Soaring Home (12 page)

“Oh. Thank you.” She sounded disappointed.

Jack hazarded a glance. Darcy was leaning over the table, writing something down, looking like she didn’t care one bit about their conversation. But her coffee cup was still jiggling, betraying the fact that she’d knocked against the table on a quick turnaround. So, she wasn’t as disinterested as she claimed. He went back to working on the motor with smug satisfaction.

“Are any of your female friends beautiful?”

So that was it. She was looking for a compliment. “Don’t worry. You’re perfectly attractive.”

Simmons accidentally cracked him on the knuckle with a wrench. “Sor-ry.”

Jack rubbed the sore finger on his overalls.

“That’s not what I meant,” Darcy said. “I was trying to learn what your friends are like.”

“My friends.”

“Exactly. You can tell a lot about a man by the friends he chooses, but I’m having a difficult time figuring you out.”

Even though she didn’t look up, he could tell she was ner
vous by the number of times she shoved her hair behind her ear. That could mean only one thing.

“Good,” he said. “I don’t want to be figured out.”

“Why not?”

“Takes the mystery out of it, don’t you think?”

Simmons slipped again with the wrench. Jack shook his aching hand.

“Maybe I don’t like mystery,” she said in that wonderfully determined way she had. “Maybe I like to know.”

“Maybe you don’t always get what you want.”

“I see.” Instead of playing along with the banter, she frowned and went back to her books.

Now what had he done? Jack searched for a compliment.

“I understand you’re doing a fine job taking care of your nieces and nephew.”

Her head snapped up, fire in her eye. “Thank you, I suppose.”

Oh no. He’d hit a tender nerve. “I meant it as a compliment. Children need love and care and someone to teach them what’s right. It’s an important job.”

Her expression only got tenser.

“Someday I hope to have children,” he said. “The next generation. Hope for the future.”

“Me, too,” said Simmons.

That echo didn’t extend to Darcy Shea, widening the gulf between them. She didn’t want to marry or have children. A future together was impossible. Fine. It had never been likely anyway. At least now he could stop worrying about her.

Jack Hunter had turned out to be like every other man. Darcy hated when men resorted to the old adage that a woman belonged in the home raising children. Childrearing was important; it just wasn’t the only vocation.

What’s more, he’d never told her if he had a serious
girlfriend or not. All that grief for nothing. Very well. If Jack Hunter wanted strictly professional, she’d be strictly professional—as long as she flew in the transatlantic attempt.

The next morning she marched to the barn to complete the requisition list. Despite a thawing rain, the workspace was freezing. Jack stood alone on the ladder, working on the left motor.

“Where’s Hendrick?” Darcy had never worked at the barn without Simmons near. Given her determination to be professional, it shouldn’t have made a difference, but the atmosphere definitely felt different.

“At the garage, trying to get a nick out of the ring.” He didn’t even look at her.

“I’ll have the requisition list for you shortly.”

“Good.” Again, not even a glance.

Despite every attempt to convince herself that his opinion didn’t matter, his coolness toward her hurt. Fine, she’d concentrate on flying. “I hope to resume lessons in the spring. Papa said I could. I remember everything you taught me. The elevators, the rudder, and even how the ailerons work.”

“Good.” He leveraged his weight against a wrench, and the ladder wobbled.

Darcy raced over to steady it. “I’ll hold the ladder.”

“No need. I got it.” He held up a grimy nut.

“The list is finished.”

His eyebrows rose. “Already?” He climbed down the ladder and wiped off his hands before taking the clipboard from her.

Darcy rubbed her hands together to get some warmth in her stiff fingers.

“A ladder is too heavy and completely unnecessary.” He crossed it off with a stub of pencil.

“Suppose we land on a glacier?”

“This is a transatlantic attempt, not a polar crossing.”

“Oh.” She had been thinking in terms of a polar expedition. All the supply lists she’d found had come from the expedition narratives in her father’s library. “There are icebergs.”

