A Girl Divided

by Ellen Lindseth

  She could, but that would mean more money spent on lessons. More time spent dodging Skip’s advances. More fear that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t smart enough or strong enough to turn her dream of flying into a reality.

  And she wouldn’t even think about trying to explain her failure to Ted, who had probably never failed at anything in his life . . . and also, inexplicably, had been asking about her.

  Chiding herself for making mountains out of molehills, she turned toward the mailroom. As if her life weren’t complicated enough. “I’m heading out as soon as I drop these off. So wish me luck.”

  “Good luck!”

  The bus to Montebello dropped her off by the airport at a quarter to five. Heat radiated off the pavement, warning her of a bumpy flight to come. All that rising air would displace the cooler air above, creating all sorts of up and down drafts. Wonderful. Slinging her satchel that held all her flight gear over her shoulder, she worked on focusing her mind as she began the mile walk to the flight school. Now was not the time for self-doubt.

  The flight examiner was an older fellow, grizzled and gruff. For over an hour they sat at a desk while he quizzed her on the mechanics of flight, basic airplane maintenance, weather predictors, map reading, aeronautical protocol, and anything else he could think of, each question getting harder and harder as the exam went on. It soon became clear that he was doing his best to fail her, but all those hours of studying paid off as she answered almost every question correctly.

  The flight portion was little better. The dust haze over the valley made the glare so awful, her eyes positively ached from trying to spot any dark flecks that might be other airplanes on a collision course. With nervous optimism, she put the Cub through every maneuver on the handwritten list clipped to her knee board: crosswind takeoff, short field landing, turns around a point, stall recoveries, steep turns. Each success bolstered her courage.

  And then it happened. Exhaustion from her long day at work and the more recent task of fighting the near-constant up- and downdrafts caught up with her, and she remembered a few seconds too late to check her altitude coming into the final stall recovery. Kicking herself as she saw how low she had gotten, she threw the throttle forward, but not fast enough.

  “My airplane!” the flight examiner yelled from the back seat as the control stick moved in her hand. Instantly, she let go, obeying the command to cede the airplane.

  Time seemed to stand still as she sat there stunned, her dreams disintegrating around her. She had failed. She was nothing. She was finished.

  No. Something flared inside of her as all the frustrations of being a woman, of being told what to do, of being held back, erupted into a firestorm of anger. This will not do.

  “My airplane!” she yelled over the roar of the engine as she took hold of the control stick and throttle.

  Perhaps he was shocked that a student, let alone a female, would fight back. Or maybe he was only giving her enough rope to hang herself with. Whatever the reason, he didn’t interfere as she maneuvered the Cub around to try the recovery again. With grim determination she set the stall up without losing altitude and executed the recovery correctly. Or at least she was pretty sure she had. Silence reigned in the back seat, which unnerved her to no end.

  With all her tasks completed, she headed back toward Vail Field. Self-doubts ate away at her confidence. There was no way she was going to pass now. She hadn’t asked for permission, she hadn’t waited for instruction, nor was she, as a student pilot, qualified to just take control.

  Feeling as if years were being stripped off her life for every minute that passed on the flight back, she couldn’t hold back a sigh of relief as the runway came into view. Except she could see at a glance that she was coming in and too high and too fast. All extraneous thought ceased as she feverishly worked to correct the approach. Throttle, elevator, trim, rudder, aileron—her hands and feet worked the controls as she forced the plane to slow down without letting it stall or—heaven forbid—enter a spin on the turn to final. With the ground so close, there would be no time to prevent a crash.

  Goosing the gas a bit on the turn, she gave her airspeed one last check and then centered the plane on the runway. The large painted numbers at the end grew larger in the windscreen as the plane floated down. Hot air from the surrounding roofs and streets pushed up on the Cub, bouncing it around. Gritting her teeth, she kept everything as steady as she could. The plane flirted with the runway, touching down and then ballooning back up. Her fingers tightened on the throttle, ready for the go-around. Come on, darn you, land already.

