2

HOPE

FEbrUARY 28, 1912

JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA

1692 was far from my mind the day after we took firewood to the Parris home. Whenever I was in 1912, I purposely cast thoughts of Salem aside. I had no time or patience to lament our lives there—especially today. My pulse thrummed with excitement, and I couldn't contain the wide grin that had been on my face all morning.

"Are you ready?" Lucas Voland asked me. His French accent turned the simple words into a bouquet of sounds that never failed to make my heart flutter.

I nodded, knowing my brilliant smile was irresistible—at least for most people. Luc was the one man who hadn't fallen for my charms—yet—and perhaps that was why I had been enamored with him for the past seven months. That and his fearlessness.

"You do not have to go through with this," Luc cautioned me as I pulled my leather gloves over the wrists of my flying suit. "The wind is strong from the northwest. Perhaps too strong for—"

"You've already been up there today," I told him as I fixed the brown silk scarf tied in a bow around my neck. "And you've taught me everything I know." I laid my gloved hand against his forearm, loving any excuse to touch him. "I'll be fine."

He studied me with his intelligent blue-green eyes, and I knew he was contemplating the wisdom in my plans. He'd warned me that if he didn't think I was ready, he wouldn't let me take his Blériot aeroplane up for my first public flight. I had started taking lessons from him in secret last August in New York and had flown until it became too cold in November. I planned to test for my pilot's license this week before leaving Florida to return to New York, but I had been invited to join the Glenn Curtiss Exhibition team today and said yes. I would be the first woman to fly in Florida.

It was colder and windier than we had hoped, but fluffy white clouds marred an otherwise pristine blue sky. Nothing could dim my excitement or enthusiasm—except Grace's displeasure in me, but I would worry about that later.

Thousands of spectators sat in the grandstand nearby, and many more watched the skies from the surrounding fields. At the front of that crowd, Grace waited with our parents, Graydon and Maggie Cooper. Grace had talked her editor at the New York Globe into sending her as a correspondent to cover the event, and we had invited our parents to join us.

What they didn't know was that I was going to fly in the air show, too.

Luc's Blériot aeroplane stood nearby, the mechanics waiting for me to step into the French machine before they could start it. Though aeroplanes had been invented by the Wright brothers in America, the French had quickly taken the lead in technology. To learn how to fly from a French pilot—a daring and handsome one, at that—was to learn from the best.

"Are you nervous?" Luc asked, his gaze intense. "Because if you are nervous—"

"Not even a little." My grin became wider. I had survived living in Puritan Massachusetts. Nothing in 1912 made me nervous.

He shook his head, admiration in his handsome gaze. "I've never met a woman with less fear than you."

"Fear is a waste of time," I said flippantly with a shrug. "Life is too short to worry about what might happen."

I moved toward the Blériot waiting on the end of the runway and put my canvas jacket on over the dark brown flying suit I wore. It protected the suit from any castor oil that might spray from the engine as I flew. The suit was made of silk and matched my eyes. I'd had it made in secret by my dressmaker in New York. It was a clever little ensemble that had buttons up the inside of the legs, and if I unclasped them, my suit turned into a dress.

Now, however, all the buttons were holding the material in place, creating pant legs, which allowed me to climb over the tail and into the cockpit, holding onto Luc's hand. It wasn't easy or graceful, but I made my way to the metal chair without falling—which was my only goal.

The pants might shock most people—but so did female aviators. A new era was dawning, though, and I was determined to lead the way.

The aeroplane was a feat of human imagination, only nine years old, that still left me awestruck. Mama had lived in 1941 and 2001, so she knew about the invention and had told me about it as a child, but it was still hard to imagine until I saw it for myself. The machine was made of lightweight wood, wire, and canvas stretching over the fuselage at the front.

Luc came up to me as I positioned the flying goggles over my eyes, nodding as he ran through last-minute instructions. He still looked uncertain, and I knew what he was thinking. Each week we heard about the death of another pilot. It was one of the most dangerous undertakings in human history—but I couldn't resist the urge to be at the forefront.

I just knew I was born for this.

He finally backed up and then motioned to the mechanics.

Four mechanics held the tail of the aeroplane as a fifth turned the propeller and I flipped the ignitor switch inside the cockpit. The timing was crucial to prevent a reversal of the propellor that could break a hand or wrist.

The motor began to roar as the propeller spun, going faster and faster by the second. The men held the machine steady, waiting for a signal from me that I was ready.

When I lifted my hand, they let go of the tail, and the machine began to move across the uneven field. I pushed the throttle lever forward, causing the plane to move faster, and I began to feel the lift under the wings. The lever had a sort of wheel at the top and came up between my legs. If I turned it one way or the other, it allowed me to warp the wings to adjust the balance and create the lift that my plane—and my heart—desired.

