4

HOPE

FEbrUARY 29, 1912

JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA

The drama in Salem couldn't reach me in Florida—nor could it dim my happiness as Grace and I entered the lobby of the Seminole Hotel in downtown Jacksonville after the air show. My skin was still warm from the afternoon sunshine, tinged pink with joy. I had set an altitude record for women, reaching three thousand feet, and had won a five-hundred-dollar prize. My head was still spinning, especially with thoughts of the reception and dance being held in the aviators' honor at the nearby Windsor Hotel later tonight.

More importantly, the prize money had given me an idea, and I wanted to share it with Grace, though she wouldn't like it.

"I'm starving," I said to Grace as I tried to look through the crowded lobby toward the Indian Room. The lavish dining room was famous in Jacksonville for its décor and menu. "I need to fortify myself for the dance this evening."

Grace opened her leather bag and looked inside. "I have an article due to my editor tomorrow. I'd like to polish it before I wire it to him."

"I don't want to eat alone."

"Then order room service and join me."

Mama and Daddy had left the air show earlier that afternoon to board a train back to Washington, DC, and start looking for donors who might help save the orphanage. They had told us not to worry—but how could we not? I didn't know two less selfish people, and they deserved all the help we could give them.

Which was why I was so excited about my idea.

"I don't want room service," I said, trying to see if my guest had arrived in the dining room. "I have a surprise for you."

"I've had enough surprises lately."

I took her by the arm. "Come with me. Please. I have someone meeting us in the dining room—and I want them to tell you about my plans."

She studied me, a small frown on her forehead. Finally, she sighed. "I hope this isn't something dangerous."

I lifted my eyebrows as I led her toward the Indian Room.

As soon as we walked into the paneled room, I saw Luc at a table in the corner near a large potted fern, partially hidden from view.

"There he is."

Grace paused—clearly not pleased to see Luc again. They had avoided each other all day at the air show.

"Hope..." she said, letting my name trail off.

"Come with me," I pleaded. "I want you to hear what he has to say."

She reluctantly followed me as the ma?tre d' led us to Luc's table. A distinct Seminole Indian theme graced the room. Painted canoes hung from the ceiling, feather headdresses flanked the doorways, and peace pipes hung crisscrossed on the walls. I thought of the Abenaki Indians at war with the colonists in 1692 and wondered what they would think of the Seminoles' culture being reduced to restaurant décor.

When Luc saw us, he rose from the white linen–covered table and nodded at me with a smile. When his gaze slipped to Grace, it became guarded.

"Bonjour," he said as he held out a chair for me while the ma?tre d'held one out for Grace.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with us," I said anxiously. It would take a bit of convincing for Grace to agree to our proposition.

Grace said hello, but her voice was lost in the din of the room. The sounds of conversation, clinking silverware, and laughter filled the air.

The ma?tre d'handed us menus and then bowed at the waist before leaving.

There was an awkward pause before Grace and Luc picked up their menus, busying themselves with perusing the options. I tapped my heeled boot impatiently on the wood floor. I couldn't wait another moment.

"I have a plan to help Mama and Daddy," I blurted.

Grace lowered her menu and looked over the top edge, her brown eyes filled with curiosity—and a little surprise.

Luc also lowered his menu, but he didn't look curious or surprised. Perhaps he was used to my abruptness.

"The plan involves Luc," I continued quickly, offering him a grateful smile. "That's why I asked him to meet us here." Since talking to him about my idea earlier today, he had already set the plan in motion.

Grace lowered her menu farther, laying it on the table, and glanced between me and Luc. She was clearly skeptical of this man—yet he was just as uncertain of her. He was probably wondering how much trouble she would cause my career—and him.

"What is the plan?" Grace asked as she folded her hands on the menu.

I licked my dry lips before I began. "It's going to take a lot of work, but I know I can do it."

"What is it, Hope?"

I took a deep breath. "I'm going to be the first woman"—I lowered my voice, afraid someone might overhear and ruin my plans—"to fly over the English Channel."

Grace stared at me and blinked a couple of times before her mouth started to form her disapproval.

"Please listen to my plan—our plan," I said, nodding at Luc. "When Louis Blériot flew over the channel for the first time in 1909, he became the most famous man in the world. No woman has made the flight—which means if I do it, I will have the same fame, and it will open all sorts of doors—"

"Hope—"

"After I take my licensing test tomorrow," I continued, not letting Grace interrupt me, "we will return to New York. Luc has already wired friends in France and is looking for a Blériot aeroplane I can borrow. On March seventh, we'll board a ship for England."

Grace lifted a hand to stop me. "It sounds like a very expensive endeavor. So many things could go wrong, and then how would you be helpful to Mama and Daddy?"

"What can go wrong? Several men have successfully made the flight after Blériot—"

"And several have died attempting it," she interrupted, her irritation rising. "Not to mention that someone else could get there before you, and then what? Your money and time will be wasted."

