She’d have to hurry. The mining settlement must be close. She’d been walking for ages. A wooded hill ranged before her as far as she could see in both directions. No way around it. She had to go over. Maybe from the top she could see the mine.
She struggled up the hill, panting and wincing with pain. It turned out to be a narrow ridge, as deeply forested on the far side as the near. Beyond stood yet another hill. Disappointed, she started down the other side, but on the third step her crutch snapped. She fell, sliding at first and then tumbling as she gathered speed. The map flew from her hand. Saplings whipped her. She caromed off a slender birch. Cold, wet, sharp, scraping. Over and over she rolled, sliding and crashing through the underbrush.
Oomph. She came to a stop at the bottom. The pain knocked her flat. She lay prone for the longest time. Courage. If Amelia could endure twenty-two hours of hard labor, she could manage a few twists and bruises.
She sat. Her injured knee had lodged between two young trees. She tried to remove it, and the pain shot bright spots across her vision. She clenched her teeth and tried again, only to repeat the mind-numbing agony. It was no use. She was stuck, helpless.
Panic struck with deadly aim. Jack had no idea where she’d gone. He didn’t even know she’d left. The snow fell thickly now, covering any tracks. He’d never find her. She would die.
The thudding in her ears drowned out the sound of the forest. Was this death? Was this what Robert Scott had felt in the Antarctic, what the Titanic’s passengers had endured? Did Papa worry about her? Did he stand at Baker’s field, watching for their plane? Dear Mum, who only wanted her happiness. Darcy had never quite listened.
And Jack. Wonderful, forgiving Jack. She could smell the warm leather, see him in Devlin’s Model T, assisting Beatrice but watching her. She should have known then that he was the one. She shouldn’t have wasted so much time and effort on foolishness, for what good was a great flight with no one to share the excitement? So many times God had shown her the path to Jack’s heart, but she’d been oblivious, too busy concentrating on her own plans.
Accolades were hollow. What really mattered were the people around her, those God had entrusted her to love.
Tears coursed down her temples into the snow. Jack, Jack. I love you, Jack. Too late. Why hadn’t she told him like Beattie suggested? How much could it have hurt?
She brushed the heavy, wet flakes from her face and hair, but others soon replaced them. She would die here without the chance to tell Mum and Papa and Amelia and Beatrice and Freddie and Helen and Lizzie and Jack that she loved them.
Trust in the Lord. The words seemed to come from nowhere. Trust in the Lord and He will guide your steps. Mum had told her that, the morning she chose worship over flying.
She was right. Trust the Lord. That’s what Darcy should have done all along. That’s where she’d erred. God had answered her dream a hundred times over, and she’d never realized it. It didn’t take a grand gesture to impact others’ lives. It took love.
Humbly, she opened her heart to God. Please, Lord, forgive my stubborn willfulness. Instead of relying on You, I thought I could solve everything myself. I was wrong. I’m helpless and need You so. Take my will, my body, even my desire to fly. None of it means anything without You. She rested a moment, eyes closed, then added, Please spare Jack.
Incredible peace came over her. Somehow—and she couldn’t say how—she knew all would be well.
Even if she perished.
Jack awoke with a start. Something cold and wet had hit his face, and for a moment he thought he was back at school and his bunkmate had thrown water at him. His aching bones told him otherwise.
With a groan, he rolled over. The dim light revealed the same bone-chilling scenario he’d faced earlier: endless forest, cold dampness and a wrecked plane. Moreover, the fire had gone out, meaning he’d slept longer than intended.
“Darcy?” he called, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. They’d need to find the map and make plans before dark. By his estimation, it was afternoon, late afternoon. He glanced at his watch. Broken. He knew that. In disgust, he tossed it away.
His stomach growled, reminding him they lacked food. Darcy needed to eat if they were going to hike out of there—provided she could hike. The gnawing in his stomach intensified. She might not be able to walk that far. In that case, they’d need the food for survival. And they’d have to hope someone came looking for them. If only he’d put the transmitter back into the plane.
Another drop of rain hit him. No time for self-recrimination. He had work to do before nightfall.
“Darcy?”
He checked under the hemlock. She wasn’t there. She’d probably gotten some fool idea to go out on her own to relieve herself. She must have taken his jacket with her. His jacket. He whipped around to be certain he wasn’t mistaken. It lay by the dead fire. It had been draped over him. And so had hers. That meant she was walking around without any protection.