18

GRACE

JULY 6, 1912

NEW YORK CITY

It had been two days since Hope's funeral. As I entered the cavernous building off West 35th Street in the center of the garment district, my pulse was pounding so hard I could barely hear the traffic on the street behind me. Grief mixed with trepidation as my heels clicked on the tiled floor. I could hear Daddy's voice of caution echoing in my heart. This wasn't a good idea—but it was the only option I had.

The more I thought about Luc's proposition, the more I shuddered. I couldn't learn to fly and take a cross-country journey. It was a foolish idea that would only create more hardship for Mama and Daddy.

A young receptionist looked up from a large desk in the middle of the lobby and pursed her lips. "If you're looking for sewing work, you'll need to go up to the fourth floor."

"I'm here to see Mr. Thurston."

She looked me up and down, not impressed. "He doesn't do the hiring. The superintend—"

"I'm not here for a job." I hooked my hand on the strap of my leather bag and forced myself to look confident. I was wearing a simple black walking suit with a straight skirt and a long suitcoat. The Victorian mourning customs had eased in recent years, and society wouldn't require that I wear black for long, but people would still expect me to honor Hope in this way.

"Is Mr. Thurston expecting you?" she asked.

A man stepped out of an office behind the receptionist. He was tall and thick around the middle. His graying hair was longer on one side and combed over the top to hide a balding spot.

"Miss Frampton," he said, "I'm expecting an important package. See that it's delivered to me immediately upon its arrival."

The receptionist nodded and then said, "This woman is here to see you, sir."

My gaze locked with his. This was Mr. Thurston? I'd been undercover in his factories and had never met him.

"Come in," he said, a bit gruff. "I don't have all day."

My hands trembled as I walked around the desk toward Mr. Thurston's office.

I had pictured a monster, but though he was one of the wealthiest and more powerful men in the city, he didn't look like a monster. He wouldn't even catch my eye if we passed on the street.

"What can I do for you, young lady?" he asked as he stood behind his desk and faced me. "This better not be about a job. I don't do the hiring."

He was taller than I'd imagined—but also older.

I took a deep breath, ready and willing to fight for my parents and the orphans. "I'm Grace Cooper. I'm here to ask that you rescind your offer to purchase the building my parents lease in Washington, DC."

He stared at me for a long time, his placid composure slowly morphing into something more imposing and sinister. A corner of his lip curled up in a contemptuous smile. "So you're the little thing that caused me so much trouble."

I lifted my chin.

"I've paid thousands of dollars in fines because of you, not to mention the thousands I had to invest in my buildings to bring them up to city code."

"I was only shedding light on—"

"You were only causing trouble to boost your own career."

My mouth slipped open, and I frowned. "No. I care about the people you employ."

He leaned forward, placing his hands on his desk. "I would like nothing more than to make you disappear, Miss Cooper. You're like a pesky fly that needs to be eradicated."

I took a step back, but I wouldn't leave without putting up a fight.

"My parents are good people, and their orphanage has saved the lives of dozens of children in Wash—"

"I couldn't care less. Perhaps you should have thought of them before poking about in my business." He glared at me. "It would be too obvious if you showed up missing one day, so I will do anything in my power to hit you where it hurts the most. And perhaps you'll think twice before sticking your nose where it doesn't belong again. Do I make myself clear?"

He still leaned on his desk as he stared, unblinking.

My instincts wanted me to cower, but I refused. Thurston was a bully, but Daddy had told me not to give in to him—or anyone else who threatened us.

"I will not back down," I said, my voice trembling.

"Then you will be the cause of suffering for the people you love. I will call Mr. Lorenz today and up my offer—just to spite you, Miss Cooper."

"What do you want with an orphanage in Washington, DC?"

"Nothing. I'll let it rot and fall to the ground—and I'll smile, knowing it mocks you every time you see it."

"I won't let you get that building."

"Try and stop me. I'll just increase my offer."

Anger pulsed through me as I turned on my heels and strode out of Thurston's building.

The sunshine blinded me as I walked toward Broadway and the nearest subway station. My breath started to even out, but his words still echoed in my mind. I couldn't let Thurston win—but that meant only one thing.

I would have to make the flight.

