A Matter Of Trust

A Matter Of Trust

Engineers of Flight Series

Book One

Sherrilyn Polf

A Matter of Trust

Engineers of Flight Series

Book One

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Second Edition; Copyrighted © 2013 by Sherrilyn Polf. All rights reserved.

First Edition; Copyrighted © 2009 by Sherrilyn Polf. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

Scripture quotations marked KJV are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version, Cambridge, 1769. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Published in the United States of America

Digital Formatting by Daniel Mawhinney of 40DayPublishing.com

Cover design by Jonna Feavel of 40DayGraphics.com

Author photograph by Jessica Bell of photosbyJessicaMarie@live.com

1. Fiction / Christian / Historical 2. Fiction / Romance / Historical

Endorsements

A great story of a young woman who leaves home for the first time and soon recognizes that the lessons taught by her parents are just what she needs to make the right decisions in her new life.

—Linda Smith. Ogden, Utah

Set in pre-World War II, A Matter of Trust is a charming tale of a young lady, entering a new and thrilling stage of life. At nineteen, Dena Caulter travels to California to live with relatives. I could feel her excitement and wonder as she embarked on a journey that promised to change her life forever. The gentle wisdom of her upbringing binds her life’s choices together in a way that reaffirmed to Dena and me that trusting in God’s providence is indeed what matters most. I enjoyed this book immensely.

—Laura Oyler, Liberal, Kansas

Polf creates an intricate plot revealing the Christian faith of a young woman determined to succeed amid the turmoil of World War II.

—Pam Hollar, Liberal, Kansas

With scriptures intertwined throughout this gentle romance, A Matter of Trust is thought provoking and an easy read.

—Alta Rogers, Tyrone, Oklahoma

Acknowledgments

This author wishes to recognize the invaluable history afforded through old letters, which became the catalyst for this fictional novel, along with this author’s imagination, recollections of old stories, and family events, as well as stories of this time era that were related to her by her mother-in-law, Ann, alongside bits of history from family and friends.

As for God, his way is perfect;

the word of the Lord is tried:

he is a buckler to all them

that trust in Him.

II Samuel 22:31 (KJV)

For Dewey

Contents

Endorsements

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Books by Sherrilyn Polf

About the Author

Chapter One

It came as a complete surprise—not the actual visit from an uncle she didn’t remember—but the result of his visit. Sighing softly, Dena leaned against the window to watch the soft pink and blue rays pop over the mountain tops, deftly pushing back the darkness.

July mornings, before the heat of the day sets in, are the best. I can’t believe how my life has turned around. Ever since I was little, I’ve dreamed of faraway places, and California has always been one of those areas. It sounds so exciting, even romantic in a mysterious sense.

Surprising enough, she had dreamed of adventure, but she could have come up with this—the real thing. Dena watched the leaves swaying in the early morning breeze as she remembered that day.

It was a warm afternoon in late March when the mailman drove into the yard with their mail. He brought a guest. Dena eyed the man getting out of the car. But when her dad hurried over and warmly clasped the man’s hand, welcoming him to their home her interest was caught.

Who is this? While continuing to darn one of her socks, she leaned forward in her chair and watched her dad help the man with his suitcase. Dena tilted her head, hoping to hear what they were saying. Dismayed, she strained to hear catching only part of the conversation.

…can’t stay long because I’m on my way to Langley Field in Virginia. Maybe a day or two … want to beat the snow.

Glad you’re here. Come inside, her dad said as the two men came to the porch.

Dena, this is your Uncle Walter, her father said. Dena’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. So he’s related to us. The only time I remember family at our home was when Grandpa Caulter died. That was eleven or twelve years ago. Well, I’m glad he’s here.

Walter, you remember Dena? he asked.

Hello, Dena.

You must be about eighteen now? Are you still in school? What are you doing?

Nineteen. I’ve graduated and have completed an advanced typing course and a one in office practice, she said proudly. Her dad grinned.

Hmm, my daughter’s age; she’s eighteen. So what are you doing now? Uncle Walter asked.

Looking for a job, I guess, she answered, glancing at her dad. She hadn’t thought much about it. Fall was soon enough. She did know she didn’t want to stay on the farm.

Go and tell Mother we have company, girl, her dad said. Reluctantly, she picked up her darning and hurried into the house.

At supper, she learned that Uncle Walter was married to her dad’s sister. They both worked for Stanford University in Palo Alto, California. It’s so exciting to meet someone from California. Oh, I wish I could go and see the ocean. What’s more, Uncle Walter’s job sounds so interesting. She listened as Uncle Walter talked about his work with high-wind tunnels.

