The uncharted flight of.., p.1
The Uncharted Flight of Olivia West, page 1
Praise for the novels of Sara Ackerman
“A fast-paced, lushly described historical adventure... Thoughtful, romantic and ultimately hopeful, The Codebreaker’s Secret is a riveting story of intrigue and love in wartime.”
—Shelf Awareness
“Beautifully structured and well-told with authentic historical detail...another top historical novel by Ackerman.”
—Booklist (starred review) on The Codebreaker’s Secret
“Once again Sara Ackerman delivers with a riveting novel of WWII-era Hawai’i. Her vivid storytelling makes the island come alive around you. A plucky heroine, a decades-old mystery, and a stirring romance make this book positively unputdownable!”
—Amanda Skenandore, author of The Second Life of Mirielle West, on The Codebreaker’s Secret
“This historical fiction novel is empowering... Deliciously visceral, readers will be transported into the dreamy Hawaiian backdrop.”
—Bookriot on Radar Girls
“I trust this author to bring me a great story: filled with excellent research, vivid descriptive details, characters to root for, and engaging from page one.”
—Reading Ladies Book Club on Radar Girls
“Ackerman’s winning historical novel is fast-paced and rife with nonstop action, romance, and suspense.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Lieutenant’s Nurse
“The Lieutenant’s Nurse illuminates the attack on Pearl Harbor with a riveting drama told from a unique perspective. Sara Ackerman brings a time and place to vivid life, putting a human and heroic face on events that changed history. I savored every page!”
—Susan Wiggs, #1 New York Times bestselling author
Sara Ackerman
The Uncharted Flight of Olivia West
For Lucy & Kitty, my most faithful companions.
Born and raised in Hawai’i, Sara Ackerman studied journalism and earned graduate degrees in psychology and Chinese medicine. When she’s not writing or teaching, you’ll find her in the mountains or in the ocean.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Discussion Questions
1
* * *
* * *
THIRTY-SEVEN MINUTES
Olivia
San Diego, 1920
Livy had been coming to the airfield for months now but still had yet to go up in an airplane. On weekends, when Pa was out fishing, she would offer to wash the planes or do whatever odd jobs she could for a penny, while watching planes go up. Always hoping to get a ride, but so far out of luck. Though not for a lack of trying. She had been pestering Mr. Ryan for months now. “Paying customers only,” was his standard response. “Or students.” But so far, all students were men. A sixteen-year-old girl had no business in a cockpit.
Ryan Flying Company and School of Aviation was on the edge of the Dutch Flats alongside the San Diego Bay and the Marine Corps Recruit Depot, a long Spanish-style building with a tall bell tower in the middle. Palm trees neatly lined up in front like green soldiers at attention. When the tide pulled out, you could smell salty brine and decaying sea life. The hangar was modern and clean, but it was plopped on a brown expanse of hard-packed mud that kicked up dust when dry. Of late, the place had become a magnet for all things aviation. Mr. Ryan had begun letting other people park their planes here free of charge, and customers flocked for the sightseeing tours.
On a warm Sunday in March, after surviving a long sermon at church with her mother, Livy beelined it to the airfield. A new pilot had been hired for the tours and she was hoping he might be a softy, and maybe, just maybe, she could persuade him to take her up. Such a gloomy and gusty day, with dark clouds threatening rain, meant less people taking a tour. It also happened that Mr. Ryan was in Los Angeles for the week, and what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.
Livy was hunched over, wiping down the wheels of Mr. Hall’s biplane, when she heard the incoming engine. She stood up to watch the wobbly machine approach. A storm was brewing to the south, you could taste it in the air, and that always made the pilots nervous. She watched the plane make a precarious drop before leveling off, and then come in for a hard landing. As soon as he came to a stop, the new pilot hopped out of the plane, waiting for his customer and holding a hand out when she finally disembarked. A red-haired woman in heels, face white as chalk.
Livy walked over, wiping her hands on her overalls. “How was it up there today?”
The woman staggered past Livy without even a glance. “Never again.”
The pilot trailed behind his passenger and shrugged. “What can I say? Usually, they’re begging for more.”
Once the woman left, zooming off in a shiny Model T, Livy moseyed over to the hangar and stood in the doorway. The pilot was at the counter drinking a Coke and studying a clipboard. With his goggles pulled up on his head, his thick blond hair stood out in all directions, as though he’d stuck his hand in an electric socket.
Livy cleared her throat.
He looked up. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m Olivia West. I work here.”
More like volunteer and hope that people would pay her, but she could dream.