"Luc has already started making the plans. There are dozens of companies that would pay me after the flight to endorse their products, and dozens of exhibitions that pay well, too. But we must not waste a single moment. Luc wants to return to America on the maiden voyage of the Titanic, which leaves France on April 10th. Some of the wealthiest people in the world will be on the ship. What better place to find sponsors and support? It will give us a couple weeks on the journey to raise the first part of the down payment for the orphanage."

"Mama and Daddy would never approve—"

"They won't know anything until after I've made the flight. But think of how much money this will raise for the orphanage."

I knew the prospect of helping Mama and Daddy was hard for Grace to ignore. Her lips twitched as if she was trying to form a good argument to keep me from making the flight.

"I have offered to finance and manage this flight for Hope," Luc said to Grace, his voice almost monotone, not inviting debate. "I have also started to form the best support crew of mechanics in the world. Blériot flew from France to England, so Hope will fly from Dover, England, to Calais, France, a flight of only twenty miles."

"It will be simple," I said to Grace. "Just twenty miles."

"Over open water," she reminded me.

"Softer landing than grass and dirt," I said with a saucy smile, trying to get her to laugh.

She frowned harder. "Do you honestly think you have the skill to fly over the English Channel?"

"Shh." I put my finger to my lips and looked over my shoulder to see if anyone was listening. "No one can know our plan," I said quietly. "If word gets out that an American woman is attempting the flight, one of the European women will beat me to it. I'm surprised no one has thought to attempt it, yet."

"Perhaps because it's too dangerous," Grace countered. "The weather is often unpredictable and treacherous over the channel."

"Hope is one of the most talented aviators I know." Luc's voice was low and serious. "I would never encourage her to make this flight if I didn't think she could do it."

My chest filled with affection. His opinion mattered more than anyone else's.

Grace studied him, as if trying to find some hidden agenda in his words.

"And we want you to come," I said, intending to pull her into the plan, hoping she'd agree. "As a reporter for the New York Globe. I want you to take pictures and be the first to report my successful flight. Just think how it will advance your career." I reached across the table and laid my hand over her clasped ones. "I want you by my side."

She didn't speak for a moment as Luc and I waited.

"You're going to do this whether I agree or not, aren't you?" she asked me.

She knew me well. "I want you there—but I'll do it, regardless."

Grace let out a slow breath. "Fine. I'll go."

I couldn't help jumping up to give her a hug.

Luc didn't look as pleased. After all, it was my idea to invite Grace. He wanted to do it without her.

The ballroom at the Windsor Hotel was warm and crowded as I danced with Luc several hours later. Grace had stayed behind to finish her article for the Globe, though I suspected she didn't want to be in Luc's company. It gave me the opportunity to be alone with him—if being alone in a room of three hundred people counted.

"Do you think Grace will change her mind?" he asked as we danced to "The Merry Widow Waltz."

"I don't think so." I smiled at other couples as they spun around the room with us. There were a dozen aviators gathered, all guests of honor, though I was the only female pilot. We'd spent over an hour listening to speeches by the mayor, a congressman, and other important Jacksonville citizens, all thanking us for bringing the air show to their fair city, before the dance had started.

But now it was just Luc and I for a moment, and I didn't want to talk about Grace.

"Do you truly think I am one of the most talented aviators you know?"

He was at least a head taller than me, and he looked down at me now, studying me with his blue-green eyes in the dim light from the wall sconces. It was hard to concentrate when I was this close to him.

"I don't say things I don't mean."

I smiled, wanting him to know how deep my feelings ran. I couldn't hide it from my face or my voice. "Your belief in me has gotten me this far. I owe everything—"

"You owe me nothing, Hope. I'm simply doing my job."

I shook my head, loving the feel of his arms around me as we waltzed across the dance floor, my skirts trailing after me. My gown was made with tiers of magenta silk, overlayed with metallic lace extending to the hem. It shimmered under the chandeliers and was designed for elegance and attention.

I moved closer to Luc, as close as our dance would allow, not knowing how to make him aware of my feelings. I didn't usually struggle to communicate how I felt. After years of being on stage, even in minor roles, ardent admirers sent flowers and made advances. Not to mention Isaac's interest in me since we were young. But there was no challenge in that, so I had dismissed each of them. I had always known that one day I would meet someone like Luc who didn't fall over himself to be with me. And there was the challenge.

The song was ending, and I didn't have much time left to convey my feelings. "Thank you for bringing me to the dance," I said. "I know how much you detest these gatherings."

He'd been eyeing the door like a caged animal almost since we arrived.

"I knew it would be important to you," he said.

My heart fluttered.

"If you want to make a name for yourself," he continued, "and you want to make a living at aviation, you'll need to attend events like this until your name is well-known. As your new manager, I could do nothing less."

I looked away, trying not to feel disappointed. Tonight was all business? "You're more than a teacher and manager to me," I said, my voice hushed. "Surely you must know that by now, Luc."

He was quiet, and I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze. I was both frightened and hopeful at what I might see there.

"Of course," he said. "We are friends. Though, if I will be your manager, then we should keep our relationship professional, should we not?"

