Page 7 of Plane Passion

Pritchard brought her over to a tall, metal cabinet that was twice the width of the cubbies and opened it. Inside were a variety of leather flight suits. He picked the smallest one and handed it to her.

Mixed with the leather scent was a distinct odor of man sweat. Who knew how many had used this before her? Stifling a shudder, she climbed in and started to button up the front. The arms and legs were too long and bunched at her wrists and ankles. It felt like it weighed twenty pounds and made movement difficult. “How am I supposed to fly when I can hardly move?”

“Better this than trying to fly with frostbite, believe me.”

She’d seen the men in their suits. She knew this was required. That didn’t mean she had to like it. Finishing the last of her buttons, she turned toward him.

He barely stifled a laugh.

“Go ahead. Let it out. You already think I’m a joke.”

A chuckle escaped. “I’m sorry, Miss Aldrich, but you do make quite a picture.”

With gritted teeth, she pulled on the leather boot covers and strapped them around her sensible saddle shoes. Last, she put on the wool-lined gloves. She already wore a fur-lined aviator cap with goggles atop. “I’m ready.”

A diving costume couldn’t have been more awkward than what she was wearing. She wobbled her way out to her plane, trying to ignore the snickers of pilots and mechanics as she passed. A trickle of sweat dripped down her back.

Arriving at her plane, she pulled off her gloves to perform final checks. Every movement felt like swimming through mud.

As she concluded her checks, Pritchard came over, looking thoroughly at ease in his suit, damn him. “Are you ready? We can head out as soon as you are.”

“As ready as I’m going to be. I don’t know how you fly in these suits.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

Millie made her way awkwardly up the ladder into the cockpit and settled in with an undignified plop.

“Oh, and, uh…Miss Aldrich? I hope you used the powder room because it’s four hours to our next pit stop.”

“Of course, I did,” she lied, praying that cup of coffee she drank didn’t come back to haunt her. He waited until it was too late for her to do anything about it to remind her, didn’t he?

“All right, then. Off we go.” He clapped a hand against the fuselage as if it was a horse he wanted to giddyap.

Pritchard strode over to his own Curtiss R-4 and climbed in gracefully, as if he wasn’t encumbered with twenty pounds of leather. He started up his plane and taxied out to the runway.

Millie signaled to a mechanic to swing the propeller for her, and she opened the throttle, following Pritchard out. She watched as he picked up speed and left the ground, and she followed.

At last, the familiar freedom of lifting off the ground and soaring up into the heavens. It was a beautiful, clear October day, and she could see for miles as they climbed and climbed, the world shrinking away until it looked like a patchwork quilt beneath her, punctuated by the fiery colors of fall. This was what she lived for. Even her giant leather suit couldn’t bring her down now. And neither could a certain blond pilot who didn’t think she could handle the danger. Well, this was the day she was going to prove him wrong.

She reveled in the sun on her face until it got too hot, and she unbuttoned the top of her suit to get some air. The sun beat down relentlessly as they soared above the clouds. Sweat ran into her eyes behind the goggles, and she had to blink it away, trying not to take her eyes off the controls and the landscape she was supposed to be memorizing. The other plane hovered just ahead, a beacon to follow.

Then a chill started to creep in as they climbed higher still. The breezes got stronger and crisper as they hit maximum speed. The sun didn’t warm her the way it had, and she found herself buttoning up again.

About an hour in, she put on her gloves as the cold started to sink in and make her ache. On the ground, it was in the fifties, but up here, it was freezing. Ice crystals formed on the glass faces of her instruments, and she brushed them away awkwardly with her glove. The bottle of whiskey fastened to the controls told her she was flying level. They couldn’t use water because it would freeze up here.

Two hours in, her nose started to hurt. She wiggled it and wrinkled it, trying to improve blood flow, but it didn’t help. Putting her gloved hand over her nose gave her some relief. But that got in the way of her ability to study the landscape, so she had to let it go.

Three hours in, damn it all, she had to pee. The cursed coffee caught up with her, and there was nothing she could do but wait and watch the clock. And the landscape, of course. Just one more hour until sweet relief.

When the skyline of Philadelphia finally came into view, she wanted to dance a jig. After she went to the bathroom, of course. Sweet Jesus, relief was in sight!

At that moment, Pritchard’s plane dipped dangerously. Something was wrong.

She stopped breathing, her heartbeat sped up.

A thin line of smoke came out of the fuselage.

He was losing altitude. Oh, God, no.