20

GRACE

AUGUST 19, 1912

HEMPSTEAD, NY

It was still dark when I opened my eyes to the sound of the telephone. I didn't have to glance at the clock to know it was four-thirty in the morning. The night before, I had asked the front desk for the wake-up call, knowing I would need to be on the airfield by five for my next lesson. And today would be the most important one of all.

Today I would fly on my own for the first time.

My mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions as I tossed back the covers and stretched. Elation, trepidation, and expectation for today's flight mingled with grief and uncertainty about what had happened in Salem yesterday.

Five more people had been hanged. Four men and one woman, including the farmer John Proctor and the Reverend George Burroughs. Those who had been at the hanging in Salem Towne had come back to Salem Village visibly shaken. The five accused had claimed innocence to the last, begging God to forgive their accusers and praying that they would be the last innocent blood shed. George Burrough's final prayer had been so moving, people had begun to question his guilt. He finished with a perfect rendition of the Lord's Prayer, which some considered proof of innocence, but the afflicted who were there said they could see the devil's specter whispering the words into his ear.

John Proctor's wife, Elizabeth, had also been condemned, but she was pregnant, and her execution had been delayed until after she could give birth to the child. If she could survive childbirth in prison.

I tried to shake off the heaviness that weighed down my soul, needing to focus on the task ahead of me. We were only thirteen days away from leaving for the cross-country flight, and I had yet to fly on my own.

Turning on a light, I quickly dressed in the rented room at the Atlantic City Hotel near the airfield. Since I needed to be at the flying school every day, I had moved out of my apartment at the Victoria Hotel in New York City and into one that was close enough to walk to the airfield in Hempstead. I no longer needed the two bedrooms we'd had at the Victoria—and without Hope's income, I could not afford the weekly rent.

I'd had a flying suit created much like Hope's by the same dressmaker. On suggestion from Luc, it was dark purple to complement the Vin Fiz soda brand. It was surprisingly comfortable, and I didn't mind putting it on now. Mama had told us that women in the future would wear pants all the time, but it was hard to believe. I received many strange looks from those staying at the hotel, but thankfully, as I exited the elevator and entered the lobby that morning, the only person there was the night watchman, and he was used to seeing me in a flying suit.

"Good morning," Luc said as he came down the central stairs moments after me. No matter how early we rose, he still looked excited to face a new day on the airfield. "Are you ready for your flight?"

We had been working together almost every day for six weeks. Learning how to fly in the French style was slow and tedious, but Luc assured me it would set me up for safety and success.

After days of instruction about the mechanics of the aeroplane, I had graduated to what Luc called grass cutting—I had to guide the aeroplane back and forth across the field in a straight line without letting its wheels leave the earth. Then, after five or six successful rides—which meant over a week of lessons—I had moved on to jumping the aeroplane two or three feet into the air at a time as I rushed across the field. This had been affectionately called kangarooing. Each lesson lasted no longer than ten minutes, though I stayed on the airfield to watch the other students who were taking lessons with me.

Today I would fly for real.

"I think I'm ready," I said as we walked toward the front doors of the hotel. "I hope so."

"You're a natural," he reassured me for the dozenth time in the past few weeks. "You know everything there is to know about the mechanics of the aeroplane and the mechanisms for flying it. All you need to do is put them into practice."

I took a deep breath and tried to clear my mind of everything but flying.

It was still dark, and the sun would not rise until just after six o'clock. But there was a lot to do before I could take off for my solo flight, first being the dreaded weather test. If the wind was more than six miles an hour, aviation students were not allowed to fly. It was much too dangerous. I had risen this early several times and been turned away because of the weather. On those days, I would go back to my hotel room and write articles for the Globe or go into the city to meet with my editor.

It was impossible to make enough money to purchase the orphanage on my income from the Globe—especially when I learned that Mr. Thurston had made good on his threat and upped his offer. Everything rested on this cross-country flight.

The world was quiet as we stepped outside. Darkness blanketed the village of Hempstead, though a few lights glowed from the homes and businesses of early risers.

It was warm but not hot, and the morning stars sparkled with a brilliance that dazzled my imagination. I loved looking at the vast sky. It reminded me of the limitlessness of God. That He would love me, that He would call me His child and choose me for this time-crossing gift, was amazing to contemplate. It was a burden, to be sure, but it was also a blessing. I had heard Mama's stories of her paths and her mother's paths, and I believed, without a doubt, that God had orchestrated their stories for their good and His glory. I trusted He would do the same for me—no matter if I chose 1912 or 1692.

But I still had to choose—and that was the problem. I wanted 1912, but I didn't want to leave Hope. As much as I loved Mama and Daddy, Hope was dearer to me than anything else. Over the past six weeks, I had started to accept that I would choose 1692—and I would tell Mama and Daddy when we got to California.

A heaviness settled over my heart as I thought about leaving this path behind, but I lifted my face and decided to embrace the time I had left. I wouldn't worry about crashing my aeroplane today or any other day while flying to California. I would enjoy this experience to the fullest and be as fearless as possible so I could win the money for my parents. It afforded me a freedom I had never felt before. A place where fear did not linger on the edges of the unknown.

"I've come to love these morning walks," Luc said quietly beside me, breaking the stillness. His accent was deepest in the morning when his voice was sleepy.

"So have I," I said just as quietly as we turned down a side street with large Victorian homes. Ancient elm trees spread out overhead, creating a canopy that prevented us from seeing the stars.

"What will you do after the flight to California?" he asked.

"Assuming I make it?"

He put his hands in his pockets and didn't even hesitate. "You'll make it."

