Flying Jenny Read online

  “So, are you really an Indian?” She was embarrassed the moment she blurted the question. She wasn’t sure, but perhaps this was a very personal matter. She’d never thought of Indians being mixed with the rest of society. In her schoolbooks, the land had been theirs and the government had kept moving them around to make room for white farmers. But she’d thought the Indians all stuck together, stayed on reservations, and—as Clem had said his classmates at Harvard imagined—lived in teepees. She felt embarrassed not to know more.

  Clem smiled. “Sure am. Lots of folks in these parts are. Probably lots in New York are too, slipping past you.” He peered more closely at her. “In fact, you could be part Indian with those high cheekbones. Most here in Ponca City are Cherokee. I’m from the next county, Osage. Discovered a huge pool of oil there. Made us all rich.”

  “But your name is Donohue.”

  “Yep. Lots of smart Irishmen came in and married rich Indian women. My grandmother was Osage, she married an Irishman. So did my mother. French explorers were marrying Indian women and trading furs with the Osage way before the Irish arrived. The Jesuits brought in religion and were well established in St. Louis by the late 1700s.”

  St. Louis again. Barnes. Plane crashes. Clem’s gentle, lopsided grin filled the void of Laura’s silence. She couldn’t really focus on what he was saying. A huge grandfather clock bonged the hour in the hush of the heavily carpeted rooms. Laura noticed that in this bookcase-lined study, with its massive mahogany desk, there seemed to be several places where one Oriental carpet was lying on top of another. She counted the bongs, one . . . two . . . three . . . four. She had to make a decision about flying soon; she was supposed to meet Roy and Jenny at four thirty to go over their stunts for tomorrow.

  “My parents moved here, away from Pawhuska, a few miles over,” Clem said, “because things were getting a little ugly there. People being killed—dying mysteriously—over headrights. That’s what they call the Osage oil allotments.”

  “Oh.” It was all Laura could think to say. Her own head was crammed with scrambled thoughts. Clem had mentioned Jesuits in St. Louis. What did that mean? And what were the mystery killings? She should follow up on all this, but she felt a strange inertia. St. Louis had something to do with her mother, yet it was easier to let that worry go than try to figure it out. She knew who her grandfather was, and that was enough. There was just too much happening at once—Barnes now insisting she must stick with the air show. “What luck, firsthand accounts of those crazy stunts,” he’d said, before she’d told him she was scared and didn’t want to do it. Now that she’d seen the dangers, Laura never wanted to get in an airplane again. Jenny was mad at her for saying she wanted to back out, reminding Laura that she’d promised to fly in Roy’s barnstorming act until he could find some kind of replacement. He would probably be furious. Strangely enough, Roy was the one Laura most wanted to please. Cheesy would probably be upset with her too. He was ecstatic with the pictures of that daredevil’s crash. When they had dropped him off to mail his pictures, he’d said he couldn’t wait to get to the next air show. Lucky me—Laura nearly got the shakes just thinking about it—I’ll probably be his next picture of someone hanging upside down from a cockpit.

  “I don’t mean to be prying,” Clem’s soft drawl moved in slow waves across the room, “but you look lost. Maybe it would help to talk about it. These pilots don’t seem to give any of this a thought. They don’t worry about much.”

  “I thought Roy was going to be killed.” Laura’s words exploded out of her as two bright red spots appeared on her cheeks. “How can everyone take it so calmly?” She lowered her voice in the hushed room, but it was still husky with emotion. “I think he should stop doing these foolish tricks.”

  Clem gave her a slow, thoughtful look. “You don’t want to be worrying too much about Roy, ma’am.” He shook his head slightly. His voice was soft but firm. “Wouldn’t do you any good.”

  The red spots in Laura’s cheeks deepened. “I . . . ah, just mean, it seems so dangerous.”

  “He’s a daredevil through and through. My older brother went to college with him—him and John. Both of ’em crazy to fly since they were boys.”

  “Was that St. Louis?”

  “Yes, why do you ask?”

  Laura frowned. “Just curious.”

