1

The Last Summer

by Mike Marcon

(All Rights Reserved)

Prologue

Winters always made Doc restless.

The cold air in the hangar hurt. It made his joints

ache. His thin leather flight jacket became as cold as the

air around it, and the jacket’s thin silk lining did nothing

to help.

Since he returned from last summer’s flying, he had

done all the necessary work to keep the old girl flying and

there was little to do but small maintenance chores, keep

the hangar swept and wait for spring. As he serviced the

Jenny’s engine, oil flowed slowly like thick syrup from the

can into the Jenny’s crankcase and that made Doc

irritable and impatient. So, to calm himself, he decided to

go sit in front of the heater and think.

In the corner of the hangar sat an electric heater

creating a small radius of bare warmth. Sitting in front of

it in the old vinyl recliner that Doc had rescued from the

2

airport dumpster, psychologically somehow, the heater at

least made him feel warmer. He sat staring at the glowing

red coils of the heater, and his mind drifted, floating away

to last summer’s barnstorming. He leaned over to pick up

a tattered and well-read copy of a flying magazine to idly

flip through the pages as he remembered.

With a jolt that startled Doc, Oscar, the hangar cat

and his constant companion, jumped without warning

into Doc’s lap. His daydreaming suddenly interrupted,

and with his adrenalin settling, Doc ran his weathered

hand across Oscar’s sleek back, and he felt the deep

sawing of the cat’s purr and he smiled. Oscar, feeling the

heat from Doc’s lap, circled once, laid down and tightly

transformed himself into a sleek and shiny black ball, and

the cat closed his eyes.

Doc continued to slowly pass his hand along the

cat’s back, occasionally pausing to rub a silky ear

between his thumb and forefinger which only caused

Oscar to deepen his rumbling purr.

Doc looked at his hand as he smoothed the cat’s coat

and seeing that his skin appeared as crepe paper

stretched across the veins and ligaments and his

knuckles, Doc threw the magazine back onto the floor in

dismay, and he leaned his head back into the recliner,

and he slowly turned his head to one side to study the

Jenny sitting still and quiet a few feet away.

From nose to tail, he looked along the taut linen

covered surface of the ancient bi-plane, and he studied

3

the glossy mustard color of its skin. He chuckled to

himself thinking it ironic that an airplane introduced over

100 years ago should age better than he had. Now and

then, his eye would stop here and there at a small

crackled spot in the fabric, a little damage that might

need a patch. But he wasn’t ready to start doping and

patching weak spots yet, and he figured that, soon, the

weather would be warmer and that would be the time to

tend to any dings.

Now and then, the heater fan motor would squeal

softly and Doc looked back at it and was again transfixed

by the red glow of the heater’s spring-like coils.

In his imagination, he began to gradually see the

images of campfires past. Sitting next to the nighttime

fires he built to heat his meals and coffee during the

barnstorming season were among his favorite places in

the world to be, and would be the only place, if he

discounted times spent climbing in and out of the

summer’s lazy, cottony, cumulus clouds, his goggles

covered with a thin film of rocker grease, his hands on the

stick and throttle of the Jenny.

The Jenny had a fuel range of a hundred miles or so

to the tank-full, and many a day while searching for the

next place to land, a place where he could hang his

banner that advertised ten dollar rides in the sky, he

would be forced to land early and find gas, given his

propensity to lose track of time playing in and around the

clouds and therefore losing track of his fuel consumption.

4

Barnstorming was dead. Doc knew that. But this

coming summer, he would hang his sign out anyway.

Doc had a love affair with barnstorming. Many

summers ago, he first took a bright yellow Piper Cub into

the Midwest states, hopping field-to-field near the smaller

towns and settlements where mostly beef cattle were

fattened and corn, thousands upon thousands of green

waving acres of it, grew.

He would begin there by finding the right field and

the odd farmer who would agree to let him hang his sign

from fence post-to-fence post and use that empty field as

a makeshift airport from which to give rides in the Cub to

anyone willing to put forth the five dollars for a ten

minute ride in and around the cotton white clouds above

Iowa, Ohio and Nebraska.

Since his early days as young pilot, he could think of

no finer way to use an airplane than to aimlessly wander

from small town to rural hamlet, to meet the people there,

to write their stories and to camp under his wing nights.

The flying magazines, now and then, bought and

published his human interest pieces. Each year, by

selling his stories, his saving account grew and grew until

finally, he found the old Jenny.

The Jenny was “two holer,” meaning a two seat

airplane, the pilot flying from the rear cockpit, the

passenger riding up front. Built long ago to train fledgling

5

pilots, its chief appeal to Doc was that it was an open

cockpit, bi-wing airplane and it exuded aviation romance.

The very sight of the Jenny bouncing across a grassy

field, its engine clacking at idle, immediately conjured

images of the classic, swash-buckling pilot of the Twenties

and the Thirties.

Once the airplane taxied to a stop, its wings still

rocking gently, a dashing figure with a white silk scarf

fluttering from the collar of his leather flight jacket, his

skull helmet pulled tightly over his head, the chin straps

dangling loosely, his tan Jodhpur pants and calf-high

brown flying boots would emerge to the wing step, stand

momentarily and then drop to the ground, bow to the

small crowd and with a flourish, remove his helmet

exposing a head of slicked back and shining black hair

and underneath the thinnest pencil slash of a mustache

riding above a flashing smile, the young pilot would smile,

exposing the whitest of teeth. A scene from an old movie.

Doc sometimes had to pinch his lips to keep from

laughing out loud when he remembered that that was the

vision he held of himself in the early days. It amused him

that, in many ways, he still saw himself as that dashing

pilot. That is, until he looked at the creases of age on his

face as he shaved in the mornings.

He spent two winters rebuilding the Jenny and

restoring it to its heady days when it trained the war

bound pilots. Then he sold the Cub and bought the scarf,

the Jodhpur pants and the boots. And he followed his

6

dreams and his plans: write in the winter, barnstorm in

the summer.

For many summers then, as soon as the weather

allowed, it was leave his home in Virginia and fly west.

Follow his nose. He now rarely used maps. He knew

where the riders had been before, where the pretty girls

were after church on Sunday, where the kids on bicycles

pedaled furiously ahead of trails of dust along dirt roads

to find where the Jenny had set down after Doc had

circled low over the small town and its central courthouse

and the groomed green lawn where the old timers sat on

park benches painted white and told lies under the

watchful eye of a long-dead bronze war hero standing atop

his marble base looking gallantly east.

Doc was chasing again the reluctant fat man who

had to be helped into the front cockpit by manhandling a

gelatinous behind with a heaving push to pile him into the

front seat; he was wanting to see again the freckled blond

teenager with pigtails wearing the flowered print dress

demure shyly as he sold rides like a carnival barker; he

needed to make his instant coffee in his blue splatter ware

cup after heating the water in a battered aluminum pan;

he needed to feel again the warmth of his sleeping bag

warding off a late evening chill as he fell asleep reading

Steinbeck by the circular pattern of pale yellow light from

his flashlight.

He knew that barnstorming was dead, save the odd

air show in parts of the country, but those air shows

7

weren’t really barnstorming. Barnstorming, what it was,

was what he did.

It was circling a small town low as many times as it

took to draw the barbershop customer out of the barber’s

chair and onto the sidewalk to look skyward still wearing

the barber’s apron; it was causing the two old ladies

leaving the finery shoppe to look up and point into the air;

it was seeing the Sheriff’s deputy pull up next to the fence

along the road and ask if you had a breakdown and

waving a hand, “Thanks but no thanks!”, to turn down a

free ride you offered so you could get on the law’s good

side; it was occasionally being told to get that damn

contraption out of my field by an irate land owner; other

times it was being invited to the bounty of a supper

provided by a farmer who let you use his field, and while

his wife laid golden fried chicken and mounds of creamy

mashed potatoes and the world’s finest gravy in front of

you, listening intently and patiently to the farmer as he

regaled you with his memories of being a waist gunner on

a B-17 over Germany many years ago.

He needed to land a little too hard in a bumpy field of

dry dirt clods and break something and have to wait for

two days as the part came in from Omaha and try not to

fall in love with the brunette at the diner just down the

road, knowing it would be easy, and it would forever

change your life. It was turning down the one night stand

offered now and then by a cocktail waitress’s not-so-

subtle innuendo as you drank a beer at the juke joint not

far from where the Jenny was parked. It was telling tall

8

tales about the places you’d been and maybe bragging a

little overly about your fame as a writer and the feeling

bad about it after someone had bought you a beer

thinking they might impress someone notorious.

Barnstorming was never being bored. Ever. Even on

those days when it was as hot as blazes and the air so

still and humid that you could cut it with a knife, and no

one flew or ventured away from their air conditioner. So

all you did all day long was doze in the shade of a nearby

tree or under the wing of the Jenny. It was lugging a full,

five gallon gas can, your shoulder muscles burning from

the weight, two miles down to the Sunoco station and

back to refuel the Jenny. It was living on cheese Nabs, a

pack of salted peanuts and a Coca-Cola because the can

of beef stew in your cook box wasn’t there like you

thought it was. You had eaten it near Muncie somewhere

and had forgotten to replace it. And the last thing the

convenience store down the road sold was Dinty-Moore.

All these things weren’t dead to Doc.

But his age was catching up with him. Nevertheless,

he decided that the sign had to be hung from the fence

again. Maybe the arthritis in his knees or his failing vision

would keep him grounded before long, and while he could

still see well enough to fly, to avoid other airplanes and to

land, he was going back.

And spring was just around the corner. And summer

skies would follow. He would fly the skies and write the

stories of his adventures one more time. This time would

9

be different though.

He knew it might be the last summer.

10

Part One

Chapter One

When Doc opened the door, his arrival was

announced by the soft tinkling of the small silver bell

attached at the top of the door. The shop appeared empty,

but from the back room came Fred’s booming voice.

“I’m here! Hang on!”

Doc answered, “It’s just me.”

“Hang on! I’m in the john.”

Doc smiled and bent over the glass show case where

the ancient pull handle sort of cash register sat. Lined up

on shelves, In the case below were the Case knives with

yellow plastic handles and a few very expensive Buck

folding knives, each laying a square of black velvet. A few

minutes passed and Doc turned to look at the Lincoln and

Kennedy busts, small souvenir figurines and assorted

past election buttons of all parties and candidates and

other curios that sparsely lined the nearly bare shelving

on the walls of the small shop. Fred fancied himself a

collector of knick-knacks and pocket knives and none of

what Doc saw was for sale. Fred’s main business was

being a sign painter.

In another minute, the toilet in the back flushed

with a faint but deep rumble and Fred quickly appeared

through the curtain of colored beads that separated the

11

storefront from the sign shop in the rear.

The first thing you always noticed about Fred was his

nose, very sharp and pointed, like the bow of a rowboat

leading his way. The second thing you noticed about Fred

were the shocks of curly red hair that sprouted in

bunches along the edges of the paint- stained skull cap he

wore to keep the paint spray out of his hair. When he

turned his head, you might catch sight of the barest hint

of a small pony tail tied in place at the base of his neck

with a rubber band.

Doc figured it was a hold-over from Fred’s hippy

days. He had heard many a tail from Fred about the

several days he had spent at Woodstock in ’69. And you

could always count on picking up the faintest hint of

burnt marijuana mixed with the aromas of the paints and

solvents emanating from the shop.

“Hey, Doc!” said Fred as the happy beam of a smile

parted the red and silver full beard he wore. “What can I

do ya for?”

“Need a new sign. Actually two.”

“Going back again?”

“Yeah, Got to.” answered Doc. “One more time.”

“When you leaving?”

“Soon as you can fix me up.”

“Want me to look in on Oscar again?”

12

“That’d be great, if it’s no bother.”

“None a’tall, my friend. Do I get another ride in the

Jen?”

“Any time, my man, any time.”

Fred’s brilliant blue eyes widened and he said, “How

about before you go this time. I’m itching for an airplane

ride.”

“You got it.”

“Rog. Now, what you want on them signs.”

Doc reached in his pocket and pulled out a folded

slip of yellow legal pad paper, and he handed it to Fred.

Fred carefully unfolded the paper and smoothed it

out on the counter. Doc could see Fred’s lips moving

slowly as he read the words.

Fred broke out in a great guffaw!

“Help wanted?! Help wanted?!” Fred said

incredulously as he looked up at Doc.

“I knew that’s how you’d react.” said Doc with the

barest hint of a smile, “And, yes…”

“You’re serious?”

Doc shook his head yes.

“Help wanted?” said Fred with a bit of a twinkle in his

eye. “Lemme see now…” he continued, “…what kind of

help would an aging barnstormer need?”

13

“I’m serious. And shut-up.”

Fred couldn’t help himself. He kept goading. They

had been friends too long to let this go. He scratched his

chin thoughtfully, rubbing his fingers deep into his full

beard, “What kind of help would you need?” He paused as

Doc stood quietly glaring. “I got it!”

Doc kept staring.

“You need a cook?”

Doc stayed quiet letting Fred have his fun.

“A butler?” and Fred threw his back laughing.

“A wingwalker, a skydiver, an acrobat and a hooker.”

said Doc and he smiled. Then he said, “You sell rope

ladders in this dump?”

“The hooker, I get, but a wingwalker?”

“Yep.”

Fred kept slowly scratching at his beard, but now he

had switched his hands and was scratching the full

length of the left side of his beard.

“You looking for a partner?”

“Nope.”

“Wait.” said Fred, “A rope ladder?”

Doc nodded yes.

“What you gonna do with a rope ladder?”

14

“I’m gonna hang a wing walker and skydiver from it. I

was kidding about the hooker.”

“Shit, man. I woulda thought you were serious about

that part.”

Doc laughed.

“I’d make a good wing walker.” said Fred.

Doc could not help it, but his gaze immediately

shifted 25 degrees down and his vision rested on the

ample 75 pounds of girth that resided in the middle of

Fred’s six foot, two inch stature. “You?” And Doc snorted.

“Yeah!” shot back Fred. “But maybe I’d need to lose

some weight?”

“Maybe?”

“But seriously, man, I thought you were a solo act?”

“Normally. But I’m gonna try some new things this

year, if I find the right people along the way.”

“Oh!” said Fred. “But how you gonna…”

“Carry ‘em?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not and I haven’t figured that part out yet. But

it’ll come to me, I guess.”

Fred had stopped scratching his beard and had both

hands on the glass counter now studying the paper again.

“What color you want these?”

15

“Same as last year. White with red circus letters.”

“So, let me get this right…” Fred said while shaking

his head slightly up and down and not looking directly at

Doc, “…you’re gonna head west again and put this “Help

Wanted” sign on the fence along with the rides sign and

you’re going to find some people to do wing walking or

jumping from your plane?”

“If I’m lucky.”

“And what about the rope ladder?” asked Fred as he

fixed his gaze Doc’s face.

“Oh! That’s for the runner.”

“What?”

“The runner.”

“Whadda ya mean, ‘the runner.’”

“The runner!” said Doc a little louder.

Fred could say nothing.

“Think about it.” said Doc.

“I’m sort of afraid to.”

“Picture this. I find somebody to train. We’re flying

low above a little town. He, or she, climbs down the rope

and gets to the end and starts to run like they are gonna

just step off the rope and leave the airplane. People are

going nuts in anticipation watching this. But he, or she,

doesn’t get off. He climbs back up, gets back in the

16

airplane and we land and await the adoring crowds who

want to pay their fifteen bucks to ride.”

“It was ten last year. And you’re going to jail, you

know that?”

17

Chapter Two

Oscar knew. He always seemed to know. They say

that cats can take or leave humans. But when it came to

Doc’s leaving, Oscar had the same practiced routine. And

he was never happy to see Doc go.

Doc was a meticulous packer, as much because the

Jenny had little room for his gear, as for any other reason.

He would start a few weeks before leaving laying out his

gear in a particular pattern on the hangar floor next to the

Jenny. The sleeping bag, his clothes, what few of them he

took, his journal, his pens and pencils in a special small

wooden box given to him one year by an admiring nine

year old - freckled faced boy who said, “I’m gonna fly like

you, one day.” after taking a ride - his small first-aid kit,

his medications, his toiletry kit, and, of course, books.

There were books by Richard Bach, Bill Byrson, Marjorie

Kinnan Rawlings and James Herriot, all constant

companions that came out at night at his campfires or

under the shade of an elm tree when things weren’t busy

or the visitors few. And, naturally, a flash light with a few

spare batteries. That all went into a surplus canvas duffel

bag with a water proof liner.

He took his time and followed a hand scrawled check

list written on the frayed legal pads that he constantly

had nearby. The packing routine might take days and to

Doc, the exercise was as much a pleasure as the leaving

itself. It was an immersion in delight often accompanied

18

by music from a tape deck playing softly in the corner of

the hangar. And Oscar’s reaction to Doc’s obsessive

checking and rechecking his kit was telling.

