To Slip the Bonds of Earth

Book 1: Katharine Wright Mystery

by Amanda Flower

Genres: Biographical; Historical Mysteries

Synopsis

While not as famous as her older siblings Wilbur and Orville, the celebrated inventors of flight, Katharine Wright is equally inventive – especially when it comes to solving crimes – in USA Today bestselling author Amanda Flower’s radiant new historical mystery series inspired by the real sister of the Wright Brothers.

December 1903: While Wilbur and Orville Wright’s flying machine is quite literally taking off in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina with its historic fifty-seven second flight, their sister Katharine is back home in Dayton, Ohio, running the bicycle shop, teaching Latin, and looking after the family. A Latin teacher and suffragette, Katharine is fiercely independent, intellectual, and the only Wright sibling to finish college. But at twenty-nine, she’s frustrated by the gender inequality in academia and is looking for a new challenge. She never suspects it will be sleuthing…

Returning home to Dayton, Wilbur and Orville accept an invitation to a friend’s party. Nervous about leaving their as-yet-unpatented flyer plans unattended, Wilbur decides to bring them to the festivities . . . where they are stolen right out from under his nose. As always, it’s Katharine’s job to problem solve—and in this case, crime-solve.

As she sets out to uncover the thief among their circle of friends, Katharine soon gets more than she bargained for: She finds her number one suspect dead with a letter opener lodged in his chest. It seems the patent is the least of her brothers’ worries. They have a far more earthbound concern—prison. Now Katharine will have to keep her feet on the ground and put all her skills to work to make sure Wilbur and Orville are free to fly another day.

Release date: March 26, 2024

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

How dare Bufford Lyons make such a fool of me at the teachers’ meeting this afternoon? As we were coming to the end of the fall semester, I had made a formal request to teach Greek III in the spring. The language was one of my first loves and the reason I took my teaching position, but ever since I had begun teaching at Steele High School, I had been regulated to the introductory classes in languages. First-year Latin was a painful course to teach. Most of the students didn’t want to be there and had no interest in learning any language, especially not a dead one.

I had thought with so many years teaching under my belt and the upcoming retirement of Mr. Wellings, the current Greek III teacher, I would be allowed to take on a more demanding course.

“We can’t have a woman teaching upperclassmen,” Bufford had said when I’d made the formal request in front of the faculty assembly. “The young men in these courses are far too close to Miss Wright’s age. They won’t take a young woman seriously, and they need to concentrate on their lessons, as our students of Greek are the most likely to go on to college. Steele High School has a reputation to uphold.”

I stood up. “I studied Greek at Oberlin College and graduated with top honors in the course. I am more than cap—”

“You are still a woman.” He said the word as if it was some sort of slur.

I put my hands on my hips. “Should I be pointing out the obvious, that you are an old man?”

The principal, Mr. Mellon, took his mallet and banged the table in front of him. “Miss Wright, please calm yourself.”

I balled my hands at my sides. Why was I asked to calm myself, but Bufford wasn’t? I knew why—because, as Bufford had pointed out, I was a woman. That was reason enough for them to reprimand me, and that truth set my teeth on edge.

“I do understand your educational background,” Mr. Mellon went on. “But the school board has already decided it would be best if the upperclassmen were taught by Mr. Lyons.”

Bufford sat back down in his chair with a smug look on his face.

“What?” I asked. “He doesn’t know half the Greek I do.”

Mr. Mellon held his gavel in his hand, as if he was contemplating rapping it on the table again. “A veteran teacher is best for the course. You are still early in your career.”

“You mean a veteran male teacher,” I corrected.

“Miss Wright,” the elderly principal said, “the matter is settled. Now we must move on to other topics of concern.”

“Yes, Miss Wright,” Bufford said. “You should stick to selling Christmas trees. That’s more appropriate for a female teacher.” He smiled at me, and his gray mustache twitched, as if he was holding in a laugh.

“Excuse me for caring about the students and wanting them to have access to an arts program while in high school. I am willing to make that extra effort for my students rather than sitting on my laurels and accepting positions I’m unqualified for simply because I am the oldest man in the room.”

“Miss Wright,” Mr. Mellon exclaimed in shock.

The smile had faded from Bufford’s face. I had successfully hit my mark. He’d made me look like a fool, but he was the fool. He couldn’t even conjugate in pig Latin.

At the end of the meeting, I stormed from the room. Typically, after school I went home, like the dutiful and obedient daughter and sister I was, but on that day, I was just too spitting mad to face the demands of my family.

It was a crisp December day, and a walk into town was just what I needed. Fresh snow dusted the lampposts and street signs, but it was not yet thick enough to stick to the ground. The shop windows were all done up for Christmas with evergreens, red ribbons, and toy trains.

