicky. So glad to know you’re okay.” “Not a scratch, thanks to you. But you oughtta see the plane. The tail is shot up bad; the rudder’s mostly gone, and the cockpit canopy looks like a sieve. It’s amazing you got it down like you did.” “My friend, we all have thanks to give to you for knowing the answer to that baseball question.” Nicky shrugged and sat down in a bedside chair. “Aw, no big thing. I bet on baseball all the time. Kind of a side job, you know? I have to keep track of that sort of stuff. Oh by the way, Cousin Tony is back safely in port. The RAF was

able to him by radio to let him know we reached England.” He tapped his knee nervously. “Say, that job offer still hold?” “Of course it does.” “Great. Tell me where I can find you and I’ll be there in about a month.”

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Brendan was there on crutches at her bedside as often and as long as the staff would let him. The nurses had to shoo him out of the room a time or two, especially when he wanted to stay while she was sleeping. Following Nicky’s appearance, a stream of visitors, the rest of the men from the flight, stopped by. To a man, they offered their deep thanks for what she had done. Some of them got emotional, which set her off too. “We owe our lives to you,” said several. “We won’t forget what you did.” “I’ll tell my children about you,” said one. “Especially my daughters. They need to know what a woman can do.” She was enormously flattered by all of this, but she was still on pain medication for her wound, which ached constantly, and not always of a clear mind. She fretted she didn’t respond adequately at times to their kindnesses. On her fourth day in the hospital, Brendan came in to see her. He was back in uniform. “They’re kicking me out of here,” he said, words that brought instant pain to Shannon. “They’re sending me back up to Burtonwood. I’ve got only three weeks left on my enlistment, and since I was injured, they’ll let me ride it out there until I’m separated. Extra time to heal up, I guess.” Shannon reached out to take his hand. “Don’t go,” she pleaded. He looked at her, face suffused with love. “I know; I don’t want to be separated

from you ever again. But I don’t have any say in this.” He bent close to her, caressing her cheek. “Have they said when you’ll be released?” She shook her head. “The doctor says he’ll take the stitches out in about another week. Then I guess they’ll let me go.” She put both hands on his neck and drew him closer. “And when they do, I’m headed for Burtonwood.” He embraced her for a long moment as she buried her face in his neck. “I want to leave you with something,” he whispered into her ear. They drew apart and he fished about in one of his pockets. “Shannon, I’ve loved you for so long. Sometimes I think it might be all the way back to the first time I saw you. I was fascinated with this tall, beautiful girl, full of dreams and spunk. I loved you when I saw you at Gruber’s Soda Shack in your waitress uniform. I loved you when I saw you in overalls out at Kazminski’s, with grease on your face and that killer smile. There was never anyone else after you; other girls didn’t measure up.” He paused, as if his fingers had found something in his pocket. “I’ve waited so long in the hope life might bring us together. But I’m not waiting any longer.” He drew a small metal box out of his pocket and opened it. “Shannon, will you marry me?” Shannon’s shriek brought nurses running. “Yes! Oh, yes!” She threw her arms about him, the pain in her leg banished, the bandages forgotten in a blissful explosion of joy. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes,” she cried. Two nurses who had heard her with alarm rushed into the room, figured out what had happened, and with a knowing wink to each other, tactfully retreated down the hallway. Shannon and Brendan embraced for long minutes, aware of nothing else but themselves. “I have so much to tell you, so much I want to say,” Shannon said, gripping his hand fiercely. I wanted to tell you in but there just wasn’t time.” “I do too,” Brendan said. “And I’ve waited almost ten years to say it. Even if we were never to be together, I knew a long time ago you’re the love of my life. No one but you.” They clung together unaware of anything but themselves. Then Brendan drew

back. “I almost forgot, the ring.” He presented the box to her and she took it with wonder. Inside was a plain gold band. “It’s not much, but it’s temporary,” he said. “I made it in the trenches during the long times when there was nothing else to do.” Shannon slipped the ring onto her ring finger. “It doesn’t matter. If you made it, it’s as beautiful as a diamond. I’ll wear it with pride.” Then she noticed something else was in the box. There was a yellowed newspaper photo of herself. It looked to be about ten years ago, probably taken, she thought, by one of the tabloid photographers. She looked up at him. “You carried this with you all this time?” He nodded. “The world’s most widely-traveled photo. Like I said, even if we never were to be together, you’re the love of my life. If I couldn’t have you, I would at least have your photo.” He smiled. “Until now.” She leaned forward and kissed him ardently. “Until now. Now I’ll give you all the love I kept for you for so long. You’ll see.”

