Darcy tossed and turned for two nights, torn by her responsibility to her family and her desire to make the transatlantic flight. Or was it her desire for Jack? Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. Jack. He’d come back to her. The thought filled her with such bliss that she could easily lose her head if she didn’t keep reminding herself that flying came first.
If she could ever fly again. She growled in frustration. Surely God had planted the desire to fly within her, so why did she face so much opposition? Wouldn’t God ease her path?
She shoved back the heavy quilts and switched on the lamp. After her eyes adjusted, she took her Bible and let it fall open at random, looking for an answer. She eagerly scanned the chapters from Luke and read the familiar passage about a man being unable to serve two masters.
Disappointed, she closed the book. She knew the passage well. But which master, Lord? Family or aviation? That’s the answer she needed.
As night wandered toward icy dawn, no solution came, only a stiff neck and heavy eyes.
Beattie told her that Blake wanted the preparations to take place in Pearlman. Of course. That was the answer. Start small and work her way toward her goal. Papa said he wanted her to stay close to home and on the ground. Well, that’s exactly what she’d do.
After washing and dressing, she went downstairs to prepare breakfast. She would have preferred to tell both her parents at once, but her mother had stayed the night at Amelia’s house. That left Papa.
She struggled for words as they ate in silence. As usual, Papa perused the newspaper. To her surprise, he spoke first.
“I hope you understand my reasoning last night.” He set down the newspaper and took off his spectacles.
Darcy tried not to rush. “I do, Papa, and I should have told you that Mr. Hunter was my instructor. I’m sorry I wasn’t more forthcoming.”
He nodded. “And I’m sorry I had to be so harsh.” He tapped off the top of his soft-boiled egg with his knife.
Darcy took a sip of tea for fortitude. “You said you wanted me to stay close to home and on the ground.”
“That’s right.” He scooped out a spoonful of egg.
“Beatrice said they’re putting the plane together right here in Pearlman.”
He paused, spoon in midair. “I don’t want you involved with that flight.”
“I’m not asking to fly, Papa. I’d like to help with the groundwork, putting parts together and that sort of thing. I’m sure half the town will help, and I’d like to do my part.”
He didn’t answer for a long time. “On the ground?”
“In Baker’s barn, I understand. May I, Papa? Please?”
He would give in. He always gave in. Eventually. At least he used to, years ago, before Amelia had Freddie.
He shook out the newspaper. “Your work at your sister’s house comes first.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“As well as anything your mother needs.”
“I promise, Papa.”
He sighed. “I can’t say I’m pleased, but I don’t suppose I have any choice, do I?”
“Oh thank you, Papa.” She flung her arms around his neck, jostling his spectacles. “Now, Darcy.”
But he was pleased. She could tell. And little by little she’d convince him to let her fly.
Chapter Nine
On the tenth of January, the plane arrived in pieces and was hauled by wagon to Baker’s barn for reassembly. Darcy followed it there and discovered Jack had set up a workshop inside, complete with coal oil lanterns and gasoline heaters.
He flat-out refused her help. She suspected Papa had interfered, but when she told Jack that her father had restricted her to groundwork, he relented.
“Groundwork only,” he’d echoed.
She was tired of men telling her what she could and couldn’t do, but ranting about it wouldn’t change their minds. She needed to work slowly, showing them she was more than capable. Since Jack seemed to follow Papa’s lead, she’d start there. Surely, within three months she could convince him she belonged in the cockpit.
On schoolday afternoons, Darcy helped Jack assemble the wings while Simmons worked on the motor. After putting the children to bed, she wrote stories for Devlin, who’d relented the minute he heard about the transatlantic attempt. By the end of the month, they began modifying the plane for transatlantic flight. More load capacity, heavier struts and bracing, reengineering for the two motors, building the twin nacelles. The work went on and on. Darcy helped with the lighter tasks, as well as compiling the supply requisition lists.
She and Jack spoke often over the weeks, but always about the plane, and never with the camaraderie they’d shared in Buffalo. By February Papa relented, agreeing she could renew flight lessons in the spring after Amelia delivered the baby, but Jack wouldn’t confirm. Every time she asked, he brushed aside her inquiry. The closeness they’d shared on Beattie’s wedding night had vanished.