by Bonnie Leon
She should have turned back, but she didn’t. And then . . . it was too late.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. She swiped away tears, relieved to see the lake fade into the collage of trees.
Kate barely crested the mountains when her eyes latched onto Mount Rainier. It stood amidst the rugged Cascade Range like a gleaming white jewel. As always, its power was startling.
As she negotiated the pass, she soaked in the splendor of forests, roiling rivers, and fields of white. Today, the mountains were merciful, sparing her from treacherous currents. The crossing was calm and heartening.
Leaving the Cascades behind, she approached Seattle. Lakes, looking like dollops of blue, speckled the landscape. Silver ribbons of water divided rich farmlands huddled in the broad valley that lay south of the city.
Kate’s attention turned to the blue waters of Puget Sound and the metropolis of Seattle with its stacked hillsides and long piers that reached into the bay.
Her eyes followed a scar that slashed across a section along the waterfront. Tin roofs, black stovepipes, piles of trash, and clotheslines marred the beauty. Images of those swept out of their homes by drought, dust storms, and poverty had been plastered across newspapers for months. Shantytowns, better known as Hoovervilles, sprang up across the country. Kate gladly left behind Seattle’s mecca for the homeless and headed for Vancouver.
After a decent night’s sleep, Kate felt refreshed and ready for the next leg of her trip. She walked across the airstrip, Vancouver drizzle wetting her hair and clothes. She glanced at a gray sky and craved the previous day’s sunshine.
An airport employee waited for her at the plane. He smiled and extended a hand. “Morning. I’m Donald Brown.”
“Kate Evans.” She made sure her grip was strong, feeling a need to convince him that she was sturdy. Women pilots were often under extra scrutiny.
“Got your plane gassed up and did a general check to make sure she’s ready to fly.”
“Thanks,” Kate said. “I appreciate the help.”
“Heard you’re heading north. Did you get a report on the weather?”
“I did, from a pilot who flew in from Port Alice last night. He said it was raining pretty good and that the winds were stiff—kept him on his toes.”
Donald grinned. “They measure rain by the foot up there.”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Kate said, but even poor weather conditions couldn’t suppress her enthusiasm.
“Weather along the coast can get bad real fast, even in July. So be cautious.”
Kate buttoned her jacket and pulled on her leather helmet. “I’ll be careful, but I figure my Bellanca can handle most anything.”
Donald glanced at the Pacemaker. “Good solid plane, all right. Still better set her down if it gets rough.”
Kate nodded, but she wasn’t thinking caution, she was thinking adventure.
Wiping moisture from his face, he said, “I’ll crank her for you.”
“Thank you.” She moved to the plane.
“Not many women, or men for that matter, willing to fly the Alaskan Territory.”
Kate pulled open the door and chucked in her bag. “I don’t understand how pilots can stay away.” She flashed him a smile before climbing inside. She grabbed the crank from the cockpit and handed it to Donald. “I appreciate your help and your concern.”
With a nod, he moved to the side of the plane.
Kate closed the door, climbed up front, and dropped into her seat. After logging in her time of departure, she adjusted her helmet. Donald gave her the thumbs-up and she started the engine. He handed the lever to her through the window.
“Good luck,” he called.
“Thanks. I’ll need it,” Kate hollered and then closed the window. After one final check of the gauges, she moved away from the hangar and taxied to the end of the airstrip. There was no wind. She’d have to power up a bit to ensure a safe takeoff. Now the real flying begins.
Kate moved down the runway, the churning in her stomach starting up again. She glanced at her grandmother’s Bible, lying on the passenger seat, and remembered that her parents were praying for her. She wasn’t alone.
After five days of remarkable, wonderful, and unpredictable travel, Anchorage was finally within reach. The thrum of excitement and hope buzzed through Kate.
And then, Alison’s smothered laughter and the anguished faces of her dead friend’s parents ambushed Kate. For a moment, she felt dizzy and disoriented. Her gaze wandered over the endless wilderness. What was I thinking? I’m not ready for this. She felt small and afraid.