“If I hit an iceberg, I’m dead.”

“Don’t say that.” The thought of Jack splattered on the ice sickened her. “All right. No ladder.”

He skimmed down the list. “We don’t need a hatchet.”

Darcy had already given up the ladder. She wouldn’t budge on the hatchet. “It’s for safety, in case of an emergency. You can use it to make a shelter or chop firewood.”

“The idea is not to crash. Besides, there aren’t many forests in the ocean.”

“It’s just a little hatchet,” she insisted.

“It weighs three pounds that we don’t have.”

Darcy stubbornly clung to her point, and in the end Jack agreed to keep the hatchet if she’d drop another item of equal weight.

“The rest looks satisfactory.” He handed the list back to her. “Get the best price. Money is running low.”

That wasn’t good news, with the second motor still not working. In addition to supplies, they’d have to transport the plane and hire crew.

“Who is going to be your navigator?” she blurted out as he climbed back up the ladder. “Me, I hope.”

He glanced up from the motor. “Very funny.”

She climbed the other ladder. “Why? I could do it.”

“You know nothing about navigation, for one.”

“I can use a sextant.”

He cocked one eyebrow. “You’re joking.”

“My father taught me when I was young.”

He slid down the ladder. “There’s more to navigating an aeroplane than using a sextant.”

“I know—” she followed him down “—but you could show me.”

“Give me one good reason why.”

She knew better than to mention the transatlantic attempt. He’d shown no sign of relenting on that point. “Doesn’t every pilot need to know navigation? If I’m going to fly someday, I’ll have to learn.”

The old grin reappeared. “Someday, eh? You have a point. As long as you realize this is just instruction.”

“When can we begin?”

“We have some time now.” He led her to his personal trunks. “What do you know about aeronautical navigation?”

Darcy did not want to disappoint him. She also didn’t want to get it wrong. “The way I figure it, a sighting has to correct for altitude, and you’d need a true horizon. Another difficulty has to be measuring drift. I haven’t seen an instrument for that in any of the planes.”

“You’re right. Those are big challenges in aerial navigation.” He ran a finger along the curve of his lips. “It’s what makes an experienced navigator such a vital part of the crew.”

“Especially over water, where there are so few landmarks, and on a transatlantic crossing, where you must fly in darkness.”

His expression darkened, and she instantly regretted mentioning the transatlantic attempt.

“That is,” she added hastily, “where your navigator will face the toughest challenge, whoever he is.” It hurt to concede the role to someone else, even for a moment.

He nodded, visibly relieved. “That’s the problem that needs to be solved before we can have viable commercial aviation.”

“That’s why the transatlantic attempt is so important.”

“It will connect the continents in hours instead of days. Just think, Columbus took months to cross the Atlantic. Now ocean liners can make it in a week. A plane can cross in less than twenty-four hours. It will change the world.”

Jack’s eyes had taken on that glow. He loved aeroplanes, loved everything about aviation, and she loved hearing him talk about it.

“Teach me what you know,” she breathed. “I want to learn.”

In seconds he dragged a sextant box from his trunk. As soon as he removed the instrument from its case, Darcy saw the difference between his and the one her father owned.

“The bubble level is used for the horizon?” she asked, and Jack launched into a detailed explanation.

When she didn’t understand a point, he carefully explained again. Sometimes he drew the concept on paper. Sometimes he demonstrated by having her peer through the lens while he stood behind, guiding every move.

His touch conveyed strength. The vibration of his voice flowed down the nape of her neck to the small of her back. It embraced her, steady and solid. This was a man who would guard and cherish those he loved.

She settled back on her heels and accidentally brushed against his shoulder. The instant charge made her pull away, embarrassed. “Sorry, I lost my balance.”

He lowered the sextant. “I’ve probably overtaxed you enough for one day. We can continue tomorrow.”

“I’m fine. Let’s go on.”

