“Never mind.” Lavinia exhaled and shut the drawer.
Renewed suspicion prickled like ice up Genie’s spine. “Lavinia, did Kitty have something to do with Nathan’s fall? You said she was there.”
Lavinia glanced up, her blue eyes wide and oddly blank. “Did I? Then I was mistaken.”
“Lavinia, what actually happened?” Genie asked sternly, no longer sure what to believe.
“I already told you: he fell.” A note of desperation entered Lavinia’s voice. “We were arguing over my going home, and in the heat of the discussion he didn’t see how close he was to the stairs. I blame myself because I didn’t catch him in time, but I didn’t push him, Genie. Nor did Kitty. Nor did anyone. He fell.”
“Then why are you angry at Kitty?”
“She was the one who put the idea of going to see my father into Nathan’s head.” Lavinia turned her gaze back to the bureau and stared sightlessly at it for a moment as Genie reeled under this new revelation. The deliberate malice of Kitty’s action utterly confounded her.
“Why would she do that?” Genie finally asked. And how could you care who she’s marrying after that?
“She hoped it would force me to call off the engagement. She’d taken a dislike to him and thought I could do better.” Lavinia was silent a few seconds, and then she turned and gave Genie a tremulous smile. “But that’s all in the past, now. New city, new us, right?”
Genie took a deep breath and let it out. “Sure.”
For what other choice did she have, did either of them have, but to move forward?
The answer was none. Panta rei.
Chapter 31
“Not bad!” Florence yelled from behind Genie, her voice barely audible over the engine clatter of the Piper J-3 Cub. Genie managed to twist her lips into a smile, grateful for the praise. Not that her instructor would see it, since she was sitting behind Genie in the narrow cockpit. “Not bad at all, kiddo.”
Flo clapped her encouragingly on the shoulder, but Genie didn’t dare relax her vigilance as the plane rolled down the runway. As the taxiway appeared on the right, she pushed on the rudder pedals to turn the plane. Her legs shook with fatigue and nerves, and her fingers were cramping from her death grip on the control stick. Maybe someday she would land without her pulse accelerating into the red arc, but she wasn’t there yet.
“Taxi back to the flight line, will you?” Flo hollered from the back seat, and Genie’s stomach fell to the soles of her new sturdy-soled shoes.
Today’s lesson was supposed to be for an hour, but they had only been out thirty minutes. Despite her decent landing, she must have messed up badly enough somewhere else to need to be grounded, but where?
The engine loped along with her frantic thoughts. The takeoff had been good. So had her practice maneuvers over the hills. So why were they stopping early?
“Don’t park!” Flo yelled again. “Just shut her down here.”
Confused, Genie pulled the fuel mixture knob to the idle cutoff position. The engine sputtered and then died. The stark silence that followed echoed with her worries as she hopped out of the aircraft and waited for Flo to gather her things. Charity, who was also Flo’s student, had never mentioned students failing before. Was she going to be the first? Her stomach twisted nervously.
Flo climbed out of the back seat and jumped to the ground. She turned to Genie and slid her aviation goggles up to the top of her head. “Remind me, how many hours you got now?”
“Eleven.”
Flo glanced up at the cloudless sky and then over at the weakly stirring windsock. “Well . . . looks like the weather should hold for the next few minutes. What do you say you take her up on your own?”
“What?” Genie wiped her sweaty hands on her overalls to hide their sudden shaking as elation and terror flooded her. “Do you mean it?”
Flo laughed. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. So . . . what do you think? Ready to give it a go?”
Genie took several deep breaths and stared at the yellow Cub, feeling simultaneously excited and petrified. She was going to get to fly it solo. Now. All by herself. Just her and the plane. “You sure I can do this?”
“Absolutely. If the winds had cooperated last week, I would have soloed you then.” Flo slapped her on the back hard enough to make her stagger. “You got this, China Girl. Just take your time and remember—if you don’t like anything about the landing, anything at all, there’s no shame in going around and trying it again.”
“Do a go-around. Got it.” Her feet refused to move.
