Late Summer 1928
Nothing could be done to repair Gypsy’s injury, the tendon fibers too frayed to hold sutures. The veterinarian cleaned and bandaged it and recommended further treatment when they got back to MG Farms. The vet shook his head. “What a shame. A horse like this damaged in her prime.”
Mittie’s dad and Rex Kline surmised, along with the show officials, that it was probably a sharp object—a file or blade sticking out from an equipment trolley that the grooms were using to pack up and go home. They searched the area for the offending object but found nothing, and no one reported seeing it happen. It was merely an unfortunate accident.
Mittie recoiled when her daddy used the word. If only she’d gone to the stall as she always did, Toby wouldn’t have been in a hurry. She might have even led Gypsy herself as she sometimes did. She’d failed Gypsy and her daddy.
The familiar shame shrouded her. If only she’d been more responsible, Dobbs Lamberson wouldn’t be a cripple for life. If only.
Ames tried to console her, but his touch was like a hot coal. How could he know what it was like to have a living creature that you’d been with since she’d drawn her first breath now broken, her future forever ruined? And when he suggested that she ride back to Louisville in his roadster, she declined. She would be in the rail car with Gypsy. She owed her that bit of comfort.
Gypsy was seen by their veterinarian when they arrived back at MG Farms. He cleaned the wound and verified that the tendon fibers were too frayed to hold a suture. He carefully stitched the torn external flap of skin to hold everything in place and put on a heavy bandage that would protect the knee and give extra support.
“It’s going to be a long process, and I don’t want to get your hopes up, but with an extensor tendon injury, internal healing is possible. In rare instances, the fibers have been known to knit themselves back together. We can only wait and see at this point.” He gave Gypsy a tetanus injection and gave Mittie instructions for her care: rest in the stall with walking exercise four times a day to keep her limber and promote circulation to the wound. “Gypsy’s lucky to have you. I know you’ll take good care of the girl.”
“Gypsy can count on me.”
The next day a bouquet that covered half the dining room table arrived from the owners of the sorrel stallion. Their horse had won the championship. It was a small victory for what had been a terrible day.
Routine returned to MG Farms with preparations for the World’s Championship show in Louisville coming in September, but unease stirred in Mittie’s bones. Three, four, a dozen times a day she went to Gypsy, checked her dressing, brushed her coat, and led her up and down the promenade area of the barn for her exercise. But the fire was gone, Gypsy’s eyes dull, the limp more pronounced.
One day as she combed the mats from Gypsy’s mane and whispered sweet words of encouragement, she looked up and there was Ames, forearms propped on the Dutch door, watching her.
“Hey, how long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to know that I’ve got an uphill climb before you pay that much attention to me.”
She walked over and offered him her cheek. “Try me.”
He pecked her on the cheek and said, “Carry on. It’s mesmerizing to watch you.”
“I’m nearly finished. What brings you out?”
“It’s been almost two weeks. You’re never in the house when I call, and it’s been so long since Belle has seen you that her bolts are starting to rust.”
“It’s not been that long.”
“It has, doll.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think I could leave Gypsy. And I’ve not stopped thinking about your sister and Lela. Are they all right?”
“Much better. Fern went back to work, and they are very appreciative of your help.”
“I’m glad.” Mittie gave Gypsy a pat on the hindquarters. “Can you stay for dinner tonight? Mother’s gone on and on about how you entertained her and the owners’ wives in St. Louis.”
“Good to know that at least some women still find me charming.”
Mittie wiped her hands on a towel and opened the stall door. “I know I’ve been preoccupied with Gypsy. Her old spunk is gone, withering more each day, it seems.”
“I’m sure it’s just a matter of time. I believe what you need is a night out. Come away with me. Let’s go somewhere, just the two of us.”
“Can you wait while I get dolled up?”
An hour later she found Ames with her dad, who waved her into his study. “Ames has just told me he got the final go-ahead from Fort Worth on his engine modification.” He clapped him on the back. “Proud of you, son.”
“That’s wonderful news, Ames.”
“I was going to surprise you this evening, but I’m glad I got to tell your dad, too.” He offered his hand to her dad. “And once again, let me offer my condolences about Gypsy. I know it’s got Mittie torn up, and I’m hoping that not all is lost.”
“Time will tell, but thank you for your sentiments. You kids staying around for dinner?”
“We’re going into town, Daddy.”
“Have fun.”
It was a beautiful evening; they drove along the river and had a quiet dinner at the rooftop restaurant of the Brown Hotel. Stars above, the glow of Louisville below. Ames beside her only added to the warmth that nestled under Mittie’s ribs.
Ames took the last bite of his Hot Brown and said, “I really would like it if you came back on the circuit with us. They’ve hired a couple of new mechanics out at Bowman, so it’s getting harder and harder to pick up odd jobs when I’m not barnstorming.”
“It’s very tempting, but I can’t. Not now.”
“Because of Gypsy?”
