Soaring Home. Christine Johnson

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      “Your mother and I only want what’s best for you,” her father continued. “A good marriage will ease our worries. You’re what? Twenty-three? Your sister was already married and had her first child by that age. It’s time to settle on someone.” He unfolded his spectacles and put them on again.

      The front door opened, ushering in a tumult that could only be Darcy’s sister, Amelia, children in tow. “Hello, Mum, Papa.” Her greeting trailed through the house.

      Darcy had never been close to her older sister. Besides the eight-year difference in their ages, they had nothing in common. Amelia loved clothes and babies. Darcy wanted to be a great explorer. They hadn’t fought—well, not that much. They simply didn’t like the same things.

      “I must tell you. I simply couldn’t wait.” Amelia winged into the dining room, coat and gloves still on. Pale and willowy where Darcy was short and dark, Amelia had commanded numerous beaus before settling on Charles Highbottom, a local dairy farmer with enough income to buy the fancy hats and gowns she favored.

      The girls, aged five and eight, ran to Grandmum while ten-year-old Freddie went straight to his grandpapa.

      Darcy’s father broke into a wide smile. “How’s my Frederick? Find any treasures lately?”

      Ordinarily shy Freddie dug in his pocket and extracted a handful of dusty baubles, which he dumped on the table.

      “Let’s see what we have here.” Papa bent over the treasures while Freddie explained where he found each one.

      Meanwhile, Mum doled out one piece of taffy to each girl. Darcy pushed aside her plate, appetite gone. Amelia was the pretty one, the smart one, the good one. She knew how to carry herself. She knew her place. Darcy had heard the comparisons all her life.

      “Papa.” Amelia tugged off her gloves in irritation. “I have news. Are you listening?”

      Papa looked up from the army of treasures. “Darcy, do you remember that bear claw I gave you? Wouldn’t that be a fine thing for young Frederick?”

      Darcy’s mouth dropped open. The bear claw? Papa had given it to her. That claw was his prize, taken from the grizzly bear he killed years ago on his grand adventure. Give it to Freddie? He’d only ruin it.

      “Papa!” Amelia stomped her foot.

      “Forgive your father, dearest,” said Mum. “He’s partial to his grandson. Dermott?” Mum managed to capture Papa’s attention. “Your daughter has something to tell you.”

      Amelia’s porcelain complexion had turned faintly pink. “It’s terrible timing, what with Charles having to sign up for the draft tomorrow, but that can’t be helped. You’re going to have another grandchild.”

      Mum and Papa stared, dumbfounded.

      “I thought you didn’t want any more children,” Darcy said.

      Amelia hugged her gloves to her chest. “Well, Papa? Aren’t you pleased?”

      “Oh, my dearest Amelia,” Mum gushed. “We are. Of course we are. It’s just that it’s such a surprise.”

      Papa rose, brushing crumbs from his gray waistcoat. “Amelia, my dear. Good job.” He enveloped her in a hug.

      “Congratulations,” Darcy said, though an unreasonable peevishness smothered any true celebration. Marry. Have children. Would nothing else please her parents?

      “Good girl.” Papa beamed, pride elevating him an extra inch. “Let’s make it another boy.”

      Another boy. There were more important things than having babies. Any woman could bear children, but precious few had the nerve to travel to the ends of the earth. Tears stung Darcy’s lids as she slipped out of the house. She would make her mark. She would do something no one had ever done before. Yes, she would.

      Extricating Jack Hunter from the blind pig, or illegal saloon, had seemed like a good and noble idea at the time, but as Darcy approached the drugstore’s back door, the nerves set in. Her hands sweated, and she shivered in the cool evening air. She hadn’t exactly told Papa she’d be going here.

      Since the state had gone dry two years ago, Vanesia Lawrence had run her saloon out of the back of the drugstore. Papa called it the blight on the apple of Pearlman, but his opposition hadn’t begun with prohibition. He had drilled the evils of drink into Amelia and Darcy from an early age, their Aunt Meg, who’d married a drunk, serving as his primary example.

      Now Darcy stood at the door of a saloon, calling on a man, a drinking man, a man she barely knew. If Papa found out, he’d yank her home by the ears and never let her step outside again.

      Dark and damp descended on the narrow alley, trapping the smells of rotted cabbage and horse dung between the brick buildings. Darcy hesitated outside the plain wood door, gathering her courage.

      “Shouldn’t be here,” Simmons muttered.

      He was right, of course, but Darcy couldn’t back down now, not when she stood this close to her dream. She turned the cold iron knob. The door didn’t budge. “It’s locked.”

      “Good, we can go.” Simmons edged away. “I didn’t wanna come in the first place.”

      “No, no. We can’t give up yet.” She knocked.

      “What’re you doing?” Simmons hissed, tugging her away from the door.

      “Finding Mr. Hunter.”

      “We should get outta here.” Simmons glanced each way down the alley.

      “Please stay, Hendrick. I need you. You’re the ace mechanic who can fix Mr. Hunter’s motor.”

      “If you say so.” He drew a circle in the dirt with the toe of his shoe.

      “Don’t worry. Remember your dream. Hendrick Simmons, aeroplane mechanic. You’ll have your own shop.”

      “Garage.”

      “Garage. Your name in big letters on the sign over the door. You can go places, Hendrick.”

      “I don’t want my name up in big letters, and I don’t wanna go nowhere else. Them kind of dreams are fine for you, Darcy, but I’m a simple kinda guy. I like Pearlman, and I like my life fine just the way it is.”

      Darcy sighed. Squeezing ambition out of Hendrick Simmons was tougher than getting Cora to stop listening in on telephone conversations. “Pearlman is fine, but maybe your children will want more. You could leave them an inheritance. You could be the Henry Ford of aeroplanes.”

      Simmons rubbed his brow against his shoulder, somehow managing to smear black grease across his forehead in a faint echo of his sparse mustache. “Aw, Darcy, I don’t even have a girl. There’s no sense talking about children.”

      “You’ll find someone.” It might be true, if he ever got up the nerve to ask a girl out. “She’ll appear one day, and you’ll know she’s the one. Who knows, maybe she’ll fly in on an aeroplane. But if a plane’s to come here, there needs to be a mechanic. You could be СКАЧАТЬ