Stanford University, Hughes Aeronautics, and NACA were all collaborating on the project Uncle Walter was working on. While Uncle Walter told her dad about his job, Dena made mental notes. Not totally understanding, she asked, Uncle Walter, why are you experimenting with high-wind tunnels? What will they do?

Her uncle grinned. He quickly detailed the purpose while she listened carefully. It was so interesting. Another thing she wondered was what NACA stood for. She started to ask but didn’t. Maybe I’ll find out later.

Uncle Walter, do you know Mr. Hughes personally? she asked. To work for such an important person—a celebrity— as Howard Hughes is incredible. Howard Hughes was in the news often: aviation, Hollywood, Langley Field. Even her dad was impressed with him.

After supper, her dad and Uncle Walter went out to the porch. Gosh, I wish Mother would hurry. She’s washing dishes in slow motion. Dena silently mouthed as she picked up a platter to dry. Susan could have stayed and helped. She had tried to bribe her sister into helping with the dishes. But Susan just smiled, saying something about seeing a movie with Grant and Brock before she left for town. Dena shifted from one foot to another all the while eyeing the partially closed door to the porch. She reached for a plate. If Susan had just helped me, I could be out there listening to Uncle Walter …

Dena, stop fidgeting, her mother spoke firmly, cutting into her thoughts. Ladies don’t listen to men’s conversations unless they are invited. And I don’t believe your dad asked you to accompany them to the porch.

Dena reddened from her mother’s scolding. Mother always knows what I’m thinking. All the same, when she was sure that her mother wasn’t looking, Dena slipped over to the opened window and pretended to straighten the curtain. She stood perfectly still so she could listen.

… glad Doreen’s doing well, her dad said. Dena absently rubbed the delicate lace on the curtain. It seemed endless before either man spoke again.

You know, Lawrence,—Uncle Walter expressed his admiration for Dena’s tenacity in acquiring three certificates in two semesters —you should send her to Palo Alto to stay with Doreen. She could put her education to much better use at Stanford than anywhere around here, and she would be with family. Dena bent slightly forward but heard only silence. She peered out of the window, straining to see her dad’s face, but only her silent reflection peered back at her. She leaned closer to the window and listened.

After a moment, Uncle Walter continued, I’m not sure what job is available locally, but she strikes me as a girl suited for more than a rancher’s wife. No offense meant.

None taken, Walter, was all her dad said. Dena continued to stand in front of the curtain. The silence was killing her. She wanted to run out and shout, yes, yes! I want to go. But she couldn’t. What if Dad is against Uncle Walter’s suggestion? What if he says no?"

Dena’s mind continued to spin. How can I tell Dad how much I really want to go to California? Could this be why I have had this strange and unfamiliar stirring deep within me begging me to give thought to my future?

Dena, her mother spoke sharply. She turned around to face Mother’s stern look. Scowling, Dena moved back the sink. Soon her dad came in.

Any coffee left, Judith? her dad asked. After Mother handed him two cups of steaming coffee, Dad smiled his thanks and left.

Dena groaned inwardly. Determined to finish so she could leave the kitchen, she picked up another plate and dried it. Sometimes dad’s quiet and laidback manner irritates me. He won’t rush any important or life-changing decision. He always says he needs to pray about it, explore all possibilities, and talk it over with Mother.

Picking up the last plate, Dena dried and set it on the stack. I know it will take extra clothes and money for me to live on until I can start making my own; and as productive the farm is it sometimes doesn’t offer money for extra trips. I’m not dumb.

But no matter how upset she had been that night her dad had considered the move and now she was leaving for California.

A sweet song of a nearby robin interrupted her daydreams. She had often enjoyed the melodious tune of the birds, but on this day the tune seemed extra special. She listened for a moment longer before shaking the memories from her head. Dena stood at the window and watched the wind play in the leaves. Smiling to herself, she glanced down at the yard just below her bedroom window.

Streaks of sun moved across the ground. Yes, she loved the crispness and purity of the early mornings before everyone woke up, before the busy world ignored God’s beauty. The morning beauty reminded her that this day was God’s creation, and she would like to think it was just for her.

She exhaled softly, causing a smile to stretch across her face. July is a perfect month to go to California. Gosh, who would have known a year ago that I, Dena Caulter, would be going to California to live? But today, July 8, 1939, I am leaving everything I know to explore a new place. Oh, I just want to jump up and down, lean out this window, and scream at the top of my lungs for everyone to hear.