I let out a sigh. I should be concentrating on my holiday shopping instead of what Bufford Lyons had said. His comment about the school fundraiser steamed me the most. I’d been working for weeks to make sure the Christmas tree sale and carol singing went off without a hitch, and it was set for the holiday break. All the proceeds would be going to the music department.

Even though music wasn’t my specialty, I loved listening to it and knew it was an important part of a public education. I was working with the Parent-Teacher Association and association president Lenora Shaw to organize the fundraiser. The PTA was in its infancy, but I recognized what a vital partner it could be in achieving our fundraising goals. When I’d told Principal Mellon of my enthusiasm, he’d appointed me as the teacher liaison. It wasn’t until later that I learned he’d chosen me because I was a woman, not because of my support of the group.

Bufford, Principal Mellon, and all the men in that building were the same. They believed I should be grateful I was allowed to be in the same room with them, and completely ignored the fact I had more common sense in my left pinkie than all of them combined.

I had to put the incident at school behind me, if only for a little while. Winter recess would be here soon, and I needed the break as much as my students did. This afternoon I hoped to visit the bookshop and find something new to read to take my mind off the ridiculous school rules I had to abide by as a female teacher. I might find a gift for my father and brothers as well.

A gentleman I recognized from town but could not name tipped his hat to me.

“Good afternoon, Miss Wright. We heard your brothers are at it again. What are they thinking? That they can fly like a bird? It goes against nature. If God wanted us to fly, he would have given us wings.”

“Are you suggesting humans should not swim, because we do not have fins?”

He blinked at me, as if my retort was some sort of riddle he couldn’t make heads or tails of. “I beg your pardon?”

I adjusted my spectacles on my nose. “If anyone can achieve flight in our lifetime, it will be my brothers Wilbur and Orville Wright.”

“Two boys from Dayton?” he snorted. “That is as likely as Old Saint Nick walking down the street.”

I lifted my chin. “Well, I suggest you make up for being on his naughty list, because I heard he is out on a stroll, checking off names.” With that, I marched away.

I left him there and headed into the bookshop and browsed for a long while. There was nothing like books to put my mind at ease.

“Katie, I didn’t see you there,” a kind voice said. “You were so hunched over that book. What is it?”

I held up the tome in my hands to show my old school friend Agnes Osborne. “A history of Rome.”

Agnes snorted. “I should have known you would be engrossed in something of that sort.”

I smiled. “My interests have not changed, Ag.”

“You’re nothing if not consistent.” She tugged on a lock of hair that had fallen from its hairpin. “Have you heard from your brothers? I would be interested to know how they are getting on in North Carolina.”

“They write, of course, though not as often as I would like,” I replied. “They write more often to Father than they do to me, but they seem to be getting on fine. They said they are very close to heavier-than-air powered flight.”

She cocked her head. “Haven’t they said that before?”

“A time or two,” I admitted.

“Why aren’t they happy with the bicycle shop? Why isn’t that enough for them? Would they not be happier to settle down and marry? Don’t they want children?”

I shook my head and said nothing. These were questions I received often in regard to my brothers, and I had tired of answering them after so many years. I was grateful when Agnes changed the subject.

“Will you be at the Shaws’ party this Saturday?” she asked with sparkling blue eyes.

“I plan to go as long as Father doesn’t need me. Lenora Shaw is hosting and inviting everyone on the Steele PTA.”

“I heard of lot of young men will be coming home to see their families for Christmas and they’ll be at the party. You know the Shaws’ party is the real start of the holiday season in Dayton. This will be the first time I have had an opportunity to go.”

“The presence of young men is of no concern to me. I’m far too busy with my teaching, caring for Father, and minding my brothers’ bicycle shop to have time for such things.”

She clicked her tongue. “You need to have a life of your own. You are too wrapped up in others’ lives. Haven’t you ever cared for a man who wasn’t a family member? Have you thought about being in love?”

My friend gave a little swoon at the very idea, but Agnes Osborne had been dreaming of love since we were in pigtails. I knew this because I had heard about it ad nauseum for the past twenty years.

I pressed my lips together. When I was in college, I had briefly been engaged. My family never knew about it, and I didn’t love the man. It just seemed getting engaged was what senior men did, and as a sophomore, I’d gone along with the proposal. Thankfully, both of us had realized our foolishness before it was too late or before I made the mistake of telling Father or my brothers. They would never have forgiven me had I married. However, there had been another man, whom I’d cared for deeply. Unfortunately, he was now married to someone else.

I said none of this to Ag and was thankful she’d never visited me at Oberlin College, where I had attended school, so she knew nothing of either man. No one in Dayton knew of them. I looked at the small watch pin attached to the lapel of my coat. “I should be heading home. Father will be wondering where I have been so long.”

