Soaring Home (8 page)

“Something is afoot, but it’s top secret.”

Sissy’s eyes widened. “I promise not to tell a soul, not even Nurse Margarete.”

“Not even Margarete?” he teased, remembering he was supposed to cheer her up, not vice versa.

“Cross my heart.”

He leaned close and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “Word is, the flying boat will make an attempt at the transatlantic flight.”

“Oh, Jackie,” she squealed. “It’s your dream!”

“Quiet,” he urged. “Top secret, remember?”

“Yes, of course. It’s just that I’m so excited for you.” She paused a second, long enough to see the holes in the plan. “But why wouldn’t they have had you make the test flight?”

Jack cleared his throat. “The navy hasn’t officially committed yet. It’s just speculation, now that the war is over.” Jack didn’t list the possible options. She would know. The project could be over. Or it might transfer to civilians.

“Oh, Jackie, I hope it happens and you’re the pilot. It has to be you.” Her eyes shone with tears. She wanted this flight as much as he did.

“It’s risky.”

“Of course.”

And you need me alive and well.
He sent most of his earnings to her care. Without him, what would happen to Sissy? She was his responsibility. They’d played together that fateful day, but only Sissy got polio. He’d vowed to always take care of his sister. That meant giving up risky dreams. That meant staying in Buffalo.

He rose to say goodbye.

“Do you have to leave so soon?”

The words knifed through him. Bad enough that he visited so infrequently, but he seldom spent more than an hour with her each time. Coward.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise.”

“You’re busy. Don’t worry about me.” She didn’t beg or try to hold him back in any way, though she, more than anyone, had absolute claim to his time.

“I’ll always take care of you,” he choked out. He would visit tomorrow, and for more than an hour.

“I know, Jackie. You always have. You and Dad.”

Jack’s gut wrenched. He didn’t know how she could be so loyal to the drunk.

“Love you, sis.” The words, though automatic, hurt.

“Do the transatlantic flight,” she said. “Do what it takes to follow your dreams. I’ll be right there with you. I will. Not in body of course, but in spirit.”

The pain wound its fingers around his lungs, squeezing until he couldn’t breathe. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Oh, don’t be morbid—and give me a hug.”

He gave her a quick and admittedly insufficient embrace.

“Follow your heart,” she said. “Wherever it leads you.”

But of course he couldn’t. Not to Darcy and not across the ocean.

Darcy studied Jack’s drawings until she saw them in her sleep. She would pass any test he threw at her. She’d show him she belonged in the air.

The next morning she stood in the frosty hangar, wrapped in a thick sheepskin coat, wool scarf and gloves. Apparently, Pohlman didn’t believe in heating the vast space. She puffed little clouds of breath while Jack drilled her.

“In straight and level flight, where do you move the ailerons?”

“You don’t,” she answered. “You’re trying to trick me.”

He grinned just a little, marked something on his pad, and moved on to the next question and the next. When he finished, she waited for him to tally the results.

“Congratulations, you passed.”

She shrieked and danced and nearly hugged him, but the expression on his face told her that that sort of contact would not be acceptable. But a little old hug couldn’t be that bad, could it?

“Passed, but not perfect. You missed two questions on rudder and elevator function.”

“Ugh.” She couldn’t believe she missed them. “Show me what I got wrong.”

He rubbed his chin. “Maybe a demonstration would work better.”

“We’re going to fly?”

“
I
am going to fly,” he said, “and
you
are going to listen. Understand? And we’re not going very high. Everything you need to learn can be demonstrated ten feet from the ground.”

“Oh.” She bit back her disappointment. Though she wanted to learn everything right away, she had to trust Jack’s method. He’d trained dozens and dozens of pilots. He must know what he was doing.

She tried to concentrate while he explained the controls, but he sat so close. His legs nearly touched hers, and the petticoats and bloomers weren’t quite thick enough today. The smell of leather. The warmth he generated. She could barely keep her mind on his instruction.

