With this ring, p.8
With this Ring, page 8
“That is the way—” Cynthia shut her teeth on the rest of the sentence. Oh dear! Would she never learn to control her impulsive tongue with this man? Almost she had blurted out details of that similar group in California, where she and Eric were practically charter members. The only recovery she could make was a lame, “That is the way to start. I suppose.”
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic. Don’t you care for flying?”
“No.”
The flat monosyllable chilled even Cynthia as she uttered it. He would think her impossible! Why couldn’t she drive the crowding memories from her mind and live in the present? Suppose Alex was crazy about flying? For all she knew about him he might very well be one of the group he had mentioned. Please, not that! she prayed in her heart; I just couldn’t go through it again.
Alex turned off the dirt road onto a bumpy, rutted track, and slowed to a crawl.
“He did land!” he exclaimed, pointing ahead to where the yellow plane sat with spinning propeller at the near end of a long field. He drove through a gap in the low stone wall and out into the open.
Cynthia experienced a sinking sensation as they swayed through the ankle-high grass. This was so like that other field, spreading over the gently curved top of a wide crowned hill. But there were no mountains for a backdrop here, only the blue sea on three sides of Newbury Point, and green fields with scattered houses on the fourth. She studied the plane; except for its color it seemed dreadfully like Eric Crane’s.
A small hangar stood at the edge of the field with a storage shed and gas pump. Alex drew up beside the two cars already parked there and stopped. The driver of the larger car stepped out and joined a man in overalls who was walking toward the plane, its motor now silent. In the second car, a battered, dusty coupé, a thin young man leaned from the window to watch.
The door of the plane opened and a man climbed down and stepped out from under the shadow of the wing. Cynthia did not realize that she had been holding her breath until it came out in a sharp gasp of relief. The pilot was no one she had ever seen before; thickset, untanned, with dark curly hair around a glistening bald spot.
He shook hands with the man from the car and smiled at the grimy mechanic.
“You needn’t do a thing, son,” he instructed. “I’ve only come from Lynn, and I am leaving in an hour.” The mechanic nodded and turned away; the two men climbed into the big car, chatting.
“Scratch my brilliant idea,” said Alex regretfully, “it isn’t Ned after all. Why, Cynthia, you’re pale! Good Lord, have I pulled a boner, bringing you here? Some tragic memory—?”
“What an idea! I am perfectly all right,” she protested, so wildly relieved that she bubbled with gaiety. “And you aren’t very polite to comment on my lack of makeup.” She leaned forward to study her face in the rearview mirror. “I think that I look particularly well!”
“Sorry. Maybe it was my imagination.”
As the big car started the pilot leaned out and called to the young man in the coupé. “No headlines for you today, Scoop. I came over to sign a lease with Kerriman here, that’s all. Too bad.”
To Cynthia Alex murmured, “That’s young Parker, who runs the local weekly paper, in that broken down car. Everyone calls him ‘Scoop.’ I guess he thought he had one with a strange plane landing here.”
When the two cars drove off he asked, “Mind if I look over the plane for a minute? If you’d rather, we’ll pull out for the drive I promised at once.”
“Of course not!”
Cynthia tried to make amends for her former lack of interest by going with him while he inspected the little plane. No wonder it appeared familiar; except for the color, and a single control system where Eric’s had been dual, it was the model in which she had flown with him.
VIII
They were returning to their car when the mechanic came out of the building.
“Hello,” Alex said. “We were just looking at the plane. A very neat job.”
“Yessir.” The young man was frowning, pushing back the hair from his forehead with nervous fingers. He burst out with an anxious stammer, “Say, what do you think I ought to do? There’s a couple of kids out there,” he pointed toward the sea, “and I think they ought to be brought in! I called the Yacht Club, but nobody answered.”
“Probably,” Alex suggested, “it’s so early in the season that there isn’t anyone there and the attendant may be out on the dock. I see the boys now.” He directed Cynthia’s attention to a bright orange square bobbing far out on the blue water.
