Hope Takes Flight by Gilbert Morris

Lylah spoke cautiously of her past life, leaving out parts and editing others. When she was finished, Manfred shook his head. “It is strange for a woman to be on the stage. I am worried about my cousin Helen.”
    Lylah said quickly, “She’s a wonderful girl, Baron. You must not worry about her. Helen is well able to take care of herself.” Then she smiled and changed the subject. “Now, tell me about yourself. You’re in the army?”
    â€œYes, of course,” von Richthofen said. He began to tell her of his life, relating how he had gone through school preparing to be a soldier, and how he had joined the Cavalry. “But,” he said, “this war will not be won by horses. It will take more than that. So I put in for a transfer into the aviation branch of our service.”
    â€œIt must be wonderful to fly,” Lylah said wistfully. “I saw my brother go up in an airplane just before I left America. I think I’d be frightened.”
    â€œNo, I think you would not be frightened of anything,” Manfred said seriously. “You are not the kind of woman given to fear.”
    Lylah was curious. “How do you know that?” she asked. “You haven’t spent much time observing women, or so I hear.”
    Manfred smiled. “You heard that from my cousin. Or perhaps from my mother. And it is true enough. I’ve been too busy preparing myself for my destiny.”
    The words sounded pompous to Lylah, but she ignored them saying, “Tell me about it, Baron von Richthofen.”
    â€œPlease,” he said, “call me Manfred. And I may call you Lylah?”
    â€œOf course. Now, tell me about yourself.”
    As they walked along, Lylah quickly discovered that to Manfred von Richthofen, the game of the hunt was the thing, with the kill the prize of skill and knowledge. Winning and losing. He had spent his life hunting the animals that filled the forest around his home. He had traveled with an uncle to Africa to hunt big game and, for him, the hunt had become a way of life. Finally, as they walked back toward the house, he said simply, “It is my life, Lylah. I am a hunter. There is in me, as there is in many of my people, a pure love of the hunt. Sometimes I think it’s the only emotion I have—the love of conquering some other living thing.”
    Lylah was silent. She had watched his face—a handsome face, yet somehow cold—and had wondered what he was really like on the inside. Now she felt that she knew something about him. “Isn’t that dangerous?” she asked quietly. “I mean, there’s so much more to life than hunting and killing.”
    He listened to her question and seemed to consider it. With eyes constantly scanning the horizon, unconsciously seeking for gain, some movement that would betray an animal or a bird that would fall beneath his gun, he finally replied, “Perhaps you’re right. There is more than hunting. There’s my mother,” he said warmly, turning to face Lylah. She saw that for the first time there was a genuine light in his eyes. “I love my mother very dearly.”
    Lylah thought that a little odd and yet, remembering the stern face of Albrecht von Richthofen, Manfred’s father, she could see how difficult it would be to love such a man. He was no doubt generous and upright, but he was not a man one could easily love. On the other hand, Manfred’s mother was a handsome woman with an unexpected tenderness a boy might admire, failing to find it in his father.
    â€œYour mother is lovely,” she said. “And I’m glad you do have a love for her. I hope you always will.”
    They continued walking until Manfred said suddenly, “You are a very beautiful woman, Lylah.”
    His observation startled her, and she stopped on the path, turning to face him. She could not resist flirting a little. “Will you make me the object of one of your