Page 2 of Plane Passion

Damned right he did. He’d always had a knack for fixing things, and he was particularly proud of the innovation that led to this flight. “I figured out how to increase the fuel capacity of the plane without adding to the overall weight so that it could make the full trip.”

“Say, that’s clever! Tell me how you did it.”

As he was about to launch into a detailed explanation, his boss had to ruin it all by stalking over with a deep frown on his face. So much for Ernie’s good mood.

This was supposed to be Ernie’s big day. Mr. Dickson was supposed to be proud of him for once. So why did the old man look like he’d bit into a lemon?

“And what does the Postal Service gain from today’s flight?” the reporter asked, oblivious.

Mr. Dickson cleared his throat and tugged the sleeves of his perfectly starched uniform. “I’ll answer that. If we can eliminate the stops between here and Chicago, we can get the mail delivered that much faster. At present, it takes a day and a half to send a letter from New York to Chicago. Flying direct, we could make deliveries the same day. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak to Mr. Pritchard.”

He took Ernie by the elbow and pulled him away from the crowd toward the hangar. Why was Mr. Dickson dragging him off like a naughty child? Sure, he and Mr. Dickson didn’t always get along, but this flight was supposed to change that. After all, record setting was good for the airmail operation. Wasn’t Mr. Dickson always complaining that they needed some good publicity?

Ernie followed Mr. Dickson all the way to his office, and Mr. Dickson closed the door behind them. This wasn’t good. What had Ernie done wrong this time?

Sitting down across from his boss, Ernie looked around for some clue in the pristine white space decorated with an enormous American flag and an old poster from the Great War that said, Join the Air Service. Learn-Earn.

A newspaper rested on the desk with a headline that said, AVIATRIX AWES AUDIENCE IN ALBANY. Why was Mr. Dickson hanging onto a two-week-old newspaper, and why would Mr. Dickson be interested in the antics of an aviatrix?

“Congratulations on your new record, Pritchard. The Postal Service is proud.” He sure as hell didn’t sound proud.

“Thank you, sir.” He wanted to get out of his flight suit so badly, but he didn’t dare unbutton in current company.

Mr. Dickson’s frown deepened. “How are you feeling after the flight?”

“Fine, sir.” Truth be told, now that his initial burst of elation had worn off, he was exhausted, chilled, and starving after nearly eight hours in an open cockpit. He would kill for a cup of coffee, a sandwich, and a hot shower. But first, he had to escape whatever this was. If only Mr. Dickson would get on with it and tell him what was the matter.

“I called you in here because I have an assignment for you, and it comes from the top.”

That perked Ernie up. What was it? Another test flight where he could set another record? He brushed his blond hair out of his face to no avail. It was definitely time for a haircut.

“Our Postmaster General has decided it is time to have another try at letting a woman fly the mail.” Mr. Dickson leveled a steely gaze at him. “She’s asked to learn from the best, so I’ve assigned her to you.”

Ernie took a deep breath and let it out. Compliments from Mr. Dickson were rare as summer snowflakes, but this assignment was bad news. He sure hoped that reporter didn’t get wind of this, or it would replace his record-breaking flight on the front page.

“Is Katherine Stinson back?” Because that would have been especially awkward. It was her record he just broke.

Mr. Dickson arranged his pens in a neat row in front of him, his jaw clenching. Apparently, Mr. Dickson wasn’t any happier about this than he was.

“No. It’s Millie Aldrich this time,” Mr. Dickson said, pointing to the newspaper on his desk.

Millie Aldrich? The celebrity aviatrix whose face was splashed across his sisters’ favorite gossip rags? There was something about her sultry smile in the photos that stuck with him. He vaguely recalled a headline about her engagement to a film star falling apart.

Wonderful. He was going to be stuck with some jilted prima donna who thought she knew how to fly, and he’d bet his bottom dollar she was out to one-up him. He’d worked so hard to win this record, experimenting for months with fuel tank modifications, and here this woman was going to waltz in and steal his one modest moment of glory. His only hope was finding some way to talk her out of it.

“I know she does air shows, but has she ever done any distance flying? Does she have any idea how dangerous it is?”

Mr. Dickson tapped his pen. “I was hoping you could explain it to her. I can’t say no to a direct order from Burleson, but if she decides of her own volition…”

Ah. So it was Ernie’s job to dissuade her. Fine. He wasn’t about to let some puffed-up barnstormer rain on his parade. He just had to convince her it wasn’t worth gambling her life on a publicity stunt. That shouldn’t be too hard, should it?

“She’s in the breakroom,” Mr. Dickson said. “I thought you could introduce yourself and show her to her plane.”

“Here? Now?” Couldn’t this wait until after a shower and a bite to eat? Though maybe he could at least get some coffee.

“Now. She’s waiting.” A vein pulsed in Mr. Dickson’s temple.

Ernie didn’t dare argue. He stood and started for the door.