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But with Brendan’s departure, her mood plummeted. She wanted nothing more than to be gone from the hospital to follow him. They had taken her from her hospital room and put her in a nearby cottage for recovery until the stitches came out. There was nothing else they could do with her; she wasn’t a British citizen or an American soldier, and she didn’t have a nearby home she could retreat to. She was a round peg who didn’t fit into any of their little square holes. Finally came the day, ten days later as the doctor had said, when her stitches would come out. She was excited about the prospect of leaving. But the morning of that day, someone new came to the cottage. It was a British military aide de camp. “You’re summoned to a meeting in the conference room,” he said. “Hospital staff will see that you get there.” With a click of the heels together, he

turned and left. Trouble, Shannon thought. I should have expected it. Two burly male hospital aides came in minutes later. She told them to wait on the porch while she dressed in the donated clothing she had been given, her own clothes a little the worse for wear after the flight from . The aides helped her into a wheelchair, and it was pushed across the tarmac to the hospital. Inside, she was rolled into a conference room. There were three men waiting for her at a large conference table. The aid de camp closed the door behind her, leaving an instantly uncomfortable silence in the room as she rolled the wheelchair over to the empty side of the table. Shannon looked at the three men seated before her. Two were high ranking RAF officers, with campaign medals festooning their jackets. With a jolt, she realized the third was Tech Sergeant Masters from the American unit at RAF Burtonwood, the one who had been so helpful with news of Brendan’s unit. But this time he looked supremely unhappy. As did the other two. “Good morning, Mrs. McClary,” said one of the RAF officers. “Or should I say Miss Donnelly? Or could it yet be Mrs. Patterson? I’m not entirely convinced you’re Corporal McClary’s wife. At this point I’m not sure who you are. Nevertheless, I trust they’ve seen to your needs here?” Shannon instantly disliked the tone of his voice. “Yes, very well, thank you.” The man adjusted some papers in front of him. “Excellent. I am Commodore Francis Bancroft, and this is Vice Marshall Sir Ralph Atterbury. Tech Sergeant Masters I believe you know.” The aid de camp remained anonymous in the background. If the commodore looked unhappy, Sir Ralph looked even less so, she thought. He sat frowning at her. Commodore Bancroft cleared his throat and straightened the papers in front of him. “Mrs. McClary, while we deeply appreciate your unorthodox return of the B-17, it presents a problem for us. We’re hoping you can help us solve it.”

“I see. What can I do for you?” Sir Ralph leaned forward. “You can tell us how you obtained the information as to your husband’s whereabouts on the continent. There has obviously been a security breach, and we must know how it occurred.” Shannon pursed her lips and looked at them for a moment. Sir Ralph’s tone was icy. They’re definitely pissed off, she thought. She raised her chin. “No.” Sir Ralph flushed in anger. But she could see Sergeant Masters turning aside to hide a tiny smile. Maybe she had one ally here. “You’ve placed us in a difficult situation, Mrs. McClary,” Commodore Bancroft said with the inflamed tone of someone not used to hearing no. “Come now, this is a matter of great importance. You must tell us how this happened.” Shannon bit down to keep herself from chuckling. “No.” Sir Ralph erupted with British indignation. “See here, young lady! I’ll have you thrown into prison—” “Let us back up a moment and consider all the facts,” Commodore Francis hastily put in, turning to the Vice Marshall. “We needn’t threaten.” Sir Ralph sank back in his chair, thoroughly ruffled. “Can’t we just call this even?” Shannon said. “After all, I returned a stolen B-17, rescued a group of soldiers, some of whom were badly wounded, and brought them home. Not to mention poking a finger in Der Fuehrer’s eye.” “There is more to the story,” the Commodore said. “Aboard the B-17 we found stolen art. Apparently the Nazis were scouring the countryside for art and treasure and were going to use the B-17 to take it out of the country. A poor choice of aircraft, ittedly, but perhaps that’s what they had available.” The Commodore leaned forward. “But there were also Nazi documents that show coastal gun emplacements, troop movements, and more. It’s expected to be of great value to us in prosecuting the war. That is undoubtedly why they made such a strenuous effort to either get it back or destroy it. ittedly, it must be weighed in the balance.”

“We were hoping, Mrs. McClary,” he continued, “you would be more forthcoming with this information. I find your lack of cooperation regrettable. Unfortunately, word about your escape has already gotten out. We can’t throw you in prison; the Americans would howl. They’re waiting for the return of their heroine, ticker tape at the ready as it were, and wouldn’t tolerate your imprisonment here. The war effort might suffer.” Shannon sat up as straight as she could. “That information enabled me to be reunited with the man I love. Whatever happens to me now, it was worth it.” She glared at them for good measure. Turning red, Sir Ralph looked at Sergeant Masters. “Are all American women like this?” Masters desperately suppressed a chuckle. “I’m afraid so, sir.” Commodore Bancroft picked up his papers, looking uncomfortable. “Very well. Let us come to an agreement, then. We’ll assess your accomplishment equal to the breach of security, providing you never discuss this affair with anyone, and you leave England at the earliest possible opportunity. Are we agreed?” Shannon smiled. “We are.”

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That afternoon her stitches came out. She looked ruefully at the four-inch jagged line on her thigh. Things will never be quite the same, she thought as she pulled up her tros. Sergeant Masters had stayed overnight to give her a ride to Burtonwood. She said a final farewell to the men still in the hospital, threw her crutches into the car, and hopped in. The ride was quiet for a while, then Masters spoke up. “You know that was a really stupid thing you did, don’t you?” Shannon nodded. “I know. But I had to try.”

