Girls of Flight City

Inspired by True Events, a Novel of WWII, the Royal Air Force, and Texas

Lorraine Heath

• Publisher: Avon
• Year: 2022
• Print ISBN:
  9780063078536
• eBook ISBN:
  9780063078574
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Literature General
• Index: Literature

Inspired by true events, a breathtaking WWII historical novel about the brave American women who trained the British Royal Air Force, by New York Times bestselling author Lorraine Heath.

1941. A talented flier, Jessie Lovelace yearns for a career in aviation. When the civilian flight school in her small Texas town begins to clandestinely train British pilots for the RAF, she fights to become an instructor. But the task isn’t without its perils of near-misses and death. Faced with the weight of her responsibilities, she finds solace with a British officer who knows firsthand the heavy price paid in war . . . until he returns to the battles he never truly left behind.

Rhonda Monroe might not be skilled in the air but can give a trainee a wild ride in a flight simulator. Fearing little, she dares to jeopardize everything for a forbidden relationship with a charismatic airman… 

Innocent and fun-loving Kitty Lovelace, Jessie's younger sister, adores dancing with these charming newcomers, realizing too late the risks they pose to her heart. 

As the war intensifies and America becomes involved, the Girls of Flight City do their part to bring a victorious end to the conflict, pouring all their energy into preparing the young cadets to take to the skies and defeat the dangers that await. And lives from both sides of the Atlantic will be forever changed by love and loss…

Chapter 1

In the skies above North Texas

Sunday, March 9, 1941

IT HAD BEEN DUBBED THE DANCE OF DEATH.

The aerial stunt was Jessie Lovelace’s favorite because of the precision required to align the double wings of the Jenny so that they overlapped and hovered between those of the biplane flying alongside hers. It demanded a great deal of trust in the other pilot’s skill as they both cruised over the airdrome in tandem at a predetermined altitude and speed. It also necessitated an exorbitant amount of concentration not to crash into the other aircraft, sending both barreling toward earth, where the fliers might not only fail to survive but could take with them a few of the gathered spectators who had each paid a dollar to be thrilled by the daring exploits of the two women aviators.

Focusing on the task made it impossible to drift into thoughts regarding the men in her life who had recently betrayed her.

Her brother, who’d gone off to fight in a war that wasn’t theirs to fight. “It will be,” he’d said. “Eventually Hitler will come for us, especially if England falls.”

Their father, who’d died unexpectedly in his sleep three days after Christmas. He hadn’t left any instructions or made any arrangements regarding his half of the flight school he’d established with his brother following their return home after flying planes for the army during the last war with Germany. As a result, Uncle Joe wanted to abandon the business, sell the whole kit and kaboodle, and find employment elsewhere.

Her boyfriend—a term that had worked when she and Luke Caldwell were in high school, but now that she was twenty-four seemed juvenile. However, when she’d mentioned that little tidbit to him, he’d grinned and said, “Fiancée works. Or wife.” Since her dad’s passing, Luke had been pushing for them to marry. Even her mom was dropping not-so-subtle hints that it was long past time Jessie became a homemaker. Try as she might, however, Jessie couldn’t envision finding satisfaction in the before-sunup-to-after-sundown life of a rancher’s wife.

The truth was, she resented her brother for finding a way out of Terrence, resented even more that his flight skills had made his escape possible. Her ability to handle an aircraft was equal to his, but the only aviation avenues she’d had any luck securing were crop dusting and barnstorming, neither providing consistent employment, sufficient income, or the more fulfilling life she craved. Occasionally she gave flying lessons at the Lovelace School of Aviation, but she was growing weary of constantly searching for work, being forced to take the odd job where she could find it, and feeling like she’d gone into a stall, unable to regain lift.

As she neared Annette Gibson’s airplane, she took a deep cleansing breath and cleared her mind of everything except the matter at hand, focusing completely on lining up her wingtips between Annette’s, then slowly, carefully, easing closer until the edges intersected slightly, stopping just shy of making contact with the struts bracing the upper and lower wings.

As they sailed along together, she experienced a rush of pleasure. She might not always be in control of her life, but she was in control of this baby, her father’s Curtiss Jenny, which he’d purchased nearly twenty years earlier as the start to his business.

After passing over the crowd, she and Annette peeled away from each other, going into a ballet of loops and rolls. Then another dash over the gathering, coming in so low that people ducked—even though they were in no danger of being hit by the wheels. Annette carried on to land, but Jessie wasn’t quite done yet. She considered being a daredevil in the sky to be an art form, taking a wide blue canvas and painting images over it that those who viewed the creation, no matter how briefly, would never forget. Although recently she’d begun losing her enthusiasm for barnstorming. People were less impressed with stunts and more interested in witnessing a fiery catastrophe. Still, she was determined to give them a show that would take their breath away.

