Wings of audacity J a m e s O. m i l l e r Wings Of audacity “It is possible to fly without motors, but not without knowledge and skill.” A hIstorIcAl novel James O. Miller An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book Wings of audacity Wings of audacity James O. Miller James O. Miller An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Wings of audacity T he fields outside Dayton, Ohio, were wild and endless. On summer days, they stretched golden under the sun, rippling like the sea as the wind swept through. Evelyn Taylor knew every corner of those fields; she had explored them with bare feet and scraped knees, chasing after wildflow- ers or trying to catch the ever-elusive butterflies. But her favourite memories were of playing there with Orville and Wilbur Wright, the two boys who lived just down the lane. The three of them spent every possible hour outside, imagining worlds far beyond Dayton. Orville and Wilbur, in particular, were different from any boys Evelyn had ever known. They were quiet, both of them, prone to long silences and sud- den bursts of laughter. Their eyes, always intense, James O. Miller glinted with ideas that even Evelyn didn’t under- stand. Sometimes, the brothers would be talking to each other so fast and so excitedly that Evelyn would feel like she was watching a secret language unfold. But no matter how deeply they were buried in their thoughts, they always made room for her. One summer morning, as they lay sprawled on the grass looking up at the sky, Wilbur pointed to a hawk gliding effortlessly above them. His voice was soft, thoughtful. “Do you ever wonder what it would feel like to be up there, flying like that?” Evelyn laughed, but she knew Wilbur was serious. “Flying? People don’t fly, Wilbur.” Orville turned to her, his eyes alight. “Not yet, but they will. One day, we’ll be able to see the world from up there, just like that hawk.” Their words hung in the air, and Evelyn fell silent, imagining for a moment what it would be like. The idea seemed ridiculous, she’d never heard of anyone flying. But the certainty in Orville’s voice made her believe, even if just for a second, that maybe they could be the ones to do it. In the following months, the fields became more Wings of audacity than just a place for games. Orville and Wilbur were always building something, usually out of scraps of wood or old fabric, experimenting with ways to make things lift, soar, glide. Evelyn was their eager assistant, though her role mostly consisted of hold- ing pieces in place or fetching materials. She didn’t mind; she was in awe of them, and being close to their dreams made her feel as if she could dream a little bigger too. They tried all sorts of designs, paper kites, wooden frames, cloth stretched taut like wings. Some of these contraptions floated gracefully; others crashed to the ground within seconds, and Evelyn would double over with laughter while Orville and Wilbur took detailed notes about why it had failed. They never seemed discouraged, though. Each failure was sim- ply a lesson, another piece of the puzzle. Even then, Evelyn admired that about them, how they could pick up the broken pieces and try again, with even more determination. Not everyone understood the boys’ fascination. Dayton was a quiet town, rooted in tradition and practicality, and people were quick to cast a scepti- cal eye on anything unusual. Many of the townsfolk would shake their heads as they watched Orville, James O. Miller Wilbur, and Evelyn out in the fields. “Those boys ought to be helping their father with real work,” the grocer would mutter, and the townsfolk would nod in agreement. “No sense wasting time on dreams.” But Evelyn never saw it that way. She could see, even then, that the Wright brothers were special. They looked at the world differently than most peo- ple, as if they saw potential where others only saw limitations. And Evelyn felt privileged to be a part of their dream, even if only as a silent supporter and a friend who believed in them unconditionally. One autumn day, after yet another kite had tum- bled gracelessly to the ground, Wilbur looked at Eve- lyn, his face flushed but determined. “One day, Eve,” he said, “we’re going to fly. And when we do, I want you to be there to see it.” Evelyn’s heart swelled with pride. She didn’t under- stand all the intricacies of what they were doing, but she understood the power of dreams and the boys’ dream, however impossible it seemed, had somehow become hers too. As the years passed, life would pull Evelyn and the brothers in different directions. But in that moment, standing in the golden fields of Dayton, she couldn’t Wings of audacity imagine a future where Orville and Wilbur weren’t trying to soar, where they weren’t reaching for some- thing that lay far beyond the ground. And for the first time, she realized that maybe just maybe, they’d be the ones to make it happen. James O. Miller II. The bicycle shop on West Third Street in Dayton was nothing remarkable from the outside. Dust gath- ered on the windowsills, and the paint on the door- frame had chipped away over years of use. But to Eve- lyn Taylor, the shop was a place of endless possibility. Inside, the hum of activity filled the air as Orville and Wilbur Wright, her oldest friends, worked tirelessly on their machines. To the townsfolk, the shop was merely a place to get a bicycle repaired or, for those who could afford it, to buy a new one. But Evelyn knew it was much more than that. Now in their early thirties, Orville and Wilbur had transformed the bicycle shop into a place where in- vention was boundless. Their latest obsession, flying, had taken over every spare inch of space. Shelves were stacked with sketches, scraps of cloth, and