He sighed. “We learned his unit’s location apparently just before you did. And by the way, I have my suspicions about how you got hold of that information, but I’m not going to pursue it. We were assembling a rescue team to try to get them out. We would have been ready to launch in three days.” Shannon didn’t respond immediately, not wanting to risk offending him. Finally, she said softly, “Those men didn’t have another three days. They were out of food, down to the last sips of water, and nearly out of ammunition. A few were badly wounded. I don’t think they would have been there in another three days, Sergeant Masters.” Masters nodded his head and dropped the subject. He said nothing the rest of the way about what had happened in the conference room. But he did have one piece of advice. “I think it would be a wise idea to get out of England as soon as you can. I’ll have no problem getting you a ride with one of the returning ferry crews.” “I’ll take it,” she said. “But I have one stop to make first.”

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They arrived at Burtonwood in mid-afternoon. Shannon thanked Masters profusely as he helped her up the steps of the inn he had arranged for her to stay at. “It’s on me,” he said. At the top he leaned over and gave her a hug. “You’re amazing,” he said softly. “I think I’ll be hearing about you in the years to come.” She shook his hand. “Thank you for what you didn’t say at that hearing.” “I’ll phone you when the flight is arranged. It’ll be soon. Goodbye.” She watched him go, then went inside and to her room, which was thankfully on the first floor. She didn’t doubt he’d seen to that. She sat on the bed, heart thumping as she dialed a number. Brendan answered on the first ring. “I’m here,” she said. “I’m waiting for you.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

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The mantel clock in Shannon’s room chimed softly at six o’clock. It was seconds later she heard a discreet knock. “Come in.” Brendan’s tall form filled the doorway, then he quietly entered and closed the door behind him, caught in the dim light of a small lamp. Then his right hand fell open—along with his mouth—and he dropped his jacket to the floor. Shannon stood across the small room, the highlights of her brown hair russet in the semi-dark. The light from a lamp at her side played across her cheekbones, her lips, the delicate shell of her right ear, highlighting the beautiful features that had so entranced Brendan the first time he saw her. Her nipples were twin peaks under the thin robe she was wearing, promising so much more. The crutches lay nearby, momentarily abandoned. She was ing herself mostly on her right leg, her thigh still bandaged. He didn’t care. “I want you,” she said. “Not tomorrow. Not when we return to America. Not when my leg is healed. Now. Here. Tonight.” With that she slowly drew open the robe and let it fall around her feet. Brendan forgot to breathe. She was ravishing, irresistible, both all a man could ever want and more than he could hope for. He realized his mouth was open and closed it. Walking slowly across the room, he came up to her. Her hair shone in the lamp light, her eyes sparkled with desire above her smile. Wordlessly he bent down and sweeping his left arm under her knees, picked her up and slowly, gently, lowered her onto the bed. She winced in pain. “Don’t worry. Nothing intrudes on this night.” He removed his clothes and lay down beside her, taking her in his arms and cradling her head. “You’re even more magnificent than I imagined.”

“Did you imagine me often?” “More times than I can tell you.” “You don’t have to imagine any more.” He put his lips to hers in a long embrace, running his hand over the satiny flare of her hip. “Shannon, I love you. I’ve wanted you for ten years, probably longer. I can’t say it in words.” A ripple of doubt crossed her face. “I’m sorry you’re not the first. But there has been only Drew.” “Sshh,” he said. “Tonight we’re both virgins.” They lay long in embrace, hands moving over each other, exploring and learning about what each had wanted for so long. Then his hand moved between her thighs to her entrance, exploring, teasing, until her breath caught in her throat and she wanted to scream. “Take me,” she whispered urgently in his ear. He carefully moved above her then, gently lowering his body onto hers. He was for her the last piece of a puzzle fitting into place, the missing word of a new song, the final note of a beautiful symphony imperfect without it. His lips fell onto hers and it was all new to her, all for the first time, sweeping her up into a surrender so complete there was nothing left of her will, her last defenses vanquished, her last walls broken, shattered. She felt his heart pounding in his chest as if it were her own, as she merged her flesh with his, a new creation complete unto itself. She gasped as he took her then, the rhythm of his embrace plunging her into depths of darkness and light that would not let her go. Afterward they lay side by side, fingers wordlessly tracing the outlines of each other’s form, reaffirming the astounding reality of lying together, the sweeping aside of all the time lost in the melancholy of separation, for this unlikely bliss. When their consciousness returned to the room around them, a room with a soft light, a throw rug on the floor, a flowered bedspread and a mantel clock ticking away, he pulled the covers over them and let the last remnants of the perfect, joyous explosion of union carry them into sleep.

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Morning found them still entangled in each other’s arms. Brendan gently brushed back the hair from her forehead and she blinked into wakefulness. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said softly. “Good morning,” she said sleepily. “Did I mention I love you? Let’s not get up. Let’s stay here.” Brendan sighed happily. “There’s nothing I’d like more, but I have to get back to the base. They don’t have anything for me to do, but I do have to put in an appearance.” She rolled over and hugged him tightly to her. “Phooey.”

