“We all got in about the same time, very late, from our dates and nightclub visits. We talked awhile then decided to go to Roosevelt Field and fly as soon as the sun was up. Flying made women comrades in the same way that men can be comrades, but women seldom are. There are many ties women share, woman-to-woman, to men’s exclusion, but we are rarely the companions in the ‘Three Musketeers’ sense.”
—Margaret “Tommy” Thomas
April 1934—New York City
“I can’t believe how tedious secretarial school is,” Nancy told Henry Wilder as they drove to the East Boston airport. He hung around her apartment a lot, but not because there was a romantic interest between him and any of her friends. At least Nancy didn’t think so. He’d become one of the group. “Besides, I don’t know if I can eat another bowl of tomato soup and stay sane. I used to like that stuff, but now, it’s how I literally survive.”
“You need to stick it out.” Henry took a drag on his cigarette and tapped it out the open car window. “Times are tough for most people.”
They both sobered. The founder of the secretarial school, Katharine Gibbs, had recently lost her oldest son, Howard, to suicide. Stories like that were becoming too common.
“Times are tough,” Nancy agreed, but she knew she was still blessed. “Which is why I need to find a job much sooner than later.”
Henry slowed the car to turn into the airport. “My friend Bob Love might have a job available, or if he doesn’t, he might know of something. Did I tell you he’s a college dropout too?” Henry’s mood had turned lighter, which Nancy was grateful for.
She nudged his arm. “Oh, so that’s how you view me too? A dropout?”
He nudged her back.
Truth was, Nancy would rather be working in aviation than staying in school. She had her transport license, so surely there was something she could do with it that paid the same as secretarial work. She’d been accepted into the Ninety-Nines earlier that year, and she’d written a few of the ladies, inquiring about possible jobs, but had come up empty. So, she’d talked Henry into taking her job hunting in Boston. She and her roommates only had their apartment until summer, then Susie would go live with her parents in Far Hills, New Jersey. Tommy was now tied at the hip with Jacqueline Cochran and had been invited to work for her in Springfield, Massachusetts.
“Here we are.” Henry tossed his cigarette out the window. “I have a good feeling that Bob will come through for us.”
Nancy didn’t know Henry’s friend, Bob Love. She usually flew out of Newark, and Mr. Love owned Inter City Aviation, which served flights out of the East Boston airport.
“Crossing my fingers,” she said, doing just that. She didn’t mention that she’d once met Crocker Snow at this very airport years ago.
“Bob has his hands in a little bit of everything,” Henry continued. “He offers flight instruction and charters flights.”
“I could be the pilot for that.”
“He also does aerial surveying and brokers airplanes.”
Nancy spread her hands wide. “Again, I can do that.”
Henry threw her a wry grin as he parked the car. “Come on. We’ll go to his office and see what’s what.”
Nancy followed Henry into one of the hangars, and the familiar scent of fuel, exhaust, paint, and glue made her feel nostalgic.
“Hello there,” Henry said to a mechanic hunched over a plane. “Is Bob Love around?”
The man lifted his head and caught sight of Nancy. He straightened and wiped his hands on a grease-stained towel. “He’s picking up a plane right now but shouldn’t be too long.”
Henry glanced at Nancy, then back at the mechanic. “Are we talking ‘too long’ being twenty minutes or more like a couple of hours?”
“Closer to twenty minutes.”
“Excellent.” Henry slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “When Bob shows up, let him know he has a visitor waiting in his office. I told him I’d be around sometime this week but didn’t know it would be this early.”
“I’ll let him know.” The mechanic flashed Nancy a smile.
She returned it with her own polite smile, then followed Henry across the hangar to a side door.
“This way,” Henry said in a cheerful tone.
Nancy scoped the place out. The hangar held a couple of planes in different stages of repair, but everything seemed organized and tidy. Henry opened a door, and they stepped into a narrow corridor. At the end, he opened another door to a rather small room that served as an office.
The place needed some cleanup. Stacks of papers and various boxes were scattered about, illuminated by the blinds that cut the sunlight coming from the lone window. Truthfully, the office was junky in contrast to the hangar. The couple of chairs were clear, at least, and Henry took the one behind the desk and propped his feet up.
Instead of moving papers and sitting on the other chair, Nancy perched on the edge of the desk, which was ironically about the cleanest spot in the room. She crossed her legs and looked over at Henry. “Exactly how big is this operation, and how many planes does Mr. Love own?”
“I’m not sure.” Henry lit up another cigarette. “He’s always buying something and selling something else.”
Nancy held out her hand, and Henry handed over the cigarette. She took a puff, then handed it back.