As Doc tried to concentrate, Oscar would begin to

purr and weave in and around Doc’s legs for attention,

occasionally nipping gently at a pant leg, always taking

care to just pull a little and never biting skin. For that,

Doc would idly pat Oscar’s head and resume his fidgeting

with a piece of gear. That not being enough to gain Doc’s

complete attention, Oscar would sit on a piece of kit

staring up at Doc switching his tail like a brush, back-

and-forth slowly, meditatively, until pushed aside. Doc

knew the routine and waited for the next act.

With Doc shuffling to-and-from from his big red

Snap-On tool chest at the back wall of the hangar,

carefully selecting just the tools he would carry along,

Oscar, not getting the full measure of attention he

required, would lay down directly in Doc’s path. Doc

would baby-talk Oscar on each pass to mollify him. Oscar

would reach out with a paw and slap at Doc’s boot as he

passed. It was always a quick strike, sometimes resulting

in an audible “pop” against the leather. Now and then,

that might make Doc stop and placate Oscar with another

idle pat on the head which could result in a playful swipe

at a hand.

Doc had retrieved Oscar from the airport dumpster

eight years ago. He was never sure how a kitten the size of

child’s shoe had gotten into the dumpster, or even how

19

long he had been in there. Doc had no desire to keep a pet

but made the mistake of feeding and watering the

abandoned cat. So, time passed, and Doc began to see the

cat as the airport mascot and a good luck charm.

Whenever Doc flew his Super Cub off to tow the odd

banner, or took his Cessna 180 out to fly jumpers at the

local drop zone, he could always count on seeing Oscar’s

dark form sitting in the foot high grass awaiting his

return. Early on, it was if Oscar was tuned into the sound

of the engine of Doc’s returning airplane. But the last four

years, the cat was actually sitting by the runway as Doc

departed and he was there when Doc returned. As the

cat’s habit developed, if, for any reason, Oscar wasn’t

sitting near the runway when Doc was ready to depart, it

gave Doc an uneasy feeling for which he would scold

himself for being silly.

20

Chapter Three

The analogy wasn’t lost on Doc. The summer lay

ahead like a blank sheet of paper.

Oscar was now in the capable care of Fred who would

feed him and keep him safe over the course of the months

ahead.

Fred stood by the hangar door leaning against its

wooden frame nervously flicking away a gray worm of ash

from his cigarette and watching as Doc taxied forth

pushed ahead by the clattering, sometimes popping rattle

of the Jenny’s engine.

Doc’s mind was clear and he felt good, excited to get

airborne and pointed towards the mountains 160 miles

away in the west. He looked to his right as he approached

the runway’s threshold, and he saw the black form of

Oscar’s head watching from within the tall grass off to the

side of the runway’s center point. That made him smile. It

was a good omen. Doc lined up the airplane on the

runway and eased the throttle forward steadily and the

noise in the cabin intensified to a low thunder as he

began his take-off roll bumping along the runway’s

uneven and sometimes pockmarked grass surface.

The Jenny became a flying machine at about the time

Oscar’s head disappeared from Doc’s peripheral vision.

The tension wires on the wings thrummed mildly as they

should as Doc completed his climbing turn west and put

21

the early morning sun at his back.

Once level and cruising at his top speed of 65 miles

an hour, Doc relaxed to the degree that you can flying a

Jenny. Flying an antique biplane is a constant state of

throttle and flight control vigilance during most

maneuvers, left and right, but straight ahead and level, a

pilot can push back in the seat some, relax a little and

occasionally look out or below, and for a few minutes, at

least, see what beyond the sparse instrument panel or

down below over the cockpit’s rim. Staying on guard for

other airplanes in the air around him - he saw none -

Doc’s thoughts about the summer being a blank sheet of

paper returned to him.

Looking out across the patchwork quilt of Virginia’s

late spring farmland, a checkerboard of emerald green

late winter wheat fields and the many rows of freshly

plowed brown loam ready for seed corn, he thought about

what lay ahead in his Midwestern adventures this year

and he finalized a few plans as he flew.

This year, he thought, he was going focus more on

writing the stories of the people he met and less on

hawking airplane rides. In the past, the emphasis had

always been more on the flying. He chuckled to himself

when he thought about the “Help Wanted” sign that he’d

had Fred make up for him.

He shook his head feeling a little foolish for dreaming

22

up such plans. Skydivers, wingwalkers, even cutting rolls

of paper towels was something you did to create a show to

draw a crowd. He had decided that he didn’t want that

this year. Yes, he thought, he would still circle low over

the settlements and small town to call attention to his

presence. And he’d still hang his sign advertising rides on

the fence wires. But this year was going to be devoted

more to listening and getting to know those who came to

ride or to watch. The magazines he wrote for wanted

personal interest stories and he was going to write them.

But the decision had deeper intentions than just

providing stories that sold. It was about coming away

from the summer a part of the people who he would meet.

It would be about recording the loves, the triumphs, the

pain, the difficulties and the dreams.

He felt good about that decision and it gave him a

greater sense of purpose and he smiled broadly. And with

that, he nudged the throttle forward a bit speeding up the

engine, and he continued westward.

23

Chapter Four

He could see the dark cloud shadows moving across

the ground at an increasing pace, much faster now than

they had been just twenty minutes ago after leaving his

fuel stop at Bluefield. It did not bode well, and he cursed

himself for not having called Flight Service to get a

weather briefing before he took off. He thought to himself

that, once in a while, he took the business of flying as the

old timers might have, by relying on guesswork, a little

too seriously. He could have, at least, used a little modern

technology to see what might be ahead, and he worried

that this time, he might get bitten because he had not.

The bright sunlight casting long reaching golden rays

from under the nearly straight edge of the low deck of

dark clouds that lined the entire width of the far horizon

meant he was bucking a fast moving cold front. The

turbulence and the jostling the Jenny was beginning to

endure were other signs that there might be difficulties

ahead. The air swirling around him was growing

significantly cooler. So much so, he rubbed his hands

quickly up and down the length of his upper legs to create

a little warmth. Spring time over the mountains could be

unpredictable. He leaned slightly forward, ducking close

behind the small windscreen to escape the full brunt of

the ever colder wind.

An hour later, the constant buffeting of the

turbulence, and a head wind that slowed his speed over

24

the ground to less than that of the cars and trucks on the

roads below him, had Doc considering a landing to let the

front move past, and the sky was beginning to darken.

Leaning from side-to-side to extend his head over the

cockpit’s rim to look beyond the Jenny’s nose to see what

the terrain offered in the way of a spot to land was

difficult now with stinging raindrops pelting his face. But

ahead and some to the left was long stretch of pasture;

long enough it appeared he would not only be able to land

but to get airborne again. And the wind on the ground,

evidenced by the moving cloud shadows, looked like a

front quartering headwind. He played a landing there

through his mind as he pulled the throttle back to idle to

descend low enough to make a circuit around the field.

He saw no cows or other livestock to worry him and

the field looked fresh mown and a good bet. At the far end

of the field sat a small white clapboard house with several

smaller outbuildings, storage or smokehouses he

supposed. It was, after all, West Virginia, and many there

still cured their own meats.

As he circled low over the house, a blond haired boy

dressed in faded blue denim overhauls stood behind the

house with his hands slid underneath the coverall’s

suspenders just watching the airplane. Doc, for some

reason, noticed the boy was not wearing shoes and he

thought to himself that it was too cold for that. But,

again, it was West Virginia.

Satisfied the field would be a suitable spot to land,

25

Doc added enough throttle to line up and touch down a

few feet just beyond the field’s fence near the dirt road

bordering the property. The engine’s speed quickened to

that of a fast sewing machine and occasional backfiring

pops could be heard as the propeller slowly wind-milled

ahead of the airplane’s oil streaked nose. As the ground

grew nearer, Doc switched his head from side-to-side

quickly in order to see as far ahead as possible and keep a

straight approach to the grass beyond.

He intended to make a full stall landing, so that each

of the machine’s two main landing gear and its tail skid at

the rear would drop onto the field simultaneously. But

holding a slight crabbing angle against the headwind was

difficult, and he knew it would be sheer luck that he

would put both wheels and the skid on the ground at the

same time. But it was either this or fly away somewhere

else to land. His shoulders ached from the constant

attention to the flight controls the turbulence demanded

and he was cold and hungry, so this was it he decided.

He hushed low across the road and the fence and

began a landing flare, his feet working the rudder bar

back and forth to keep the nose straight. Holding a slight

wing down attitude to compensate for the crosswind

blowing from his right, he felt good about the landing as

he brought the control stick fully back between his legs

and the main gear slowly eased onto the grass followed by

the thump of the tail skid at the rear of the fuselage. He

blew a little breath of air from his cheeks in relief that all

that was left now was to roll out and taxi to a stop until

26

he noticed the ridge in the grass.

He fervently wished for a mild hop across the rut as

he silently mouthed, “Oh, shit!” But the ridge was a

burrow opening of some sort, and the right main gear

found it.

The sound of twisting metal and finally a hard clank

was next and the Jenny went from level wings to a

sickening off angle slant and came to a stop pointing in

the opposite direction. Doc was unaware that his right

knee had slammed hard into the bottom edge of the

instrument panel brace until the painful impulse

ascended up his leg which was nearly simultaneous with

realizing the fact that he was now pointed in the wrong

direction. It took Doc a millisecond to realize the engine

was still loping clickity-clack and at idle and was still

running. Small miracles don’t register quickly sometimes,

and it took a few seconds more to realize the prop had not

struck the ground.

He quickly reached forward and turned the switch

shutting the magnetos off, and the engine ceased

running, and the propeller juttered slightly to a stop. Doc

could see as it stopped, there was no damage to either of

its tips and he leaned his head back against the padded

headrest in relief. With the airplane completely stopped

and the engine off, Doc slowly became aware of the silence

around him punctuated only occasionally by a bird

whistle far off in the trees at the edge of the field.

27

It was only then that he was aware of the boy

standing next to the cockpit, out of breath with piercing

blues eyes.

28

Chapter Five

Doc blew out another long breath of relief and looked

at the boy who said nothing.

“Hey, mister! Ya’ll al-rite?” said the boy who wasn’t a

boy at all. She was a girl but at the same time, a young,

beautiful woman.

Her flaxen hair hung in sparse loose springy coils

around her slightly oval face and mixed between the curls,

long flowing strands of her hair rested in sprays that lay

across the blue straps of her overalls. Occasionally, the

breeze would gently lift her golden hair away from her

shoulders. Under the overalls, she wore a white short-

sleeve tee shirt. Beneath her eyes, dusted faintly upon her

high cheeks, was the barest hint of liver-colored freckles

no bigger than the head of a straight pin. She had both

hands resting on the cockpit rim looking into the

surprised face of Doc who for the moment was dealing

quietly with first the shock of the ground-looped landing

and then the appearance of one of the most alluring

young women he had ever seen. He pushed his head back

into the padded leather of the headrest and laughed at the

irony of it.

“My knee has felt better.” was all he could think to

say in the moment.

Doc looked quickly down at his right knee and laid

his hand upon his knee cap which immediately turned to

29

fire and he pulled his hand back. He expected to see

blood, but there was none.

In spite of the pain, he was magnetized by the girl’s

eyes, as brilliant blue as any he’d ever seen.

“Did ya break it?”

“I’m not sure.” he said as she rose on her bare

splayed toes to look further into the cockpit. “I don’t see

no blood ‘er nuthin’.’” said the girl with the sweetest twist

of an Appalachian drawl in her voice.

She had so surprised Doc that he had forgotten that

there might be the outside chance of fire from a broken

fuel line or an oil leak and he quickly unbuckled his chin

strap, and he pushed his leather skull helmet and goggles

back off of his head with one hand, and with the other

hand he loosened his seat belt and harness and pushed

himself upwards in his seat grimacing in pain. “Give me

yor hands.” she said, “I’ll hep ya out.”

With a hand on each cockpit rim to pull himself up,

Doc struggled out of the cockpit and on to the wing walk

and stood momentarily before easing himself gingerly

backwards to the ground. She placed both her hands on

his lower back to steady him as he lowered himself off of

the wing and set his good foot on the ground. Still holding

to the cockpit rim, he then gingerly tried to put weight on

the other foot. That evoked a moan and a grimace, and he

stood still there for a minute. She had moved to his side

and stood next to him as a brace with one arm around his

30

waist as he once again tentatively tried put weight on his

leg. With both feet on the ground, he rested his arm on

her shoulder. There was the vague scent of hay and

perspiration about her, but it was not in slightest way

offensive.

“Can ye do it?”

“Let’s just stand here a minute and let me take it

slowly.” he said; then glancing sideways at her, he asked,

“What’s your name?”

“They named me, “Frances.””

Not, “I’m Frances.” Or just, “Frances.” But ‘They

named me, Frances.’ And Doc thought the answer was

odd.

“What’s yor name, mister?”

“They call me, “Doc.” And the girl laughed quietly

before catching herself.

“That’s funny?’ said Doc.

As a school girl might, she put a hand over her

mouth in embarrassment, then she pulled it away from

her lips some and said, “It’s funny. ‘Cause yor’re a doctor

and yor aching, so you can patch yorself up.” And she

clamped her hand over her mouth again, but her

squinting eyes still laughed as her shoulders shook

slightly.

“Not that kind of doc.” said Doc. “Can you help me

31

look around my airplane?”

She cleared her throat softly and nodded yes with a

shake of her head, and Doc, using Frances as a crutch,

hobbled labouredly around the wing to the engine.

Looking slowly as he might, he bent down to see

under the left wing and the wing and left wheel appeared

undamaged to him; there was no obvious slack in the

flying wires. It was obvious that the propeller had not

struck the ground and Doc sighed aloud in relief. Had the

propeller struck the ground, it would have surely meant

an engine rebuild and that would have ended the summer

right there.

Then he saw the upturned axle and cocked right

wheel. Still resting in the open maw of the gopher’s

burrow that had caused the trouble, the landing gear was

pointed outward and it was obvious that the axle shaft

and wheel had taken the brunt of the ground loop. As

best he could, still hanging on to Frances, he bent to more

closely examine the wheel. All of the wheel spokes and rim

were intact and straight and appeared undamaged, and

Doc thought to himself, if he was lucky, all he had gotten

out of it was a bent axle shaft and a busted knee, and the

pain of it wasn’t getting any better. “Frances, dear, I’ve got

to sit down now.” He said as calmly as he could.

“I’ll run go get mama.” she said as she helped him

ease to the ground. And then she started to run in the

direction of the little house.

32

“No, wait. Please!” said Doc. “Just let me rest here for

a minute.”

Frances took another halting step further, but she

turned back in his direction.

“There’s a water bottle in the back. Could you get it

for me, please?”

Without a word, Frances walked around the airplane

and at the back cockpit, she placed her hands on the rim,

raised up on her toes and looked in.

“It should be on the floor, next to my seat, if it didn’t

get thrown forward.” said Doc.

“Don’t see nuthin’ mister!”

“Look forward.”

“Oh, wait! There ‘tis!”

“Keep your feet close to the fuselage when you climb

up.”

“What’s the ‘fuselage?”

“Don’t step out on the wing. Just stay on the black

walkway next to the body.” said Doc.

Frances had never touched an airplane or ridden in

one and the Jenny seemed an inert magical beast to her.

Holding to the cockpit rim, she put her left foot on the

wing walk and pulled herself upright standing at the front

of the rear cockpit and stared in for a moment.

33

As she reached down to retrieve the water bottle, she

paused to look at the instrument panel. The sight of the

machine’s instruments, the altimeter, the turn-and-bank

indicator, the compass, the oil pressure gauge, the

magneto switch, the tachometer and the wires running up

and down the length of the floor beneath the seat all

seemed very mysterious and caused her to forget for a

minute why she was there.

She reached in and ran a finger across the small

glass face of the eight day clock and watched as its

second hand jerked second-to-second and she could

understand that it said, “4:19 p.m.” The rest, with their

unmoving, white tipped pointers, red and yellow slashes,

and their recognizable yet unfamiliar numbers told her

nothing and she squinted her eyes and pursed her lips in

annoyed question of their meanings.

As the smells of gas and burnt oil and acrylic

lacquer, all normal airplane smells, washed over her, she

became afraid she might break something, and she

quickly reached into the cockpit and retrieved the water

bottle and ran back around to where Doc was sitting

rubbing his knee.

She handed the water bottle at him and asked, “Is

you feeling ary better?” And she quickly sat in the grass

cross-legged facing Doc a few away from him. For the

briefest moment, as she sat with her chin cupped in her

hands, her elbows resting on her knees, in rapt attention

awaiting an answer, the look of her struck Doc dumb and

34

he could not speak. But something brought him back to

her question, and he answered it.