  “Roy can be fierce, even mean sometimes,” Clem continued. “You don’t want to get crossways of him. His life is flying, and he thinks Jenny’s should be too.”

  “Why pick Jenny? I don’t quite get that part.”

  “Not sure, ma’am.” Clem sat down in a huge leather armchair and waved Laura to a gilt brocade seat beside him. “Guess he’s frustrated. Went out of his way to take her on as a student, did it as a favor to John. He claims she’s turned out to be the best pupil he’s ever had, fearless. Doesn’t seem to worry about much of anything. But she won’t take herself seriously enough to compete.”

  “I’m the opposite.” Laura felt her throat tighten, her voice coming out high-pitched, nearly a screech. “I’ve always been serious.” She could feel the scrambled thoughts taking over, rushing unformed out of her mouth. “I don’t think about competing, I just do what’s there.” She stopped, looked at Clem without appearing to see him, shook her head slightly as though trying to recall where she was. Then, with a deep breath, she spoke more slowly, frowning, picking her way through unexplored territory. “I was never scared before, not of anything that I can remember.” She had long ago learned to guard against asking herself the endless emotional/philosophical questions that never seemed to take her mother and her friends anywhere but in a circle. Abstractions—the meaning of life, riddles of time and space, of art and love. Can psychiatry redefine war? Or better yet, can poetry eliminate it? All things that could distract Laura from the here and now. She had kept herself too busy to stop and ponder. With no one to lean on for guidance or answers, she had hurtled forward with no time for questions.

  “I’ve essentially been on my own since I was very little. Perhaps I had to struggle, but I wasn’t conscious of it.” She paused, looked again at Clem, more focused on him now, moved her eyes around his mother’s library. Her words took on speed. “I guess I just put one foot in front of the other and tried to plow ahead. Now all of a sudden, things feel like they’re changing. But I don’t quite know what it means. Makes for a good reporter, I guess—just plow ahead. I’ll lose my job if I don’t fly with Jenny. But it’s all been in such a headlong rush, I feel like I need to take a breather. Think about things for once.”

  “Seems like you need to sort a lot of things out.” Clem’s voice was quiet, reassuring. It flashed through Laura’s head that these men in the West spoke this way out of habit of calming wild horses or angry bulls. No rat-a-tat-tat like New York. “How important is this job to you?”

  Laura looked at Clem, startled. “Important? That’s silly. I have no other choice. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get that job?” She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, squared her shoulders, and then smiled at Clem.

  “We’ve got to get going,” she said with a breathless urgency that suggested she had no memory of their previous conversation. “We’ve got to pick up Cheesy before we see Roy and Jenny. I’m supposed to meet them at four thirty to practice stunts.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THE LOVEBIRDS

  “What a mess.” Jenny was looking at the field littered with the debris of the afternoon’s rodeo and aerobatic events, but she was thinking of Roy’s insistence on their upcoming trip to Pawhuska. The three of them had just driven up in John’s yellow Duesenberg with its huge wire wheels and spare whitewall attached to the side of its elongated radiator. Roy’s closed-cabined Bellanca was there, parked alongside Jenny’s open two-seater. He had already paid some locals to find fuel and gas up the two planes.

  The trio stepped out of the car into Baby Ruth and Milky Way candy wrappers, Nehi soda bottles of every colorful flavor, and crumpled paper cups reekin
g of bathtub gin and bootleg beer. Shreds of dried grass competed with weeds in the rutted field.

  Jenny could envision that the next few days wouldn’t be much fun. Laura was sure to cause trouble one way or the other. Despite trying to insinuate herself into all their lives, she was probably going to back out of the air shows now that Jenny had made the commitment. Jenny would rather be going back home with John. She had meant it when she complained about missing an upcoming country club dance. She smiled to herself. John wouldn’t mind, though, he hated what he called those stuffed-shirt, dowager affairs. No matter how it unfolded, she suspected this situation was going to get messy. Laura didn’t seem to have any kind of proper moral compass and was ogling Roy, while poor Clem seemed to be smitten with her.