“Love the lipstick mark,” Henry said with a smirk.
Nancy shrugged. “And how old is Bob?”
“My age.”
“So, twenty-five?” At his nod, she continued. “He’s accomplished a lot for his age.”
Henry coughed, and not from the cigarette. “As opposed to me? Not accomplishing much?”
“Oh, you’re a successful man in your own right.” She waved a hand as she smirked. “Not comparing here, Wilder.”
He shook his head, a smile on his face.
Nancy swept her gaze about the office. Several framed pictures decorated the wall—one of a man who must be Bob and someone else she recognized—Crocker Snow. Interesting. The aviation world really was very small. Memories of her brother surged through her—of how he’d surprised her with an introduction to Crocker Snow at this same airport. Her brother had been her favorite person in the world, and now he was gone.
She blinked against the stinging in her eyes and straightened her posture.
The office door suddenly opened, and the doorknob smacked against the side of the wall. A man strode in, obviously straight from flying. His flight coveralls were grease-stained, and his reddish hair was part plastered to his scalp, part sticking up, a testament of recently pulling off his flight helmet. Goggles dangled in his hand, and his blue eyes were as cold as an icy windstorm.
“No smoking in my office, Henry,” he snapped.
His icy gaze shifted to Nancy. “Off my desk, lady.”
Well. Nancy’s nostalgia over her brother took a sharp turn, and annoyance burned in her chest. She slid off the desk and smoothed down her skirt.
Henry seemed unfazed as he lowered his feet and stubbed out his cigarette. “Sorry, Bob, won’t happen again.”
Bob Love’s eyes moved from Nancy to Henry, giving her a bit of a reprieve from his glower. “I told you I was swamped, and I don’t need some two-bit secretary. I’m up to my eyeballs in transactions and scheduling. I’m not playing host to whatever . . .” His attention snapped to Nancy again. “Whomever you’ve decided to take on a drive through Boston.”
Nancy was quite stunned. She’d been around dozens of male pilots, but she’d never met one so dismissive. The annoyance in her chest simmered into anger.
“Glad you got my message.” Henry pushed away from the desk and stood. “Let’s start again. Bob, this is Nancy Harkness, and she’s—”
“Don’t bother, Wilder,” Nancy cut in, her voice quaking with indignation. “I don’t want to be anyone’s waste of time.” She moved past Mr. Love and stepped through the doorway, then pulled the door shut behind her. Well, maybe she slammed it—if the echoing bang off the corridor walls was any indication. The sound made her feel better, though, and she strode to the exit.
She’d wait at the car for Henry to finish his conversation with Mr. Love. She wasn’t interested in working for a man who was clearly arrogant and rude and unfairly presumptuous. Maybe this was his acumen to stay afloat as an aviator during the Depression, but his people skills were horrendous. And Nancy didn’t need a bad-mannered employer.
Perhaps she could beg something at the Newark or Roosevelt airfields. She knew there weren’t any openings, but maybe she could help bring in student pilots like she had at Vassar.
She entered the hangar, and the same mechanic spotted her. He gave her a friendly wave. “Finished already, miss?”
Nancy gave him a tight smile. “Yes, thank you. Have a nice day.” There. She could be polite and courteous when she was as mad as a trapped bee. Her adrenaline didn’t slow down when she reached Henry’s car, so she walked to one of the open-cockpit planes, letting the spring breeze cool off her heated skin. The plane was likely the very one Mr. Love had recently flown.
Just looking at it made her heart both soar and ache. How would it be to own an aviation business? Fly whenever you wanted to, without paying rental fees or working around booking times? She could wake up in the morning, and instead of heading to a classroom filled with typewriters, she’d suit up and climb into a cockpit.
Her heart rate eventually slowed, and her pulse calmed.
“Nancy!” Henry hurried out of the hangar. “Nancy? Oh, there you are. Please, I’m so sorry about all this. I think the messages got mixed up when I reached out to Bob.”
Nancy watched her friend approach. He really did sound apologetic. She folded her arms and waited for him to reach her. Might as well hear him out.
“I mentioned that you were in secretarial school,” he said in a rush, “but I guess wires were crossed. Bob thought that meant you were a secretary and you’re after a typist position.”
Nancy snorted.
“So, I messed up.” Henry scrubbed a hand through his wavy hair. “I told Bob all about you, and he really does want to meet you.”
“We’ve met,” Nancy deadpanned.
Henry released a choked laugh and glanced over at the hangar. “Yes, that’s true. But he’s calmed down now. Had some issues with the customer he was selling a plane to, so that’s why he was all blustery.”
Nancy lifted a brow. “And rude?”