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Shannon got a phone call that afternoon from Masters. The flight back home was arranged. They would fly her back on a troop transport to Washington, D.C. the following morning. She immediately packed, called Brendan, and went to see him one last time before departure. “I’m going home to make a place for you,” she said. “It will be ready when you reach California. I’ll be at the airstrip tomorrow morning. Be there if you can.” And he was, standing in the dim pre-dawn light bundled up against the wet fog. He swept her into his arms one last time, saw her board, then watched her plane take off into the growing light, feeling an ache inside that nothing but Shannon could relieve.

Shannon was questioned briefly in Washington by Army officials. She politely answered their questions but was no more cooperative on how she had learned Brendan’s location than she was with the RAF. They told her they would keep the story quiet for a while, perhaps until after the war, when such heroic deeds would be celebrated. She told them she didn’t want any parades anyway. When they released her, she got a message from home that Charles had wired her money for a sleeping-car train ride back to California. She happily accepted it since she had telephone home immediately after arriving stateside and told him and Sarah that she wanted to come back home by rail. She needed time to decompress. Her flight over the Atlantic had been unremarkable. For once, she was happy to let someone else do the flying. The men on board shot sideways glances at her now and then, having heard, despite the Army’s best efforts, the story of her daring rescue mission to , and being stunned by it, and that the woman who did it was now in their presence. Shannon boarded the westbound train on a Saturday morning. She found her sleeping berth and deposited her meager possessions there. Then she went into one of the seating cars to relax, a pad of writing stationery with her. She had so much that needed saying, and this was the time to do it. As the train rolled along toward the west, she wrote letters to Brendan for him to read when he came home. There was so much that she could not have said before his return. In time, she would tell him everything there was to tell. But now, when all her thoughts were together, she would tell him that she had kept him alive in her heart for all the years, that he had been a part of her even when she was with Drew—that he always would be. And she wrote to Josie, her closest friend, her partner, her solid rock, who had guarded their business for her for longer than she should have had to.

My dear Josie,

It seems like such a long time since we’ve been together, even though it’s just

weeks. So much has happened. Mercury Air Freight belongs more to you than me now. You’ve kept it for me, awaited my return at a date neither of us could know. You’ve been so strong for me, my sister, but I fear I’ve asked too much of you. Will you accept my apology?

I can’t tell you all that has happened in the last few weeks. Not in a letter, maybe not even in person. I was foolish beyond measure. I risked my life for my man. And we were fortunate to survive. But we did, and it was worth it. For Brendan is coming home. To me, to all of you. You can’t imagine the plans we’ve already made. He has restored me, strengthened me, and given me fresh hope for tomorrow.

I think back now to our earliest times together. When you sat down next to me in that classroom and your nameplate read “Kelly”, I liked you immediately. We were so young and brash, so full of ourselves and what we thought we could do. But we put effort and faith behind our dreams, and they’ve come to fruition. We persevered when the deck was stacked against us as women, was stacked against you because of the color of your beautiful skin. The betrayal of your own government will never be forgotten. You would have made such a fine WASP! One of the best, I don’t doubt.

The war is over for Brendan and me now, but not for others. I think of those still fighting, of those yet to die in this horrible affair—and of those brave men who died on our desperate flight across the English Channel. Those who survive will go back to their wives or husbands or come home and meet the one they’ll marry. But I sadden for those that will yet lay down their lives on foreign soil. They deserve to live, to prosper, to see their children grow. It’s such a great tragedy. Why must we fight? Is there no better answer?

We’ll see each other soon, dear friend. Yes, I’ve asked so much, but my affection for you has never wavered, and I look forward to the time when we will walk together along our flight line, look at what has been built, and call it good. Until

then, I am—

Your loving sister,

Shannon

At the next stop she mailed the letter Air Mail.

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The train reached Los Angeles in four days. Shannon stepped down from her car to an explosion of humanity running at her like a big wave to a rock on the shore. Dot, with her young legs, reached her first and threw herself at her. Seconds later, she was battered with the rest as Charles, Sarah, and Josie enveloped her. Josie hung back until Shannon could be free. Then she went to Shannon with a bouquet of flowers, embracing her tightly. “Too long,” Shannon whispered in her ear. “Too long apart. Did you get my letter?” Josie nodded and pulled back, wiping away a tear. “It’s beautiful.” Shannon noticed Josie’s parents standing off a short distance away and went to them awkwardly with her crutches. “Thank you for all you’ve done in my absence,” she said. Josie’s mother looked her in the eye as she grasped her hand firmly. “We trusted you were doing what you had to do.” It was the best thanks she could have received.