“You saw her. She’s not herself, and she keeps declining.”
“Aren’t you a flat tire!”
“I’m only being realistic. If I left and something happened, I would never forgive myself.”
“What about you and me, doll? Your flying? Your big plans to set records? Madame Earhart’s already flown the Atlantic, but she hasn’t done it solo, and you won’t either sitting in a barn stall.”
“I know that. And I’m not giving up. Sometimes life intervenes and you have to do the right thing.”
The warm breath of August that had enveloped them earlier was now stifling. She knew Ames was right, but she also had the feeling he was asking her to make a choice about him. For now, staying with Gypsy was the only choice she was willing to make.
During dessert and coffee, Ames brooded, and when he took her home, their kisses were short, perfunctory. When she invited him in, he declined. “I need to round up my gear. We’re all leaving tomorrow. I’m not sure when we’ll be back.”
“Call me.”
“Sure thing.” His tone didn’t give her much promise.
August turned into September. Ames sent a postcard from Virginia, another from Pennsylvania. He called once to tell her the first engine with his modification had come off the assembly line. A jazz song filtered across the telephone wires along with Calista’s tinkling laugh. Longing for Ames and blue skies wrapped its fingers around her heart.
Ames said they’d be back at Bowman Field by late October. Mittie hoped that she could last that long.
The next day the vet paid his weekly call to check on Gypsy.
“The wound has healed, and I’m beginning to feel tension in the joint, which makes me think the tendon is also knitting back together. There’s no physical reason for the melancholy you’ve noticed. Have you tried riding her?”
“I wasn’t sure she could handle the extra weight, not with the limp still there.”
“Why don’t you give it a try? Could be she’s feeling like she’s let you down, not doing what she was born to do. Performance horses have that in their genes, I’m inclined to think. Just take it easy.”
The idea terrified Mittie. She couldn’t handle another disaster, but when her daddy agreed that it was worth trying, she and Toby saddled Gypsy in the stall and led her into the promenade area. Mittie stroked Gypsy’s neck, spoke words of encouragement to her, and mounted. Gypsy’s ears twitched, and Mittie thought she felt a shudder of excitement beneath her.
They stayed in the barn that day, her daddy watching from a distance, nodding and keeping an eye on Gypsy’s injured knee. The next day they ventured out into the sunshine. Gypsy reared her head and sniffed the air, then dutifully walked between the pens of the paddock. The limp remained, but it didn’t worsen. Day by day, they lengthened the time Mittie was astride, Gypsy’s muscles growing stronger, her eyes now gleaming. It was time to let Gypsy take the lead.
A gentle September breeze tickled the air the day Mittie took Gypsy onto the hills beyond the paddock. Gypsy cocked her head as if asking for permission. Mittie let the reins go slack and held her breath. Gypsy lifted one foot, then another, and began to trot. Slow, but sure. Mittie didn’t let her go too fast nor stay out too long, but Gypsy had done better than Mittie ever imagined.
“Someday, my friend. Someday.” She spoke the words to Gypsy, but they were for her, too. It was time for Mittie to also take the lead.
She called Weaver as soon as she got back to the house and asked if he’d have someone service Belle, that it was a beautiful day for a flight.
When she got to the airfield, it was Bobby who met her in the hangar.
“Gosh, I didn’t mean for Weaver to send you out to get the plane ready.”
“I had some spare time, and all I did was top off the fuel tanks. She’s been running like a top.”
“So you’ve spun the prop a few times to keep her from getting rusty?”
“No, once a week or so I’ve taken her up. I wanted to keep her ready for you. I knew it was just a matter of time.”
“You are the bee’s knees, Bobby York. How can I ever thank you?”
“How about letting me ride along and going to dinner with me tonight?”
“I’d love that.”
“Then grab a helmet and let’s go.”
Slipping into the cockpit was like putting on her favorite slippers. Loops. Stalls. Soaring. She lifted her chin and filled her lungs. Home at last.
Bobby asked her again about dinner as they walked back to the terminal.
“I’ll need time to get ready. Why don’t you come out to the farm and say hello to Mother and Daddy while I change?”
“It sounds lovely, but you’re dressed fine for what I had in mind. I need to pick up a few things in the office, and then we’ll go.” He raised hopeful eyebrows.
“You’re very persuasive, you know.” Her curiosity was getting the better of her. “I’ll call Mother and tell her not to expect me.”
Bobby held the door of his Morris for her. Odd, but all this time, she hadn’t ridden in it. Calista had always beat her to it. Bobby slid behind the wheel.
“So where is this place where I can show up like this and not get thrown out for improper dress code?”
“You’ll see.” He drove toward town, past Churchill Downs and the University of Louisville into the heart of the residential area where Victorian and Gothic mansions lined the streets.
“This is St. James Place. Victor Booth lives near here. Is that where you’re taking me?”