Dena walked to her bed and sat down. She looked through several piles of clothing but did nothing. I’ll finish in a little while. Right now, I want to remember my room—every detail. However, her mind returned to Mother’s scolding—Young ladies do not jump up and down. Yet, Dena knew she would never forget this day. Of course, the more she weighed the outcome of the events, the more uneasy she became and then that feeling changed to a new one—fear. Her eyes widened at this revelation. She would be lying to herself and to God if she denied this new emotion. But, being realistic helped her. She wasn’t prepared to deal with these new feelings, so she pushed them out of her mind and focused on the many piles of clothes waiting to be packed.

All of a sudden, it dawned on her that she hadn’t been talking much to God lately. Maybe that’s the root of my restlessness. Oh gosh, Mother would be hurt if she knew.

Embarrassed, Dena lay back on her bed, closed her eyes tightly, and simply whispered, Thank you, God, for early mornings. Thank you for my trip to California. Amen.

Heaving a soft sigh, Dena stretched as she thought about how her dad always said she was the practical one of his three children. She was his girl; he could always count on her to make the right decisions.

Sometime it almost makes me angry to think that my parents can’t understand my need for more than just being prepared for farming and marriage — that I really want a job in town. I guess my sensible side has prepared me for independence and adventure. After all, it can be a great adventure, a new opportunity for me. Her eyes twinkled. Now that I think about it, I have always wanted to go somewhere so I can be on my own. I guess I’ve been ready for this day for a long time.

I’m not like Susan. She’s a homebody. She loves cooking, creating, and caring. And she and Grant have always dated. Me? I’m not sure I would know how to act on a date. Besides, I don’t want to date any of the boys around here.

You’re not dressed. Can I help you with anything? Susan’s chestnut brown pony tail bounced as she popped through the door. Maybe I can do something to speed up your packing. Dad says you need to hurry.

Dena shook her head. Picking up the last of her socks, she transferred them into a smaller suitcase which sat next to the already bulging larger one. Then with her hands on her hips, she examined the contents. That was everything; it was time to get dressed.

Susan sat on the edge of the bed and idly watched her older sister slip a pink traveling suit over a crisp pink cotton petticoat. Dena turned her back before buttoning the bodice. Studying her reflection in the mirror, she admired how her slender frame filled out in all the right spots. She smoothed out any wrinkles, remembering what her mother had said as she had monitored the way her daughter’s clothes fit. Not too tight, not too loose. Ladies should look presentable as well as respectable. Above all, they must always be modest.

She examined the sleeveless eyelet sundress and matching jacket with approval. If it rumpled up, she’d still look decent.

That really looks nice on you, but I would prefer blue. It was almost a compliment. It caused Dena to glance at her sister, who sat touching the blue ribbon streaming from her hair. She indeed wore blue—a blue gauze dress.

Susan’s face showed conflicting thoughts before she blurted out, I really don’t know what is so spectacular about this Mr. Hughes. You act like he’s as important as the President.

Well, maybe he is. After all, he has his own aeronautics company, Dena came back. I think flying is so romantic.

You know, I don’t ever want to leave Colorado, Susan spoke in a barely audible voice. Not even for a visit.

Dena stood staring. What a stupid thing to say.

Then why are you going to California? Dena asked sharply. She couldn’t resist the snip. For just a moment, Dena regretted her remark. It was only a fleeting minute though.

Susan didn’t answer. She just left the room. Tilting the dresser mirror, Dena slowly twirled around one last time. She wouldn’t miss her sister. Not for one minute. With one final look at her image, Dena wondered, why do I have freckles across my nose? She smoothed her left eyebrow. Probably my only asset is my nose and blonde hair, although it's straight. With that Dena patted her shoulder length hair. Leaning forward, frowning, she squinted. I wish my eyes weren’t so green.

Dena had spent most of yesterday finishing all of the odds and ends. She stood studying the overloaded suitcase, wondering what she should leave and what she should take. Her dad and Brock had already taken the trunks to the depot the day before. Shifting her weight onto one foot, she thought. I wonder if this is appropriate in California. She held up a pair of pajamas; they dangled to the floor as her fists rested on her hips. Dena wavered, which was unusual for her. Will I like California, my cousins, or my job?

After Uncle Walter left, she had hurried to the library to read up on Langley Field, NACA, and Howard Hughes. Although she couldn’t find much, it was vital for her to not be naïve on essential information. She now knew NACA stood for National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics. The library carried only a few national newspapers and no other informing literature.