glid- Wings of audacity er models. Bicycle parts lay scattered beside bundles of wood and wire, repurposed for the latest flying machine prototype. Evelyn was there as often as she could manage, weaving between the clutter, lending a hand with the tools she knew, and taking mental snapshots of the brothers in their element. One autumn morning, Evelyn stepped inside, her presence almost unnoticed amid the usual bustle. The brothers were poring over a set of sketches, deep in discussion. Orville’s hands were covered in grease, his shirt rolled up to the elbows, while Wilbur’s fore- head was creased in concentration as he pointed to a rough diagram pinned to the wall. “Evelyn!” Orville called, finally noticing her. His face broke into a grin as he wiped his hands on a rag, smearing the grease rather than cleaning it. “Just the person we needed. Could you hold this frame while I secure the wire?” Evelyn nodded, taking her place beside Orville and gripping the wooden frame of the latest glider. It was delicate but sturdy, a blend of metal and wood that felt like a promise in her hands. The three of them worked in silence for a while, each lost in thought. For Evelyn, helping with the gliders was a thrill- ing, almost sacred duty. Every wire tightened, every James O. Miller frame adjusted, felt like a step closer to something remarkable. As she held the frame, she stole a glance at Wilbur, who was examining a crumpled piece of paper with a look of frustration. She could see the lines of fatigue around his eyes, a weariness that came from months of setbacks. This was their fourth model in as many months, each one more ambitious than the last, but none able to maintain flight for long. “Do you really think this one will work?” she asked softly, careful not to disturb his concentration. Wilbur looked up, his gaze meeting hers with a mix of hope and uncertainty. “It has to,” he murmured, his voice thick with determination. “We’re closer, Eve. I can feel it. We just need to understand the balance, the way the air moves under and over the wings.” Orville chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with a fa- miliar spark. “And maybe a little luck wouldn’t hurt.” Evelyn smiled. She admired their resilience, how they balanced each other in every way, Wilbur, the stoic, cautious planner; Orville, the optimist with a knack for finding solutions even in the face of dis- aster. Together, they formed a seamless team, each compensating for the other’s shortcomings. Wings of audacity The townsfolk, however, weren’t as enamoured. Despite the brothers’ success with the bicycle shop, their reputation for strange ideas had only grown. There were whispers around town about their “flying machines” and the hours they spent on “impossible dreams.” Evelyn heard the gossip in the general store, the chuckles and head shakes when the brothers walked by. Most people believed they were wasting their talents and their customers’ patience. One afternoon, as Evelyn was tidying a set of tools, Mrs. Larson from down the street stopped by the shop, her gaze lingering on the disassembled parts of the glider scattered across the counter. “Orville, Wilbur, I’ve got to say, this is a lot of fuss for noth- ing,” she remarked, her tone a mixture of bemuse- ment and disapproval. “People don’t fly, you know. Even God didn’t give us wings.” Wilbur, without looking up, replied calmly, “Peo- ple didn’t think machines could go faster than hors- es, either.” Mrs. Larson scoffed. “Well, that’s different. We don’t have wings, Wilbur. It’s as simple as that.” Evelyn could feel Orville tense beside her, his jaw tightening. He took a deep breath, choosing to let it James O. Miller go. She admired him for that, knowing when to fight and when to focus. After Mrs. Larson left, Evelyn placed a reassuring hand on Orville’s arm. “They’ll understand one day,” she said softly. “One day, they’ll see you two were right all along.” Orville managed a small smile. “I hope you’re around to remind them, Eve.” The days continued, and the brothers’ experiments marched on. Evelyn began to notice the toll it was taking on them. Wilbur’s normally even temper grew shorter, and Orville’s laughter came less easily. Fail- ure after failure weighed on their shoulders. They had both poured their savings into these machines, spending long hours at night researching aerody- namics, balance, and lift, words that seemed alien to most Dayton residents but had become part of the Wright brothers’ everyday vocabulary. One evening, as dusk settled over Dayton, Evelyn found the brothers in the shop, shoulders hunched over yet another broken prototype. She stepped quietly toward them, feeling their exhaustion like a physical presence. The silence between the three of them was heavy, punctuated only by the soft hum of the gas lamps overhead. Wings of audacity Orville finally spoke, his voice a bare whisper. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s all a fool’s errand, Evelyn. Every time we fail, I can’t help but think... maybe Mrs. Larson is right. Maybe we were never meant to fly.” Evelyn shook her head, fiercely loyal. “No, Orville. You’ve come this far. You can’t stop now.” She paused, searching for the right words. “You and Wilbur, most people would have given up long ago. But you’ve kept going. That’s what makes you different. And that’s why I believe you’ll succeed.” Wilbur looked up from the pile of wood and wire, his face softening. “Thank you, Eve,” he said quietly. “Sometimes... we just need someone to remind us why we started.” They worked late into the night, and by morning, the prototype was ready for another test. The brothers packed up the glider, and Evelyn joined them as they walked to the nearby field. It was a familiar ritual