He moved back into position, and she discovered he had a little nick on his thumb that she’d never noticed before. The skin in the curve between thumb and forefinger stretched pink, and he kept his nails neatly trimmed. A man who took such care with small details would not neglect the large.

This was getting dangerously close to intimacy, and yet she trusted him. Jack Hunter would not take advantage, even when they were alone. He’d had opportunity before and had broken away. He would never hurt her.

“You hold the instrument like this.” But his hand trembled,
and he set the sextant on the worktable. “I must be getting tired.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, unwilling to break their closeness.

For a terrible moment, Jack didn’t speak. His eyes had softened. The little lines around the corners of his mouth disappeared. His breathing deepened.

He was going to kiss her.

Darcy’s pulse quickened. She tilted her face slightly and partially closed her eyes. This time a car couldn’t interrupt them.

Instead of a kiss, he dabbed at her face with a rag.

“What are you doing?”

“Stand still. You have some grease on your forehead.” His touch was gentle. The folds of rag grazed her nose and lips, and she could smell the solvent. It wasn’t romantic, but the spark still arced between them.

“There,” Jack said, “it’s gone now.” He dropped the handkerchief but not his gaze.

He looked at her far longer than respectable. No grin. No smile. Serious. An uncontrollable fluttering started deep inside her.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He ran a thumb down her jaw to her chin. She leaned slightly, letting him tilt it up. Every nerve ending tingled. His touch was gentle, caring. His eyes had turned a darker, deeper blue. He brushed the corner of her mouth.

“A crumb.” His voice was raspy.

She closed her eyes, feeling the connection between them tighten, like a stay between two wings. They ran parallel, yet together, equally important. His breath whispered across her lips. She reveled in his touch.
Crash.
Metal hit metal.

“Oh!” Darcy shot into the air, bumping Jack’s nose.

“Sorry.”

He held the rag to his nose, but she didn’t see blood. In moments she located the source of the noise. Simmons. A pile of tools at his feet.

“Uh, sorry.” Simmons held up his wooden toolbox. “The handle come loose. Just wanted to let you know I got the ring fixed. Oh, and another thing…” He dug into his pocket. “Cora sent over a wire. Said it come in an hour ago.”

“A wire?” In a flash Jack grabbed the cable and whipped it open. He read it. Twice.

“What’s wrong?” Darcy tried not to worry. “Not bad news, I hope.”

Jack scanned the message again. “It’s Burrows. The navy is backing the transatlantic project with the NC flying boats.”

Her spirits fell the rest of the way. “What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer at once. That told her all she needed to know. He was going to leave Pearlman and join Burrows.

He ran his hand through his hair. “If I read it right, even though the navy is attempting the crossing, they’ve sworn off the prize.”

Darcy could hardly believe her luck.

Jack tucked the cable in his pocket. “I need to place a long-distance telephone call.”

“But why, if they’re not going for the prize?”

He didn’t answer.

Her panic grew. “You are still going for the prize, right?”

Jack extinguished the heater. “Let’s call it a day. We’ll tackle the motor tomorrow.”

“But—” He hadn’t answered her question. Were they still making the transatlantic attempt? “No buts.”

She could tell by the set of Jack’s jaw that he wasn’t going
to answer her. That meant just one thing. He was leaving. He intended to join Burrows in New York. That’s why he had to place the call.

“I—I,” she stammered, but she had no power to stop him.

S
he wasn’t proud of it, but Darcy followed Jack. He went directly to the post office, where he attempted to place a call and ended up sending a wire.

“Where did he send it?” she asked Cora after the office had emptied.

“Humph.” The postmistress and telephone operator continued to sort letters into the little wooden cubbyholes that corresponded to each Pearlman family and business. “That’s confidential.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“Well I never.” Cora tossed her short ringlets. “Take that back, Darcy Shea.”

Darcy wouldn’t take it back, because it was true. Unfortunately, her words had ruined any chance of getting information from Cora.