In the air, she fought the urge to hold onto him. She could see the ground between her feet. Only a few strips of wood stood between her and the ground. The engine kept splattering oil on her goggles.

“Are you paying attention?” he chided.

She snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.”

“Then tell me what this lever does.”

“Um, when I pull back, the plane lifts into the air?”

He then demonstrated, bringing the plane up a short distance then taking it down for a landing.

After the machine rolled to a stop, she tried to demonstrate that she’d heard some of his instruction. “That stick controls the elevator and that one the ailerons.”

He hopped down. “Exactly.”

She sat stock-still. “We’re not done, are we? That was only a few minutes.”

“All initial flights are short. I demonstrate one control or maneuver, which you then practice until you get it correct every time.”

“May I practice now?”

“Not today.” He held out his hand. “Watch your step. The oil spray from the motor can make the frame slippery.”

Even through the gloves, the touch of his hand gave her shivers. She pulled away the moment she reached solid ground.

“What’s next?” she asked as they walked to the classroom.

“That depends on tomorrow’s weather. If it’s not good for flying, we need to familiarize you with every inch of the plane.”

“Tomorrow? But it’s only one o’clock.” Somehow, she’d thought the lessons would last all day. She had so little time before winter set in, and she didn’t want to waste a perfectly good afternoon.

“I have someplace I need to go,” he said.

“An errand? I can go with you.”

The shutter he pulled closed whenever she got too close
clapped shut again. “It’s something only I can do. Study up, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dismissed. And without a reasonable explanation. She didn’t believe his excuse for a moment. She’d done better than he expected, and he didn’t want to teach her more. At every step, he fought her. She thought maybe he’d changed. Apparently not.

She grabbed her handbag and walked out onto the street. A chill breeze slid its icy blade down her neck, but she was too hot to care. If Jack Hunter wanted professional, she’d be professional.

She’d reached downtown before she quite realized where she was walking. People hurried down the sidewalk, intent on where they were going. Unlike Pearlman, no one greeted one another. They kept their heads down, eyes averted and mouths closed.

Darcy dawdled in front of shop windows. Better than afternoon tea with her aunt and mother. They’d pepper her with questions about her lessons. Things would be easier after her parents left on Saturday, following the dinner party.

The dinner party. Oh, dear. She was supposed to deliver the invitation to George Carrman yesterday. It was still in her bag.

After asking directions to St. Anne of Comfort Hospital, Darcy rode the streetcar to within a block of the huge, stone edifice. The hospital’s manicured grounds invited strolling, but the weather kept most patients indoors.

Darcy walked up the sweeping approach lined with parked motorcars and bare oaks. Acorns crunched underfoot while leaves skittered along the ground on the breeze. An ambulance raced past, drawing only the slightest notice from visitors with dark coats and even more somber expressions.

She stopped to determine the best entrance, and a familiar figure caught her eye. Brown leather jacket. Sandy hair.
Brown cap. No, it couldn’t be. What was
he
doing here? He drew closer, shoulders hunched and head down. Jack.

Her heart stuck fast in her throat. People only went to the hospital for illness, so why on earth had Jack Hunter just walked out of St. Anne’s?

D
arcy couldn’t ask Jack why he’d come to the hospital. He’d think she had followed him. So she asked the nurse at the registration desk.

“I will give your message to Dr. Carrman,” the woman said firmly, taking the invitation from Darcy’s hand, “but we do not share information about patients.” So Jack
was
a patient. But for what?

Darcy stumbled out of the hospital without noticing the ambulance attendants returning to their vehicle. She blindly boarded the streetcar, and then missed her stop and had to walk ten extra blocks to her aunt’s house.

At supper Mum and Aunt Perpetua babbled on about Amelia and the coming baby. Who cared about Amelia when a life was at stake? Darcy picked at the stuffed pheasant, unable to stomach the rich meat.