It was firmly decided by Charles that Shannon would recuperate at the Pearson house. Everything that was put in motion was preparation for Brendan’s return. Shannon settled in, but on her second day back was interrupted by a surprise visitor. Sarah opened her front door to find Patrick McClary standing there. She froze, speechless. Patrick looked apologetic. “I heard Shannon came home,” he said. “I came to talk to her, if she’ll let me.” Sarah stiffened. “That’s up to her, but not if I had my way. Go around the side of the house. You’ll find her on the back deck.” Patrick nodded and walked around to the back. Sarah went into the kitchen where she could watch through the window for any sign of trouble. Shannon looked up from her chair at the sound of footsteps. Her eyes flew open in amazement to see Patrick McClary standing there, hands gripping his hat tightly, his muscular body tense. “Miss Shannon, I came to talk to you, if you’ll allow me. There are some things that need saying.” Shannon, at a loss for words, nodded and pointed to a chair opposite her. She had never been more curious in her life about what he could possibly have to say. Patrick sat, looking tense and uncomfortable. “Miss Shannon, I want to tell you I never knew your accident was something Cormac planned and paid for. He kept it a secret. And it might have stayed that way, but the sheriff in Santa Maria found the guy he hired. A process of elimination and the sudden disappearance of an airplane mechanic put them on the trail. A lot of hard questions and a plea deal, and he spilled the beans. Cormac paid him to put the acid on the wing of your airplane.” He leaned forward. “Please believe me he never told me about it. And if I never knew it, neither did Brendan.” Shannon regarded him coolly. “And where is Cormac now?” Patrick hung his head. “In Folsom Prison for attempted murder. I’m convinced he would have tried again to kill you if you’d remained here. It’s a long

sentence, and I suspect he’ll die there. He hasn’t been in good health lately.” He paused, as if gathering strength for his next words. “Miss Shannon, what pains me the most is that none of this had to happen. It was all so stupid and unnecessary.” Shannon sat up. That was what she had been waiting nearly all her life to hear. “No, it didn’t have to happen.” She stood up, and Patrick rose to his feet too. “There were things set in motion long before any of us came to be on this earth. Too many of both of our clans nurtured them, kept them alive as they were ed mindlessly on to future generations. Too many people were seduced by this madness. And it’s going to end with me and Brendan, and with you. Brendan and I are going to be married. And my new name will be Shannon Donnelly-McClary.” Patrick looked at her, the hint of a smile on his face, scarcely believing what he heard. Slowly he nodded. “Welcome to the clan, Shannon.”

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A week later, Brendan came home. All of Shannon’s family and friends were at the airport when he arrived. But they all hung back to let Shannon go to him. She started out with her crutches but three steps away threw them down and limped to him as fast as she could. He ran to her and lifted her into his arms as she cried on his shoulder. Brendan took her face in his hands. “Never again apart,” he said. She looked at him, eyes alive with joy. “Never again.”

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Shannon and Brendan were married a month later in a modest private ceremony. Shannon wore a floor-length pale blue gown with embroidered sleeves. A magnificent bouquet was provided by Bette Davis, who sat discreetly in the back row and looked on with pleasure. Shannon appeared at the back of the church on Charles’ arm. She walked down the aisle, now with a cane, but stopped at the bottom of the altar steps and gave it to Dot. Then, eyes firmly fixed on Brendan, she mounted the steps on her own, not without effort, but with the same determination she had shown at her first solo flight, at the WASP academy, at the forest on the edge of the sea in . They had memorized their vows so they could look into each other’s eyes when they spoke. Josie stood at her side, wiping away an occasional tear. Brendan had obtained a beautiful wedding ring to replace the one he had made in the field in . Shannon accepted it with joy, and not a little surprise. How he got it was a secret he would keep for several years. And so it was done. Shannon and Brendan walked down the aisle into a mass of well-wishers. At one point, Brendan became separated from her in the crowd, and she glanced to the side to see him shaking hands with Patrick, who had apparently been sitting in the back row. When she looked again, Patrick was gone. They both had had enough travel for a while and decided against an immediate honeymoon trip. Maybe later. When they exited the church, there were tabloid photographers waiting for them. Shannon would never know how Louella Hopper got wind of the occasion, but then again that was her business. In the following week, she received an invitation from the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce to participate in a ticker-tape parade down Hollywood Boulevard, Tinsel Town’s very own female war hero to ride in a convertible with her new husband. She politely declined.

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Shannon and Josie walked out to the flight line at Mercury Air Freight headquarters. Brendan was nearby, but content to let the two have some girl talk.

Shannon leaned on her cane as she swept her vision around to encom all their operation had become. “Another month and this cane is history,” she said. “That what the doc says?” Josie said, a playful smile on her face. “No, it’s what I say.” She turned a full circle, taking in all that had been built. “It’s grown so much. You’ve done a wonderful job.” “It wasn’t just me,” Josie said. “You were here in spirit, giving me the determination to press on.” She looked out across the runway into the barren land around them. Then she pointed west. “See those houses on the horizon? They weren’t there last year. Even with the war on, the building has continued. They’re coming to us. There’s going to be a lot of people to serve in the years to come. We’re ready. We have a fleet of twenty aircraft, and we’re in California, Utah, Nevada, and southern Idaho. Between us, we can decide on the next step.” “I was thinking Brendan could take over the running of the business, be our CEO. He does have an MBA, after all. Do you think your dad would be willing to let it go?” “Oh, more than willing. He could go back full time to his company, which he misses, and it misses him. I’ll ask him next time he’s here.” Shannon turned to her. “I was so pleased you stood as my Maid of Honor. I’ll always treasure that.” “Well, I won’t be a maid much longer. Langston and I have set a date.” “Oh?” “Yes; we’re getting married in the spring.” Shannon reached over and gave Josie a hug. “I’d be honored. Girl, you are full of surprises. But I have one for you. I think I’ve convinced Leroy to come out of retirement and be our chief mechanic.” “That would be fantastic,” Josie said. She was quiet for a moment, but Shannon sensed she had more to say.