An unexpected blast of wind thrust her plane upward. She gripped the stick and fought for control. Pay attention! Currents, created by mountain ranges, tossed Kate’s plane about as she worked her way through the lower elevations. She put her mind on the business at hand, trusting in the Bellanca’s sturdiness despite her shaken emotions.
Below lay the spectacular beauty of the Alaskan wilderness— white peaks, gray and black rock formations, ice fields, and steep valleys. The mountains gave way to rounded knolls and sparse foothills. The winds subsided and Kate relaxed. Small patches of white stood out against the green backdrop. It took a few moments for Kate to realize the white splotches were sheep grazing on the short grasses on the hillsides. Juniper and alder forests hugged mountains that seemed to flow toward the sea, and frothing waterfalls looked like slashes of white against dark cliffs. As she continued north, ponds and bogs replaced grasslands and forests.
And then it was there—Anchorage. The community huddled along a huge slate-gray bay.
“I made it!” Kate whooped.
Euphoric, she headed toward the settlement. It was small, but looked like a real town.
Kate soon found the airport. She banked the plane and circled the field, which consisted of two dirt runways, a wind sock that flapped frantically, one small building, and what looked like a night beacon.
She lined up with the north runway and headed down, anticipating the moment that her wheels touched the ground. A crosswind caught her plane and tossed her sideways. Kate gripped the stick and with a careful touch to the pedals maneuvered the craft back into position. She cheered when the wheels connected with the earth.
The plane bounced twice before rolling smoothly to the end of the strip. Turning her Bellanca toward the building, she stopped in a small grassy area off the runway. Letting out a big breath, she pulled off her flying helmet and closed her eyes. “I’m here. I’m really here.”
Kate grabbed her handbag, took out a brush, and pulled it through her hair, then dug out a compact and put on fresh lip-stick. No use looking like I just climbed out of bed, she thought, rubbing her lips together. She tossed the compact and lipstick into the bag and headed toward the back of the plane.
She knew her parents were probably waiting to hear from her. I’ll call them the moment I’m settled. Richard bombarded her thoughts and a pang of sadness caught her unawares. She managed to dismiss him . . . for the moment.
She climbed out of the plane and looked about, hoping to find someone working. There was no one. Calculating in her mind how much money she had, Kate headed for the building. I hope they need a pilot.
When she reached what she figured was the office, she stopped at the door to gather her thoughts. She’d rehearsed what to say a hundred times, but at the moment she couldn’t get hold of one reasonable thought. She reached for the doorknob and turned it. With as much self-assurance as she could muster, she stepped inside.
All was quiet. The small room had only one window. A castiron stove squatted in a corner, and a scarred wooden desk with a matching chair sat alongside the far wall. Spare parts and tools were piled on workbenches. There was the sharp smell of diesel, making Kate feel more at home. It reminded her of her father’s shop on the farm.
Still holding onto the doorknob, she leaned into the room. “Hello. Is anyone here?”
A moment later, a stocky man wearing a heavy plaid shirt and blue
jeans stepped into a doorway that led to a back room. He wiped his hands on a rag. “Afternoon. What can I do for you?” His cheek bulged with what Kate guessed must be tobacco.
“Hello. Are you the manager?”
“Suppose I am. Mostly I just try to keep planes in the air.” He shoved the cloth into a back pocket.
Kate moved the rest of the way indoors and closed the door.
She wiped moist palms on her pant legs, then extended her right hand. “I’m Kate Evans.”
The man had a solid grip. “Glad to meet you. George
Parker.”
Kate managed to smile. “I just flew in from Washington State.”
George’s eyebrows peaked. “That’s quite a trip.”
“It is. I flew up the coast. I don’t know that I’ve seen so much green in all my life.”
George nodded. “It’s a pretty flight, all right.” His eyes darted to the window. “You on your own?”
“Uh-huh.”
