For a Lifetime, page 23
I inhaled a sharp breath, his words cutting deep.
Grace cried out in shock and took a step toward me, but Father moved between us and turned to me.
“Do not see that woman again—or any of her family. This is my one and only warning.”
Father turned and went up the back stairs, probably to console his wife, while I stood rooted to the spot, plagued by his words.
Grace wrapped me in her arms and held me tight. “Do not listen to him,” she whispered.
“He would see me hang, like he saw his own wife hang. There is no love in him, Grace. Just anger and bitterness and self-righteousness.”
“There is fear,” she said as she continued to embrace me. “He fears that which he cannot control—that is why he feared Tacy and why he fears you.”
My tears came then—not only for what he had said, but because I was stuck here with no escape.
A knock at the back door made both of us jump. Rachel wouldn’t have returned, would she?
As Grace left me, I turned my back to the door and wiped my cheeks with my apron.
“Good day, Isaac,” Grace said, her voice strained.
Isaac?
I turned and our gazes met across the kitchen. His smile fell, and he stepped past Grace. “What’s wrong?”
I’m not sure if he pulled me into his arms or if I fell into them, but in an instant he was holding me close. His arms were strong as they wrapped around me. His chest solid and comforting. I could feel the beating of his heart against my cheek, and I closed my eyes, certain that no one or nothing could hurt me here.
After a moment, I realized Grace was watching, and I pulled back, wiping my face.
“Why are you crying?” he asked, his voice low and gentle.
“I fought with my father” was all I would tell him.
“I’m sorry.” He glanced at Grace and then back at me. “I brought something. Perhaps it will cheer you.” He reached into the bag he carried and removed a round, shiny orange.
My lips parted in surprise as I looked up at his handsome face. “Where did you find it?”
“In Boston. It cost a king’s ransom, but I knew it would please you.” He took my hand and turned it over, then he placed the fruit onto my palm. “For you.”
I swallowed the emotions that welled up inside me. I had thought I’d never get another orange after dying in 1912—but Isaac had found one for me. “How did you know?”
“You told me once, many years ago.”
Without another thought, I threw myself into his arms again, and this time I hugged him.
That evening, darkness fell over Salem Village, bringing with it a relentless storm that pounded against the windows of the ordinary. Isaac stayed for supper, and I made sure he had extra servings of the roasted turkey and stewed peas Grace cooked.
Susannah had not yet come down from her room, and I suspected she was both embarrassed and enraged at the way Father had treated her. He stayed abovestairs for most of the evening, and I could hear him pleading with her to forgive him.
He did not ask for my forgiveness.
As the storm wore on, Grace and I encouraged Isaac to stay and enjoy the orange with us. We drew chairs up to the hearth in the kitchen, and I peeled the orange, relishing the scent of the citrus. I wished I could tell Isaac what the gift meant to me, but I couldn’t without revealing our time-crossing. So I showed him with my smiles and kind words.
I tore the sections apart and handed Grace and Isaac their pieces, then slipped one into my mouth and audibly moaned with delight.
“Had I known how much the gift would please you,” Isaac said with a laugh, “I would have bought you one much sooner.”
I laughed as juice dribbled down my chin. I hadn’t been this happy since losing 1912.
I was just finishing my last bite when a strange noise sounded above our heads. Looking up, I frowned.
A moment later, Father appeared at the head of the steps, his face wild with fear. “Susannah is under affliction. She spasms like the others, and she is crying out in anguish. Come! I need help restraining her.”
The three of us raced up the stairs, my stomach filling with dread at what we might see. The behavior of the afflicted was often gruesome and unhuman-like.
Susannah lay on the floor in a contorted position. Her body jerked this way and that as she cried out in pain.
“She afflicts me!” She grabbed at her arm. “She bites me and pinches me.” A bitemark was fresh upon her forearm as she cried out to an invisible phantom in the room. “Leave me be! I beg of you!”