He shook his head and turned onto a narrow street that led to one of the courts the neighborhood was known for. The homes here were closer together, but their iron gates and front gardens gave them a certain charm. He stopped the car before they got to the pedestrian-only court and said, “Here we are.” He didn’t give her time to answer—just hopped out, ran around the car, and opened the door for her. With his hand at the small of her back, he led her up the walk and then up the steps to a gray stone house with window boxes. She felt like she did when she was little and she and Iris played the blindfold game. They’d take turns leading each other around in the house or outdoors, and you couldn’t remove your blindfold until you’d guessed where you were. Only now Mittie didn’t wear a blindfold, and she still had no idea where she was.
Bobby produced a key and opened a door that led into an entry hall. Walk-up apartments. Luxurious ones. A tingle rippled up and down her spine. Going to a gentleman’s apartment unchaperoned would have her mother’s friends’ tongues wagging. Something about that was titillating. Dangerous and risqué, but she doubted Bobby had any sort of romantic intentions. Before she stepped across the threshold, she glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone had seen them. The street was empty.
“My place is up two flights. I hope it’s all right that I brought you here.”
“I had no idea this is where you lived.”
“You never asked.”
His drawing room was furnished with a pair of burgundy Queen Anne sofas, a hunter green wingback chair, and Persian rugs scattered across polished oak floors. The scent of cinnamon and something hearty filled the air.
“It’s wonderful.” And it was apparent his flight instructor’s salary didn’t begin to cover the lease.
“There are certain advantages to being the son of Robert York.”
“Who is quite a lovely man, according to Mother and Daddy.”
“Without a doubt. Come—let’s see what’s for dinner.”
She followed him into the kitchen where a potpie rested atop the wood-burning stove and next to it, a bowl of steaming cinnamon apples.
“Let me guess. You also have a cook and a butler.”
He laughed. “Nothing as fancy as that. Just a woman who comes in and straightens up after me and leaves something for my dinner. She’s done well tonight, I see. Shall we eat in the dining room or here at the breakfast table?”
“I’m rather fond of cozy suppers, so in here is fine. What can I do?”
He pointed to the cupboard where the china was, and while she set the table, he took a wedge of cheddar from the Kelvinator, disappeared into a pantry, and came back with a loaf of crusty bread and a bottle of sherry. “Wine would be more to my liking, but it’s rather tricky to come by.”
“Actually, I’d prefer water. I’m always parched after flying.”
“Water it is.” He filled two glasses and pulled the chair for her to sit. Then he brought the potpie to the table and joined her. “Shall I say grace or would you like to?”
“Why don’t you?”
It was a simple blessing, one her mother often said.
“You are a man of surprises, Bobby York. Thanks for inviting me.”
“And thank you for accepting. I did have an ulterior motive.”
“I’m not that kind of girl.” She wrinkled her nose at him.
“And for that I’m grateful. It is a proposition of sorts, though.”
“I’m listening.”
“The Aero Club has everything worked out with the flying school. We’ll start the first class in January.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“We had hoped to start sooner, but there’s a lot of office work, and I’m still doing private lessons. What we need is help organizing the office. Victor and I both thought of you since you’ve had experience with managing the farm.”
Mittie swallowed hard. “I don’t even know what to say. I’m flattered that you would ask, but I’m still green when it comes to aviation.”
“You’re more experienced than most, and you’re quite sharp. Trust me—after a few classes, I’ve learned that not everyone is cut out for this.”
“What about my flying? Going to competitions?”
“That would be part of the job. What better advertising for the school than to have one of our own contending for records and promoting aviation? We’d be your sponsor and pick up expenses, of course. Sponsorship seems to be quite the trend nowadays.”
A team. Like in the saddlebred business. Or as her daddy always said, “Behind every champion is a well-oiled machine.”
“It sounds too good to be true. And you know what they say…”
“If it sounds too good, it probably is. All I’m asking is for you to think about it.”
“Thanks.” Another thought interrupted. Ames. The Patriots. “I have promised Ames I’d be back on the barnstorming circuit soon. I hate to give my word and not keep it.”
Bobby stiffened, his eyebrows lifting a hair. “I assumed you knew.”
“Knew what?”
He let out a slow breath. “Okay, guess I’ve just put my nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“Stop with your stupid British manners and spit it out. Assumed I knew what?”
“The group broke up a couple of weeks ago.”
“What? I just talked to Ames two nights ago. I’ve had postcards—”
He held up his hand. “Wait.” He rose and went to the front of the apartment and came back with a piece of yellow paper, which he handed her.
Western Union. From San Antonio, Texas. Ames said they were in Illinois.
“Go on; open it.”
It was dated the week before.
GROUP BUSTED UP STOP BE IN LOU NEXT WEEK STOP LOVE, PEACH
A million thoughts zipped through Mittie’s head. What came out of her mouth was, “About that job—when do I start?”
“Next Monday okay?”
“Perfect. Now, if I could, I’d love that glass of sherry.”