Soaring Home (11 page)

If she could ever fly again. She growled in frustration. Surely God had planted the desire to fly within her, so why did she face so much opposition? Wouldn’t God ease her path?

She shoved back the heavy quilts and switched on the lamp. After her eyes adjusted, she took her Bible and let it fall open at random, looking for an answer. She eagerly scanned the chapters from Luke and read the familiar passage about a man being unable to serve two masters.

Disappointed, she closed the book. She knew the passage
well. But which master, Lord? Family or aviation? That’s the answer she needed.

As night wandered toward icy dawn, no solution came, only a stiff neck and heavy eyes.

Beattie told her that Blake wanted the preparations to take place in Pearlman. Of course. That was the answer. Start small and work her way toward her goal. Papa said he wanted her to stay close to home and on the ground. Well, that’s exactly what she’d do.

After washing and dressing, she went downstairs to prepare breakfast. She would have preferred to tell both her parents at once, but her mother had stayed the night at Amelia’s house. That left Papa.

She struggled for words as they ate in silence. As usual, Papa perused the newspaper. To her surprise, he spoke first.

“I hope you understand my reasoning last night.” He set down the newspaper and took off his spectacles.

Darcy tried not to rush. “I do, Papa, and I should have told you that Mr. Hunter was my instructor. I’m sorry I wasn’t more forthcoming.”

He nodded. “And I’m sorry I had to be so harsh.” He tapped off the top of his soft-boiled egg with his knife.

Darcy took a sip of tea for fortitude. “You said you wanted me to stay close to home and on the ground.”

“That’s right.” He scooped out a spoonful of egg.

“Beatrice said they’re putting the plane together right here in Pearlman.”

He paused, spoon in midair. “I don’t want you involved with that flight.”

“I’m not asking to fly, Papa. I’d like to help with the groundwork, putting parts together and that sort of thing. I’m sure half the town will help, and I’d like to do my part.”

He didn’t answer for a long time. “On the ground?”

“In Baker’s barn, I understand. May I, Papa? Please?”

He would give in. He always gave in. Eventually. At least he used to, years ago, before Amelia had Freddie.

He shook out the newspaper. “Your work at your sister’s house comes first.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“As well as anything your mother needs.”

“I promise, Papa.”

He sighed. “I can’t say I’m pleased, but I don’t suppose I have any choice, do I?”

“Oh thank you, Papa.” She flung her arms around his neck, jostling his spectacles. “Now, Darcy.”

But he was pleased. She could tell. And little by little she’d convince him to let her fly.

O
n the tenth of January, the plane arrived in pieces and was hauled by wagon to Baker’s barn for reassembly. Darcy followed it there and discovered Jack had set up a workshop inside, complete with coal oil lanterns and gasoline heaters.

He flat-out refused her help. She suspected Papa had interfered, but when she told Jack that her father had restricted her to groundwork, he relented.

“Groundwork only,” he’d echoed.

She was tired of men telling her what she could and couldn’t do, but ranting about it wouldn’t change their minds. She needed to work slowly, showing them she was more than capable. Since Jack seemed to follow Papa’s lead, she’d start there. Surely, within three months she could convince him she belonged in the cockpit.

On schoolday afternoons, Darcy helped Jack assemble the wings while Simmons worked on the motor. After putting the children to bed, she wrote stories for Devlin, who’d relented the minute he heard about the transatlantic attempt. By the end of the month, they began modifying the plane for transatlantic flight. More load capacity, heavier struts and bracing, reengineering for the two motors, building the twin nacelles.
The work went on and on. Darcy helped with the lighter tasks, as well as compiling the supply requisition lists.

She and Jack spoke often over the weeks, but always about the plane, and never with the camaraderie they’d shared in Buffalo. By February Papa relented, agreeing she could renew flight lessons in the spring after Amelia delivered the baby, but Jack wouldn’t confirm. Every time she asked, he brushed aside her inquiry. The closeness they’d shared on Beattie’s wedding night had vanished.

“He could tell me a little about himself,” Darcy complained to Beatrice as she helped her friend unpack the dozens of items she’d purchased on her wedding tour. She’d missed having a confidante the past month. “Even acquaintances chat about friends and family to pass the time. I’ve babbled on and on about Pearlman, but other than his sister, he’s told me nothing. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

Beattie calmly folded a linen tablecloth. “Men, as a rule, don’t care to discuss their family.”

Darcy wasn’t sure she liked her friend’s newfound sense of superiority. The old Beattie would have pondered the problem.

She ripped the paper off a heavy object. “A mechanical monkey bank? Why do you need this?”

“For children,” Beatrice said quietly.

“Whose children? Oh,” she gasped, realizing what her friend meant. “Beattie. You’re not.”

“Not yet, but soon. I’m sure of it.”

Darcy couldn’t picture her friend round like Amelia. Bedridden. “Why rush? There’s plenty of time.”

Beatrice smiled faintly. “That is why two people get married.”

True. That’s why she wouldn’t marry. At least not until she’d flown across the Atlantic. “You seem so young.”