“Take hold of her,” Father commanded us. “I fear this affliction will hurt the unborn child she carries.”
Father knelt and put his hands on Susannah’s shoulders, and Isaac secured her legs. Susannah still jerked and screamed, but she could no longer hurt herself.
“Who doth afflict you?” Father demanded as he looked into his wife’s face.
“The woman who was here today,” Susannah cried. “The one with the fair hair. She causes strife in my home and now afflicts me, causing me to suffer.”
Father looked up at me, accusation in his gaze. “She speaks of Rachel Howlett.”
I knew exactly who she spoke of—and exactly why she called her out. Either she was angry because of Father’s treatment, or Father had convinced her that Rachel was a witch so he could be rid of her.
I left the room and ran down the back stairs. Did Father believe we would allow this plan to succeed? I needed to warn Rachel so she could escape Salem Towne—perhaps go to her family in Sandwich.
In the kitchen, I reached for my cloak by the door, but Grace appeared right behind me.
“Where are you going?”
“To warn Rachel.”
“In this weather? How will you get there?”
Isaac appeared at the top of the steps next. “Who is Rachel?”
“Rachel Howlett, our cousin,” I told him as I secured the cape about my shoulders.
“The one you met in Salem Towne? The one who serves Mister Reed?” He approached me, a frown marring his face.
I had no time to explain, but perhaps he would take me if he knew the truth. “She came here this afternoon, and Father was displeased. That is why Susannah hath accused her.”
“You cannot go to Salem Towne in this storm,” Isaac said to me. “’Tis too dangerous.”
“Can you not take me?”
“You are going nowhere.” Father came down the stairs, fire in his gaze. “I am going now to Salem Towne to make the arrest myself. By night’s end, Rachel Howlett will be in the Salem gaol.”
“No!” I reached for his arm, but he pushed me off, and I fell to the floor as he strode out into the night.
22
GRACE
SEPTEMBER 1, 1912
SHEEPSHEAD BAY, NY
For eleven days, Hope and I had pleaded with Father and Susannah to recant, but for eleven days, Susannah’s afflictions increased, often coming on in the taproom or dining room, where she had the largest audience. As Father promised Hope, Rachel had been arrested that very evening, and it was quickly discovered that she was expecting a child. She refused to name the father, sparing Josias Reed, though everyone suspected the truth.
As I sat in an automobile moving toward Sheepshead Bay on the south end of Brooklyn, I forced myself to take several deep breaths. In just under an hour, I would take off for the first leg of the cross-country flight to California, and the last thing I needed to worry about was Salem.
“Are you nervous?” Mama asked as she sat beside me.
We were in the back of the automobile while my father sat in front with the driver. Luc would meet us at Sheepshead, where the Vin Fiz Flyer, as my aeroplane had been dubbed, was waiting and the three-car train was ready to go.
“Yes,” I admitted. “But not just about the flight.”
She nodded, taking my hand in hers. Mama and Daddy had come to New York two days ago, and I had told them all about what was happening in Salem. If anyone understood, it was Mama. She had lived in three troubling times and was a strength to lean upon.
“It will all work out,” she said, as only a mother could. She spoke quietly so the driver wouldn’t hear. “Try to be present in this moment and put aside thoughts of everything else. You can deal with Salem tomorrow.”
I nodded as I took another deep breath. She had often told me not to let one path affect the other, though it was almost impossible, especially when Hope was stuck in 1692. My plan to tell my parents that I was going to stay in 1692 was foremost in my mind—but I wouldn’t worry about that until we reached California and the trip was behind us.
We had enough trouble to contend with already. Papa had asked Mr. Lorenz if we could extend the deadline a little longer, in case I didn’t make it to California in thirty days. But Mr. Lorenz refused the request. I had no choice but to reach California by September thirtieth if I wanted to save the orphanage.
The traffic was thick as we made our way south. “Will we be late?” I asked the driver.
“We should get there on time, Miss Cooper.”