“Some…” said Doc, “…I think it’s just bruised.”

And Doc, feeling his pulse quicken, thought to

himself, “This is not fair. I am too old.”

“I kin go get you some ice if you like.” said Frances.

“I think I just need some aspirin.” said Doc. “Maybe

you could help me get that out of the plane, too?”

From the direction of the house then, both Doc and

Frances turned their heads as a far-a-way female voice

yelled loudly, “Ar he alright, Frances?!”

And standing far in front of the house stood an older

buxom woman in a flowered print dress that flapped and

billowed in the breeze as she wiped her hands on her

apron.

“That’s my mama.” said Frances to Doc, before she

yelled, “Yes, ma’am! He’s jest banged up a little!”

35

Chapter Six

With that, France’s mother ceased walking towards

the airplane and yelled, “Ya’ll need anything?”

Frances looked to Doc and asked, “You want we

should call a doctor?”

Doc answered, “I think, for now, if could just get a

few aspirin from my airplane and think things through for

a few minutes…”

And Frances rose to her feet and said, “Tell me where

they are and I’ll git ‘em.” Then she yelled to her mother,

“We is al-rite for now!” Doc told her then where to look in

his duffel bag. In a few minutes, she handed Doc the

bottle of aspirin. In the meantime, her mother who had

stood waiting for an answer with her hands on her hips

turned and began walking back towards the house and

she raised a hand in the air as if to say, “Whatever suits

you.”

Frances again took up her position sitting in front of

Doc and watched him take the aspirin. When he took

another swallow of water to wash the pills down, he

screwed the cap back on the water bottle and sat quietly

rubbing his knee and looking over at the crippled

airplane.

Frances was full of questions, but sensed that Doc

need time to sort out his predicament and just studied his

36

face for the moment. After a few minutes, he asked her if

she knew anyone that might know anything about

welding?

“Yes, sir! I do.”

“You mean you know something about welding, or

that you know someone who does?”

Frances grinned widely and said, “I does.”

Doc, not wanting to seem exasperated and still

feeling the pain in his knee, forced a smile and said, “You

‘does,’ what?”

“Oh!...said Frances, “I do. I mean I know a little about

it.” And she smiled coquettishly.

“I fix everythin’ ‘round here.”

Doc smiled at her surprised at what she said, and he

said, “I suppose that you’re going to tell me that you’ve got

an acetylene torch rig, too?”

“Yes, sir!” said Frances brightly and she slid her

hands under the bib of her overalls and she beamed

rocking back and forth on her bare feet.

Doc looked away, shook his head and said, “Well, I

guess I couldn’t have picked a better place to crash,

huh?”

“No, sir! I s’pose you cudn’t have.” And Frances

laughed and Doc watched as her eyes took on a far off

look as if some thought had pulled her away.

37

“My daddy taught me how’ta weld before he died.”

she said. “He taught me how to fix a lot of things.” And

Frances said that somewhat wistfully as she looked back

over her shoulder at the house.

“You think you could help me jack that wing up and

heat that axle so I could straighten it?”

“Got a jack, too!” said Frances. “But how you gonna

do anything with that hurt leg?”

“Maybe if I could get your help getting my things out

of the plane, I could just rest out here tonight and we

could see how I feel in the morning? What you think?”

“You could come sleep in the house, on the couch, if

you wanna.”

“I better not.” said Doc. “I haven’t seen any yet, but I

know cows are partial to nibbling on airplanes and…”

“Ain’t got none.” Frances said, “ ‘Sides, you owe me.”

“What!” said Doc in surprise softly.

“I got you that water and them aspirins there and my

price is that you tell me what all them dials in that

airplane do?” And Frances threw her head back and

laughed before leveling her eyes at Doc and giving him a

mock glare.

“You got steep prices, Frances.” And they both

laughed together.

“You be al-rite here for a few?” asked Frances. “I’m

38

gonna go tell mama to set another place. It’d be good to

have some company. Besides…” And Frances stopped

herself.

“Besides what?” asked Doc.

“Oh, nuthin.”

“Come on…” said Doc, “…besides what?”

Frances studied Doc’s face, the lines of his brow, the

squared edges of his jaws, the crow’s feet at the edges of

his eyes, the silver stubble of his day old unshaven beard,

his mildly protruding Adam’s apple and his soft brown

eyes, even the small tufts of dishwater blond hair at his

temple that were fluttering with the breeze before she

answered.

“I asked for ye. That’s ‘besides what?’”

Doc had no words for a few seconds. “What?”

“I asked for ye. I din’t pray for you ‘actly. But I wished

for you.”

“You wished…” said Doc, “..for me?”

“Well, not you exactly. But somebody.”

“I don’t understand.” Doc said. “What do you mean?”

Frances wanted to change the subject and did so

quickly. “Where were you flying to?”

Doc laughed. “Here, for now, I guess.” Then he told

39

her that he was heading west to barnstorm for the

summer. With that, Frances jumped to her feet and

slapped her side with her right hand. “Damn! You mean

it?! That’s what you do?” Then she spun around once

quickly as if she would break out in a jig and faced him

again, her eyes wide with the look of astonishment. “Naw!”

she said. “You lying to me!” Doc sat blank faced watching

her excitement. “Really!? Really!?” she exclaimed. “I seen

that once in a movie!”

“Well, we’re still around, I guess. I’ve been doing it for

many summers now.”

Frances stood mouth agape with both her hands on

her hips and she turned around again like an excited

puppy might. “S’at all you do?”

The Doc told her he was also a writer and he wrote

about people and his adventures. Frances slapped a hip

again and dropped to the grass cross legged and just

stared at Doc.

“Is that so unusual?” said Doc.

“Well, I ain’t never met nobody that’s done that!”

“What about you?” asked Doc. “What’s a pretty girl

like you do out here in the hills?”

Frances’s cheeks turned a slight shade of red and she

dropped her head and stared into her lap for a moment

before saying, “I’m trying to figure that out.” And she

raised her head and looked directly into Doc’s eyes. “I

40

shorely wish’t I knew, I do.” And she absent-mindedly

snatched a tall shaft of grass and twirled it between her

hands.

Doc asked her what she did on the farm. “I mostly

help mama out since daddy died.” And she looked far off

in the distance before saying, “But she don’t need me

anymore since Cappy came along.”

“Who’s Cappy?”

“Aw, he’s a guy from Pickens she met at church. I

think they gonna git married. I don’t much like him. But

he treats her good.”

“You hungry?” said Frances. “Why don’t you stay

with us ‘til we get yor wheel straight?”

Doc rubbed his knee and thought it might be easier

to just sit out the next few days here, get the axel

straightened and let the knee heal some. He raised his

pant leg up past his knee and looked at the bluish knot

just below his knee cap. As he eased the cuff back over

the bruised area, he said, “What’s your mother gonna say

about that?”

Frances assured Doc that he’d be welcome especially

since he was hurt and his airplane was banged up and

she said, “I hope you like collards and biscuits.”

Doc said, “M-m-m. My favorites.” But Doc hated

collards. And he forced a small smile.

“Besides…” said Frances, “…you still gotta tell me

41

about all them dials.”

The sky was growing darker and the air was

becoming decidedly cooler and Frances began rubbing her

upper arms, her arms crossed over her chest. Doc looked

around at the darkening sky and saw that the front had

passed, the sky was clear and the first stars were faintly

becoming visible in the purple dusk. The black silhouette

of a bat raced overhead and switched its direction in the

snap of a finger chasing some insect.

“Com’on…” said Frances, “…I’ll hep you get up and

we kin go in.”

Doc asked her to grab a few things from the airplane

and together, Doc still needing Frances to lean on,

struggled towards the edge of the field and the small

house with the wisp of grey evening smoke rising upwards

from its chimney in the now still and chilly night air.

Frances had become so engrossed in Doc telling her

that he was a barnstormer that she had completely

forgotten that she had not asked her mother if letting Doc

stay the night was all right. She crossed the fingers of her

right hand hoping.

42

Chapter Seven

The smell of coffee roused Doc early the next

morning. He had spent the night on what amounted to a

love seat, not quite a couch, just enough room for two

people to sit. He had slept curled up in a ball all night,

lying on his left side to avoid putting pressure on his right

knee. Yawning and grimacing at the still very painful

stiffness in his knee, he pushed himself upright and sat

up on the edge of the tiny couch looking around the small

living room which was at the same time the kitchen and

the dining room. Behind him, on the other side of a

central wall there was a bedroom and a small bathroom

which was entered through a central door in the dividing

wall in the two room house.

Doc attempted to stand and put his full weight on his

bad leg. He had slept in his pants and a tee shirt under a

ragged comforter; the comforter was now laying shawl

like across his shoulders to ward off a chill. In a small

wood stove sitting along an outer wall, the dying embers

of the night’s fire produced little heat and Doc shivered as

he grunted while extending both legs to their full length.

He stood still there for a moment and slid his right foot

forward, then his left. The knee hurt but was working and

Doc knew it might take a day or two to be able to work the

Jenny’s rudder bar, so he could fly. He sighed. The

summer had only just begun. Was this some sort of

omen? He shrugged his shoulders and sighed again. The

43

axel still had to be straightened.

A slow creak at the back door caught his attention

and he looked as Frances slowly pushed her head

through. The morning sun cast a beam across the wooden

floor and she quietly said, “Hi!”

Doc gathered his comforter tightly around himself

and she said, “I din’t know if you be up yet.”

“How’s the knee?” she said.

“I’ll live.” said Doc.

“You want some coffee? I done had some.”

“If it’s no trouble.”

“None a’tall.” And Frances went to the dish drainer

and picked up a small cup and rinsed it out before tipping

the percolator and pouring the cup full. “You want some

milk or sugar for this?”

“Little of both.” said Doc.

“I done drug that welding cart out there.”

“Really!” said Doc brightly. “The sun’s barely up.”

“I don’t sleep much.”

“You should have waited on me. I could’ve helped

you.” said Doc.

And the irony of that caused Frances to laugh and in

her way she immediately clamped her hand to her mouth

and looked at Doc to see if he might be angry. “I’m sorry.”

44

she said, in a muffled voice behind her hand. The blue

eyes above her fingers sparkled with her mirth.

Doc looked down at his knee and said, “Well, I guess

it is kinda funny. I wouldn’t have been much help, huh?”

Frances shook her head no and stirred in a spoonful

of sugar and a short dribble of evaporated milk. Then she

handed the cup to Doc saying, “Is you hurtin’ very much

this mornin’?”

“I think I’ll live.”

“You done said that already. Is you hurtin’?”

“Sorry. I’m not the most talkative creature in the

mornings. Yeah, it hurts like the devil. But I think it’s just

a bad bruise. Nothing seems broken.”

“Mama’s like that. She barely opens her mouth before

noon. She done lit out already with Cappy this mornin’.

You want some more aspirin? Maybe if we put somethin’

hot on it.”

“Let’s fix the axel first. Do they work somewhere?”

“At the chair factory where I used to work.”

“You made chairs?”

“Yep. Well, I put ‘em together anyways.”

“Do you work anywhere now?”

“No, sir. I keep the house up now. I jest couldn’t

stand being cooped up in that noisy place, and the

45

dust…” Then she went silent for a moment.

“Anyway…” Frances went on, “I wanted out of there. I

want out of here. There’s nuthin’ in these hills for me

now.”

Doc didn’t quite know how to respond to what she

had just said, and he decided to leave well enough alone.

He needed to focus now on getting the Jenny back in the

air and getting on with the summer. But if Doc wasn’t

anything, he wasn’t unsympathetic. “You said that like

something bad has happened to you.”

Frances turned away and stared out the window for a

minute. Then she shoved her hands in the pockets of her

overalls and said over her shoulder, “You wanna come

show me what you need welded?”

“Sure,…” said Doc, “do I have a minute to visit the

bathroom and swallow this last bit of coffee?” He was very

hungry, but he figured that he better take the help while

he could, so any breakfast had to wait.

Outside the back door of the little house sat an old

wooden push cart and in it were a few tools, some pliers,

a ball peen hammer, a bottle jack and some short lengths

of scrap pine lumber.

“Thought we might need some of this.” said Frances

as she grasped the handles and began pushing the cart in

the direction of the Jenny. Pushing the cart slowly so Doc

46

could keep up, Frances said, “What we gonna weld?”

“Nothing I hope.” said Doc. “It’s heat that I need, I

think. If we can get the gear high enough off of the

ground, I’m hoping to get the wheel off, heat up the axel

and bend it straight.”

Doc shuffled along behind Frances attempting to

walk putting his full weight on his left leg and not the

right, but he couldn’t help but let out a muffled groan or

two as he limped along. Frances heard him and stopped

and set the cart down. “You hurtin’ ain’t you?” she said.

“’Fraid so.” said Doc.

“Well, you stay here for a minute. I’ll push the cart

over first, then I’ll come back and get you.”

Doc smiled, and he said, Thanks! You’re angel.”

Frances smiled sweetly at that and continued to push

the cart to the plane.

She set the cart next to the airplane and ran back to

Doc who was not doing a very good job of trying to

balance on one leg while waiting. She rushed up to him

and lifted up his right arm and pulled it over shoulder as

she wrapped her left arm around his waist. And they

began walking to the airplane together.

Sometimes, Doc could be his own worst enemy, and

in an effort to make small talk, he said, “You never did

answer my question. I asked you if something bad has

happened to you.” The second he said that, he winced

47

wishing he had kept his mouth closed.

“I know. I is trying ignore that.”

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t. Nobody does, even mama. I miss him

sumpthin’ terrible. That’s the ‘bad’ thing.”

“Your daddy?”

“How’d you know?”

“Just a wild guess.” said Doc just a touch

sardonically. “It’s been pretty obvious that you miss him

very much. I saw the look in your eye yesterday.”

“You did?”

“A little. But it’s always that way.” said Doc. “I missed

mine, too, when he died. But I don’t think as much as

you. We weren’t that close.”

“We was.” There was a tear forming at the corner of

her eye when Doc looked at her. It slowly left her eye and

began moving along the edge of her cheek. Then another

followed. Then she snuffed up her nose and wiped her eye

with the palm of her hand.

“It was three months ago, Mister Doc. And now,

mama, done took up…”

“People have to move along, Frances.” Doc

interrupted.

“So does I.” she said softly and she sniffed her tears

48

back again. “Tain’t nothing here no more.”

“So, that’s what you meant when you said you

wished for somebody?”

They had arrived at the airplane and Frances stopped

and just held to Doc for a minute.

“Somebody to do what?” asked Doc.

Frances loosened her grip on his arm and said, “You

set for a bit. Tell me what to do.”

“Deal.” said Doc. “But let me move closer and we’ll do

it together.

“To do what?” again asked Doc.

“Nuthin’.” said Frances, “Just nuthin’.”

49

Chapter Eight

The axel glowed cherry red as Frances expertly held

the tip of the torch’s blue flame at just the right distance

from the axle surface to get the maximum heat. The

spanner nut holding the wheel on came off easily and the

spoked wheel seemed to have no damage, and Doc was

very pleased about that. With Frances continuing to apply

the heat, the metal softened, and Doc pulled back

carefully on the tire iron he had inserted into the hollow

shaft of the axle and the axel slowly came true. Doc

studied the reformed shaft from every angle. “I think we

got it, girl!”

“You can cut it off now.” said Doc as Frances,

wearing a smile, spun the oxygen and acetylene valves

closed and the torch extinguished with a sharp “wap!”

She had thought to throw a small can of bearing

grease in the cart with the tools, and after the shaft had

cooled, Doc greased it and put the wheel back on, spun

the wheel to check for wobble. He deemed the small

amount of wobble he saw as safe. Then he tightened the

nut, reinserted the cotter pin and announced the landing

gear fixed. The pair grinned at one another and shook

hands.

The Jenny now sat with her wings level, her axel

repaired, clear of any obstacle, and she nearly appeared

to smile in the late morning sun. But Doc still wasn’t

50

smiling. He knew he could not fly just yet. The knee was

too painful.

While the pair waited for the axel shaft to cool, Doc

had kept his promise.

Frances had helped him to stand, and together they

stood at the rear cockpit peering in as Doc pointed to the

‘dials’ as she had called them.

“This one tells me how high I am.” he said pointing at

the altimeter. Frances replied, “M-m-m.”

“And this one, it tells me how fast I go.”

“How fast do you go?” asked Frances.

“Not very.” said Doc. “Maybe 75 if the wind is behind

me.”

And Frances said, “H-m-m-p-f! My old truck goes

faster than that.””

“Yeah, but your old truck isn’t over 100 years old is

it?” And Doc laughed. And Frances followed suit.

