Mars with Venus Rising

by Hope Toler Dougherty

  Could he lead her all the way to a seat on his plane? She shuddered, and John’s arm tightened as they walked toward home.

  24

  John skidded the blue Volkswagen to a stop in front of his house. When he’d left her in her family room, Penn had intended to pack for the trip. His throat ached at the memory of her ashen face, her stooped back as she ascended the stairs.

  He had to help her.

  Praying for help and wisdom, he grabbed a couple of shorts and shirts, his shaving kit and Bible, stuffing all of it into a duffel bag. He tossed the duffel into the back and crammed himself into the driver’s seat. Gripping the steering wheel, he bowed his head before cranking the engine. God, thank You for this opportunity to help Penn. Please help her to trust me. Please help her to trust You. He raked his hands through his hair and pointed Gretchen toward Penn’s.

  The porch creaked under his feet. He rang the doorbell. No answer. Peeking through the glass in the front door, he found her, head in hands, in the middle of the couch. He banged on the door and tried the knob. Unlocked.

  “Penn.”

  She jerked and raised glassy, red-rimmed eyes toward him.

  An overnight case waited beside her feet.

  “Let me take your bag. If you’ve forgotten anything, we’ll buy it down there.”

  She remained seated, motionless except for her thumb working on her ring.

  “Penn, I’ve got everything squared away. Let’s get going. The faster we leave, the faster we’ll be there.” He stooped for her case.

  “I can’t.” She licked her lips. Panic pinched her face. Tears flooded those big brown eyes. “I thought I could, but I can’t.”

  “No problem. I’ll drive you.” Eight hours, give or take. “Come on. Let’s get going.” He held his hand for her.

  Color flooded her cheeks. “You’ll come with me?”

  “You’re in no condition to drive.” He settled beside her. “I love them, too, Penn.”

  Fresh tears swelled. Her phone buzzed from her purse. She wrangled it open and dug for the device. Winnie again. The words mangled together, and the sobs wrenched his heart.

  She hung up and dropped her face on her folded arms. “I have to get down there. Now.”

  “Penn.” He spread his hand across her back.

  “I have to fly.” She sucked in a breath. “But I don’t know if I can do it.”

  “Let me help you, Penn. We’ll do it together.” He pulled her off the couch and into his arms. He held her in a tight hug, wishing he could transfer peace to her trembling body. “Let’s go.”

  John glanced at her as he parked the Volkswagen at the airport. Her hands wrapped around her seatbelt in a white knuckled grip. Her breaths reduced to short puffs, she stared straight ahead.

  He shifted the stick into park and turned off the ignition. Taking her freezing hands into his, he caressed her fingers. “You can do this, Penn.”

  Penn’s eyes darted to him, a dazed look fighting with their beauty.

  He cupped the side of her neck. “Penn, listen to me. I’m a careful pilot. It’s clear weather all the way down. Nothing stirring in any direction for miles. You’ll be with your aunts before you know it.”

  She blinked.

  “Let’s pray. I usually do before I take off, but I think we need to now.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “God, we need to get to Oxford. Please lead us safely. We need clear weather the whole way. Penn needs peace and comfort now. Help her to relax and trust You.”

  ~*~

  Penn thanked God for John and his prayer, a simple one—straight forward and to the point—just like John himself.

  Thank You. Thank You for John.

  “I have to file our flight plan. Let’s go inside, OK?”

  Would her legs carry her inside? Doubtful. Something in her face must have conveyed her apprehension to John.

  “Hang tight. I’ll grab our bags and open the door for you.”

  He helped her out, and wrapped a strong arm around her waist. Both their bags bounced against his other side as they entered the receiving area. The smell of cleaning supplies attacked her olfactory glands as soon as they stepped inside.

  Penn pressed her nose into John’s chest to replace the chemical scent with his. He didn’t wear cologne today nor by the looks of his scruffy whiskers did he use aftershave. He smelled of soap, clean and spicy, and something else. Today he smelled like strength.

  She drank in that smell. She needed as much strength she could get.