Anxiety coursed through me as I thought about calling Luc when I returned to the hotel—but that would have to wait. I had another important task to complete today. One that gave me just as much anxiety.

I had to look for Tacy.

Pricilla had told me that her last name in this path was Barclay. Looking through the directories at the Globe's office, I could not find a Tacy Barclay in New York, but I had found several addresses across the city for Barclay families. I planned to start at the closest address, on East 42nd Street, and go from there.

My mind was still spinning from my visit with Thurston when I heard my name above the noise of traffic.

"Grace!"

I paused, uncertain if I had heard correctly. There were so many people that I couldn't see who might have called me.

"Grace Cooper!" I heard again, and I finally spotted Luc as he jogged toward me.

He wore a black pinstripe suit and a straw boater hat with a black band around the crown. He looked like he had stepped off the pages of a fashion catalogue from R.H. Macy Company Store.

Everything about New York had felt lifeless without Hope—but in one sweeping moment, a burst of sunshine fell upon it again as Luc's gaze sought mine and he offered me a smile.

Pleasure filled me with surprise. "How did you know where to find me?"

"I came downtown on business and then stopped by the Victoria Hotel. The front desk clerk told me you were heading to the Garment District. I knew that could only mean one thing." He studied me, concern in his eyes. "I hope you didn't confront Thurston alone."

I lifted my chin in defiance.

"Did he back down?"

I pressed my lips together and shook my head.

"I'm sorry, Grace."

"I had to try—but I'm afraid I made it worse." I didn't want to talk about it, so I asked, "Why did you come to see me?"

"I wanted to know how you're doing."

I had to look away for fear I might start crying. It had been two days since Hope's funeral, but it felt so much longer. "I feel adrift."

"I lost my sister, Michelle," he said, "and the hurt still haunts me."

"I'm very sorry."

He nodded and took a deep breath. When he seemed in control of his emotions, he said, "May I take you home?"

Disappointment weighed heavily on my heart. As much as I wanted him to walk me back to the hotel, I wasn't going in that direction. "I am doing some investigative work today and will be traveling all over the city."

His face brightened. "Even better. I have an automobile and would be happy to take you wherever you need to go."

"You don't mind?"

He shook his head, his gaze sincere. "It would be my pleasure."

"You don't have anything better to do?"

"Than spend the day with you?" He smiled. "No."

My pulse ticked a little higher at the warmth in his voice. Anything would be preferable to walking or taking the hot subway—and it would give me the opportunity to tell him about my decision.

He led me down Broadway and stopped at a black Ford Model T before opening the passenger door for me. The top was down, and the leather seat was hot beneath me.

Luc quickly started the vehicle with a crank at the front and then jumped into the car. He pulled onto Broadway, joining the endless sea of automobiles, wagons, and carriages. I gave him the first address on my list, and away we went.

For a few minutes, we rode in silence. For reasons I couldn't identify, I didn't want to talk about the cross-country flight—at least, not yet. I'd had few opportunities alone with Luc, and I had a more pressing question in mind.

"How did you become a pilot?"

"That is a long story," he said.

"We have all day."

He glanced at me, a teasing gleam in his gaze. "I forget you are a journalist, always asking questions."

"And you are a private man, always trying to hide."

He smiled. "You are not interviewing me for an article, are you?"

I shook my head. "No. You would know if I was interviewing you."

"You'd have your little pad of paper and a pencil in hand, no?"

It was my turn to smile. He had seen me interviewing many people over the past few months. "Yes."

"I enjoy your writing."

"As you've said—but now you're avoiding my question."

His eyes were laughing as he turned down 42nd Street, lighting up in a way that made my breath catch.

Who was this man beside me? A man who was so fearless, he would risk flying over Niagara Falls, point the nose of his plane toward the earth at three thousand feet, and continue to fly even after he watched countless friends lose their lives.

Was he fearless or reckless?

"I grew up in Paris," he finally said.

I playfully rolled my eyes. "I know that much."

He smiled at me—and then grew serious. "My father worked in a bicycle factory when I was a small child, and I learned how to ride very early. I loved everything about cycling—until my father died in a factory accident when I was twelve."