“Naw!...” she said, “It cain’t be that old? Really?”

“Almost as old as I am.” said Doc deadpan.

“You is not! You cain’t be more than 60, are you?”

“Are you what?” said Doc. “Over 60? That’s my

business, young lady.”

And Doc looked at Frances who was leaning as far

into the cockpit as she could get to have a better view of

51

the instrument panel. Her face was just inches from his.

The smell of her was a mix of the spice in her shampoo

and earthy perspiration and the sensuality of it caused

Doc to look away feeling guilty in his arousal.

For all her hill country and tomboyish demeanor,

there was at the same time an innocence and the air of an

ancient wisdom about her. And Doc thought there was a

thing amiss about her. He quickly batted the thought

away, but it would lodge in his consciousness.

“How old are you?” asked Doc turning to face her

directly. That got him a blazing glare, and he lowered his

eyes and said “Sorry.” But the glare quickly melted away

and became a wry smile.

“And that one over there, the little one in the corner

is my oil pressure gauge.”

“I know all about oil pressure. You got to have that,

huh?” she said.

“Yep. It certainly helps.” said Doc with a low chuckle.

“I ain’t never been up in an airplane.”

“Really!” said Doc. “You got five dollars? I’ll give you a

ride.” And he laughed in spite of another hard glare, a

faux one, and Frances laughed. “I don’t know if I want to

ride with you, anyways. You’re dangerous.”

“It was a gopher’s fault.” And Frances laughed. “I

know that.” she said.

52

“Will you take me flyin’?” she asked.

Doc took a short step back from the intoxication he

was feeling and said, “Soon as I can.”

“I’m a little afraid.”

“New things make people a little afraid sometimes.”

said Doc. Then Doc said, “I’m so hungry, I could eat a

snake.”

Frances laughed and said, “Me, too. You want some

ham and eggs?”

“Infinitely more than I want to faint from

malnourishment.”

“We cain’t have that.”

The pair had their breakfast for lunch, and Doc

decided that he needed to take some aspirin and lay down

for a while. He slept most of the afternoon under the wing

of the Jenny. Frances went about the business of feeding

chickens, getting supper ready and cleaning the small

house.

Occasionally she would go the window and stand for

long moments and look wistfully at the old yellow airplane

and the dark form stretched out in the shade of its wing

in the middle of the field. She had so many questions

about the man who had dropped into her world. And

there was one question in particular that she did not

quite know how to ask. Maybe she didn’t want to hear the

53

answer.

It was late afternoon and the sun was starting to

settle in the western sky. She walked quietly up to the

Jenny and lightly thumped on the wing’s taut fabric like

knocking softly on a door. Then she bent to look under

the wing. Doc rolled to his side and pushed his sleeping

bag aside and said, “Oh. Hey, there.” She extended her

hand underneath the wing, the one holding a mug of

coffee, and she said, “Thought maybe you might like this.”

Doc reached for the mug and said, “You are an

angel!”

“Naw!” she said. “I like some in the afternoon, too.

Thought maybe you would.”

Doc thanked her for the coffee and propped on one

elbow, he sipped at the coffee slowly as he surveyed the

landscape surrounding the field more closely than he had

before. The field lay in a shallow valley and far off in the

distance, the rolling hills had a bluish, smoky haze

gathered about them that lay interwoven like layers of

gauze across the tops of the thick forest of tall pines

nestled on the hill sides. The landscape was just coming

into the full bloom of late spring.

Spotted across the low hills were sprays of white

mountain laurel and the speckled umbrellas of newly

bloomed dogwood trees. Within the wood line beyond the

field, the spirited conversations of robins and jays were in

54

progress across the branches; discussions filled with

laughing squeaks, punctuated by bright, high songs and

interrupted by the sharp, grating cries of mocking birds.

“You lived here all your life?” asked Doc.

Frances had taken up her usual cross legged seat in

the grass a few feet away from him, and with her elbows

resting on her knees, her chin cupped in her hands,

staring into his face, she said, rather glumly, “Ain’t never

been anywhere else.”

“I take it that you’ve never navigated by ant?”

Frances cocked her head and looked at Doc with a

question on her face. “What’d you mean?”

Doc laughed and said, “Never mind. Maybe I’ll tell

you later. It’s a thing that an old friend taught me once.”

Then Doc said, “It looks like I’ll need to hang around

here another day or two if it’s all right with you and your

mom.”

Frances’s face lit up noticeably and she said, “Oh!

She don’t care, I reckon, and me, I’m happy to have the

company. I’d never met nobody like you ‘afore.”

“Not sure just how to take that.” said Doc as he

smiled.

“I din’t mean nuthin’ by it. It’s jest yor different than

anybody round here.”

Doc simply responded, “M-m-m…”

55

Then he said, “Think I could build a small fire and

stay out here tonight?” asked Doc.

“You don’t like that little old sofa, huh?”

“It’s not that so much as it is that I’m really partial to

having a fire and sleeping under the stars.”

“Could I come out and sit by the fire with you?”

“I’d like that. Maybe tonight I’ll teach you about how

the ant travels.”

Frances laughed freely and said, “Mostly I finds ‘em

in my house.” Then, after a second’s distant look up into

the hills, she said, “I din’t know they went anywhere else.”

“Oh, they do. They’re like guides.”

Frances got the quizzical look about her again. And

Doc laughed and said, “I’ll tell you tonight.”

“I’ll gather you up some wood and bring it out, if you

want?”

“That’d be great!” said Doc. “Room service.”

“Room service?” said Frances.

“I take it that you never stayed in a hotel?”

“No sir. I ain’t never been far out of this county.”

“And you never heard of it on television?”

“We had one once. But we couldn’t get nothing on it

but squiggly lines. Daddy sold it. We got a radio to listen

56

to the Opry though. Mama loves that. I don’t care.”

Doc laughed, then he fell silent and looked at

Frances as she diverted her eyes and seemed to study

something far-a-way. The way she seemed to fade away

occasionally brought back the thought in the back of

Doc’s mind and it grew larger in his thinking until he

thought that maybe there might be a touch of autism in

Frances – the thing that was amiss.

“Frances?”

And she turned to look at him.

“Did you go to school?” He immediately regretted the

question but could not retrieve it.

She said nothing for a moment as she studied his

face. Then, “Yes, sir, I sure did.” And her head dropped

and she picked a grassy nit from her pant leg a bit

nervously. Then she said, “But I din’t like it much.” And

she raised her gaze and looked back at Doc. “So mama

and daddy taught me here.”

“You didn’t like school or studying?”

“I just couldn’t fix my mind on nuthin’ there.” She

rose to her feet then and she said, “But the state done

give me a certificate that said my folks taught me the

things I needed to learn. I ain’t stupid.”

“I hope you didn’t think…” said Doc before Frances

interrupted, “I know you didn’t. Some folks say I’m a bit

slow, and I know that.” As she stood, she shoved her

57

hands in her pockets resolutely and she said, “I kin read

or write as good as ary body else.”

“I have no doubt.” said Doc.

“I’m gonna go get you some wood for that fire now.

What you gonna do for supper? We’d be glad to have you

again tonight. I killed a chicken to fry, and I’ll make gravy

to go with the biscuits.”

“Can’t turn that down.” said Doc, and he leaned back

and braced by his arms behind him, he stared at the

empty coffee mug. Frances noticed that and asked, “You

wont some more?”

Doc leaned forward and waved a hand signaling no

and said, “No thanks, I’m good. You sure you don’t mind

feeding me again…?”

“Don’t you worry ‘bout it. I’ll be back in jest a bit with

wood. You doin’ okay?”

Doc said he was and Frances turned to head back in

the direction of the house. Doc studied her as she walked.

In a few steps she stopped and turned back in his

direction and stopped. “You really gonna take me flying?”

she said.

“Soon as the knee lets me. Might take a few days.”

said Doc. “But it’ll be my pleasure.”

Then she smiled, turned her head away towards the

hills with a soft distant look in her half-closed eyes for a

second, and then she slowly turned to face Doc.

58

“Doc?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I’m glad you crashed here.” And she smiled.

Doc returned the smile and silently shook his head

up and down a few times. Seeing that, she made and held

eye contact with Doc for a few seconds before shaking her

head as he had, and then she smiled brightly, hiked her

shoulders up some and then she turned quickly and

resumed her walk back to the house with a bit of a skip in

her step.

As he watched her walk away, Doc thought to

himself, “So am I. So am I.”

59

Chapter Nine

That night, after supper, Doc pushed slightly back

from the table, tipped the mason jar towards the tin plate

ceiling and the oil lamp that hung low over the table, and

he drank the remainder of his iced tea in a single

swallow..

Cappy, a squat little man, with flush cheeks and a

ruddy neck had eaten, head down, throughout the entire

meal. Bertie, Frances’s mother, had done most of the

talking, mostly about the people she hated at the chair

factory. Only occasionally would Cappy raise his head and

shake it once or twice, in agreement. Frances said little

except to quietly offer Doc another piece of chicken or a

ladle of gravy. In the background, the radio played the

high screeching strains of a bluegrass fiddle and the

aching heartbreak of a jilted lover’s lament sung sickley-

sweet, the twangy words nearly unintelligible, and the

music seemed to dominate the meal.

“You wont that?” asked Cappy looking at Doc as he

pointed a bent fork with uneven tines at the remaining

drumstick on the platter. Even before Doc could answer,

the chicken leg found its way to Cappy’s plate, then in

between his fingers, and he tore at the meat with his

incisors, of which there were only three.

Bertie laughed saying that it was good to have

another hungry man at the table again. Frances kept her

60

head down and Doc saw her throat tighten momentarily.

Then composing herself imperceptibly, she sipped at her

tea and held the glass at her lips glaring unseen at Bertie

who was rubbing Cappy’s inner thigh under the table.

Knowing how much Frances missed her father, Doc

desperately wanted to reach out and touch Frances’s arm

to sooth her but dared not, and he forced his gaze to

wander the room. But he was able to make a flicker of eye

contact with Frances and she returned a faint smile.

It seemed to Doc that now that Cappy and Bertie

were courting, if that was what it could be called, Frances

might be the fifth wheel, but in his brief time around the

trio, he had not once seen any mistreatment of her.

Frances kept her distance from the pair and seemed to be

content to busy herself with a book or small sewing jobs.

“Frances, that was wonderful chicken.” said Doc

brightly.

Bertie took her gaze away from Cappy and said, “I

taught her good.” Frances nodded that she had and she

looked down at her lap for a second before pushing her

chair from the table, the chair’s leg scaping noisily on the

wooden floor. As she stood, she looked at Doc, and she

asked, “You done with that?” pointing at his empty plate.

Doc nodded that he was and ran a paper napkin

across his lips. “Yes, ma’am! You could make money with

that fried chicken and that gravy.”

“I wish’t.” said Frances and she smiled at him.

61

“If she warn’t so pickey, she could be making that for

a husband by now.” said Bertie.

“Oh, shush, mama!” snapped Frances nearly in a

whisper. ‘You know how I feel about all that.”

And Bertie just shook her head and looked back at

Cappy who shrugged his shoulders, then he took his last

swath of mashed potatoes with the side of his fork and

put the fork in his mouth up to the hilt. He left it there for

a few seconds then tightly pressed his lips against the

fork as he withdrew it, slowly making sure to completely

clean the fork. Finished, he let the fork settle to the plate

with a “clink” and leaned back in his chair seemingly

satisfied. Then he belched. And Bertie laughed. And

Frances shook her head in resignation. Doc just smiled.

“Well, if it’s all right with you folks, I think I’ll say

“good night” and go build a fire out by my airplane and

read for a while.”

Bertie asked, “Is yor knee better?”

“Yes, ma’am, it’s getting there. I might be able to

leave tomorrow, I think.”

Frances stood staring at Doc for the briefest second

and fearing that someone might see her, she turned

towards the sink and the stack of dirty dishes there. She

felt a mild burning at the base of her throat and felt

herself begin to get angry at her lack of courage. She

would ask him soon.

62

Doc looked at Frances and said, “You coming out

with me?”

For a second, Frances would not turn and look at

him and she shut the faucet off staring into the sink.

Then she said, “If’n you don’t mind the company.”

“I could think of none better.”

Frances raised her head and smiled at the wall, and

still not looking at Doc, then she said, “I’ll wander out

there after I get these cleaned up.”

“You want some help?” asked Doc.

“Naw, sir.” she said. “Thanks. You go on. I’ll be out in

a while.

Doc pulled his flashlight out of his pants pocket,

clicked it on and looked into the beam to see if it was

shining and then he said, “Well, good night, folks. If I’m

gone before you get back tomorrow, I want you to know I

really appreciate the help, and of course, the food.”

Bertie said, “Don’t be no stranger.” And Cappy

belched then waved.

And Doc opened the door and stepped into the cool

night air and let the flashlight’s beam fall on the ground

ahead of him.

63

Chapter Ten

In the front cockpit, Frances had a hand gripping

each of the cockpit rims as the nose of the Jenny slowly

rose into the air and began its steady ascent above the

horizon. The hammering of the airplane’s wheels against

the hard ground during the Jenny’s take-off run had been

replaced by the steady clatter of the engine pulling the

airplane up into the early morning sky.

In the rear cockpit, Doc felt the normal shaking of the

control stick in his hand, and he berated himself for

letting her talk him into taking her up with him on the

first flight since the axel was repaired. His knee was still

sore but flexible and with no crosswind to contend with

operating the rudder bar tolerable.

But soon, his argument with himself faded as he

thought back to the pre-flight he had completed before

they took off. It was, after all, he reasoned, more thorough

than any he had ever done, specifically because she would

be on board. In a minute his experience, the thousands of

hours he had flown the Jenny, had completely taken over

and his subconscious was at the helm, on alert for any

possible problems. Even so, he circled high over and

stayed close to the field in case he needed to land quickly.

In the early pink light of sunrise, she had appeared

just as he had opened his eyes that morning, a red

64

bandana worn on her head scarf-like. She held two mugs

of coffee in her hands and a happy smile on her face, her

flashing blue eyes reflecting a bit of sparkle of the rising

sun. Doc gathered his sleeping bag around himself,

laughing, and he asked her to turn around so he could

pull his britches on.

Frances turned and stood looking back at the house

as Doc wriggled out the bag and grabbed his pants. “I

would say that you’re eager this morning, huh?” and he

chuckled turning back around as he buckled his belt

before telling her he was dressed and taking one of the

mugs from her.

“I hope it’s hot enough and fixed right.” said Frances.

Doc said thanks and he took the mug she handed

him and he raised it to his mouth blowing air across the

steam as he did. The mug stayed at Doc’s lips for a few

seconds and then he swallowed deeply and said, “Perfect.

Couldn’t have done it better myself.”

“I sure be better than the mud you fixed last night

out here.”

He gulped quickly, squinted, and feigning irritation,

saying, “Are you insulting my instant coffee?”

“Yes, sir. That stuff’s turrible.”

Doc laughed.

“You sure that you’re ready to go for a ride?” and as

Doc lowered his mug, he looked steadily at her.

65

“I ain’t never been readier.”

“Okay, have a seat and let me run a wet rag over my

face and we’ll head up after I give the bird a good once

over.”

She nodded and sat slowly in the grass studying the

Jenny over the rim of her coffee mug. The sun was coming

up behind the airplane and the dew glistened on its

wings. After pouring some water from his jug and wetting

a wash cloth, Doc wiped down his face and neck.

Then Doc walked slowly around the Jenny,

occasionally setting his mug in the grass in order to better

inspect a turnbuckle or thump a rib for soundness. It

took a solid twenty minutes of quiet consideration and

examination before he walked back to where Frances was

sitting and announced he felt ready to fly.

Doc watched as she swiveled her head first to the

north then to the south as they climbed, gently banking

over the field and the small house below. Looking

overboard, she fixed her eyes on the house below, and

daring to thrust an arm out of the cockpit, with the wind

buffeting her hand, she pointed over the side jabbing her

finger downward; then she looked back at Doc and threw

her head back giggling. Doc eased the throttle back

slightly to lessen the engine noise. “Look-e-e!” she yelled

and Doc shook his head, his eyes smiling behind the glass

lenses of his goggles.

66

Then she turned her head forward and reached up

with both hands under her chin to tighten the knot of her

bandana. Every few minutes, she would seem to rise up in

her seat as she sought to see below or have a better view

of the sky and the world around her. Now and then, she

would extend a hand outside beyond the cockpit’s rim

and forming the hand into a curved airfoil, she would fly

the hand up and down in the rushing air beyond. Every

few minutes, she would twist herself sideways in her seat,

look back, and she would lock eyes with Doc then smile

broadly before turning her attention back to the clouds

out beyond the wings or the hills passing underneath.