A moment of awkwardness fixed itself between them. Kate dredged up her courage. “I’m looking for work . . . as a pilot.” Before George could respond she continued, “I grew up flying planes. My dad taught me. I’m a good pilot and—”
He held up a hand, palm out. “I have to stop you there, miss. Sorry, but I don’t need a pilot. Not right now anyways. Even if I did, couldn’t afford one.”
“I’d work on a job-by-job basis—you get paid, then I get paid.”
He studied her and shook his head. “Nah. Just don’t need anyone. Things are slow. Wish I could help.” He shoved his hands into his front pockets. “I’m glad to have you here, though. We can always use more plucky ladies.”
“And how would you know if I’m plucky or not?” Kate tried to keep her tone light, hoping to disguise her disappointment.
“Figure if you flew here on your own, thinking you’d pilot the Alaskan Territory, you’ve got to have spirit, or you’re just plain stupid.” He grinned and then spit tobacco juice into an empty coffee can parked alongside the desk.
Kate liked the notion of being spirited. In a newspaper story she’d read, one of her heroines of the skies, Marvel Crosson, had once been referred to as plucky. “Well, I wouldn’t describe myself as stupid.” She stepped back toward the door. Realizing she had no notion of where to go, she stopped. “Can you give me the name of a hotel where I might stay?”
George rubbed the whiskers on his cheek. “There aren’t many places around here. But we’ve got a fine hotel down on Third. Real nice place.”
“How do I get there?”
“It’s not far. Just follow the road toward the bay, and when you hit Third, take a left. You’ll run right into it.”
“Doesn’t sound too complicated.” Kate grabbed the doorknob. “Do I need to sign in my plane?”
“Yep. And you better tie it off too. Never know when the wind’s going to kick up.” George grabbed a dog-eared ledger from a table and handed it to her.
Kate filled in the information and headed for her Bellanca.
Her bag slung over one shoulder, Kate stood on the side of the road and stared at the hotel. It was nice, too nice. She glanced up and down the street, hoping for something more affordable. Nothing.
Figuring she might as well find out how much it cost, she pushed open the door and stepped onto a thick carpet. Not a good sign for someone needing to be thrifty. She felt underdressed and out of her element, but she straightened her spine and walked toward a counter. She’d probably be heading out the door in another minute.
A clerk was checking in another customer. His hair was slicked down with grooming oil. So was an overly tidy mustache, which seemed to dance above his lip when he talked. He called for a bellman. “Show Mr. Dalton to room 202.”
“Certainly,” a pudgy young man said, taking the key and dropping it into his uniform pocket. He picked up two suitcases. “Right this way, sir.”
The clerk turned to Kate and gave her a critical inspection.
She was suddenly aware of her unorthodox clothing— slacks, a flight jacket, and her knapsack.
He made no effort to disguise his disapproval. “Can I help you?”
Self-conscious, she touched her disheveled hair. “I was . . . just wondering about your rooms.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Can you tell me how much the cost is for one night?”
The corner of his upper lip lifted slightly. “I’m sure more than you can afford.”
Indignation replaced Kate’s discomfort. “Cost is not an issue. I was merely curious. I’ll take a room.” Setting her mouth, she met his eyes with a hard stare.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Certainly.” Moving to a guest register lying open on the counter, he picked up a pen. “Your name?”
“Kate . . . Katharine Evans.”
“Address.”
“I . . . don’t have one yet. I just arrived in town.”
“What was your address before you arrived in our fair city?” His tone was patronizing.
“Three fifty-seven Reservoir Road, Yakima, Washington.”
The clerk recorded the information and then turned the ledger toward Kate. “Sign, please.”
Her anger had fired off so much adrenaline, Kate had to fight to keep her hand steady. She managed to sign her name, knowing it was foolish to stay in such an expensive establishment. She ought to walk out.
“It’s five dollars a night . . . in advance.”