I didn't answer right away, my heart full of so many things. I would have less than two weeks before my birthday if I got to California by September 30th. What would I do with those two weeks? Spend it with Mama and Daddy, look for Tacy, and finish up any lingering articles I owed to the New York Globe? Was that what I wanted to do?

"I'm not sure," I said, honestly.

"Would you like to keep flying?"

Shaking my head, I sighed. "No."

"No?" He stopped and turned to me, his face shadowed by the darkness, though I could see him without trouble. "Perhaps today, after you've flown by yourself, you will think differently."

"Is this what you want to do for the rest of your life?" I asked. "If you continue, it's only a matter of time before something goes wrong. I hate watching you do the death dive." I looked down at my hands. Unlike Hope, if Luc died, that would be it. He would be gone forever.

"Does it bother you?" he asked, his voice low.

"Yes. I hate it."

"Why?"

"Why?" I studied him, trying to understand. "Because it makes me afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid of losing you." The last word came out on a surprised breath.

He did not move as the first trills of a morning bird sang from the branches above us. "Why do you fear losing me?"

"Because," I said slowly, trying to understand my own thoughts and feelings. At some point in the past six weeks, Luc had become a very dear friend. I had learned his habits, his mannerisms, even the way he spoke and how he thought. I had memorized his laugh lines and loved the way his accent changed the cadence of familiar words. Everything I had once assumed about him had been rewritten, and I had come to respect him deeply. "Because," I tried again, "you are dear to me, and I would miss you very much."

He regarded me in the darkness as a gentle wind rustled the leaves overhead and played with the tendrils of hair at my temples. "Thank you."

"Why?"

"Every time someone speaks about my death, they are sad because they would lose something I can do for them. For my mother, it's the money I earn. For my students, it's the education I give them. And for my fans, it's the thrill I provide." He reached out and removed the tendril that laid across my lips. "To know that you would miss me because I am very dear to you gives my life new meaning." He lowered his hand, but his gaze stayed on mine. "You are very dear to me, too, ma chérie."

My heart started to flutter a new beat. When had I become his darling?

Affection for this thoughtful man had taken root within me weeks ago, but it was quickly turning into something more. Something much deeper.

Was I losing my heart to Lucas Voland? I couldn't love him—

"Come," he said, as he took my hand, "we will be late."

"Do not be afraid," Luc said to me an hour later as I sat in the cockpit of the Blériot aeroplane I would use for my first solo flight. He was standing beside me, his face level with mine. "Just remember all the things I have taught you."

"I'm not afraid," I told him—at least, not of flying. That was easy and far less frightening than trying to understand the complicated feelings churning within my heart since this morning's walk.

"Good," he said with a proud smile. "You are ready."

He backed up and motioned to the mechanics that I was prepared for takeoff.

The weather was ideal for my first solo flight. Light filled the morning sky, but the sun had not yet crested the horizon. The field was clear and level, and a mechanic stood at the far end, ready if I needed help.

It was my turn to fly.

With a deep breath and a prayer, I put everything else behind me and focused on my flight.

When I gave the front mechanic my signal, I flipped on the ignitor, and he turned the propeller. It whirred to life and began to tug at the men restraining it.

This was the moment I had been waiting for. If I failed, I had Mama and Daddy to think about. I had to do this and do it well. There wasn't much time before the cross-country flight. For the next thirteen days, I would need to practice as much as possible so I would be ready to tackle one of the biggest goals of my life. It was absurd even to contemplate that in less than two weeks I would be attempting to fly across the United States of America—and I had yet to fly solo.

I motioned to the mechanics, and they let me go.

This aeroplane was lighter and more powerful than the one I had been using for grass cutting and kangarooing. It raced across the bumpy field, causing my vision to bounce. When I pulled back on the throttle, the wheels left the earth, and the incessant jarring stopped.

My stomach fell, and everything became smooth.

I yelled with joy as I lifted the aeroplane higher still. I was flying! I could almost see Hope down below, cheering me on with the others. Even though she wasn't there with me physically, she was there with me in spirit. I would tell her all about it tomorrow when I woke up in Salem. She would want to know every detail, and I would do my best to share them.

It only took me a couple of minutes to get to the end of the field, and there I moved the lever to warp the wings to bank the aeroplane and make a lefthand turn. The mechanic waved his white handkerchief as I arced over him and headed back toward the hangar.

The hardest part of the flight would be the landing. I would need to ease back on the speed and start to lower the aeroplane. The second my wheels touched the earth, I had to kill the engine, allowing enough space to let the aeroplane come to a complete stop on its own. There were no brakes in this machine, so I had to do everything with exact precision.

I began my descent, as Luc had instructed, and eased back on the throttle. The hangar was coming up quickly, so I eased back more and then lowered the machine until I felt the first jolt of the earth beneath me. As fast as I could, I switched off the motor and tried to keep control of my aeroplane as it bounced along the field.

Slowly, the wheels came to a stop, about fifty yards from the hangar.

Relief and exhilaration engulfed me as my fellow classmates and Luc rushed toward me, cheering and clapping.

I had done it—in less than five minutes. I had flown an aeroplane, and I wasn't looking back.

"Well done," Luc called to me as I stood from the seat and began to climb out of the aeroplane.

He reached up and grasped me around the waist, lowering me to the ground as if I weighed next to nothing. For a heart-stopping moment, he kept his hands at my waist and looked down at me with an admiration that went beyond the flight. I was breathless from flying—and from being so near him.

But in the next second, I was being lifted onto the shoulders of my classmates, all men, who proceeded to carry me back to the hangar, cheering.

I tossed a lingering look back at Luc, my heart and thoughts in a jumble.

There was much to tell Hope—and much more to keep to myself.