“You’re quiet tonight, Miss Darcy,” Perpetua noted.

Mum scrutinized her. “Do you feel ill?”

“I’m fine.” But not Jack. She heaved a sigh.

“Ah, you’re sorry Mr. Carrman can’t attend Saturday,” her aunt said, handing her the gravy to pass to Papa.

“He can’t?” For an instant, her spirits revived, but then she
remembered Jack. Such a brave man, never letting on that he was ailing. No wonder he kept to himself. No wonder he’d never written. He didn’t want to encourage a relationship that couldn’t last.

She choked back a sob.

“It’s good of you to feel so for your sister,” Mum said with a pat of the hand.

Darcy looked up, bewildered. Apparently the conversation had returned to Amelia, but what was wrong?

Mum interpreted her confusion as concern. “Don’t fret, dear. Amelia always has these early pains. They’ll pass.”

Oh. That was all.
Darcy sipped her mulled cider. The cinnamon tingled her nose.

Mum sighed, “Though with Dr. Carrman unable to attend the dinner party, I am tempted to return home.”

“We can leave at any time,” Papa seconded. “I should return to the bank.”

“Nonsense, Lovina, we shall simply make the best of it.” Perpetua passed the mashed potatoes to Darcy who then sent them to Papa. “As it says in the Good Book, when the invited guests refused to come, the master sought others. Perhaps Darcy could invite her instructor.”

Darcy choked on the cider. Jack at a dinner party with her parents? She hadn’t exactly told them that he was her instructor. Then again, they hadn’t exactly asked. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Papa disagreed. “I would like to meet the man.”

“Very well, it’s settled.” Perpetua rang the bell for her cook, who appeared at once. “You may bring the dessert now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Darcy struggled to find an excuse. She couldn’t bring Jack here. Mum would recognize him at once. “I don’t know. It is rather last-minute. He might have other plans.”

“It can’t hurt to ask,” Mum said. “A good meal might be exactly what this poor man needs.”

“He’s not poor, Mum.” But compared to them, he was. And ill. Her heart ached.

“We are all poor sinners in the eyes of God,” said Perpetua. “Invite him to our table. Who knows but that this isn’t God’s will? He does have a way of turning plans to His own purpose.”

Darcy had never been so nervous. Her hand shook as she opened the door to the hangar the following morning. Part of her hoped Jack wasn’t there, but most of her wanted to hug him close and tell him it would be all right.

She waited for her eyes to get accustomed to the dim light.

“Good morning.” Jack hopped down from the wing of the trainer they’d flown yesterday. “Today you can hold the controls.”

“We’re flying?” She scanned him, looking for some sign of illness.

“That is the point of lessons, but don’t get any ideas. My hands stay on the controls.”

He pulled open the big hangar doors. Outside, the November sun shone crisp and white. He looked the same as always. Same leather jacket, same worn boots, same confidence.

“Grass-cutting first,” he said, “and then, if you do well with that, we’ll attempt a few hops.”

“What’s grass-cutting?”

“On the ground. No elevator. Then short up and down hops, just a few feet off the ground.” He tossed her a pair of goggles and a leather helmet.

“That doesn’t sound fun.”

“You’re learning to fly, not have fun. Aviation is serious business. Pilots who think otherwise end up dead.”

Dead. Maybe that’s why he could be so sure in the air. He knew death lurked around the corner anyway.

He smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. You’re not going to crash while I’m with you.”

“I’m not worried, at least not about flying.”
Ask him. Just ask.
The words pounded in her head, but she couldn’t get them out her mouth.

“What’s wrong? I thought you wanted to fly.”

“I do.”

“Then get your head gear on. You can pull the propeller. In this cold weather, better give it a couple of turns.” He settled into the cockpit. “Be sure you stand clear of the blade.”

She dragged her feet. “I was just wondering.”

He looked up from the controls. “Wondering what?”

“If everything’s all right.”