“Oh, right. Mr. Ryan said you might be here. I’m Heath Hazeltine, new pilot.” He was staring oddly at her, and for a second she wondered if she might have grease on her face, like she often did while working here, but then he said with a shake of his head, “I was expecting something different.”
“I come in on the weekends, wipe down planes and other odd jobs,” she said, for some reason feeling like she had to explain, then added, “I’m learning to fly.”
That was a stretch, too, but she did always listen to the pilots talk, watch how they got the propellers spinning and closely observe the takeoffs and landings. She knew which part of the runway was more rutted with potholes, and which angle was best for approach.
He cocked his head slightly. “That so?”
“It is.”
One side of his mouth turned up, just a hint. “I didn’t know women could fly airplanes, let alone teenage girls.”
Livy felt her whole face go red. “I’ll be seventeen in four months. And I’ll bet I know more about airplanes and weather than you do, especially down here in San Diego.”
All she really knew about him was that he’d come from Los Angeles and had flown in Hollywood some, doing stunts. No one had mentioned anything about him being so young. She had been picturing some old guy with a sun-beaten face and graying hair.
“Feisty. I like it,” he said.
She stood on her tippy toes and straightened up, all five feet three inches. Though her thick curls tucked under the hat added some extra height. “Take me up, and I’ll teach you a thing or two.”
He laughed. “What can you teach me?”
When he smiled, his whole face changed, making him seem even younger and a little less arrogant—and painfully handsome. Livy felt a swoosh in her stomach and her cheeks tingled. He couldn’t have been much older than twenty, and yet there was a certain worldliness about him. She found herself wanting to impress him.
“Like I said, I know everything there is to know about this area. What have you got to lose?” she said.
He looked at his watch. “My new job, for one. And I have another tour in twenty minutes, so even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. Want to help me patch that big pothole in the runway?”
None of the other pilots ever offered to fill the potholes, they always figured someone else would do it. The mud stuck to everything and gave off a rank odor, and a lot of them saw it as beneath them.
“How about I go fill those holes for you, and you take me up after your tour,” she said.
She thought he was going to refuse her, like Mr. Ryan always did, but instead he nodded and said, “You’re on.”
Disbelief flooded through her. “Really?”
“Really. Now get out there before my next customer arrives.”
* * *
But the passengers never showed up, most likely on account of the weather, and the books were e
“Sure you want to do this? Those clouds look formidable,” he said.
Livy had noticed the band of charcoal clouds at sea, heralding the foul weather moving up from Mexico. A sudden chill came over her, and she tried to blot out the memory that always accompanied storms blowing in. The dark thing that would always be with her, always haunt the recesses of her mind. Blinding salt spray, cold waves smashing over the bow and washing everything from the deck, the sound of her name being stolen by the whipping wind. Olivia! The last moments of his chafed hand holding on to hers. Her heart began to squeeze in on itself, but she willed the thoughts away.
This storm was likely to be a bad one, but hell if she was going to blow her only chance to fly. Timed right, they’d be able to outrun it.
“Positive. From the looks of it, we have about thirty-seven minutes before that front hits here. Just head north along the coast and we should be back in time.”
She climbed into her seat, and he leaned in and tightened the belt on her waist. “Thirty-seven, huh? Not thirty-six?” he said, close enough that she caught a whiff of mint and salt water.
When he pulled away, their eyes met. Chocolate brown with flecks of fire. Her first instinct was to look away, but instead, she held his gaze.
“Nope, thirty-seven. Let’s go, we’re wasting time,” she said. “Oh, and you’ll probably want to come in from the east on your approach. The wind will swing around coming in off the ocean when it moves in.”
When he stepped back, he almost fell off the wing, catching himself on the wire. They both laughed, breaking whatever strange thing it was that had just passed between them. Without another word, he hopped in and started up the engine. After a few sputters, it chugged to life. Livy slid her goggles on, and made sure her cap was strapped tight. The whole plane buzzed, sending vibrations from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head. As they bounced down the runway, gathering speed, she could hardly believe her luck.
One, two, three. Liftoff.
The shift from clunky and earthbound to weightlessness was unmistakable. Everything went light and buoyant and yet Livy was pinned to her seat as the plane went up. It was a steep climb and all she could see was sky in front of her. She let her head fall back and closed her eyes, imagining herself as an albatross soaring. The hum from the wires that held the wings together grew louder the faster they went. Heath let out a holler and Livy found herself half laughing, half crying. It was even more wonderful than she’d imagined.
When they banked to the right and leveled out some, she saw that she had a bird’s eye view of San Diego Bay, Coronado Island and the city itself—white buildings, red roofs and palm trees. The wind from earlier had died down, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake. They flew toward the cliffs of Point Loma and beyond that, the blue Pacific. There were none of the usual bumps and drops that everyone talked about. It was smooth sailing and she was in awe.
