Page 1 of Soaring Sweethearts

1

NEW JERSEY, 1920

Three hours into Contance’s first day working for the airmail, she was starting to think her brother’s warnings about the job were overblown. Her boss, Mr. Dickson, had been scrupulously polite. The pilots had been friendly and professional. There hadn’t been a single crisis to deal with. And even if there had been, she was well trained. She could handle anything this job could throw at her.

The heavy black rotary phone on her deck rang, and she smiled as she picked it up. “Heller Airport. Constance Pritchard speaking.”

“Miss Pritchard, this is Philip Jenkins at Bellefonte. Can you connect me to Mr. Dickson?” The hoarse, urgent voice on the other end of the line made her freeze up for a moment. Had something gone wrong? Letting out a slow breath, she forced herself to focus.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jenkins, but Mr. Dickson just stepped out for lunch. Can I take a message?”

The man cursed under his breath. “There’s been an accident. A plane went down. Do you know where he went for lunch? Can you go get him?”

Her stomach clenched. An accident? Who was it? Her brother, Ernie, left for Bellefonte this morning. But it was too soon for him to have arrived, wasn’t it?

And then there was Jack. How many times had she pictured his plane going down during the war? But she wasn’t going to think about Jack. She’d put those feelings away for good.

There was no reason to panic. These old planes went down all the time, according to Ernie. All the pilots had been trained in how to land without power.

“Yes, I’ll go get him. Is the pilot all right?” She needed to know.

A heavy sigh hissed over the phone line. “No, I’m afraid not.”

The world around her went gray, and she struggled to take a full breath. “Who?”

Please, dear Lord, don’t let it be Ernie…or Jack.

“Al Hoffman.”

Oh, thank God!

Relief flooded through her, immediately followed by guilt. How could she be relieved? She’d met Al Hoffman. He was at her brother’s wedding. They’d even danced together. He’d cracked one joke after another until she was laughing so hard, she could barely keep dancing.

“Is he alive?” She hated how her voice cracked as she asked the question. Somehow, she had to stay calm and handle this, no matter what he answered. This was the job, and she couldn’t say she hadn’t been warned.

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of Mr. Jenkins’s breathing. “The fuel tank caught fire. I’m afraid he didn’t stand a chance.”

No! Such a sweet, exuberant man couldn’t possibly die such a horrible death. And now, she was supposed to convey this awful news to Mr. Dickson without falling apart. It took all her will to hold back tears. But she had a job to do, even if it gutted her.

“I’ll let Mr. Dickson know,” she said, in as calm and even of a voice as she could manage. “I’ll go find him and have him call you back right away.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” And he hung up.

She replaced the heavy receiver on the rotary phone, pushed back her thinly padded metal chair from the polished oak desk just outside Mr. Dickson’s office, and went in search of help.

If only she knew how to drive, she could go fetch Mr. Dickson herself, but Ernie hadn’t had time to teach her. Maybe one of the mechanics would drive her?

She hurried through the pristine white hallway hung with posters from the Great War. It seemed so wrong that Al Hoffman would survive being shot at in the air overseas only to perish delivering letters and birthday cards on his home soil. But this was the risk the pilots took, and she knew it before she took the job. Hadn’t she gone with Ernie to Max Miller’s funeral just six months ago? His poor wife was devastated. Don’t marry a pilot, she warned Constance during the reception. It will only lead to heartbreak.

It was bad enough that Ernie and his new wife, Millie, both flew for the airmail, risking their necks every day. Constance couldn’t imagine the devastation of risking her heart on a pilot and then losing him. Thank heavens she was dating an accountant. Doug was as safe as they came.

Just as she turned the handle on the door to the hangar, a pilot in a full-body leather flight suit opened it and nearly bumped into her. He caught her arm to steady her.

“Constance! Where are you headed in such a hurry?”

Oh, thank God, it was Jack. Even though she knew he wasn’t the pilot who crashed, it helped to see him alive and well.

She backed up and looked at her brother’s best friend. Lord, why did he have to be so handsome? Even after two years, she felt the distant flutter of her old infatuation when he caught her by surprise. Those piercing gray-blue eyes, that rugged face, the cropped black hair she used to long to ruffle… The way he swaggered in his leather suit, half unbuttoned, would once have made her feel weak in the knees. Thank God she was past all that.