  A petite, blonde woman manned the front desk.

  “Hi, Reesa. I need to file my flight plan.”

  “Hey, John. You got a great day to fly.”

  He plopped the bags in front of the reception counter but kept his arm around Penn. “That’s just what I was telling, Penn. Reesa, this is Penn Davenport. Penn, meet Reesa—manager, pilot, instructor—she keeps us all straight.”

  Reesa smiled at her, and Penn’s mouth quivered.

  “You got that right.” Reesa wiggled a pink tipped finger at John. “And don’t forget it, pretty boy.”

  “Do you have the weather on the radar screen? I wanted to show Penn our route.”

  Reesa turned the screen toward them. “Sure thing.”

  “See, Penn.” John pointed to the map of the eastern side of the country. “All clear from Vermont to Florida. Not even any small green blips. And look to the west. All the way out to Illinois, Missouri, Arkansas. Nothing.” He squeezed her shoulder.

  “Fall’s usually a great time to fly, honey.”

  Says you, a pilot, instructor, the keeper of the airport. Penn pushed her arms against her stomach, her eyes darting from Reesa, to the door, and back to the radar screen.

  Reesa leaned against the counter. “I mean every now and then you do need to keep your eye out for hurricanes down there in the southeast.”

  John pulled her closer and kneaded her forearm. “But—” The tone of his voice held a warning.

  “Nothing’s brewing out there on the Atlantic today.” Reesa raised her palms. “No tropical storms. No hurricanes.”

  “Right you are—” A voice boomed from behind them. “John, glad I caught you.” Striding toward them, a burly man, ruddy faced and barrel chested, stretched out his hand. He grabbed John’s shoulder and pumped his free hand. “So you have to be Penn. I’ve heard so much about you.” He engulfed her hand and winked at John.

  John gestured to the older man. “This is James Dunbar, my boss.”

  His eyes kind and sure, James Dunbar emanated enthusiasm and energy. In normal circumstances, she’d have enjoyed meeting him. Today was nowhere near normal.

  “You got a great day to fly.”

  Again with the “great day to fly” mumbo-jumbo. Was this refrain for her benefit or regular pilot banter?

  “Take the Cirrus, John.” He nodded his head toward the hangar. “It’s fueled up and ready to go. After you called me, I ordered it for you.”

  “But I—it’s more...”

  “No, buts.” He flicked away John’s protest. “Don’t worry about the fee. I’m taking care of it, the whole thing.”

  “But—”

  “Quit with the ‘buts’ already. Let other people help, too, son.”

  “Thanks, boss. This is great.” He angled his head toward Penn’s. “We just got an upgrade.”

  “Now? At the last minute?” Penn breathed through her nose to slow her breathing. She fought lightheadedness.

  He chuckled and squeezed her shoulder. “It’s a good last minute thing, Penn. Trust me.” John filed the flight plan and chatted with James.

  Penn rolled “trust me” and “great day to fly” around in her mind.

  “All right. We’re set.” John patted the counter and glanced down at Penn. “I have to do the pre-flight check. Do you want to wait inside or come watch?”

  Neither. She wanted to be back at home with her head stuck into Peri’s neck smelling leather and sweat and cold wind i
n his mane, her aunts baking celebration cookies in the kitchen. But she wasn’t at home. She was in this airport trying to breathe while John—kind, capable, special John—stroked her hair and waited for her answer. If only she could speak.

  Reesa rescued her. “You go get started, John. Let Penn visit the ladies room, and I’ll bring her outside in a few minutes. OK?”

  John lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “OK?” He rubbed his thumb across her cheek.

  She nodded.

  “All right. See you out there in a few.”

  He hoisted the bags and for the first time in fifteen minutes, her legs supported her without help. Loneliness stole all the strength his presence had afforded her. Her knees wobbled, and she clutched the counter to steady herself as he disappeared through the glass door.

  Reesa rounded the end of the counter and hooked her arm through Penn’s. “This way.” She led her to the bathroom.

