The White Knight (15 page)

Herb was already bent over one of the engines, and Streak was coming in at the same time Luke was.

“Morning,” Streak greeted. “What say we go get some breakfast, Luke?”

“Sounds good to me.”

The two of them left Herbert to work on the engine alone, and when they stepped outside, dawn had begun to light up the east. They got in Streak's car and drove to a nearby café. As they went in, they were greeted by Lettie Simms, the waitress, who always flirted with both of them.

“Well, the first and second best looking guys in Texas.” She came up and pushed herself against Luke, winking at him. “You've been hiding yourself, Luke. I've been lonesome.”

Luke liked Lettie. She was a little heavy but still a good-looking woman in her late twenties. She had been married twice and was now looking for a third victim, as Streak put it. “You don't need an old man like me, Lettie. Find yourself a young guy.” Ever since Luke had turned thirty-one he'd been thinking of himself as old.

“Hey, you got lots of life left in you, big guy!”

The two sat down and Streak ordered pancakes while Luke ordered sausage, eggs, and biscuits. While they ate, Lettie hovered over Luke, occasionally putting her hand on his shoulder.

Streak grinned when Lettie finally turned her attention to some other customers. “That woman's after you, Luke.”

“I'm too old and tired for chasing after waitresses.”

“Wouldn't hurt you to relax a little bit, start dating again. You've been doing good, Luke. You got the drinking under control.”

Luke dipped his biscuit in the redeye gravy and took a bite. He chewed slowly and then took a sip of his coffee. “No I
haven't,” he finally said, shaking his head doubtfully. “It's a battle every day. You know, Streak, I've been in some pretty tight spots, but for the first time in my life I'm scared.”

Streak stared across the table at him. “Scared of what? If Erich Ritter didn't scare you, I'd think nothing would.”

“I'm afraid one of these days I'm gonna lose my battle with the bottle. I'm afraid I'll become one of those helpless drunks you see in an alley.”

“You won't do that. God's going to take care of you like He has me. You just need to give your heart to the Lord.”

Luke did not answer, for he had no answer to give. He knew Streak was right, as he knew his own family was right, but the bitterness over losing Melosa had built a wall between him and God. He knew it was foolish to blame God for anything, but still he found himself doing it. He ate slowly, aware that Streak was watching him.

“Do you ever think about Spain?” Streak asked, leaning forward and fixing his eyes on Luke.

“Sure I do.”

“Yeah, you lost a good woman there.”

“Yes, I did.” Luke knew he wasn't being very good company for his old friend. Streak had often tried to get Luke to talk about what he went through in Spain, but Luke resisted revisiting the worst days of his life.

“I haven't told you much about my family, have I?”

“Just that they farm in Tennessee.”

“Yeah. I grew up near Chattanooga. My parents had a small place. A hundred twenty acres, but most of it's not much good for crops. It's good for cattle, though.”

“You have brothers and sisters?”

“Just one sister. Her name is Joelle. She's a nurse at the hospital in Chattanooga. Hey, I've got a picture of her here.”

Streak pulled his wallet from his pocket, extracted a small photo, and handed it to Luke. Luke took it and studied the young woman in the picture. She was wearing a white nurse's uniform and cap. “She's very attractive.”

“Yep. She's pretty and strong too.” Streak took the picture back from Luke and gazed at it, fondness written across his broad features. “She always wanted to be a missionary, but when Dad got sick she had to stay home and take care of him.” Slipping the photograph back into his billfold, he added, “She wanted to be a missionary even when she was a little girl, dreaming about going to Africa or China—somewhere exotic like that. But she hasn't made it yet.”

“You told me your dad died. So it's just you and your mother now?”

“Well, not even that now. We lost Mom six months ago. She had a heart attack and then she was gone.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, Streak.” Luke continued to eat slowly and asked thoughtfully, “Well, why can't Joelle go and be a missionary now?”