  “Johnny boy, why don’t you come fly along with me?” Roy cut into her thoughts. “The girls have their own plane. You might as well be taking part in this fine adventure.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks.” John already looked dressed for the office in his vested, pale linen suit of a soft gray that almost matched the streaks at his temples. “I really need to be getting back to work.” Unlike most men of the day, he chose to wear a wedding ring, a simple gold band on his left hand. Jenny and Roy were in their flying togs, he in tall leather boots.

  “Breaking up the old gang to play with your darned cars.” Roy wrinkled his nose in feigned disgust. “I can’t imagine why you waste your time.”

  “Makes me a living. And we’re developing some really exciting new things: front-wheel drive, retractable headlamps.”

  “Exactly. Stuck on the ground.” Roy touched his trademark checkered flying scarf, this one a bright blue. “I’ll never understand how you could give up the air.”

  “You know I haven’t quit. That’s bunk.”

  “He just finds other things more interesting.” Jenny’s voice had a slight edge. “Designing a car without running boards. Can you imagine the thrill?”

  “Somebody’s got to pay for your flying lessons,” John replied with a grin.

  “This isn’t a joke.” Roy’s voice was unexpectedly stern. “She’s got a real talent, John. You ought to encourage her more. Your boss at Cord auto owns a big interest in Stinson Aircraft. You should get Stinson to sponsor her. Lots of endorsement money could come her way.”

  “What’s gotten into you? I don’t discourage her.” John narrowed his eyes at Roy.

  “Don’t pay any attention to him, darling.” Jenny gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “He’s just miffed because I’m not overly eager to learn outside loops.”

  John looked from one to the other in bewilderment. “What are you two talking about? My girl here always does as she pleases.” He turned to Jenny, warmth in his ever-so-slightly solicitous tone. “Now, didn’t you take off on your own and go flying up to Cleveland to see the races? I warned you it would be long hard days in your little biplane, having to stop every few miles for gas.”

  “And you were absolutely right,” Jenny replied, fairly cooing at her husband. “It was grueling. I was certainly glad I hadn’t been foolish enough to enter that derby, going all the way from San Diego to Cleveland. Oklahoma City was far enough.”

  “That’s nonsense, Jenny, and you know it.” Roy’s rising anger startled her. It was rare for the devil-may-care bon vivant to step out of character. A sudden gust of Oklahoma wind swept across the flat plain of the airfield, kicking up dust and debris, but Roy met the competing roar, lifting his voice to a shout. “With proper sponsorship and the right mechanics, racing’s a very different ball game from limping along on your own, refueling in one little town after another.”

  “You don’t need a sponsor,” Jenny shot back. “You just buzz around as you please.”

  “Not the same thing. I’ve already built my reputation and skills.” Roy’s angry tone dissipated; he was back to his evangelical stance for all things touching aviation. “I’ve been flying for twenty years, from the time when planes weren’t much more than bicycles with flippers instead of handlebars. Now we have these fantastic fast planes, commercial airlines that have established routes. Manufacturers hiring stunters to show off their new wares. All those women in the derby had sponsors and teams of backup people.”

  “Oh my.” Jenny gave them both an innocent smile. “I didn’t mean to touch a nerve. Let’s get on with tomorrow’s agenda and not just stand around talking.”

  “Jenny, babe, what’s going on here?” John asked. “When we were in New York, you turned down Mark Snyder’s offer for a sponsorship from Curtiss. You said you didn’t want it.”

  “Oh lordy, sweetheart, you’re right.” She gave her tinkly laugh, but this time it had a distinctly nervous edge. “I just didn’t tell Roy, that’s all. He seems to want me to end up being just like that pushy reporter.”

  John responded with a quizzical frown.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Roy turned on his heel, his shiny leather boots squeaking with the abruptness of the move. “I’m heading over to check out the plane,” he yelled over his shoulder, moving away from the Deusenberg and toward his Bellanca.

  As he strode off, Jenny and John watched Clem’s Pierce-Arrow stirring up a cloud of dust as it headed their way.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  A LION IN WAITING

  Jenny looked on in surprise as Roy gushed over Laura, who along with Cheesy and Clem had just filed out of the Pierce-Arrow into the dusty field blowing with debris.

