The approach to the airport at Greeley, Colorado was not entirely unfamiliar. It had been over nine years since she’d first landed here in Magic Carpet, the day she’d traded it for Soiled Dove; she’d shot a few landings with the Mooney there as well. Now, she was flying in here with the Learjet she’d owned for years. What a change . . . still almost unbelievable.

Even at a place that did a lot of small aircraft trading, the unexpected arrival of a Learjet drew some attention. By the time Jennlynn cracked the cabin door, the owner of the business was waiting to greet them. He did a double-take to see the impoverished missionaries he’d talked to a couple days before come down the steps – and more of a double take to see the last person off the plane had been the subject of an hour-long interview on WNN he’d watched the night before! The two missionaries and Learjet Jenn . . . combinations don’t get much more unlikely than that.

"Do you still have that 207?" Jeff asked.

"Still do," the owner said. "Do you want it?"

"Let’s go take a look at it first," Jennlynn smiled. "I want to make sure that it’s all it’s cracked up to be. Is Dick still running this place?"

"No, he’s retired," the man said. "I’m John Holger, I own the place now."

"John, John . . . yeah, I think you flew with me when I bought a plane here a few years ago," she nodded. "Bring me up to speed on this 207."

"It could be in better shape," Holger said as he started to lead the three visitors down the line of used planes to one side of the hangar. "It was used by an aerial tour company, and it’s got a lot of hours. It needs a major, it’s out of annual, but you could get a ferry permit."

They reached the airplane. It didn’t look good. It was beat up, although the logo Grand Canyon Flights was still on the door. It didn’t take a glance under the cowling to tell that the engine needed work; she could see it from the oil and exhaust tracings on the lower fuselage. There were also some dents here and there. "Jeff, I don’t know about this," she said ominously. "I’d be scared to taxi this dog past a fire hydrant; it might stick up a leg."

Jeff glanced at her; somewhere along the way the top three buttons of her blouse had come undone, and he got the message real quick that he was about to see another side of Jennlynn at work. "They’re not making them new anymore, and there were never a lot of them made," he said as noncommittally as he could.

"I don’t know," she sighed again. "John, what do you have to have for this thing?"

"Forty two and a half," he said. "Like I said, it could be in better shape."

"No fooling," she shook her head. "John, are you a churchgoing man? Do you know what these good people want to do with this thing?"

"They told me," he said.

"John," she let out a sigh. "Asking them anything more than, oh, thirty-five is like robbing from a collection plate."

"Ma’am, I can’t let it go that low," he said. "I marked it down to give them a fair price at forty-two and a half."

"Actually, what you ought to do is just give it to them," she said. "After all, they’re a 501(c)3 charity. You write it off, and you’d get every cent back on your taxes. But you can take a loss on the transaction off on your taxes, too."

"I can’t take that big of a cash loss," he shrugged. He looked at Jennlynn, more at her chest than her face, pushed the thought aside, and glanced at the expressionless faces of the missionaries. The thing had been sitting there for a while, and there hadn’t been a lot of lookers . . . "How about thirty-seven and a half?" he said. "That’ll keep me square with the bank, at least."

"It’s going to need a lot of work," Jennlynn said. "These folks don’t have a lot of money to throw around. It’s going to be flying them over some of the most miserable jungle on earth, so it’s going to have to be brought up to first rate just so they can take the risk," she said. "I’ll tell you, it’s a real reach for them, and they’re going to be putting their lives on the line each and every day in this plane."

He let out a long sigh. "All right," he said. "How about thirty seven and a half, but I’ll throw in a personal check for five grand to help with the overhaul?"

Jennlynn glanced at Jeff and Sheila, who were both struggling to keep straight faces. "Are you going to be able to hack that, Jeff? Sheila?"

"It’ll be a reach," Jeff said dubiously, going along with the production. "I hear there’s a place down in Mexico where you can get a major at a real good price. Not the best work, but it might do."

