Other barnstormers had come through town before, selling rides and doing aerobatics and parachute jumps, but Marian had never really noticed them, never considered how an airplane could pass over the mountains, over the horizon, carry people elsewhere. Maybe she had needed the dangerous proximity of the plane, its roar and the red flash of its wings to jolt her from obliviousness. Or maybe the moment was simply right. She was at an age when the future adult rattles the child’s bones like the bars of a cage.
Wallace drove her, later that day, to the airstrip at the base of Mount Sentinel that was nothing fancier than a reasonably level field marked with lime and pocked with badger holes. He’d barely stopped the car before she bolted like a rambunctious colt, galloping away across the grass toward the parked planes.
The cowling doors were open on the nearer plane’s engine, and a figure in a mechanic’s overall was standing on a stepladder and digging among the valves and cylinders. Another figure, in breeches and boots, lay in the shaded grass under the far plane’s wing, face covered by a wide-brimmed cattleman’s hat, apparently asleep. The person on the stepladder straightened up and turned, and Marian was surprised to realize it was a woman. A blue bandanna covered her hair; her face was streaked with grease. A spanner dangled from one hand.
“Hello,” the woman said, looking down at the girl and then back across the field at Wallace. “Who might you be?”
“I’m Marian Graves.”
“Did you come to see the planes? Our mighty squadron of two?” Her way of speaking was singsongy and mannered. She pulled a second bandanna from her pocket and wiped her face, further smudging the grease.
“I saw them already. This morning I was on my horse and one flew right over me.” Fiddler had spooked and she had nearly fallen off. Just as she’d recovered herself, the other plane had passed over, higher but still loud enough to upset Fiddler all over again.
“They do seem quite low sometimes, don’t they? But really we’re much higher than you think. Safety first, I always—” She stopped. “Oh. You mean up the mountain? That was you, dearheart? You poor thing, you must have been awfully frightened. Felix can be very silly.”
“I wasn’t scared.”
“I’m glad you came by so Felix could apologize in person. I can absolutely promise you it was an accident. Just a silly mistake. You’re all right, I’m glad to see.”
Marian gathered her courage to say what had been consuming her all morning: “I’d like to go up in one.”
The woman tilted her head, screwed up her face in an expression Marian supposed was meant to suggest sympathy. “I’m afraid we won’t be giving any rides until tomorrow, and the fact is they cost money. Five dollars. We have to pay for fuel and so on—it’s how we make a living. I’m sorry Felix frightened you, but we can’t start taking up anyone who wants to go, much as we’d like to. Maybe we could give you a small discount as a friendly gesture, but you’ll have to ask your father there if he’ll pay. Unless you’ve been saving up?” This last quite hopefully.
“He’s my uncle.”
“You’ll have to ask your uncle, then.”
Wallace, arriving, shaded his eyes with one hand and smiled up at the woman. “What will she have to ask me?”
“This brave young lady wants to go up in a plane.” Again the bandanna swabbed at the grease, this time more effectively, and a long, narrow greyhound face emerged.
“Can I?” Marian demanded of Wallace, boisterous from the embarrassment of having to ask. She and Jamie weren’t given pocket money in any sort of regular way. It did not seem to occur to Wallace that there might be things they wanted to buy, and so, under Caleb’s tutelage, they’d turned to petty thievery, pinching candy and fishing tackle and various bits and bobs from the stores downtown. Caleb in an hour on a busy street could unobtrusively dip enough coins from passersby for three movie tickets and lunch at a beanery. When they had any money, they spent it, and so, in what now seemed a terrible oversight, Marian had nothing saved.
“How much does it cost?” Wallace asked the woman.
“Five dollars for fifteen minutes—four fifty for you, since we’re all friends now. And that’s a bargain.”
Wallace smiled at Marian, the same appreciative but noncommittal smile he’d directed at the fine blue sky, the grease-smeared stranger. To the woman, he said, “I hope we’re not bothering you. Marian had a close encounter with one of your planes this morning. It made an impression.”