She gnawed her lip. How could she find out if he was leaving? A train whistle sounded the afternoon departure. Of course. Dennis Allington, the train depot manager, would know if Jack had purchased a ticket.

The walk across town took twenty minutes. She had to detour around muddy puddles and avoid the dwindling snow
banks that had softened so much in the rain that her feet would have sunk clear to the bottom.

No one lingered at the train depot, and Allington had nothing to offer. “Nope. Haven’t seen ’im since the last shipment come in Tuesday.”

Darcy prayed that meant he was staying, but she wouldn’t know for sure until morning. The ringing of the school bell brought an end to her free time. She spent the rest of the day cooking and cleaning and putting her nieces and nephew to bed.

After a dreadful night’s sleep and a painfully slow morning getting the children to school, Darcy raced to the barn. Had he gone? Would she find the barn empty? She threw open the door and stepped into the dim light. Simmons stood on a ladder propped beside the troublesome motor, and Jack hung on another.

“Jack. You’re here,” she gushed.

“Shea. You’re late.”

She laughed from pure relief. “You didn’t leave.”

“Where’d you expect me to go?”

“The telephone call you were going to make yesterday.” She pulled off her gloves. “I thought maybe you were going to New York.”

“Not at present.” Jack refocused on Simmons. “What do you think? Shall we give it a try?”

“What do you mean, ‘at present’?” Darcy demanded, but he either didn’t hear her or didn’t want to answer.

When Simmons agreed that they should try the motor, Jack swung into the cockpit. The engine started, revved, decelerated and ran smoothly for several minutes before Jack shut it off.

“Is it fixed?” Darcy asked as the propeller slowed.

A grin crept across Jack’s face, and then he nodded and whooped. “Open the doors, I’m taking her up.”

Darcy grabbed her goggles from the worktable.

“Whoa. Not this time,” said Jack. “Let me test her out, make sure everything is running properly.”

“But don’t you need someone up front for weight?”

He winked. “This girl’s not tender. Did you get those calculations done yesterday? I’ll check them when I get back.”

Her disappointment ebbed with the roar of the engines. Jack had stayed to fix the motor. That meant he was still attempting the transatlantic crossing. Soon she’d be in the air again. Then she could make history.

Darcy covered her ears as Jack coasted down Baker’s field. The wheels bounced on the half-frozen turf. The plane rose gently: five feet; ten feet; and then it curved upward. Oh, he could fly: tight spirals and huge arcs across the blue sky, but Darcy’s favorite was the slow, simple turn, curving elegantly like a hawk on an updraft.

How she longed to be at the controls or even riding in the other cockpit. Instead, she finished the navigation calculations. He would need a navigator, and she intended to fill that position.

Jack brought the plane down fifteen minutes later, after an effortless flight. Darcy met him at planeside, calculations in hand. “Now that the plane is running, can we resume lessons?”

“Not yet.” He headed straight for Simmons. “I thought I smelled a little extra oil in the exhaust.”

Darcy waited until Simmons crawled up to check the motor.

“I thought it ran brilliantly,” she said as Jack wiped lubricating oil off his face. “You did some terrific maneuvers.”

“Pretty good.” He tossed the rag aside. “Let’s look over those calculations now.”

Darcy waited an eternity while he verified her mathematics.

He pointed to the paper. “This figure is off by one degree.”

“It’s just one.”

“One degree at the beginning of a long-distance flight translates to miles off target at the end. You could start out aiming for France and end up over water and out of fuel. Do it again and don’t rush this time.”

The blunt criticism stung, but Darcy bit back her temper. “Once I get it correct, may I have a flight lesson?”

“That will depend on the plane.”

That, or any of a dozen other excuses.

Over the following weeks, Jack used them all. Weather, engine, wind, field conditions. Some problem always kept her grounded and perfecting her navigation skills on paper.

