Wings of a Dream

by Anne Mateer

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  © 2011 by Anne Mateer

  Cover design by Dan Thornberg, Design Source Creative Services

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2011

  ISBN 978-1-4412-3380-6

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  Praise for Wings of a Dream

  “Wings of a Dream is a sweetly told story of lost and recaptured hope. Set during a time of turbulence yet drenched in simplicity, the story transports the reader to another era. This is a perfect sit-back-and-put-your-feet-up story. Enjoy.”

  —Kim Vogel Sawyer,

  bestselling author of My Heart Remembers

  “Anne Mateer has crafted an unforgettable tale filled with characters who will remain in your heart long after the last page has been turned.”

  —Kathleen Y’Barbo,

  author of The Confidential Life of Eugenia Cooper

  “. . . Wings of a Dream is a heartwarming story of an ordinary woman caught in the middle of extraordinary events. Anne Mateer made me laugh, she made me cry and—most of all—she made me care deeply about Rebekah and her friends and family. Readers searching for an engaging story with themes that resonate in the twenty-first century need look no further than Anne Mateer’s delightful debut, Wings of a Dream.”

  —Amanda Cabot,

  author of Tomorrow’s Garden

  “Mateer has written a poignant love story set amid the turbulent and often forgotten Influenza Epidemic of the early 1900s, expertly blending history and Biblical truths with warm, unforgettable characters.”

  —Maureen Lang,

  author of Whisper on the Wind

  To my Lord and Savior,

  the One who gives and refines my desires and my dreams

  and makes my heart willing to follow wherever they may lead.

  I am humbled and amazed.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Praise for Wings of a Dream

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  October 1918

  Rebekah Grace, if you don’t hurry we’ll be late for the lecture.” Mama refrained from shouting, though her voice carried easily up the stairs and into my bedroom. Ladies didn’t raise their voices, after all.

  “Coming, Mama.” I pinned my wide-brimmed hat over my light brown hair before turning my head from side to side, trying to get the whole view in the small looking glass mounted on the wall. The hat wasn’t the latest style, but it would do. At least for Downington, Oklahoma.

  Thankful that Mama had relented to skirts above my ankles, I raced down the stairs, hopping over the final step, then stopped to catch my breath before heading outside to meet Mama and Daddy. In spite of my excitement, I forced my feet to carry me with the slow dignity Mama expected of a young woman just turned nineteen.

  Climbing into the back seat of the buggy, I cast a glance back at the crude shed that housed my brother’s Tin Lizzie and heaved a sigh. “We could take Will’s car, Mama. Arrive in style like Mrs. Thacker.”

  Mama harrumphed her disapproval, even though I knew in her mind Mrs. Thacker had the last word on everything of value in culture and society. “Her husband insists she ride in that thing, but she’d prefer a quiet, dependable conveyance.”

  I pressed my lips together to hold back a comment as Daddy signaled the horse and we jerked forward. I didn’t believe Mrs. Thacker held the reservations Mama attributed to her. Mrs. Thacker had lived in the modern world, far beyond the farmlands of Oklahoma. If it hadn’t been for her husband taking over the bank in town, she wouldn’t have chosen to settle in Downington, I felt sure.

  “I expect your help tonight, Rebekah Grace. Others will be here to improve their minds. We Downington Women’s Forum members have as our duty to facilitate that effort.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I rummaged through my handbag, trying to hide the smile tugging at my lips. Mama might be concerned with everyone’s intellect, but my intentions weren’t quite so noble. Tonight I intended to make sure Arthur Samson understood my desire to get out of this town and see the world. With him.

  Daddy let us off at the front door of the schoolhouse. Light shone from every window, keeping the growing darkness at bay. A large automobile idled nearby, but I couldn’t see who sat behind the wheel, Arthur or Mr. Thacker, so I followed Mama inside.

  “Thank heavens you’re here, Margaret.” Mrs. Thacker sailed toward Mama, gloved hands meeting Mama’s shoulders for a moment as their cheeks almost touched. Then Mrs. Thacker pulled away. “People will begin arriving shortly.”

  Mama set her handbag in a seat on the front row. “What should I do to help?”

  “Nothing at the moment. We’ll greet people as they arrive, maybe help them find a seat. Of course I’ll introduce Dr. Whitmire.”

  My attention wandered from their conversation. I couldn’t muster the same enthusiasm for hearing a theology professor’s lecture.

  The door opened again. The two potted ferns he carried hid his face, but I knew it was Arthur. No one else in Downington these days wore the tall boots and brown uniform of a soldier.

  “Put those up front,” Mrs. Thacker told her nephew. “One on either side of the podium.”

  My gaze followed Arthur up the aisle, admiring his purposeful stride, his strong arms. He set down the plants as directed.

