GRACE
SEPTEMBER 30, 1912
LOS ANGELES, CA
The Pacific Ocean appeared on the horizon, and despite the problems that had been weighing on me for over a week, my heart leapt at the glorious sight.
After thirty days, five accidents, three days of inclement weather, and over fifty appearances along the way, the West Coast—and sixty thousand dollars—was finally within my grasp.
I had made it, just in time to collect the prize money from William Randolph Hearst—and the ten thousand dollars from Armour and Company. It was a fortune. It would be more than enough for my parents to live comfortably for the rest of their lives and would also guarantee that their orphanage would thrive.
I only wished my heart was light enough to enjoy this moment—and not mourning what Hope was enduring in Salem.
I banked my aeroplane to head slightly south, following thetrain tracks, with the Vin Fiz Special just behind me. The lush California landscape looked warm and inviting below, making me long for Hope even more. She would love to be here. If it wasn’t for her, none of this would have happened.
But she wasn’t here. She’d been stuck in the gaol in Salem Towne for the past nine days since claiming her innocence at the ordinary. Every day, Isaac had taken me into Salem Towne to visit her and beg her to let me recant.
But she refused, reminding me that even if I did recant, the others would not. They would probably cast me in shackles, as well.
I also wanted to talk to her about Luc, but she refused to let me say his name.
The conditions in the gaol were abominable. Cold, moldy, and infested with lice and other vermin. The worst part was that she would be required to pay for each day she was incarcerated, as well as for the shackles used to transport her. Thankfully, the gaoler allowed me to bring her food and blankets, though Hope shared them freely with the others. The accused had reached such a number that they were spread between the gaols in Salem Towne, Boston, Cambridge, and Ipswich.
On September 19th, Goodman Giles Corey had been pressed to death with heavy rocks across the road from the Salem gaol because he refused to stand trial for witchcraft. On the 22nd, Ann Pudeator and seven other men and women, including Giles’ wife, Martha, had been hanged. It was the darkest day so far, and had only added to the pain and uncertainty of seeing Hope in the gaol. Rachel was still pregnant with her unborn child, sparing her from the noose—but for how long?
A sharp wind rocked my aeroplane, tearing my thoughts away from Salem to focus on this important moment.
The plan was to land in Long Beach, California, just outside of Los Angeles. It was about noon, which meant I would still have time to look for Tacy this evening. Mama had said she’dcome with me, and though I was eager to end the flight, I was most excited about meeting my other mother.
I finally found the beach where I would land. There were at least a thousand people lining the runway that had been marked out for me. The train wasn’t far behind, so I passed over the crowd a few times, waving at them, until the train was near the beach. The reporters on board wanted to be present for the landing, and I wanted Luc and my parents to be there, as well.
In the past week and a half, Luc and I had had many conversations about my time-crossing gift, and he had talked with Mama and Daddy about it, as well. I told him what was happening in Salem with Hope, and he was beginning to accept everything he’d learned.
But what he didn’t understand—and what I was struggling to accept myself—was the distance I had put between us. I couldn’t continue to offer him my heart if I wasn’t staying in 1912—and the more I saw Hope suffer in 1692, the more I knew I couldn’t leave her. I didn’t want to leave her. Life without Hope was unimaginable.
She was my sister, my dearest friend in the world. The very thought of never seeing her again—or worse, leaving her in Salem when she was in the gaol, awaiting her trial—tore at the very fabric of my being.
A strong wind blew off the ocean, making my descent onto the beach a bit rocky. The last thing I needed was to plow into the crowd. Sweat beaded on my brow as I slowly lowered the aeroplane to the beach, fighting every second of the way. When the wheels touched the ground, I killed the engine, allowing the aeroplane to come to a stop.
The roar of the crowd was deafening.
For a second, I just sat in the cockpit, staring at the sky. There was a sense of accomplishment—but more relief that it was over. I was happy I had done it, though I had no desire ever tofly again. It was stressful and nerve-wracking on the best days. Terrifying and miserable on the others.
Several people moved past the barricade, including Luc, as I finally pulled myself together and stood in the cockpit. I waved at the crowd as Luc stopped beside the aeroplane, grinning up at me. With a smile, I reached down to accept his help, and he put his hands at my waist. He lowered me to the ground and then wrapped me in his arms.
“Congratulations,” he whispered for my ears only. “You were magnificent, my little bird.”
“Thank you.” I held him tight. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
He pulled back, his eyes shining with admiration. “I will tell you this a hundred times, but you will not believe me: you are a natural-born flyer. You flew brilliantly, and I am very proud of you.”
My cheeks warmed under his praise, but before I could respond, I was bombarded by dozens of people vying for my attention. The mayor of Los Angeles had arrived, as had the president of the California Aeronautical Club. My parents were ushered to my side for a brief picture, and then I was brought to a makeshift stage to receive the key to the city of Los Angeles by Mayor George Alexander. I was also presented with a check from one of William Randolph Hearst’s employees, and another from Armour and Company. Money would be wired to Mr. Lorenz in the morning to pay for my parents’ orphanage.
But all I wanted now was to find Tacy.
The Los Angeles subdivision of Westmoreland Place was a gated community of beautiful, stately homes that were elegant but not as glamourous as their East Coast counterparts. I looked out the cab window as we pulled into the neighborhoodaround the supper hour. The sun was setting low in the west, and shadows elongated the tall palm trees.
Mama sat next to me, holding my hand. She squeezed it as we drew closer to 59 Westmoreland Place.
