Soaring Home (18 page)

She could no longer deny that she felt something for him. Beattie might call it love, but to Darcy it was the most horrible pain imaginable. She couldn’t imagine not being with Jack, yet she could have no future with a man who refused to acknowledge God. He both encouraged and held her back. He delighted children, yet angered her father. He could be tender or cruel. If this was love, why did anyone want it?

She tried to pray, but his denial, crackling with hurt and anger, rang in her ears. He acted as if he’d been personally injured. What had he said? That he had proof? Something had happened to shake his faith. If only it could be regained. She had to pray it could. The Lord said He would go after every lost sheep.
Lord, please help Jack. Please bring him home.

She felt a little better after that simple prayer, but the choice still remained: deny her faith or give up her dream and lose Jack. The dilemma churned in her stomach. She threw the covers off one minute and yanked them back up the next. What to do? What to do? Try as she might, she couldn’t find a solution that allowed her to choose both. Either way she lost.

Darcy didn’t think she’d fallen asleep until the alarm rang at five. Groggy and numb, she splashed her face with cold water. She could put off the decision no longer. Pushing aside the thick sweaters, jacket and riding breeches she’d set out the night before, she took her navy gabardine dress from the closet.

After dressing, she pulled up her hair. Her eyes looked puffy and her complexion wan, but her family and her church would still accept her.

She located her father’s tissue-wrapped bear claw in her dresser drawer. She should have given it to Freddie when Papa first asked, but she’d had this foolish idea that giving up the claw would somehow mean giving up her dream. Well, claw or no claw, her dream was shattered.

She breathed deep for courage and went downstairs.

“Darcy?” Mum stood in the kitchen doorway. “I’m surprised to see you up so early.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Mum looked her over, doubtlessly noting the dress. “Does that have anything to do with a rumor I heard that Mr. Hunter intends to fly today?” She nodded.

“I thought perhaps you would be with him,” Mum added softly.

“I’m going to the barn now to tell him I can’t go on the flight.”

“I see. What changed your mind?”

Darcy bowed her head. “It’s Sunday. I can’t fly.” As she said the words, she realized they condemned Jack. “I’m praying for him.”

Tears glistened in Mum’s eyes. “Me, too.”

Darcy’s throat squeezed shut, and tears threatened to fall.

Mum hugged her close. “You’re doing the right thing, dearest. You will never regret putting God first. You could give no greater example to Jack.”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Mum gazed at her with calm assurance. “Trust in the Lord, and He will guide your steps. He is a mighty God, capable of changing the hardest heart. Believe it, dearest, with all your heart and all your soul.”

“And it will become true?” Darcy wiped away a tear.

“If you only have faith the size of a mustard seed.”

“It’s so hard,” Darcy choked out, blinking back the tears.

“I know this flight means the world to you,” Mum said, “but there will be other flights and other days.”

No there won’t.
Darcy’s lip quivered. She didn’t want to think of what she was losing.

She handed the tissue-wrapped claw to Mum. “Give this to Papa, please.”

“What is it?”

“The bear claw. Tell Papa to give it to Freddie.”

Mum nodded. “I’ll do that. Thank you, Darcy. And remember to trust. All will turn out well in the end. You’ll see.”

Darcy pulled on her black coat and slowly walked to the barn. Even from a distance, she could see the coal oil lanterns burning inside. Jack was already there. Her heart beat miserably, banging a death dirge with each step.

If this was right, why did it hurt so much? She dreaded speaking the words, seeing Jack’s face, hearing his fury. He’d asked her to tell him yesterday if she wasn’t going, but she hadn’t. No matter what she did, she let someone down. It tore her to pieces that this time it was Jack.

She stepped softly into the barn, hoping he wouldn’t notice her right away, but he looked up at once. He stood at the worktable, pencil in hand, cap off. His hair stuck out a bit, like a boy just out of bed. In all her days, she would never forget the way he looked at that moment.

His smile faded as he noted her dress. “You’re not going.”

She nodded, her throat too constricted to speak.

He returned to the paperwork without a word. He looked pale, his lips were thinned and his face was somehow older in the lantern light. She’d devastated his plans, but he didn’t lash out at her. He just stood at the worktable, scratching away at his checklist.