“Something else?” Josie’s gaze was out over the land. “I was wondering if you’re going to go back to the Ferrying Command.” Shannon shook her head. “No, I’m going to resign. I don’t want to be separated from Brendan anymore. I did my part for the war.” “And then some,” Josie said. She put an arm around her waist. “Glad you’re sticking around.”

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The next day Shannon told Brendan she had some business to take care of and would rather go alone if he didn’t mind. “We were apart a long time,” he said. “I’m sure there are things you need to see to that don’t need me tagging along.” “It’s about a promise I made.” “Then I know how important it is. Go on, then.” She kissed him briefly. “Tell you when I get back.” She drove out into the desert to the town of Highland, a place she had not been to since fourteen years before, when she was newly orphaned. She cruised slowly through the dusty streets, probing her memory to find the one she wanted but the name of which she had forgotten. It was a somewhat familiar neighborhood that put her on the right track at last. A house on the corner of one street made her stop in the middle of the road. Yes, this was it. An impatient honk behind her prodded her to turn left. The street was as dusty as ever, still unpaved. Tired white picket fences lined drab yards punctuated by shade trees offering inadequate relief to the sometimes-blistering sun. She crept down the street looking at the houses, searching for a spark of

familiarity. At the far end of the second block, she found it, pulled over to the curb, and stopped. Slowly she got out and looked at the house. It was dustier than she ed it, the porch obviously unswept for a long time and dotted with dead plants in clay pots and a pile of newspaper fliers yellowed from the sun. The windows were boarded up. At one side, the skeleton of a tree she ed as thick with leaves the day Barkley had brought her in stood long dead, its bare limbs futilely reaching into the air. She looked above the front door. The sign was still there, though faded and warped now: MRS. BARKLEY’S HOME FOR WAYWARD CHILDREN. She paused at the gate that hung from one hinge in front of the yard, a once-pleasant space now gone to dirt and weeds. Then she stepped forward. Circling the house slowly, she saw derelict children’s toys thickly covered with dust and a cracked garden hose that long ago swelled with the flow of water. An old swing set missing two of its four seats stood in back of the house next to a dead palm tree. She found one of the seats on the ground. Slowly she walked back around to the front and out onto the sidewalk, where she paused for one last look. She had been there such a very short time, but it was etched indelibly in her memory. Over the years she had sometimes thought about the children she had met, living their quiet desperation in a world that appeared to have little use for them. She turned to the car, opened the door, and stopped, aware of someone across the street. A woman was staring at her. Then she was walking slowly across the street toward her, face slack in disbelief. She stopped a few feet away, loose strands of blond hair waving in a sudden gust of breeze. She clenched and unclenched her hands, trying to speak but failing. “It’s you, isn’t it?” she finally said. “It’s really you. You’re Shannon Donnelly.” Shannon was by this time feeling a dawning recognition creep over her. She knew this woman. Or rather, she had known her as a girl. It was Gwendolyn, the girl with blond pigtails that she had met when she was at the house, the girl who had warned her about Mrs. Barkley’s treatment of those who failed to live up to her rules. She put a hand to her mouth. “Gwendolyn!” In slow motion they came together in an embrace in the middle of the street.

Gwendolyn at last pulled back, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I thought of you often after you left,” she said. “I followed your career, wishing I could have been with you in those wonderful adventures. I—I hoped that one day you might come back.” Shannon was nearly dizzy with emotion. “How is it you’re here?” “It’s on my way to work. I wish it wasn’t; sometimes I take a detour just to avoid it.” “How wonderful that we should meet here. What a miracle this is. I never forgot you or the other children I met that night.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve wondered about them over the years. Do you know what became of them?” Gwendolyn looked away down the street seemingly at nothing. “A few were adopted, some stayed until they were eighteen and were put out on their own. Others walked away and disappeared. I think they were inspired by you. I know where a few are, but most were lost to me long ago.” Shannon glanced at the dusty, crumbling house again. “What happened to Barkley?” Gwendolyn turned back to her. “She lost her license the year after your escape and moved to the far side of town. The Depression came on and the house was shuttered. It’s been that way ever since.” She raised her chin briefly, glancing up into the sky, then back. “Mrs. Barkley died four years ago. She wasn’t all that old, but I think she felt she had nothing to live for anymore. The Depression just pushed her over the edge.” “She was hardly alone in that,” Shannon said softly. She attempted a smile, but it contorted with emotion. “Gwendolyn, the last time I saw you, you asked me to you. I did, and the other children I met as well. I’d like to see you try to find as many of them as you can, if you’re willing. Tell them to come see me at Mercury Air Freight out toward Ontario. I want to talk with them, to see what’s become of them, to tell them they have a friend in me—to see if I can help them in some way. You, of course, are welcome there at any time. I want you to come, and soon.” Gwendolyn hugged her once more. “I will, and I’ll try to find as many as I can. And I’ll let them know. God bless you for not forgetting .” She put a

hand to her face. “I—I’m sorry; I have to go.” Gwendolyn turned away, walking briskly down the sidewalk. Shannon stood in the street watching her go, then turned to her car and slowly drove away.

