He beat her like he always did, but he let her climb in first. As soon as Mattie tipped the nose of her Jenny upward, she felt the shift in her own body. When she gained enough altitude, she executed several barrel rolls, spinning like a lathe straight over the airfield. Flying next in the inverted position, she skimmed at a low altitude over their group several times. Aida lifted her Kodak camera to capture a picture. Little Milly dipped her plane in perfect unison with Mattie’s.
“She’ll be an amazing pilot someday,” Mattie shouted as she righted the Jenny.
“What?” Leo called, clearly not hearing her voice over the thunder of the motor. He turned around.
“Milly.” Mattie raised her voice even more. “She’ll be an amazing fly girl.”
“One day!” Leo yelled back. The two of them shared a quick smile before Mattie returned her attention to the stick and pedals.
Vera wanted Mattie to swoop in from high in the heavens, her engine at full speed. In this trial run, Mattie was supposed to hook a large ring onto the twig representing Vera’s outstretched hand.
“Don’t come down too sharply,” Leo advised. She glowered at him as she focused on tilting the nose of her plane toward the ground.
“I’m the one who taught you.”
“I did a lot of strafing during the war, including observation balloons.” Leo didn’t say the words boastfully but as a matter-of-fact statement. It was the closest he had ever come to acknowledging his war record in Mattie’s presence.
“Would you say the same to my brothers? That they were diving too quickly?” Mattie asked.
“Absolutely,” Leo shouted, the wind carrying his words past her ears in a roaring rush.
She eased back on the descent. He grinned then. Not cocky. Not self-satisfied. But sweetly shy.
She buzzed over the melon-Vera. Although she had no way of actually seeing how close she’d come to the cloche-wearing fruit, sheknewshe’d nailed the trick. Zipping into the air, she swerved the plane back around in a sharp turn and executed a barrel roll. Skimming inverted over the path she’d just come, she caught sight of the melon with the peacock hat still proudly perched on its bulbous crown. A matching scarf tied around the center of the fruit flapped in the wind, as if cheering Mattie too. Even better, the brass hoop seemed to wink in the sun as it hung around the outstretched twig like an oversize bangle.
“Good job!” Leo turned back in her direction to yell to her. His voice wasn’t exactly brimming with exuberance, but that was just Leo.Those two words coming from him were high praise, and she could hear the faintest rumble of excitement in his deep tone.
“Thanks,” Mattie called. She started to let out a whoop, but it died in her throat as she spotted a figure in the woods, a camera in his hands.Benji Pringle.There was going to be a new photograph and article in theChicago Advance Leader, and it most assuredlywouldn’tbe about her successful stunt.
Chapter Eight
The photographic evidence has only confirmed that any performance by Vera Jones’s Flying Flappers will be certain to disappoint even the least discerning of airplane enthusiasts. By all appearances, it seems that the girls believe banal displays of hilarity, such as dressing up a melon as a vamp or a toy dog as an aviatrix, will entertain audiences. Unless one is amused by such lowbrow tricks, it may be best to stay home and listen to the radio instead of attending the gals’ inaugural show in nearby Platt, Michigan, in three days’ time.
—Benjamin Pringle,Chicago Advance Leader
“What do you mean, the loan is due by late November?” Mattie whispered urgently into the mouthpiece, not wanting anyone in Vera’s household to overhear her. “You originally said we had until May of next year to make the final payment.”
“I thought I’d be able to get an extension from the bank, Swift,” her father said wearily. Although she couldn’t see him, she knew he was rubbing his chin. Mattie herself began to march back and forth like a mechanical toy on a short track.
“You didn’t mention this before,” Mattie breathed out, trying to douse the anger rising inside her. Her pa was worried—she could hear it in his voice—and part of her didn’t want to make it worse.
“We thought it best—”
“Not to worry me,” Mattie finished for him, unable to keep the hurt and betrayal from her voice. “What happened to us, Pa? We always leaned on each other during the war. Now you’re keeping secrets, trying to protect me. I’m tough. I’ve always been.”
“I...” Her father’s voice faltered for a minute. “I wish you didn’t have to be. I should’ve done better by you, looked after you more, not placed so much on your shoulders.”
Mattie felt tears prick the backs of her eyes, but they didn’t fall. They rarely did. It seemed like she’d poured out all her reserves sobbing over Alfred’s death all those years ago.
“You’re hurting me more by shutting me out,” Mattie said quietly.
Her father swallowed hard. “I’m sorry about that, Swift. I thought that I had this handled. You should be thinking about your own future, not worrying about my financial troubles.”
Mattie squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s the family business, Pa. Of course I’m a part of it. Ishouldbe a part of it.”
“I know. I know.”
Mattie straightened, trying to push aside the frenzy of emotions to concentrate on what needed to be done. “We were going to be short before, even with all our earnings pooled. But now with the earlier due date...”