“Come on. Don’t tell me the gal who single-handedly rescued a Flying Tiger is afraid of a little challenge.”
“I didn’t rescue him,” she said in exasperation, tired of having to correct everyone. “My father did.”
“That’s not what the paper said.” Flo gave her a conspiratorial wink and then sauntered off toward the front of the airplane as if Genie flying solo were a foregone conclusion.
Genie wiped her hands on her pant legs again and silently cursed Dick for his wildly inaccurate article. Though being reminded of Ted did calm her a bit. What she was contemplating was something he did every day with ease, though he wouldn’t be climbing into a little J-3 Cub but a much bigger, much more powerful Curtis Warhawk. Just thinking about flying such a beast made her pulse triple-time.
Forcing herself to breathe, she tried to imagine herself in Ted’s shoes. How might he feel if he were asked to take her little Cub up? It’d be a cakewalk.
She glanced at Flo waiting expectantly by the propeller, ready to help pop the starter. She took a deep breath and let Ted’s easy confidence flow through her veins.
There’s nothing to it.
The world was in unusually sharp focus as she climbed back into the cockpit. She took the rear seat this time, where Flo usually sat, and let the familiar sensory details of the plane soak in: the musky, almost metallic odor of leather and oil, the acrid stench of hot insulation, the sharper tang of road oil blown in from the recently treated runway. The array of dials on the dash sat silent, still, waiting for the start of the engine. She ran her gaze over them, mentally reassuring herself that everything she needed to know was right here: tachometer, airspeed, compass, altitude, oil temperature, and oil pressure.
“Ready?” Flo called out, her hands on one blade of the wooden propeller.
Genie placed her feet on the rudder pedals, left and right, and breathed. Her right hand gripped the control stick. Her left was on the throttle lever, which was attached to the frame just beneath the window. She pressed down on the pedals with her heels to hold the brakes. “Ready.”
Flo gave the propeller a hard turn and jumped back as the plane rocked slightly. Nothing. Seemingly unperturbed by the engine’s lack of cooperation, she repeated the procedure. Again, nothing, and Genie started worrying. Maybe it was a sign she wasn’t ready. Flo hand-propped the Cub one last time, and this time the starter caught. The engine fired to life, and Flo jogged away from the plane, out of the propeller’s deadly reach, with her head ducked to avoid the grit from the prop-wash.
Still imagining she was Ted, Genie eased up on the brakes and added a little throttle. The plane lurched forward, and then she didn’t need to imagine anymore. She was simply an aviator, taking her plane out. She could do this!
She taxied to the end of the runway, her head craning this way and that, looking for any traffic, human or mechanical. The ever-present possibility of unexpected engine failure had her scanning the gauges. Everything looked good. She stood on the brakes, wiped her hands, and then taxied onto the runway. She pushed the throttle all the way in, and the engine’s pattering became deafening as it threw itself into its task of acceleration.
The Cub rattled and shimmied. Then the tail came up, and her feet added a little right rudder to hold the plane straight. Another second, another breath, and then everything smoothed out as the plane left the ground. Elation sparkled through her as the earth fell away.
She w
as doing it. She was flying all by herself.
At four hundred feet above the ground, she banked to the right, making the first ninety-degree turn of the airport traffic pattern she’d learned. Below her, the streets of Montebello stretched out in long lines. Spotting the tall building she used as a reference point for starting the downwind leg, she made the second turn. The familiar mountains that ringed the north and east edge of the LA basin were a deep blue in the hazy air, but she couldn’t let herself be distracted by the view. Sooner than she liked, the third landmark of the pattern appeared dead ahead. She turned onto the base leg, the end of the runway off to her right.
A rush of things to check flooded her thoughts: airspeed, altitude, alignment, trim. The runway was just off the nose as she turned on final and began her slip to land. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she worked to keep the plane lined up correctly. The runway grew steadily larger and longer in her windscreen. The numbers whipped under the nose, and then she could no longer see the center stripes. On pins and needles, she waited for the jerk of the tires meeting the pavement, telling her she had landed. Any second now . . .
