much, so young.
“Well, naturally they do now, but you know—‘power corrupts, but absolute power corrupts absolutely,’ as they say.”
“What? What is that?”
“You know, the famous quote by Lord Acton—haven’t youheard—never mind.” I faltered, because I saw his features harden. I imagined that since Paris, not many people had dared to contradict or school him.
I couldn’t quite forget, however, those long months when he hadn’t thought to drop me even a note, so I blurted out, “It’s just that I think it might be a dangerous thingto believe, that’s all—that everyone looks up to you, even if they do. It’s probably not a good idea to believe it too much. It could change a person, you know. Harden him.”
“You think that, do you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you think I’m hard?”
“No. Not yet, anyway.” I refused to worry that I had offended him. He had asked my opinion, and I had given it to him.
Neither of us spoke for a few moments.Then he grunted and nodded once, as if granting me a rare privilege. We drove on in silence.
“I fear I have done all the talking,” he finally burst out, and I secretly rejoiced that he had felt the need to break the silence first; I had proven to be his equal, in stubbornness, anyway. Then I almost laughed; compared to most of the boys I knew, he had revealed almost nothing about himself. I’dlearned nothing about his family, for instance. Or his childhood—it was as if his life had only begun after Paris. And maybe, with the incessant press coverage and public mania, the newsreels, the parades and honors—it had. The part of his life he was willing—or forced—to share, anyway.
“No need to fear,” I assured him. “I’ve enjoyed it. All of it. This whole day—even with the broken wheel.”
“Not many women would say that.” He grinned approvingly, and I sat up straight, feeling much taller than my five feet. “Tell me something about yourself, Anne. What do you want to do?”
“That’s quite a large question.”
“No, it’s simple, really. What do you want to do ? The one thing you can’t stop thinking about? For me, it was Paris. On all those long flights delivering the mail, I couldn’t stopthinking about it, puzzling it over until I had the answer, and when it came to me, I did it. So what do you want to do?”
See the Pyramids. Make my brother healthy and happy. Marry a hero —so many thoughts to choose from, so many ideas coming to mind, that I had to gather them to me, quickly, before I blurted them all out.
Charles Lindbergh continued to wait patiently, but he expected an answer;I could see it in the upward thrust of his dimpled chin, the level gaze of his eyes. Reliving our day together—trapped in the sky in that hot cylinder with such a man, such a courageous, noble man; feeling, for the first time, a woman tested and not found wanting, a schoolgirl no longer—I was aware of something blossoming within me. So I said the thing I had never allowed myself to say out loudto anyone; not even to myself.
“I would—I would like to write a great book. Just one. I would be satisfied with that. To paint pictures with words, to help people see what I see, through my language—oh, to be able to do that!”
Charles studied me in silence, his face impassive. And the man who had flown across an ocean on the power of his own belief and no one else’s told me, “Then you will.”
Was it as simple as that? I leaned back in my seat and stared at the road ahead; we were nearing the city now, streetlights were lit, buildings closer and closer together. As simple as stating a goal, then doing it? All my life I had grappled with doubts and fears; I wasn’t as pretty and smart as Elisabeth, I wasn’t a boy like Dwight, I wasn’t witty and fun like Con. I had brilliant, driven parents.Always had I felt eclipsed and, I had to admit, there wasa part of me that took comfort in that feeling. For it absolved me of ever having to
“Well, naturally they do now, but you know—‘power corrupts, but absolute power corrupts absolutely,’ as they say.”
“What? What is that?”
“You know, the famous quote by Lord Acton—haven’t youheard—never mind.” I faltered, because I saw his features harden. I imagined that since Paris, not many people had dared to contradict or school him.
I couldn’t quite forget, however, those long months when he hadn’t thought to drop me even a note, so I blurted out, “It’s just that I think it might be a dangerous thingto believe, that’s all—that everyone looks up to you, even if they do. It’s probably not a good idea to believe it too much. It could change a person, you know. Harden him.”
“You think that, do you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you think I’m hard?”
“No. Not yet, anyway.” I refused to worry that I had offended him. He had asked my opinion, and I had given it to him.
Neither of us spoke for a few moments.Then he grunted and nodded once, as if granting me a rare privilege. We drove on in silence.
“I fear I have done all the talking,” he finally burst out, and I secretly rejoiced that he had felt the need to break the silence first; I had proven to be his equal, in stubbornness, anyway. Then I almost laughed; compared to most of the boys I knew, he had revealed almost nothing about himself. I’dlearned nothing about his family, for instance. Or his childhood—it was as if his life had only begun after Paris. And maybe, with the incessant press coverage and public mania, the newsreels, the parades and honors—it had. The part of his life he was willing—or forced—to share, anyway.
“No need to fear,” I assured him. “I’ve enjoyed it. All of it. This whole day—even with the broken wheel.”
“Not many women would say that.” He grinned approvingly, and I sat up straight, feeling much taller than my five feet. “Tell me something about yourself, Anne. What do you want to do?”
“That’s quite a large question.”
“No, it’s simple, really. What do you want to do ? The one thing you can’t stop thinking about? For me, it was Paris. On all those long flights delivering the mail, I couldn’t stopthinking about it, puzzling it over until I had the answer, and when it came to me, I did it. So what do you want to do?”
See the Pyramids. Make my brother healthy and happy. Marry a hero —so many thoughts to choose from, so many ideas coming to mind, that I had to gather them to me, quickly, before I blurted them all out.
Charles Lindbergh continued to wait patiently, but he expected an answer;I could see it in the upward thrust of his dimpled chin, the level gaze of his eyes. Reliving our day together—trapped in the sky in that hot cylinder with such a man, such a courageous, noble man; feeling, for the first time, a woman tested and not found wanting, a schoolgirl no longer—I was aware of something blossoming within me. So I said the thing I had never allowed myself to say out loudto anyone; not even to myself.
“I would—I would like to write a great book. Just one. I would be satisfied with that. To paint pictures with words, to help people see what I see, through my language—oh, to be able to do that!”
Charles studied me in silence, his face impassive. And the man who had flown across an ocean on the power of his own belief and no one else’s told me, “Then you will.”
Was it as simple as that? I leaned back in my seat and stared at the road ahead; we were nearing the city now, streetlights were lit, buildings closer and closer together. As simple as stating a goal, then doing it? All my life I had grappled with doubts and fears; I wasn’t as pretty and smart as Elisabeth, I wasn’t a boy like Dwight, I wasn’t witty and fun like Con. I had brilliant, driven parents.Always had I felt eclipsed and, I had to admit, there wasa part of me that took comfort in that feeling. For it absolved me of ever having to
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