Mary Susan regarded her for a moment. “If you’d like to lie down, I will watch for your young man. Tell me what he looks like.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t…” But she was so tired. And maybe if she could just rest for a moment, she might be able to untangle her panic, breathe deep, figure out how she got here.
“He’s tall and blond, with the kindest green eyes and magnificent shoulders—he plays baseball for the Brooklyn Robins.”
“Does he now?” Sister Mary Sue smiled. “I’m a fan.”
“Maybe I’ll just sleep for a moment.” She scooted away from the woman, lay down, cradling her head on her hands, drawing up her legs. “Just ten minutes. You’ll wake me?”
“Of course, dear.”
She drew in a long breath, finally feeling the warmth of the sweater touch her bones. “I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me.”
The nun patted her. “Because God loves you, Daughter.”
Rosie shook her head. “Trust me, I haven’t done anything to earn His love.”
“It’s a good thing that it can’t be earned then. The Holy Scriptures say that when we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. That settles peace in my bones at night.”
Rosie’s eyes flickered shut. “Please, Sister. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
She heard a huff of air, perhaps a chuckle. “We all have something to worry about, child. We all go to God hoping to bargain, only to discover we are fools. But it’s in our foolishness that we discover grace.”
“I’d love to know what that might look like,” Rosie said, the darkness closing around her. She still felt the nun’s hand on her shoulder.
“Shh. Rest now. I’ll make sure you find your beloved.”
Rosie was out long enough for the memories to assault her. Cesar, angry as he slapped her, then Lilly on the boat, pledging to forgive her. Dashielle in the garden, laughing at her proposal, Finn’s cry as his boat drifted away.
No, not a cry. The sound of a train whistle. She opened her eyes, feeling the edges of her hands imprinted in her face. Pushing herself up, she found the clock.
“Six thirty! I’ve missed the train.” She rounded on the sister. “You were supposed to wake me.” She wiped her face, knowing she was only making it worse.
“I have kept my word,” Mary Susan said, her face a picture of calm.
“But the train left! Are you saying he never showed up?” She got up, moved out of the pew, hating that she’d put so much into this wild hope of catching Guthrie, hating that she even needed rescue. She stood there dwarfed in the nun’s sweater, soggy and looking like she’d slept in an alley, and despised her weakness for putting her heart in the hands of Jack, then Dashielle and Lilly, of Cesar and Guthrie. Of Sister Mary Sue.
Of God.
She put her hand over her mouth and tried not to whimper, not wanting to consider what she might do next, how she might return to the Algonquin, or perhaps straight to her mother’s home, dragging Cesar and his thugs with her.
“Red?”
She stilled. Swallowed.
“Don’t go. I brought you coffee.”
She turned, and he was there. Wearing his ball coat and a pair of dark pants, a tie, his blond hair glistening, clean-shaven, those strong arms holding two cups of steaming coffee. He offered a slight smile, his eyes so sweet she could weep right there.
“Guthrie,” she breathed. “I—I thought I’d missed you.”
He glanced at Sister Mary Sue, who dusted off her habit, picked up her valise. “I believe my train is about ready to board,” she said as she stood. She met Rosie’s eyes, hers golden and bright. “So lovely to meet you and your fiancé,” she said quietly. She glanced at Guthrie and leaned close. “I believe God would approve.”
He would? Rosie offered the faintest smile. Then, “Your sweater—wait.”
The sister turned, shook her head. “Let it keep you warm on your trip. I will make another.”
Rosie couldn’t help it. She threw her arms around the sister. “Thank you.”
When she let her go, it seemed the nun’s eyes glistened. “It’s my pleasure to serve a child of God.” She patted Rosie’s cheek before she moved away.
“We have a train to catch too, Red.”
Guthrie’s voice stilled her, and she just stood there, dumb at her turn of fortune. “But I thought the train already left.”
He handed her the cup of coffee then reached into his pocket. “Not the train to Kansas City. My mother called and hoped I could come home. I would love for her to meet you.” He stepped closer and wiped the handkerchief down her cheek. “You’re a little smudged there.”