The moment the wheels left the ground, I felt weightless, and a sense of freedom overcame me. It was a heady sensation that I had become addicted to over the past seven months. No matter how many times I experienced it, it was never enough.

Pylons stood on either end of the airfield, used for racing. I pointed my aeroplane toward one now and warped the wings, causing the plane to start turning. I banked my machine and circled the first pylon, then headed toward the second.

Luc had made me promise I wouldn't do anything dangerous my first time up in public, so I circled the second pylon and then brought the aeroplane to the ground and cut the engine. As soon as the roar of the motor quieted, the sound of the deafening crowd filled my ears.

I took off my jacket and stood in the cockpit, raising my arms above my head. Hundreds of handkerchiefs waved at me from the audience, showing their appreciation. I was used to applause on stage, but nothing compared to this.

Soon, Luc was at the aeroplane, reaching for my hand. He helped me climb out, putting his hands at my waist. When he lowered me, I smiled up at him, happier than I had ever been.

He just shook his head, a rare smile tilting his lips.

I could live off that smile for weeks, but I would soon have to face Grace and my parents, which dimmed my enthusiasm. When I started walking toward the grandstand, Luc held back.

I turned to him, admiring the way the morning sunshine played with the sculpted features of his face. He was one of the handsomest men I'd ever met. He had all the trappings of a hero and was famous across Europe and America for his daring aviation exploits and his record-breaking skills. When I witnessed him flying in New York last summer, I had experienced love at first sight, something that had never happened to me before—and that I was certain would never happen again.

"Don't you want to meet my family?" I asked.

He glanced toward the crowd, and I could see the aversion in his gaze. For a man who had captured the attention of the world, he didn't seem to enjoy the fame.

"I should get ready for my own flight," he said as he backed toward the hangar where his other Blériot was waiting.

The thrill I had felt moments ago crashed with disappointment, and I turned to face my family—alone.

The closer I walked to the grandstand, the more I lifted my chin and pretended I was as confident as they expected me to be. Grace stood beside Mama and Daddy. Despite being identical twins, we couldn't be more different. She was an early riser, and I loved to sleep in. She was practical and thoughtful, and I was rash and headstrong. She loved baking and housekeeping and gardening, and I would be happy if I never had to cook or clean again.

And Grace was kind, often shining a light on my own selfishness, though she would never know it. She saw me for who I was and loved me regardless. It was her greatest strength and sometimes her greatest weakness. People could hurt Grace easily—me, the easiest of all, though I never did it on purpose.

"Hope!" Mama said, her eyes wide with shock as her mouth slipped open.

Grace and I had the same first name in both paths. It was part of the gift. Mama said that God inspired our names, so our father and mother in 1692 had been inspired to call us Grace and Hope, just like our parents in 1912.

Mama was seventy-one, though no one would guess it, with her slim figure and pretty face. She had been a time-crosser, as well, and had chosen this path—and my father—fifty years ago. She had also lived in the 1940s and the early 2000s and had taught me everything I knew about the time-crossers in our past. Her mother, Libby, had lived in the 1770s and the early 1900s, and her father, Henry, had occupied the same years. It was a strange existence, but I had become accustomed to it when I was young and didn't give it much thought on days like today, when all I could think about was the here and now.

"Surprised?" I asked as I jogged the last few yards to their sides. People in the stands called out to me, but I focused on my family.

Mama pulled me into an embrace. "How could you have kept this a secret?"

I hugged her tight, trying to avoid eye contact with Grace. "I took lessons at four-thirty in the morning almost every day for eight weeks last summer and fall."

Mama held me at arm's length and examined me with her bright blue eyes, her dimples shining as she smiled. She was a doctor and seemed always to be assessing me. I was surprised she didn't feel my bones to see if anything was broken. "You never cease to amaze me."

Daddy took me in his arms next. He was tall and strong, a few years older than Mama. His hair was gray, but his brown eyes were still alight with intelligence. He'd been a Pinkerton agent, working with President Abraham Lincoln in the White House during the American Civil War, and had gone on to help form the Secret Service. He'd retired ten years ago, but he still looked capable and ready at a moment's notice.

"You're not going to fly again, are you?" he asked.

"I'll be flying with the Glenn Curtiss Exhibition team this year. I have several events already booked."

"What about your work? Aren't you in a show right now?"

I sighed, wishing we didn't have to have this conversation. Grace and I had moved to New York from Washington, DC, five years ago for her to pursue a career in journalism and so I could be on the stage. While Grace had gone to every newspaper and magazine office in the city looking for someone to give her a shot, I had auditioned for countless productions. She had finally landed a position as a journalist for the New York Globe, though she wasn't taken seriously until recently. I had found work in secondary roles and minor speaking parts, making just enough income to survive. But the passion and determination I'd had for the stage was now eclipsed by flying.

"I finished my last show two days before we came here," I told him. "I plan to fly now."

