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Authors: Jeanette Ingold
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interrupts. "I've got to do something with that seed you hid and then try to straighten out the rest of this mess."
And Kenzie, in the hangar, is blunt. "Don't you know your stunt could cost Grif his job?" he says.
"
He
didn't stow away. I did."
"But he's responsible both for this place and for you."
Moss, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but in here overhearing, ducks closer to what he's working on.
Â
"Beatty," Clo says when I go back to our tourist cabin, "how could you?"
"I guess Grif called?"
"Mrs. Granger came by just to tell me." Tears well in my aunt's eyes. "Don't you know the trouble you've made?"
I try to tell her how I wish I could undo this whole afternoon, but she hurries through to the bedroom.
"Clo," I say, following. "I'm really sorry."
She goes around me and outside, no more ready than Grif to hear my apologies.
Â
I learn what happens by eavesdropping. Or maybe that's not the right word, because I don't have to sneak and hide to listen, just take in what's being said around me.
I'm just grateful it doesn't include talk of involving Dad.
And Grif doesn't lose his jobâI think because Mrs. Granger gets Mr. Granger to put in a placating word with Grif's division manager. But he is placed on probation, and he tells Clo, "Another slip and I'm out."
There's an unspoken understanding that I won't go anywhere near the airport, and in the next days I don't much know what to do with myself instead.
Clo and I pick out material and a pattern for lightweight dresses, but there's quiet between us as we lay out tissue, and pin and cut.
The girls come for me a couple of times, but I can't seem to enjoy myself much with them.
And when Moss appears at the door it's clear he's still bewildered by what I didâand maybe embarrassed for me, which is much worse.
"Millie doing OK?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"And you're still helping Grif?"
"Some, but Kenzie more. He got paid a tip the other day for a job we worked on together, and he gave me most of it. I sent half to Ma and bought me some food with the rest so I won't be so beholden to you all."
"I'm proud of you, Moss," I tell him, no idea how to get into the web of things I want to ask about, tell about, explain.
"Beatty," he says, his ears reddening the way they did when he brought me birthday flowers, "I miss seein' you at the airport."
"Yes ... well ... I guess I won't be going back."
Â
I do wish I could undo things. I'd almost be willing to take a vow never to go up in a plane, if that would unwind the trouble I've caused.
I realize how precarious I've made things when Clo's sewing machine gets lowered into its case to clear space for a rented typewriter. Her eyes steady on a propped-up lesson book, she taps,
jjjj ffff jjjj ffff...bed red fed jut...
She's thinking she might have to go back to work and might need to earn more than she did as a file clerk.
Just watching her makes me angry, and, of course, I don't have anyone to be angry at except myself. Unless maybe it's Dad, who would have prevented me doing something so
stupid
if he'd just kept his promise.
Along with the regret and guilt, though, what surprises me is the loss I feel, the tug that gnaws whenever I hear an airplane engine overhead.
It's as though my days are marked off by the planes that fly regularly into Muddy Springs: the 6:00 A.M. milk run, then the morning passenger flight heading east, and the afternoon one westbound. I go to sleep listening to the night mail plane come in.
With each engine sound I imagine what might be going on at the airport. I picture Grif working the desk, Moss washing the service truck, and Kenzie tinkering at his workbench. I hear the radio squeal and see the landing lights come on.
It makes no sense to care so much for a place I hardly know, but every time I think of it, I feel hollow.
I tell myself I should keep busy, move along the way I always have. Visit the malt shop. Grab a ride to the tank.
Or call Aunt Fanny and ask if she'll
And Kenzie, in the hangar, is blunt. "Don't you know your stunt could cost Grif his job?" he says.
"
He
didn't stow away. I did."
"But he's responsible both for this place and for you."
Moss, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but in here overhearing, ducks closer to what he's working on.
Â
"Beatty," Clo says when I go back to our tourist cabin, "how could you?"
"I guess Grif called?"
"Mrs. Granger came by just to tell me." Tears well in my aunt's eyes. "Don't you know the trouble you've made?"
I try to tell her how I wish I could undo this whole afternoon, but she hurries through to the bedroom.
"Clo," I say, following. "I'm really sorry."
She goes around me and outside, no more ready than Grif to hear my apologies.
Â
I learn what happens by eavesdropping. Or maybe that's not the right word, because I don't have to sneak and hide to listen, just take in what's being said around me.
I'm just grateful it doesn't include talk of involving Dad.
And Grif doesn't lose his jobâI think because Mrs. Granger gets Mr. Granger to put in a placating word with Grif's division manager. But he is placed on probation, and he tells Clo, "Another slip and I'm out."
There's an unspoken understanding that I won't go anywhere near the airport, and in the next days I don't much know what to do with myself instead.
Clo and I pick out material and a pattern for lightweight dresses, but there's quiet between us as we lay out tissue, and pin and cut.
The girls come for me a couple of times, but I can't seem to enjoy myself much with them.
And when Moss appears at the door it's clear he's still bewildered by what I didâand maybe embarrassed for me, which is much worse.
"Millie doing OK?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"And you're still helping Grif?"
"Some, but Kenzie more. He got paid a tip the other day for a job we worked on together, and he gave me most of it. I sent half to Ma and bought me some food with the rest so I won't be so beholden to you all."
"I'm proud of you, Moss," I tell him, no idea how to get into the web of things I want to ask about, tell about, explain.
"Beatty," he says, his ears reddening the way they did when he brought me birthday flowers, "I miss seein' you at the airport."
"Yes ... well ... I guess I won't be going back."
Â
I do wish I could undo things. I'd almost be willing to take a vow never to go up in a plane, if that would unwind the trouble I've caused.
I realize how precarious I've made things when Clo's sewing machine gets lowered into its case to clear space for a rented typewriter. Her eyes steady on a propped-up lesson book, she taps,
jjjj ffff jjjj ffff...bed red fed jut...
She's thinking she might have to go back to work and might need to earn more than she did as a file clerk.
Just watching her makes me angry, and, of course, I don't have anyone to be angry at except myself. Unless maybe it's Dad, who would have prevented me doing something so
stupid
if he'd just kept his promise.
Along with the regret and guilt, though, what surprises me is the loss I feel, the tug that gnaws whenever I hear an airplane engine overhead.
It's as though my days are marked off by the planes that fly regularly into Muddy Springs: the 6:00 A.M. milk run, then the morning passenger flight heading east, and the afternoon one westbound. I go to sleep listening to the night mail plane come in.
With each engine sound I imagine what might be going on at the airport. I picture Grif working the desk, Moss washing the service truck, and Kenzie tinkering at his workbench. I hear the radio squeal and see the landing lights come on.
It makes no sense to care so much for a place I hardly know, but every time I think of it, I feel hollow.
I tell myself I should keep busy, move along the way I always have. Visit the malt shop. Grab a ride to the tank.
Or call Aunt Fanny and ask if she'll
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