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Wind At My Back: Something From Nothing
Wind At My Back: Something From Nothing
Wind At My Back: Something From Nothing
Электронная книга95 страниц2 часа

Wind At My Back: Something From Nothing

Автор Kevin Sullivan

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FAT'S BEEN BITTEN - BY THE ACTING BUG. ALLOWED to participate when a travelling stage show comes to New Bedford, Fat is dazzled by the footlights and now has ears only for the applause of an adoring audience. He thinks he's found his calling - until Grandmother Bailey finds out about his plans, of course.

ИздательDavenport Press
Дата выпуска8 мая 2012 г.
Wind At My Back: Something From Nothing
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Kevin Sullivan

Captain Kevin 'Sully' Sullivan has made flying his passion and his life for the past 40 years. He graduated in 1977 from the University of Colorado with a Bachelor of Science in Aerospace Engineering and earned his FAA Private Pilot Licence there before pursuing a career in the United States Navy. Designated a Naval Aviator in 1978, he was transferred to Naval Air Station Miramar (Fightertown) to fly the F-14 Tomcat in 1980. He was deployed to the Indian Ocean onboard USS America and USS Enterprise while assigned to Fighter Squadron 114 (VF-114 Fighting Aardvarks), and was chosen to attend the Navy Fighter Weapons School (TOP GUN). In 1983 he was selected as the first US Navy Exchange Pilot to the Royal Australian Air Force, in the role of a Fighter Combat Instructor flying the Mirage 3. He joined QANTAS Airways in 1986 and flew the Boeing 747 and 767 before transitioning to the Airbus A330 in 2004. As Captain of Qantas Flight 72 (QF72) between Singapore and Perth, WA, on 7 October 2008, he narrowly averted a horrific air disaster when a fault in the plane's automation caused the plane to suddenly nosedive, not once but twice. He was medically retired in 2016.

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    Wind At My Back - Kevin Sullivan


    Something from Nothing

    By: Gail Hamilton



    PUBLISHED BY: Davenport Press

    Copyright © 2012 Sullivan Entertainment Inc.

    Copyright Images© 2012 Sullivan Entertainment Inc.

    All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

    The characters and incidents portrayed are entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.

    * * * * *

    Chapter One

    When rain streams down, people usually want to stay inside and keep dry. But on this wet day in the little northern mining town of New Bedford, May Bailey was meticulously pulling on her rain gear and getting ready to do some gardening. The matriarch of the Bailey clan was not a woman to be deterred by a little bad weather. Her grandsons, Hubert and Henry known familiarly as Hub and Fat, hovered partway down the stairs, trying to keep themselves out of sight as they eyed May through the railing. They could hardly wait for their grandmother to leave so that they could slip out of the house on a very pressing matter of their own.

    The Bailey house, perched on a hill overlooking the town, was large and grand, as befitted the leading citizen of New Bedford. The hardwood floors shone and the dark wood of the furniture was polished within an inch of its life. Every picture, vase and book sat meekly in its appointed place, as though not daring to defy the firm order May Bailey imposed on every aspect of her own life and the lives of those around her.

    In the background, the big brown cabinet radio played softly, and then an announcer read out all the local New Bedford news. The Historical Society’s general meeting will be held at the library on Tuesday night, the radio intoned. The Presbyterian ladies’ auxiliary ...

    Come on, Grandmother, Fat whispered impatiently, let’s go! Fat’s ten-year-old face was full of urgency. He just had to get out of the house, and get out soon.

    If we’re gonna meet that bus we gotta sneak past her, Hub added, glancing at the clock on the wall. Each second that ticked by brought them closer and closer to the time they had been instructed to be at the station. The person they were rushing to meet was their mother, Honey Bailey, and they simply could not bear to miss a single one of the few precious moments they would be able to snatch with her there.

    May crossed into the parlor intending to turn off the radio. And one final announcement on Community Billboard, the radio announcer said, the Chautauqua is coming to New Bedford. Four joyous days, four great shows.

    Hub signaled Fat. Together, they crept down the stairs with painful slowness. Hub, a lanky twelve-year-old, had a hard time ducking below the height of the railing.

    Tickets are available from The Chronicle … May snapped the radio off, then turned just in time to catch the boys at the foot of the stairs preparing to make a dash for the front door.

    What are you boys doing, creeping around like bandits?

    Fat caught his breath. May Bailey was a stout, commanding woman in her sixties whom no one trifled with. The boys had learned this the hard way in the few months they had been living with her since their father died. After Jack Bailey’s death, Honey had gone back to North Bridge to look for work, and the boys had moved in with their grandmother. May did not approve of Honey, and she certainly would have forbidden the boys to see her had she known Honey was passing through town.

    Ah ... can we go over to Buck Mayhew’s? Hub asked, scrambling for some excuse to get out of the house fast. Buck was one of the first kids the Bailey boys had made friends with after their move to New Bedford.

    May nodded towards the window and the water streaming down the glass. Well of course not, it’s raining outside.

    If you can garden, then we can go to Buck’s, can’t we? Fat argued, desperate to go.

    May raised her eyebrows. There’s quite a difference! My tomatoes have fallen in the mud, and if I don’t prop them up they’re going to rot. Then, seeing the boys’ faces fall at her words, she sighed and relented. In spite of what her grandsons seemed to believe, she was not entirely without a heart. Oh, well, if you must go, take an umbrella!

    Instantly, Hub and Fat clattered across the hall towards the front door, snatching up the umbrella as they ran. There was no stopping them now. They meant to get out before their grandmother changed her mind.

    Goodbye boys, May called out, stepping warily aside as they barreled past her.

    Bye Grandmother, they called over their shoulders. Then the door slammed shut behind them, leaving only a gust of damp air to mark their passing. Shaking her head, May pulled on her gardening gloves and set out to deal with her tomatoes.

    As fast as they could, the boys dashed down the rain-slicked sidewalk and through the middle of town. The boys’ grandfather had built New Bedford’s silver mine, a company that the Baileys still operated, and with the support of the Bailey family, the town had sprung up around it. The place was small compared to North Bridge, where the boys had lived before their father died. There weren’t many stores on its short main street, and, like most mining towns, it was a bit rough.

    Today, the boys had not the slightest interest in looking in the windows of the shops or even glancing down the side street where their friend Buck Mayhew actually lived. Panting and eager, they only just managed to arrive at the train station as the bus from North Bridge rumbled in from the opposite direction.

    There’s Mom’s bus! Fat cried joyfully. He had been terrified that they would be late and miss their mother altogether. The bus was a big, lumbering vehicle. Two or three cars honked as it turned up the street to the station. Just in time! crowed Hub, galloping ahead of his younger brother.

    The boys raced alongside the bus excitedly as it pulled into the open strip before the station. Hub craned his neck, peering at all the windows until he caught sight of a face, just as excited as his, against the glass.

    There she is! See? At the front!

    The bus finally ground to a halt and the door opened. After a seemingly endless stream of strangers, Honey Bailey, clutching a cheap cardboard suitcase, stepped down.

    Mom! Both boys yelled at once. Over here!

    Honey was a slim, pretty woman in her thirties whose nickname was a tribute to her honey-colored hair. She wore a simple straw hat with an artificial flower on the side, and over her print cotton dress was a well-worn white cardigan, unbuttoned. She clutched her purse carefully to her side.

    At the first sound of the boys’ voices, she looked anxiously around until she spotted them. Immediately, she dropped her suitcase and raced towards her sons.

    Ah! There you are! Honey scooped

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