“Once in a while. I have friends on the Cape. I stayed with them last year. But I'll be in California for the next few months. I could give you a call when I get back. Maybe your father would like to come with us too.”
“He'd love that,” she said warmly. To Kate, it sounded like a fine idea. All she could think of now was how they would sell it to her mother. But who knew if he'd really call her. Probably not.
“Do you go to school?” he asked with a curious expression, and she nodded. He had stopped his formal education at twenty, and the rest of his education he had gotten in planes, once Lindbergh took him under his wing.
“I'm going to college in the fall,” Kate said quietly.
“Do you know where?”
“I'm waiting to hear. I want to go to Radcliffe, my father went to Harvard. I'd go there too, if I could. But Radcliffe is close enough. My mother wants me to go to Vassar, which is where she went. I've applied there too. But I don't like it quite as much. I think I'd rather stay in Boston anyway. Or maybe Barnard here in New York. I like New York too. Do you?” Her eyes were wide as she asked him, and he was touched.
“I'm not so sure. I'm kind of a small-town guy,” but as he said it, she wasn't sure she agreed. It was where his roots were, but something about him suggested that he had outgrown small-town living more than he knew. He had become part of a much larger world, he just hadn't realized it himself yet, but she did.
They were still chatting about the virtues of Boston and New York when her father wandered over and she introduced him to Joe.
“I'm afraid I've been monopolizing your daughter,” Joe said, looking anxious. He was afraid Clarke Jamison was going to be annoyed with him because of her age, but it had been so easy talking to her. They had been sitting together for nearly two hours, when her father appeared.
“I can't say that I blame you,” her father said pleasantly. “She's good company. I wondered where she was, but I can see she's been in good hands.” He thought Joe seemed intelligent and polite, and when he heard his name, he was undeniably surprised. Clarke knew from what he'd read of him in the papers that he was a flying ace of considerable note, and wondered how he had happened on Kate, and if she knew who he was. Next to Lindbergh, he was one of the best, although less famous than he, but not by much. Clarke knew he had won cross-country flying races in Dutch Kindelberger's famous P-51 Mustang.
“Joe offered to take us flying sometime. Do you think Mom would have a fit?”
“In a word, yes,” her father laughed, “but maybe I can talk her into it.” And then he turned to Joe, “That's very kind of you to offer, Mr. Allbright. I'm a great admirer of yours, that was quite a record you broke recently”
Joe looked embarrassed at Clarke Jamison's praise, but pleased that he had known. Unlike Charles, Joe succeeded in avoiding the limelight whenever he could, but it was getting harder than ever after his recent feats.
“It was a great flight. I tried to get Charles to come along, but he was busy in Washington with the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics.”
Clarke nodded, impressed, and a lively discussion ensued about war developments in Europe, as Kate's mother joined them. She said it was getting late, and she wanted to go home. And a moment later, Clarke introduced Joe to his wife. He seemed shy, but very polite. And it was obvious that they were all ready to leave. Without a moment's hesitation, as they wandered toward the door, Clarke handed Joe his card. “Call us if you ever come to Boston,” he said hospitably, and Joe thanked him. “We'll see if we can take you up on your offer, or if nothing else, I will.” And with that, he gave Joe a wink, and the younger man laughed, as Kate smiled. Her father seemed to like Joe a lot. A moment later, Joe shook hands with her father, and said he was going to see if he could find Charles. He knew his mentor didn't like parties any better than he did, he was probably hiding somewhere, and it was hard to find anyone in the crowd. There were still at least five hundred people there, wandering between the house and the heated tent outside. And then, after saying goodnight to her mother, Joe turned to Kate.
“I enjoyed having dinner with you,” he said with eyes that bored into hers. They were like deep blue glowing coals. “I hope to see you again sometime.” He sounded as though he meant it, and she smiled. Of all the people she had met that night, he was the only one who had impressed her, by quite a lot. There was something very rare and remarkable about him, and she knew by the end of the evening that she had met an extraordinary man.
“Good luck in California,” she said softly, wondering if their paths would ever cross again. She was not at all sure he would call. He didn't seem like the type. He had his own world, his own passion, considerable success in his field, and it was unlikely that he would pursue a seventeen-year-old girl. In fact, she was almost certain, just from talking to him, that he would not.
“Thank you, Kate,” he answered. “I hope you get into Radcliffe. I'm sure you will. They'll be lucky to have you, whether your father went to Harvard or not.” He shook her hand then, and this time it was Kate who lowered her eyes under the intensity of his gaze. It was as though he were examining her in every detail, to carve her into his memory. It was an odd feeling, but as he did it, she felt irresistibly drawn to him by a force that was impossible to resist.
“Thank you,” she whispered. And then, with a small awkward bow in her direction, he turned, and disappeared into the crowd to look for Charles.
“He's a remarkable man,” Clarke said admiringly, as they slowly made their way out, and retrieved their coats at the door. “Do the two of you know who he is?” He then proceeded to fill Kate and her mother in on his exceptional feats, and the records he had broken in the past few years. Clarke seemed to know them all.
As they got in the car, Kate stared out the window, thinking of the time she had spent talking to him. The records he had broken had meant nothing to her although she admired him for it, and realized that he was important and accomplished in the rarefied atmosphere in which he lived. But it was the very essence of him that drew her to him. His power, his strength, his gentleness, even his awkwardness had touched her in a way no one else ever had. She knew at that very moment, without question, that he had taken some part of her with him, and what was troubling her as she looked out the window, was that she had no idea if she'd ever see him again.
2
AFTER THE GLITTERING debutante ball at Christmas, as Kate had suspected, she didn't hear from Joe Allbright. Despite the card her father had given him, he didn't call. She read about him, and made a point of looking for news of him, and she saw his name in the newspapers, and even newsreels of him when he won races from time to time. He had broken several records in California, and had won acclaim for the latest plane he'd designed with the help of Dutch Kindelberger and John Leland Atwood. She knew now that Joe's flying was legendary, but he was off in his own world, far from hers, and had undoubtedly forgotten her.
He seemed entirely part of another life, light-years from hers. And she was certain now that she would never see him again. For the rest of her life, she would read about him, and remember the hours she'd spent talking to him one night when she was a young girl.
In April, she was accepted at Radcliffe, and her parents were ecstatic, as was she. The war was not going well in Europe, and they talked about it constantly. Her father still insisted that Roosevelt would not allow the United States to get involved, but nonetheless, accounts of what was happening were disturbing, and two of the young men she knew had gone to England and joined the RAE The Axis had begun a counteroffensive in North Africa, and General Rommel was relentlessly winning battles with the Afrikakorps. In Europe, Germany had invaded Yugoslavia and Greece, and Italy had declared war on Yugoslavia. And in London, there were as many as two thousand people being killed per day in Luftwaffe raids.