  The plane dropped and bounced, and then the tires finally grabbed the pavement with a jerk. A wash of white-hot, adrenaline-fueled needles raked her skin, leaving her flushed and shaking as the Cub rattled and bumped down the runway. With an effort, she got her legs to cooperate long enough to steer the plane off onto the taxiway. A thousand shoulda-coulda-wouldas whirled in her brain as she pulled the plane into its tie-down spot and shut off the engine. A deafening silence filled the cockpit. On gelatin legs, she hopped out of the plane and pulled the cotton stuffing from her ears while she waited for the examiner to join her.

  As she waited, a lone, crumpled paper scuttled across the tarmac, aimless and unwanted. Kind of like her dreams, now that she had torpedoed her chances of passing.

  The flight instructor brushed past her without comment on his way to the flight-school building. Genie briefly closed her eyes, the temptation to run away overwhelming. Maybe she should skip going inside altogether and save herself the embarrassment of being told she had failed. Except that would be cowardly, and she wasn’t a coward.

  Drawing a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and forced herself to walk after him.

  That was the problem with taking action: there were always consequences.

  The screen door slapped shut behind her as she entered the office. The flight examiner was already seated behind the front desk. He ignored her as he wrote something on the form in front of him.

  Without looking up, he held out his free hand. “Log book.”

  She pulled the stapled cardboard-covered book from her satchel and handed it to him. He opened it to the most recently filled out section and began writing.

  “Sit,” he said.

  She pulled over a wooden chair and sat. Nervously, she wiped her sweaty hands on her twill trousers. Would he let her down hard or easy? Please, don’t let me cry. A few other students came in and eyed her curiously. After what felt like an eternity, he laid the pen down and sat back. She braced herself for the worst.

  “I’ll be honest, Miss Baker,” he said, his brown eyes intense behind his glasses. “There are a lot of people, male and female, who think women are inherently unqualified to pilot an aircraft. These same people can and will actively seek to have you fail. It’s not unheard of for female pilots to be denied services by airport managers, or to have their planes sabotaged.

  “That said, I’ve yet to encounter a piece of equipment that can tell the sex of its operator, so I try to keep an open mind. And I try to be fair, especially when a student’s progress is of particular interest to another instructor I know and respect.”

  She nodded to show she was listening, even as she wondered if he was talking about Flo. Everyone liked her flight instructor.

  The flight examiner drummed his fingers on the table, his gaze speculative. “If I pass you, any idea what you’ll do with your license?”

  Joy raced through her veins as his intent became clear. She had passed! Light-headed with relief, she felt like laughing and crying at the same time. “I’d like to find a job flying, sir. I can’t think of a better situation.”

  “There isn’t a whole lot of call for female pilots in California, though I hear they’re looking for bush pilots up in the Alaskan territories. Or you could instruct. Air racing and performing are a no-go until the war is over.”

  “I wouldn’t mind helping ferry aircraft around the country,” she said, thinking of her
company. “If we keep increasing production, and Uncle Sam keeps drafting our pilots, there’s going to be a backlog soon.”

  “I like the way you think, miss,” he said, sitting back. “But no commander in his right mind would let a little gal like you fly his planes. They’re too powerful and hard to control.”

  “Yes, sir,” she managed, though what she really wanted to do was protest.

  Apparently approving of her restraint, he held out his hand and smiled for the first time. “Congratulations, Miss Baker. You are now officially a private pilot, with all the responsibilities and privileges the license grants you.”

  “Thank you.” Her hand trembled with excitement as she shook his hand. No matter the restrictions on her future, she was a pilot. A pilot!

  Flo whooped from the corner, and soon Genie was engulfed in a hug by her instructor. “This calls for a proper celebration. It’s not every day the world gets another female pilot. I hereby declare that you and I are moving this party to Damon’s.”

  “Where?” Genie asked as she pulled free to admire the brand-new endorsement of her logbook. It still didn’t feel real. She couldn’t wait to get her official license in the mail.

