The Underground Lady by JC Simmons Read Free Book Online Page B

the tower chief at the Meridian Airport and told him who I was, what I needed, and that John Roberts gave me his name. He was extremely helpful, telling me that those transcripts I wanted were kept in Atlanta, and that an Accident/Missing Aircraft report would be on file at the local FESDO, (Federal Aviation Flight Standards District Office) in Jackson, Mississippi. After giving me the pertinent telephone numbers, he asked if I was the same Jay Leicester who flew for Southern Airways back in the eighties. I said that I was, and he asked if I remembered a pilot named Asa Bradford, also with Southern. I told him that Asa had in fact been a classmate of mine during initial training at Southern. Asa was Paul Bradford's brother. Small world. He informed me that Asa was now a Captain on a Boeing 747 flying out of Seattle to Hawaii and back with Northwest Airlines, the company that had absorbed Southern after it merged with Republic.
    I thanked him for the telephone numbers, the update on his brother, and asked him to please send my regards when next they spoke. He promised to do so.
    After hanging up, I thought about Asa Bradford. He was an outstanding aviator. There were thirteen of us in our class at Southern. Three of them are dead. One died on his first trip out after upgrading from the Martin 404 to the DC-9. The chartered aircraft crashed on approach to Huntington, West Virginia, wiping out an entire football program. Another died after an encounter with a severe summer thunderstorm in Georgia, which caused both engines to flame out. An emergency landing on a rural two-lane highway was unsuccessful. The third was a tragic error of judgment. The Captain of a Martin 404 descended into a valley on a clear day in the Rocky Mountains to give his passengers an up close view of the terrain. He flew into a blind canyon from which they couldn't climb out. The rest of the class, as far as I am aware, continues to ply the skies of the world.
    Even though it was just above freezing, Rose stood in her doorway waiting when B.W. and I arrived. Handing her the cat, I said, "Ah, Rose, I do love thee as each flower loves the sun's life-giving power."
    She took B.W. and held him to her breast. "That's poetry, and I know you are not a poet, so you must have stolen those lines."
    "Guilty as charged, however I do not remember who wrote them. I've never been smart enough to read poetry."
    "I've always thought poets were people who, because they cannot love, imagine what it would be like if they could."
"Why, Rose, that is poetic in itself. Maybe you possess a talent that you do not realize."
    She put B.W. down, and he ran into the back of the house seeking other felines to bully. "Coffee is ready. Come to the kitchen and we'll talk."
    "Sunny Pfeiffer is gone, then?"
    "She left for the airport at daylight. Her chauffeur picked her up."
    "Chauffeur?"
    "There are some things you need to know about Hadley Welch and her daughter."
    Rose poured the fresh-ground coffee – she would always grind her own beans. Using a honey dipper, I stirred in a dollop of the sweet, brown liquid collected by a local producer.
    "How long have we known each other?"
    "Ten years."
    "You are a strange man, Jay Leicester, different from any man I've ever known. If we'd met thirty years ago, and had been the same age, I probably would have married you, or at least had one torrid affair. You see the world through a certain set of eyes."
    Taking a sip of the strong coffee, I sat back and waited to find out where this was leading.
    "You have to remember, Jay, people around here look through different eyes, explain the world in different ways, perform different rituals to keep it in balance. But most share common concerns. Family is more important than country, prayer more important than political power, weather more important than world news. People around here worry about crops, children, animals and food, and always about sickness and health."
    "I once knew a young woman living