Free Soaring Home by Christine Johnson Page A

“I’m not interested in a dinner party.”
    “Then what would suit you, dear?” Mum asked.
    To go to Long Island. To see Jack Hunter. But Darcy couldn’t say that.
    “Going out to retrieve the newspaper,” Papa called from the other room. The front door opened, sending a rush of chilly air through the parlor.
    Darcy shivered as she watched her father, bundled in wool coat, bowler and scarf, trudge to the gate where the newsboy had left the daily paper.
    “I gather you don’t care for Mr. Carrman,” Perpetua said.
    “He’s pleasant enough,” Darcy conceded for her mother’s sake, “but I’ve already told him I’m not interested in a serious relationship.”
    “Darcy,” Mum exclaimed. “You don’t say such things to a man you just met.”
    “Would you rather I gave him false hope?”
    “Of course not, dear, but you didn’t give him a chance.”
    Mum was right. She hadn’t given George a chance, but how could she when there was Jack? No other man had ever sent her emotions whirling so.
    “It’s not him,” Darcy conceded. “George Carrman is a nice enough sort of man, but the fact is, I don’t care to marry at all.”
    Mum choked on her biscuit.
    “Extraordinary.” Perpetua set her cup on its saucer. “What would you do instead?”
    Darcy hesitated. Papa had made it very clear that respectable young ladies did not fly aeroplanes. They married. But Darcy couldn’t marry without love. That left just one option. She needed a career. “I’ve written articles for the local newspaper.”
    “Journalism is a worthy pursuit.” Perpetua’s dark eyes glittered. “I would like to see more fire though. A true calling demands passion.”
    The mere mention of passion sent heat to Darcy’s cheeks. Jack. His touch. Those cornflower-blue eyes. “Ah, you are passionate about something. Or is it someone? ”
    Darcy turned back to the window, but Perpetua was not going to let this go. “A young man?”
    “I have my dreams,” Darcy said quietly.
    Perpetua placed her cup on the end table. “You are a young woman of talent. Set your goal and do it.”
    Why not? The simple words, so obvious and clear, turned her jumbled thoughts into a clear path. That path didn’t include George Carrman, or even Jack Hunter. She wanted to fly. Jack Hunter wasn’t the only flight instructor in this country. Now that the war was over, there’d be hundreds of aviators willing to teach her.
    “I would like to—” Darcy began, but was interrupted by cold air whooshing through the room when Papa opened the front door.
    Mum called out, “Close the door, Dermott. You’re letting the chill in.”
    Darcy heard the click of the front door followed by her father’s fumbling at the coatrack.
    “Continue,” urged Perpetua. “You were saying?”
    Papa entered with the newspaper and sat down. Darcy couldn’t say she wanted to fly in front of him.
    She shook her head. “I forgot.”
    Perpetua frowned as Papa unfolded the paper. The large headline made Darcy gasp.
    CURTISS AEROPLANE PLANT TO CLOSE
    Curtiss Aeroplane. Jack’s company. He said the main plant was in Buffalo. He worked out of Long Island, but if the main plant closed, surely the subsidiary would, too. Jack would losehis job. Then where would he go? She scoured her memory for some clue. All he’d mentioned was being born in Buffalo, but a pilot wouldn’t come here in winter. He would go south or west, so far away that she’d never find him.
    “What’s wrong dear?” asked Mum. “You look like you’ve gotten a terrible shock.”
    Darcy pressed her lips together to squelch her fears. Jack gone. What would she do? Since the moment they met, she’d dreamed of flying with him.
    “Darcy?” Mum rose, concerned.
    “It’s nothing. Don’t worry.” She turned to the window, which had fogged up again. This time she didn’t bother wiping off the steam. The answer could only be found within. As much as she hated to admit it, her dream didn’t require Jack. It