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.“Mr.Hunter hasn’t agreed, has he?”Tears rose, but she blinked them back.“He will.”“Listen, Darcy.I went along with your flight lessons.I don’t understand, but I can accept it.But this flying across the Atlantic Ocean is too much.You have responsibilities to your family.Your mother needs you.Amelia needs you.Those children need you.”“The flight wouldn’t take place until spring, after Amelia has delivered.”“That is not the point, daughter.I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”“But Papa—”“I hope you understand that your care is my responsibility.I love you and want only the best for you.It might not seem like it now, but trust me, you’ll thank me one day.”Darcy couldn’t see how.“But I want to be part of this.I want to make history.That’s what’s best for me.”Papa kissed her forehead.“Then if this foolishness transpires, wish Mr.Hunter well.Tell everyone you know that he was your flight instructor, but I need you to stay close to home and on the ground.”Crushed.Ground to tiny bits and flung out in the snow.That’s how Darcy felt.For once, hope failed her.Things progressed far too quickly as far as Jack was concerned.Blake Kensington had an adventurer’s soul and a wealthy man’s wallet.What he couldn’t provide financially, his father could—for a price.Like everything else in town, the Kensington name would be emblazoned across his plane.Within minutes, Jack had enough support to begin preparing for the transatlantic attempt.The Kensingtons wanted the preparations done in Pearlman, which meant shipping the plane.It really needed two motors to make the crossing, requiring a lot of reengineering.He had to arrange an airfield in Newfoundland, file the paperwork and pay the fee.He needed to get permission to take off and land on foreign soil.Supplies had to be ordered and tests run on the modified plane.And then there was Sissy.She’d support him, of course, and the Kensingtons paid enough to cover her hospital bills, but who would care for her if he didn’t survive?“I’m not sure I can commit to this,” he told Blake the next day.He stood in Branford Kensington’s mahogany-paneled study while Blake’s father shouted into the telephone.“Turn the bloody shipment around and send it to Pearlman.How difficult can it be?”Blake seemed to think the whole thing humorous.“You’ve just got cold feet.Had a bit of that myself before the wedding.Father’ll set you right.” He jabbed Jack in the ribs and headed out of the room.The elder Kensington resumed ranting.“I know it’s the holiday season, but there are four business days left this week.”Jack edged away from the Cape buffalo head mounted at eye level.Its huge black eyes and curved horns made him more than uneasy.The blood-red carpet and smell of polish recalled childhood and the parlor he was never allowed to enter.People with houses like this did not accept “no.” He could sure use Darcy right now.She had a way of bulling around any obstacle to get her way.“It’s done,” Kensington said, hanging up the telephone receiver.“Imbeciles.They don’t know their brains from their bums, but rest assured, your aeroplane will be here within the week or they’ll pay a hefty price.” He clapped Jack on the back.“Care for a drink? Eugenia, have the housekeeper run in some ice.”The sleek Mrs.Kensington, who had appeared from nowhere, pursed perfectly formed red lips.“It’s Sunday.”“For heavens sake, can’t I offer the man a drink?”Kensington’s walrus mustache bristled with irritation.“Thank you anyway,” Jack said quickly.“I have things to do.”“On a Sunday evening?”“Do stay for supper.” Mrs.Kensington touched Jack’s arm lightly.“The newlyweds will be joining us.”Reason enough to leave.“Thank you, ma’am, but I have things to do.Mr.Kensington.Thank you.You’ve saved me a lot of travel.”“It’s my money,” the man joked, though Jack didn’t find much humor in it.Bad enough he was into these people for thousands.When they realized how much it would really cost, he expected them to back away in a hurry.Blake was young enough to ignore the cost for the thrill of adventure.Blake’s father was another matter.Jack hustled out into the night, glad to leave the sterile house behind.Flurries fell on roofs and porches.Lights glowed through front windows, beacons of warmth lining the streets.In one house an old man danced with his wife, their steps slow and painful, their faces rapt with tender love.It was achingly domestic.In another home a family said grace around the Sunday meal, heads bowed.Jack could almost taste the roast turkey.How long had it been since he’d sat for a family meal? Before Mom died.Before boarding school and the army and flying.There were meals, sure, and people to share them with, but never a family, never a wife or mother to welcome him home.Never children who laughed and told stories.For the first time in years, he longed for it—not what was lost, but what could have been.He—Jack Lindsey Hunter—wanted a family.The idea stunned him.He’d never quite imagined himself with a wife and children.He’d never allowed himself that fantasy.He shook his head.This foolishness had to be brought on by fatigue.He hadn’t slept well in days.That was it.Yet, as he walked back to the boardinghouse, he looked for Darcy in every parlor window.She must live in this grandest of Pearlman’s neighborhoods, where the three-story Victorian and Federal homes towered over the town.He walked past house after house, but none of the windows revealed her.The snow was coming down harder, sticking to every branch and limb and accumulating on the sidewalks.He trudged through it, collar turned up.Darcy was right.He had returned to Pearlman to see her.He needed her.Her fire and spirit energized him.She made him believe anything was possible
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