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A month after the wedding, Shannon took Brendan to a spot overlooking the ocean north of Los Angeles. They sat on a bench gazing down at the waves below, the hiss of the surf rolling up onto the sand a soothing comfort. The sun was setting, not far above the horizon, bathing them in a golden glow. Shannon snuggled against Brendan on the bench. “There’s something we need to talk about, the sooner the better.” Brendan turned to her. “Is it Drew?” She nodded. “We were together for a long time. I married him because you disappeared, and I needed somebody. He was good to me and his memory will always be a part of me, deep down. I can’t dismiss what we had together. I can’t wave a magic—” “I don’t expect you to,” he interrupted. “I want you to know that right now. I was stupid enough to give up on winning you. I don’t begrudge you his memory. He kept you safe for all those years, and for that I’m grateful. In a strange way, I owe him. So I’m okay with the memory of what you had being a part of you now.” He nuzzled her neck. “There’s room in your heart for that. And in mine.” “He’s buried so far away. I wish I could visit his grave to honor his memory. If we happen to be back east, I’d like to go to Arlington Cemetery and do that.” “I’ll buy the flowers,” he whispered in her ear. Shannon looked at him, eyes shining. “I love you and only you. That will never change. Thank you for understanding.”

She moved to sit in front of him. He slid back on the bench to make a space for her, his arms wrapped around her, watching as the soft breeze played with her hair. She turned to him, her eyes alive with the amazing fact that she was in his arms, that he was here, after so many years apart. She leaned back into him, bringing his arms more tightly around her. Brendan had noticed the look in her eyes. “Was there some other reason you wanted us to come here?” She turned her head. “The sea always seems like the perfect place to celebrate a beginning. Ours and ...” He looked at her expectantly. “I’m pregnant.” Brendan’s mouth dropped open, then he hugged her fiercely to him. “I love you,” he whispered. “When do you think it happened?” “In England. It’s perfect it happened on our first time together.” She looked out to sea. “If it’s a boy, what do you think you’d want him to know as he grows into a man?” Brendan raised his chin, looking out at the lowering sun sending a fiery golden streak across the water to them. “I’d want to teach him how to be a man, and that part of that is to treasure the woman in his life. To realize how much she could mean to him, how much she could help him. I’d teach him how simple it is to keep her—not easy but simple, about the little things he could do each day that most men don’t, that would show her he thinks of her all the time, in his comings and goings, his good times and his hard times. That when he falters, she is his bedrock, his foundation.” He turned to her. “If it's a girl, what would you want her to know?” Shannon smiled at the thought. “I’d want to teach her how to be a lady, and how to keep going when the world around her says, ‘stop’, to say ‘Yes I can’ when the world says, ‘No you can’t’. I’d teach her how to find the man she needs, and how to keep him. I’d teach her to value herself highly, to not give herself to anyone cheaply, and above all to always believe in herself. I’d show her how to aim high, and then go after it.” She looked up at the sunlit azure heavens dotted with pink puffy clouds. “I’d show her how to reach for the sky.”

Author’s Notes

This novel had an unusual beginning. The first page or two was written several years ago as the intended start for an entirely different novel. It went nowhere and was forgotten among my numerous files. Then, last year I came across it quite by accident. The story was originally set in Texas around 1880. Later I found that, having written five novels set in the Old West, I had written enough of that era. But the premise of this story still drew me in. I transferred the time to the 1920s (a period that has long intrigued me), and the location to southern California. I set my heroine in motion, and off we went. The Golden Age of Aviation (1920s-1930s) is a rich period from which to mine stories. Aviation inventions came thick and fast, flying fads (such as pylon racing, every bit as dangerous as portrayed) came and went, and Hollywood came on board with a flock of films about flying. The first film mentioned during the Hollywood period of this story, Flying Devils, was a real film, starring the actors mentioned, and filmed and released during the time indicated in the story. The WASP program was formed August 5th, 1943, and dissolved on December 20th, 1944, just months after Shannon resigned. In that brief period, over 25,000 women applied for the program. Only 1,830 were accepted and of those, 1,074 completed the training. The women flew over 60 million miles in every type of military aircraft, towed targets, simulated strafing missions, transported cargo, and ferried new aircraft from the factory to the duty station. General “Hap” Arnold, Commanding General of the United States Airforce, memorialized the end of the WASP program in these words: “You and more than 900 of your sisters have shown that you can fly wingtip to wingtip with your brothers. If ever there was any doubt in anyone’s mind that women can become skillful pilots, the WASP have dispelled that doubt. I want to stress how valuable I believe the whole WASP program has been for the country. . . I salute you and all WASP. We of the Army Air Force are proud of you, we will never forget our debt to you.”

