“Are you ready?” Lucas Voland asked me. His French accent turned the simple words into a bouquet of sounds that never failed to make my heart flutter.
I nodded, knowing my brilliant smile was irresistible—at least for most people. Luc was the one man who hadn’t fallen for my charms—yet—and perhaps that was why I had been enamored with him for the past seven months. That and his fearlessness.
“You do not have to go through with this,” Luc cautioned meas I pulled my leather gloves over the wrists of my flying suit. “The wind is strong from the northwest. Perhaps too strong for—”
“You’ve already been up there today,” I told him as I fixed the brown silk scarf tied in a bow around my neck. “And you’ve taught me everything I know.” I laid my gloved hand against his forearm, loving any excuse to touch him. “I’ll be fine.”
He studied me with his intelligent blue-green eyes, and I knew he was contemplating the wisdom in my plans. He’d warned me that if he didn’t think I was ready, he wouldn’t let me take his Blériot aeroplane up for my first public flight. I had started taking lessons from him in secret last August in New York and had flown until it became too cold in November. I planned to test for my pilot’s license this week before leaving Florida to return to New York, but I had been invited to join the Glenn Curtiss Exhibition team today and said yes. I would be the first woman to fly in Florida.
It was colder and windier than we had hoped, but fluffy white clouds marred an otherwise pristine blue sky. Nothing could dim my excitement or enthusiasm—except Grace’s displeasure in me, but I would worry about that later.
Thousands of spectators sat in the grandstand nearby, and many more watched the skies from the surrounding fields. At the front of that crowd, Grace waited with our parents, Graydon and Maggie Cooper. Grace had talked her editor at theNew York Globeinto sending her as a correspondent to cover the event, and we had invited our parents to join us.
What they didn’t know was that I was going to fly in the air show, too.
Luc’s Blériot aeroplane stood nearby, the mechanics waiting for me to step into the French machine before they could start it. Though aeroplanes had been invented by the Wright brothers in America, the French had quickly taken the lead in technology. To learn how to fly from a French pilot—a daring and handsome one, at that—was to learn from the best.
“Are you nervous?” Luc asked, his gaze intense. “Because if you are nervous—”
“Not even a little.” My grin became wider. I had survived living in Puritan Massachusetts. Nothing in 1912 made me nervous.
He shook his head, admiration in his handsome gaze. “I’ve never met a woman with less fear than you.”
“Fear is a waste of time,” I said flippantly with a shrug. “Life is too short to worry about whatmighthappen.”
I moved toward the Blériot waiting on the end of the runway and put my canvas jacket on over the dark brown flying suit I wore. It protected the suit from any castor oil that might spray from the engine as I flew. The suit was made of silk and matched my eyes. I’d had it made in secret by my dressmaker in New York. It was a clever little ensemble that had buttons up the inside of the legs, and if I unclasped them, my suit turned into a dress.
Now, however, all the buttons were holding the material in place, creating pant legs, which allowed me to climb over the tail and into the cockpit, holding onto Luc’s hand. It wasn’t easy or graceful, but I made my way to the metal chair without falling—which was my only goal.
The pants might shock most people—but so did female aviators. A new era was dawning, though, and I was determined to lead the way.
The aeroplane was a feat of human imagination, only nine years old, that still left me awestruck. Mama had lived in 1941 and 2001, so she knew about the invention and had told me about it as a child, but it was still hard to imagine until I saw it for myself. The machine was made of lightweight wood, wire, and canvas stretching over the fuselage at the front.
Luc came up to me as I positioned the flying goggles over my eyes, nodding as he ran through last-minute instructions. He still looked uncertain, and I knew what he was thinking. Eachweek we heard about the death of another pilot. It was one of the most dangerous undertakings in human history—but I couldn’t resist the urge to be at the forefront.
I just knew I was born for this.
He finally backed up and then motioned to the mechanics.
Four mechanics held the tail of the aeroplane as a fifth turned the propeller and I flipped the ignitor switch inside the cockpit. The timing was crucial to prevent a reversal of the propellor that could break a hand or wrist.
The motor began to roar as the propeller spun, going faster and faster by the second. The men held the machine steady, waiting for a signal from me that I was ready.
When I lifted my hand, they let go of the tail, and the machine began to move across the uneven field. I pushed the throttle lever forward, causing the plane to move faster, and I began to feel the lift under the wings. The lever had a sort of wheel at the top and came up between my legs. If I turned it one way or the other, it allowed me to warp the wings to adjust the balance and create the lift that my plane—and my heart—desired.
The moment the wheels left the ground, I felt weightless, and a sense of freedom overcame me. It was a heady sensation that I had become addicted to over the past seven months. No matter how many times I experienced it, it was never enough.
Pylons stood on either end of the airfield, used for racing. I pointed my aeroplane toward one now and warped the wings, causing the plane to start turning. I banked my machine and circled the first pylon, then headed toward the second.
Luc had made me promise I wouldn’t do anything dangerous my first time up in public, so I circled the second pylon and then brought the aeroplane to the ground and cut the engine. As soon as the roar of the motor quieted, the sound of the deafening crowd filled my ears.
I took off my jacket and stood in the cockpit, raising my arms above my head. Hundreds of handkerchiefs waved at mefrom the audience, showing their appreciation. I was used to applause on stage, but nothing compared to this.
Soon, Luc was at the aeroplane, reaching for my hand. He helped me climb out, putting his hands at my waist. When he lowered me, I smiled up at him, happier than I had ever been.
He just shook his head, a rare smile tilting his lips.
I could live off that smile for weeks, but I would soon have to face Grace and my parents, which dimmed my enthusiasm. When I started walking toward the grandstand, Luc held back.
