Love by Design. Christine JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
mentor. “Go home for lunch, check on the dress shop or visit one of your sisters. Surely there is something you can do.”
Jen glanced out the window of Darcy’s dining room. Brilliant winter sun sparkled off last night’s snowfall. Despite a cutting breeze that whirled the powder into tiny white cyclones, it would make a fine day for ice-skating or snowshoeing. With her entire future in the balance, Jen had no taste for sport, and she couldn’t stomach lunch or casual visits. That left the dress shop. She glanced at her trousers and flannel shirt. Dressed like this, she would not project the proper image at the family business. Her older sister would shoo her away.
“No, thank you.” Jen set the pencil in the middle of the table and knit her fingers together so she wouldn’t tap them on the tabletop. Deep breath in. Blow it out. Still the nerves wouldn’t settle. “I’ll wait.”
Darcy didn’t look pleased, but she returned to scoring Jen’s examination.
Jen puffed out her breath, lifting the bangs of her cropped hair. “I’m going to pass the test this time. I spent hours and hours studying. I could do the calculations in my sleep.”
“Good,” Darcy murmured. “Then there’s no reason to be anxious.”
Still, Jen’s stomach tumbled over and over. She had arrived at eight o’clock sharp this morning and spent the next three and a half hours working through the problems. The mathematics in the navigation section gave her fits. She could figure out anything mechanical as long as the machine was in front of her, but angles and vectors and calculations drove her crazy.
Darcy cleared her throat and pointed at Jen’s feet. “Quiet would be helpful.”
“Oh.” She must have been tapping her toe, which was one of her bad habits. She tucked the offensive foot under her chair. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Good.” Darcy resumed scoring at the top of the sheet.
“I think you already did that question,” Jen pointed out. At Darcy’s glare, she added, “It looked like you were farther down the page.”
Darcy sighed. “Why don’t you head home? I’ll bring the score over when I’m finished.”
“I don’t think I can wait that long.” Jen clenched her hands until her knuckles turned white.
“Then I’ll telephone the dress shop. Please. You’re making me edgy.”
Jen bit her lip. “I’m sorry. It’s just that everything depends on passing this test.”
Everything was really just one person—Daddy. Jen squeezed her eyes shut. His passing last October had sent her into what aviators called a stall, when the airplane stopped dead in the air. Despite a weak heart, he had survived so many scares that she’d assumed he would continue to rebound. Not that time. When she’d walked into his room and seen him, she’d known he was gone.
Flying had been their dream. They’d talked about it for ages, since they first saw Darcy take to the air over Pearlman. In that moment Jen had seen the future she wanted. Unlike her sisters, she had no taste for dresses or sewing. Daddy recognized that and encouraged her to fly. But then his health had deteriorated, and her savings went toward his care. She’d told herself that she’d take lessons when he got better, but he never did.
Now she owed it to his memory to succeed. With Darcy and her husband, Jack, planning a record flight over the North Pole, she had to get her license now or miss out on the chance to put her father’s name into history as her inspiration. Twice already, she’d failed the navigation section. Time was running out.
She rolled the pencil back and forth against the tabletop. Its faceted surface massaged her stiff fingers.
Rrrrrrep, rrrrrep, rrrrrep. The rasping sound released tension.
Mother had given her the money for this final attempt, but there would be no more. She wanted Jen to pursue a “reasonable” career like nursing, which could be learned without charge at a hospital school.
Rrrrrep, rrrrrep, rrrrep.
Nursing? Jen couldn’t picture herself in the stiff white cap and uniform.
She bore down on the pencil. Rrrrrrep.
Darcy held out her hand. “Give me the pencil.”
“I’m sorry.” Jen handed it to her. “I guess I am nervous.”
Darcy sighed. “Look, Jen, this is going to take a while. I have to check all your calculations. It could easily take me as long to score the test as it took you to complete it. I need complete silence in order to concentrate. Go home. Go to the dress shop. Go anywhere, but let me finish in peace.”
“But you don’t understand. If I don’t pass this time...” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought aloud.
“It’s all right.” Darcy clasped Jen’s hand. “If you fall short, you can always take the test again.”
Except that she couldn’t. Time and money had run out.
Darcy must have noticed Jen’s stricken expression, for she gave her what was meant to be a reassuring smile. “Trust me. You will be fine, but right now your presence is making it difficult to complete the scoring.”
“All right. I’ll go.” Jen scooted back the chair and decided to ask the only thing that mattered. “If I do pass, will I have a chance at the expedition? Providing I complete the flight training and get my license, of course.”
Darcy returned a tight smile. “As you know, that’s Jack’s decision.” Her husband headed the expedition.
“But he’ll consider me, won’t he? He does know I’m studying for my license.”
“Yes, he does.” A wistful look crossed Darcy’s face. “He still needs a navigator to replace me.”
Darcy had taken herself out of the cockpit once she learned she was with child. That open spot was Jen’s best hope, but navigation was her most troublesome area. Would Jack accept someone who had failed that section of the test twice?
Darcy leaned toward her. “You might want to remind Jack of that need while I finish scoring your exam. You can find him at the flight school.”
Darcy must be very sure Jen was going pass in order to make that suggestion. Before she could find another error, Jen hurried out into the bitter cold afternoon.
* * *
The flight school office was as frigid as an icehouse and just as quiet. Dan Wagner set his Stetson on the battered oak table and took a seat. Across from him sat Jack Hunter, owner of the school, and Hendrick Simmons, owner of the aeromotor factory that he’d read about in one of his aviation magazines. If the article was right, they had an engine that would win him the airmail contract and let him leave stunt flying forever.
After introductions, Dan drove straight to why he’d come across the country in this coldest of months. “I’m looking for an engine that’ll run reliably at temperatures well below freezing.”
He had already told Simmons that when he visited the factory this morning. Instead of answering, Simmons had brought him to the flight school to talk to Jack Hunter. That name was vaguely familiar, but Dan couldn’t quite place the man. Why Simmons insisted on this meeting was beyond his comprehension. Either he had an engine that met the specifications or he didn’t. End of story. Bringing in a third party only muddied the waters in Dan’s opinion, but Simmons wouldn’t back down.
Hunter, a suave sandy-haired man with the look of a first-class aviator, glanced at Simmons before taking the lead. “We’ve been working on that problem for over a year. Longer, in fact. My wife and I first started puzzling it out after our failed transatlantic attempt. We brought in Hendrick once he had the factory up and running.”
Simmons, a man of few words if today was any indication, nodded.