The Flyer by Marjorie Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

but pure, clean sunlight, or at night flying along the coastline to Perth for supplies. At night, the silence was so formidable, he sometimes felt like he could touch it. Hiking along the Coongan River, playing with the small children of his closest friends, Dale and Emily Winters, giving his mother a kiss on the cheek before she retired for the evening—those were the places he found his spirit, his God. Meeting on Sunday to brag to others about how religious and pious one was had little to do with God or spirituality or anything common to his way of thinking.
    But he sat in the meeting this morning. He tugged at his shirt collar and craned his neck. It was hot. Stuffy. The choir sang “Amazing Grace,” off-key, and Reverend Taylor, towering above the congregation, not only because his pulpit stood a good five feet off the floor, but because he stood six-and-a-half feet tall himself, delivered a sermon meant to frighten every man, woman, and child present to immediately repent.
    Paul listened for a while, but he wasn’t there for the lecture or the music. Three pews in front of him, next to Doc Mallory and his elderly sister, sat the reason he’d risen, shaved, dusted off his suit coat and patent leather shoes, and hauled himself to the First Church of Christ of Port Hedland.
    When Reverend Taylor finally offered the benediction, the choir sang one more hymn, leading the congregation outside. Paul waited in his pew until Helen and her companions had passed, then slid into the exiting flow directly behind her. Close enough to inhale the sweet, floral scent of her perfume. Outside, the sun beat down on the garden where groups of five and six people had formed. Helen stood slightly apart from Doc and his sister, who had already engrossed herself into a recitation of the sermon with two of her lady friends.
    “Look who decided to come to services,” one of the ladies announced, her old, misty eyes wide with obvious shock.
    Mary Mallory smiled. “And I should say it’s about time, too.”
    He used their embarrassing display as an excuse to approach the small group. “I figured after last week’s brush with death, perhaps I’d better make my peace with the Almighty before it’s too late. And did you notice, the ceiling only cracked a little.” From the corner of his eye, he caught a slight movement. Helen had moved farther away, but her eyes were trained on him.
    “You needn’t worry about that, young man,” Mary answered. “The doors are always open, aren’t they?”
    “Yes, ma’am.” He turned his full attention to Helen. “It’s nice to see you again, Dr. Stanwood.”
    “Mr. Campbell. I hope you’re taking care of yourself.”
    “I am, thanks. You did fine work the other day.”
    Mary and her friends whispered to each other, their smiles wide and friendly. “Why don’t you two young people go have some fun? There’s no need for you to stay here with a bunch of oldies.”
    “Oh, I don’t think so. I have work to do back—”
    “It’s Sunday,” interrupted Doc. “You should go for a drive with Paul.”
    Paul hid a smile. He’d always liked the old doc, and now he knew precisely why.
    “A drive?” Helen’s eyes brightened for a moment, then shuttered again just as quickly. “As much as I’d like to, I really can’t.”
    “I’m harmless. I promise,” he prodded, winking. “I almost never bite.”
    “Thank you, but no. I should get home. I have—”
    “Work to do. Aye, you’ve said.” He rubbed his chin. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d planned. He’d hoped to take Helen out of the city and perhaps talk her into a swim at the old billabong, or at the very least, a walk along the shoreline.
    “It was nice to see you again, but I must be going.” She turned around brusquely and hurried across the short, neat grass of the church’s front garden, looking more like a frightened bird than the independent woman he suspected her to be.
    “Did I say something wrong?” Paul