“Minnie Alexander was seventeen when she had her first, and Paulette Grozney just turned eighteen.”

“Yes, but don’t you feel a bit…inexperienced?”

“If you mean am I scared, yes. Something could go wrong.”

Darcy paled.

“Don’t worry.” Beatrice patted her hand. “The women in my family deliver easily. My little sister was born in only six hours. Doc Stevens didn’t arrive in time, and Daddy had to deliver the baby.”

Darcy tried to imagine Jack delivering a baby. Impossible.

“My biggest concern,” said Beattie, “is being a good mother.”

“No worry there. You’ll be the best mother ever. Would you like to practice with three lovely children?”

Beatrice burst out laughing. “That’s your blessing.”

“More like my penance.”

“You’re doing just fine, from what your mother tells me.”

Darcy found that difficult to believe. She ripped the tissue off a porcelain teacup. Yet another pattern. How many had Beattie bought? “It’s not what I want to be doing.”

“I know,” Beatrice sighed compassionately. “Tell me everything that happened while I was gone.”

“What’s to tell?” Darcy set the cup on the nearest saucer. Never mind that it didn’t match. “I take care of Amelia’s children morning and night. I work on the plane while they’re in school. Jack barely talks, and when he does it’s about nothing personal.”

“Have you asked about his family?”

“Of course. But he always turns the topic back to aviation.”

“Maybe he’s afraid.”

“Of what? I would never say anything against them.” Darcy picked up another cup-sized bundle.

“Maybe that’s not what scares him,” Beattie said quietly, smoothing her chintz apron. “Then what?”

Beattie hesitated long enough for Darcy to know she wasn’t sure how to pose her reply. “Does he ever ask you questions?”

Darcy shrugged. “Nothing significant. How Amelia is faring, if the bank is doing well, who owns what business in Pearlman, if I like rutabagas. Ordinary chitchat.”

“Nothing significant? Why Darcy, that’s as significant as a man can get.”

“What?” Darcy dropped the teacup she was unwrapping. Thankfully it bounced on the sofa.

“A man in love wants to know about all the little things in a woman’s life.”

“In love?” The thought was oddly warming. “You must be mistaken. He won’t do anything with me other than work on the plane. He won’t even go to a church supper.”

“You’ve asked?”

Darcy dug deep into the box. “I’ve mentioned them.”

“And said you were going?”

“Of course.” She pulled the paper off an object that turned out to be yet another teacup. “Worse, I never see him at church.”

“He could attend another church. We do have three in town.”

“I know, but…” Darcy couldn’t shake the worry that he attended no church at all. He reacted so negatively whenever she mentioned her faith.

“Don’t make trouble where there isn’t any. If you’re meant to be together, it’ll work out.”

Darcy didn’t share Beattie’s confidence. “We’re not as close
as we were in Buffalo. Something’s changed, but he won’t tell me what.”

Beatrice paused in her unwrapping. “Are you saying you’re in love?”

Darcy felt her color rise. “No. Well, maybe. But how can I find out if he won’t talk to me?”

Beattie unconsciously tapped a finger on a box. “That is a problem. Perhaps he isn’t interested.”

Darcy recalled the moment in the snow the night of Beattie’s wedding. He would have kissed her if that car hadn’t gone by. “I’m pretty sure he is.”

“Is there anyone else?”

“Another woman?” That thought had never occurred to Darcy. The idea made her stomach flip-flop in a horrid way.

“He could be involved in a serious relationship.”

Darcy felt sick. Suppose it was true. He hadn’t attended a single social function. “I d-don’t think so.” But she wasn’t sure.

Beatrice nodded and went back to unwrapping dishes.

“He would have mentioned her,” Darcy said, “if there was someone. At least I think he would have.”

“There’s only one way to know for certain,” said Beatrice, setting another dessert plate on the already tall stack.

“Spy on him?”

“Certainly not! Don’t even think such a thing. The only sure way is to ask.”

Darcy gagged. “Ask? Just go up to him and ask if he’s courting anyone? I suppose you’d also like me to say that I’m wild about him?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.”

“No, no, no.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to give him the wrong impression.”

Beatrice laughed. “What wrong impression? You just told me you might love him.”

“But I can’t think about marriage until I’ve made my great flight.”

“Marriage? That’s a bit of a leap. First you spend time together and get to know each other, and then you decide if you’re compatible. In time, you consider marriage.”

Darcy concentrated on the army of teacups she’d unwrapped. She knew all that. “But what if you already know?”

“Darcy, are you telling me that he’s the one?”

“Maybe.” Even that felt so final.

“But you said you don’t want to consider marriage.” Beattie shook her head. “You can’t have it both ways. Oh, Darcy, if only I could convince you how wonderful marriage is. Why, it’s liberating to have a man take care of you.”

Liberating. Indeed! Darcy turned abruptly and knocked over a half-empty box. She fumbled to collect the spilled contents. “That’s not the sort of liberation I want,” she said, while stuffing tissue and straw and thankfully unbroken china back into the box. “I mean, it’s fine for most women, just not me.”