After some time, Doc felt comfortable easing away

from the immediate vicinity of the field and decided to

circle out over the hills as he climbed higher. The

scattered morning mounds of patchy cotton cumulus

clouds were building into bulbous towers, and Doc flew

up next to a large cloud and let the Jenny’s wingtip just

disappear a few feet into its misty wall.

Frances watched as if hypnotized and then looked

back at Doc, her mouth open and her eyes wide. And she

threw her head back, and she laughed, her shoulders

shaking. He responded by raising a finger and mouthing

the word, “Wait!” in an exaggerated fashion. She shook

her head that she understood.

Then Doc gently rolled the airplane up on its side and

flew into the cloud. Frances took a firm grip on cockpit

rim. And the Jenny disappeared into the gray mist and

67

the inner darkness of the cloud for five seconds.

In that short exhilarating time, Frances felt a small

electric charge of adrenalin shoot through her as the

world around her went pewter grey, and the sky and the

land and everything around her except the instrument

panel ahead disappeared and a damp chill quickly fell

upon her. In the cloud, there was no up or down or

sideways before the light of the blue sky beyond began to

fill the cockpit once more as they exited the cloud. And

with the return of brilliant sunlight, all was right again.

When Frances looked back at Doc, her mouth was

closed tightly with the breath she was holding, then

releasing it, she exploded into a smile and her laughing

head was shaking up and down and she was bouncing in

her seat. She was a giddy child having just ridden her

first steep hill on a roller coaster in that moment.

Doc looked at his watch and reached forward to tap

Frances on the shoulder. As she turned to look back at

him, he slowly pulled the throttle back and the Jenny’s

wind-milling engine, now at idle, made small popping

backfires as Frances shook her head “no” not wanting to

land. Doc pointed at his watch and then shrugged his

shoulders in apology. Frances nodded in return noting

that she understood.

“You won’t be afraid?” he asked at the fire last night.

“Nope…” she answered, “…nuthin’ much scares me.”

68

Frances scrunched up her lips and wrinkled her nose

and looked into the cup, saying, “Yech-c-c! That stuff’s

turrible. How you drink that?”

“Practice.” said Doc. “Lots of practice.”

Then he said, “Grows hair on my chest.” And he

laughed.

Frances looked deeply into the cup one last time and

she said, “Better you than me.”

And they laughed together for a few seconds. Frances

set her cup aside and put her arms to her sides, put her

palms flat on the grass behind her with her extended legs

out in front of her, she crossed her feet over one another

and looked up.

Doc looked long and hard at her, the flames of the

fire causing her eyes to sparkle and the point of the

bottom of her chin was illuminated by the fire’s light as

she peered skyward into the starlit sky above.

“You can see ‘em better out here than anywhere

because there’s not much other light.” said Doc. “You

know their names?”

“There ain’t that many names in the world!” said

Frances and that caused Doc to laugh before he said, “No.

What I meant was can you name any of the

constellations?”

“Oh! You mean the ones that look like animals and

such?”

69

As the Jenny’s wooden propeller clacked to a stop,

Jenny stared straight ahead causing Doc to think, just for

a second, that something was wrong. She had her head

bowed and he sat behind her so he could not see her face.

With the engine stopped, the only sounds to be heard

were the birds in the wood line. Then after long seconds,

she unbuckled her seat belt and slowly turned to face Doc

who had just reached forward and laid a hand on her

shoulder.

Tears ran the length of her reddened cheeks.

Doc asked, “What’s wrong. I thought you’d be happy.

Are you okay?”

She cleared her voice and wiped at her face with the

bandana which she had just pulled slowly away from her

head before she said slowly and very considered.

“Mister Doc, that was the most wonderful thing that

has ever happened to me.” And her shoulders shook as if

she was about to cry more before she took a deep breath.

Then she slowly smiled and turned completely around in

her seat and perched on her knees in the seat looking

backwards fully facing Doc behind her.

After removing his helmet, he ran his fingers through

his hair and lightly scratched his head. The free moving

air felt good against his scalp. He laid his leather helmet

and goggles just behind the small windscreen and then he

said, “The first time affects a lot of folks that way.” Then

70

he said, “But I don’t think that I’ve had too many break

out crying like that.” And he quickly added, “But I’m glad

you thought it was so wonderful.” trying not appear

critical.

Still on her knees in the front seat, she had crossed

her arms and propped them on the fuselage behind her

and had her chin resting on her arms intently looking into

Doc’s eyes. Then she said, “All my life, I looked up at them

clouds but I’d never been in one. I’d always thought the

angels lived in them. I thought daddy might be in one.”

“Maybe we just picked the wrong cloud this time.”

said Doc and he smiled warmly.

“I sure would like to look in some more.” answered

Frances.

“You’d have to learn to fly.” said Doc.

Hearing that, Frances reared straight up and in a

strong voice asked, “Would you teach me?” Her raised eye

brows and face expression took on a soft, pleading look

and she said, “Please.”

71

Chapter Eleven

“But I’ll be leaving soon.”

“Sure, I can name some of ‘em. They show ‘em in The

Farmers Almanac every year.”

Doc was laying on his side, stretched out, his head

propped on one hand watching an ant attempting to climb

up the side of his tin coffee cup, and he reached out and

flicked the insect away. “Come back tomorrow and help

me plot a flight plan, little feller.” he said, and he followed

that with a low chuckle of self amusement. “Can you find

the North Star?” asked Doc.

“No, sir, but I know which-a-way north is.” she said.

“Well, that’s a step in the right direction.”

“Are you leavin’ tomorrow?” asked Frances as she

redirected her gaze from the night sky to Doc.

“Might. If the knee works good when I take you up in

the morning. I figure if I left about noon or so, I might

make it to Ohio before dark.”

Frances fell sullen and quiet before lifting her eyes

back to the sky.

“You gonna write about me and mama?” she said

without looking at Doc. “T’ain’t much to say, huh?”

72

“I’m gonna try to write about every soul I meet this

year.” said Doc. “Some more than others.” Then he said, “I

suspect you and your mom will be chapter one.”

“Really?” and she looked back at him as he took the

last sip left in his cup.

“Really!” And he laughed. “It’s not every day I find a

gopher hole and a pretty girl in a field in the middle of

nowhere, is it?” Then he said, “And the answer to your

question is, that I think there’s a lot to say about you.”

“Naw!” she said incredulously. “Pretty?”

“Yeah…” and Doc, before he realized it, should have

dropped it there, but he didn’t, “…I think there’s a lot

more to you than meets the eye.”

Frances turned her head and stared him for a few

seconds, and then she said, “Like what?”

“Well, I think, and it’s just a guess, mind you, that

you desperately want to get out of here. Go someplace

else.”

“I wouldn’t know where to go.” she answered. “The

furtherest I ever been from here was over to Charleston to

visit a cousin. I didn’t much like it there. It was dirty.”

“The world’s bigger than Charleston. “ said Doc.

Doc was quickly realizing that he was getting ready to

do something he shouldn’t do and he wanted to quickly

change the subject. Frances beat him to it.

73

“Where’d you learn to fly and write and all them

things?”

Doc breathed a short sigh of relief.

“I learned to fly many years ago because someone

needed a pilot to fly skydivers.”

And Frances sat upright quickly, saying, “Skydivers!

Really!?”

“Yeah, I was a skydiver then and I worked for guy

who paid me to teach people how to jump. He came

around the corner one day and said he needed another

pilot and said he’d pay me to learn to fly. So I took him up

on it and that was that. Here I am 56 years later and still

flying.”

Frances laughed a little at what he said before she

said, ‘You jumped with parachutes?”

“Yes, ma’am, for many, many years until my legs

wouldn’t take it anymore.”

Frances sat shaking her head back-and-forth before

saying, “Boy, Howdy!” And for the next few minutes, her

questions were ceaseless about how Doc learned to

skydive and what it was like and if he was ever afraid and

on and on it went until Doc yawned happy that the

subject had changed.

“I saw people do that on the T.V. when it was

workin’.”

74

“Do what?” asked Doc. “Flying or jumping?”

“The parachute people. I wondered what it must be

like to do that.” And just then she had one of her far-a-

way spells and lost herself back in the stars overhead for

a few long minutes. Doc watched her and waited for her to

come back.

“Can you breathe when you fall through the air like

that?”

Doc laughed at the question, one he had heard at

least a hundred times in his life.

“Sure you can. It’s just like when you fly an airplane,

except you are flying straight down very fast.”

“I cain’t wait until tomorrow.” said Frances. “I’m

gonna fly, huh?”

“If the knee works and the creeks don’t rise.” said

Doc.

Frances thought the creek remark was funny and she

laughed loudly before instantly covering her mouth in the

way she did when she was embarrassed.

“But I’ll be leaving soon.” said Doc as he smoothed

his hair back.

He reached up and took Frances’s hand to help her

get down off of the wing walk. Her touch was light in his

hand as she jumped exuberantly down.

75

Her cheeks were flushed as she looked at him. She

stood staring directly into Doc’s eyes. A single tear

remained as a small drop on her chin. She wiped at it

with the crook of her elbow, and she held a hand out

towards Doc who reached and took her hand. She

grasped his hand tightly before she said, “Mister

Doc…and she sniffed…”you cain’t leave me here after

that.

“What do you mean?” asked Doc slowly pulling back

his hand.

“That.” and she turned and pointed to the Jenny,

“And that.” And she pointed skyward. “Now, I have to go.”

Doc was slightly taken aback and said nothing.

“I’ve waited forever to find a way out of here. And you

come along with your airplane and your sky and your

flying and yourself…”

“Frances, I just happened in here by accident. And

I’m not trying to be funny.”

Tears gathered in the rims of her eyes and she said,

“I don’t believe in no accidents. I’d be praying for a way

out these hills for a long time. There ain’t nuthin’ for me

here since pa died. Mama’s got Cappy now. She don’t

need me no more.”

“But, Frances, are you asking…”

“Now you got me wanting to learn what you do. To fly

like that. I ain’t never felt like that in my life. You just

76

cain’t run off and leave me here. I’ll die. I’ll surely die.”

Doc reached out and took her hand again, and he

said, “Frances, you don’t know what you are asking. I

don’t even know how old you…”

“I’m twenty-four and I got a driver’s license to prove

it. You want…”

“No. I believe you. But what would your mother say?”

“She’s got Cappy. She never did really love pa

anyways. I think she’d be happier if I wasn’t around

anyway. She be trying to get me married off for a long

time, and I don’t want that.”

“But, Frances, I’m an old man, I’d…”

“I don’t want no lover. I just want to be yor friend. I’d

be a help. Look what we did together fixing that axel and

all. I’m smart. I know things.”

“Frances, you’ll get homesick. I’m going to be

wandering all over the place. You’ll never know where

you’ll be one day to the next. And what if something

happens? What if I get hurt again or crash again, or worse

yet, you get hurt?”

Frances used her bandana to wipe her eyes and she

was silent for a moment, then she said to Doc, “Have you

ever let any of things stop you before?”

She stumped Doc and after a few seconds, he

laughed, saying, “Well, kiddo, you got me there don’t

77

you?”

And Frances sniffed before she smiled, her blue eyes

and freckles capturing his heart. He was going to give in,

he knew he was.

“Tell you what. Let me rest the knee and take some

time to think things over. Maybe we could talk about it

some more after supper at the fire?”

“You gonna make some more of that turrible coffee?”

“I have a feeling you better get used to it.”

And she smiled.

“But I’m not saying that I’m taking you with me yet.”

“I know.” she said before she smiled again.

“Damn.” Doc thought to himself.

78

Chapter Twelve

The morning clouds rolled in low and moving in

several directions at once. Mixed among the grayness

were the racing ghostly white clouds and the chilled air

that said cold front. It had rained during the night enough

that Doc had slept fitfully worried that the Jenny wasn’t

tied down and gusty winds, if they got more severe, could

damage her, all the while trying to find the best position

laying in his sleeping bag to keep his injured knee from

aching. He wasn’t in the best of moods as he watched

Frances walking out from the house carrying a small, tan

suitcase.

After supper, Frances had pushed the wooden cart

full of twigs and some firewood she had gathered out to

the fire Doc had built. She was hoping she had made her

case.

Doc had asked for some time to himself to think

things through, and so he opened a can of chicken stew,

built a small fire and ate by himself.

At the house, Frances had barely touched her

collards and cornbread and nervously sat looking out the

window watching the small orange and yellow flames that

flickered near the airplane as Doc ate his supper.

Cappy had arrived with a small portable black-and-

79

white television set and a roll of copper wire to use as an

anttena. He was barely able to get Charleston on the set.

But as Matt Dillon and Kitty talked of cattle rustlers, town

drunks and gamblers, Frances’s mama, Bertie, and Cappy

sat close together on the small couch drinking Budwiesers

and occasionally giggling between themselves nearly

unaware that Frances had gotten up from the table and

was pacing.

But as dark fell, Bertie said in a somewhat aggitated

voice, “You goin’ out and sit with him again?” which

Frances took as an attempt to rid of her. “Yes’um, pretty

soon.” And she conjured an excuse for her delay, saying,

“In a little while. He’s writing now.”

“H-m-m.” said Frances’s mama. “Getting dark. Cain’t

write much in the dark, h-m-m?’

“Reckon you cain’t.” said Frances. “Think I’ll go on

out and visit some.”

Cappy smiled behind the shining bottom of his

upturned can and her mama raised her can to her face

while waving the other hand as a faint good-bye.

Doc closed his journal when he heard the rattle of the

cart coming close and he picked up his coffee cup and set

it closer to the dwindling fire. Soon, Frances face was

dimly illuminated the rising flames that Doc had stoked

as he waited.

80

“Brung you some wood.”

“Was waiting on you.” he said. “Got something to

show you.”

Frances lowered the cart handles and rested it on the

ground. And she pushed her hands in the pockets of her

coveralls and walked to him and looked down. She didn’t

want to talk first.

“Look here.” he said and he pushed a neatly folded

colorful piece of paper at her feet.

“What’s that?”

“Unfold it and you’ll see.”

Frances didn’t sit, she squatted, and she picked the

paper up. “What is it?”

“A map. A very big map. You know how to read

maps?”

“I’ve seen a few. We got some in the truck. They give

‘em away down at the gas station.”

“This one’s different. Go ahead. Open it.”

Frances picked the map up and began to unfold it

and unfold it and unfold it.

“Gosh, damn. This thing’s big!”

Doc laughed and said, “Told you it was different,

huh?”

Frances looked at him and smiled and she held the

81

map, all forty-eight inches by forty-eight inches of it high

above her head and tilted it towards the light of the fire. “I

ain’t never seen nuthin’ like this before.” she said. ‘What

kind of map is it?”

“It’s an aeronautical map, girl.”

She looked at him blankly still holding the map high

off of the ground.

“Grab some of that wood over there and let’s build

the fire up, get some light. I want to show you something.”

said Doc.

In a few minutes, the fire was much higher and

brighter and Doc said, “You remember that I said that I’d

tell you how to travel by ant?”

She looked at him, sensing what lay ahead, and she

had to tell herself not to get her hopes up so she lightly bit

her lip. “Uh-huh!” and she tried not to smile, but she did.

Doc had gotten on to his side and picked up a twig,

and he said, “Come down here. Look close.”

Frances got to her knees and she leaned forward on

her forearms and she tilted her head and looked at Doc

and her eyes shone brightly in the light of the fire.

Doc pointed his stick at a line on the map and he

said, “See that line in red? That’s the Ohio-West Virginia

border.” And Frances shook her head before pushing the

hair out of her eyes. And for the next few minutes, Doc

aimed the stick at the map’s circles and dotted lines and

82

its many symbols explaining as he went what they meant.

Frances was lost and confused in the meanings and

Doc knew that. But soon he said something that caused

Frances’s heart to jump.

“I don’t expect you to learn all that now.”

She smiled brightly and said, “You mean…”

“Yes…he said, “I’m only going to teach you how to

travel by ant tonight.”

“But I thought…”

“Stop thinking. Watch.”

Her smile disappeared, her lips turning to a thin line

across her face.

“You got an ant on you, by any chance.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“I don’t think so.” and she looked down at herself.

And when she looked up, Doc was wearing a very large

smile, and he patted her on her back and said, “Never

mind. Let’s pretend.”

“Why?” And Frances looked at Doc quizzically.

“Why, what?” asked Doc.

“Why do I need to know this?”

Doc laughed and said, “Because we need to know

where we’re going.”

83

“You mean!”

“Yeah, and I’ll probably regret it. But, yeah.”

Frances jumped to her feet. “You mean it!? You really

mean it!?”

Doc looked up into her face smiling, quiet for a few

seconds, then he said, “Yeah, I do. But there are a few

tiny things we need to talk about first.”

