Soaring Home. Christine Johnson
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reopen after the war.”
“I don’t want to wait. Who knows how long the war will last. You’re an instructor. You could teach me.”
The desperation in her voice made him want to help, but he couldn’t. “I teach recruits.”
“I know. But what’s one more person? They’ll hardly know I’m there. I’m not meant to be here, in this small town. I want to do something, set a record, go places no woman has ever gone. Someday I will be the first to fly over the North Pole.”
Jack gagged on the lemonade. “Excuse me?” Her intensity was thrilling, but he had to set her straight. This wasn’t a little jaunt she was talking about. “Do you have any idea how much funding and preparation it takes to make a flight like that? Plus there’s no money in it. Now, be the first to make the transatlantic flight in one hop, and you’ll get yourself fifty thousand dollars. That’s a prize worth going for.”
She didn’t blink. She didn’t breathe. “That’s what you want to do, isn’t it?”
He ran his thumb around the rim of his cup. “It’s not possible.”
“Not now, with the war, but later, after it’s over, you can do it. You can be the first.”
She was so close he could see tiny drops of perspiration on her upper lip.
He cleared his throat. “Others have the jump on me, and the planes aren’t capable of that distance yet.” Though true, his excuse did nothing to break the charge between them, so he joked, “I can’t even make New York to Chicago without engine failure.”
If she thought it funny, she didn’t laugh. She didn’t move an inch. He was uncomfortably aware of the smells of violet and petroleum, not to mention the heat she generated.
“That’s a test flight with a new plane,” she said, seemingly oblivious to the electric moment. “Take an aeroplane you’ve tested and run for hours, one you know inside and out, and you can do it.”
“First I need to get this plane running again.” He cleared his throat, but it was too late. She’d noticed its rough edge.
“Let me fly with you when it’s fixed,” she said, looking at the open field. “I want to know. I need to know what it’s like to fly, even if it’s just for a minute.”
This was what he knew had been coming, but the faraway gaze, reddened cheeks and desperate hope undid him. Memories rushed back. He and his little sister, twenty years ago, playing in the sunlight. The river rushing past. Sissy laughing. Come along, Jackie. Are you afraid? He’d gone with her to the riverbed and look what happened.
He shook his head, banishing the past.
Miss Shea looked at him with the same eager eyes and tense anticipation. Such desire could not be crushed by one refusal. If he didn’t give her that plane ride, she would find another plane and another pilot, likely less scrupulous and willing to risk her life for money or a cheap thrill. Jack wouldn’t see the disaster, but it would be his fault all the same. But if he gave her a ride, he would be in control. He could scare her just a little and rid her of these romantic notions once and for all.
“Promise you’ll tell no one?” He would regret this.
She brightened. “I do, I do! Oh, thank you.” She clapped her hands together, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
His boss would kill him if he knew what he was doing. “That means no newspaper stories. No magazine stories. No stories at all. Promise?”
She nodded. “Absolutely.”
“It also depends on the weather,” he cautioned.
“I know.”
“And it has to be early in the morning, at first light. I want you here at four o’clock, the morning after the plane is repaired. Wind, rain or storms, and the flight is called off.”
“I understand. I’ll be there.” She impulsively squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”
“Thank me later.” After he’d scared her enough that she’d never fly again.
Two days later, Darcy stomped her feet in the cool morning air, while Burrows tinkered with the aeroplane’s motor. They’d rolled the plane out of the barn well before dawn, but the engine wouldn’t stay running. By now the horizon had lightened to pale gray rimmed with gold. Jack said they had to fly at first light. If this took much longer, the flight wouldn’t happen.
She glanced toward town. No one coming yet, but the longer this took, the better the chance she’d be spotted. Soon Mum would rap on her bedroom door to wake her. When she didn’t show for breakfast, they’d know.
She nipped her lower lip.
“Be patient,” said Jack, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket. “You don’t want to fly unless everything’s perfect. Haste leads to crashes.”
“That and weather.” Darcy hoped she sounded informed. The Chicago newspapers had blamed the 1911 aviation meet fatalities on high winds. “Today is dead calm.”
“Perfect weather, if it warms up.”
She tucked her hands into the folds of her skirt, wishing she had thought to wear gloves, and watched Jack work. He looked so assured talking to Burrows. This was his element. He belonged in the air.
Excitement tugged at her. If only they’d go.
Jack walked over to her. “You cold?”
She balled her hands and shook her head.
He fetched her a scarf from the cockpit. “It gets colder the higher you fly. Wrap this around your neck and tuck it in. Don’t let the ends come loose or you’ll be flying that plane alone.”
“What?”
“This girl has dual controls,” he explained, “and if your scarf gets tangled in the controls, you’ll find yourself with one hard to handle lady.”
“That won’t happen,” she said, tucking the ends into her coat and trying not to be nervous. “I promise.”
His lips snaked into that lopsided grin.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Is there an end loose? Do I look foolish?”
“Not at all.” But his gaze lingered a little too long.
“Something’s not right.”
He shook his head. “You’ll have a time of it climbing into the cockpit with that skirt. Tuck it tight around your legs once you’re settled or it’ll blow into your face and my field of vision. You should have worn the outfit you had on yesterday.”
Darcy inched up her skirt a little. His eyes widened as she revealed overalls.
“Harriet Quimby had a flying suit that could convert from bloomers to a skirt,” she said. “I thought such an arrangement might prove practical today, given the circumstances.”
He whistled, long and low and with obvious appreciation. “Miss Shea, you surprise me sometimes.”
“Darcy,” she insisted. “If I’m going to put my life in your hands, you should call me Darcy.”
The warm notes of his laughter resonated deep within her. “Is that all you think of my ability to pilot this plane? Well Darcy, let me tell you a little secret. I have never wrecked an aeroplane, and I don’t intend to start today.”
The little flutter inside her roared into full-blown excitement. He wasn’t just any aviator. He was the best, the absolute best—and he was taking her up in his plane.
Burrows hopped down and indicated the plane was ready to go. At last. Hunter confirmed a few last-minute details while Darcy gathered her skirt and climbed aboard. From atop the lower wing, she could see clear to town. No one coming.
“Forward