Still, when Jack guided Darcy’s hand on the sextant, her heart beat a little harder. When he directed her gaze to the proper star, she barely breathed. Her frustrations vanished under his touch.

“This morning looks good,” he said early in March, after most of the snow had melted and the nighttime frost had firmed the ground.

“Good for what?”

“Flying, what else?”

The rush of excitement made her miss part of his instructions.

“…that means we need to go through the controls first. This plane uses a wheel to control both the elevator and ailerons.”

Darcy concentrated as he showed her how the controls worked in tandem. Once again their hands worked side-by-
side as he demonstrated the movement of the rudder and ailerons. She thrilled to feel him moving the wheel, jumped when the rudder bar shifted, and longed for the side-by-side cockpit they’d shared in Buffalo.

“If you make a wrong move I can correct it,” he said, “but the engines are too loud for us to talk. You must follow my preflight instructions exactly. No deviation. I only want you doing turns. No elevator. That means no moving the wheel forward or back, understand?”

She shook off a twinge of irritation. She could do more. She’d already done ascents and descents, but now was not the time to point that out. Patience. “Yes, of course.”

“It’s easy to promise on the ground, but everything changes when you’re in the air. Wind currents can grab a plane and throw it up or down. I’ll handle any sudden shifts. I need you to trust me. Do not attempt to make corrections yourself.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, but the man was being ridiculously overcautious. “Nothing is going to happen.”

“You don’t know that. I’ve seen students clutch onto the wheel like a life preserver or lose their nerve. I’ve seen them send the plane into a spin or sideslip. Some have gotten badly injured or died. If you need to catch your balance, grab the sides of the cockpit, not the wheel.”

“Yes, sir.” She saluted him.

“This is serious, Darcy.”

She tried to be serious, but she wanted to giggle. He was acting just like her father. “I know. I promise.” She reached for her goggles.

He cleared his throat and crossed his arms.

“What is it?”

“You’re forgetting something.” He waited until she figured it out.

“The preflight check? I thought maybe you’d already done it.”

“Never get in a plane you haven’t personally checked,” he said. “Make it part of your routine, like washing your face in the morning.”

“Or saying grace before meals.”

He scowled. “Right.”

How she wished Jack didn’t put up that wall every time she mentioned God or church. It created a sore spot that refused to heal.

After checking the plane thoroughly, they took off. Darcy had no time to revel in the flow of air over her face or the scene below. She followed Jack’s instructions to the letter. One wrong move, and he’d stop the lessons. It took tremendous mental effort not to touch the wheel during the ascent. For the descent, she sat on her hands. No air currents buffeted the aeroplane, and they landed smoothly.

She swiveled to face him the moment he cut the engines. “How did I do?”

“Good turns,” he said. “Next time we’ll increase the degree of your banks.”

Next time. She had done well enough to fly again. “This afternoon?”

The skies were clear and the winds light.

“We’ll see.”

His vague reply raised the old alarm. The last time he refused to fly in perfect weather, he’d gone to the hospital. Though she knew his reasons for that, she still scanned his face for signs of fatigue or illness. He looked the same as always, though perhaps a bit more worried.

“Is everything all right?” She recalled the wire he’d sent and wondered if this had anything to do with that. “You can confide in me. I won’t tell a soul.”

“I’m fine.” The gruff answer was all she’d get. Jack Hunter kept the deepest part of himself quite private.

Darcy progressed through the lessons with remarkable speed. Jack had to admit she exhibited the same ability as his better students, except for her landings. She still came in too fast and too steep. If he had time, he’d spend hours with her in practice, but he had to get started on the load and fuel tests.

The tests. Jack groaned and fingered the cable in his pocket. He’d been wondering when Pohlman would show, but he hadn’t expected this. What was the man thinking? Time was short, and the competition was further along. Jack had to come up with a new plan soon.

By the time he arrived at the barn, Darcy and the kid were already at work. While Simmons checked the engines, Jack spread out the Chicago newspaper on the worktable.