Any second.
The flight-school building rushed by, and her heart kicked as if hit by an electric jolt. The Cub was caught in ground effect, and was going to float all the way off the end of the runway if she didn’t do something.
In a spurt of panic, she pushed the throttle open and the stick forward to start the go-around. The engine screamed in protest, and the plane shuddered as it tried to stall.
“Come on, come on, come on.” She leaned forward, mentally willing the plane faster so it could shake free of the airstream hugging the runway and start climbing. Slowly, the Cub started to gain altitude, but not nearly fast enough. The telephone wires stretching across the road not two hundred yards from the end of the runway came into view. Adrenaline flooded her veins, drenching her in sweat.
Why isn’t it climbing faster? She had full power, correct airspeed . . . the trim! It was still set for landing, not takeoff. Praying to the Good Lord above, she furiously cranked the trim handle nose up.
As if by magic, the Cub leaped up, and the wires passed harmlessly underneath, though much too close for comfort. She probably could have touched them if the windows had been open. She released a shuddering breath and forced herself to focus. She couldn’t stay in the air forever. She had to land sooner or later, sooner being preferred.
“Come on, Genie. Concentrate.” The sound of her voice centered her. “You can do this.”
The first landmark appeared, and she turned. The second landmark appeared, and she started her downwind leg. This was her thirty seconds to think and prepare. She had come in too fast before, which was why she had floated instead of landed. Control the airspeed by controlling the pitch. Control the altitude by adjusting power.
Exhaling to steady her nerves, she turned base and then final. She was very conscious of the trim handle under her fingers as she adjusted it for landing. Once again the runway numbers disappeared under the nose. She used her peripheral vision to gauge her height off the ground and waited to make the flare. The plane caught a gust and danced to the side, but she didn’t relent. She was in control. She would make the plane behave.
The Cub jerked slightly as the main wheels touched, and then she felt the smaller bounce as the tail wheel came down. Dizzy with relief, she held the plane to the centerline as it bumped and shimmied down the runway. The plane slowed, becoming docile and obedient once more. Trying not to rush, she guided the plane over to the flight line, taxied close to a reasonable tie-down for parking, and shut off the engine. Her ears rang in the relative silence, and every muscle in her body shook as she climbed out of the cockpit.
Pride filled her to near-bursting even as her shaking legs forced her to lean against the fuselage for balance. Holy angels in heaven, that was fun!
And terrifying.
And she couldn’t wait to do it again. That is, if her flight instructor didn’t ground her first.
Flo sauntered around the back of the airplane, her expression behind her sunglasses impossible to read. “Well, China Girl. How’d it go?”
“I came in too fast the first time and decided to go around.”
“And?” her instructor drawled, her eyebrows lifting above her sunglasses.
“And I almost forgot to reset the trim,” she admitted, since it was obvious Flo had seen the whole fiasco. A tense second passed with Flo saying nothing. Genie shifted uneasily. “Am I in trouble?”
Flo barked a laugh. “Lord, no. You got yourself into a hairy situation, and you didn’t lose your head. What more can a flight instructor ask? I just wanted to let you sweat a bit so you won’t let it happen again.”
“No chance of that!”
Flo gestured toward the flight school. “Why don’t we go in and talk about what we want to do tomorrow.”
Genie followed her instructor in, elated and shivering as the cool April breeze dried her sweat. To her surprise, no one came over to greet them as they walked in. Pilots, being by and large a friendly bunch, almost always gathered around at the end of someone’s flight, wanting to know all the details. At the moment, however, everyone was crowded around a card table, their voices raised in agitated discussion.
“I wonder what’s going on,” Genie murmured to Flo, who looked just as mystified as she was. As they got closer to the table, one of the instructors, an older balding man who flew with the more advanced students, turned and waved a newspaper in their faces.
“Did you gals see this?” he practically shouted. “Excuse my French, but hot damn!”
