“Hope?”
“Yes?”
“Je prierai pour toi.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll be praying for you.”
He hung up, and I took a deep breath.
Everything hinged on the next few hours. My parents’ orphanage, Grace’s work as a journalist, Luc’s faith in me—and my life in 1912.
I quickly dressed, putting on my brown flying suit with two pairs of long underwear underneath. I also wore a long wool coat, a sealskin stole, and two pairs of long gloves. Luc had warned me that it would be frigid over the water, so I was taking extra precautions.
A maid brought hot tea up to my room, as Grace had requestedfor me last evening before she and Luc left for Calais. I forced myself to drink it, even though it was scalding as it ran down my throat.
I hated being alone—especially now, as so many thoughts raced through my mind—but I hoped Grace and Luc had used the time on the ferry and at the hotel in Calais to get to know each other better. They had not become friends over the past two weeks, since Luc spent most of his time away from the hotel and Grace spent most of her time writing, but they had a newfound respect for each other. If that was all I could get from them, it would have to be enough.
Thirty minutes later, I arrived at the aerodrome and was surprised to find a whole crowd of people waiting for me. TheDaily Mirrorhad sent representatives and movie cameras to record my historic takeoff after Luc phoned to tell them today was the day.
The aerodrome, which was simply a flying field, sat on the White Cliffs of Dover with a straight, clear shot of the Channel and Calais. There was a sense of urgency since rain was forecasted to start later that morning. The mechanics quickly wheeled the Blériot out of the hangar. It was such a frail contraption of wood, fabric, and wires.
Again, apprehension and fear wrapped around my heart, and I had to take several deep breaths to calm myself.
Dense fog covered the water. There was no wind, which would make flying easier, but it wouldn’t help remove the low-lying clouds.
“Are you ready, Miss Cooper?” one of the mechanics asked as I stared at Dover Castle. Luc had told me that I needed to fix my eyes on the castle, fly over it, and head straight on to Calais.
“Yes.” I nodded. “Let’s go.”
The mechanic knelt beside the aeroplane and allowed me to use his thigh as a step to climb onboard. It was harder to maneuver in so many layers, but I was able to make my wayto the metal chair in the cockpit. The instruments and layout were a little different than I was used to, but I had familiarized myself with them and was confident in my abilities.
But what if my abilities weren’t enough? I wished Grace and Luc were with me on this side of the flight. What if I didn’t make it across?
I shook the thought from my head. It wasn’t an option.
As I started the motor, six mechanics held the fifty-horsepower engine at bay. I wished I’d had more time to test-fly it before attempting to go over the water, but it didn’t matter anymore.
The mechanics let go and dove out of the way.
I was off.
Within seconds, I was fifteen hundred feet in the air, but Dover Castle was banked in fog and hard to see from this height. I had promised theDaily Mirrorrepresentatives and movie men that I would fly straight over the castle, so I set my sights on it and did as promised.
Before I knew it, I was out over the water.
The wind rushed past me, giving me chills—but I smiled. Nothing made me feel more alive than flying. Behind me, the imposing White Cliffs of Dover disappeared into the fog, and I was all alone with nothing but thick, white clouds and the sound of the aeroplane for companions.
It was an eerie feeling. I was moving, but nothing around me changed. The only thing that marked my progress was the pocket watch I pulled out from time to time.
The engine sputtered castor oil and sprayed me in the face, covering my goggles. The fog was full of misting rain, adding to the trouble. I ripped off the goggles, keeping my eye on the compass, adjusting the aeroplane to stay on course. I was going sixty miles an hour, which meant I should land in Calais in twenty minutes.
Twenty short minutes felt like a lifetime.
I didn’t give myself the opportunity to think about the factthat I was flying over the tempestuous English Channel or that the North Sea was just a few miles away. At this point, it was all instinct and routine. I couldn’t see the water below me because of the dense fog, so I climbed to three thousand feet, hoping to get above the misting clouds. But the air was so cold up there, and the fog was still dense. After a few minutes, I decided to go lower to see if I could break through the fog closer to the water.
The visibility was better the lower I went—but a sudden jolt of turbulence rattled the aeroplane, and its tail snapped up at a steep angle. I grabbed the edges of the cockpit to keep myself from being thrown out of the aeroplane, and a rush of adrenaline coursed through me. It was like a large, invisible hand had reached out and flicked the aeroplane’s tail.