“I hope I didn’t upset you, Katie,” Agnes said with a frown. “That wasn’t my intention.”

“I know.” I smiled at her. “But I would appreciate it if you would not bring the idea of romance up again.”

She didn’t give me an answer one way or another as we said our goodbyes.

Taking the Roman history I had purchased at the shop, I made my way home to number 7 Hawthorn Street. The white house with green shutters came into view. I noted that some of the greenery and red bows I had wrapped around the posts on the wide front porch had come loose. I would need to fix those before I entered the house. Ever since my mother had died when I was fifteen, I had been determined to keep a nice home for my father and brothers. That went for both the inside and the outside. Everything had to be just so.

I stepped onto the wide porch and set my satchel on the white rocker, but before I could even pick up the first bow, the front door flew open.

“Miss Wright, you’re home!” exclaimed Carrie Kayler, our seventeen-year-old maid. She wore her dark hair in a bun at the back of her head, and her attire consisted of a simple gray dress with a white apron. Her hazel eyes were the size of dinner plates.

“Carrie, what is wrong? Is Father all right?” Fear clawed at my chest. Had my father fallen ill?

“I’m fine,” my father said in his booming bishop’s voice. He stood in the foyer, holding a telegram. He kept looking down at it.

A new fear overtook me. Had something happened to my brothers? “Are the boys all right?”

He handed the Western Union telegram to me. What I read took my breath away.

The paper fell from my hands. It seemed that everything in the world was about to change.

I stood on the front porch and stared at the telegram. I read it again. This time much more slowly. Then I held it in the air and cried, “They did it!”

I had known from the start that Wilbur and Orville would fly, and now I had the proof in my hands.

“Katharine,” Father said. “Don’t make such a spectacle of yourself.”

As the bishop of the Church of the United Brethren in Christ, Old Constitution, my father was very much of the belief that our family must set an example. We did everything correctly and properly. Loud outbursts of delight were not condoned, but that didn’t stop me in the least.

“This is the most wonderful news, and most welcome after such a dreadful day.”

“Dreadful day? What has happened, daughter?” Father asked.

“It doesn’t matter now. We have to celebrate. Does Lorin know?”

Lorin was one of my older brothers. He lived with his wife and children just a few blocks away.

The bishop shook his head. “You are the first person I have told.”

“Rightly so,” I said with all the confidence in the world. I should be the second to know after Father. Orville, Wilbur, and I were exceptionally close as siblings. Lorin, who was older, stood outside our triumvirate, and our eldest brother, Reuchlin, lived in Missouri, too far away to be part of our inner circle. “I’ll go to Lorin now. Orville instructed us to tell the press. Lorin would be the best one to do that.”

“It’s growing late,” the bishop said. “We can tell him in the morning. He will be tired after work and sitting down with his family for dinner.”

I wrinkled my forehead. “You expect me to keep this bottled up all night? My head might burst if I do so.”

Father shook his head. “Katie, you are too emotional at times. Everything doesn’t have to be addressed the moment you learn of it. Let the reality settle before you act.”

“Lorin deserves to know right away. Think of how he would feel if news of this got out before we told him. He would be beside himself.”

My father shook his head. “I see your mind is made up and there is nothing that I can say to change it. Go take the telegram to Lorin, but be careful with it. I don’t want it to get lost. Wilbur and Orville have solved the problem of human flight. I wish to keep this telegram as a memento.”

With that pronouncement, Father went back into the house.

I turned to Carrie. “Hold off on dinner until I come back. If Father complains, give him a little something to tide him over until I return. Today is a day of celebration!”

Carrie rubbed her arms, as if to fight off the cold. “Now that the boys have conquered flight, I wonder if this will be the end of their tinkering. We have spent too many days tripping over bits of their flying machines scattered about the house.”

“It won’t be the end. It’s just the beginning.” I folded the telegram and tucked it into my coat pocket. I secured the button on the pocket to make sure it didn’t fall out. I knew very well how valuable this piece of paper was. It was proof of a new era.

Lorin, his wife, Nette, and their four children would be as excited to hear the news as I was. I was sure of it. As I hurried down Hawthorn Street, I bumped into Herman Wheeler at the corner. Herman was an old classmate of Wilbur and Orville’s. If I remembered correctly, he was now working for the Shaw family at their paper mill. Paper was a big business in Dayton, as five rivers converged in the city. The rivers provided plenty of power for the mills to make paper. At one time, Wilbur and Orville had run their own printing press and published a newspaper too. They still did some printing for faithful clients and for themselves, but when their cycle shop took off with the new bicycle craze, they’d reduced the printing business in size and volume.