Frances slowly settled back to the ground, her hand

covering her mouth, her eyes alight with her happiness.

“What?” she said in a muffled voice through her fingers.

“Well…” said Doc, “…and no glaring this time. I’m

serious. I’m not about to load you in my airplane and take

off to god-knows-where, especially across state lines, if I

don’t really, and I mean really, know how old you are.”

Frances didn’t hesitate. She reached into her pocket

and produced a laminated card, a West Virginia state

driver’s license, and handing it to him, she said, “I was a-

hoping you’d axe.”

“Ask.” said Doc.

She raised her eyebrows.

“It’s ‘ask’ not ‘axe.’ he said, “I’m a writer and I can

only hear the English language butchered so much. It’s

‘a-s-k’, Please.”

“I’m sorry.” she said looking a bit injured.

“It’s okay.” he answered. “I’m a little peculiar that

84

way.”

He took the license in his hand and held it up to the

light and studied it for a second or two before he said,

“Twenty-four? I guess that’s not arresting age.” And they

laughed together. And he handed the license back to her.

“Now. What about your mother? And what are you

going to do for money? I keep some as usual, but I didn’t

figure on this.”

“I done told her a long time ago I was leaving.”

“She doesn’t mind?” asked Doc.

“She doesn’t care.”

“Ouch.” said Doc.

“It’s okay, I knows. I was jest waiting on daddy to go

on. He needed me. Before he died, he told me to go see the

world when he left. He made me promise.”

“But you didn’t know I would crash here.”

“When I looked up and seen you flying around, I said

a little prayer, and then you come down and got stuck

here and you needed me, too.”

“That was an accident.”

“Naw. sir. I don’t believe in ‘em.”

Doc reached for his coffee cup and took a sip

discovering that it was cold as ice and bitter. And he spit

it out quickly making Frances laugh and she said, “Told

85

you that stuff was turrible.”

“Think you can do better?” said Doc.

“I knows I can. You’ll see.”

“Okay, now what about money?”

“Got four hundred sixty two dollars and fifty cents in

this pocket here.” And she pulled a small, red, zippered

vinyl purse from her other pocket and gently placed it on

the laid out map.”

“Better put that back in your pocket.”

“Daddy gave it to me and told me where to bury it ‘til

I needed it. Some of it I got making them chairs.”

“I haven’t quite figured how I’m going to get us and

our stuff into the Jenny yet. Maybe we’ll just have to strap

some of it to the wings. We’ll work on that tomorrow, I

guess.”

Frances had sat down cross legged next to him and

said, “Thank you, Mister, Doc. I certainly do.”

Doc looked into her eyes and the happiness marked

by her raised cheeks, and he took her extended hand and

they shook hands.

“Now, listen.” said Doc, “I’m willing to keep you with

me as long as you want and as long as there’s no trouble.

You understand that?”

Frances eagerly shook her head that she did.

86

“And you have to understand that I’m not just flitting

around selling airplane rides this time. I need to write as

often as I can and that’s something I need peace and quiet

to do. Savvy?”

“Savvy?” she asked.

“It means, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s “Doc.” Just ‘Doc.’ Okay?

“Yes, sir, Doc.” And she cupped her hand across her

mouth and giggled. That made Doc laugh.

“I might put you to work helping me with riders,

talking to them, making them feel at ease, helping them

get in the airplane, helping ‘em out and all that. You

willing to do that?”

She shook her head empathically yes.

“You got a heavy coat of some kind?” he asked. “It

sometimes gets cold in the airplane and some nights out

here, it gets really chilly.”

“I got my daddy’s old Carhart. It’s real warm.”

“You got a sleeping bag?”

“I kin bring a blanket.”

“That’ll do for a start, I suppose. But we’ll find you a

sleeping bag along the way.”

“Doc?”

87

“Yeah.”

“Where we going first?”

“Don’t know.” said Doc matter-of-factly. “But the ant

does.”

In that very second, he looked over at Frances and

there was an ant on the sleeve of her tee shirt. Doc

reached over and gingerly picked it off and placed it on

the map. Just over the Ohio line.

“Watch him.” said Doc. Wherever he stops first, is

where we’re headed.

Frances laughed loudly and said, “How does he know

where we’re a-going?”

Doc scratched his chin for a second or two, “He

doesn’t. But real barnstormers just follow the ant.”

“We gonna be barnstormers?” asked Frances.

“I already am.” said Doc smiling. “And it looks like

you’re gonna be, too.”

88

Chapter Thirteen

She stood before him looking down at her feet.

“Daddy’s.” she said of the badly worn and scuffed

brown Wellington work boots. “Figured I’d better wear

sumthin’ besides skin.” And she laughed brightly.

Her faded blue coverall legs were tucked into the tops

of the boots cowboy style and Doc laughed as she

stomped her feet one at a time. “They be a bit too big…,”

she said, “…so I got two pair of socks on.”

The faded tan coat she wore, which hung to her mid-

thighs was patched at the elbows and tattered at the cuffs

and a small label on the breast pocket said, “Carhart.”

Doc reached out and straightened her collar before

saying, “Daddy’s?” And she shook her head yes, her

flashing blue eyes smiling as she looked at him.

“Well, I guess we are ready.” said Doc. “You should be

warm enough.”

They had spent the better part of the morning

following the plan they had devised so that she could ride

in the front cockpit. So they lashed Doc’s duffel bag to the

inner struts of the Jenny on the left side and then tied her

small suitcase to the inner struts on the right side. The

gas can and cook box just fit between her legs in the front

cockpit. There was no control stick in the front, only an

89

empty socket and the front throttle had been long been

disconnected preventing a passenger from accidentally

taking control of the engine.

Frances was unusually quiet but obviously happy

smiling at Doc often as they ensured all their gear was

safely secured. Doc hummed a nameless tune – he always

did whenever he busied himself with something – as he

readied the Jenny for take-off. Frances was constantly a

few steps behind the still limping Doc as he swung the

propeller through to clear oil from the cylinders.

“Just watch for now…” he said, “As we go along, I’ll

start teaching you the things you need to know.” And she

shook her head that she understood. “But hear this…,”

Doc said, his voice firm and strong, “…until you learn

more about airplanes, you stay the hell away from this

propeller at all times. I mean it.”

The smile disappeared from her face and she took on

a serious look and she shook her head that she

understood.

“Good girl.” said Doc. “And say…, he asked, “…what

do you like to be called best? Just ‘Frances,’ or do you

have a nick name of any kind?”

She looked at him, rolled her eyes slightly upwards

as if searching some distant place for an answer, and she

said, “Naw, sir. I like ‘Frances’ fine. Ain’t nobody ever

called me anythin’ but.” Then she laughed a small

chuckle, “’Cept when mama gets really mad. But I won’t

90

tell you what she yells then. It’s nasty.”

“Speaking of which…” said Doc, “…what’d she say

about your leaving?”

“Nuthin’ much. She kissed me and gave me a

hundred dollars for a bus ticket back if I get homesick.”

Then Frances patted her pocket.

“Is that your purse?” asked Doc.

Frances shook her that it was.

“You sure you are ready for this? I’m not sure I am.”

Frances’s face immediately fell into a frown.

“Oh, don’t worry.” said Doc quickly. “I’m not

changing my mind.”

“I’ll do everything you tell me, I promise I will.” said

Frances, her voice low and pleading.

“I believe you.” said Doc. “But this is an entirely new

thing for me. I’ve never had a partner before.”

“A partner?”

“You know what I mean.” said Doc. “I’ve always

traveled alone, by myself. It’s gonna take some getting

used to watching out for you.”

Then something Doc had seen in her earlier, a sort of

ancient wisdom, something hard for him to put his finger

on, spoke up, and she said, “How ‘bout we just watch out

fer each other?” and she smiled feeling a little as if she

91

shouldn’t have said anything, and she put the

embarrassed school girl’s hand over her mouth, her eyes

registering her own mild surprise.

Doc had to laugh at her quaintness when she did

that, finding it endearing, and without saying it, he felt

warmed by what he had just heard, and he said, “Maybe

company’s good.”

“Yes, sir, you bet!” she said. Her bright smile had

returned. “Yes, sir!”

“You ready?”

Her smile widened and seemed to cover her face and

she said, “I’m ready, Doc!” and she put a hand on the

forward cockpit rim and pulled herself onto the wing walk.

As she did, she looked back at Doc standing on the

ground and she asked, “We gonna fly through some

clouds today?”

Doc laughed at that and he said, “Maybe one or

two…” and he paused before saying under his breath,

“…if nobody’s looking.”

And Frances settled herself into her little space up

front and she tightened her scarf.

Down the field, looking out the window with only her

frowning face showing between the parted flour sack

curtains on the back door, stood Bertie watching as the

airplane’s propeller slowly begin to turn, and as powder

gray smoke roiled from the Jenny’s exhaust pipes, she

92

pulled a dish towel from her apron pocket and dabbed at

the corners of her eyes. And she disappeared from the

window.

“Got your seat belt on!?” yelled Doc as he eased the

throttle forward.

In the front cockpit, Frances turned her head looking

back at Doc and shook her head yes several times as she

tightened her grip on the cockpit’s rims. As the engine’s

thunder filled the airplane’s hollow airframe becoming the

rapid rolling beat of a deep bass drum, lightheadedness

overtook her and she was at once, excited, afraid and

happy.

Ohio lay ahead.

93

Chapter Fourteen

The ant had wandered across most of southern Ohio

the night before they left. It would take several stops for

fuel before they circled the small crossroads hamlet near

Watkins, Ohio.

In the last flickering light of the fire the previous

evening, Frances watched the insect intently as the ant

did what all ants do: criss-crossing the map in the

frenzied hurry of all ants, scurrying back and forth,

without reason or rhyme, then changing direction on a

whim, darting across the colorful lines, the circles and the

curious hieroglyphic aeronautical symbols of the sectional

chart. Amused at the level of concentration Frances

exhibited engrossed in the ant’s movements, Doc sipped

the last remaining bit of his coffee.

“What you reckon they in a hurry for?” she looked up

and asked. “Aints never seem to just walk anywhere slow.

They always be seeming to run everywhere.” And she

laughed at herself. And Doc chuckled at her wonder, and

he thought to himself that just watching Frances discover

the new worlds that she would be soon experiencing

might make better stories than anything else he might

discover in the days ahead.

“I dunno.” said Doc. “I know a lot of people that

always seem to be in hurry for no good reason.”

94

“I’ve heard that bugs don’t live very long. Maybe

that’s why they be in a hurry.” she said.

“Could be.” said Doc. “I used to think that I’d live

forever, always putting off things that needed to be done.”

“My daddy died too soon.” said Frances without

looking up at Doc.

“Everybody dies too soon.” said Doc wistfully.

“Didja ever wonder…” she said.

“What? asked Doc. “Wonder what?”

“Well, some nights, I wonder how long I’ll live.”

For a second Doc with his cup to his lips said

nothing. Then he said, “I don’t think anyone knows that.

But I do think that there are different kinds of being

alive.”

Frances stopped watching the ant, and she rolled to

one side and propped her head on her hand and she said,

“There is only one kind of being alive. Ain’t there?”

“I used to think so.” said Doc. “Until my wife died.”

“You was married!?” said Frances.

“More than once.” said Doc.

Frances just looked at him, then she reached out

with a fingertip, and she prodded the ant which was

wandering back-and-forth near Watkins. “How many

times?” she finally said.

95

“Twice.” said Doc. “It was my second wife, Joan, that

died.” And he went silent for a brief few seconds, then he

said, “But she’s still very much alive.”

Doc could see the bewilderment in Frances’s face,

and he quickly said, “In here.” And he touched his hand

to his chest. “That’s what I meant.”

Frances’s face lit up and she said, “Then my daddy is

still alive, too?”

And Doc said, smiling, “In here…,” touching his chest

again, “…you bet he is.”

And Frances said nothing. But it was obvious as she

looked away into the distance that she was mulling his

words before she looked back at Doc. As her eyes met his,

slowly, a smile formed on her face, and she nodded once.

Doc smiled warmly in return, a sign of confirmation that

she understood.

Then Doc said something else that once again caused

consternation to color Frances’s face.

“I think there is alive even when people are dead, and

dead when people are alive.”

Frances’s brow furrowed slightly and she lightly bit

her lip.

“Think about it.” said Doc, “When you love people or

they make a great impression on you, and they pass on,

they never really die in your heart. But there are plenty of

people who are alive, but they are dead in their hearts, or

96

they live so meaningless lives that they never come alive

in anyone else’s heart, so they are just, well, alive but

dead.”

Frances sat bolt upright at that and said, “You right,

Doc. You right!” And she smiled at the thought of her

daddy being alive in her heart.

Doc smiled and looked into France’s face and then he

looked at the map and the ant, and he asked Frances,

“Where we going tomorrow?” And Frances put her finger

on the map next to the ant which scurried away. “There?”

Doc leaned closely into the map and looked where

her finger rested. “M-m-m… Watkins. Never been there

before. Good as anywhere, I suppose.” Frances pulled her

hand away from the map and raised her hand to her

mouth yawning.

“Me, too.” said Doc. “We better get some sleep. Gonna

be a big day tomorrow.”

Before that conversation that night, the pair had

arranged a simple set of hand signals that they could use

to communicate with as they flew. As it was, a shout

between them over the engine and wind noise in flight

would, at best, come off as unintelligible.

So, soon after crossing over the muddy Ohio river,

Doc, with an idea, began looking for a small town with an

airstrip and the possibility of finding a drugstore and a

97

hardware store. He saw on his sectional map that Edy, a

small rural town just beyond the river had a short

airstrip, possibly a crop duster’s operation. He reached

forward and tapped Frances on the shoulder and pointed

down and she shook her head understanding that they

would soon land. With that, Doc eased the knob of his

throttle back, and as the engine went to idle with its

intermittent popping backfires, the air around the

airplane warmed during its descent. He was hoping to

find the parts needed to make Gosport tubes.

Frances was fascinated by every detail as they flew.

She watched the clouds rise above the airplane during its

descent to the ground, she pointed out the cows and

horses grazing below. She traced the needles on the

gauges in front of her with her finger. She hummed a tune

to coincide with the constant thrum of the flying wires

that braced the wings. In turn, Doc had to remind himself

to keep his flying foremost in his thoughts as he tended to

lose himself in his absorption with her many reactions.

At the sight of something new, she would excitedly

turn to look at Doc behind her and point mouthing the

words to match her new find, perhaps a pond, or a house,

maybe even a highway. In her 24 years, she had never

seen the earth from above. She had never seen a forest

except from within. She had no knowledge of the expanse

of hundreds of green trees to be farmed for their timber

and what that unfurling carpet of nature might look like.

She had never seen the swirls and eddies of a large

98

body of water. Crossing the brown water of the Ohio River,

she watched, for the first time, as the stacks of tug boats

trailed the charcoal gray plumes of diesel exhaust as they

their pushed their coal barges south leaving a bubbling

white froth in the roiling water of their wakes.

She had never flown across the tops of clouds

crowded so close together that they appeared as a blanket

of cotton tufts spread above the patchwork quilt of fields

below. She had never seen the clouds shadows beneath

her darken the landscape as the wind pushed them. She

watched intently as the shadows like fat serpents slid

across the roofs of homes and buildings. She had never

looked below herself at a grey ribbon of concrete highway

with its stitched yellow lines while the shiny cars and

dusty trucks flowed within it in opposite directions. Doc

delighted in seeing her reactions to these things.

She kept Doc entertained as she seemed to want to

look everywhere at once constantly pointing at this-and-

that laughing; and her face now a smile, now a look of

astonishment, now a look of surprise and always looking

back at Doc as she discovered the delights which were

reflected in the brightness of her face and her wide blue

eyes.

Now, the airstrip at Edy was center in her vision

beyond the nose of the Jenny. Doc leaned side-to-side to

keep the airplane flying straight ahead. Doc had no need

to be concerned with glide speeds or the altitude that the

instruments showed Frances in the cockpit up front. His

99

actions were that of muscle memory and second sense

made of thousand of hours of bonding with the ancient

airplane and together, soon, both wheels thudded on the

dirt strip and Doc made shallow turns, fishtailing side-to-

side until the airplane stopped just outside a one room

shed with a sign over the door. The sign read, “Edy, Ohio,

Population 4002 and Twenty-two Dogs.” Frances read

that and laughed as she loosened her head scarf. She

unbuckled her seat belt and stood on her seat up front.

Doc looked up at her and he smiled, saying, “You

doin’ okay?”

“ I ain’t never been better!” she said brightly, “Yor

knee aching?”

“Some. But no mind, we’ll see if we can get some gas

and a ride into town. I’m looking for something. And

maybe some chow.”

“Is that somethin’ you eat?”