  “Damon’s Steak House in Glendale. Right by the Grand Central Airport.” Flo slung her leather flight jacket over her arm. “I’m assuming you haven’t had supper yet. No? Didn’t think so. And neither have I, so let’s go. I’ll drive.”

  “I should probably call my roommate,” she said, tucking the precious logbook into her satchel. Though in all likelihood, Lavinia wouldn’t be home. It was Friday night, so she was probably out with the other line girls.

  “I’m sorry,” Flo said, looking suddenly abashed. “Was there someone else you’d rather celebrate with?”

  “Not really.” Her high spirits deflated a bit as she realized she really had no one else to call to share her good news with. Her father was beyond reach in China. Dick was out on assignment somewhere. Charity, who would understand her sense of accomplishment the most, was likely out on a date. It was a Friday night, after all.

  Flo clapped her on the shoulder, shaking her out of her doldrums. “Then it’ll just be us aviatrixes painting the town. We’ll have fun, promise.”

  Genie gave her a grateful smile as she slung her satchel over her shoulder. Her instructor really was the best. “How fancy is Damon’s? I’ve got the clothes I wore to work in my bag.”

  “Nah. You look fine as you are. Being so close to the airport, the waitstaff is used to pilots showing up in their flight suits. Even more so now the army opened up another flight school right down the street.”

  Genie’s pulse skittered at the mention of the flight school, one thought replacing all the others: Ted. He was an army pilot, she was sure. And if Charity was right, and he was still in town . . .

  “Give me a sec.” Without waiting for Flo’s answer, she spun on her heel and flew toward the bathroom to change.

  Chapter 36

  Damon’s was crowded by the time they got there, but the maître d’ managed to find them a table. As Genie followed him past the other diners, the appreciative glances of the men made her glad she had changed.

  Her only regret was that she was making Flo look rather dowdy by comparison, but her flight instructor didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Flo seemed in her element here, stopping frequently to chat with one person or another. The men all seemed so at ease with her, laughing and slapping her on the back, asking if she wanted to sit with them. By the time she and Flo managed to reach their table and be seated, Genie realized that maybe her instructor had stayed in her twill pants and work shirt for a reason. Dressed as she was, Flo was less a female than a fellow pilot, whereas it was quite the opposite with Genie.

  Genie smoothed her skirt as she sat down, wondering if she had made the wrong choice. If Ted did show up tonight, would she want him to see her as a pilot or as a woman?

  The waiter handed them menus and then started to leave. Flo stopped him.

  “Before you go, a bourbon on the rocks for me. And this brand-new private pilot over here will have . . .” Flo gave her a questioning look.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Genie bit her lip, unsure if she should order hot tea or something stronger. Unfortunately, her experience with stronger spirits was limited to what she had imbibed that one night over dinner with Dick.

  The waiter shifted his feet impatiently.

  She decided to go for it. “A glass of red wine?”

  “What kind?” he asked brusquely. “And we only sell it by the bottle.”

  She stared at him, totally at a loss.

  Flo tossed her a sympathetic look. “She’ll have an old-fashioned, extra cherries.” She leaned forward after the waiter left with their order. “If you don’t like it, we’ll get you something else. Don’t worry.”

  “It’s fine, I’m sure. If you couldn’t tell, I don’t drink very often. In fact, almost never.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.” Flo sat back and stretched her legs out as she perused the menu. “What are you thinking of having?”

  Genie scanned the choices and sighed. Everything in the States was so heavy and bland. Even the Chinese food in Chinatown didn’t taste quite right. What she really wanted was one of Zhenzhu’s home-cooked meals, but that would have to wait until war was over. “Honestly, I’m not that hungry.”

  “May I join you?” Ted’s familiar drawl had her straightening her chair.

  Flo looked up, and her expression brightened. “Of course.”

  “Ted!” Genie soaked in the sight of his lean face and naturally athletic grace as he pulled a chair over to the table. Everything inside her felt lighter, as if she could float right off her seat. “What are you doing here?”