Mama and Daddy looked at one another. I knew that look. It often came seconds before one or the other began to lecture me. So I took my chances and turned to Grace, my hands on my hips.

"Well?" I asked her, ignoring my parents' concern.

Grace stood before me, beautiful in a white blouse, black coat, and black, nine-gored skirt. She wore a large hat, shading her face, though her blonde curls peeked out from beneath it. Her brown eyes, so much like Daddy's and mine, stared at me, but I couldn't determine if she was mad, surprised, or disappointed. She held a black Kodak camera and wore a brown leather shoulder bag, where she kept a notebook and pencil handy for her writing.

"Why?" she asked me.

I lowered my arms. "Why, what?"

"Why are you doing this?"

I laughed and motioned toward the airfield. "It makes me feel alive and excited and—" I paused, not sure how to say that my disappointment on the stage was now overshadowed by my enthusiasm for something new. I didn't have to compete with other women for a role—this one was all mine. I simply said, "It's fun."

"It's dangerous," Grace countered. "And foolish and irresponsible."

"I know." I smiled and looped my arm through one of hers. "That's why I love it."

She was stiff beside me, but what could she say? I had made up my mind, and she knew she couldn't change it.

Perhaps Grace had the upper hand in 1692, but here in 1912, I oversaw my destiny, and nothing my responsible sister could say would persuade me otherwise.

"Is this why you asked us to come?" Grace asked, frowning.

"Of course." I grinned at her. "I wanted to surprise you. And give Mama and Daddy a much-needed vacation from the orphanage."

Our parents shared another look—and this one had nothing to do with me.

Something was wrong.

Grace must have noticed it, too, because she moved away from me and put her hand on Mama's arm. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Mama said, forcing a smile.

"Is it the orphanage?" Grace asked.

Mama put her hand over Grace's. "We didn't want to say anything now—especially here."

I moved closer, forgetting about the large crowd. Our parents were strong, intelligent, and hardworking. I rarely worried about them. What could be wrong?

"Our landlord approached us before we left Washington with unexpected news," Mama began. "A buyer has offered to purchase the building we've been leasing for the past twenty-five years."

"At a price we could never match," Daddy added.

I frowned. The orphanage was ideally situated in the heart of Washington, close to where they lived. It was just as much our home as the house we grew up in. And it was home to dozens of children and the matrons who cared for them. Mama and Daddy would never be able to find another building like it.

"How could Mr. Lorenz sell the building to someone else?" I asked. "Why wouldn't he sell it to you?"

Again, my parents shared a concerning look—and my worry mounted. What weren't they telling us?

"The buyer is J. B. Thurston," Daddy said, directing his words toward Grace.

My heart stopped for a second, and I looked at Grace.

J. B. Thurston was the wealthy owner of several shirtwaist factories in New York. Grace had gone undercover to reveal the abuse and neglect in his buildings and had written an exposé article that created trouble for Thurston. Change had been slow in New York, even after the catastrophic fire that killed over a hundred and forty employees at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory a year ago, but Grace's article had stirred things up. The success of the story had gotten her a raise and a bit of notoriety at the New York Globe. It had also encouraged her editor to agree to her trip to Florida as a correspondent.

"It can't be a coincidence," I said to Grace.

Her face had gone pale. "J.B. Thurston?"

Daddy nodded.

She shook her head. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I had no idea."

"It's not your fault," Mama tried to assure her.

"He must have done his own investigation to know right where to strike me," she said. "He can't take your orphanage. I won't let him."

"I'm afraid Mr. Lorenz can't turn down Thurston's offer," Daddy said, heaviness in his voice. "He's offering three times what the building is worth."

"Is there nothing we can do?" I asked.

"I can approach Mr. Thurston and tell him to leave my family alone," Grace said, indignant.

"I don't want you anywhere near Thurston," Daddy replied, his voice filled with warning. "He's a dangerous man and would never listen to you anyway."

"Then what will we do?" she asked him.

Mama let out a sigh. "Mr. Lorenz has agreed to sell us the building at the price Mr. Thurston has offered, but we must provide half the money as down payment by May 1st and the other half by September 1st."

"Since our lease is up in September, it's more than he's obligated to offer us," Daddy added, "but I don't know where we'll get the money."

"There's time," I said, trying to sound cheerful.

Grace frowned at me. "Where will we come up with that kind of money by May?"

"Let's not ruin today with more talk of the orphanage," Mama said. "This is our problem, not yours."

"It is our problem," Grace said. "It's my fault."

Daddy put his arm around her. "Don't ever shy away from telling the truth, even if it's risky. We'll figure something out."

The next pilot took off behind me, and we all turned to look.

"Let's talk about this later," I said, forcing a smile to make them forget about our troubles. "Grace, come with me. I'll introduce you to some of the aviators. It will be good for your article."

