Michael Malone - The Four Corners of the Sky
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Copyright 2009, 2010 by Michael Malone
Cover and internal design 2010 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover photo Corbis
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systemsexcept in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviewswithout permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Landmark, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
Fax: (630) 961-2168
www.sourcebooks.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Malone, Michael
The four corners of the sky / Michael Malone.
p. cm.
1. Women air pilots--Fiction. 2. Air pilots, Military--Fiction. 3. Abandoned children--Fiction. 4. Mothers and daughters--Fiction. 5. Fathers and daughters--Fiction. 6. North Carolina--Fiction. I. Title.
PS3563.A43244F68 2009
813.54--dc22
2008038938
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Part One
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
Part Two
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
Part Three
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Part Four
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Part Five
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Epilogue
About the Author
Reading Group Guide
Back Cover
My deep and lasting thanks to Hillel Black, Peter Lynch, Dominique Raccah, and Peter Matson.
My appreciation to the Bogliasco Foundation for the generous fellowship that allowed me to work on The Four Corners of the Sky in a setting as memorable as the company I met there.
My gratitude to the three Annies for whom the heroine of this romance is named: Dr. Ann Hackmann, The Reverend Ann Stevenson, and Professor Ann Rosalind Jones.
Among the many who gave me advice and information about aviation, let me especially thank Captain Marion Barnett, U.S. Air Force, Retired.
Thanks to my first two readers, Sue Martin and Cathy Wagner. Thanks to Astrid Giugni for the algebra.
And, as ever, there would be no book without Maureen.
July 4, 1982
In small towns between the North Carolina Piedmont and the coast, the best scenery is often in the sky. On flat sweeps of red clay and scrub pine, the days move monotonously, safely; but above, in the blink of an eye, dangerous clouds can boil out of all four corners of the sky and do away with the sun so fast that, in the sudden quiet, birds fly shrieking to shelter. The flat slow land starts to shiver and anything can happen.
In such a storm, on Annie Peregrines seventh birthday, her father gave her the airplane and minutes later drove out of her life.
When thunder scared her awake she found herself in their convertible, parked atop a hill near a barn. Off in the distance rose a large white house with a wide white porch. A white pebble road curved away behind the car, unreeling like ribbon on a spool. Annie looked past two rows of rounded black trees to where fields of yellow wheat spilled to the edge of the sky. Her father and she must have arrived at Pilgrims Rest, the Peregrine family house in Emerald, North Carolina, toward which theyd been driving all day.
Sliding from their car, she saw him, slender and fast-moving, his white shirt shimmery, as he ran toward her out of the barn and across the dusky yard.
Annie! Reaching her, her father dropped to his knees and hugged her so fiercely that her heart sped. Im in trouble. Ive got to leave you here a little while with Aunt Sam and Clark. Okay?
She couldnt speak, could only shake her head. How often had he told her that the house where he had grown up, that Pilgrims Rest had been for him a pit of snakes, a cage of tigers?
He kept nodding to make her nod too. Okay? Ill be back. Just hang onto your hat. Pulling a pink baseball cap from his pocket, he snuggled it down onto her head. Colored glass beads spelled ANNIE above its brim; a few beads were missing, breaks in the letters.
Across the driveway a tall woman with short thick hair banged open the large doors of the barn. She called out to Annies father. Jack? Jack! Jack! Jack!
Annies father turned her around to face the woman but kept talking with that nodding intensity that always meant they would need to move fast. See my sister Sam over there? I told you how nice she is. The sound of sharp thunder flung the child back into the mans arms. Sos Clark. Theyll take care of you. Ill call you. Remember, youre a flyer. He yanked her small hard blue suitcase out of the convertible, dropping it onto the gravel beside her. Give Sam the cash.
Stop it. Where are you going!
Annie, I know. Its rotten. A drop of rain fell on his face like a fat fake tear. Drops splattered on the suitcases shiny clasps. Go look in the barn. Theres a present for you. Sorry, no silver cup.
She kicked him as hard as she could. And then she kicked over the blue suitcase. I want to go with you , she said. You! But before she could stop him, her father had run to their car and was driving away.
She raced after the Mustang, down the pebble road between the dark rows of large oak trees. It was hard to make her voice work loudly but finally it flamed up her throat and she could shout at him to come back. She was already crying, already knowing she couldnt run fast enough.
Behind her, the tall woman named Sam kept calling, Jack! Jack!
Annie echoed her, hoping it would help. Dad! Dad!
The convertible braked to a skidding stop, her father twisting around in the seat to call out, Your birthday presents in the barn, go look in the barn! Annie! Dont forget. Youre a flyer!
She screamed as loudly as she could, You stop!
The wind caught his scarf as he sped off; it flew into the air behind him. Then he was gone and the green silk scarf lay coiled near her feet. She ground it into the pebbled road with her small leather cowboy boots; they were as green as the scarf and stitched with lariats. She had wanted these boots so badly that only a week ago her father had turned their car around, drove them back fifty miles to some small town in the middle of a flat state; he took her to the store where shed seen the boots in the window and he bought them for her. Never wait to say what you want, he told her. Its no fun to go back. And sometimes you cant.
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