  He winked at her as he sat down. “A little bird told me you passed your flight exam. So I wanted to come say congratulations.”

  “Thanks. It was a huge relief.”

  “I bet.”

  “So you didn’t have to fly tonight, after all,” Flo said, signaling for the waiter to return.

  “Nah. The lesson got scrubbed on account of a flat tire, which suited me just fine.”

  The waiter arrived, and Ted ordered a beer.

  “Lesson?” Genie asked after the man left. She frowned slightly. “Are you an instructor now?”

  He leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out in a position very similar to Flo’s. “For the moment, until they can decide what to do with me. I think they’re still holding out hope I’ll consent to the war bond tour, but fat chance of that. I’d rather be stuck in the right seat for the duration of the war, teaching wet-behind-the-ears cadets how to fly, than be paraded around like some kind of fatted calf.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Would it really be so bad? I’d certainly buy a war bond from you.”

  A tired smile curved his lips as his beautiful dark eyes met hers. “So you’ve said before. But enough about me. It’s you I want to hear more about.”

  Caught in the crosshairs of the familiar, tigerlike intensity of his gaze, she felt the fine hairs on her skin lift as if she were on the side of a mountain with a thunderstorm approaching. “What would you like to know?”

  “If he’s smart,” Flo said with a laugh, “he’ll ask if you’re seeing anyone and then make his move.”

  Ted’s cheeks pinkened, but his gaze remained steady. “As I was saying, I heard you’re working at Vultee. That had to be quite a change for you. How do you like it there?”

  “I like it far more than I thought I would,” she said honestly. “I like getting a paycheck. And I like feeling like I’m making a difference in the war.”

  A fond smile stole across his handsome lips, making her heart catch. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

  Her face now on fire, too, she hurriedly dropped her gaze to her menu.

  To her relief, the topic of discussion switched to student pilots and the sad state of the army air corps. While Flo peppered Ted with questio
ns about different aircraft and training techniques, Genie pretended to study the dinner choices.

  She tried to pay attention to the conversation, as it all pertained to what she wanted to do in the future. Unfortunately, her brain had a different agenda. Instead she found herself focusing on the beguiling rhythm and cadence of his voice. It soothed her in a way she couldn’t begin to articulate. He could be reading the dictionary for all she cared; she had been just as spellbound when she’d heard him for the first time, in her father’s study.

  “Have you heard anything from your father?” Ted asked.

  Startled, she looked up. Her heart squeezed at the honest curiosity she saw in his eyes, but then he had met her father. Shared dinner with him. Traveled with him back to her village.

  “No, not a word.” Sorrow twisted through her. “I’ve written dozens of letters to him, but with the war, I’ve no idea if he’s received a single one. I can only pray he and Zhenzhu are safe.”

  Wordlessly, he reached out and squeezed her hand. She tried to smile back, grateful that he didn’t utter any platitudes. They would be lies in any case. Even though today’s paper had touted a victory by the Chinese army, it had only been a small one. The Japanese were no closer to pulling out than they had been at the start of the war. And if the article on the front page of today’s Los Angeles Times was true, India might agree to a deal with Japan in an act of independence from Britain. If it did, China would be lost.

  Pushing away the horrifying thought, she focused on the here and now. After all, it wasn’t every day she had the pleasure of Ted’s company. She would be a fool to squander it.

  She smiled at him. “Do you like instructing? The flight examiner suggested it as a job I might try if I wanted to fly for a living.”

  “Well”—he released her fingers and sat back—“there’s always that one student who tries to kill you, like the cadet today who flipped the aircraft into an inverted spin.”

  “Overcorrected on his stall recovery, eh?” Flo said with a snort.

  “Thank the Lord for altitude, that’s all I’ve got to say,” he said fervently, and Genie inwardly flinched, remembering her own earlier mistake with altitude. The waiter reappeared with a tray of drinks and then took the rest of their order. To her delight, Ted ordered dinner along with Flo. Still too nervous to eat much, Genie ordered only a bowl of soup.