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It was Ernie. Jack flew a Jenny. Relief for her brother mixed with dread for Jack. But they were both going to make it. They had to. The alternative was unthinkable.
Ernie’s plane’s engine sputtered as it landed, but he made it down safe. As soon as he taxied to his spot in the hangar, he leapt from the cockpit and ran over to Constance, wrapping her in a bear hug. He stank of sweat and well-worn leather, but Constance couldn’t bring herself to care.
“I hope I didn’t worry you. The conditions were bad out there today.”
“I’m just glad you’re home safe.” A tear dripped down her cheek, and she dashed it away.
“Is Jack here? He left before me.”
Her heart sank to her shoes, and she couldn’t bring herself to speak. Shaking her head slowly was all she could manage. She couldn’t lose Jack. Not now.
Ernie frowned and looked her in the eyes. “Hey. Listen to me,” he said, gripping her shoulders. “He’s going to come home safe to you.” Under his breath, he grumbled, “If he doesn’t, I’m going to kill him.”
Did Jack talk to Ernie? He certainly seemed to know more than he should have about her feelings for Jack. “I know he will.”
She tried to nod with confidence, but another tear streaked down her cheek.
“Aw, sis.” Ernie folded her in another hug. “We’re going to stay right here until he lands, all right? We’re not going anywhere until we know Jack’s safe.”
He kept his arm around her, and she rested her head on his shoulder as they both stared at the empty sky. This was her life now. Every time Jack took off, there was a chance that he wouldn’t land. And she had to accept that if she was going to give him her heart. But dear Lord, it was hard. Every muscle in her body tensed as she watched. And watched. And watched.
Around seven, the men turned on electric floodlights along the runway. When he arrived…if he arrived…he was going to have to land in the dark.
Her lip started bleeding because she couldn’t stop chewing it, and her feet ached something awful in her high-heeled oxfords. But still she stood and stared at the dusk-blue sky.
She’d waited so long for him to notice her, and his interest seemed too good to be true. It was foolish for her to expect it to last. She knew the risks that airmail pilots took. There was a reason they had the nickname of Uncle Sam’s Suicide Club. But Jack had always come home safe. He’d never left her hanging like this before.
Mr. Dickson came outside and joined their vigil, pacing back and forth in front of them all with his hands behind his back. Every so often, he would give some unnecessary order, and the men jumped to do it—anything to break the tension.
“What time is it?” she asked Ernie, who still stood by her side, holding her hand, his flight suit gaping open. He’d never bothered to change out of it, even though that was the first thing most men did after landing. Those suits weighed a ton.
Ernie reached into his vest pocket and pulled out his pocket watch. “A quarter to eight.”
Mr. Dickson turned to her, care lines etched around his eyes. “Miss Pritchard, would you mind calling the answering service to see if there have been any messages?”
She nodded and hurried inside, grateful to do something other than stare up into nothing. Dialing on the rotary phone, she braced herself for the worst. Her hand shook as she held the receiver to her ear.
“U. S. Airmail answering service,” cooed a soothing female voice on the other end of the line.
“Hello, this is Constance Pritchard. One of our pilots is missing. His name is Jack Thompson. I’m calling to see if there are any messages about him.”
“Good evening, Miss Pritchard. Give me a moment to check.”
The line went silent, and Constance twisted the phone cord around her finger, heart pounding.
The phone clicked and the voice returned. “Miss Pritchard?”
“Yes?”
“We received a message at a quarter after seven from a man identifying him as a Mr. Plunket from Dover, PA. He’s demanding payment for the damage to his strawberry field caused by airmail pilot, Jack Thompson, who made an emergency landing there in the fog.”
God bless grumpy Mr. Plunket! Jack landed safely. “Did Mr. Plunket say whether Jack took off again or went looking for a ride back to Newark?”
“I’m afraid not, Miss Pritchard.”
Constance’s heart sank. If Jack was still on the ground, he was safe, but if he decided to risk flying at night, anything could happen.
“Thank you. Goodnight.” She hung up the receiver and trudged back outside.