His words were heavy upon my heart. It hadn't occurred to me that perhaps he didn't share his past because it was too painful. "I'm so sorry."

He nodded, though his thoughts looked far off. "I was the oldest child, and I had four younger sisters and a mother who depended upon me. I had to leave school and was sent to work at the factory where he died, reminded of his accident every day."

I was quiet as I waited for him to continue. People seemed to talk more when they had the space.

"My youngest sister, Michelle, was often sick. She was so frail and delicate and needed medicine we could not afford. So when I saw that there was a bicycle race with prize money that would take me weeks to earn at the factory, I entered the contest." He smiled, but it was a sad smile. "I won the race and was so proud to give my maman the money. I decided I would enter every race I could find, and I was very successful. When I was a bit older, I earned enough money to buy an automobile, and I began to race those, too. Eventually I quit working at the factory. But my maman was very angry with me. She said that the factory was good, honest, dependable income, that I was being ungrateful, and that I didn't care about our family."

His accent grew thicker with emotion, and I could see he still carried the pain from his mother's disapproval.

"I hated to disappoint her, but I had worked in my father's shadow at the factory for six years, and it had almost killed my spirit. I decided that if I was going to leave the factory and race for my family, I would have to be the very best in the world to make my maman proud."

"Is that why you take so many risks?" I asked him gently. For the first time since I'd met Lucas Voland, I felt like I was seeing the real man behind the celebrity. The vulnerability behind the fa?ade of indifference.

"I have to be the best," he said, "even if that means risking my life."

"What would your family do if you died? They would have nothing."

"I have made enough money for Maman to be comfortable for the rest of her life."

"Then why do you continue?"

He pressed the brake at an intersection, bringing the automobile to a pause. "Because she still does not believe in me."

"She still thinks you should be at the factory?"

Luc nodded. "If it was good enough for Papa, then it should be good enough for me. She does not believe people should try to, how do you say, elevate yourself? Rise above your station."

"Did you see her when you were in Paris?"

"No." He pressed the gas pedal again, and we accelerated. "She refused to receive me. She says I have brought shame upon our family. She does not like to see my name in the newspapers. She told me it embarrasses her and our family."

"Is that why you avoid publicity?"

This time, he did not answer as he looked out at the sea of humanity on 42nd Street. But he didn't need to answer me.

I had misjudged him. He was not seeking fame for the sake of fame. He was trying to be the best, to convince his mother that he was worthy of her love and approval—and he was trying to do it without being noticed by anyone but her.

"My youngest sister died shortly after I left the factory," he continued, his countenance heavy. "It seemed no medicine in the world would save her, but somehow Maman blamed me for her death."

"I'm so sorry," I said again, though it didn't seem like enough.

His gaze was filled with emotions so deep, I could mine them for decades and not reach the bottom.

I looked out at 42nd Street, at the people walking into stores, the vendors hawking their wares, and the carriages rolling past, trying to understand what I was feeling—about Luc, about family, and about expectations.

We stopped at several of the addresses on my paper, but no one knew Tacy Barclay. Somehow, it didn't matter. My thoughts were consumed with the story Luc had told me. This was a new side of him, and it conflicted with the image I had created in my mind.

As the morning turned to afternoon, we stopped for lunch, and I shared bits and pieces of my own past growing up in Washington, DC. He asked questions about Hope, but they were for my benefit and not for his. Nothing he said indicated that his feelings ran deeper for my sister than friendly affection—and that, too, changed things.

We arrived at the last address on the Upper East Side late that afternoon. I was determined that if this was not the right one, I'd ask Luc to take me home and I'd try again tomorrow.

"Here we are," Luc said as he pulled up to a brownstone mansion.

I glanced at it, impressed with its size, though there were so many in New York that they all looked alike.

"I hope you find whoever you are looking for this time," he said as he came around to open the door for me.

I took a deep breath and stepped out of the automobile. I had to climb several stairs to get to the massive front door, where I rang the doorbell.

A few moments later, a butler answered. "How may I help you?"

"Is Mr. or Mrs. Barclay receiving callers?"

"Who may I say is calling?"

"My name is Grace Cooper. I'm looking for someone by the name of Tacy Barclay."

The name caused a flicker of recognition in the butler's eyes, and he nodded. "Please come in."