Shock reverberated through Kate. Five dollars! That’s pure robbery! Doing her best to look unconcerned, she took a coin purse from her bag, dug out the exact amount, and set it on the counter.
“You can have room 210.” The clerk handed her a key. “It’s on the second floor.”
“Thank you.” Kate headed toward the stairs, chiding herself. Once again, she’d let her pride get the better of her. She found her room, pushed in the key, and opened the door. Standing in the corridor, she stared inside. The same plush carpet that sprawled throughout the hotel extended into the room. There was a full-sized bed and a bureau. Brocade curtains framed a window where afternoon sunlight slanted in.
The bellman she’d seen in the lobby approached her. He walked as if he were attempting not to wrinkle his perfectly pressed uniform. “Can I be of service?” The chin strap of his cap cut into a double chin.
“No. I’m fine, thank you.” All Kate wanted was rest.
The bellman remained. “How long are you staying in town?”
“I don’t know yet. I hope a long while.”
“Well then, welcome.”
“Thank you.” Kate soaked in his kindness. It felt good. “Do you know where I might find a job?”
“What kind of work?”
“Anything.”
“Heard the general store needs someone.”
“They sell quality goods and pay on time.”
It wasn’t flying, but it was a job. She needed something to hold her over until she found a position at an airfield. “Where is it?”
“About a block from here.” He walked into the room and moved to the window, then pointed up the street. “See, right there.”
Feeling hope stir, Kate looked in the direction he pointed. “I’ll go right away. Thank you.”
He smiled. “Anything I can do, you let me know. My name’s Bill.”
“I’m Kate.”
He headed toward the door and then stopped. “By the way, don’t worry about Howard.”
“Howard?”
“The front desk clerk. I overheard the way he talked to you. He’s got his nose so high in the air that when it rains he nearly drowns.” He chuckled. “He’s new and won’t last long.”
Kate smiled. “I hope not.”
After Bill left, Kate explored her room and was ecstatic to find a clawfoot tub. A hot soak was just what she needed.
She dug her only dress out of her bag, tried to smooth the crumpled linen, then hung it in the bathroom. She turned on the bathtub faucets, hoping the steam
would take out some of the wrinkles.
After stripping off her travel clothes, she lowered herself into the hot water, rested her head against the end of the tub, and closed her eyes. Weary muscles relaxed, and sleepiness enveloped Kate in a warm, steamy cocoon. Forcing her eyes open, she picked up a bar of perfumed soap and lathered her body. She washed her hair and rinsed it under the faucet, then climbed out and towel dried.
Kate stood in front of a mirror and studied her reflection. The crumpled dress hung from her tall slender frame. “I look awful,” she said and pulled on a sweater, hoping it would disguise some of the wrinkles. She ran a brush through short bobbed hair, applied fresh lipstick, and then dabbed a drop of perfume on the inside of each wrist. With one more glance in the mirror, she headed for the door. Rumpled or not, she had to go. She needed a job.
A bell hanging from the mercantile door jangled as Kate stepped inside. A balding man, wearing spectacles, stood behind a counter. He squinted as he wrote in a ledger. When she approached, he straightened and looked at her, lifting the glasses.
“Afternoon. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve just arrived in town and was told you might be hiring.” Kate smiled and hoped he didn’t notice the condition of her dress.
“Could be.” He looked at her with interest. “Ever work in a store?”
“No. But I’m sure I can learn. And I’m strong—I grew up on a farm.”
“You look strong, all right . . . for a woman. I need someone who can lift fifty-pound sacks. You think you can do that?”
“Absolutely.”
“Where you from?”
“Yakima.”
“Washington?”
“Yes. My parents own an apple farm.”
“Long way from home. What brings you here?”
Kate wasn’t sure how to answer. If she told him she was hoping to find a job flying, he might not hire her, but she didn’t want to lie. Reluctantly, she said, “I fly . . . I’m hoping to work as a bush pilot.”
The man smiled sympathetically. “Then I guess you do need a job.”