  “That’s fine,” Mrs. Thacker said. “Now come say hello to Mrs. Hendricks and Rebekah.”

  He turned toward us, removing his hat as his lips rose in a lazy grin. White teeth glistened against sun-darkened skin, as did his closely cropped hair, the color of sunshine.

  “So nice to see you again, Mrs. Hendricks. Miss Rebekah.”

&
nbsp; I stood straighter and grinned right back. Voices beyond the door drew Mama and Mrs. Thacker toward the entrance. The three other members of the Women’s Forum bustled inside and exchanged greetings as Arthur came to stand beside me. My insides melted like butter on hot biscuits as he gazed into my eyes.

  It had been the same since the first moment we’d met, nearly three weeks ago, when he’d come to Downingtown to visit his aunt and uncle. He wasn’t like other boys I’d known. He didn’t trudge along in dirty fields. He soared above them.

  A college graduate. An aspiring aviator. A man of the world. The fact that he paid attention to a country bumpkin like me set my head spinning and my heart pounding.

  His eyes never left mine, though people filed into the room around us. I didn’t want to let the moment go. Not yet. I laced my fingers together and took note of listening ears. Leaning toward him, I asked, “Do you have a seat yet, Mr. Samson?”

  He leaned in, too, and winked. “I’d hoped to forego this pleasure altogether.” He looked toward the door and then back at me, his invitation clear.

  I bit my bottom lip and glanced at Mama. She stood on one side of the entrance, Mrs. Thacker opposite, while the other ladies flitted around, leading people to empty seats. No one took notice of us.

  Arthur put his hand on my elbow and urged me toward the back corner of the room. Ensconced in shadow, his smooth voice wrapped around me like the silk shawl my aunt Adabelle had sent for my high school graduation.

  “What about you?” His voice was low, in tone and volume. “Are you pining to hear a lecture this evening?”

  I bit down a nervous giggle as Arthur’s lips curved into another grin. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Sit with me on the front steps. It’s our last chance to talk. I leave for Texas in the morning.”

  At that moment, Mrs. Thacker swept toward the front of the room, Mama following close behind. Before Mrs. Thacker could turn to face the gathered crowd, Arthur and I slipped out the door and into the twilight.

  I settled on the middle of the three steps, straightened my skirt, and tucked my shoes up under the hem as Arthur walked into the schoolyard and lit a cigarette. The rumble of voices slipped across the still air. A smatter of clapping. By the time the droning began, Arthur had ground his glowing stub into the dirt and lounged beside me, leaning back on his elbows.

  “This time next week I should be up in a plane.” His head tipped back as if he could see himself up in the sky now. “First over Texas, then over France. Or Germany.”

  I followed his gaze to the heavens, thinking of the many times I had, as a child, wished upon the first star of evening. Now I believed God directed my path, but I prayed that path included Arthur.

  “I wish I could fly up there with you.”

  “Do you?” Arthur sat up a little, his laughing eyes roving over my face. “Wouldn’t you be afraid?”

  I shook my head, remembering hours, days, years of yearning to be free from housework and gardens and livestock. Free from Mama’s scorching looks and sharp tongue. Ever since I’d graduated high school, I’d dreamed of leaving this tiny, boring town behind. “I want to go places, do things. I want a life full of more than planting and harvesting and chores. A life worth living.”

  “I could teach you to fly an airplane,” he said.

  The stars winked at me from above. I cocked my head and tried to imagine soaring above the ground all on my own. My stomach somersaulted. “Maybe you could teach me to drive a motorcar before I attempt a plane.”

  Our laughter mingled together like honey in hot tea. And tasted just as sweet.

  He leaned toward me. “We could do exciting things, Rebekah. You and me.”

  I pressed my hands to my middle. Did he mean it? Would he be my wings to fly beyond Downington?

  His usually languid voice turned intense. “You aren’t like any girl I’ve ever met. You dream big. I like that.”

  My arms wrapped all the way around my middle now. Did he mean what I thought he meant?

  He gathered my hands in his. “After I take care of the Huns, I’ll come back to get you. We’ll live in Dallas or New York or maybe somewhere in Europe. I can look around while I’m there.”

  I sucked in the night air, closed my eyes, and for a moment envisioned all my dreams coming true. “You’ll be a celebrated war ace. I’ll be a clubwoman with my name and picture in the newspaper every week.” Tears pushed at the back of my eyes, but I refused to cry even happy tears.

  My eyes flew open again as his fingers intertwined with mine. “Tell me you aren’t teasing me, Arthur. Tell me this is real.”

  With a finger beneath my chin, he tipped my face up toward his. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it, Rebekah.”

  He leaned closer. I swallowed hard, his face now inches from mine, his breath caressing my cheek. My eyes fluttered shut. His hands landed on my waist before the fire of his lips shot through me. It was like nothing I’d imagined or experienced before. Seconds passed—or was it minutes? It seemed ages, yet a mere flash of time. When he pulled away, I reminded myself to breathe.