Jennlynn shook her head. "I really hate the thought of you flying over that jungle with a backyard Mexican major," she said. "You risk your life enough down there as it is."

"Thirty five and five," John sighed. "Tell you what. I’ve got a GPS navigation system still in the box. If you people are flying over jungle all the time, I’ll throw that in; it might be useful. Really, that’s the best I can do. This is a cash flow business, ma’am, and with the president the country’s got, our cash hasn’t been flowing like I’d like it to."

"If that’s how it is, that’s how it is," she said. "I’m a business person myself, I know there are limits. You’ve been generous, sir, and I guess there’s no choice but to accept. You can arrange for a ferry permit, right?"

"No problem," he said. "Let’s head back to the office, and I’ll get started on the paperwork."

"We’ll be along in a second," she smiled. "I need to make a phone call or two. And can I get jet fuel here? I need to have the Lear topped off."

"We don’t have it here, but the place next door has it on a truck. I’ll call and have them send it over."

"Good enough," she smiled. "Thank you for everything, sir. Jeff, Sheila, I need to talk to you alone for a second."

"See you inside," John nodded and turned toward the office.

"Jennlynn," Jeff whispered as Holger walked away. "That was incredible! God knew what he was doing when he allowed you and I to meet."

"Actually, I’m a little disappointed," she smiled. "For a second there I thought I was going to be able to talk him out of it for free."

"Jennlynn, I talked with him for a couple hours to beat him down $2500, and you beat him down another $15,000 or so in five minutes. Jennlynn, how do you do things like that?"

"Jeff, Sheila," she grinned. "You wouldn’t be expected to know this, but a prostitute has to bargain with every client she serves. I’ve had a dozen years to practice. The money really wasn’t important; I just did it because I could. Now, I don’t want to rub his nose in it, but once all the paperwork gets done, the two of you fly this thing down to Sky Harbor in Phoenix, and take it to Hernando Aviation, they do all my work. We’ll get with Stew Dozier there, maybe Monday, and work out the details of what it needs, but I’ll tell him to give it the whole nine yards. It won’t be factory new, but it will be in the best possible shape. As long as they’ve got things torn down, the paint looks lousy, and the bird will take a beating in the sun you’ve got down there, so I’ll tell them to do it over in Imron. Sound like a deal?"

"Cast your bread upon the waters," Jeff said, shaking his head, tears nearly in his eyes. "And it returns a hundredfold. A thousandfold. Jennlynn, I don’t know how we can thank you."

"Hey, Jeff," she smiled. "Who’s thanking who here, anyway?"

"Jennlynn," Sheila said, taking her in her arms for a big hug. "They tell stories about prostitutes with hearts of gold. You prove they’re true. God knew what he was doing with you, and we have to thank you and thank Him." She was silent for a second, then let out a sigh. "I know you don’t think much of your parents, but they produced an incredible woman, and they’d be proud of you for this, too. If you don’t want to tell them about this, we’ll both understand, but I’d like to be sure they know."

"Suit yourself," she shrugged. "I really don’t care about that either way. Let’s hike up to the office and do the check writing, maybe I can still get some work done today. Are you two going to have cash to get you back to Phoenix all right? You’re probably going to have to do a night in a motel some place."

"We’ll be OK," Jeff nodded as they turned to walk toward the office.

The fuel truck was coming over from next door, heading toward the Learjet. "You two go in and start the paperwork," she said. "I always like to be on hand when they fuel this thing."

"I know how that works; I’m the same way," Jeff replied. "Catch you in a few minutes."

The fuel man knew what he was doing, all right, but that wasn’t always the case, so Jennlynn just looked on to make sure there was no spillage and so she could personally check that the tank caps were put on tight afterward. She stood looking around, remembering the last time she’d been here, and the sadness that she’d felt in leaving her old friend Magic Carpet behind. Like the last time, there were several rows of airplanes there for sale, of all different types. Far down the line, there was even a green and white Cessna 150, and that drew out the memories.