“The plane checks out. Ran through it already.”

“No, with you.”

“What do you mean?” Jack’s words resounded in the huge hangar, and she instantly regretted saying anything. This was personal, and she had no right to pry.

“I’m sorry. It’s nothing.” Her face was burning.

“Obviously it is something. Out with it, Shea.”

She took a deep breath. He’d asked. “Your health.”

“My health? What about my health? My health is fine. Why on earth are you asking about my health?”
Thank God.
Now she did feel the fool. “I—I,” she stammered. “Well, I happened to see you leave St. Anne’s Hospital yesterday.”

He stared. “Were you following me?”

“No! No. I had to deliver an invitation to…well, a doctor there. George Carrman, a cousin of Blake Kensington’s. My aunt invited him to dinner, but it turns out he can’t come anyway, so we’re one short.” The words spewed out faster and
faster, but she couldn’t talk her way out of this embarrassment. “You’re all right then?”

He turned back to the controls. “I’m fine.”

“Then you were just visiting someone,” she gushed, relief making her silly, “just saying hello to an old friend or fellow aviator.”

“Are you ready now?” He pointed to the propeller.

Conversation over. She pulled on the helmet and goggles and spun the propeller. On the fourth revolution, the motor sputtered until it evened out to a mellow chug. She climbed aboard and the lesson began. Jack was all business, and the awkwardness between them disappeared. After they taxied onto the airfield, Jack reviewed the controls, making her confirm each one.

“I wondered if we’d fly today, considering the breeze,” she said, “but I can’t feel it here.”

“That’s because the buildings block it. If we were going higher it would be a concern, but for grass-cutting it’s fine.”

He sounded normal. He acted normal. He was even letting her fly.

“Thank you,” she said impulsively.

“Why?”

“For teaching me. And trusting me.”

“What makes you think I trust you?” he said with the old lopsided grin. He throttled up and waited for the propeller to get up to speed. “Put your hand below mine on the elevator control.”

She did as directed, and her thumb rested against his little finger. Even through the gloves she sensed his strength. This man was not ill. He held tightly to the things he dearly loved.

Jack released the brake and they were off. He applied the elevator just a little, so they skimmed the surface, and then
brought it back down. He slowed and turned the plane to go back down the airfield. “Now you try.”

For each maneuver, he talked through the procedure and had her place her hand below his on the controls. Soon she reached for the correct stick without coaching. They moved in concert. She had never felt so alive.

She soon noticed he would look at her when he thought she was busy. And he smiled. When she laughed, he echoed it. When she shrieked over a mistake, he told her she’d done fine. Soon she could make a perfect pass.

“May I try a hop?” she asked as they taxied toward the end of the field. “You can correct me as I go.”

“Make no mistake, I
will
correct you.”

“Then may I try?”

He nodded and they were off. She worked the elevator and ailerons the way he had during the flight in Pearlman.

“Whoa.” He checked her ascent and brought them back down to a lower altitude. “Little hops, not flying to the moon.”

She had to laugh. Too much yet again. She held at level flight until he indicated she should descend.

“Back off the throttle,” he yelled. “Watch the elevator.”

But it was too late. They bounced off the ground and back into the air. Darcy shrieked and let go of the stick.

Jack seized the controls. “Let me bring her down.”

“I’m sorry.”

His face was tense. “Never let go of the controls. Ever.”

“I won’t. I promise.” Why, oh why, had she ruined things by trying to do too much?

After they’d landed and taxied into the hangar, she apologized again. “I’ll never do it again.”

He wiped oil splatters off his face. “Yes you will. Everyone
does. That’s how you learn. Just make sure they’re not big mistakes.”

“I will. I promise.” She reached for the rag, but instead of handing it to her, he gently wiped the oil from her cheeks.

“You’re freckled.”

She sucked in her breath. “Big black freckles.”

He tipped her chin, and she nearly stopped breathing. “Tell me what you did wrong.”