“Here, hold it still, Harry. My eyes aren’t that good.” Flo grabbed the man’s wrist to steady it. Genie read the headlines, screamed in bold letters just below the masthead: “Tokyo Bombed!”
“What? When?” she asked, not quite able to believe the news.
A dozen voices piped up. “Early this morning. Doesn’t say who’s responsible, but it’s gotta be us. No official word from Washington, though. Can you believe it?”
“Well, there’s a piece of good news,” Flo said, her voice shaking with emotion. “About damn time, too.”
“Hey, Flo,” one of the younger instructors called out. “You’ve got friends in the army air corp. Who do you think bombed ol’ Tojo?”
“It’s tough to say. A fully loaded bomber wouldn’t be able to hold much fuel, which means they couldn’t have come from here or even Hawaii. Maybe somewhere in China?”
“The AVG?” Genie asked excitedly. “Could they have been involved? They’ve got a base in Kunming.”
“Hard to say. Whoever it was, though, I’d sure like to buy them a drink!” Flo said.
Resounding cheers met her suggestion. Then the discussion turned to picking possible refueling sites, a discussion boosted when someone brought out a map.
“Does this mean the war will be over soon?” Genie asked as she followed Flo over to the flight desk. Good news or no, there were still logbooks to be filled out.
“While that would be nice, I doubt it.” Flo picked up a pen and began filling out that day’s flight entry. “Did bombing Pearl Harbor make the US roll over and surrender?”
“No.” Genie’s hopes fell.
Flo, having finished the entry and signed her name, slid the logbook over to Genie. “It was a needed morale boost. I’ll give you that. But I wouldn’t buy that boat ticket home just yet. I have a feeling it’ll be at least another six months to a year.”
Home. A ripple of longing ran through her. She had been so caught up in the prospect of her father and Zhenzhu being out of danger soon, and all the AVG pilots like Ted being able to return to the States, she hadn’t considered the impact of victory on herself. Yet with no war, there was no reason to stay in California. She could go home.
She waited for the rush of elation, but it didn’t come. Instead, she thought of her job, her flying lessons, her raincheck with Dick. And what of Lavinia? She couldn’t just leave and
abandon her friend. Nor could she imagine Lavinia wanting to come with her to China.
“You all right?” Flo asked, and Genie looked up to see real concern in her flight instructor’s eyes.
“Fine.” She forced herself to smile. “Just tired after the flight. How about we look at the schedule to see when I can fly again?”
Chapter 32
Genie plucked at her blouse, separating the thin fabric from her sweaty skin, while Lavinia checked the mailbox. The cockpit of the Cub would be an oven if she went flying today. Not that the July heat was all that oppressive. Certainly not like India. Yet the day was the warmest she had experienced since she had arrived in California three and a half months earlier.
“This is for you.” Lavinia handed one of the two envelopes to Genie before relocking the small brass door.
Her hopes of it being a letter from her father faded as she read the return address: Society of Blessed Souls. “Are you sure there wasn’t anything else in there?”
“Other than the telephone bill, no.” Lavinia dug her keys out of her bag. “I’m surprised we haven’t gotten a rent notice yet.”
“Maybe Dick paid it before he left? You’re the one who talked to him,” Genie said, distracted by the envelope in her hand. She had sent numerous requests for information to the Society; she wondered which one they had finally gotten around to answering.
Her friend slid her an exasperated look as she unlocked the building door. “Genie, rent is rather important. We could wind up on the street if it doesn’t get paid. Speaking of which, did you even look at that ‘roommate wanted’ list I gave you?”
“I did. They were all for a single person, and I’m not moving somewhere without you. And don’t worry about the rent; I probably misheard Dick about how long he’d prepaid the rent. I had a lot on my mind at the time.”
Considering the subject closed, Genie slid her finger under the envelope flap. Nervousness twisted her stomach as she pulled the letter out. The Society had employed both Nathan and her father. What if this wasn’t a reply to her request for burial funds, but news of her father? Perhaps dire news? In her last communiqué with them, they had said they had heard nothing from her father in months, and to assume he was fine.
A Girl Divided Page 30