She winced at his touch, pain spearing through her. “Ow.”
He peered closer, and she wanted to shy away. “Red, did someone hit you?”
She stared at her coffee.
“It was Cesar, wasn’t it?” His tone bruised her, a hiss to his voice.
She nodded.
He looked away, his jaw tight. “Where is he?”
“Guthrie, no. Listen. I—I made a mistake. I should have said yes to you right off, but I—”
“So that’s what this is about.” He stared at her with such sadness she wanted to look away. He shook his head. “I came in and this nun started waving at me. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you there, sleeping on the bench, as if you’d actually been waiting for me—”
“I was—”
“Then she told me to go get you some coffee, and…you don’t even have a suitcase, Red. You didn’t plan this. You came here because, what? You got in a fight with Cesar?”
She looked away from him, her teeth on her lip, because yes, his words sounded right, but—“No. Yes, he hit me. And more—”
“More?”
“I’m okay. And yes, he scared me. But that’s not why I’m here, Guthrie. I…” She closed her eyes, willing herself to say it, finding it easier than she thought. “I want to marry you. I want to be your wife.”
Silence. She waited for a reply, anything, but when he said nothing, she opened her eyes.
He had put down his cup on the bench. Had his hand tented over his eyes, as if he might be crying. Or so angry that—
“Yes.” He looked up, and yes, his eyes were wet. “I don’t want to know why you’re here, why you’ll marry me. Just that you will.” He got up, took the coffee from her hand, set it beside his on the bench. “And in case you need another reminder…” He got down on one knee. “Red Worth, will you be my wife? I promise to love you for as long as I live.”
She touched his cheek, unable to speak, and nodded.
He smiled. “Very good. Because I already bought your ticket to Kansas.”
She threw her arms around him, and he caught her around the waist, picking her up, burying his head in her shoulders. “I’m going to take care of you, Red. I promise to make you happy.”
“I—I love you, Guthrie.”
He set her down, touched her forehead to his. “One day you’ll mean that.”
She started to protest, but he covered his mouth with hers, his hand on her unhurt cheek, kissing her. Sweetly, with his whole heart.
And, she kissed him back just the same, without a measure of charade.
Guthrie. His name was on her lips when she pulled away, caught in his gaze. He took her hand. “Let’s go home.”
He picked up his suitcase and retrieved her coffee. She took a sip, relishing it as they walked into the ticketing area, toward their platform. Light washed through the half-moon windows high above, like streams from heaven. Guthrie took her hand, holding it tight.
Home. Yes.
“Red. No wonder you fought me. You’ve been saving it all for baseball.”
The voice knotted in her stomach. She turned, and Cesar stood in the center of the terminal with several men grouped behind him. A bandage covered his nose. He pinned her with his dark eyes, a smirk on his face as he advanced toward her. “Did you think you could run from me? That I wouldn’t find
you?”
Beside her, Guthrie took a long breath. “Leave her alone, Cesar. She’s leaving with me.”
Cesar raised his eyebrow. “Really?” He motioned to one of the men, who edged up behind Guthrie. “I don’t think so. See, she’s my new leading lady, and I’d hate to have to close the show.” He reached up to the string of pearls, grabbing hold as if Rosie might be on a leash. “She belongs to me. Isn’t that right, doll?”
She considered his smile, remembered his greasy lips on hers, and shot a glance at Guthrie. He appeared calm, just the hint of a storm behind his eyes, but she’d seen that look before when he was grappling at Vito’s.
“No, that’s not right.” She jerked her arm hard and in that same second threw her hot coffee at Cesar’s face, splashing him with the scalding liquid. He cursed, even as he yanked, hard.
The strand of pearls shattered, cascading to the floor.
Guthrie jerked into action, his reflexes quick as he put his fist into the face of Cesar’s driver. She saw blood as Guthrie caught her elbow. “Run!”