Darcy looked over his shoulder. “Where did you get a Chicago paper?”

“Reporters,” he said without looking up.

“Chicago reporters here? Whatever for?”

“Why do you think? Uh-oh.” A small headline grabbed his attention.

“What is it?”

“Hawker’s bringing the
Atlantic
.”

“You knew there’d be competition,” she said in a sympathetic tone.

Jack was in no mood for female empathy. He had a flight to prepare and a huge problem to overcome. “That makes a solid handful. St. John’s will be crowded.”

“St. John’s is the departure point?”

He nodded.

“Why Newfoundland and not New York?”

Hadn’t she heard a thing he’d been saying the past two
months? “Everyone leaves from Newfoundland.” He pointed to the map he’d tacked to the wall. “Here’s Newfoundland and here’s England. See how much less distance it is than flying from New York? Of course the North Atlantic course brings its own hazards. Fog, icing, storms. And there’s nothing in between except ice-cold water. Ditching means almost certain death.”

“From the cold?”

“And the fact you’re flying outside the shipping lanes.” Jack emphasized the dangers. Maybe he could frighten Darcy out of her crazy ideas. “Go down, and no one will find you until you’re frozen stiff.”

Darcy paled. “Like the
Titanic
.”

“Trust me, the
Titanic
had a hundred-fold better chance of making it safely across.”

“But the plane won’t go down.”

She sounded a little worried, so he piled on the risks. “It very well could. This flight has a less-than-ten-percent chance of success. Odds are I’ll have to ditch before reaching land.”

She gasped. “But why would so many try it if it’s that dangerous?”

“Fame. Money. Aside from the prize, the winner will make tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, on speaking engagements.”

“Is that why you’re doing it?”

Jack hadn’t anticipated that question. It cut too personal for him to answer. “
You
want to do it. What’s
your
reason?”

“To prove a woman can do anything a man can do.” She jutted that cute little chin out again, and he was tempted to tweak it.

Instead he asked, “Is that worth dying for?”

“Of course.” Bold, confident and without hesitation. That was Darcy.

Such conviction and drive came from deep within, from a cause even she might not recognize, something so important she’d give up the best of life to gain it. “Don’t you want more? A family, a home?”

She hesitated just long enough for Jack to know he’d struck truth. “That can come later.”

“Unless there is no later.”

She pressed her lips into a tight little smile. After two months working together, he knew that look. She thought she held the upper hand. “I don’t plan to die.”

He laughed, glad of her answer. It would make telling her she wasn’t going much easier. “Good, because neither do I. If you haven’t put a raft and flares on the requisition list, do so.” Of course he might not be able to take them due to the already burgeoning weight.

“I’ll order them tomorrow.”

“Good girl.” He chucked her under her chin. “I can always count on you.”

Pop! The bright flash made him blink. Three reporters circled round, notepads in hand.

“Jack Hunter?” said the reporter in the gray wool duster, flipping open his pad. “This the plane you’re taking on the transatlantic crossing? Kind of small, isn’t it?”

Jack bristled. “
The Kensington Express
has twin motors, two hundred horsepower each, one more than Hawker’s
Atlantic
.”

They all scratched away on their pads. The mustached reporter asked, “Does Hawker have an insurmountable jump on you?”

“No such thing as insurmountable.” Jack chuckled. He was beginning to sound like Darcy.

“She your girlfriend?” The first reporter nodded to Darcy with a snicker.

Jack’s gut twisted. He did not want Darcy’s picture spread
across the newspapers. He could imagine what the articles would say. They’d point out the impropriety, comment on her wearing overalls instead of a skirt, and insinuate she was somehow less than moral. Darcy Shea was the most moral and honest woman Jack had ever met.

“Miss Shea has been instrumental in getting this flight underway.” He stepped in front of her to prevent additional photographs. “Without her assistance, I wouldn’t be making this attempt.”