  “Now don’t you have a wonderful spirit,” Roy said, standing next to his plane and bestowing a magnificent smile on the reporter. “Real spunk. You said you were frightened, but here you are.” He waved his arm in the broad gesture of the cavalier that he had first exhibited when he rescued Laura and Jenny the night before at the Ponca City airport.

  Cheesy, lugging his camera equipment, did a double take. “Her? Never saw her scared of anything.”

  Laura reddened. “We got the local news on the way over. It has the story I wrote in Atchison that was picked up off the wires.”

  Roy took the paper. “That’s terrific, kid. Look at that,” he said, hitting the newspaper with his hand. “You’ve got to admire a woman with that kind of spirit. Look at that. The whole story right there. Even spelled my name right. You’re a real wonder, my girl.” He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug. “So,” he said in a low voice, patting Laura on the shoulder, “I want to have a little talk with you about your fears.” He pointedly turned away from the others.

  As Laura blushed even deeper, Jenny lifted her brows and rolled her eyes at John, who put a hand up to his face to hide his answering grin. Jenny knew her husband could see the play Roy was making for Laura, his smile that was almost a smirk told her that. But he didn’t seem to have a glimmer about the way her instructor was trying to shame Jenny into competetive flying by praising the reporter’s spunk.

  “But first the big news,” Roy continued. “Roscoe Turner is going to join us for a day, as soon as the show’s over in Cleveland. And he’ll have Gilmore, his lion. That will really bring out the crowds. Turner is one heck of a pilot. He’ll put on a real show.” Roy still had his arm across Laura’s shoulder.

  “Oh lordy,” Jenny said, “he’s one of those flamboyant fliers who cause us all to be viewed like circus clowns.” The situation, she feared, was getting messier by the minute.

  “Come on, babe, Roscoe is great fun,” John said. “I was planning to go back to Oklahoma City today and leave you fellas to sort out your details, but I’ve got to hang around to see him. The crazy coot’s an old friend.”

  Jenny immediately perked up, and gave her husband a dazzling smile. With John around, things were always fine, and he would diffuse tension if Laura’s behavior got out of hand. He gave her a wink. Amazing how he could always read her mood.

  John chuckled, turning to Roy. “I read recently Roscoe was made an honorary colonel by the governor of Nevada. Whatever the devil that means.”

  “Hell of a guy. Up in Clev
eland for the races,” Roy replied. “Flying a Vega. As fast as those things are and as good as he is, he could win the Thompson Trophy.”

  “Good gravy,” said Jenny, slapping her forehead. “With all that’s going on I forgot about the derby. Amelia’s flying a Lockheed Vega too.”

  The tricky-to-handle Vega was a sleek single-wing plane that sat up high off the ground and was built for speed with laminated sheets of plywood stretched and glued over the wooden ribs of the fuselage. Vegas had won every speed award in the 1928 National Air Races in Los Angeles. Earlier this year, Lockheed had added Pratt & Whitney engines with 450 horsepower that enabled the Vega to hit speeds up to 165 miles per hour.

  “We’ll know tomorrow who wins,” Roy said with a pointed look at Jenny. “That’s when the women are due in. Too bad you didn’t give it a shot, you could have won. Amelia’s got the fastest plane, but she’s not competent enough to handle it.”

  Jenny felt her jaw stiffen, and John noticed.

  “I see,” he said, almost to himself, as he moved over to put his hand on her arm. He lifted his voice and took on a jovial tone. “Last I heard of Roscoe, he was working as a stunt pilot for Howard Hughes, and flying women who wanted to get a divorce back and forth from Los Angeles to Reno.”

  “That’s how he got the colonel title,” Roy said.

  “Hmm,” said John, giving Roy a hard look. “An honorary title for stunting around.”

  Roy whirled, startled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Jenny tensed. She had feared this was going to be a rocky trip, but it was taking a turn she hadn’t expected. John and Roy had known each for so long that a shift in tone or of an eyebrow could put either on alert that something was up with the other.