She took off, Guthrie a step behind her, toward the gated area. The conductor stood at their gate, and Guthrie shoved the tickets into his hand. She dared a look behind her and saw the driver scrambling to his feet, Cesar wiping his face with his coat, searching for her.
They were through the gate before he found them. “Red! I swear if you ever come back to New York, I’ll kill you dead!”
“Don’t listen to him,” Guthrie said as he lifted her onto the train stairs.
But she stood at the window of their car, watching as Cesar glared at her from the gate, and tried to pry the words from her soul.
Guthrie drew the shade. Then he unwound the remains of the shattered pearls from her neck. They made a well of shiny broken eggs in his hand. He tucked them into his jacket pocket then pulled her against him, his amazing arms tight around her shoulders. “You’re safe now, Red. I promise, no matter what happens, I’ll keep you safe.”
Chapter 12
Finally, they were headed west.
“Lusk, Wyoming?” Lilly climbed out of the cockpit and landed on the dry, dusty ground. A tumbleweed chased the wind down the runway. Still, despite the dry, chilly air, she breathed in the smell of the West—sage and prairie grasses and bitterroot flowers. To the north, she could make out the hazy purple cutout of the mountains against the sky, white-capped and breathing winter upon them.
“Listen, I got wind that Daily’s Air Devils is coming in next week, and we need to make sure that everyone in the town of Lusk spends their cash on us. We need the money to head south for the winter.” Marvel shucked off his leather jacket, shoved it into his airplane. “It’ll take a couple of days for Rango to find us. In that time, I need you two lovebirds to figure out a new act. Something that will really rake in the dough.” He pointed at her, then at Truman, and raised a dark eyebrow. “No honeymooning on this hop.”
Lilly turned away, heat climbing up her neck. Truman had been rather demanding of their time alone—using their combined cash on hotels and the occasional fancy meal, as if trying to make up for their hasty wedding in Detroit Lakes in front of the local justice of the peace.
A month later, it was just starting to sink in. Mrs. Truman Hawk. Lilly Hawk. The name felt unwieldy on her, despite the fact that slowly she’d begun to feel connected to something bigger than herself. Mr. and Mrs. Truman Hawk.
She said it again under her breath as she pulled her belongings from the cockpit. “We need to get into town and see if we can find a place to stay. Nothing fancy, not with Marvel breathing down our necks. Someplace cozy.” He smiled at her, and it could still stop her world.
“Then we should come back and practice something new. Something fabulous.”
He turned, still holding her bag, his smile gone. “No, Lilly.”
“You heard Marvel. We need to be spectacular—”
“No.” He dropped her bag, his. Came over to her and put those huge hands on her shoulders. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
She caught his face between her hands. “You won’t let me get hurt. C’mon, we can think of something. How about a ladder trick? You could attach a ladder to the bracing between the wheels, with a rope holding it up to the wing. I’ll climb out, untie the rope, and swing down.”
“Lilly—”
“Or a car-to-rope transfer? Rango could drive the truck, and I’ll stand on the roof, you swoop down and I’ll grab a hold of the rope—”
“I don’t want—”
“Oh, how about an outside loop? You were going to do it with Moseby, remember?”
“No!” His tone rocketed through her. “Listen, the outside loop is hard enough to pull off without a wing walker. That’s why they call it the suicide loop. No. Over my dead body.”
She occasionally saw him like this. Like when Suicide Dan’s shoot hadn’t opened and he’d had to deploy his second one, barely getting it out before he hit the ground. And when Rango’s motorcycle stalled and threw him into the ring of fire in front of five hundred people. He’d been the one to drag the kid out before he burned. Or the time she’d put her foot through the top fabric of the upper wing. He’d grounded them for three days while he replaced the entire section.
“Nothing is going to happen to me, Tru,” she said softly.
“You’re making promises you can’t keep.” He turned and picked up the bag and walked away from her.
“I’m a wing walker, Truman!” She ran after him. “It’s what I do!”
He rounded on her, his eyes red. “You’re just a girl who’s getting in over her head. Again.”