Hey, Sis, Dad says—Wow! Brock burst into her room, stopping in his tracks. You look terrific, Dena. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dressy dress. This is fancier than your church dresses.

Dena ignored him, dismissing his attempt to be nice. She looked around the room one final time. Picking up her Bible and hairbrush, she slid them into a small, homemade, carry-on bag. Then she tossed her diary and a couple of books into her suitcase. Carefully closing each case, she turned the key and slipped it into her purse. Brock stood just inside the door, leaning against the frame.

Uh, Dad says to hurry so you don’t miss the train; the engineer won’t wait on anyone.

I think I’m ready, she said. Nonetheless, she didn’t feel quite as sure as she sounded. She took one last look around her bedroom. Nothing was out of place. Quickly, Brock grabbed up the two suitcases. Both suitcases hit the floor with a thud.

You are such a klutz, Dena criticized, positioning her hand on her hip. It was hard to look mad when she was so excited.

Boy, these are heavy. What did you pack—the bed? he teased. She bent over and smoothed the wrinkles from the bedspread.

The bed is still here, she said curtly, glancing sideways at him. Even though he was two years older, at times he acted younger. Maybe it was the privilege of being the only boy. I won’t miss your endless teasing.

Well, I can’t wait to get rid of you and have the house to myself, he came back. Then Brock quickly slid his free arm around her shoulder and squeezed.

You’ll miss me, and you know it. Who will you have to pester? She deliberately shrugged off his embrace. Jutting her chin in the air, she screwed up her face into a pucker and gave him the girl look as Brock called it. He hooted.

Dena really looked at her brother. His white-blonde hair enhanced his tanned face, giving him a dashing look. His hardened muscles from the constant farm work bulged under his shirt. It’s a wonder girls don’t fall over each other trying to date him.

And I won’t miss your constant nagging. He smirked, reaching for the second suitcase. With several exaggerated steps, Brock moved toward the stairs. She gathered up the cosmetics case, the small carry-on bag and followed. I don’t nag, pester, or badger.

I got you. Ha, ha, ha.

Brock continued taunting as they reached the bottom of the stairs. She hurried ahead of him, reaching the kitchen just as her dad came in from outside. Brock intensified his groan as he followed his sister through the kitchen door.

Do you have everything, dear? Her mother’s smile didn’t quite reach her mouth.

Yes, I think so, Mother. Brock groaned again.

Well now, don’t you look spiffy, girl. With pride her dad slowly looked at her from head to foot. Dena fidgeted, smoothing the front of her jacket. He turned to Susan, smiling. Her sister was his baby and held his heart. Then he smiled tenderly at his wife.

Mother, you keep an eye on my two lovely, young ladies. I don’t want them bothered by any boys on the train, he softly said. Brock hooted, ducking when Dad playfully cuffed him about the ear. Dad pulled out his new pocket watch.

We had better go. We don’t want to miss the train. It leaves promptly in about two hours, and it’ll take almost an hour for us to get there.

Susan reached for the wicker basket on the table. Ducking her head, Dena snickered as she watched her sister’s eyes widen. The basket was heavier than she realized. It contained fruit, cheese, and carefully wrapped and sealed quart canning jars of water.

Oh, Mother! Do we have to carry food and water like in the old days; this is 1939! protested Dena, trying not to show her embarrassment. Earlier, her mother said they wouldn’t eat every meal on the train. Then she repeated horror stories she had heard from neighbors and friends, at the ice cream socials and dances that had eaten the food and had become ill. And Mother had said she wasn’t taking sick girls to California for Doreen to nurse, but it hadn’t stopped Dena from protesting.

If you want to go to California, girl, her dad said sternly, you will obey your mother’s instructions.

Dena lowered her head and bit the inside of her lower lip as she helped Susan carry the basket to the car, setting it between her parents. I am ungrateful. I know that everyone has sacrificed for this trip, but it’s my trip! I’m the one going to California to live. And why does Dad always call me girl?

Their old, dust-covered, black Plymouth was packed with suitcases piled in the trunk and strapped on the roof.

She squeezed into the backseat between her siblings. It used to be easier to ride three across the seat, Dena suddenly realized, but now we all have grown up and out, especially Brock. He starts his third year at Colorado University this fall. Hmmm, I wonder if he dates. He never mentions any special girl. As a matter of fact, the only one in the family who has a steady is Susan. Boys don’t interest me. She glanced at Brock, then pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose, giving her girl look. He grinned broadly.

Dena turned, ignoring her brother. She looked past him to watch her dad push the screen door shut, making sure it latched, and propping a red brick against it