Nate Coffman stood in the snowy field surrounded by twenty-six of the twenty-seven souls who’d put their lives in his hands. They were all well and staring at the silver ship that had somehow landed relatively undamaged on the frozen Illinois prairie.
As the pilot considered what he’d just be through and how much just taking another breath meant to him, Collins strolled up to his side. “That was smoother than your normal landings.”
Nate grinned at the verbal jab before whispering, “Where’s Wiggins?”
“He’s still on board. Tied him up real tight. I’ll let the police escort him off later.”
The pilot smiled. “He’s not as good a mechanic as he thought he was.”
Collins laughed. “Or maybe the plane is just better than any of us realized. I’m going to write a thank-you note to the Douglas folks.”
“Where’s the pilot?” a voice called out from behind them.
Nate and Collins turned as a tall, thin man with salt and pepper hair pushed by the other survivors and toward the flight crew. He was well dressed and moved with the grace of someone who’d played sports in his youth. A dark mustache accented thin lips, a chiseled jaw, and green eyes. He was so striking he looked as though he stepped out of a Clipper Craft clothing advertisement.
“I’m the pilot,” Nate announced as the man drew closer.
“Great job,” the man enthusiastically announced. “I’ve been flying planes for twenty years, and never have I ever witnessed anything like that. The way you set her down was simply amazing.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m Nate Coffman.”
The stranger stuck out a gloved hand. “Franklin Wiles.” As their hands met, the man added, “I was the man who caused you to be late. When I saw that engine go out, I almost wished you hadn’t waited for me. Fate’s kind of a strange thing.”
“Yep,” Nate replied. “It’s funny. I was able to get this piece of machinery down from the sky, and because of what I was trained to do a few lives were saved. But …” his voice trailed off along with his thoughts.
“But what?” the man asked.
“Nothing,” Nate replied.
The sound of sirens caused both men, as well as the rest of the passengers and crew, to look over to a gravel road that ran beside the field. Police cars and ambulances were on their way.
“Glad we don’t need those,” Wiles noted.
“No injuries is pretty amazing,” the pilot agreed as he stepped away from the stranger and moved closer to the plane. Out of the corner of his eye, Nate noted that Wiles walked over to visit with Collins for a moment. The men exchanged words, and the stranger nodded before he moved slowly back over to rejoin the pilot. As the vehicles parked beside the field, a dozen men got out and began to head in their direction. Wiles quietly voiced what had been embedded in Nate’s mind since the successful landing.
“So, it’s your daughter that you can’t save,” he said quietly, meeting Nate’s gaze.
Taking a deep breath of the cold air, the pilot shook his head. “I guess Collins told you.”
“He did.”
“It’s nothing you need to be concerned about.”
“I’d like to know more,” Wiles said, “if you care to share. If not, I will respect your privacy.”
Nate didn’t answer. Waving to a local sheriff, he called out, “We’re fine, but the man that created this mess is tied up in the plane. My copilot can fill you in on the details.”
“Thank you,” the cop called out. “I radioed for a school bus to haul your people out of here.”
“Thanks,” the pilot called back. “We just need to get these folks someplace warm. And we need to get their luggage.”
The officer nodded.
Nate glanced over his shoulder. “Collins, can you fill the sheriff”—he paused on the name, which the officer supplied as Jed Atkins—“tell him about Wiggins?”
“Sure,” the copilot answered.
As the local rescue team went to work helping the passengers across the snow and over to the road where they’d be picked up by the bus, Nate moved closer to his ship. She looked like she was ready to take off. And if the motors hadn’t been sabotaged, she could have. But for the time being, the DC-3 was going to have to wait in a wheat field. All things considered, not a bad fate. It could have, and probably should have, been much worse.
Wiles strolled up beside the pilot. “I’d still like to hear about your daughter.”
The pilot was surprised the stranger had followed him on his walk to the DC-3’s nose. He’d figured Wiles would have been anxious to leave with the other passengers. Why did this man want to concern himself with Nate’s problems?
“She’s sick,” Nate replied. “Got a head injury a few months back and seizures followed. The x-rays revealed a mass in her brain. Doctors tell us surgery isn’t an option because of how the mass is tied into her brain. So the seizures get worse, and in the next few days or weeks or months, a girl who has yet to even go to school will die. Kind of funny, I have the skill to save all these people, but …”
“Where do you live?” the man asked.
“North of Chicago. A little place called Wilmette.”
Wiles stepped between the pilot and his ship and asked, “If there was a neurosurgeon who had the skill to do the work, would you let him try?”
Nate smiled, “I would, but even if that man existed—and Dr. Hutton tells me no one is willing to attempt this kind of procedure—I couldn’t afford it. Lifesaving options are for the wealthy. Those without money die. It’s a fact of life. Always has been.”
“I won’t argue,” the man replied. “Maybe twenty years from now that’ll change. Maybe we’ll have a system that will provide medical care on an equal basis.”
“Do you believe that?” the pilot asked.
“Maybe not,” came the reply. “But it’s a nice dream. At this moment I owe you something. You saved my life. And since my specialty is brain surgery—some people call me the best in the world—I’d like to look at your daughter’s case.”
For a long moment Nate couldn’t speak. He stared at Wiles then placed his hands on the man’s left shoulder and looked him squarely in his eyes. His words caught in his throat.
“I mean it,” Wiles assured. “There are no guarantees, and maybe I can’t help her. But I want to try. You’ve already paid for my services.”
“I was just doing my job,” Nate said.
“And now it is time for me to do mine.”