by now, the three of them walking in near silence as the sky began to lighten, a soft blush of dawn promising a new day and, maybe, a little hope. The test, like so many before, ended in failure. The glider rose briefly, catching a gust of wind, and for a James O. Miller moment, Evelyn thought it might stay aloft. But the left wing dipped, sending it spiralling to the ground. A familiar sinking feeling tugged at her heart, but she hid it well, forcing herself to stay optimistic as the brothers examined the damage. Orville sighed, brushing a speck of dirt from the glider’s frame. “Back to the workshop,” he said, his tone weary but determined. And so they walked back together, retracing their steps, their hopes dampened but not defeated. Eve- lyn stayed by their side, as she always did, lending her quiet support with each step. She knew that one day, this path would lead them to success. But for now, she took comfort in being part of the journey, sharing in their dreams and in their resolve to keep moving forward, no matter how many times they fell. The sun rose higher, casting golden light over Day- ton as the three of them returned to the shop. Inside, dust motes floated in the morning light, and Evelyn watched as the brothers dove back into their work, undeterred by yet another failure. There was some- thing beautiful in their persistence, a spark that made her believe that perhaps, someday, she would witness them soaring high above the fields of Dayton, just as they had promised, so many years ago. Wings of audacity III. Evelyn sat by the window, gazing at the autumn leaves scattered along the Dayton streets, her mind far from Ohio. She held a letter from Wilbur, the ink smudged in places by wind or sand, perhaps. The address bore the familiar postmark of Kitty Hawk, North Carolina—a name that had come to mean much more than geography. She unfolded the letter carefully, knowing that each line would carry her into the whirlwind of her friends’ dreams and struggles. october 15, 1902 Dear evelyn, We’ve set up camp here in the sand dunes, and I’ll tell you, it’s not quite what we expected. The wind is unforgiving, the sand gets into everything, and the nearest post office is nearly two miles away—quite an ordeal to reach, as I’m sure you can imagine. But we’re making progress, I think. Yesterday, we got the glider to stay aloft for nearly 30 seconds. orville thinks it’ll be even better tomorrow. each test brings us closer, even if only by an inch. James O. Miller We’ve met some kind folks here, locals who seem more amused than sceptical of our work. There’s a boy, tommy, who helps carry equipment and keeps us supplied with fresh water. he told us he believes we’ll fly, though I suspect it’s more fascination than under- standing that brings him back each day. sometimes I wonder if you can feel how much you’re here with us. The thought of your steady hand, your patience, it keeps me grounded. We miss you more than words can say. Yours, Wilbur Evelyn clutched the letter, smiling at the mention of Tommy, imagining a sandy-haired boy dashing through the dunes, eager to catch a glimpse of the strange inventions that would rise briefly against the bright sky, only to tumble down again. She could see Wilbur’s careful, methodical approach, Orville’s spark of ingenuity, and how each trial must test not only their machines but their endurance and spirit. The letters from Kitty Hawk continued through- out the fall, each one more than just news; they were lifelines, connecting her to the heart of the Wright brothers’ journey. Their words carried her to the des- olate, wind-swept beaches and shifting sands, where Wings of audacity their experiments rose, failed, and rose again. As the days grew colder in Ohio, Evelyn would sit by her window, pouring over each word, feeling both the thrill of their progress and the weight of their strug- gle. november 3, 1902 evelyn, The weather has turned against us, and even orville’s patience is wearing thin. The winds were too strong yesterday; they threw our glider like it was a toy. sand was everywhere—our eyes, our mouths, every corner of the tent. orville said he’d never detested anything as much as the “godforsaken north carolina coast,” and we both had a laugh over it. We tried a new wing design this week. It’s more curved, based on some calculations I made late into the night. When we tested it, we were able to stay in the air longer, and it felt—well, right, like we’d finally found the shape that would support us. But even then, the forces on the glider are still unpredictable. I wonder if we’ll ever find a way to truly control it, to tame the air itself. There are nights, evelyn, when I think of giving up, James O. Miller and yet, something won’t let me. I think it must be a kind of madness. every time I see orville’s eyes light up with a new idea, that hope stirs again. I know you’d scold me for such doubts, so I’ll leave them behind and tell you only this: we’re closer than ever, and I think soon we’ll have something to show you. Wilbur Evelyn could almost hear his voice, carrying both weariness and the spark that refused to die. She knew all too well how the brothers’ bond fed their persis- tence. As children, they had been inseparable, two forces of nature moving through Dayton with a hun- ger to know and to build. The world around them had often felt small, contained. But as adults, they had found the grandest challenge of all, to make hu- manity’s most unattainable dream come true. And yet, even with their courage, Evelyn felt a pang of sadness for all they had sacrificed, all the countless hours spent on the edge of failure. In December, the final letter from Kitty Hawk ar- rived, bearing words that made her heart race. December 10, 1902