The character of Josie Kelly is inspired by the life of Mildred Hemmons Carter (1921-2011), to whom this novel is dedicated. She was one of the first women to earn a pilot’s license through the Civilian Pilot Training Program and was the first black female pilot in Alabama. After graduating from high school at fifteen, Carter enrolled at Tuskegee University, where she majored in business. In 1941 she received her private pilot’s certificate, becoming the first black female pilot in Alabama. She was also the first black woman in the Montgomery Alabama Civil Air Patrol Squadron. Because she was a woman, she was not able to pursue more advanced training through Tuskegee’s Civilian Pilot Training Program. So she applied for the WASP Program. Despite having already logged more than 100 hours of flying time, she was rejected because of her race. During WWII, Carter worked at Montgomery, Alabama’s Moton field as Chief Clerk of the Quartermaster Corps. She also rigged parachutes and operated a bulldozer to clear airstrips. In 2011, she was declared an official member of the WASP and was also declared a Designated Original Tuskegee Airman. Sadly, Mildred Carter was not the only black woman denied entry into the WASP Program, despite the acceptance of several other women of color: Native American, Chinese American, and Hispanic women became WASP pilots. Several black women made it to the final interview stage of the application process. All were rejected. World War II records were sealed for thirty-five years, so it was not until 1977 that the general public was able to learn more about the WASP program. It was initiated at the time indicated in the story, and the details of WASP training contained herein are believed to be accurate. There was indeed ongoing resentment of females being trained to fly Army aircraft, ranging from verbal abuse to outright vandalism. The women were treated as expendable secondclass citizens. They flew beat-up aircraft in training, tested repaired aircraft to determine if they were airworthy, wore hand-me-down male flight suits, received the same training as the male pilots, and generally were afforded no accommodations for being women. The toileting situation portrayed for the B-17 and other military aircraft was real; sometimes women had to land to make use of a toilet. Thirty-eight WASP pilots lost their lives, and one disappeared while on a ferry

mission. Neither she nor her airplane have ever been found. Of the thirty-eight, eleven died during training, and twenty-seven were killed on active-duty missions. Yet when it came time to grant them recognition, the effort encountered strong resistance. They were federal civil service employees and had no military benefits. Repeated efforts to grant them military status met with failure in congress, opposition by some media, and angry letters from male pilots, who felt their own military status was being trivialized. At times opposition was voiced by the Veterans istration, the American Legion, and the Veterans of Foreign Wars. But finally, in 1977, President Jimmy Carter signed legislation that WASP pilots were considered to have been on “active duty”, and Honorable Discharge certificates were issued to former WASP in 1979. And in a longoverdue honor, in 2009 President Barack Obama and the United States Congress awarded WASP pilots the Congressional Gold Medal. In 2009, the WASP pilots were inducted into the International Air and Space Hall of Fame, capping a long fight for recognition for their service that should never have been necessary. To this day, a widespread knowledge and appreciation of their efforts has not been achieved. Many WASPS wanted to continue flying after the WASP program ended. Some volunteered for the Chinese Air Force to fly against Japan. Some distinguished themselves in their return to civilian life with flying assignments of various kinds. Some applied to commercial enger airlines as pilots, but at least with the larger airlines, ran into a uniform wall of discrimination against women. But too many of the well-trained pilots of the WASP program met with little success in their postwar efforts to keep flying. For some, the sudden separation from a life of intense dedication to America’s war effort, a life in which they took great pride as citizen-soldiers, the abrupt ending of the WASP program was too much, as they drifted into alcoholism, depression, and suicide. Nearly 13,000 B-17s were built. When the war ended, they were ferried back across the Atlantic, where the majority were sold for scrap and melted down. Only forty B-17 airframes still exist in the U.S., and of these only nine are airworthy, though a few others are undergoing restoration.[10] WWII B-17 crews were required to fly a certain number of missions before they could be reassigned to other duties or sent home. B-17 crewmen had only a twenty per cent chance of surviving their full requirement of missions flown.

Two of Shannon’s roommates at the Ohio B-17 training school, s Green and Blanche Osborn, were named after actual WASPs well-known as part of a foursome of WASP pilots pictured walking from their B-17, Pistol Packin’ Mama. This novel has brought me a great deal of enjoyment, both in the research and the writing. I am grateful to my wife Sherrie for the time taken away from her to create this work, and for her analysis of the developing story, as she was the first one to see these pages. She also brought a much-valued female perspective to the reading. Thanks must also go to Carol Cain, of the National WASP WWII Museum in Sweetwater, Texas, for providing important details about WASP life. I consider myself primarily an entertainer who likes to educate along the way. It is my sincere hope that you have found enjoyment in these pages. One of the most important things we independent authors can have are reviews. If you enjoyed this novel, first, spread the word! And then please go to amazon.com, find Reach for the Sky’s page in the book listings, and write a review. It will be both appreciated and vital more than you know. Cover concept and art by BespokeBookCovers.com.

James Scott June, 2020

[1] Shays were specialized steam locomotives built for logging operations in the mountains. [2] Lyrics by Al Dubin; Music by Joe Burke. Featured in the 1930 film, Dancing Sweeties. Recorded by various artists. [3] Con man. [4] Become very excited. [5] broke [6] Later to be renamed Los Angeles Airport. [7] A know-it-all. [8] Released July 1933 by RKO Radio Pictures [9] 1940s term for a lesbian. [10] Source: www.airplanesofthepast.com