The other is converting surplus airplanes to executive planes—you know, taking a Lodestar, stripping out the military gear, cleaning it up, putting in a luxury interior, and selling it for a company plane."
"Sounds good to me, because you and Patty can handle it here in Salinas. We know who all the good workers are—start small, and work up. If it gets to be too much for you, I'll ask to be released."
They shook hands and Bandfield continued. "I think converting airplanes to fight forest fires is the best bet to start with—the whole west needs help with that."
They heard Patty laughing and then she called, "Bandy, get in here and watch Lyra set the house on fire." Bandfield rolled his eyes and tilted an imaginary shot glass back.
Roget scowled, "She ain't drunk, Bandy, don't kid yourself. And even if she was, she'd still be able to handle you."
Inside the group was gathered around a table that had been cleared and covered with a rough canvas tarpaulin. In the center was a hot plate, with a pot bubbling on it, the smell of hot metal searing the air. On the floor was a washtub filled with water.
Roget handed Bandfield a fresh tumbler of whiskey and whispered, "Looks like your visitor friend is loosening up."
"A little dago red will do that. She's sure looking better. I wish she'd do a little walking around in her underwear."
During the war, Lyra Josten had been in the German resistance movement, doing espionage work for General Henry Caldwell. She'd arrived from Sweden six months before, pale and painfully thin, her eyes dull with fatigue and anxiety, a sharp contrast to plump, rosy-cheeked Ulrich. It was clear that she had been denying herself to make sure that her baby was well fed. Now both were looking beautiful, thanks to Patty's tender care and lavish diet. As Lyra busied herself with a ladle and gloves, Roget said, "I'd never thought two young women would get along in one house like they do."
Bandfield nodded. Patty was a wonder. When she'd heard that Lyra needed help to get into the United States with her baby, Patty had roared into action. Within a few weeks she'd secured all the paperwork and arranged for their transportation over.
Lyra was bubbling with pleasure. "Ladies and gentlemen! We're going to play an old-fashioned Russian Christmas game. First, you stand up and tell where you were last Christmas and where you want to be next Christmas. Then you pour a splash of molten lead into the water. When it cools, you fish it out, and the shape of the metal will tell your fortune."
Waving the ladle she said, "Patty, you go first while I make sure the children stay back."
Patty took the ladle, saying, "I was here in this house last year; I hope we're all here next year." She poured a stream of lead into the washtub; there was a hissing stream of steam as the lead settled toward the bottom.
Lyra scooped it out. "See, it looks like a star! That's a good omen, it means your wish will come true."
"Who's next? Bandy?"
"No, let young Lyra go next."
Lyra took the ladle and began to speak in a quavering voice.
"This really works, you know. Last year in Stockholm, I wished we would be in the United States—and look at us here, with you good people."
She stepped over and took Bandy by the hand. "Come here, because the wish I make is going to please you."
"I wish you all a Merry Christmas—and for next year, I wish Ulrich and I will be in our own home."
Bandy blushed as Lyra poured the lead into the water—she had him figured out, no question. Patty was smiling as Lyra pulled a long silver strand from the tub and flourished it.
"What is it? I can't tell what it is."
Bandfield took the still warm lead and slowly rotated it. "Well, if you hold it this way, it looks a little like a map of Argentina. But if you turn it this way, it looks like a bear."
Lyra took the metal. "I'm going to put this away so we can look at it next year and see what it was trying to tell us."
***
Chapter 2
Nashville,
"Sounds good to me, because you and Patty can handle it here in Salinas. We know who all the good workers are—start small, and work up. If it gets to be too much for you, I'll ask to be released."
They shook hands and Bandfield continued. "I think converting airplanes to fight forest fires is the best bet to start with—the whole west needs help with that."
They heard Patty laughing and then she called, "Bandy, get in here and watch Lyra set the house on fire." Bandfield rolled his eyes and tilted an imaginary shot glass back.
Roget scowled, "She ain't drunk, Bandy, don't kid yourself. And even if she was, she'd still be able to handle you."
Inside the group was gathered around a table that had been cleared and covered with a rough canvas tarpaulin. In the center was a hot plate, with a pot bubbling on it, the smell of hot metal searing the air. On the floor was a washtub filled with water.
Roget handed Bandfield a fresh tumbler of whiskey and whispered, "Looks like your visitor friend is loosening up."
"A little dago red will do that. She's sure looking better. I wish she'd do a little walking around in her underwear."
During the war, Lyra Josten had been in the German resistance movement, doing espionage work for General Henry Caldwell. She'd arrived from Sweden six months before, pale and painfully thin, her eyes dull with fatigue and anxiety, a sharp contrast to plump, rosy-cheeked Ulrich. It was clear that she had been denying herself to make sure that her baby was well fed. Now both were looking beautiful, thanks to Patty's tender care and lavish diet. As Lyra busied herself with a ladle and gloves, Roget said, "I'd never thought two young women would get along in one house like they do."
Bandfield nodded. Patty was a wonder. When she'd heard that Lyra needed help to get into the United States with her baby, Patty had roared into action. Within a few weeks she'd secured all the paperwork and arranged for their transportation over.
Lyra was bubbling with pleasure. "Ladies and gentlemen! We're going to play an old-fashioned Russian Christmas game. First, you stand up and tell where you were last Christmas and where you want to be next Christmas. Then you pour a splash of molten lead into the water. When it cools, you fish it out, and the shape of the metal will tell your fortune."
Waving the ladle she said, "Patty, you go first while I make sure the children stay back."
Patty took the ladle, saying, "I was here in this house last year; I hope we're all here next year." She poured a stream of lead into the washtub; there was a hissing stream of steam as the lead settled toward the bottom.
Lyra scooped it out. "See, it looks like a star! That's a good omen, it means your wish will come true."
"Who's next? Bandy?"
"No, let young Lyra go next."
Lyra took the ladle and began to speak in a quavering voice.
"This really works, you know. Last year in Stockholm, I wished we would be in the United States—and look at us here, with you good people."
She stepped over and took Bandy by the hand. "Come here, because the wish I make is going to please you."
"I wish you all a Merry Christmas—and for next year, I wish Ulrich and I will be in our own home."
Bandy blushed as Lyra poured the lead into the water—she had him figured out, no question. Patty was smiling as Lyra pulled a long silver strand from the tub and flourished it.
"What is it? I can't tell what it is."
Bandfield took the still warm lead and slowly rotated it. "Well, if you hold it this way, it looks a little like a map of Argentina. But if you turn it this way, it looks like a bear."
Lyra took the metal. "I'm going to put this away so we can look at it next year and see what it was trying to tell us."
***
Chapter 2
Nashville,
Similar Books