I finally looked up at him, and his eyes had softened just enough for me to see that he did regard me with some affection—but was it the kind I dreamed about?

It took a lot of courage to muster a smile. "Of course."

When the song ended, Luc pulled away. "Are you ready to return to the Seminole? We don't want to be late for your licensing test in the morning."

I nodded, still unable to find my voice. I rarely cried—not like Grace, who seemed to tear up at the least provocation—but I was dangerously close now. Could it be that Luc truly didn't return my feelings? He had agreed to put his own exhibition flying on hold to be my business manager for the flight across the English Channel. Surely that meant something. Didn't it?

The Windsor and Seminole hotels were less than four blocks apart, so Luc offered his arm to me when we stepped outside, and we headed south on Hogan Street. Darkness had fallen on Jacksonville, but the winter tourist destination was still alive with activity. Magnificent lights lit up the streets and buildings, and music could be heard coming from inside several establishments we passed.

If I was going to spend the next several weeks with Luc, the last thing I wanted to do was make it awkward. Instead of telling him I loved him, I would have to show him how I felt.

The new goal brought my head up and banished any threat of tears. If I showed him how I felt, he couldn't deny me, could he? I would find a way to convince him that we were meant to travel the world together.

Feeling better, I clasped his arm a little tighter and felt the bounce return to my step.

But Luc was silent beside me. He dipped his head as people passed us, allowing the brim of his stylish fedora to cover his face.

"If you don't enjoy their attention," I asked, "why do you pursue aviation? It's one of the most compelling things that has ever happened to the world and begs for attention."

He paused to look in the window of a dark store as we passed. I could see our reflection in the glass. He studied himself as if he didn't recognize the man before him. It made me wonder. Was he happy?

We made a striking couple, he tall, dark, and devilishly handsome in his black tuxedo. Me, delicate, fair, and elegant in my evening gown and long velvet coat.

He turned away and continued walking. "Does it matter why I fly?" There was an edge to his voice, though it wasn't directed at me. "I must be the best, and if that means gaining the attention of the world, then it's something I must endure. If I could fly without notice, I would choose that."

I wanted to ask him why he must be the best, but I didn't want to push him. It was more than he had ever revealed to me.

At the Seminole Hotel, the doorman greeted us as we entered the opulent lobby. Luc led me to the elevator, and we stepped inside. There were so many things I wanted to say, but I remained quiet. Part of me was still in awe of Lucas Voland, the world-famous aviator—and probably would be for the rest of my life. He remained untouchable—even to those closest to him. What were his secrets? Why did he hold them so close?

And why was I afraid to ask?

When the elevator stopped at the fourth floor, I stepped forward, but Luc took hold of my hand, and I turned, surprised. It sent a jolt to my heart because he rarely touched me when it wasn't necessary—and never so intimately.

"I will pray for your test tomorrow," he said. "I believe God has created each of us for the times we live, and you were created for this purpose, for this time. But we are responsible to use the talents and abilities He gives us wisely. If you do everything the way you've been taught, you should succeed admirably tomorrow morning."

I stood for a second, both surprised and touched by his words. All I could say was, "Thank you."

"I'll meet you in the lobby at six." He let go of my hand and took a step back into the elevator, his walls rising up again as his emotion cleared from his face. "Goodnight, Hope."

"Goodnight, Luc." I took another step back, and the elevator doors closed.

I was alone in the hallway, my breath coming quickly.

Luc had never spoken of God before. His promise to pray for me not only surprised me but tugged at my own complicated relationship with God.

Grace's faith seemed to come naturally to her, despite the differences of beliefs and dogmas between 1692 and 1912. Somehow, she knew and understood God in a way that evaded me and transcended time, religion, or doctrine.

As I walked toward our room, my lifelong spiritual debate warred within me.

Our Puritan teachings were strict and full of rules, an extension of the authoritarian Church of England. The harsh lifestyle had not taught me how to be good and righteous—it had only taught me how to hide my sinful heart and defy my elders. It had made me afraid to do the wrong thing instead of longing to do the right thing.

Whereas Mama and Daddy had taught us that God's grace allowed more freedom. People were given independence to follow their dreams—women in particular—which was why I was able to pursue flying and theater, while Grace was a photographer and journalist. It was a prosperous time, with crusading reformists tackling child labor, factory conditions, women's right to vote, prohibition of alcohol, and more. But did that freedom allow more justification for sins?

The differences were jarring, especially as a child. Which one was right? I believed that God existed—but who was He? Was He the Puritans' God of strict rules and regulations who predestined people for salvation? Or was He the God of my parents who offered grace and mercy and provided salvation to repentant sinners?

I slipped the key into my hotel room door, uncertain if I would ever understand. It was easier to float, untethered to something that might not be right.

What I did know was that God had created me for this time and place, as Luc had said. That was irrefutable—especially with the time-crossing gift I had inherited. And I would live this life to the fullest.

It was harder to accept the same about Salem.