“Why are there so many people?”
“I think they’re all here to see you.” He nodded at the crowds moving along the boardwalk, heading to the beach.
I closed my eyes and said a prayer, wondering what I had gotten myself into. I had flown several times a day since my first flight on August19th, but I still didn’t feel ready. So many things could go wrong.
I would leave Sheepshead, New York, and follow the railroad tracks as I flew west over the Appalachian Mountains toward Chicago, making several stops along the way. To avoid the Rocky Mountains, which would be much more treacherous, I would fly southwest over Missouri, Oklahoma, and into Texas, then head a bit northwest to California. Luc and I had pored over dozens of maps and made a route that should take twenty-six days. If we had trouble along the way or encountered bad weather, we would need to deal with it as quickly as possible so we could stay on track.
The driver turned down a side street and was able to pick up a little speed before doubling back and driving along the beachside road. My eyes widened at the number of people who had come out to see the start of my trip. Mama squeezed my hand, and Daddy turned to smile, his dark brown eyes full of pride.
I hoped I wouldn’t disappoint them—and everyone else.
But my real fear was embarrassing Luc.
We’d hardly had a minute alone since my first solo flight, and I was thankful. There had been something in his gaze—and something in my heart—that frightened me that morning. It was easier to stay busy and try to push the feelings aside than to face them and what they could mean.
Sweat ran down my spine as we finally pulled up to the roped-off area where my Blériot sat waiting. The word Vin had been painted under one wing and Fiz under the other. In smaller letters was “The Ideal Grape Drink.” The awaiting train also had the Vin Fiz message painted on both sides with “Five Cents” and “Sold Everywhere” included. There was no question who was sponsoring this trip.
Luc stood next to the Vin Fiz Flyer, speaking to a group of reporters. He had told me that I would answer questions and then the governor of New York would make a speech. After that, I would take off, heading toward my first stop of Middletown, New York, a flight of about seventy miles. It would be the longest flight I had ever made, and my pulse was racing.
Luc’s smile was bright as I stepped out of the automobile to the sound of the cheering crowd. But despite the hundreds of people around me, he was the only one I saw. I was amazed at the confidence he inspired in me.
The next hour felt like ten as I answered endless questions from reporters and then listened to the governor drone on about the advancement of aviation and the historic journey I was about to undertake. William Randolph Hearst made a surprise appearance and handed me a large bouquet of roses, wishing me well. I gave them to my mother to take on the train.
Many people mentioned Hope and how proud she would be of me. I smiled at my parents, knowing Hope would be waiting for a full report tomorrow.
All I wanted was to get on with the flight, but I kept a smile on my face and endured the endless applause from the crowd.
Finally, it was time for me to leave. I put my canvas jacket on over my flying suit and then gladly climbed into the Vin Fiz Flyer just to be done with the questions. I waved at the crowd, blew a kiss to my parents, and took a deep breath.
Luc came up to the aeroplane and leaned close so I could hear him. He smelled good, and when he smiled, his eyes shone with pride and admiration. “I have nothing left to say, but Godspeed. You are ready for this day, mon petit oiseau.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, thankful for his calm reassurance.
He took my hand and brought it to his lips. Pressing a gentle kiss there, he said, just loud enough for me to hear, “My little bird.” I smiled as he let me go and stepped away from the aeroplane. “I will see you in Middletown.”
With that, he motioned to the mechanics to be ready, and I slipped my goggles over my eyes and pulled on my leather gloves. I signaled the front mechanic to turn the propeller, and the plane roared to life.
Everything else faded away as I faced the smooth, sandy beach. The Vin Fiz Flyer pulled against the mechanics like a beast ready to be let loose from its cage—a beast I wasn’t sure I could wrangle, though I would try my very best.
With another wave of my hand, the mechanics let her go, and I was off.
I quickly rose to the sky and banked the aeroplane to head northwest toward Middletown in the Hudson Valley region, at the foothills of the Shawangunk Mountains. Though I was anxious about flying the plane, it felt good to be away from the crowd.