Darcy waited for what seemed forever, and when he made no move to speak, she backed toward the door. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t reply. He didn’t look at her. He just worked. Dis
appointment coiled around her heart, squeezing it lifeless. She’d ruined everything. Everything.

She stumbled out of the barn into the dark predawn, barely able to see through the tears.

R
ain spit from the skies before Darcy reached home, and she thanked God for the reprieve. At church she kept glancing to the doors, hoping Jack would come to worship. If he understood how much this meant to her, he would. But he didn’t, and the flicker of hope she’d cherished for a future together blew out.

By midafternoon the rain stopped. During Sunday dinner the sun came out. She listened for the aeroplane motors. Jack wouldn’t fly, would he? It would be dark before he reached the Upper Peninsula.

Still, she checked the sky every few minutes for the rest of the afternoon, until finally Papa set aside his magazine with a sigh.

“Go,” he said.

“Go where? I have nowhere to go.”

He shook his head. “I don’t consider it wise or safe, but you showed today that your heart is in the right place. Go on that flight. It obviously means a lot to you.”

Darcy could not believe her ears. “You’re giving your blessing?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He reopened the magazine.

Despite Papa’s reluctant approval, it was no use going to the
barn that afternoon. Even if she could face Jack, he wouldn’t be there. He’d be…where? Surely not at the boardinghouse. A man desired entertainment. Her heart sank. Not at Mrs. Lawrence’s saloon? Since state prohibition had been repealed in February, the saloon had reopened publicly in its old location. Never once had Darcy seen signs Jack went there, but after their fight, he might. She sent a fervent prayer he’d stay away.

The next day she awoke well before dawn. Unable to sleep, she donned her riding breeches, two thick sweaters and a canvas coat. Might as well act as if yesterday’s disagreement had never occurred. She packed a lunch and walked to the barn. The skies were clear, the wind light. Perfect.

The barn stood dark, as did Terchie’s. No sign of Jack. Had he given up, or was he suffering after a night of drink? She flexed her fingers in the chill air. Her pulse pounded as she rehearsed what she would say to him. Something about the good weather. After that, she wasn’t sure.

She retrieved the key from the nook in the tree where Jack kept it and unlocked the barn door. Near as she could tell, the plane was still there. She located a coal oil lamp and lit it. Yes. Still there.

Darcy began the preflight check. She stowed her vacuum bottle of coffee and sandwiches in the forward cockpit, and lit the lanterns and gasoline heater to warm the engines. She then began the tedious process of checking every screw and wire.

She had almost finished the left wing when Jack arrived. He didn’t smile or greet her, but he did carry a lunch and vacuum bottle. He walked directly to the worktable.

“A-are we on?” Her shaking voice betrayed her nerves.

He set down the bottle and removed his gloves. Still no recognition she was there.

“The sky’s clear, the wind’s light,” she said hopefully.

He rummaged in the toolbox. The clanking made her nervous. Is this the way it would be? Perform the task at hand without even a word? She couldn’t work that way.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, though she had no idea why she should apologize.

“No need,” he said stiffly, not angrily as she expected, more like he was afraid of what he might say. “How far are you?”

Darcy had never been so glad to hear his voice. “Almost done with the left wing.”

“I’ll start on the right one.” He climbed onto the wing.

“You don’t want to check my work?”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” He moved closer to the fuselage, working quickly.

“But I thought…” She was confused. “You said…”

“That a pilot should always check the plane himself?” He finally glanced at her, but she couldn’t read his expression.

“You did say that.” If he didn’t smile, she was going to be sick.

“Yes, I did. But after five months, I know you’re thorough. You’re also going to be on this flight, so if you miss something, it’s your life on the line, too.”

The mixed praise and caution made her stomach flip-flop. All Jack’s warnings rushed back: icy cold water, no place to land, risky. It had seemed overprotective when she wouldn’t be making the flight, but now she understood.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her hand shook so badly she had to set down the screwdriver. She held onto the edge of the rear cockpit, trying to regain control.

He looked up from the other side of the fuselage. They crouched opposite each other, with the cockpit between.

