The ticking clock wouldn’t allow for her usual dramatic flourish. She lost no time in diving into the canyon. Swirling layers of red, orange, and white rock enveloped her. Vertical, drip-like streaks of black covered the walls. Mattie felt like she was flying through a brand-new impressionist watercolor of the Southwest, the paint still fresh and melding together.
She zipped under the first natural bridge, skimming so close that she swore she could feel the cool dampness of the massive structure’s underside. Exploding from the shade, she jerked the nose of the Fabin upward, keeping the loop tight. Below her once more, she spied the silvery glint of sagebrush and the waxy green of piñon pine that thrived on the top of the mesa. Then she plunged down again and zoomed through a sherbet-colored world.
Mattie finished skimming under the first natural bridge again and then banked her plane to maneuver through the constantly twisting canyon. The deep cut in the earth turned back on itself, forming a U shape, so the end of the race was directly opposite the start on the same narrow strip of land that connected the two steep valleys.
Flying over the next bridge, she rolled into an inverted position and then looped back under the rock in a dizzying whirl. The utter freedomof slicing through the magnificent masterpiece of nature blazed through her. The last vestiges of her nervousness fled as she lost herself in the pure joy of the course. Heading around the bend, she reached the trickiest part—a narrow passage right before the sharp curve. Although from a geological perspective it was a natural bridge, it looked more like an arch carved into the thick stone walls. The only way to cross under it was to turn the Fabin practically onto its side. Banking the bird so her right wing pointed toward the dried-up wash below and her left toward the sky above, Mattie sacrificed no speed as she zipped toward the tight opening. She flew low enough to see a blur of light-green cottonwood leaves. Then there was rock so close to her face that if she buzzed any closer, she’d end up giving her own nose a nasty brush burn.
She popped out the other side. Keeping her Fabin in a slanted position, she whipped around the rest of the wicked curve. Hitting an open stretch, she rolled until the wings were horizontal again but with her now in the inverted position. She whizzed over the willows and box elders, daintier vegetation than the tough, scrubbier pine trees that grew on the topside.
Her head pointed downward, Mattie blazed beneath the next bridge. Then she spun in a series of barrel rolls and shot through the canyon like a massive drill. The underbelly of the last bridge blinked in and out of view as she flipped through the air. Then finally, Mattie was through the course. After bursting out of the canyon, she landed deftly back on the mesa and turned off the motor.
Mattie catapulted out of the cockpit as the crowd roared. Her eyes immediately found Leo’s. He was leaning on one crutch, a stopwatch in his other hand. Their gazes held, hot and electric. Leo dipped his chin, his lips forming the broadest smile she’d ever seen on his face. This wasn’t his press smile or his shy grin. It was pure joy.
She’d won!
Suddenly, Vera wrapped Mattie in a fierce embrace, Ruby smooshed between them. “You won! You won! You won!”
Vera spun the three of them around in a mad circle. Caught in the excitement, the little spaniel licked Mattie’s chin. Soon the other female members of the Flying Flappers joined them. But unlike the group hug in the California speakeasy after Crenshaw had challenged her, this wasn’t just about support. It was pure jubilation.
By the time they broke apart, they all had tears in their eyes. Mattie was just wiping away hers when she caught sight of Milly jumping up and down, ribbons and curls flying. Drawing in her breath, Mattie climbed back into the Fabin and retrieved Planey.
Milly bounced even higher when she caught sight of her beloved toy. Mattie leaped back to the ground and swooped, banked, and barrel-rolled the small wooden construct over to the young girl. Kneeling down in front of Milly so they were face to face, she started to hand Planey over to the child. Before she could, Milly’s strong little arms wrapped fiercely about Mattie’s neck in a hug.
“You won!”
“I couldn’t have done it without you and Planey,” Mattie said, holding out the toy once more.
Milly beamed and snuggled Planey close, then gave it a kiss on its propeller. After ruffling the cherub’s hair, Mattie stood and sought Leo.
His joy hadn’t diminished one whit. Yards still separated them, and the bellow of the crowd was too great for them to hear each other. But she knew immediately what he mouthed.
You. Did. It.
Pumping both hands into the air, as if she could catch his words, she moved her lips to shout her own silent message back to him.
I did!
Leo watched with warm pride as the press swarmed Mattie, and the reporters finally asked her the type of questions she deserved.
“How did you manage to navigate so quickly through the narrowest bridge?”
“Was there a special technique you used to make your loops so tight?”
“What is it like flying a Fabin versus a Jenny?”
Realizing it would take a while for Mattie to answer all the inquiries, Leo grabbed his crutches and headed to one rim of the canyon. He looked down so that he could compare Crenshaw’s faded smoke trail through the course with Mattie’s brighter one. The former war pilot had performed passably, but he’d also been sloppy in places—staccato when he should have flown smoothly, loose when he should have been tight. Not Mattie. She’d flown a taut, consistent course, losing no time as she’d spun like an aerial gymnast through the narrow orange-and-white walls.
Hefting his body over to the other side of the U-shaped gorge, Leo saw the same pattern repeated. As he stood looking down at Mattie’s triumph, he felt a familiar warm, reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Our gal did good, didn’t she?” Mattie’s father asked rhetorically as they both gazed at the evidence of her victory.
“She did indeed,” Leo agreed.
Walt McAdams released a low whistle. “I always knew my Swift could fly like the dickens, but never did I think that she could soar like this.”
“I did.” Leo rested his weight on the crutches, letting the wooden rests dig into his armpits as he kept surveying Mattie’s incredible win. She’d beaten Crenshaw, a decorated ace, by a full sixty-one seconds.
“That you did,” Walt drawled out, still peering into the canyon as well. Then he turned to face Leo. “That you did.”
