I looked for him this way and that, but my frantic movements threw the aeroplane out of balance. The tail flicked up again as if a giant, invisible hand had swatted it. I grabbed for the edge of the cockpit, but my gloved hands slipped off the fragile wood and my body was thrown out of my seat.
For a split-second, I was in complete denial as I began to fall through the sky. I could see Mr. Willard flailing through the air below me. Dread and overwhelming terror filled me with a rush, tearing at me with the same force as the wind.
I began to scream.
I plummeted toward the earth—and there was nothing I could do to stop.
Two
15
HOPE
JULY 2, 1692
SALEM VILLAGE
I opened my eyes and inhaled a deep breath, as if I’d been holding it for hours.
“Hope!” Grace cried as she rose from the bed we shared in the little attic room at the ordinary. She crushed me in her arms, weeping. “Hope!”
I stared at the slanted ceiling beyond her shoulder, my heart pounding hard. Why was she crying?
“Hope,” she said again as she pulled back and looked down at me.
The sun had not yet risen on Salem Village, though there was a faint glow in the eastern sky. I stared at Grace, trying desperately to get my bearings.
I sat up, forcing her to move back. Putting my hand on my head, I frowned. “What happened?”
She wiped at the tears on her face and sat back on her heels.“You were thrown from your aeroplane at the Boston meet.” Her face crumpled into tears again, and she threw herself at me, hugging me tighter than she’d ever hugged me before.
Slowly, the memories started to return.
The Boston air meet. Luc. Grace. Mr. Willard.
Mr. Willard!
I forced Grace away from me. “What happened to Mr. Willard?”
She shook her head, weeping. “Oh, Hope, it’s just awful. Don’t you remember? You were both thrown from your Blériot about a thousand feet in the air. Your bodies landed in the tidal flats. You were both pronounced dead at the scene.”
I stared at her, a frown tilting my brow. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you died, Hope—you died in 1912. I saw your body.” A sob shook her, and she struggled to breathe. “It was so awful. They took you away in an ambulance, you and Mr. Willard. It was the most dreadful thing I’ve ever witnessed. The entire audience saw what happened, Hope. Five thousand people. Everyone was devastated.”
I listened to what she said, but I couldn’t make sense of it. I haddied? But I wasn’t supposed to die in 1912.
My eyes opened wide, and it felt like my heart stopped beating.
“Grace.” I swallowed the dread and grabbed her arms to steady her. “If I died in 1912, that means—” I couldn’t finish the statement.
She nodded, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. “Your only path is 1692.”
I shook my head, denial rising within me. “No. Tomorrow, I’ll wake up with you in 1912. I must. I can’t stay here.” Panic overtook me, clawing up my legs to devour me, while grief twisted in my gut like a violent storm. I had to move—to get out of the bed and pace. My entire body shook as I hugged my arms around myself.
Grace stayed on the bed. “You won’t wake up there tomorrow,Hope. There was no pulse, and I saw your body.” She looked down as more tears fell. “I wish I hadn’t.”
Rubbing my hands over my upper arms, I tried to calm down. I couldn’t solve anything if I was upset and panicked. There had to be something I could do—there was always something.