“What? Chow?” She nodded yes.

Doc threw his head back and laughed while running

his fingers through his hair and massaging his scalp

working out the itch of his leather flying helmet.

“Well, I forgot. You’ve probably never been in the

military?”

“No, sir, I ain’t.”

“ ‘Chow’ is food. As in “chow down.””

100

Hers was a look of perplexity.

“Never mind. ‘Chow’ is food, another word for it.”

She shook her head, and mouthed a silent, “Oh.”

“Com’on. Let’s see if there’s anybody about.”

Off to the side and behind the small building with the

sign was a rusty roofed hangar and within its open maw

sat a red and white low wing crop duster. Doc heard a

banging at the back of the hangar.

101

Chapter Fifteen

With Frances in trail, Doc walked over to the hangar

and stood just outside peering into the darkness trying to

see the source of the metal-on-metal clanging. It was

rhythmic and steady. Forceful and angry.

Doc, raising his voice to just below a yell, said, “Is

anybody home?” And the noise persisted steadily. With no

response, Doc turned to Frances and said, “Stay here.”

And she nodded that she would. Doc took a hesitant step

into the dim light of the hangar, and he could see, at a

long workbench against the back wall, the large bulk of a

tall figure bent over the bench with a ball peen hammer in

his hand dealing blow after blow to a piece of metal fixed

in a vise. But suddenly the man turned and looked back

over his shoulder at Doc. And the man smiled an

acknowledgement of Doc’s presence.

He placed the hammer on the bench and reached to

his ears removing wads of cotton from each. “Oh, hey!

Sorry.” said the man, as he put the cotton balls in his

pocket while turning towards Doc.

“We just landed. Thought maybe we might get some

gas and ask a few questions.” said Doc stepping closer to

the man.

The man advanced towards Doc with an extended

hand. “Well, it’s good to have a little company.” he said.

The second he saw the man’s pinched face, his high brow

102

and brown hair, a small bell began to toll in the back of

Doc’s mind. He’d seen this man somewhere before.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you land. I was trying to

straighten that damn tail wheel spring. Tough booger.”

Doc laughed and said, “That’s okay.”

“Rutherford Tubbs.” The man introduced himself

with a strong biting grip on Doc’s fingers. And Doc

introduced himself and asked if there might be a drug

store nearby. Rutherford said, “Sure is. Got one

downtown.” and he laughed heartily. Doc got the joke

immediately, and he laughed as well. “My partner and I

are looking for a few things and maybe somewhere to get

a bite.”

Rutherford said that Edy had all that. In fact, he

said, if Doc and the girl, whose presence Rutherford

acknowledged with a shake of the head, didn’t mind

riding in a broken down old Buick, which he called his

“courtesy car,” he’d give them a ride in because he was

getting hungry, too.

About that time, Rutherford had looked beyond Doc’s

shoulder and saw the Jenny. “I’ll be damned.” said

Rutherford. “I haven’t ever seen one those up close, ever.”

And he began walking towards the old airplane as Doc

and Frances followed.

Doing what all pilots do, he walked right to the Jenny

and stood looking into the rear cockpit. After a brief look

at the instrument panel and the cockpit’s spartan interior

103

and controls, he said, “I’ll bet this thing is a blast to fly,

huh?” And he proceeded to begin a slow walk around the

airplane examining the wings, the undercarriage, the

flying wires, the wheels, as Doc and Frances stood next to

one another watching him.

As Rutherford examined the Jenny, Frances looked

into Doc’s face and she smiled brightly, and she

whispered, “Partner?” Doc grunted a short laugh, winked

at her and showed no other response.

“What year?” yelled Rutherford from the far side of

the airplane.

“1916!” answered Doc.

“Wow!” said Rutherford in a hushed way. “I wasn’t

even born yet.” And he chuckled.

“Nobody was.” said Doc, and Frances laughed while

putting her hand over her mouth. Doc looked at her and

he smiled broadly.

Rutherford laughed.

“Where you all headed?” asked Rutherford.

“Well, for now, here.” said Doc. Then he explained

that the pair were headed west to barnstorm for the

summer and that he was a writer.

Rutherford had progressed completely around the

airplane by then and he said, “Thought about doing that

once.” Then he said, “But the farmers ‘round here keep

104

me pretty busy most of the year.” And the small bell in

Doc’s head rang louder and for the moment, and he

wasn’t sure why yet. Then a name suddenly worked its

way up through his thoughts: “Grover.”

Doc studied the man closer. The old cowboy boots

were there. The crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes were

there. And the birthmark! At the left side of his eye just at

his hairline, there was the birthmark. Not a small

discolored spot, but a mark the size of a small strawberry.

The only thing missing was the pistol. And Doc thought

again, “Grover.” And Doc laughed out loud. “You don’t

remember me, do you?” said Doc.

Rutherford stared intently at Doc with an obvious

search of his memory beginning. He looked closely at Doc.

And he said, “No. Can’t say as I do.”

“Florida?” asked Doc.

“Never been there.”

“M-m-m.” said Doc, sensing something amiss, and he

continued, “Mebbe I’m mistaken.”

“Oh. That’s all right.” said Rutherford, “People

mistake me for someone they know all the time. How

about that ride?”

“Yeah, sure.” said Doc and he introduced Frances to

Rutherford.

“Pretty lady.” said Rutherford. “Your partner?”

105

“Daughter, actually.” said Doc which caused Frances

to snap her head in his direction. But with wide eyes, she

said nothing.

“Let me run over to the office and grab the car keys.”

said Rutherford and he stepped off in the direction of the

small building.

Frances was still looking at Doc agape.

Doc looked at her and whispered, “A little white lie, to

keep you out of trouble.”

Frances’s eye’s narrowed sweetly and she smiled and

said nothing else as Rutherford stepped out of the

building with the car keys in his hand. She liked the idea

of the lie.

“You guys hop in.” And he pointed to a dusty blue

Buick with a crumpled driver’s side door. “She’s ugly as

sin, but she gets me there.” And Doc laughed and said,

“I’ve ridden in worse.”

The narrow main street of Edy came into view

quickly. The tallest structure on the street was a two story

brick building with bars on the lower windows and three

white columns supporting a street side portico. It was

vacant, and Doc thought it an old bank. The rest of the

buildings along the short street gave the appearance that

the town had fallen on hard times with a number of its

storefronts boarded up and “For Rent” and “For Sale”

signs posted in many of the empty storefront windows..

106

But the little town wasn’t completely dead. The feed

and hardware store seemed busy with a line of Ford and

Chevy pick-ups parked at angles along the broken

concrete sidewalk. Down the street, a flickering sign of

mostly broken neon tubes, marked Lee’s Restaurant and

Bar and indicated it was open. And the oval sign of the

Rexall Drug Store hung above a set of double glass doors

as patrons stood on the sidewalk having animated

conversations while others sidestepped them to gain

entrance. A few young boys riding bicycles, their faces

flush, playing cards flapping at their spokes, trailed by a

lone whip-tailed, liver-colored mutt, passed in the

opposite direction on the sidewalk emitting fits of joyful

high-pitched laughter as they pedaled.

“Are you going to eat at that Lee’s place?” asked Doc

of Rutherford.

“That’s the place. The only place. Food’s not too bad.

The pies are homemade.”

“Could we meet you there in a few minutes? I want to

jump in the drug store first.”

“Sure.” said Rutherford as he pulled to the side of the

street and stopped. “I’ll wait to order.”

“No. That’s okay.” said Doc. “Don’t do that. We’ll just

be a minute. We’ll catch up.”

Rutherford nodded okay and Doc opened the door

and Frances followed him to the sidewalk.

107

Rutherford then slowly accelerated down the street.

“Yor knee hurting again?” asked Frances as they

walked to the door.

“A little but that’s not why we’re going in. Com’on. I’ll

show you.”

“Doc?” she said in a low voice, and he turned and

looked at her. “I liked yor white lie.”

“It’ll make things easier.” said Doc.

In about ten minutes, Doc and Frances slid into the

booth across from Rutherford who was salting his mashed

potatoes.

“The Blue Plate’s meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”

said Rutherford. And he laughed, “Every other day, every

other week for ten years. Want me to quote the rest of the

menu?”

Doc laughed and said, “No. That’s okay. I’ll have that,

too.”

Doc then looked at Frances and asked if that was all

right with her and she shook her head yes. Then Doc

answered, Nancy, the skinny as a rail, blond, pony-tailed,

teenage waitress with a bad case of acne that had silently

arrived at the tableside with her order pad in hand while

removing her pencil from its perch above her ear, saying,

“Hep ya’ll?” in a high voice.

108

“The Blue Plate’s good for both of us.” said Doc.

“S’at all?” said Nancy chomping on her gum in

between blowing small bubbles that popped as she made

clacking sounds. “What you guys want to drink?”

It was coffee for Doc and ice water for Frances, and

as Nancy in the pink striped uniform with the tiny frilly

apron sashayed towards the kitchen doing her best to

look alluring, Doc looked at Rutherford and asked, “Think

that hardware store we passed might sell some small

cheap tin funnels.”

Rutherford pulled his fork from his mouth, and he

said, “Probably so. They have a lot of old timey stuff down

there.”

“Great.” said Doc. “And I’m sure they have rubber

fuel line.”

“You bet.” said Rutherford. “I get that there all the

time.

“Fantastic!” said Doc. “We might be in business.”

“What you trying to do?” asked Rutherford, “If you

don’t mind my asking.”

“Not at all…” said Doc as Nancy slid his plate in front

of him, “…I’m making a couple of Gosports so we…” and

he looked at Frances, “…can talk back and forth in the

Jenny.”

Rutherford laughed and he said, “You need an

109

intercom.” And he smiled slyly, “I’ve got one for sale.”

“Thanks.” said Doc, “But this will work fine, I think.”

“Well, I’ve got some tape and some small copper

tubing you can have if you need it.”

“That’s downright magnanimous of you!” said Doc.

And Frances set her water glass on the table and

asked Doc quietly, “What’s a Gasport?”

“Gosport!” said Doc. “You’ll see. It’s so we can talk

back and forth in the air.”

Frances’s face lit up and she said, “That’d sure be

nice, huh?”

Doc reached beside him, and he pulled two cheap

home stethoscopes from the Rexall bag and he held them

up for Rutherford to see.

Rutherford took a swath from his lemon pie and he

looked at the stethoscopes for a second before a light bulb

flashed in his head and he said, “Smart.”

Doc smiled.

110

Chapter Sixteen

After rummaging through the dusty corners and bins

of forgotten pieces of hardware and ancient household

odds-and-ends at Hazard’s Feed and Seed, some utensils

he found dating back so many years as to be called,

“heirlooms,” Doc finally found and placed two small tin

funnels on the scratched and hazed glass counter next to

the cash register.

“Glory be!” Miss Holly, the squat, round-faced cashier

said, “I had no idea we even had those anymore.”

“Took a little digging.” said Doc as he pushed a

crinkled twenty dollar bill across the counter towards her.

She laughed dryly and said, “You know, mister, I

don’t know what to charge you for them.” Shuffling up

from the bare wooden aisles - aisles lit by the light of the

single bare light bulbs hanging from the high tin ceiling

overhead - appeared Bill Hazard. A lean, gangly appearing

elderly man, the owner of the store, he came to stand

behind Miss Holly and hearing what she said, while

looking across the tops of his wire-rimmed glasses that

sat perched delicately on the very tip of his nose, he asked

Doc, “How about a buck a piece?”

Doc, never one to pass up a chance at some slight-

handed sarcasm said, “Sounds pretty pricey to me.” And

he grinned.

111

Mister Hazard was about as quick. “Okay, then,

make it a buck fifty.” and he pushed his glasses up his

nose with the tip of a finger and he stared at Doc who was

still grinning. “That’s better.” said Doc and he reached to

shake Mister Hazard’s hand.

“Anything else we can get you before we retire to the

Bahamas on the sale we just made?” asked Mister Hazard

with a straight face.

Holly took the twenty, smoothed it on the counter’s

edge and pulled the handle down on the old cash register

opening the drawer with the ding of a bell. Another bell

jangled above the door as the trio made their exit. Under

her arm, Frances carried the cheap $25 sleeping bag she

had found in the sparse sporting goods section.

Frances stood close to Doc as he pulled his case knife

from his pocket and opened it. Then he cut the bell from

each stethoscope and to those he connected a length of

black fuel line and a funnel attached with electrical tape.

Rutherford went back to banging on his tail wheel spring.

“Here. Put these in your ears like this.” And Doc

slipped an earpiece in each of his ears. Frances followed

suit.

“You gonna listen to my heart?” she asked.

Doc smiled at that thinking, “I already have.”

Then he handed her his funnel and he took hers. And

112

he said, “Close your eyes.” At first, Frances wanted to say,

“Why?” But she did not and she closed her eyes. Then

Doc whispered into her funnel, “You ready to go flying

again?” And Frances’s eyes open widely and she nodded

and said in a full voice into his funnel, “Yes, sir!” So

loudly that Doc had to immediately snatch his

stethoscope away from his ears.

“Guess I asked for that, huh?” he said.

Frances laughed and said, “Let’s do it again.”

“Nope. The only way we are really going tell if it’s

going to work or not is in the air.”

Frances asked, “Where we goin’ next?”

“Well, we’ll have about two hours of fuel on board

and the can is full, so as far as that gets us, I guess.”

Then he scratched his chin and said, “But I tell you

what. If Mister Tubbs there will let us, why don’t we

overnight here and light out first thing after breakfast.”

“Not a problem for me.” said Tubbs. “There’s a roach

motel down the road.”

“You mind if we build a small fire and sleep next to

my airplane?”

“Still not a problem.” said Tubbs.

“Good. Then we’ll just bunk out here.”

113

“Ever slept in a sleeping bag before?” asked Doc of

Frances. She had just returned from gathering dry twigs

and a few dead branches from the tree line down the

runway.

Dumping her armload on the ground, she shook her

head no. “Is they a trick to it or sumpthin’?”

Doc laughed at that and said, “No. But at first, once

you get in and zip it up, it will feel a bit confining, like a

cocoon.”

Frances laughed at that and said, “When I get up in

the mornin’ will I be a butterfly.”

“I hope not.” said Doc. “But maybe that would a good

nickname for you. A call sign.”

Frances immediately fell into one of her far-a-way

spells and looked off into the distance for a few seconds,

then she turned and looked at Doc for another few

seconds before she said, “You know...that’d be a purty

nickname wouldn’t it?”

“It fits, I think...” said Doc, “...yeah, I can see that.

‘Butterfly’ it is.”

And Frances smiled; then she quietly went about

getting a small fire started.

To the west, the sky had taken on a purple hue and

the top edge of the sun was just slipping below the ridge

line.

114

Frances was laying on her side partially zipped up in

her sleeping bag and with a small stick, she was

indolently writing then erasing with her hand and

rewriting again the word, ‘butterfly’ in the sand. Doc was

propped against his duffel bag, his portable writing desk -

an old piece of thin plywood, actually - and he was

alternately taking small sips of his coffee and the

occasional drag from a cigarette as he wrote what he

could in the waning light.

“What you writing about?”

Doc, not much appreciating the interruption, looked

up and glared briefly at her and said, a bit curtly, “Today.”

“Am I in it?”

“Yes.” Then he set the desk down and looked at

menacingly at her, more a hard stare, really.

“Frances...?”

She looked at him and stopped scratching in the

sand.

“We need to have a little understanding. Okay?”

Frances, worried she had done something wrong,

fought with her zipper for a second and tried to sit up.

Watching her wriggle and struggle made Doc laugh and it

calmed him.

“Relax.” he said. “All I want to ask you is when you

see me writing, could you please wait until I set the desk

115

down before...”

“Oh, Doc, I’m sorry...”

“No. Don’t apologize.”

Her hand was now over her mouth and Doc had

come to recognize embarrassment in her.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I made you stop yor writing.”

“No. You didn’t.”

She slowly lowered her hand from her mouth.

“Let me explain better.” said Doc.

She had freed herself from the bag’s entrapment and

was now sitting up with the bag gathered around her

waist.

Doc extended a leg, and with the toe of his boot he

pushed some loose embers around causing the fire to

flare, and he said, “Writers, at least, I do, go far-a-way in

their minds when they write. It’s like I visit a whole other

place where the words and the stories I write are like a

special place I visit when I write. Sometimes, when I write,

for just for a little while, I am completely in that special

place at peace and very happy. And very far away. Do you

know what I mean?”

Frances looked at Doc, at first seeming bewildered.

But a light in her eyes brightened and she said, “I have to

do that when I read anythin’. I have to really study it.”

116

Doc chuckled. Then he said, “I couldn’t have said it

better myself. That’s what I’m doing when I write. I’m

studying the words.” And he let it go at that.