Seventy miles would take me just under an hour and a half, if I had no delays or complications. The Vin Fiz Special, as the train had been named, would meet me there soon after landing. The Special was made up of three cars—a sleeper car, a diner car, and a mechanical shop on rails, filled with spare parts and tools to maintain the flyer at optimal performance.
I had memorized this leg of the journey and watched for landmarks. I flew between fifteen hundred and two thousand feet so I didn’t miss any of them. Across Brooklyn I flew, then over the lower tip of Manhattan, where I could see thousands of people watching for me in Battery Park. The Statue of Liberty stood off to my left, raising her torch above her head like a beacon. No matter how many times I saw her, she still brought tears to my eyes.
I turned my attention to the Hudson River, which ran up the west side of Long Island, and flew low to see the crowds who had lined 12th Avenue.
The motor ran as smooth as ever, and the sunshine sparkled off the water below. Wind rushed past me, cooling my warm body. As I veered west and headed toward Middletown, the crowds behind me and California in front of me, I took a deep, cleansing breath.
I was only thirty days away from saving Mama and Daddy’s orphanage.
The sun was fading behind the Shawangunk Mountains in the western sky as I stood beside the Vin Fiz Flyer and laid my hand on her fuselage. After a day of flying and weeks of nerves, I was exhausted—but exhilarated.
Behind me, the Vin Fiz Special was sitting on a side track in the Middletown depot yard, and the crew was celebrating our first day. Both reporters for the New York Journal and the Los Angeles Examiner were in the diner car, as were the two mechanics, the representative for Armour and Company, my parents, and Luc. The chef and porter had served an amazing meal, which I had eaten with enthusiasm. But after the meal, I had slipped away, needing a little time and space to process everything that had happened.
And to look at the telegram I had received upon arriving in Middletown.
Another reporter from the Los Angeles Examiner had found Tacy. Her name, according to the telegram, was now Tacy Bennet. She was married to Grant Bennet, a film director, and was co-owner of the aptly named Bennet Studios. I also had a home address for her. It was everything I needed to find her when I arrived in California.
I was thrilled—yet apprehensive. What if she didn’t want to meet me? What if she turned me away? What if, like Daddy suggested, I shouldn’t seek her out? Would I mess everything up?
Running my hand along the fabric of the fuselage, I didn’t notice Luc’s arrival until he spoke.
“You should not look so sad. Today was a success.”
My heart sped at his gentle voice, and I turned. “I’m not sad.”
He stood a few feet away with the setting sun behind him. I tried to still my heart, but it was impossible. Each time I saw him, affection overwhelmed me. Even in Salem, thoughts of Luc followed me—filling me with perplexing emotions I had never felt before. Happiness, joy, uncertainty . . . longing.
Guilt.
He put his hands in his pockets and slowly walked closer to me.
I had changed out of my flight suit and was wearing a simple skirt and blouse with a pair of heeled boots and a plain black ribbon around my head. My hair was in a long braid that rested over my shoulder.
When Luc stopped next to me, he reached out and lifted my braid, running his thumb over the strands of blonde hair. “C’est doux.”
I held my breath.
A smile warmed his eyes as he met my gaze. “It’s as soft as I always suspected.”
Slowly, he moved his hand from my braid to my cheek, pausing as he studied me. Waiting for me to stop him?
I had no desire to stop him.
Something had been building between us for weeks—something I had tried to deny and push aside. The tension was coiling deep within me, winding tighter and tighter, until I feared I might burst from the pent-up longing that filled my soul.
With a tenderness that made my heart ache, he laid the back of his fingers against my cheekbone and trailed them down to my jaw. A delightful shiver ran up my spine and made me tremble, so I reached up and put my hand over his. It was an anchor. Warm and strong.
Luc’s gaze became very serious. The setting sun shadowed one side of his face while casting the other side in shades of rose gold.