“You make it sound like torture. I assure you, it’s wonderful. Blake is so considerate, and we work in concert, like a tandem bicycle. Truly, I feel ten times stronger than ever before. With Blake at my side, I can do anything.
We
can do anything. You and Jack both love to fly. You like the same things. Why not work together?”

As reasonable as that sounded, Darcy knew it wouldn’t happen. “Because married men don’t let their wives fly.”

“Jack might be different.”

She shook her head. “He’s worse than most. He doesn’t think
any
women should fly. He would never let his wife fly. Besides,” she paused, weighing if she should reveal what
Burrows had told her. “His mechanic said that Jack’s not the marrying type.”

Beattie laughed.

“That’s hardly funny. Hendrick Simmons happens to feel the same way.”

That only made Beattie squeal louder.

“What’s so funny?”

“Don’t you know?” said Beatrice, hand cupped over her mouth to stifle the spasms. “Know what?”

“That Hendrick Simmons has been in love with you for years?”

“No he hasn’t.” But Darcy felt a tad uncomfortable. “We’re just friends. You know that. We’ve been friends since childhood. Besides, I haven’t done a thing to encourage him.”

“Haven’t you?”

Darcy stared, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Isn’t he helping with the plane?”

“So?”

“He wouldn’t give so much of his time unless he hoped to gain something—your admiration, for instance. He deserves to be treated fairly, Darcy.”

She felt like a child caught doing something wrong. But she hadn’t. Beatrice was the one who was mistaken. “We’re just friends. We’ve always been friends. He knows I’m not interested in anything more. I’ve practically said so.”

“Good,” Beatrice said, handing her another tissue-wrapped bundle. “If you can tell Hendrick, you should have no difficulty telling Jack.”

“Tell him what?”

Beatrice unwrapped a fat little porcelain cupid and pantomimed shooting an arrow. “You know what.”

Darcy blanched. “I could never.”

Jack cut the fuel to the second motor. It wasn’t running right yet. Maybe the cold had something to do with it. The gasoline heater didn’t raise the temperature in the barn very much. He should have bought a new engine, instead of trying to reclaim army surplus.

“Too much oil,” said Simmons. “I’d better pull the head and check the rings.”

“We just did that.” Jack swung out of the cockpit, frustrated. Mid-February, and only one engine ran. If they couldn’t get the second motor running soon, they’d never be done on time. What he wouldn’t give to have Burrows here.

“What’s wrong?” asked Darcy from her position at the worktable. She’d been jumpy all day, and it was wearing on Jack’s nerves. “Nothing.”

She grabbed a book off the top of a stack that had to be a foot and a half high. “I thought maybe you’d hurt yourself.”

“I didn’t hurt myself,” he snapped. “I’m working on this piece of junk engine. What on earth are all those books for?”

She stood bolt upright, as if offended. He waited for the retort, but oddly enough, she clamped her mouth shut and turned back to the books. “I’ll have the supply requisition lists for you soon.” Her voice sounded peculiar, like she had a sore throat.

“You feeling all right?”

She jutted that little chin out again. “Perfect.”

“Great. Good.” He rubbed his hands. “Well then, Mr. Simmons, let’s dig into this motor.”

Everyone worked in silence for a while. Simmons was right. There was too much oil in the cylinders. Piece by piece, they tore it apart until their hands and overalls were coated with black grease.

“Did you meet anyone new in Buffalo after I left?” Darcy suddenly asked.

“Huh?” He’d been concentrating so hard on the motor that he wasn’t prepared for conversation.

“Did you meet anyone new? Like new students.”

“All the inquiries were written.”

“Oh. Is that all?”

“All of what?” Jack held a lamp over the engine so Simmons could see into the deepest recesses of the cylinders.

“All of the people you met.”

“What?”

Darcy had stopped working on the supply list. She watched him, arms crossed and pencil tucked behind her ear. “You never seem to go anywhere or do anything other than work. I thought you might have visited Mr. Burrows or—or someone else.”

Jack would never understand the way women’s minds worked. “I work. I sleep. My life is routine.”

“Oh. I thought if you happened to visit Mr. Burrows, you might have heard some news about the other group interested in the transatlantic attempt. You know, the people with the flying boat.”

So that’s what this was about. “No word yet.”

“Oh.”

He squinted to make out her expression. “You sound disappointed.”

“Not at all. I just figured you might have heard something.” She wiped her forehead. “Well, I guess not.”

“That’s right.”

“Too bad.” She went back to her books.

“Could you move the lamp a little more this way?” asked Simmons.

Jack obliged, glad to get back to work.

“So,” said Darcy, “is your sister married?”

He glared. “She’s in the hospital.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s not married. Of course not every woman wants to marry. Me, for instance.” She paused dramatically.

Clearly, that point was for his benefit, but it didn’t make him any happier. “Is that so?”

“You either, I hear, but I’m sure you’ve had female friends.”

Why was she asking about old girlfriends? And where had she heard that bit about not marrying? It was true, but he didn’t generally reveal the fact until necessary. He was certain he’d never told her. “If you’re asking whether I consider you a friend, I do.”