APRIL 10, 1912
CALAIS, FRANCE
I was still grinning the next day when we woke up in our hotel room in Calais.
Grace was in the single bed next to me, sound asleep. After my accomplishment over the English Channel, it had been difficult to keep my excitement contained while we were in Salem the day before. Spring had begun to bloom, but darkness still hovered over the New England village like the dead of winter.
But I wouldn’t let that dim my joy—not today. Not in France.
“Grace,” I said as I reached across the small space and tapped her shoulder. “Wake up.”
She moaned and turned to her other side. “Let me sleep.”
We’d been awake until the wee hours of the morning. Hundreds of people had heard about my flight and had come to the hotel to celebrate as only the French could. There had been laughter, cheers, dancing, and champagne. Grace’s physical body still needed to recover.
But I couldn’t stay in bed another second.
I dressed as quickly as I could and slipped out of the room. The hotel lobby was quiet as I went to the front desk to look for today’s newspaper—and there I saw it.
L’Aviatrix américaine est la première femme à survoler la Manche.
The article was in French, but I knew what it said.American aviatrix is the first woman to fly over the Channel.My name was below the headline with the picture Grace had taken.
“There you are,” Grace said a moment later as she found me in the lobby, her eyes still sleepy. “I called to you as you were leaving the room, but you didn’t hear me.”
“Look,” I said, showing her the newspaper. “Your picture.”
She smiled. “I wired another article to theNew York Globelast night, and I received messages from half a dozen newspapersacross America wanting me to send them articles about the flight. They’re all clamoring to know more. I’ll be busy writing on the ship as you wine and dine with the wealthy passengers. I’ve heard the Astors will be on board. John Jacob Astor is the wealthiest man in the world, and his young wife, Madeleine, is fond of aviation.”
I hugged Grace, happy that I didn’t have to hide my excitement here.
We returned to our room and quickly packed our bags. The train would leave at eight for Paris, where we would retrieve our luggage and then board another train for Cherbourg. We would need to be there by six in the evening to purchase tickets for theTitanic, which departed at exactly eight o’clock.
Luc met us in the lobby with his bag twenty minutes later. He looked just as sleepy as Grace had.
“Bonjour,” he said, his languid voice stirring butterflies in my stomach. Ever since kissing him, I’d been a wreck around him—especially because he hadn’t mentioned it once. How would I sit on a train for hours on end and not let him know how I felt?
We were soon at the station, and Luc paid for a private compartment.
“We don’t need to travel first class,” Grace said to him. “The parlor car will do fine.”
“You need to write, no?” His blue-green eyes studied my sister’s face.
“Yes—but I can write in the parlor car.”
Luc shook his head as he accepted the tickets for our first-class compartment. “It will be quieter,” he said as he motioned for us to follow him. “If anyone discovers who we are, they will not leave us alone.”
The porter showed us to our compartment, with its plush, red velvet seats and generous windows to watch the passing countryside.
I took a seat next to the window, Grace sat beside me, and Luc sat across from us.
Nothing had seemed to change between them, and when I had asked if they’d had a chance to talk while in Calais, Grace had simply said no.
She quickly pulled out her travel desk and began to write as the train left the station. Luc settled back on his bench and crossed his arms, looking out the window, his thoughts far away. Soon he closed his eyes.
The only sound in our compartment was the grinding of the wheels against the rails beneath the train. So much had happened, but we’d already said a lot yesterday, so I lay my head against the window and fell into a light sleep.
When I opened my eyes again, the French countryside was passing by. Luc was awake, unguarded, sitting quietly—his gaze intent upon Grace.