“What an odd shape for a sail.” Shading her eyes she made out an orange hull below, and the two tiny figures in it.
The mechanic was chewing his lip, his frown intensified.
“It’s an inflated life raft, ma’am; they’re fitted with a couple of oars and a piece of canvas for an emergency sail. That’s the O’Hara boys; their father bought ’em the raft yesterday, but they weren’t supposed to take it out until he tested it. It’s a Navy surplus, no telling how old it is. I’ll bet it’s half rotten!”
“I don’t believe that the Navy would sell a defective life raft, surplus or not,” Alex objected.
“O’Hara didn’t get it direct. Some guy at Gloucester sold it to him cheap, so he wanted to make sure it was O.K. before the kids used it. I’ll bet they sneaked it out. O’Hara had it stored at the Allens’—that gray house down there. I tried to call them, too, but couldn’t raise anyone, and there’s no one else this side of the Point that has a boat.” He sucked in his breath with a nervous hiss. “Judas, look at the waves pound that raft!”
Inexperienced though she was Cynthia stood appalled at the bursts of white spray which almost hid the craft from view. “How big are those boys?” she asked.
The man kept his eyes on the raft.
“Tommy’s twelve or so, I guess, his brother’s about nine. The crazy little fools! Gee, sir, I think we ought to do something about them, and quick!”
“So do I,” Alex muttered. “How about calling the Harbor, you must know someone there who has a boat?”
“But that’s way ’round the other side of the Point; take half an hour to get here. That’s why I thought of the Yacht Club. Maybe I should call the Coast Guard?”
“You do that, and fast!” Alex advised. “And we’ll drive down to the Club. We might find someone around or a boat that I can take out. Let’s go, Cynthia!”
They were in the convertible, backing with spinning wheels to swing around toward the gap in the stone wall, when a frantic yell sent Alex’s foot stamping on the brake pedal.
“They’ve gone over!” the mechanic shouted, beckoning wildly. “They’re in the water!”
“Can they hang onto the raft?” Alex slid out of the car and Cynthia followed, her mouth dry with excitement.
“There’s nothing to hang onto! It’s gone. The darn thing came apart all at once, must have been rotten at every seam! My God, what’ll we do?”
Alex laid a hand on his arm.
“Steady, pal. Can those boys swim?”
“Tommy can, pretty good. I don’t know about Sam. But they’re so far out—and it’s mighty rough.”
“Call the Coast Guard,” Alex ordered, “and be quick!”
Cynthia stood numb, unconsciously counting the times that the two black heads were hidden and revealed by successive waves.
“One boy is in front,” she murmured. “That must be the older—Tommy. Oh, Alex, the other one has stopped swimming, he’s being swamped with waves—he’ll drown!”
“Don’t panic, Cynthy.” His hand was on her shoulder while he watched. “There, I thought so. Tommy’s going back to him.”
“How wonderful!” she breathed. “And only twelve years old!”
“That’s his brother, gal; he’ll stick with him, but how long can he keep him afloat?”
The mechanic charged out of the building. “Are they still there? I got the Guard and they’re sending a boat and a helicopter, but they’re too far away. It’ll take fifteen or twenty minutes to get here!”
“Too long!” Alex growled. “We’ll try the Yacht Club, but it’s a gamble.” He turned toward the car and noticed the yellow plane. “Say!” He whirled on the mechanic. “Can you fly that thing?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you! I can’t, but I’ll go along and drop a couple of lifebelts to the boys, if you’ll take me up.”
Cynthia saw the color drain from the young man’s cheeks. Her own throat contracted painfully and there was aching emptiness where her heart should have been when he stammered:
“Gee, no sir! I couldn’t. I don’t fly; I just help around here.”
“Damn!” Alex started for his car.
“Alex!” The girl brushed a mist from her eyes and forced dry lips to whisper, “I can fly that plane.”
He stared at her a moment before his hand closed on her arm with a grip that made her wince.