She didn't look ready to meet anyone—not after the news about J. B. Thurston.

"Enjoy the rest of the show," I said to Mama and Daddy as I pulled Grace away. "We'll meet up with you later." I blew kisses at them as we moved toward the hangar.

"I can't believe what Thurston is trying to do," Grace said, almost in denial. "It's all my fault."

"Stop that," I told her as I tugged her along. "We can talk about this later. Right now, I want you—"

"How will we come up with the money? And what if Thurston doesn't stop at displacing the orphans? What if he tries to get revenge in other ways?"

My own concern was making me feel frustrated, but I couldn't do anything about it right now. "I'll come up with a plan. I promise."

I had to change the topic or she'd ruin the whole day with her worry.

"I know you're mad at me about flying," I said, though I hated to remind her. "You might as well get it out now."

"How could you be so foolish?" she demanded, quickly shifting her focus, as I knew she would. "Flying is dangerous."

"Living in Salem is dangerous," I countered. "Getting in an automobile or on a train has risks. Life is a constant chance. Why not live it to the fullest?"

Grace scowled as we walked over the grassy field toward the hangar where Luc would be preparing for his race. "This is different, and you know it. You seem adamant on breaking every rule and pushing every boundary."

I hugged her arm. "God knew what He was doing when He made me this way. He'll take care of me." I wasn't a hundred percent certain I believed that, but I said it anyway.

Grace rarely rolled her eyes, but she did so now. "A ridiculous excuse for your carelessness."

"I'm not careless," I protested with a laugh. "Just exciting and spontaneous. It's the only way I can survive the unending days in Salem."

I hated to even think about waking up there tomorrow. I loathed the hard work and drudgery and abhorred the strict rules and confining expectations. I couldn't wait for our birthday in October when I would never have to return there again.

"There he is," I said the moment I saw Luc. He was attractive in his dark blue suit and tie, a flat cap on backward. Even if I hadn't been in love with him, he would have stood out to me in a crowd.

"Who?" Grace asked.

"Lucas Voland. You've heard of him, haven't you?"

"Who hasn't? We saw him at the air show in New York last summer."

"That's right. He taught me to fly."

"He's the one responsible for your carelessness?"

"Don't take your frustration out on him. He's simply my teacher."

We hadn't been able to get close to Luc at the air show last August, but I had gone to Delmonico's after one of my performances that night, and Luc had been at the restaurant with a table of other men. I walked right up to him and asked him to teach me to fly. And he had agreed.

Luc glanced up at our approach, and his gaze slipped from me to Grace. I had told him I had a twin sister, but the look on his face revealed his surprise. Most people who met us for the first time couldn't tell us apart, but it didn't take them long to distinguish us from each other.

Of course, in my flying suit, he couldn't mistake us now.

"Luc," I called out and waved.

He was standing next to his Blériot, a wrench in hand, but he tossed it into a wooden toolbox and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe off the ever-present castor oil.

Grace looked around, taking in the mechanics, the hangar, and the aeroplane in one sweeping, appraising—and irritated—glance.

When we were finally standing in front of Luc, I wrapped my arm around Grace's and stood proudly beside her. My two favorite people were in the same place for the first time, and I couldn't hide my joy. "This is Grace," I said to Luc. "And, Grace, this is Lucas Voland."

"How do you do?" Grace asked, her voice cool. Was she truly upset at him for teaching me to fly? More than anything, I wanted her to like him.

Luc stiffened. "Bonjour, mademoiselle," he said with a slight bow and a tight smile.

"Hope tells me you are the one who taught her to fly," Grace continued, showing no qualms at meeting one of the most famous men in the country. "Are you not concerned for her safety?"

Luc lifted his chin and took on a supercilious expression that he usually reserved for annoying aviation fans—and, apparently, bothersome older sisters.

"She is an adult, no?" he asked as he crossed his arms.

"Yes, but does she understand the dangers involved?"

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Grace."

Luc glanced at me for a second and then looked back at Grace. I couldn't tell what he thought of her—but he didn't seem impressed. "It is not my job to tell her how dangerous it is. She should know for herself."

Grace opened her mouth again, but one of the mechanics approached Luc and said something quietly into his ear. He nodded and then straightened before he offered us a slight bow, his expression hard to read. "I must fly now."

He walked away from us, and my heart sank for the second time that day. He didn't like Grace—and one look at Grace told me she didn't like him, either.

"He's arrogant," Grace said, under her breath. "Why do you like him so much?"

"How do you know I like him?"

"It's written all over your face. Oh, Hope. You're in love with him, aren't you?"

I couldn't hide the truth from Grace. She knew me better than anyone else—sometimes better than I knew myself. So all I did was offer a pathetic shrug and smile.

She might know me well, but she didn't always know what was best for me.

And right now, that was Luc.