She recoiled, stung, and didn’t follow him as he stalked away toward town.
He didn’t take her up later that day as he practiced his loops and rolls. She watched, her stomach tight, as he executed an outside loop, his head twenty feet from the ground. Apparently he planned on saving their air circus on his own.
They’d found a room in a boardinghouse, the iron bed narrow and squeaky. She lay there, watching the night pass, trying to figure out handholds.
She could do the outside loop. All she had to do was hold on with her legs, like she had that day in Duluth. Truman just needed to give her a chance.
A low drone woke her, something rippling into her bones, down to her core. She opened her eyes and found Truman already up, staring out the second-story window. He let out a word she rarely heard him use.
“It’s Daily’s. They’re here, and buzzing the town.” He retrieved his pants, then his T-shirt, pulling it over his head. “I’m going to find Marvel and figure out what to do.”
She sat up, threw back her covers. “Let me go with you.”
He plowed a hand through his hair. “No. Stay. I’ll come back for you.” He shut the door behind him.
She got up anyway, probably too fast, because the room swam, turned over. Catching herself on the bed frame, she took a couple of deep breaths. They’d eaten something gamey last night, and probably it hadn’t settled right.
Getting dressed, she went downstairs. Marvel and Truman sat at the dining room table, their voices low. Truman was shaking his head. A creak on the stairs made them look up.
“There she is, our Flying Angel.” Marvel got up, spread out his arms. “What would you say about flying in your bathing suit today?”
She looked at Truman, who appeared like he might openly tear Marvel limb from limb. “I’d say no. But how about Truman and I do an outside loop?”
Truman stared at her, such fury on his face she had to look away.
Marvel looked like he just might kiss her. “I’ll add it to the bulletins! Top that, Daily’s!” He picked up his hat. “Now, get dressed. We have to fly through town and drum up some business. It’ll be the battle of the air shows today, and I intend to win.”
He walked out, and Lilly couldn’t look at Truman. Instead she held up her hand. “I know you’re against this, but the bigger question is, can you do it? Can you pull us up, out of the
loop, with me on the wing?”
“Can you hang on?”
She looked up at him. She hadn’t seen that curious, enigmatic look for months, but there it appeared again, as if he didn’t know, or couldn’t understand her. As if she amazed him.
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll keep us in the air.”
It was a gorgeous day for flying, the wind cooperating, and when they arrived at the field, three more planes had joined them, painted black along the bodies, with an emblem of fire on their tails. Marvel was arguing with what appeared to be his counterpart, a man in a suit, hat, and a look of annoyance.
Rango’s truck was parked behind their planes, Dan and Beck setting up the tent. Lilly followed Truman over to their rig.
“They just got here, but they plan on flying today. Said that the show belongs to them. Marvel is giving them the what for.”
“But we were here first.”
“But they sent their promoter.” Rango squatted, began to pound in a tent pole. “A few weeks ago. He said, by rights they were here first.”
“So, what are we going to do?” She gathered the tent pegs from the canvas bag and held the next one out to Rango.
“We’re going to give them a show,” Dan said, and pointed to the boil of dust rising from the town. Cars, motoring out to the field. “Better get ready to hop.”
She handed the pegs to Rango and went to find Truman. He was fueling his plane, his hands greasy from where he’d checked the engine. “Here they come. I’ll round them up for flights and we’ll have a line across the state of Wyoming. You get in the air and show them what you can do.”
There was that smile she knew. And loved.
She propped the plane for him, and he bumped it out onto the grass, picking up speed, then lifting from the ground like a bird. She watched him, her hand cupped over her eyes. He truly belonged in the skies.
He did a few loops and rolls then angled toward the incoming spectators, buzzing by them, wagging his wings. His job was to impress them.
She had to convince them that it was safe.
Running out with a white flag, she waved it above her head. “Fly with the World War One Ace Truman Hawk for the ride of your life! Safe. Exhilarating! Only five dollars.”
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