I stepped into the massive foyer and waited as the butler disappeared into the dark interior of the home.

There was an eerie silence and unusual stillness in the corridors of this house, almost as if no one resided there. A chill ran up my spine as I stood, rooted to one spot, my bag clutched in my trembling hands.

Was this Tacy's home? Did she live here now? Would I come face to face with a mother I had never met?

The sound of heels upon marble met my ears before I saw anyone appear. But then an older woman materialized from the dark hallway. She wore a long black gown, old-fashioned but expensive. Her white hair was piled into a bun upon her head, and she wore a long onyx necklace. She was regal in her bearing yet very cool as she looked me up and down.

"I am Mrs. Barclay. Parker said you've come asking after my daughter, Tacy."

I blinked in surprise. I could hardly believe it. This was Tacy's mother? "Yes. Is she here?"

Mrs. Barclay clasped her hands and pursed her lips. "We do not speak of Tacy in this home. She has not resided here in over twenty-four years."

Twenty-four years? It was twenty-four years ago that she had been hanged in Boston in my 1692 path. Had something happened to her here, as well?

"Do you know where she is?"

"Who are you?" Mrs. Barclay demanded. "Why do you want to know?"

I hadn't thought about how I would explain myself, so I simply said, "I'm Grace Cooper—I-I work for the New York Globe."

"Are you a reporter?"

"Yes." But how was I going to connect that to my interest in Tacy?

"Why are you looking for her?" Her eyes turned into slits. "Is this about her acting?"

Acting? I frowned but took a chance. "Yes."

"Tacy ran away from home twenty-four years ago, and the last I heard, she was in California, married to a movie director." She curled her lips in disgust.

California? My mind raced with the implications. If I made the cross-country flight, I could look for her in California. I would need to wire the Los Angeles Examiner and see if someone could locate an address for me. I only had her first name and a former last name, but it might be enough.

"Do you know her married name?"

"I've told you enough." Mrs. Barclay motioned toward the door. "You must leave, and do not say a word about me in the newspapers. I'll sue the New York Globe if you do."

"Thank you for your time," I said as I walked to the door. The butler appeared and opened it for me.

Mrs. Barclay did not respond as I stepped outside, stunned.

Luc got out of the automobile and walked around to open the passenger door. "That was fast. Did you find who you were looking for?"

I stood before him, amazed I had found Tacy's mother. "No, but I learned she might be in California."

A slow smile tilted up his lips. "Then that means you must go to California."

"Luc—"

"Come," he said as he offered me his hand and helped me into the automobile.

"Where are we going?"

He grinned. "Into the clouds."

It took us an hour to get to the airfield in Hempstead where Luc kept his Blériot two-seater—and I trembled the whole way. Even though I was determined to learn to fly, it still frightened me beyond reason.

"You are as white as a ghost," he said gently as he put the Model T in park and turned off the engine outside a hangar. There were dozens of aeroplanes on the field, next to the buildings, and in the air. Two mechanics looked up from their work, and both were shocked to see me. Did they think I was Hope?

"I'm not sure—" I began, but Luc put his hand over mine, and my entire body stilled.

He leaned close and said, "I know you are afraid, but I also know you are strong and brave and intelligent. You have what it takes to be a good flyer."

"My sister just died in an aeroplane," I whispered, my emotions making my voice quiver.

"All the more reason to overcome your fear and fly. She loved being in the air, and I know you will, too." He was very serious as he regarded me. "I will not force you to do this. At any time, you can ask me to stop. You can trust me."

He had said the same thing to me on our ride out of the city. But I had not stopped him.

I knew I would go through with it—because I owed it to Hope and to my parents. And I did trust Luc.

As he looked at me with those magnificent blue-green eyes, I suddenly wanted to do it for him, too.

"Let's go," I said.

He grinned, and we got out of the Model T. He motioned for me to follow him to the hangar.

The mechanics who had been watching us straightened as we approached, their faces ashen at the sight of me.

"This is Grace Cooper," he told them. "Hope's twin sister. She's come to fly."

Understanding dawned on their faces, and they smiled.

"Can you have my Blériot ready in ten minutes?" he asked them.

