He nodded, and she latched onto the small encouragement.
“Good ascent,” he said. “A little hesitant, but that will smooth out with practice.”
She let the praise sink in while she wiped her goggles. “How long does it take to fly like you?”
“I’ve been flying almost ten years now.”
“Ten years?” She didn’t have ten years. She needed to make her big flight now, before Papa married her off.
“But it only takes four or so hours of flight time to get competent.”
“Four hours, and I’ve had what? One?”
He chuckled. “Five minutes.”
“Is that all we were up?”
“That’s how much time you had the controls.”
“Oh.” She unbuttoned her coat as they approached the classroom. “How many hours does a transatlantic flight take?”
Jack didn’t answer right away, and she worried that she’d steamed too far ahead again. “Twenty hours, more or less. Of course, it all depends on the speed of the aircraft, if there are any winds assisting, the load and a million other factors.”
“That long. Is that why the plane has dual controls, like the one you landed in Pearlman? So one pilot can fly while the other sleeps?”
“There’s no sleeping on a transatlantic flight. The second cockpit is for the navigator. And yes, if the pilot needs to do something away from the controls, the navigator can take over.”
“But you flew the scout plane by yourself.”
He ruffled his hair before replacing his cap. “It’s not that far from the Island to Chicago.”
Then he’d need a navigator to make the transatlantic distance. “Do you have a plane?”
He blinked. “I, uh, how did you know?”
“You’re an aviator. You must have a plane.” Maybe even one that could fly across the Atlantic.
He responded with boyish enthusiasm. “Do you want to see it?”
“Of course.”
He dragged her back outside to go over every inch of his plane, from the dual controls to the two-hundred-horsepower engine. He led her from point to point with a gentle touch to the arm or small of the back. She drank in every touch and syllable.
“It’s a lot like the one you landed in Pearlman,” she said when he finished.
He proudly surveyed his plane. “Very observant. It’s an earlier model, with some personal modifications.”
“Then it’s made for distance.”
“Possibly.” The wariness returned.
She knew she was pushing, but she had to ask. “Could it fly twenty hours straight?”
His eyes narrowed. “No. Never. Not enough load capacity.”
“But it could be adapted.”
“No, no, and no. I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not possible. For one, it would take too many modifications. Secondly, a transatlantic attempt is a huge venture.”
She swung on a wing strut. “Worth fifty thousand dollars.”
“Just getting the plane ready would cost thousands. Then there’s the transportation, the crew, the supplies. I don’t have that sort of money.”
But other people did. “I know someone who might be interested. My aunt is holding a dinner party Saturday, and there are bound to be interested parties, well-off interested parties. You’re invited. Come and talk about it.”
Jack looked skeptical. “Interested parties like your father?”
“Goodness no. My aunt, for one. She’s paying for my lessons, except for what I make on my newspaper articles. I’m sure she’d contribute to the attempt, especially because it’s my calling.”
“Your calling?”
“What God has called me to do.”
Jack laughed. “You’re not serious.”
His reaction stung. “Of course I’m serious.”
He looked at her like she was loony. Once again the shutter slammed closed. “I’m sorry. I already have a dinner engagement that night.”
“With your sister? She can come, too. Your whole family can come.”
If anything, his expression hardened even more. “Thank you, but dinner is impossible.”
What had she done? They were getting along so well. “Then perhaps you could join us for Sunday worship. We always have a nice supper afterward.”
Jack turned away and fiddled with the plane’s controls. “I’m busy.”
The moment crumbled. Somehow she’d offended him. The intimacy of flight vanished, and once again she stood alone and apart, knowing no more about Jack Hunter than before.
Darcy knew she’d barged ahead too quickly. It was one of her worst flaws. She bitterly confessed as much in her nightly prayers. But she just couldn’t contain her enthusiasm. She wanted it all: flying, the transatlantic prize, and Jack. If she’d just stop rushing, she might stand a chance.
With the dinner party called off, her parents returned home. That left Darcy to fly and to write about the experience. Each morning she raced to the flight school. At night she wrote. Each day brought her closer to Jack. She kept her enthusiasm in check, and he warmed to her, at least in the plane.