“And you don’t want nobody interruptin’ you, huh?”

Doc laughed and he said, “You got it!”

“Well, you can count on me. I ain’t letting nobody

mess with you when you is writing. Me, too.”

“Me, too, what?”

“ I ain’t either.”

“I won’t either.” said Doc.

“You won’t either?” and she looked puzzled.

And Doc said, “Never mind.”

The morning dawned gray and foggy.

Doc could not see the end of the airstrip at Edy. So,

rather than rush, Doc and Frances settled back in over

plastic bowls of instant oatmeal and instant coffee.

“Sure wished I had me a biscuit to go with this

oatmeal.” Frances said.

“Better get used to the bare necessities.” answered

Doc.

“Doc?”

“Yes.”

117

“What’s a ‘call sign?’”

“Well, it’s a sort of nickname that pilots give to each

other. It started back many years ago in the military.”

She mulled that a minute. The she said, “But I’m not

a pilot.”

“That’s okay. You’re flying with me now and that sort

of makes you a co-pilot.”

Frances swirled her spoon around the bowl a few

times, emptying it, and she set it aside before she said, “I

hate to sound so stupid, which I is not, but does a co-pilot

fly, too?”

“Yep. When the pilot needs a rest or a flight is a very

long one.”

“Could I learn?”

“What? To fly?”

She shook her head yes.

“Certainly.”

“But would I need a driver’s license?”

“To fly? No.” said Doc. Then he said, “You don’t need

a license to fly. You only need to know how.”

“Would you teach me?”

“Why not?” And Doc hesitated before continuing. “I

can teach you some things as we go along, providing the

Gosport works like we need it to.”

118

With that, Frances stood erect and kicked a little dirt

with her bare toe and said brightly, “Imagine! Me flying,

too!”

“Whoa!” said Doc, “Flying is a lot more than just

moving a stick and pushing some pedals.”

Her face dropped a bit before she asked, “What else

you need to know?”

“There’s things like learning why an airplane flies in

the first place and learning how to navigate and

meteorology.”

He could see the word ‘meteorology’ hit a brick wall in

Frances’s head.

“‘Meteorology’ is another word for weather...” said

Doc with a dry chuckle, “...what to expect when you fly in

certain kinds of weather.”

‘I already know how to navigate.” said Frances with a

serious tone. Then she smiled brightly, obviously proud of

an oncoming witty response, “By ant!” And a big smile

came across her face.

Doc pointed to the corner of his mouth and licked it.

Frances looked at him with a question in her eyes. He did

it again. “Oh!” she said as she wiped her palm across the

corner of her mouth and wiped away a kernel of oatmeal

before licking her palm clean. Doc just threw his head

back and laughed and she joined in.

“Com’on...” he said as he rose to his feet, “...we’ll

119

start with some basics.”

Frances sat down and was going to pull her boots on

before running to catch up with Doc as he walked towards

the Jenny. But she liked the cool morning feel of the dirt

against her bare feet, and she set the boots aside. Then

she jumped to her feet and ran after Doc.

“Doc?”

He stopped and turned to look at her.

“What’s yor call sign?”

“ ‘Doc’,” he said.

She had caught up with him, and she stopped next to

him saying, “Doc?” And her face went blank.

He laughed and said, “That’s right. ‘Doc.’ That’s what

I used to be, a sort of emergency doctor. I used to be a

paramedic. My friends called me that because I was pretty

good at it. It’s not my real name, just a nickname. Like I

said, a sort of callsign.”

“Those guys came when daddy died.”

“Paramedics?”

“Yeah. But they couldn’t do nuthin’. He was already

dead.”

“Heart attack?”

“Yes, sir. Right there in that field where yor airplane

crashed.”

120

Doc took another few steps towards the Jenny and

stood by the wing.

“Why you not doctoring anymore?” she asked.

“Let’s just say I got tired of it. I got tired of people for

a while. It was a long time ago. Let’s talk about flying

there, Butterfly.”

Frances beamed at the sound of the word.

121

Chapter Seventeen

The weather never improved that day, so the pair

decided to stay at Edy until the skies were flyable. Doc

started the day catching up on his writing and Frances

wandered the airport until Doc closed his journal.

Doc decided to take a very simplistic approach to

teaching her to fly and stuck with basic things. He began

by putting her into the back cockpit and letting her move

the controls as he explained what functions the controls

performed. Frances was full of questions about how this

worked and what does that do.

He stood on the wing walk as she sat in the pilot’s

seat with her feet on the rudder bar and her right hand on

the control stick. He had to laugh when he realized she

was barefooted, and he thought “Why not?” He allowed

her to poise her left hand on the throttle knob. Her face

was bright, and her attention and attitude was as joyous

and intent as that of a child on Christmas morning

pulling the bow loose from a gaily decorated present.

Telling her to look around at the various control

surfaces as they moved, her head swiveling as he used his

hand to illustrate the airplane’s movements, he slowly

and patiently explained to her that the wings would bank

when the control stick was moved left or right causing the

airplane to turn in that direction, that the nose would

point left or right when the rudder bar was pushed in

122

either direction, and the nose would rise or fall when you

pushed the control stick forward or pulled it back.

He made no attempt to teach her what the

instruments indicated; not yet, anyway. That would come,

in time, and that would be best illustrated when the

airplane was actually in flight. If the improvised Gosport

tubes worked, and they could communicate as he hoped,

that would make instructing her in the air an easy affair.

After an hour of talking her through what the

controls did, he walked her around the airplane, again

using his hands as an imaginary airplane and reminding

her of what she had learned in the cockpit, he showed her

how the ailerons, the rudder and the elevator were rigged.

Occasionally copying his movements, she would use her

own hand to mimic the airplane, and as she understood a

thing, he could see her eyes light up. And she would smile

a bright smile at him. Doc had the increasing feeling that

it would not take long before he might trust her with the

controls in the air.

As noon drew near, he asked Rutherford if he might

have an old broom or a dowel of some kind he might part

with, and could he borrow a saw? Rutherford pointed at a

corner of his hanger where a well-worn straw broom

leaned among other broken and used-up tools. He waved

off an offer of payment by Doc. Then Doc thanked him

and cut a two-and-a-half foot section off the broom’s

handle, and he handed that to Frances.

She took it from him and looked at him as if he had

123

just handed her a magic wand. “What’s this fer?”

“That’s your co-pilot’s stick.”

“Mine!?”

He explained to her then that in the front cockpit,

there was an empty socket where the control stick for that

cockpit had been. The front stick had been removed so

that riders could not interfere with the airplane’s

operation. But all she had to do was to insert her broom

handle in the socket and put her feet on the front rudder

bar and she could fly the airplane, too.

“Can’t fly an airplane without one, Butterfly. Don’t

lose it.”

“Oh! I won’t. I won’t. I promise!” The sound of the

word ‘butterfly’ warmed and thrilled her.

“Good. Now, let’s find some chow.”

“Yes, sir. I’m hongry, too.”

It was late in the day and purple darkness was falling

across the grass of the small airfield. Far down the

runway, Rutherford sat atop a red, antique tractor pulling

a wide mowing deck down the runway and the sweet,

earthy smell of freshly mowed grass filled the air.

Overhead, the stars had begun to show as pinholes of

blinking light.

And, later, on opposite sides of a dwindling fire,

124

Doc was nestled in his sleeping bag, drowsy, his eyes

heavy and with sleep closing in, he laid his book and

flashlight by his side and rolled over. Meanwhile, Frances

lay on her back, her head cradled in her hands, wide

awake in her sleeping bag, reliving the morning’s lessons

of flight and staring into the increasingly dark cobalt

night sky as she drew imaginary lines from star-to-star

and quietly chuckling to herself when she found the

dippers.

Across the last glowing red embers of the fire, she

suddenly asked, “You know’d that man, don’t you?”

“Who?” said Doc, shaken awake by her voice and,

being so, he was a bit irritated.

“That Mister Tubbs.”

“First, of all, it’s “You know that man...” Doc said

curtly and then he stopped mid-sentence reminding

himself that her misuse of language was part of her

charm and what she knew, and he should ignore the

writer in himself and not correct her. But it was hard to

overlook.

“Yep. I’m pretty sure I do.” he replied. “Did.”

“His airplane is more different than yours.” said

Frances. “It’s only got one wing.”

“It’s a Pawnee. Piper makes them.”

“Cain’t ride but one person, huh?”

125

Doc laughed, sat halfway up and propped his head

on one hand to face her, his annoyance fading. “Frances,

it wasn’t built to take but one person, the pilot. It’s an ag

airplane.”

“Oh.” said Frances as if she understood. Doc knew

she didn’t. And he said, “Do you know what an ‘ag’

airplane is?” Frances sat up in her bag and adopted her

all attention pose, her chin cupped in her hands, her

elbows resting on her knees, her eyes locked on his, and

she shook her head no.

“It’s a crop duster. In front of the pilot is a big tank

that holds chemicals that the airplane sprays to kill

insects or fungus on crops. They fly very low across the

big crop fields out here. Don’t see many where I’m from.

There’s a lot of corn and wheat around here, so I guess

that’s how he’s making money.”

“Can yor airplane do that?”

“Nope. It was built just to train pilots.”

“Like yor gonna teach me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” And Doc waited a few seconds for effect

before he said, “But only if you let me get some sleep.”

And he rolled on to his back and pulled his sleeping bag

up over his face, and said a muffled “Good night.”

The sun was barely pink in the eastern sky when Doc

pulled the bag down from his face roused by the smell of

126

coffee. He rolled to his side to look for Frances, but her

bag was empty and rumpled. About a foot away from his

face sat his tin cup, the coffee’s steam rising from it. The

small fire was now a few licks of soft yellow flames. The

jar of instant coffee with a plastic spoon resting on its top

and the empty water pan sat at the edge of the small fire

pit. The heat from the fire felt good on his face. He

unzipped his bag, sat up and looked around. From Tubb’s

hangar across the way, he heard a soft clunk. He lifted

the cup to his face and looked deep into the hangar trying

to adjust his eyes to the faint morning light. Standing on

the wing walk of the Pawnee was Frances bent over and

looking into the airplane’s open cockpit.

Doc whistled at her sharply and waved at her to come

back. She rose straight and looked at him for a second

before jumping down from the wing and running back to

the fire.

“I was jest lookin’.” she said, slightly out-of-breath.

“Rule one.” said Doc emphatically. “Stay clear of

other people’s airplanes unless they tell you otherwise.”

Frances registered some injury in her gaze and said,

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...” Her hand immediately went

over her mouth in her embarrassment.

Doc waved his hand saying, “It’s all right. Don’t worry

about it. Just consider it part of your flying education.

You didn’t know.” And he took a sip from his cup and

said, “The coffee’s good. Thanks!”

127

She smiled that eyes half-closed soft smile that she

did whenever he thanked her for anything before she said,

“Yor welcome.”

Then she said, “You never did tell me how you

know’d that man, Mister Tubbs.”

“This again, huh?” said Doc hoping to avoid the

subject.

She waited patiently for an answer.

“Okay. I knew him down in Florida many years ago. I

only met him briefly a few times, but I remember him well.

He should be dead.”

Frances’s eyes opened wide at that.

“I can’t believe he’s still flying.”

Just then, the Buick, trailing a brown dust cloud,

turned off of the airport boundary road and Rutherford

pulled up behind the small airport office building and

parked.

“I’ll tell you about all this later. Just don’t say

anything, okay?”

Frances put her finger to her lip and winked at him.

Rutherford slammed the door on the old Buick and

walked quick step over to Doc who was sitting cross

legged smoking a cigarette and sipping his coffee. Frances

pretended to be busy repacking her small suitcase

turning her back on the pair.

128

Rutherford silently sat down on the ground in front of

Doc and picked up a dry twig, and he dragged it across

the ground in front of himself scratching a thin line in the

dirt in contemplation, obviously needing to say

something. For a few more seconds, he said nothing. Then

he said, “I do remember you.” And he looked at Doc to

study his response.

Doc smiled, chuckled, and replied, “Didn’t think I

was crazy.”

Rutherford laughed dryly. Then after a short pause,

he said, “Can you do me a favor? A big one?”

“I think I know what you are going to say.” said Doc.

“It’s a good life here. No one has ever challenged me. I

think I’m safe. The F.A.A. doesn’t seem to know I exist.”

“Did you ever get your ticket back?”

“No. And that’s the thing of it. I wouldn’t be here if I

had. I’d probably still be in Florida. I started my life over

here, and dusting was the only thing I knew.”

“It wasn’t really your fault, you know. You didn’t do it

on purpose. It was an accident.”

“That’s what I tried to tell ‘em. But you know the

feds.”

“All too well.”

“Well...?” asked Rutherford.

“Will I tell anybody?” asked Doc.

129

Rutherford shook his head yes and waited silently for

the answer.

“Why would I piss on your parade?” said Doc.

“Besides, after that day, I am amazed to see that you are

still alive. The last I heard, you were in the hospital, near

death.”

“It was a long haul, but I guess I’m hard to kill.”

“I guess you are.” said Doc.

Rutherford abruptly lowered his head in relief and

didn’t need to say anything else. He simply got to his feet

and looked down at Doc and extended his hand.

Doc shook his hand firmly and earnestly.

Then Rutherford said, “Thanks! If ever I can do

anything for...”

“Forget it. You gave me a broom. Remember?”

And the pair laughed softly together.

And Rutherford said, “I was afraid to refuse you.”

Only Doc laughed at that.

And Rutherford said, “Thanks! I won’t forget it.”

Doc nodded his head as if to say, “No problem.”

As Rutherford walked away towards his hangar, Doc

raised his voice and said, “Might need a little gas this

morning though.”

130

Rutherford stopped walking and turned to look at

Doc saying, “It’s on the house. Help yourself.”

“It was the tailwind that did it.”

Frances looked at Doc with a questioning stare.

“Okay, let me explain that.”

Frances nodded okay.

“Always try to take off into the wind as it’s blowing

toward you, if there is any wind at all.”

The look of puzzlement was still there.

“It helps the airplane get off the ground faster. If it’s

blowing from behind you, it keeps you on the ground

longer and you need more runway to take-off.”

Her raised eyes registered understanding.

“If you take off into the wind, that’s called “upwind.”

With the wind at your back, that’s “downwind.”

She shook her head that she heard him. But he knew

that she still didn’t understand why. So he told her to

pretend that she was riding in a car with the window

down and she had her had out the window shaped like an

airfoil and pointed up; and he showed her that the wind

coming at her would push her hand up and it created

“lift,” and if her hand was pointed down, the wind would

push her down trying to keep her on the ground and that

was called “drag.” He knew the explanation wasn’t exactly

131

technical, but it would do for her, for now.

Then he looked over at Edy’s windsock, a bright

orange fabric cone barely extended and fluttering only

slightly in the nearly still morning air, and he asked her

which way she would take off this morning?

She pointed west.

“Good!” he said. “Very good.”

Then he said, “Grover,” u-h-h, Mister Tubbs, was

spraying dry fertilizer that morning. He was working out a

big field and there was no wind, so he could take off in

any direction he wanted. To save time, he took off in the

direction of the field on the other side of a tree line, the

field where he would release the fertilizer.”

Frances tried to picture what he was saying, but she

found it hard and asked, “How’d he do it?”

“Do what?”

“Spray the fertilize?”

“Remember I told you about the tank in front of the

pilot?” She nodded yes. “Well, the fertilizer is put in the

tank. The tank is called a ‘hopper.” And in the cockpit

there’s a handle the pilot pulls when he wants to open the

hopper and drop the fertilzer. Understand?”

She nodded that she did.

“And it’s heavy stuff. A full hopper will add about 700

pounds weight to the airplane.”

132

“You have to take off into the wind so’s you get off

quicker, huh?”

“Right!” Doc laughed. And he shook his head yes,

saying, “Good.” Then he said, “The problem that day was

that there was no wind until later in the morning as the

sun got higher in the sky and he wasn’t paying attention.”

Frances’s eyes widened some.

“He made about seven take-offs that morning, all in

the direction of the field he was spraying and during the

last take-off, a very fast tail wind suddenly started

blowing from behind him. It caught him off-guard and he

was committed to the take-off. He had no choice. He had

to try to clear the trees.”

“How’d you know all this?”

“I was one of his loaders. It was my first day. There

were three of us grabbing 75 pound sacks of fertilizer off

of a half-ton truck and loading him as he sat in the

cockpit with the engine running. It was a dirty, dusty,

nasty job. But I needed the money to pay for an airplane I

wanted to buy.”

“The Jenny?”

“Yep.” But then, he shook his head side-to-side and

he said, “But I didn’t get paid that day. Nobody did.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t clear the trees or the guy on the tractor on

133

the other side of the tree line.”