Soaring Home by Christine Johnson

me alive and well. He sent most of his earnings to her care. Without him, what would happen to Sissy? She was his responsibility. They’d played together that fateful day, but only Sissy got polio. He’d vowed to always take care of his sister. That meant giving up risky dreams. That meant staying in Buffalo.
    He rose to say goodbye.
    “Do you have to leave so soon?”
    The words knifed through him. Bad enough that he visited so infrequently, but he seldom spent more than an hour with her each time. Coward.
    “I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise.”
    “You’re busy. Don’t worry about me.” She didn’t beg or try to hold him back in any way, though she, more than anyone, had absolute claim to his time.
    “I’ll always take care of you,” he choked out. He would visit tomorrow, and for more than an hour.
    “I know, Jackie. You always have. You and Dad.”
    Jack’s gut wrenched. He didn’t know how she could be so loyal to the drunk.
    “Love you, sis.” The words, though automatic, hurt.
    “Do the transatlantic flight,” she said. “Do what it takes to follow your dreams. I’ll be right there with you. I will. Not in body of course, but in spirit.”
    The pain wound its fingers around his lungs, squeezing until he couldn’t breathe. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
    “Oh, don’t be morbid—and give me a hug.”
    He gave her a quick and admittedly insufficient embrace.
    “Follow your heart,” she said. “Wherever it leads you.”
    But of course he couldn’t. Not to Darcy and not across the ocean.
     
    Darcy studied Jack’s drawings until she saw them in her sleep. She would pass any test he threw at her. She’d show him she belonged in the air.
    The next morning she stood in the frosty hangar, wrapped in a thick sheepskin coat, wool scarf and gloves. Apparently, Pohlman didn’t believe in heating the vast space. She puffed little clouds of breath while Jack drilled her.
    “In straight and level flight, where do you move the ailerons?”
    “You don’t,” she answered. “You’re trying to trick me.”
    He grinned just a little, marked something on his pad, and moved on to the next question and the next. When he finished, she waited for him to tally the results.
    “Congratulations, you passed.”
    She shrieked and danced and nearly hugged him, but the expression on his face told her that that sort of contact would not be acceptable. But a little old hug couldn’t be that bad, could it?
    “Passed, but not perfect. You missed two questions on rudder and elevator function.”
    “Ugh.” She couldn’t believe she missed them. “Show me what I got wrong.”
    He rubbed his chin. “Maybe a demonstration would work better.”
    “We’re going to fly?”
    “ I am going to fly,” he said, “and you are going to listen. Understand? And we’re not going very high. Everything you need to learn can be demonstrated ten feet from the ground.”
    “Oh.” She bit back her disappointment. Though she wanted to learn everything right away, she had to trust Jack’s method. He’d trained dozens and dozens of pilots. He must know what he was doing.
     
    She tried to concentrate while he explained the controls, but he sat so close. His legs nearly touched hers, and the petticoats and bloomers weren’t quite thick enough today. The smell of leather. The warmth he generated. She could barely keep her mind on his instruction.
    In the air, she fought the urge to hold onto him. She could see the ground between her feet. Only a few strips of wood stood between her and the ground. The engine kept splattering oil on her goggles.
    “Are you paying attention?” he chided.
    She snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.”
    “Then tell me what this lever does.”
    “Um, when I pull back, the plane lifts into the air?”
    He then demonstrated, bringing the plane up a short distance then taking it down for a landing.
    After the machine rolled to a stop, she tried to demonstrate that she’d heard some of his instruction.