“Don’t be. Those are your beliefs, and I respect them.”

He did? She was a little relieved. “That’s not what I meant,
though. You were right. I could use more experience before attempting a transatlantic crossing.”

His eyes met hers. “You said I was being overprotective.”

“I—I might have been wrong.”

A corner of his mouth eased up. “Darcy Shea wrong? Impossible.”

Tears welled. Goodness, she was a mess if she couldn’t take a little teasing. She’d always enjoyed it before.

He lifted a strand of hair from her brow. “You weren’t wrong. I was.”

Oh, no. Now she really was going to cry. She blinked rapidly. “No,
you
were right.”

He laughed. “Are we going to argue over who was more wrong?” He slipped the strand of hair behind her ear.

She could only shake her head no. Her throat was too constricted. She’d expected anger and received mercy. She’d feared reprisal and received understanding.

“You aren’t going to cry on me, are you?” he asked.

Again she shook her head, but this time he cupped her chin and drew her eyes upward until she looked into his. There she saw tenderness. And love.

He drew closer, leaning over the cockpit, still holding her face in his hand. She felt his breath on her forehead then her cheek.

Her knees turned to oatmeal. “I—I…”

“Shh.” He pressed a fingertip to her lips. “Don’t talk.”

She caught her breath, which suddenly seemed like a terribly difficult thing to do. The icy cold barn roasted. The light grew fuzzy and the air became thick as pudding. He was going to kiss her. Not maybe or almost but really kiss her. She closed her eyes.

His lips were soft, barely more than the feather-light caress of a handkerchief, but oh so much more alive. He tasted a little salty. She breathed in the scent that was only Jack—soap
and leather and gasoline. He paused, lips still close, but she wanted more.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.” He brushed a hair from her cheek. “You’re perfect in every way.”

Then he truly kissed her, telling her without words that he would always be there for her, melting away every fear and excuse. Darcy could barely keep her balance. The earth might have shook and the buildings around her tumbled down. She wouldn’t have noticed. There was only Jack.

He held her so close, so tenderly, as though she was the most precious thing in the world. He gazed at her the way Beattie looked at Blake, the way Papa held Mum when he thought they were alone. The world had righted, and Jack stood square in the center.

She reached for him, and her knee let loose. She nearly slid off the wing, but Jack caught her. He scrambled across the cockpit faster than she thought possible. Safe in his embrace, she gazed into those blue eyes, wide as the sky. There was room for her in that limitless future.

He grinned. “I guess I didn’t choose the best location.”

“No, it’s perfect.” She sighed like a silly schoolgirl, but she didn’t care.

He scooped her in his arms and carried her to the ground, where he set her on her feet. She hated to let go, but he gently removed her arms. “Why don’t you top off the oilcans?” He handed her the filter. “Let me know when you’re done, and I’ll heft them into the plane.”

Oh, yes—the flight.

Darcy set the filter on the table and carried the cans to the large oil drum. While she filled each to the top, she marveled at what had happened. Minutes ago she thought Jack hated her, but not now. After that kiss, she had no doubt.

She watched him pull open the barn doors. His stride was
firm, his purpose set. He loved her enough to forgive. He was perfect in every way but one. She bit her lip. He’d accepted that faith was important to her, but hadn’t trusted God for himself.

The sky had lightened. It was time.

“Finished?” he asked. “We need to get underway. It’ll be a long day.”

She had to trust that God would complete the work He’d begun. “I’m ready.”

Jack’s energy soared. She had responded, really responded. Darcy Shea had feelings for him. It probably wasn’t the best time to find that out, but she’d looked so beautiful insisting she was wrong. What man could have resisted?

Thankfully, Blake Kensington, the Simmons kid and half the town turned out moments later to push the plane out of the barn and see them off. Romance got shoved aside and business took over. He had to make sure Darcy was ready. Once in the air, they wouldn’t be able to talk over the drone of the engines.

He handed her some cotton. She looked at it like she had no idea what to do with it.

“For your ears.” He indicated she should insert some in each ear.

She blushed, and the attraction rushed back. He clapped his hands in the cold morning air. He had to get their attention back on the flight. “Any instructions go on the slate, understand?” He ran through all the signals and made her repeat them.

