We made a striking couple, he tall, dark, and devilishly handsome in his black tuxedo. Me, delicate, fair, and elegant in my evening gown and long velvet coat.
He turned away and continued walking. “Does it matter why I fly?” There was an edge to his voice, though it wasn’t directed at me. “I must be the best, and if that means gaining the attention of the world, then it’s something I must endure. If I could fly without notice, I would choose that.”
I wanted to ask him why he must be the best, but I didn’t want to push him. It was more than he had ever revealed to me.
At the Seminole Hotel, the doorman greeted us as we entered the opulent lobby. Luc led me to the elevator, and we stepped inside. There were so many things I wanted to say, but I remained quiet. Part of me was still in awe of Lucas Voland, the world-famous aviator—and probably would be for the rest of my life. He remained untouchable—even tothose closest to him. What were his secrets? Why did he hold them so close?
And why was I afraid to ask?
When the elevator stopped at the fourth floor, I stepped forward, but Luc took hold of my hand, and I turned, surprised. It sent a jolt to my heart because he rarely touched me when it wasn’t necessary—and never so intimately.
“I will pray for your test tomorrow,” he said. “I believe God has created each of us for the times we live, and you were created for this purpose, for this time. But we are responsible to use the talents and abilities He gives us wisely. If you do everything the way you’ve been taught, you should succeed admirably tomorrow morning.”
I stood for a second, both surprised and touched by his words. All I could say was, “Thank you.”
“I’ll meet you in the lobby at six.” He let go of my hand and took a step back into the elevator, his walls rising up again as his emotion cleared from his face. “Goodnight, Hope.”
“Goodnight, Luc.” I took another step back, and the elevator doors closed.
I was alone in the hallway, my breath coming quickly.
Luc had never spoken of God before. His promise to pray for me not only surprised me but tugged at my own complicated relationship with God.
Grace’s faith seemed to come naturally to her, despite the differences of beliefs and dogmas between 1692 and 1912. Somehow, she knew and understood God in a way that evaded me and transcended time, religion, or doctrine.
As I walked toward our room, my lifelong spiritual debate warred within me.
Our Puritan teachings were strict and full of rules, an extension of the authoritarian Church of England. The harsh lifestyle had not taught me how to be good and righteous—it had only taught me how to hide my sinful heart and defy myelders. It had made me afraid to do the wrong thing instead of longing to do the right thing.
Whereas Mama and Daddy had taught us that God’s grace allowed more freedom. People were given independence to follow their dreams—women in particular—which was why I was able to pursue flying and theater, while Grace was a photographer and journalist. It was a prosperous time, with crusading reformists tackling child labor, factory conditions, women’s right to vote, prohibition of alcohol, and more. But did that freedom allow more justification for sins?
The differences were jarring, especially as a child. Which one was right? I believed that God existed—but who was He? Was He the Puritans’ God of strict rules and regulations who predestined people for salvation? Or was He the God of my parents who offered grace and mercy and provided salvation to repentant sinners?
I slipped the key into my hotel room door, uncertain if I would ever understand. It was easier to float, untethered to something that might not be right.
What I did know was that God had created me for this time and place, as Luc had said. That was irrefutable—especially with the time-crossing gift I had inherited. And I would live this life to the fullest.
It was harder to accept the same about Salem.
5
GRACE
MARCH 1, 1692
SALEM VILLAGE
All morning, as I served the patrons in the ordinary, I could think of little but Hope’s astonishing announcement the day before. I could still see the excitement on her face—her pure joy at the prospect of being the first woman to fly over the English Channel—and I felt guilty for being a naysayer. But someone had to talk sense into her. Mr. Voland should have discouraged her, but he appeared to be the one who planted the idea—or at the very least watered it. What would he gain from Hope making the flight? Money? More fame? Would he not rest untileveryonein the world knew his name?
My initial dislike of him grew each time I was in his arrogant presence—and Hope’s lack of discernment where he was concerned alarmed me most of all. The whole thing was a foolish idea. I scrubbed the tables in the dining room harder than necessary, wishing I could wipe away their plan.
Yet—would Hope have considered the flight if it weren’t for J. B. Thurston’s threats? If Hope was successful, this might be the only way we could save the orphanage. For that reason alone, I had agreed to go along.
I tried to focus on Salem and what was troubling me here. Father stood on the other side of the dining room, instructing John to haul two barrels of ale up from the cellar. I had not had the opportunity to question him about our mother’s death, but even if I had, I doubted he would tell me the truth. With the oncoming witch-hunt, it was more important than ever that I learned what had happened. I knew how I might find out, but I would need help.
I was so wrapped up in my thoughts, I almost missed the moment Sarah Osborn entered the ordinary with the constable.
It was cold in Salem, despite the bright sunshine. An eerie silence fell over the occupants in our large dining room as Goody Osborn was helped into the building by one of her servants.