“Well, it's like this, Luke. She feels like God is using her there on the farm. After Mom died, Joelle took in a girl who was in trouble with the law, and before long another one came. People started hearing about Joelle and how she had a soft spot in her heart for girls who needed a place to stay, and before long, she had a regular ministry started. It's not all girls who are having trouble with the law, though.” He took a bite of his pancake. “Some don't have parents or have parents who are in jail. One girl came when she got pregnant and her parents wouldn't let her stay at home.”

“Sounds like quite a place.”

“I'll tell you what,” Streak said. “As soon as we get a couple days off, we'll fly up there and you can meet Joelle. You'd like her, I think. Of course, we'll have to get on our feet first—get this place in the black.”

Luke grinned. “Well, it doesn't look like that'll happen any time soon, but I'd like to meet your sister.”

As the two finished their breakfast, Lettie came up and leaned her hip against Luke's shoulder. “What about it, Luke? I get off at six.”

“I'll be in the air at six, Lettie. Maybe next time.”

****

The engine overhaul took longer than any of them had predicted. Luke helped Herb on the overhaul whenever he could squeeze some time in between flights, and Streak helped whenever he could spare the time.

As he tightened the last bolt, Herb said woefully, “I hope we don't have any more overhauls for a long time. I'm plumb tired out.” He put his hand on Luke's shoulder. “You've got to make that early flight tomorrow. You better go get some rest.”

“I guess you're right, but I'm going to get something to eat first.” He cleaned up, went to the nearby café, and as usual, found Lettie there. Since there was no one else in the café, she hovered over him while he ate.

“What about going out tonight, Luke?”

“I'm pretty tired, Lettie.”

She leaned against him and ran her fingers down his cheekbone. “I can take care of that. Come on. You deserve a little relaxation every now and then.”

“I've got to take an early flight out tomorrow.”

Lettie laughed. “I'll see to it that you're a good boy.”

Luke was tired, but suddenly the idea of going back to the small, hot room in the hangar had no appeal. “All right, Lettie, but I have to be in early.”

****

Luke woke with a start and looked around wildly. His head was splitting, and he realized that he had gotten drunk again. Lettie had egged him on, and now he remembered with self-disgust that he was in her bedroom. He looked over at the pillow that was marked with the imprint of her head, and he got out of bed feeling terrible. He listened, but hearing nothing, he assumed Lettie was already at work.

He quickly pulled his shirt and slacks on and then spotted the bottle of whiskey on Lettie's dresser. He tried to ignore
it as he put on his socks and shoes. He stood up, gave the bottle one more look, then started for the door.

He turned the doorknob and then quickly changed his mind. He strode back to the dresser and took a big swig of the whiskey. He examined the bottle and saw that there was only a dribble left. He finished it with one more swig and then quickly left. He walked down the street until he found a cab and directed the driver to the airfield.

When the cab pulled up by the hangar, he paid the cabby. Luke's heart sank when he saw Herb gassing up the plane and Streak getting ready to climb aboard. Luke took a deep breath and looked down. His clothes were wrinkled, and he needed a shave. He knew there would be no sense trying to hide the fact from Streak that he had been drinking. He walked up reluctantly and muttered, “I'm sorry to be late.”

Streak stared at Luke and came closer. “You're drunk, Luke,” he said, shaking his head.

“I was drunk, but now I'm fine. I can fly.”

“I told you I wouldn't let you fly when you'd been drinking. I can smell the alcohol from here. I'll take this flight.”

“Let me take it. I'm okay.”

“I'm taking the flight. You sober up today. Later in the day when you're feeling more like yourself, you can give Herb a hand.”

Luke felt awful, in more ways than one.

“Tell you what,” Streak continued, “as soon as I come back, we'll fly to Tennessee for some of Joelle's good home cooking.”

Luke saw it was a lost cause. Finally he stood on the airfield as Streak got ready to take off. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Luke,” Herb said. “I've got plenty to keep us both busy all morning at least.”