  As Penn emerged from the bathroom, Reesa caught her hand. “Penn, I just met you, but I feel like I know you a little. John’s mentioned you.”

  Penn arched a brow.

  Reesa raised her hand. “Now, wait. Don’t get your hackles up. He’s a gentleman. He thinks a lot of you.”

  Penn’s traitorous heart warmed at the words.

  Reesa fingered a pendant on a silver chain. “I know this trip will be difficult for you.”

  Difficult? Try vomit-inducing. Breath-stealing. Life altering. Penn clamped on the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. Her fingers clawed her arm.

  Reesa reached for her hand. “John’s one of our best pilots. He doesn’t play around. I’d fly with him any time. And as a pilot myself, I don’t say that about everybody.” She hooked a lock of her blonde bob behind her ear. “Let me tell you something. I pray every time one of our planes go out. I’ll do the same today, and I’ll be praying for you the whole way.” She laid her hand on Penn’s shoulder. “You can do this, honey.”

  ~*~

  Penn’s icy fingers refused to buckle the seatbelt correctly.

  John pushed her hands to the side of her lap. “Let me do that for you.” He buckled the seatbelt and adjusted for a snug fit. “Good.”

  “Do we get parachutes?”

  He cocked his head. “Would you jump if you had one?”

  She bit her lip.

  “Exactly.”

  She pointed to a dial. “What’s that?”

  “The vertical speed indicator. Shows the rate that the plane is climbing or descending.”

  She tapped the next dial. “That one?”

  “Airspeed indicator. Shows the speed of the plane in relation to air around it.”

  “That one?”

  “Attitude indicator. Shows the relationship between the wing, the nose position, and the natural horizon.”

  None of this information made any sense to her, not when she struggled to breathe and forced herself not to claw her way out of the plane. She didn’t understand John’s explanations, but questions replaced the ones he answered. She glanced at the ceiling. “What about that red-handle thingy?”

  John hesitated. “It’s a parachute for the plane.”

  “Oh, ha ha. Very funny, John. I get your message. No more questions.” She faced the window.

  John tugged her chin back to him. “I don’t think you’re stupid, and I don’t mind your questions.” He hesitated again and narrowed his eyes. His thumb trailed from her chin to behind her ear. “Ask all you want.”

  She shook her head, and he threaded his fingers into the curls brushing her neck. “No. Maybe it’s better not knowing.” She leaned into his hand and concentrated on the soothing pattern of his fingers through her hair, a difficult feat with her stomach knocking on the bottom of her lungs.

  “You can do this. I know you can. You’re stronger than you think.”

  She pressed her lips to fight the bile bubbling in her stomach.

  “Think about this summer, Penn.” He counted with his left hand. “The Ferris wheel, the roller coaster, my bike...” He shrugged.

  “It’s a great big leap from a motorcycle to a plane if that’s where you were going with that line of thinking.” Penn rounded her lips and pushed air out of her mouth like expectant TV moms in Lamaze classes.

  He chuckled. “I guess you’re right.” He sobered. “You ready?”

  She pushed her back against the seat and straightened. “Is it time?”

  “You tell me. I’m ready when you are.”

  “Do you have a barf bag?” Please, please, please. Do not throw up in front of this man.

  He reached behind her and handed her a white paper bag. “Whatever you need.”

  “I just don’t know if—”

  “Let’s pray again.” And he did.

  For peace. For comfort. For safety. Quick. Short. A text to God instead of a letter.

  “Don’t go for long, winding prayers, huh?” She’d love a chatty, rambling letter right now.

  “I told you I like to get to the point.” He leaned over and brushed her cheek with his lips. “You can do this, Penn. Close your eyes and try to nap if you want.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Her esophagus had closed to the point of making swallowing a chore. Her lungs worked as if a one-hundred-pound weight lay on her chest. Red arcs cut into her palm from the constant pressure of her fisted fingers. Napping while her body went wacky? No way. “Closing my eyes might make it worse.”

