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WASP in World War II, but she’d never earned her wings.
    “We knew our stuff as well as any man,” she’d said on Kate’s fifth lesson in a chartered Cessna. Kate was seventeen. It was the summer she should have been getting ready to go to college—she’d gotten into Sarah Lawrence—but she had deferred attending. She couldn’t stop reliving those hours in the gallery’s basement. Missing her mother and facing her father’s legal troubles made the idea of going away to college unbearable. And Mathilda had insisted she and Beth get intense therapyfor what she said was trauma—and Mathilda would have known. She’d been in the war.
    “I am sure,” Kate had said to her grandmother, loudly enough to be heard over the noisy single engine, “you knew your stuff better than the guys.”
    “You’re right,” Mathilda said. “We trained as hard as they did. Eleanor Roosevelt said we were ‘a weapon waiting to be used.’ Instead, they kept us off to the side, never sent us overseas. They expected us to come home from the war and take care of the men, have their children.”
    “But you did have a kid,” Kate said. “Mom.”
    “Yes,” Mathilda said. “But I did it without getting married, and I was damn glad she was a girl, because I wanted to raise someone strong and independent enough to know the idea this is a ‘man’s world’ is a bunch of bullshit.”
    “Why did you join the WASPs?”
    “I wanted to serve my country,” she said. “And live up to Jacqueline Cochran.”
    “Who?”
    “My idol,” Mathilda said. “Jackie finished first in the Bendix Race of 1938, beating every man. First woman to break the sound barrier, and even till this minute, she’s broken more altitude, speed, and distance records than anyone, including men. It was her idea to train women exactly like men in the air corps—the army way.”
    “The way you’re tough on us,” Kate said.
    “Girls have to be dauntless,” Mathilda said. “And twice as excellent. That’s what I taught your mother, and it was what she was teaching you and Beth. And what I still am teaching you.”
    “Beth is already excellent,” Kate said. “She doesn’t need lessons in it.” And it was true. Despite that day and night in the basement, what Kate had come to think of as the basement hours , her sister made high honors. While Kate’s life was in shambles, her inability to start college filling her with shame, Beth stayed focused.
    Still in high school, Beth had plans to attend Connecticut College, near enough to Black Hall so she could take over the gallery from the executor and start to run it as soon as possible. In the meantime, she wrote papers on the early American Impressionists—familiarizing herself with the family collection. Not only that, she volunteered at the Marsh View Nursing Home and the New London soup kitchen.
    “Beth’s the kindest, most generous person I know,” Kate said. “Isn’t that excellence?”
    “It is,” Mathilda said. “But who’s up in the plane with me?”
    “Beth is more of an on-the-ground person,” Kate said. “Dad always said that about her. She’s feet on the ground, and I’m head in the clouds.”
    “That monster,” Mathilda said. “Leave it to him to sum up his daughters in such simplistic terms. But if you want to speak in clichés . . .”
    Kate cringed, sorry she’d mentioned her father.
    “You have to have your head in the clouds to shoot for the stars,” Mathilda said. “Do you hear me, Katharine?”
    “Yes,” Kate said. They were flying toward the southern tip of Block Island. Soon she would make the turn over Great Salt Pond and begin to angle down toward the airport.
    “You don’t need to live a conventional life. You don’t need to do anything people say you should do. Shoot for the stars, just like you’re doing.”
    Kate had banked left then, starting her descent for Block. That was over twenty-three years ago, and she banked left now, descending toward the