She struggled to get her mind back on flying. “I used too much throttle and attempted too steep a descent.”

“A little off-line, too,” he said, letting her go. “You want to keep your target dead ahead. This airfield is forgiving, but in most places you need to navigate around trees and structures.”

“Like Baker’s field.”

He nodded, and she latched onto the small encouragement.

“Good ascent,” he said. “A little hesitant, but that will smooth out with practice.”

She let the praise sink in while she wiped her goggles. “How long does it take to fly like you?”

“I’ve been flying almost ten years now.”

“Ten years?” She didn’t have ten years. She needed to make her big flight now, before Papa married her off.

“But it only takes four or so hours of flight time to get competent.”

“Four hours, and I’ve had what? One?”

He chuckled. “Five minutes.”

“Is that all we were up?”

“That’s how much time you had the controls.”

“Oh.” She unbuttoned her coat as they approached the classroom. “How many hours does a transatlantic flight take?”

Jack didn’t answer right away, and she worried that she’d steamed too far ahead again. “Twenty hours, more or less. Of
course, it all depends on the speed of the aircraft, if there are any winds assisting, the load and a million other factors.”

“That long. Is that why the plane has dual controls, like the one you landed in Pearlman? So one pilot can fly while the other sleeps?”

“There’s no sleeping on a transatlantic flight. The second cockpit is for the navigator. And yes, if the pilot needs to do something away from the controls, the navigator can take over.”

“But you flew the scout plane by yourself.”

He ruffled his hair before replacing his cap. “It’s not that far from the Island to Chicago.”

Then he’d need a navigator to make the transatlantic distance. “Do you have a plane?”

He blinked. “I, uh, how did you know?”

“You’re an aviator. You must have a plane.” Maybe even one that could fly across the Atlantic.

He responded with boyish enthusiasm. “Do you want to see it?”

“Of course.”

He dragged her back outside to go over every inch of his plane, from the dual controls to the two-hundred-horsepower engine. He led her from point to point with a gentle touch to the arm or small of the back. She drank in every touch and syllable.

“It’s a lot like the one you landed in Pearlman,” she said when he finished.

He proudly surveyed his plane. “Very observant. It’s an earlier model, with some personal modifications.”

“Then it’s made for distance.”

“Possibly.” The wariness returned.

She knew she was pushing, but she had to ask. “Could it fly twenty hours straight?”

His eyes narrowed. “No. Never. Not enough load capacity.”

“But it could be adapted.”

“No, no, and no. I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not possible. For one, it would take too many modifications. Secondly, a transatlantic attempt is a huge venture.”

She swung on a wing strut. “Worth fifty thousand dollars.”

“Just getting the plane ready would cost thousands. Then there’s the transportation, the crew, the supplies. I don’t have that sort of money.”

But other people did. “I know someone who might be interested. My aunt is holding a dinner party Saturday, and there are bound to be interested parties, well-off interested parties. You’re invited. Come and talk about it.”

Jack looked skeptical. “Interested parties like your father?”

“Goodness no. My aunt, for one. She’s paying for my lessons, except for what I make on my newspaper articles. I’m sure she’d contribute to the attempt, especially because it’s my calling.”

“Your calling?”

“What God has called me to do.”

Jack laughed. “You’re not serious.”

His reaction stung. “Of course I’m serious.”

He looked at her like she was loony. Once again the shutter slammed closed. “I’m sorry. I already have a dinner engagement that night.”

“With your sister? She can come, too. Your whole family can come.”

If anything, his expression hardened even more. “Thank you, but dinner is impossible.”

What had she done? They were getting along so well.
“Then perhaps you could join us for Sunday worship. We always have a nice supper afterward.”

Jack turned away and fiddled with the plane’s controls. “I’m busy.”

The moment crumbled. Somehow she’d offended him. The intimacy of flight vanished, and once again she stood alone and apart, knowing no more about Jack Hunter than before.