It took a few minutes before Skyhook’s tanks were full; then she produced a credit card and settled up. She started back to the office, but on a whim, decided to stretch her legs for a minute more instead, so headed down the line of planes. It was hard to read the numbers on the sides until she got close, but the ones on the 150 stopped her in her tracks: N23217.

The little Cessna looked forlorn; even the battered 207 she’d just made a deal on looked a lot better. In near physical pain, she walked up to the airplane and gave it a closer look. The lettering was gone from the cowling, but she could make out the ghosts of the letters in the faded paint: Magic Carpet.

Helpless to stop, tears came to her eyes. What a sad way for the little airplane to wind up. It had been her only friend in her hard days, the hardest years of her life! For years, this faithful little Cessna had carried her over mountain and desert; it had been her only companion when most of the foundation of the person she now was had been put together. How many hours she had spent just washing and waxing and polishing this airplane, just out of pride of ownership! Even that had been a foundation of a habit; to this day, one of her few relaxations, her few times to contemplate, was when she went down to the hangar with a handful of rags and a can of polish to work on Songbird or Skyhook. It had been a long time since Magic Carpet had seen a can of wax; it was physically dirty, banged up, and looked as if it hadn’t had a good day since the last time she’d flown it.

"I’m sorry, Magic Carpet," the words coming to her lips. "I should never have let you go. I didn’t really need to, and there’ve been so many times I’ve wished I’d never done it."

The little plane didn’t answer her, but she could almost hear an answer in her mind – You did what you had to do.

"I didn’t have to do it," she told the Cessna out loud. "I shouldn’t have done it. You were the only thing in the world that didn’t look down your nose at me when I had to fly you into the Mustang," she said, now openly crying. "You sat there waiting faithfully when I turned myself into a prostitute. You were the only thing that kept me going, you were always faithful, you were my only friend, and look what I did to you. Magic Carpet, can you ever forgive me for what I let happen to you?"

The Cessna was silent, but Jennlynn felt the words form in her mind: How can you ask an airplane to forgive you for your thoughtlessness, an inanimate piece of aluminum and steel, when you can’t bring yourself to forgive your parents for their thoughtlessness?

"You’re right," she whispered. "You were always better to me than I was to myself, and I’ll do my best to make it right." She let out a long breath, brought her sleeve to her eyes to dry her tears, then turned and walked quickly to the office.

Holger was behind the desk, working on a typewriter, when Jennlynn came in. Jeff looked up at her and could see her face still damp with tears. "Jennlynn, is something the matter?" he asked.

"John," she said, brushing Jeff off. "That Cessna 150 out there, 23217. How much do you have to have for it?"

"$9500," John said. "But if you’re looking for a Cessna 150, there’s better ones than that out there. It needs a major real bad, a lot of other work."

"I don’t want a Cessna 150, I want that one," she said. "Ninety-five is fine; I beat you bloody on one deal today; I don’t need to do it again. Do you know if it can be flown?"

"It was flown in here from Pierre, South Dakota," he said. "No problem with getting a ferry permit, but I wouldn’t trust it very far. I can have our mechanic give it a once-over."

"I can give you a check now," she told him. "Have him look it over, get it ready to go, get the paperwork done. I’ll sign it tomorrow or Saturday and fly it back to Phoenix."

"Jennlynn," Sheila spoke up. "I’m a pilot, too. I could fly it back to Phoenix for you."

"No, Sheila," Jennlynn told her. "I made one of the bigger mistakes of my life when I flew that Cessna in here. It deserves to at least have me fly it out again, but I just don’t have the time today. I’ve got to file a flight plan for Bradford."

"Bradford?" Jeff asked, then added gently, "Jennlynn, would you like us to go with you?"

"I really should do it by myself," she said slowly, "But I’m afraid if you aren’t with me I might change my mind."

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