“Do you mean that?” he snapped.
“Yes.” Now that the die was cast she could speak clearly. “I have flown that type of plane any number of times. I would have qualified as a pilot only—only I never got around to it.”
“Can you take me out there and get close enough to drop life preservers right next to them?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“You can!” His compelling eyes held hers. “I’ll bet on you to come through in any emergency—you’ve got what it takes, Cynthy. Will you try?”
She drew courage from his eyes and strong hand holding her. “I’ll try, Alex,” she promised.
“You’ll do it!” He turned to bark at the young man. “You, feller! Find a couple of life jackets, Mae Wests, anything. And bring a length of rope.” The mechanic dove for the doorway, Alex swung back to Cynthia. “Go ahead—get in and start the motor!”
It was a wonderful tonic for her nervousness to have him take charge with such assurance; how could she hesitate in the face of his confidence? Her heartbeat slowed to normal when she took her seat and settled her feet on the rudder pedals.
“Anything I can do?” he asked, climbing in beside her.
“Not a thing—yet.” As coolly as though it was a routine training flight she checked the fuel gauge and the other vital controls.
The mechanic appeared at Alex’s door and piled a pair of orange kapok jackets and a few feet of heavy cord onto his lap.
“Hey!” he panted. “Wait a minute! What if the guy that owns this plane comes back? He didn’t lock it and I’m responsible—”
“I wish he was here now!” Alex grunted.
“A little more faith in your pilot, please,” Cynthia suggested, and drew an approving grin from him.
“I mean,” the man persisted, “he may be sore.”
“He won’t be, and don’t worry. If I have to I’ll buy him a new plane,” Alex promised. “Are the boys still in sight?”
“Yeah. Good luck!” He dropped from the step and slammed the door.
Cynthia flicked the switch, and hoping that the engine was still warm, pressed the starter. The propeller clicked over, whirled faster—the motor roared to life.
“I’ll have to taxi to the far end of the field and take off this way, into the wind, so it may be rough riding,” she warned.
“Just get me out to those kids!”
As the plane took off at last Cynthia experienced a sensation which she had never known in all her flights with Eric. Was it because another, utterly different man sat beside her that she thrilled to the feeling of freedom? They were together, clear of the earth, soaring into the limitless blue arch of the sky. Eagerly she lifted the plane into a steep circling climb.
The green and brown of Newbury Point wheeled below them, dropping swiftly away to a miniature relief map. The cluster of buildings around the Harbor dwindled to specks with only the sprawling white and black bulk of the hotel still recognizable, and far off the green and white patchwork quilt of fields and highways spreading across the mainland. Then there was only the brilliant blue of the sea below, twinkling with a million diamond-bright whitecaps.
She nosed the plane down, swinging toward the area where the raft had been.
“There they are!” she pointed suddenly.
“I see them.” Alex was as composed as though he sat in an armchair on the Harbor House veranda. “Fly as low over them as you can with safety; I leave that to your judgment.”
Spurred by his confidence she studied the scene.
“I’d better run past them and come back against the wind as I did when we took off,” she muttered. “And I’ll drop the wing flaps. All that will slow us up, but I’m afraid we’ll still be traveling over fifty miles an hour. Try to make allowance for that when you drop the life preservers.”
“I’ll do my best, but I never had any bombing practice.” He was connecting the two orange jackets with the cord. “Maybe this will help; if either of these falls within reach they can get them both.”
The boys disappeared under a wave, reappeared. Cynthia thought that she could see one white face raised toward the plane for an instant before they went under again. Her heart almost failed her at the speed with which the tossing sea and the two tiny dark heads came rushing toward the plane. She throttled down the motor even more, until the plane trembled toward a stall, and in a brief flash of panic she was forced to increase the speed.
Alex unbuckled his safety belt, slid open his window and looked down, the jackets clutched in his hands. The wind whipped his hair wildly as he waited. Then he flung the bundle straight down and watched its fall.
