Darcy couldn’t ask Jack why he’d come to the hospital. He’d think she had followed him. So she asked the nurse at the registration desk.
“I will give your message to Dr. Carrman,” the woman said firmly, taking the invitation from Darcy’s hand, “but we do not share information about patients.” So Jack was a patient. But for what?
Darcy stumbled out of the hospital without noticing the ambulance attendants returning to their vehicle. She blindly boarded the streetcar, and then missed her stop and had to walk ten extra blocks to her aunt’s house.
At supper Mum and Aunt Perpetua babbled on about Amelia and the coming baby. Who cared about Amelia when a life was at stake? Darcy picked at the stuffed pheasant, unable to stomach the rich meat.
“You’re quiet tonight, Miss Darcy,” Perpetua noted.
Mum scrutinized her. “Do you feel ill?”
“I’m fine.” But not Jack. She heaved a sigh.
“Ah, you’re sorry Mr. Carrman can’t attend Saturday,” her aunt said, handing her the gravy to pass to Papa.
“He can’t?” For an instant, her spirits revived, but then she remembered Jack. Such a brave man, never letting on that he was ailing. No wonder he kept to himself. No wonder he’d never written. He didn’t want to encourage a relationship that couldn’t last.
She choked back a sob.
“It’s good of you to feel so for your sister,” Mum said with a pat of the hand.
Darcy looked up, bewildered. Apparently the conversation had returned to Amelia, but what was wrong?
Mum interpreted her confusion as concern. “Don’t fret, dear. Amelia always has these early pains. They’ll pass.”
Oh. That was all. Darcy sipped her mulled cider. The cinnamon tingled her nose.
Mum sighed, “Though with Dr. Carrman unable to attend the dinner party, I am tempted to return home.”
“We can leave at any time,” Papa seconded. “I should return to the bank.”
“Nonsense, Lovina, we shall simply make the best of it.” Perpetua passed the mashed potatoes to Darcy who then sent them to Papa. “As it says in the Good Book, when the invited guests refused to come, the master sought others. Perhaps Darcy could invite her instructor.”
Darcy choked on the cider. Jack at a dinner party with her parents? She hadn’t exactly told them that he was her instructor. Then again, they hadn’t exactly asked. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Papa disagreed. “I would like to meet the man.”
“Very well, it’s settled.” Perpetua rang the bell for her cook, who appeared at once. “You may bring the dessert now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Darcy struggled to find an excuse. She couldn’t bring Jack here. Mum would recognize him at once. “I don’t know. It is rather last-minute. He might have other plans.”
“It can’t hurt to ask,” Mum said. “A good meal might be exactly what this poor man needs.”
“He’s not poor, Mum.” But compared to them, he was. And ill. Her heart ached.
“We are all poor sinners in the eyes of God,” said Perpetua. “Invite him to our table. Who knows but that this isn’t God’s will? He does have a way of turning plans to His own purpose.”
Darcy had never been so nervous. Her hand shook as she opened the door to the hangar the following morning. Part of her hoped Jack wasn’t there, but most of her wanted to hug him close and tell him it would be all right.
She waited for her eyes to get accustomed to the dim light.
“Good morning.” Jack hopped down from the wing of the trainer they’d flown yesterday. “Today you can hold the controls.”
“We’re flying?” She scanned him, looking for some sign of illness.
“That is the point of lessons, but don’t get any ideas. My hands stay on the controls.”
He pulled open the big hangar doors. Outside, the November sun shone crisp and white. He looked the same as always. Same leather jacket, same worn boots, same confidence.
“Grass-cutting first,” he said, “and then, if you do well with that, we’ll attempt a few hops.”
“What’s grass-cutting?”
“On the ground. No elevator. Then short up and down hops, just a few feet off the ground.” He tossed her a pair of goggles and a leather helmet.
“That doesn’t sound fun.”
“You’re learning to fly, not have fun. Aviation is serious business. Pilots who think otherwise end up dead.”
Dead. Maybe that’s why he could be so sure in the air. He knew death lurked around the corner anyway.
He smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. You’re not going to crash while I’m with you.”
“I’m not worried, at least not about flying.” Ask him. Just ask. The words pounded in her head, but she couldn’t get them out her mouth.
“What’s wrong? I thought you wanted to fly.”
“I do.”
“Then get your head gear on. You can pull the propeller. In this cold weather, better give it a couple of turns.” He settled into the cockpit. “Be sure you stand clear of the blade.”
She dragged her feet. “I was just wondering.”
He looked up from the controls. “Wondering what?”