  He draped one arm across my shoulders as if it had been there a hundred times. I shivered once and nestled my head on his chest, beneath his chin. We sat there, silently spinning our dreams until applause burst from the schoolroom.

  Arthur helped me to my feet. We tiptoed into the back of the room and clapped along with the others. Just as we’d suspected, no one imagined we hadn’t been there the entire time.

  Arthur and I helped Mama and Mrs. Thacker put the room to rights after the crowd had gone.

  “Rebekah Grace?” Mama called from the other side of the room as she slipped her handbag over her arm.

  “I think we’re leaving.” The whispered words scratched my throat as I turned to Arthur.

  He squeezed my hand, then let it go. “Don’t forget to write to me.” His breath tickled my ear.

  Mama stopped near us, her company smile in place. “I hear you are leaving us, Mr. Samson.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, you be careful over there.” Her gaze held his. “I expect you’ll come see us again when you can?”

  The grin he threw in my direction tingled me from head to toe. “That’s my intention, Mrs. Hendricks.”

  Mama’s eyes remained on him, though she spoke to me. “Say good-bye now, Rebekah.” She offered a curt nod before charging out the door as if we hadn’t a moment to spare. Would she forever treat me like a child?

  “Good-bye, Mrs. Thacker, Mr. Samson.” I gave them each a shy curtsy before my eyes held a lingering farewell with Arthur’s. Then I hurried down the steps and scrambled into the waiting buggy. Daddy slapped the reins. We jolted forward.

  I leaned out the buggy to look behind us, one last farewell. But Arthur was nowhere in sight. And already my heart ached with missing him.

  Two days after the train carried Arthur to Camp Dick in Texas, a sweet yeasty smell from the kitchen tickled my nose. I pulled my shawl closer around me, debating whether to help Mama bake or remain brooding in the parlor. I sighed and looked at my hands. Mama said busy hands helped pass the time. But what did she know, really? She’d met Daddy here in Downington, where she lived but a short buggy ride away until the day they married. Still, I had to do something to occupy my mind or I’d go mad thinking about Arthur.

  Before I made it to the kitchen, a knock rattled the side door. I stopped in the hall.

  “Why, Mr. Graves.” Mama used her syrupy voice, the one reserved for my potential suitors.

  Barney Graves’s deep mumble replied. His heavy steps resounded on the floor. Then a hollow thud. Mama’s box of groceries from his store.

  The oven door creaked open. Now the scent of cinnamon overwhelmed me, but it couldn’t lure me in. Not with him there. A shudder passed over me as I pictured Barney’s pasty face behind bushy whiskers. He had to be thirty, at least. Why in the world did Mama think him a catch?

  “Rebekah Grace?” Mama’s voice sent me flyin
g into the parlor. I flattened myself against the wall and prayed she wouldn’t search for me. But Mama knew me too well. Before I’d finished petitioning the Almighty, she appeared. “There you are. Come walk Mr. Graves to his car.”

  My shoulders sagged. Mama leaned close, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know you’re pining after Mr. Samson, but my advice in finding a man is the same as for baking a cake: it’s best to have the ingredients on hand for two, in case the first one falls flat.”

  She had a point, though I didn’t doubt Arthur. Hadn’t his promises been as good as an engagement? After this horrible war ended, he and I would marry and head off on all kinds of adventures. Still, there was no use fighting Mama. I fixed a smile on my face and followed, determined to endure.

  “Mama said you were leaving, Mr. Graves.” I crooked my fingers around his elbow and led him across the yard. What could I talk to him about? “You must be so proud to see your name up there with your father’s now. Graves and Son Dry Goods Store. It sounds quite prestigious.” Truthfully, I thought Graves an unfortunate last name, and not one I’d spread across my place of business.

  His shy eyes lit with hope as I stared up at him. “Yes, Miss Rebekah. I’m right pleased.”

  “Well, you should be. Quite an accomplishment for a young man like you.” I batted my lashes as he stammered an answer I didn’t really catch.

  He climbed inside his new Model T, and the engine roared to life. I stepped back as the automobile chugged away, splaying a trail of dust behind. I felt a bit guilty after he motored out of sight. As my gaze drifted above the gritty spray and fixed on the expanse of clear blue sky, I prayed again for a life that stretched out into the unknown rather than one that trudged along in Oklahoma dust.

  The old swing hanging from the massive oak creaked in the breeze. I sat on the smooth wooden seat and pushed with my feet, as I had so many times as a child. It was too early for Arthur’s first letter, but I figured it wouldn’t be too many more days before it arrived. Would he write words of love or simply tell me about his training? I leaned my head against the weather-worn rope. If only I knew how much longer until we could be together.