  John replied, but she didn’t quite understand him. She glanced toward him. He spoke into his microphone, not to her. He radioed Reesa to request clearance for takeoff. While she took inventory of her body shutting down, he’d set things in motion for her nightmare.

  The plane slowly began to roll forward. She opened the barf bag and folded down the top. Just in casey. Her heart beat as if she’d just tagged home plate after dashing around the bases. She sucked air into her lungs with the same fierceness she needed after a homer.

  She gripped the arm rests, and words she thought she’d forgotten drummed in her mind. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil... Words of the twenty-third Psalm. The aunts had recited the King James Version to her every night of her childhood after reading a bedtime story.

  When was the last time she’d said it? She couldn’t remember, but she repeated them as she kept her eyes pinned to the bag resting in her lap.

  Lead me beside the still waters. She needed calm and quiet.

  For Thou art with me. She needed God with her right now.

  Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me. Absolutely need comfort. Divine comfort.

  The words tumbled over and over in her mind. By the time she’d recited the Psalm four times—or was it five?—something changed about the plane. What did that mean? She chanced a quick peek away from the bag, and saw John’s hands adjusting knobs, turning dials, finally resting, one on his thigh and one on something that looked like a joystick.

  What did he call it? A yoke.

  She loved looking at those hands. Long, tan fingers. Capable when driving the motorcycle or buckling her into her seat. Firm and comforting when he led her away from the questioning eyes at Apple Fest. Soft and tender when he cradled her cheek. She longed for them to touch her now.

  “OK, Penn.” He shouted above the engine noise. “We’re at cruising altitude.” He reached over and grabbed her hand, still cemented to the armrest. He wiggled his fingers under her palm, loosening the grip and engulfed her hand in his. “That’s better, don’t you think?” He focused back on the windshield, not expecting an answer.

  Good. Her brain still wasn’t up to signaling words to her mouth. Her eyes peeped away from her lap and trailed over the dials, emphasizing her location.

  In the sky.

  In a plane.

  Her eyes skittered away from the dials and landed on the glass beside her.

  Bad mistake.

  Penn gulped in air and worked for the armrest again.

  John refused to let go,
holding steady. “You’re doing fine.”

  Says you. She swallowed and forced herself to concentrate on his thumb and the pendulum path he traced on the back of her hand.

  25

  Penn’s fingers throbbed from gripping the armrests for over two hours. Her breathing slowed to close to normal, but Penn couldn’t relax her aching fingers. Waiting at the ready on her lap, the barf bag remained folded and pristine, empty.

  Thank you, God, for keeping me from using that bag.

  At least some of her dignity remained intact. No throwing up in front of John.

  Thank you, God, for the Bible verses, too.

  For the first hour, the Twenty-third Psalm marched through her thoughts, like a platoon on maneuvers. The phrases, as familiar as the scrollwork on her ring, echoed in her brain without effort.

  Psalm twenty-three repeated until metamorphosing into another verse, one she’d learned as a child in Vacation Bible School. I will be with you always.

  Always meant anytime, even in a plane. Right?

  More verses reverberated in her mind.

  Be strong and courageous. A command, perhaps? Was she strong with her fingers squeezing the life out of the armrests? Did she exhibit courage by entering the cockpit, sticking her behind in the seat, allowing John to take off without clawing herself out the door?

  So...a command, and she was being obedient. Obedient to the point of being in a plane.

  In. A. Plane.

  What in the world was she, Penn Davenport, doing in a plane, for Pete’s sake?

  Going to her aunts. Her sweet aunts who loved her more than she could imagine.

  Her stomach churned. She swallowed.

  I’m coming. I’m coming. Please hang on. Please be all right.

  John shifted and spoke into the microphone. He glanced over to her and smiled. “Just got clearance for landing. We’ll be there in a few minutes. You’re doing great.” He raised his thumb high between them.

  Her heart jumped to her throat and chased every single Bible verse out of her mind.

  The landing.

  “You’ll hear some sounds in a minute and maybe feel some light jolts. That’s just the landing gear moving into place. Everything’s good.”