smoking near the aircraft, and busied himself with the log. Surely her mother would never let her try to fly the Atlantic! He would follow her to New York, and they'd have to marry. They had traveled throughout France together, stopping at inns he knew to be tolerant, where the proprietors were too sophisti cated to ask embarrassing questions. She told him that it was different in America, that people were, as she put it, "nosy."
Stephan wanted to marry her, to take her off the market, to make her his own while she still was captivated by him. It did not matter that his parents would not be happy. For years it had been assumed that he would marry Angelique, the daughter of a family friend whose father happened to own a few thousand acres in the Loire Valley. It would have been a good match.
***
Chapter 2
Roosevelt Field, Long Island/May 19, 1927
Bruno Hafner was angrier with the doctor attending him than with Bandfield. The young physician, just out of school, was worried about the effect the wound might have on Hafner's ability to undertake a long flight, and insisted on keeping him under observa tion. When Hafner protested too loudly, the doctor resorted to sedatives.
Hafner's enforced "vacation" was viewed by Dusty Rhoades with mixed emotions. It left him with little to do—and that always led to trouble, to the futile fight against his habit. He spent the morning trying to distract himself, elbowing his way through the good- humored, excited airport crowd that was only lightly sprinkled with pickpockets and con men. One enterprising salesman had a folding stand from which he sold "autographs of all the flyers" on regular penny postcards. You could buy a Richard Byrd for a dollar, a Hafner for seventy-five cents, a Lindbergh for fifty cents, or a Rhoades for a quarter, reflecting the flyers' fame and an assessment of their chances. Since the fire, Bandfield's cards had been marked down to a dime. Rhoades toyed with the idea of telling the police the truth, that none of the signatures were genuine, but decided to live and let live.
His charitable feelings stemmed in part from his own guilty feelings about his increasingly forced relationship with Hafner. He wanted to make the flight; he didn't want to make it with the German. He recognized that it was his own fault that there were so few alternatives, yet he entertained the wistful fantasy that Hafner would develop both a complication and a conscience and tell him to go on alone.
He saw Lindbergh walk toward him, then suddenly duck in the hangar. Slim was apparently trying to keep his distance from every one to avoid taking sides in the argument. Relentless, Rhoades followed him inside and caught him at the door.
"Got a second, Slim?"
Lindbergh's thin voice was stern, like that of an aging high school teacher whose patience has been exhausted. "Not really, Dusty. After what's been going on, I need all the time I can get just to do some thinking."
"Yeah, me too. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. You know Bandfield. Do you think he's all wrong about Hafner?"
The tall pilot stood, arching his back to stretch, eyes surveying the end of the field. Rhoades was Hafner's copilot, and Lindbergh didn't know the motive for the question. He decided to play it safe. "I was in flying school with Bandfield. He was first-rate, and would have made a good officer. I can't believe he's simply going off half-cocked. Nor can I believe Hafner is an arsonist."
"Me either."
"Both men have behaved pretty well since. Bandfield wouldn't apologize, but he dropped the idea of an investigation. And I understand Hafner just wants to forget the whole thing and get back to the field."
"Yes, that's what Charlotte tells me."
Lindbergh's expression didn't change. "Look, I've got to run. I think Hafner's right—everyone should let the matter drop. I'll just be glad when I get off from here, and get away from the crowds and the intrigues."
Rhoades watched him walk off, feeling
Stephan wanted to marry her, to take her off the market, to make her his own while she still was captivated by him. It did not matter that his parents would not be happy. For years it had been assumed that he would marry Angelique, the daughter of a family friend whose father happened to own a few thousand acres in the Loire Valley. It would have been a good match.
***
Chapter 2
Roosevelt Field, Long Island/May 19, 1927
Bruno Hafner was angrier with the doctor attending him than with Bandfield. The young physician, just out of school, was worried about the effect the wound might have on Hafner's ability to undertake a long flight, and insisted on keeping him under observa tion. When Hafner protested too loudly, the doctor resorted to sedatives.
Hafner's enforced "vacation" was viewed by Dusty Rhoades with mixed emotions. It left him with little to do—and that always led to trouble, to the futile fight against his habit. He spent the morning trying to distract himself, elbowing his way through the good- humored, excited airport crowd that was only lightly sprinkled with pickpockets and con men. One enterprising salesman had a folding stand from which he sold "autographs of all the flyers" on regular penny postcards. You could buy a Richard Byrd for a dollar, a Hafner for seventy-five cents, a Lindbergh for fifty cents, or a Rhoades for a quarter, reflecting the flyers' fame and an assessment of their chances. Since the fire, Bandfield's cards had been marked down to a dime. Rhoades toyed with the idea of telling the police the truth, that none of the signatures were genuine, but decided to live and let live.
His charitable feelings stemmed in part from his own guilty feelings about his increasingly forced relationship with Hafner. He wanted to make the flight; he didn't want to make it with the German. He recognized that it was his own fault that there were so few alternatives, yet he entertained the wistful fantasy that Hafner would develop both a complication and a conscience and tell him to go on alone.
He saw Lindbergh walk toward him, then suddenly duck in the hangar. Slim was apparently trying to keep his distance from every one to avoid taking sides in the argument. Relentless, Rhoades followed him inside and caught him at the door.
"Got a second, Slim?"
Lindbergh's thin voice was stern, like that of an aging high school teacher whose patience has been exhausted. "Not really, Dusty. After what's been going on, I need all the time I can get just to do some thinking."
"Yeah, me too. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. You know Bandfield. Do you think he's all wrong about Hafner?"
The tall pilot stood, arching his back to stretch, eyes surveying the end of the field. Rhoades was Hafner's copilot, and Lindbergh didn't know the motive for the question. He decided to play it safe. "I was in flying school with Bandfield. He was first-rate, and would have made a good officer. I can't believe he's simply going off half-cocked. Nor can I believe Hafner is an arsonist."
"Me either."
"Both men have behaved pretty well since. Bandfield wouldn't apologize, but he dropped the idea of an investigation. And I understand Hafner just wants to forget the whole thing and get back to the field."
"Yes, that's what Charlotte tells me."
Lindbergh's expression didn't change. "Look, I've got to run. I think Hafner's right—everyone should let the matter drop. I'll just be glad when I get off from here, and get away from the crowds and the intrigues."
Rhoades watched him walk off, feeling
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