The Game of Love and Death(8)

Of course Ethan was focused on the plane and the assignment. He never let himself get distracted by girls. Never. Henry tried not to, but without much luck. He was forever looking at them, forever looking for the one who’d make him feel as if he’d met his other half. He’d yearned for it his entire life, not that he could talk to anyone about it. And this girl … there was this … quality about her, something so alive. She walked from the tip of the upper wing to the middle, and then lowered herself to the bottom one as if it were nothing.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ethan said.

“Come again?”

“Henry, you can be such a dope.” Ethan gestured toward his own face.

Henry had no idea what Ethan was trying to communicate.

“She’s not a possibility, Henry. Stop dreaming of your wedding. You’d give my mother a conniption if she saw you gaping like a salmon.”

“I wasn’t. It’s just …” He’d noticed the color of her skin, of course. To his surprise, he did not care, even though he knew everyone else would.

“Well, at least close your mouth.”

Henry clamped his jaw shut, but Ethan was already walking toward a man in a navy-blue suit, his smile in place, his right hand extended. He dropped it immediately when he noticed what Henry had just observed: that the man in the suit had no right arm.

“I am Captain Girard,” the man said in French-accented English. His tone was light, as if he were used to such gaffes. “I regret I cannot shake your hand, but mine was lost to me in the war. I see you’ve noticed the real story, though. The one those boys from New York missed.”

“How’s that?” Ethan asked.

“That girl right there. She’s a fantastic pilot. The best of her kind in the state. Perhaps even better than Amelia Earhart. It is not just the plane that is fast; it is the skill and daring of the pilot, and here, she is unparalleled. It is because she understands the workings of the engine as if they were an extension of her mind.”


Henry pulled out his reporter’s notebook so he could take down what the captain said. Ethan, who did not have much of a poker face, was irritated. They were there for a story about a plane, not a girl. There wasn’t a teacup’s chance in a tornado that Mr. Thorne would let them write about a female pilot, especially one with skin the color of hers. But Henry didn’t care about that either. He wanted to hear everything the captain had to say about her.

“Her papa fought with me in the war, when our troops joined forces with American ones. He was a brave man. Very good with his hands. Without him, I would have lost more than my arm. And the thing is, I cannot get any of the journalists interested in her. The reason for this is obvious, you see. Flora has the brown skin, and here in America, you pay so very much heed to that. And so they spend all their ink on Miss Earhart, who is also a courageous woman and almost as fine a pilot. But they are missing out on something here, something almost magical.”

Henry wanted to volunteer to write the story himself, just so he could observe Flora at closer range, but the offer would get him into all sorts of hot water with Ethan, who worried endlessly that people would figure out Henry was helping him if the paper ever carried his solo byline, and who always changed the subject when Henry wanted to talk about girls.

“That is fascinating, of course,” Ethan said, sounding not at all fascinated. “What can you —”

“And so, she needs a sponsor,” Captain Girard said. “Someone to provide enough for a plane and a trip around the globe. I pay her what I can but the times, they are bad. Nobody works harder. She takes the night shift to support her grand-mère… I honestly don’t know when she sleeps.”

The captain tucked a cigarette between his lips, took a matchbook out of his pocket, and offered it to Henry. “Do you mind?” he said, shrugging apologetically at his empty right sleeve. “I forgot my Zippo in the office.”

Henry struck a match.

“Here,” the captain said, showing the matchbook. “This is its name.”

“Come again?” Henry asked.

“This is the club where she works. The Domino. It used to be her parents’, but alas, they were killed in an accident with an automobile when she was just a baby. She has the place now with her uncle. I am ashamed to say I have never been, but I am past the age of music and dancing. She does keep me in matches, though.”

Captain Girard took back the matchbook and Ethan shot Henry a look. Henry shrugged and phrased a careful question to regain control of the interview: “What can you tell us about her airplane?”

As the captain described a change Flora had made to the engine mounting so that the plane was better balanced, Henry took notes, but his mind was elsewhere. The captain seemed to notice.

“The girl,” he said, smiling widely. “You really should take an interest. There is something there. Her name, it suggests she is rooted to the earth, but in truth, the girl has the heart of a bird.” A breeze kicked up, ruffling Henry’s hair, sending a gentle thrill down his spine. Henry swallowed. He looked at her, just as she looked at him. Neither looked away. For a fraction of a moment, it felt as though the earth had ceased its spinning, but his body moved on, dizzy with some unseen force.

“We’re here for the plane,” Ethan said. “But maybe we’ll do another story later. You were telling us about the Staggerwing…”