She opened the throttle and pushed the stick forward, using gravity to accelerate. When she was satisfied with the momentum she’d gained, she pulled back on the stick, lifting the nose until the aircraft was practically standing on its tail, and then continuing over until she was flying upside down. After several seconds, she rolled upright and soared a good distance away from the fallow field. Banking wide and heading back, she determined she’d allowed plenty of room for landing. The Jenny wasn’t without its design flaws, one of them being its absence of brakes. Once her wheels touched the ground, she reduced the throttle and taxied toward her destination. When she was close enough, she cut off the mixture control to stop the engine, coasted to a stop, and shut off the mags.

She removed her tinted goggles and leather helmet, then combed her fingers through her mahogany curls. While in high school, she’d chopped off her shoulder-length waves as a tribute to Amelia Earhart, after her idol had made her first solo transatlantic flight. She’d always wanted to be as much like the intrepid female pilot as possible—except for the going missing part. She’d mourned for days after hearing the news on the radio, and still held out hope that they would find the beloved aviatrix on an island somewhere in the Pacific.

Jessie climbed out of the cockpit and hit the ground. A gaggle of youngsters immediately surrounded her, several excitedly waving a leaflet advertising the airshow and asking her to sign it. She answered their shouted questions, giving extra attention to the girls, assuring them they, too, could touch the clouds. When she’d applied her signature to the last handbill and the children had wandered off, she turned to find Annette waiting for her.

“That was fun,” her fellow aviatrix said. She’d met Annette at an airshow a few years earlier. They’d gone to instructor training school together, both getting certified to teach others how to fly. “It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back.” She hadn’t done any stunt work since her father had passed. When she was six, he’d flown her into the skies, and she’d fallen madly in love, not only with the sensation of flight but with the vast and different world that surrounded her. Sweeping from horizon to horizon, the colors seemed brighter, the possibilities endless, and the freedom from earthly constraints seductive. After that, nothing could keep her on the ground if she had a chance to soar among the clouds. While she’d taken the Jenny up several times since December, she hadn’t participated in an airshow. It had been difficult enough performing after her brother had left, because they’d always been a team. While she did a lot of maneuvers solo, some were better with a partner, especially when mimicking a dogfight.

“I know I’m no substitute for Jack,” Annette said.

“You held your own.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Exhausted, I imagine. He’s not writing as much, what with all the bombing going on over there. It’s like the Germans are trying to sink the island.” She made it a point to attend the movies at least once a week, simply to see the latest newsreels. She read the newspapers voraciously and listened to the radio whenever she could, hoping to catch some news about the war—preferably when her mother wasn’t around, because any reports on the devastation taking place across the ocean upset her. “It’s terrifying. Have to admire the Brits for not surrendering, though. I want it all to stop, and I’m not in the middle of it.”

“I’m glad we’re not. I voted for Roosevelt because he promised we wouldn’t get into the war.”

At that moment, the organizer of the show walked up. “Here you are, ladies.” He handed them each fifty dollars. “We’ll be in Oklahoma City next weekend. Hope to see you there.” He ambled away, passing out flyers about the upcoming airshow as he went.

“I’m going to fuel up and head home,” Jessie said. She held out her hand. “Thanks again, Annette. I appreciate that you took the risk of doing the Dance of Death with me.”

“I live for the thrills, and that particular maneuver never fails to get my heart to pumping. Maybe I’ll see you in Oklahoma.”

“Don’t see why not.”

FOLLOWING A SLOW descent through the fluffy cumulus, Jessie leveled out, increased speed, and took satisfaction in the smooth roar of the engine as the wind whipped past her in the open cockpit. Below, the Jenny’s shadow glided over the terrain she knew as well as she did her instruments panel. To her left, cornstalks rustled in the breeze. She made extra money dusting those fields and others, flying in low to better reduce any potential drifting of the powdered lead arsenate. To her right, on the other side of the narrow paved road ribboning east and west, which she’d driven numerous times into Dallas, was the start of the Caldwell Ranch. Six thousand barbed-wire-enclosed acres that were home to Angus cattle and a pretty pinto mare named Buttercup she sometimes rode.

She soared over the ancient oak tree where she’d played hide-and-seek with her brother, received her first kiss from Luke, and later agreed to wear his suede varsity football jacket to symbolize they were officially going steady. Continuing on, she flew over the creek where she’d caught her first catfish, still swam on hot summer afternoons, and had dared to skinny-dip one moonless night with Luke.

Nearing the heart of Terrence, she saw the depot that had been built in 1873 to accommodate the arrival of the Texas and Pacific railroad tracks along this stretch of North Texas. A few miles beyond lay her father’s airfield.

As it came into view, her chest tightened with the memories of all the times he’d stood there, watching, waiting. She couldn’t help but feel he was still observing—with his arms crossed over his lanky frame and a wide smile on his weathered face—as she brought the Jenny in for a smooth and easy landing. Flying was a passion they’d shared, and she missed him more than she thought it possible to miss a person.