Her eyes still looked a bit glassy, every emotion visible on her face. Darcy couldn’t hide a thing. Her joys and anger and sorrow were right there for the world to see.

He had to look away before he found himself in worse
trouble than he already was. The flight would be long. He didn’t need to spend it thinking about her. One of them had to stay calm and rational.

They were airborne within the hour. The haze began to burn off, revealing clear blue sky. Light wind from the southwest wouldn’t cause much drift.

He headed for the lake.

The nearly three hundred miles they’d fly over Lake Michigan would provide the perfect opportunity to test over-water conditions. Within minutes they’d be out of sight of either shore, then he’d turn north. Darcy was to take sightings every half hour, plot their position, write the results on a slate and show him. Then he could make course corrections. Crude, but hopefully effective.

After two hours of flight, the motors droned at full revolution. No loss of speed. He’d dumped two cans of fuel into the tank, and the lighter weight was already making them quicker. The deep blue waters sped by below, the waves mere ripples at three thousand feet.

He’d have to add more fuel after the next reading. While he handled that necessary though risky procedure, Darcy took the controls. One sudden move would throw him over the side to his death. He usually hated putting his life in another person’s hands, yet with her he felt safe. He’d seen something in her eyes. Love?

After settling back in the cockpit, he noted a low cloudbank looming ahead. It didn’t extend all the way to the water like fog. Probably trailing clouds from yesterday’s weather. It would be a good test of machine and pilot.

They flew into the cloud at the three-and-a-half-hour mark. Condensation almost immediately formed on his goggles. He had to wipe them constantly. Impossible to see. He took the
plane lower, searching for the cloud’s bottom edge, and came out at two hundred feet above the water.

“What now?” Darcy wrote on the slate.

“Under or around,” he yelled, but he couldn’t tell if she heard him.

Fortunately, the cloud ended minutes later, and he took the plane up to three thousand feet again. They soared past land that jutted out to their right. Must be one of the peninsulas near Traverse City. Given their time in the air and direction, that should be it, but just to be certain, he tapped Darcy on the shoulder and indicated she should take another sighting.

He had to admit she’d been a quick study on the sextant. Navigating in an open cockpit was a constant challenge, with the cold and the blasting wind. If the fingers weren’t too stiff to work the sextant and take notes, the map and tables threatened to blow away. To get an accurate reading, she had to take multiple rapid sightings and then average them.

He hoped she was as accurate in the air as on the land.

She held up the slate. He pointed down, indicating he wanted to see the map. She carefully held it up, their flight line penned onto the light blue of the lake. He’d been correct.

Soon they’d cross the last of Lake Michigan and go over the Upper Peninsula, which could still be snow-covered. He hoped that would prepare them for the north Atlantic ice fields.

The land turned out to be speckled with snow and evergreens. He’d forgotten about the trees. That changed the heat of the land and gave them clear flying until Lake Superior.

Three miles over that vast body of water, fog rose. His gut clenched. Fog was every aviator’s nightmare. In a light fog with a strong sun, sightings could still be made, but if it thickened navigation got tough. It also brought weight gain from the condensation. Flying east might take them out of it, but that wouldn’t test their skills. Chances were, he’d encounter
fog over the Atlantic. If he could conquer it here, he could make it there.

Darcy had given him a position less than ten minutes before entering the fogbank. On the present course, they’d come out of the fog in no more than two hours when they reached Ontario.

Once again, he had to constantly wipe his goggles. Between the thick air and the condensation, he struggled to see his gauges. He had to hold his watch close to read it. Finally he gave up and ripped the goggles off. The rushing air made his eyes water, but by squinting he could see better than with the steamed-up goggles.

Daylight waned without a sign the fog would thin. Jack gnawed his lip. It shouldn’t be getting this dark at four o’clock. Either the fog was thickening or a storm was building. Neither boded well for their flight. He considered turning back, but they had almost covered the full distance. Just a little farther, and they’d be over land and the fog would clear. It couldn’t happen soon enough. He would head east on the return, staying over land. He’d had enough fog for this trip.