Now they had moved on from bicycles to flying machines. My brothers never did anything by halves. If they chose to start a business, they did so with their full hearts and souls and did not stop until they accomplished their goals.

I didn’t know where Herman lived, but I knew he wasn’t a neighbor, and the Shaws weren’t nearby either. The family lived on a grand estate in a much more affluent part of Dayton. I could see no reason at all for Herman to be on the corner of West Fourth and Hawthorn, but there he was.

“Miss Wright,” Herman said formally, with the slightest bow. “I’m so sorry. I just about knocked you over.”

That was a bit of an exaggeration, but I didn’t correct him. I wasn’t a delicate flower by any stretch. My father liked to say I wasn’t too big or too small. I wasn’t too pretty or too plain either. I was in the middle in every way. When I was younger, there had been times when I’d lamented—if only to myself—my unremarkable appearance, but now, as an adult, I found it served me well. Those who had been lulled by the relative dullness of my looks had been disarmed by the sharpness of my wit.

Herman was just an inch or two taller than I and painfully thin. If the December wind gusts picked up, there was a very good chance he’d blow over just like the first test glider my brothers had built for Kitty Hawk.

“It’s quite all right,” I said after a beat.

“You seem to be in a great rush. May I ask where you are off to in such a hurry?” He smiled at me, and I noticed for the first time how his two front teeth overlapped each other. It was a defect that would not be seen from afar, but close up, I found myself staring at it.

I took two large steps back. “This is my street, which is reason enough for me to be walking on it at any pace I should like,” I said rather sharply. “I have every reason to be here. It’s a crisp evening, and the cold air is refreshing. It would make much more sense for me to ask you what you are doing here, as you don’t live in this neighborhood.”

He forced a laugh. “I forgot how direct you can be. I suppose that comes from living in a house full of men. If your mother had lived long enough to teach you how to behave as a proper lady, you would not be at such a great disadvantage in life.”

I balled my hands at my sides. Disadvantage? The nerve of this man! I had no disadvantages in life at all. This Neanderthal knew nothing about my mother. She was the one who’d taught Wilbur and Orville to build with their hands. It wasn’t our father, who had been too preoccupied with sermons and church politics. And it was she who had taught me to stand on my own two feet. That was a much more valuable lesson than the feminine teachings that Herman thought I lacked by losing my mother so young.

“Perhaps you are in a hurry because of your brothers’ success.” He smiled.

“What do you mean?” I asked

“Is it not true that Wilbur and Orville flew?”

I stared at him. How did he know this when I had just heard of it?

“I would love to hear more about their flight if you have the time. As their sister, I am certain you are privy to many details. I have a great interest in it.”

“I do not have the time. If you will excuse me,” I said in a clipped tone, “I would like to continue on with my walk alone.”

I brushed by him and didn’t realize until I was stomping my way down Lorin’s street that he never had told me what he was doing in my neighborhood that night. It would be many days before I learned the truth.

By the time I reached Lorin’s modest house with its wide front porch and cheerful Christmas greenery around the porch railing, I had calmed myself. My father had told me more times than I could count that I was a wrathy young woman. He said I had been worse as a child. Truth be told, my sharp temper served me well in the classroom. Even the worst of the boys in my first-year Latin classes quickly learned how far they could push me, and—as my father said—it was less than an inch.

I ran up the steps of Lorin’s home, taking care to skip the step with the hole in it. Milton, Lorin’s eldest, had stepped through the rotted board on that step and cut his leg. He had had to get four stitches. Lorin hadn’t yet had the time to fix the board. If Wilbur or Orville were home, it would have been repaired by now. Actually, it would have been more than repaired; it would be better than new. The boys would have torn the stairs down to the studs and rebuilt them twice as strong.

I hoped that with their latest success, Wilbur and Orville wouldn’t ignore all the small projects that the whole family had been saving for their return. I knew Lorin had many more projects than I did. Time and money were always tight for my second oldest brother. He was doing his very best to care for Nette and his four children and was in a constant state of agitation, trying to make them more comfortable. That meant he spent many extra hours laboring and not much time at home mending all the broken pieces of their house. Even so, I knew my brother and his family were happy, and there was little more that I could have asked for him. The children were all gems, and I loved them like my very own. Between being an aunt and a teacher, I did not have the maternal urge for children of my own. Not that I’d ever make that admission aloud. It would be far too shocking for some to digest.

The front door opened before I could even knock. Young Milton—named after my father, the bishop—stood on the other side of the entryway. His eyes lit up when he saw me standing on the porch. “Aunt Katie! What are you doing here? Mama didn’t say you were coming.”

“I hadn’t planned to come,” I told the youngster. “It was a last-minute decision.”

His eyes went wide. “It. . .