After seeing her father’s beloved plane safely stored in the hangar, Jessie climbed onto the Indian Scout, her pride and joy, which provided the closest experience to flying she’d found when on the ground. Once on the road, with the motorcycle purring beneath her and the wind rushing past, she began mentally preparing herself to be as cheerful as possible when she walked into the Victorian-style house where she lived with her mother and younger sister, Kitty. Upon her arrival, she parked her motorcycle in the drive, shut it down, and climbed off. Trixie, Jack’s black lab, bounded around the corner of the house and dropped to a sit in front of her, tail wagging, tongue lolling out. Reaching down, she gave her brother’s dog an affectionate rubbing over her head, shoulders, and back. “Hey, girl, you been keeping watch?”

After she straightened, Trixie dashed off. No doubt there were squirrels to chase.

Jessie headed up the cobblestone walk of the white house with the blue trim that had been built at the edge of town by her grandfather near the end of the last century. Leaping over the three steps to the porch, with its bench swing on one side and two wooden rockers on the other, she pulled on the screen door, pushed open the oak door, and stepped into the foyer, which still somehow managed to carry the lingering scents of those she loved who were no longer there. The overpowering rose perfume that had always enveloped her grandmother and anyone she hugged. The sage fragrance of the Brilliantine her grandfather had used to make his silver hair shine. The menthol scent of the Aqua Velva aftershave her father had used religiously after she’d given him a bottle for Christmas a few years ago.

Then she noted the scent of stale tobacco that belonged to Uncle Joe and always announced his arrival. She wouldn’t recognize him without a fat cigar clenched between his teeth. Because the smell was so pungent, she knew he’d visited sometime that afternoon, was possibly still around.

“Jessie?” her mother called from the front room.

Peering in through the open doorway to her left, Jessie saw her mother, with a brow that had been far too furrowed during the past year and her slender hands knitted together in her lap, sitting on the sofa. Squinting as he blew out the smoke from his cigar, Uncle Joe—a heftier version of her father, dark-eyed and dark-haired—stood beside the fireplace that was used only a few times each winter. “Hello,” she greeted them.

“How was the airshow?” her mother asked, but something was wrong with her voice, as though she was delivering bad news, and Jessie realized the furrows in her brow were running a little deeper and her knuckles pushing against her skin had gone white. Her first thought was that a disaster had befallen Jack, but her mom’s eyes weren’t red or swollen, so her upset no doubt had something to do with their company.

With a desperate need to protect her, Jessie stepped fully into the room. “We had a good crowd. What brings you by, Uncle Joe? I get the feeling you’re not here just to make sure we’re doing okay.”

Her mother patted the cushion beside her. “Why don’t you sit down?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m good standing.”

“Think I’ll sit.” Uncle Joe went to a small table where a half-empty bottle of her dad’s Kentucky bourbon waited for a man who would never again take pleasure from sipping it in the evening, a man who would have chided her for not considering it half full. “At the worst of times, Jess, still look for the positive.” It took everything within her not to scream when her uncle carelessly splashed some into a crystal tumbler. It was stupid to hold on to the liquor when Jim Lovelace had always offered it to anyone who walked into the house.

Then Uncle Joe dropped unceremoniously into her father’s recliner and her gut tightened, because it seemed incredibly wrong for anyone to sit in a chair that over the years had reshaped itself to mold comfortably around the man who had passed on his love of flying to her. Afraid she might grab her uncle’s shirtfront and yank him out of the chair or snatch the bourbon-filled glass from ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Dedication
• Epigraph
• Contents
• Prologue
• Chapter 1
• Chapter 2
• Chapter 3
• Chapter 4
• Chapter 5
• Chapter 6
• Chapter 7
• Chapter 8
• Chapter 9
• Chapter 10
• Chapter 11
• Chapter 12
• Chapter 13
• Chapter 14
• Chapter 15
• Chapter 16
• Chapter 17
• Chapter 18
• Chapter 19
• Chapter 20
• Chapter 21
• Chapter 22
• Chapter 23
• Chapter 24
• Chapter 25
• Chapter 26
• Chapter 27
• Chapter 28
• Chapter 29
• Chapter 30
• Chapter 31
• Chapter 32
• Chapter 33
• Chapter 34
• Chapter 35
• Chapter 36
• Chapter 37
• Chapter 38
• Chapter 39
• Chapter 40
• Chapter 41
• Chapter 42
• Chapter 43
• Chapter 44
• Chapter 45
• Chapter 46
• Chapter 47
• Chapter 48
• Chapter 49
• Chapter 50
• Chapter 51
• Epilogue
• Acknowledgments
• P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*
• Copyright
• About the Publisher