Nodding, they walked into the hangar and started preparing Luc's aeroplane for takeoff.

"There will probably be a lot of confusion around here until everyone knows who you are," Luc said. "You and Hope look a lot alike. I remember the first time I saw you standing together, I couldn't believe my eyes."

"I remember."

"Do you?"

I smiled. "Of course."

"You didn't like me." His eyes teased in a way I was starting to love. Here, at the airfield, away from the noise of crowds and people and responsibilities—and my sister—he seemed different.

"I didn't know you," I protested, "and I had just learned that my sister had kept a very important secret from me—one that you encouraged."

"Oui. I should have known you would be distrustful of me." He returned my smile. "It didn't take long to tell you apart, though. You are very different from your sister."

"She and I could not be more opposite."

"I realized that in Hardelot." He was quiet for a moment as he considered me, as if he wanted to say more, but then he took a deep breath and said, "Come. I will take you into the sky."

Ten minutes later, the aeroplane had been moved onto the field, and I stood before it as Luc finished preparing for the flight. This monoplane was very similar to the one Hope had used in Boston—which made me shake even more. Why had I let him talk me into this?

He came up beside me, putting his hand on the small of my back, and said, "Are you ready?"

"I'm scared," I whispered as I pulled my gaze from the aeroplane to his face.

"You are very different from your sister," he said, almost as quiet.

"She was fearless."

"No." He shook his head. "We are all afraid of something. She wanted people to believe she was fearless, but she just hid her fears better than most. And in the process, I think she started to believe it was true." He put his hands on my shoulders and turned me to look at him. "It's important to be honest with ourselves so we know who we are and who we are not. Only then do we become the best version of ourselves."

Warmth spread out from his hands and wrapped around my heart.

"You know who you are, Grace Cooper, and it's an admirable quality."

That was what made me different from Hope? For so long, I had been under her wing—yet here, standing on my own, Lucas Voland saw me, and he liked what he saw.

"I'm ready," I said, something sweet passing between us.

"Good."

He bent to one knee and told me to use it to step onto the plane. I had seen Hope do it a couple of times, but she was wearing a flying suit. In a skirt, it wasn't so easy.

We laughed as I attempted to maneuver into the machine—and it was exactly what we needed to overcome the seriousness of the moment before. After I plopped down on the metal seat, he climbed into the front.

He turned to hand me something. "Here is a hat for you." It was one of his flat caps.

I hadn't even thought about my voluminous hat—but I took it off now, removing the large hat pin first. I handed the hat and the pin to one of the mechanics, who treated it like a small infant or some other delicate creature that might break at any moment, then I looked at Luc's hat.

"Put it on backwards," he said. "The goggles will fit better on your face."

He watched as I did what he instructed. The hat was much too big for my head, and it slipped down my forehead, covering my eyes.

"Perfect!" he said with a laugh.

I made a face, though I couldn't see him.

He reached out and set the hat farther back on my head, a grin on his face as his hand brushed my cheek. The gentle contact surprised me and made me catch my breath.

His eyes met mine, and neither of us said anything for a heartbeat. Then he handed me the goggles. "Put them on," he said softly.

As soon as I had them in place, he turned around and settled into the metal chair in front of me.

And I finally realized how my sister had fallen in love with Luc so easily.

"Do not move—even a little," he warned over his shoulder, drawing my thoughts to something more serious. "Any movement can throw off the balance of the aeroplane."

"Is that what happened to Hope?"

"Oui—that is what I expect. Are you ready?"

"Yes," I said, determined not to look back now.

He told the mechanic to turn the propeller, and the motor started, causing the entire aeroplane to vibrate. I clutched the sides of the cockpit as the energy and momentum gathered.

Luc motioned for the mechanics to let go, and the aeroplane took off down the field. It was bumpy as the machine accelerated, causing my teeth to rattle—and then it left the ground and became smoother than anything I'd ever experienced.

My stomach fell as weightlessness took over and I became breathless. The feeling was unfathomable—almost surreal. It sent a surge of energy racing through my body, yet a serene calmness washed over me.

Luc looked back, his goggles making it hard to see his eyes—but his smile was unmistakable.

And I knew, in that instant, that my life would never be the same.