“And rude. Yes, very rude.” Henry smiled, but Nancy didn’t return it. “Please, will you give it another chance? Bob needs help, and he knows it.”
“Did he say that?”
“Not in those, uh, exact words.” Henry set his hands on his hips, releasing a sigh.
“What were his words exactly, Wilder?”
Henry answered in a hesitant voice. “Bob said he could always use a good pilot but that he’d be very picky.”
Nancy looked up at the sky, then toward the hangar. “Perfect. He just got his second chance.”
“Really?” Henry asked. “That’s swell. Let’s go, Harkness.”
But Nancy had already strode past him. If this had the potential for a real job in aviation, she’d give the cranky Mr. Love another chance. Flying she could do. And if that didn’t impress the man, he could keep his airfield and greasy coveralls and messy office.
When she reentered the office, Bob Love was standing at the small window, his back to her, his gaze pinned to something outside.
She didn’t speak, didn’t need to. Obviously, he’d heard her enter because he swung around to face her.
He’d taken off his flight suit, and beneath it, he wore a button-down shirt and slacks. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, but otherwise, he looked like he could fit into any university campus. He’d tamed his hair, although it was still disheveled, and his blue eyes were much less . . . icy.
In fact, they were calm. Not exactly welcoming, but Nancy didn’t need his immediate approval. She’d demonstrate her skills in an airplane.
Instead of walking all the way into the office, she remained in the doorway, as if giving him a warning.
“Miss Harkness,” Bob said with a head tilt. “Nice to meet you.”
She stared at him. Just like that? He wasn’t going to address the two-ton elephant in the room? “I’m not sure what to say.”
“Nice to meet me?”
“I’m still deciding.”
He nodded; his gaze locked on her. “Fair enough. And I apologize for mistaking you for a . . .” He waved his hand toward her.
Nancy waited. “For a what, Mr. Love?”
“A secretary.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You look like a secretary, and I guess I misunderstood Henry’s message from the get-go.”
“I look like a secretary?” Nancy folded her arms. “How’s that?”
She felt rather gratified when the man’s neck flushed. Maybe it had to do with being a redhead, or maybe he had some remorse in those cranky bones of his.
“You’re, you know—” He cut himself off.
“I don’t know, in fact. Can you be more clear, sir?”
He paused, and it was as if she could literally see his mind working—choosing his words carefully. “You’re dressed nicely, and you’re, uh, pretty, and, you know, proper.”
She wasn’t sure if he was complimenting her or insulting her. “And other women aviators you’ve met wear dirty rags, have bulbous noses, and cuss like navy men?”
His eyes popped wide, and his mouth twitched. Then he smiled.
Bob Love might have a very nice smile, but she wasn’t ready to forgive him yet. Not until he offered her a job.
“That’s not what I meant, Miss Harkness,” he said with a shade of amusement.
“So, you’re mixing your words? Henry led me to believe you’re an educated man, even though you did drop out of both Princeton and MIT . . .”
He was still smiling, not offended or shocked in the least. Nancy wanted to laugh. She could feel it bubbling up inside of her, but she kept it tamped down.
“You’re quite direct for—” He stopped.
“For a woman?”
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
She pierced him with her best glare. “Maybe not. But you’re thinking it. Look, Mr. Love, I earned my private pilot’s license at sixteen, so I’ve been around male pilots for a good four years. There’s not much you could say that will get the hairs on my neck to rise, but don’t ever discredit my worth as a pilot or as a woman. Besides, secretaries make the business world go around. I just happen to want to fly. Either you need help at your airfield, or you don’t. If you’re hiring, I’m interested. If you’re not, let’s stop wasting each other’s time.”
Bob swallowed but kept his gaze steady, possibly to his credit. His next words sounded carefully chosen. “Can I see your pilot’s logbook, Miss Harkness?”
Now, this made Nancy feel like they were finally coming to a meeting of the minds. She pulled out her logbook from her bag and handed it over.
Bob leafed through it, stopping at a few places. His eyebrows didn’t rise, and he didn’t seem particularly surprised or even pleased. Maybe that was to his credit again.
When he handed the logbook back, he said, “Want to take something up right now? Test out one of the new Wacos? I’m trying to move them as fast as I can, and it would be nice to have someone on hand to demonstrate the line.”
“I’d love to fly a Waco.”
Bob nodded, then glanced at her person. “I don’t have an extra flight suit, but you’re welcome to borrow mine.”
“No need. I brought a change of clothing.”
“Somehow I’m not surprised.” His blue eyes were decidedly warmer. He motioned toward the office door to lead the way out.
She stepped into the corridor first, her steps so much lighter now. And she found she was smiling after all.