“Not for that long a distance.”
“And you have the skill. All you need is someone with nerve, connections and organizational ability. It can be done, Jack. Everything is possible if you believe.”
He broke away, clawing for solid ground. If he looked into those eyes that so perfectly reflected him, he’d agree. And that would bring disaster. He had to put a stop to her wild ideas. Emphatically.
“It’s not going to happen. Ever.”
Chapter Eight
“Why not?” Darcy spun around, catching snowflakes on her bare palms. The cold didn’t matter. Jack and this flight would rescue her from drudgery. “It’s the answer to everything.”
The transatlantic flight would set her on the world stage. She would be first. Not second. Not following a man’s success. First.
“Whoa, whoa.” Jack dragged her to a halt. “It’s not that easy. You need the right plane, which I don’t have, and then you need backing—lots of it. Then you have to plan every second of the trip. One mistake and you’re dead.”
“We can do all that.”
“Do you happen to have an extra forty thousand dollars, because I’ll tell you right now it’s going to cost that, and probably more.”
Forty thousand dollars? The amount staggered. A person could buy half of Pearlman for forty thousand dollars.
“You’re teasing,” she said. “Who would go for a fifty thousand dollar prize if it cost forty thousand to do it?”
He crossed his arms. “For what comes afterward: lectures, books, interviews. Publishers will pay big money for the rights to the story. There might even be a film. The lecture circuit alone has funded many an expedition.”
Of course. She mentally regurgitated all those expedition narratives she’d read. Books, articles and lectures had been part of them all.
“It’s not the payoff that’s the problem,” Jack said. “It’s the upfront money.”
“Forty thousand?” Not one expedition had been funded by a sole benefactor. “If it takes that much, then we’ll find patrons. Lots of them.” She threaded her arm around his. “And I know right where we can start.”
“I don’t want to be indebted to your family.”
Other than Perpetua, Darcy doubted anyone in her family would contribute. “That’s not who I had in mind.” She tugged him toward the grange hall. “We can start tonight. Everyone’s there.”
“You’re loony.”
“Crazy, mad and na?ve,” she laughed as they skidded through the slick snow, back to the hall. The squalls had stopped, and the moon glimmered off the newly fallen blanket of white.
Guests streamed out the front door of the hall. Motorcars chugged home, while other guests walked in merry little groups, reliving their favorite moment from the wedding.
“Follow me.” Darcy eased past the departing guests and found Beatrice just inside the door, thanking each person for coming.
“Darcy, where have you been? O-oh.” She’d spotted Jack. “Mr. Hunter. You came.” Strangely, she didn’t look surprised.
“Beattie? Did you send Jack an invitation?”
Beatrice looked chagrined. “Are you terribly sore?”
“How could I ever be sore with you?” Darcy hugged her friend and whispered, “Thank you.”
“I’m so glad.” Beattie held her hands and looked like she wanted to say more, but the Grattans approached, calling her to duty.
“Hunter?” Blake popped out of the crowd. “Good to see you again. What brings you back to Pearlman?”
“A grand adventure,” Darcy said.
Jack filled in the details. “Attempting the first nonstop transatlantic flight. We might be looking for subscribers.”
“That so?” Blake grasped Jack’s hand and nodded for him to follow into the hall. “Let’s talk.”
Blake drew Jack through the throngs of guests donning coats and mittens, and Darcy began to follow, but Beatrice held her back. “Not this time.”
Darcy shook off her friend. “What do you mean? It’s my idea.”
“Not anymore. Like it or not, men prefer to think they come up with the big ideas. Don’t look so disappointed. We know who truly thought of it.”
“But I need to be part of this,” Darcy insisted. “I’m going to be in that plane.”
“Let them have their moment. Your turn will come, I promise. Mr. Shea.” Beattie elbowed her.
Papa. She hadn’t seen him coming.
“It’s time to go, Darcy.” He did not sound pleased. “Your mother is waiting.”
“I’ll be right along.” She couldn’t leave now, when her whole future was about to be decided.
“It’s late, and you have responsibilities. Amelia needs your help.”
Amelia. Always what Amelia needed. Never what she needed.
“Please let me stay a bit longer. Jack is going for the transatlantic prize, and I need to help him.”
“Jack?” Papa placed undue emphasis on his name. “Jack who?”