About six minutes out, the nose of the plane suddenly pointed skyward and they began climbing sharply. Pretty soon, they were nearly vertical. Livy knew all her specs of the Curtiss JN 4 “Jenny”—top speed was about eighty miles an hour, she dove well, but when climbing fast, she had a tendency to stall. So, what the heck was Heath doing?
Just when Livy felt like she might slide out of her seat backward, he leveled out and plunged them into a nosedive. If she had any food in her stomach, it might have come out then. Even though she was strapped in, she braced herself with her arms as she watched the beach below come up fast. Heath let out a whoop, as if he was having the time of his life.
Next came a series of loop-de-loops and barrel rolls that had her head spinning. It was hard to know which way was up. And between the thrum of the engine and the roar of the wind, it was so darn loud. Every now and then, she checked the wooden struts on the wings to make sure they were holding. This was not your usual sightseeing tour, and Heath was pushing the plane to its limits, obviously trying to make some kind of impression. She knew she ought to be terrified, but she was loving every minute.
When he seemed to have run out of new acrobatic moves to perform, they turned around and headed back toward Dutch Flats, directly into a wall of slate-gray clouds. Livy was finally able to lift her arm to check her watch, and was surprised find that they’d already been up thirty-two minutes. She peered over the side. Beneath them, the water was sleek as oil, but up ahead, there was a line of chop. The wind was coming.
She pointed inland, and yelled, “Head in,” though her voice was lost in the noise.
Heath stayed on his course. The men on the boat had been like this, too, discounting her words. Except for Pa, and Orlando, her uncle. But Orlando was gone now, forever a part of the sea. Pa blamed himself, but Livy knew in her heart the accident was entirely her fault. Which was why she refused to step foot on the boat again.
Flying south over the water, the plane suddenly dropped, launching her stomach into her throat. The feeling was completely different and far more unsettling than the orchestrated dives. They bumped around for a bit, and then lurched to the right. The plane felt as though it was about to flip, when it righted. Livy pointed inland again, this time more vigorously. They were almost to the line where the water went from smooth to frothy whitecaps. Even heading inland, they couldn’t avoid the front, but at least they’d wouldn’t be flying in a crosswind. They had stayed out too long and now they would pay.
Heath banked to the left, and flew toward the city. They were buffeted around like a lost seagull, though the wings on their plane were proportionately much smaller and less aerodynamic. With each hard bump, the wires made a strange plucking sound and the wings creaked and groaned. Thirty-seven minutes out, they flew straight into the edge of dark rain and screeching winds. Nothing could have prepared Livy for the way the plane slammed this way and that. Up and down and sideways. Dutch Flats was close, but in these conditions, they’d be lucky if they made it.
Heath yelled something, but she couldn’t hear. And now, it was impossible to see anything through her goggles as the rain came in on them from all directions. She closed her eyes and pretended she was out on a boat in rough seas, being tossed around. The feeling was similar and she realized how much she missed it. Water currents, air currents. Same thing. Here there was just a longer way to fall.
A couple minutes later, they were miraculously still aloft, though descending quickly. Livy wiped her goggles and was able to make out the flats below them. Heath had listened to her after all—they were approaching from the east and coming in fast. No more than thirty feet off the ground, a strong gust pushed the nose of the plane down, so that Livy was face-to-face with the rutted runway. A strange sense of calm came over her.
So this was what it was like to die. She didn’t fear death so much as leaving her parents behind. Images from her life played in her mind—Pa dunking her in the ice-cold ocean when she was just a wee thing, meeting her best friend, Aurora, on the beach in the driftwood hut all those years ago and the all-encompassing smell of her mother’s rose perfume, sharp and beautiful, just like Ma. They were flashes and then they were gone.
A second later, Heath somehow leveled out the Jenny, and the wheels struck hard ground, tail skid digging in. One of the wings tipped to the side, dragged for a moment and then lifted. They came to a stop. The engine sputtered off. Livy said a silent thank-you to God, untangled the scarf around her neck, unbuckled the seatbelt with shaky hands and stood up. Not a peep out of Heath. She turned around and found him leaning over, his head against the control panels.
“Mr. Hazeltine? Are you okay?” she said, unsure whether he was Heath or Mr. Hazeltine to her.
He didn’t move. Livy climbed out onto the wing and jumped to the ground. She was weak-kneed and perspiring despite the rain and cold, but otherwise felt okay. More than okay, actually—she felt invigorated, electric.