Cynthia was too busy with the controls to look back but her heart jumped with hope when he shouted, “They landed close!” He drew back into his seat, struggled out of his sweater and then bent to unlace his shoes and kick them off.
“Circle over them again,” he ordered. “If Tommy doesn’t reach those jackets I’ll go down and lend him a hand.”
“You can’t do that! You’d be killed!”
“Looks as if we’re only about fifty feet above the water, but I might at that,” he admitted calmly. “Just the same, I’m not going to let a couple of boys drown for fear of getting wet.”
“Getting wet?” she wailed. “Don’t you realize what it might do to you, if you hit the water at the speed we are going?”
“Clamp down on those jittery nerves, gal, you’re scaring me.” He looked out the window again, then closed it. “Glad to report that I take no high dive today,” he said cheerfully, “as I’m not needed down there. The dependable Tommy has both life jackets and is now hauling his brother onto one of them. What a boy!”
“I’d better keep on circling them, to be sure they are all right,” Cynthia remarked. “See the Coast Guard anywhere?”
“ ‘Sister Anne, Sister Anne, do you see anyone coming?’ ” he quoted with a grin. “That’s from ‘Bluebeard,’ isn’t it? No, ma’am, nothing visible as yet in sea or sky. Wait! Correction! There is a boat to the south, and from the wake she’s leaving it must be the U.S. Cavalry galloping to the rescue.”
Alex peered below. “Both kids are in the jackets now, safe and sound, so far. What say we run down to that Guard boat and lead them up here. We might offer them a tow.”
Cynthia guessed that his flippancy was meant to relax her, and she acknowledged it with a smile. They sped downwind until they could turn low above the white cruiser.
Alex waved to the figures on the bridge. “ ‘Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State!’—Longfellow,” he said cheerfully.
At his suggestion Cynthia laid a course back toward the shipwrecked mariners, and the big cruiser swung its bow after her to follow, throwing aside rolling furrows of foam. She continued her watchful circling above the boys until the ship arrived and dropped a boat close to the brilliant jackets. She drew a deep breath of relief when they were hauled safely aboard.
“Haven’t you a suitable quotation for that?” she asked Alex disparagingly.
“No, the literary hour is over. Sorry it was so far above the intelligence quotient of the listening audience,” he cut back good-humoredly. “The skipper of that ship will take it from here, believe me! I’ll bet that the boys will receive a classic dressing down.”
He relaxed in his seat with a sigh and closed his eyes.
“What say you take this crate in before you burn up all that poor man’s gas,” he suggested.
Cynthia laughed lightheartedly. It was heaven to feel so carefree again. “Are you sure you don’t mean, before I make a mistake and spill us both in the drink?” She headed back toward the Point. “I must salute your courage, sir, in trusting your life to a girl who suddenly claimed that she could fly. How did you know that I wasn’t just driven to crazy desperation by the boys’ danger?”
“Let’s not talk about my courage; you have cast-iron nerves. I sensed it when you so coolly figured how best to approach and drop the jackets. You must have flown a great deal, Cynthy, and yet you acted completely bored with the field and the plane at first.”
“Let’s not talk about that, either,” she protested firmly. “Not now or ever, please. It is a closed chapter.” They were over the flying field again. “Here goes for a landing, if I can remember to do everything right!”
She did. The plane ended its run without incident, coming to a stop almost where it had stood before. With the last sputtering of the engine reaction claimed her and she shivered violently. Her hands were wet and trembling when she opened the door and stepped down. Alex was already out and steadied her.
The mechanic met her with outstretched hand, his face pink with excitement.
“Nice going, ma’am! Nice going! I saw the whole thing!”
“So did I!” yelped a breathless voice and the young reporter pushed past him to shake her hand. “You, too, Mr. Houston!” he chattered, and insisted on seizing Alex’s hand for a vigorous grip. “What a story! I saw the plane when it took off, and I knew that the owner wasn’t here, so I drove back in a hurry. I figured maybe someone was stealing it, but this is even better!”
