The Ypsilanti Daily Press

NO REFUGE FROM LOVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Molla and Tay and the other young couples boarded a silvery transport plane at La Guardia field. "Do I look frightened?" Molla inquired. "This is the first time I ever have flown."

"Can't tell by looking at you," Tay assured her, showing her to a seat. He let her sit next to the window and dropped down beside her.

"Here we go," Vivian Mitchell sang out.

A pretty stewardess came by and made certain their safety belts were fastened. Molla felt the huge plane quiver. She heard the muffled roar as the powerful motors leaped into action, and then they were taxiing across the concrete apron. The motors increased their tune and an instant later the wheels left the ground and they were in the air.

"I couldn't tell when we left the ground," Molla said.

They headed into the wind, circled the field once and turned south. Below were the towering skyscrapers of Manhattan, then a few minutes later they were out over the Atlantic ocean.

"We fly down the coast a little way and then head in toward Washington," Tay explained.

"Washington... the capital?"

Tay nodded. "I arranged a two-hour stopover there, just time enough for a quick trip around the city. I thought you'd like that."

"I'd love it."

They reached Washington in an hour and a half. "We'll drop the rest of you folks off at the Mayflower," Tay said. "You'll have time for a drink or two while Molla and I see a few sights."

They transferred from the airport bus to a taxi when they reached the city. They rode past the Capitol building, the White House, the Washington and Lincoln monuments. A little later Molla clutched Tay's arm.

"Look at that flag," she pointed out. "It's Norwegian."

"Sure, the Norwegian embassy."

They stopped for a moment and Molla took a long look at the building set well back from the street.

"We'll come back here when we have more time," Tay said.

They picked up the others and got back to the airport just in time. In another few minutes they were in the air again, heading down the coast toward Florida.

Time passed swiftly. In a little while they swept in over Biscayne bay and settled down on Miami airport.

"It's a great day we live in," Ted Holland said. "Breakfast in New York, dinner in Miami."

"And plenty of time before dinner," Bob Vinton added.

Molla was all eyes as they drove to their hotel. Everything was white and shiny, nothing like she had ever seen before.

"Well, how do you like it so far?" Vivian asked. Molla shared a room with Vivian. She went over to the huge windows and looked out over Biscayne bay.

"It's beautiful. I'm so glad I came."

It took them a little while to unpack. "I had to do some shopping in a hurry," Molla said, "but judging from what I have seen here already, people don't wear much more than bathing suits and slacks."

They had dinner on an open terrace. "This is no place for a girl to go with her fiance," Molla observed, looking about cautiously. "Did you ever see so many beautiful girls?"

"I can't see any," Tay said gravely. "As far as I'm concerned there's only one beautiful girl in Miami."

They danced under the stars and Molla, leaning her head against his shoulder, whispered, "Writers who want to describe paradise should first come here for a visit."

He laughed and held her closer. "It may not be paradise, but it's 18 ways better than New York during a cold wave."

In the morning they went deep-sea fishing on a chartered launch.

"What are we going to get?" Molla inquired.

"Sunburned, most likely," Bob Vinton said, "but if we're lucky, we might get a couple of sailfish. How about it Cap'n Peters?"

Captain Peters, their pilot and guide, nodded. "Been a pretty fair play lately. Record so far is a 175-pounder caught just yesterday."

The boat roared out over Biscayne bay and into the bluer waters of the Atlantic beyond.

They were out more than an hour before Ted Holland got the first strike. He landed the fish in about 15 minutes.

"Not very big," he muttered. "Doubt if it goes more than 75 pounds."

Tay led Molla to a fishing seat and strapped her in. "You give it a whirl awhile," he said.

Captain Peters pointed over the water.

"I think I just saw a big one break water over there. We'll head that-away."

Twenty minutes later, the rod in Molla's hands jerked violently and the line started to run out.

"You've got a strike, a big one, too," Jack Curtiss yelled. "Hold 'im, Molla. He's a whale, at least."

Molla laughed excitedly and gripped the pole with both hands.

"What do I do, what do I do?" she wailed.

"Give 'im a little more line. Play 'im, play 'im," Captain Peters ordered tersely.

"There he goes. Look at 'im. He's a 200-pounder if he's an ounce."

The fish broke water again a few seconds later, about 200 yards off the port bow. Water dripped from his glowing sides as he flashed upward in the sun for almost 10 feet.

"Oh, he's too beautiful to catch," Molla protested.

"It's either him or us," Bob Vinton laughed. "He'll pull us half way to the Azores."

The rod anchored in the socket between Molla's knees bent and she fed it a little more line.

"He's tiring a little," Captain Peters observed.

"You can start giving him a little pull. Just a few feet at a time."

But that was one fish that didn't know the meaning of "quit." They had to play him another half hour. Molla's hands were stinging.

"Better let me take it," Tay said, but she refused.

"I caught him and he's mine."

"Okay, beautiful, but you'll wind up diving in after him at this rate."

"Okay, better start pulling him in," Captain Peters shouted suddenly. "He's just about fagged, I take it. He only broke water about a foot that time."

Molla reeled in rapidly, but not too fast lest the fish take one more wild leap and snap the taut line.

There he was. They could see him clearly now. Fifty yards. Twenty-five. Ten. "Got 'im," Captain Peters grunted, bringing the big fish to gaff.

They hauled it in. "A whopper," Captain Peters said. "This'll be close to the record."

They weighed the fish on shore.

"Miss, you've got the record catch of the season. Two hundred four pounds. They'll be wantin' pitchers o' this."

Molla had to stand alongside the fish as it hung from a hoist overhead while a newsreel cameraman shot the sight.

"A big fish and a beautiful girl always make a swell shot," he said with a grin.

"And anyway," Tay added, "you've finally crashed the movies, even if it did take a fish to put you there."

(To Be Continued)