Luke could not even answer, he was so filled with disgust at his behavior. He walked away from Herb, wishing he had never met Lettie Simms, but it was too late for that.
It's too late for most things,
he thought, and he turned and watched
Streak's plane growing smaller until it became a mere dot and then disappeared from his sight.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Downed in Georgia

Luke turned as he heard Herb call his name. One look at the small mechanic's face alerted him. Herb had just hung up the phone, and his face had bad news written all over it.

“What's wrong, Herb?” A cold chill swept over Luke as the mechanic tried to speak.

“It's . . . it's . . . Streak!”

Fear touched Luke's nerves in a way he'd not felt since fighting in Spain. No one knew better than he did the dangers of flying, and Herbert would not be so tense unless it was really bad news. “What is it?” he demanded almost harshly.

“It's horrible, Luke. His plane has gone down in northern Georgia.”

“Is he all right?” Luke managed to ask, his voice hoarse. “How'd you hear about it?”

“The hospital just called. He's alive. I know that much. Here's the number. You gotta talk to a Dr. Sanderson there. He said to call him right away.”

Luke took the wrinkled fragment of paper that the small mechanic handed him and went at once to the phone. He dialed the number and heard the operator say, “Baptist Hospital, Dalton. How may I direct your call?”

“I need to speak with Dr. Sanderson.”

“Hold on, please.”

Luke had been through similar situations many times in Spain when the men in his squadron had not come in when they should have. The familiar sensations of anguished fear
came rushing back to him. His hands were sweaty, and he sat down abruptly to conceal the weakness in his knees from Herb, who hovered over him.

“This is Dr. Sanderson.”

“My name is Luke Winslow, Doctor. I'm calling about Roscoe Garrison.”

“Are you family?”

“No. Just a good friend. How is he, Doctor?”

There was an ominous pause, and Sanderson's voice came reluctantly. “He's not in good shape. We're trying to get in touch with his family. Do you know them, and do you have a number where we can reach them?”

“He has one sister is all I know about. She lives just outside of Chattanooga. Her name is Joelle Garrison. I don't have a number, but it should be in the book.”

“I'll have the office get in touch with her.” Again the small hesitation that told Luke more than he wanted to know. “If I were you, Mr. Winslow, I'd get here as quick as you can. If you want to see your friend again, don't waste any time. It's very serious.”

“I'll fly in right away.”

Luke put the phone in the cradle and said, “Is the ship gassed up?”

“Yes. It's all ready. You want me to go with you?”

“No. You'd better stay here.”

“Well, call me as soon as you hear anything. I'll stay close to the phone.”

“Okay, Herb.”

Ten minutes later Luke was taxiing the plane out onto the field. As he took off, a sense of fatal doubt began to grasp him. He gained his altitude and headed toward Georgia. He tried to concentrate on flying the plane as fast as the old engines would take it, but he couldn't stop wondering if he would arrive in time.

****

“I'm here to see Roscoe Garrison.”

The woman in the white uniform looked up from behind the desk. “Roscoe Garrison? Let me see, please.” She looked at the records in front of her and then something changed in her expression. “He's in intensive care.”

“How is he?”

“You'll have to ask the doctor.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you family?”

“No, I'm just a friend. How do I get there?”

“Take the elevator up to the third floor and then turn right. Anyone you see can direct you from there.”

“Thank you. I need to see Dr. Sanderson.”

“I'll leave word with his office that you're waiting. I don't think he's in the hospital right now, but he'll be here in about an hour for his regular rounds.”

“Thanks.” Luke's head seemed to be in another world that had no connection with this hospital and the mission on which he'd come. He had had to do this in order to keep the fear from controlling him. All during the flight all he could think of was how it was his fault that Streak had crashed.
I should have been in that plane.
The thought ran through his brain over and over again. Now he pushed the button of the elevator and rode it to the third floor. He stepped outside and approached the nurses' station on his right.

A thin young woman in a white uniform looked up and said, “Hello. Can I help you?”

“I'm here to see Roscoe Garrison.”