A Flying Affair Read Online Free Page B

the bi-winged plane followed by a funny feeling in her stomach as, one with the machine, she nose-dived. The verdant meadows below rose faster and faster, the horses in the paddock just specks a moment before, now so close she could see their nostrils flaring. The pace of her heart inched upward, her breath trapped in her chest. A cramp clenched the calf muscle of her right leg as she kept her feet steady on the rudder bar, trying to decide whether the impact would be greater if she stayed level or tipped the wings right or left. Where was the lever for the flaps? Pull back. Pull back on the stick!
    A flash of blue blinded her, and Mittie startled from her sleep. Had she crashed? Another flash followed and with it a boom that shook the windowpanes of her upstairs bedroom. A torrent beat the glass behind lace curtains, and somewhere in the distance, a banging noise beat a steady rhythm. A shutter on a window in the servants’ wing? The rusty-hinged door to the garden shed? She shook the foggy sleep from her head, her muscles still taut from maneuvering the Canuck in her dreams.
    The horses . They would be spooked and that furious wind might’ve damaged the pens. She leaned over to switch on the lamp, but the storm had knocked out the electricity. She stumbled in the dark to the chifforobe and fished around until she came up with jodhpurs and a riding shirt. She dressed quickly and retrieved a kerosene lantern and matches, then felt her way to the banister of the staircase.
    “Mittie? Is that you?” Her mother’s voice drifted from the end of the hall.
    “Yes, Mother. I’m going to the barns. Tell Daddy not to worry.”
    “He’s already got himself worked up. Hasn’t had a wink of sleep all night and now this.” Her mother had made her way to Mittie’s side, blackness between them as the rain beat the roof over their heads. “You can’t do anything in the rain. Let Ogilvie take care of the horses. That’s what we pay him a king’s ransom to do.”
    “It’s my responsibility, Mother—you know that. Besides, Daddy will want a full report. Was it his back bothering him all night or did the storm keep him awake?”
    “Muscle spasms. I just gave him that new miracle powder the doctor gave him. Maybe it will help.” It had been three years since her daddy’s accident, the broken back that had kept him bedfast for two years and left her to shoulder the operation of Morning Glory Farms. He’d made great strides, and only in the past few months had Mittie dared to hope that one day she’d be free to sort out her own dreams for the future.
    At the base of the stairs, the grandfather clock chimed. Mittie waited to hear the hour. Five o’clock. “It will be light as soon as the storm passes. Tell Daddy to rest, and I’ll be in later to give him any news.”
    Mittie didn’t wait for an argument from her mother and took the lantern to the mudroom behind the servants’ kitchen where she wriggled into riding boots and a slicker. She removed the globe from the lamp, adjusted the wick, and lit it. Then, clutching its wire handle, she braced against the wind and made her way to the stables.
    Mittie found Parker Ogilvie, their stable foreman, in the big barn where six stalls flanked each side of the center promenade. As she suspected, the horses were in a tizzy, neighing, pawing the sawdust and straw mix over the earthen floor. Like worker bees in a hive, the half dozen grooms who lived in the bunkhouse worked by lantern light, cooing to the horses, tethering a couple that were more high-strung, bringing in pitchforks of fresh straw. And in the midst, Ogilvie sat in a straight chair in the center of the promenade barking orders, whittling on a stick.
    His head jerked up when Mittie called his name. “Morning, Miss Humphreys. Anything I can do for you?”
    “I came to check on the horses, see if there was any damage from the storm.”
    “None that I can see. Got us a few frisky ones, but the boys’ll get ’em right