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Well, no more!
She scrubbed at the moisture on her cheeks, yanked off the ridiculous gloves that convention adhered to and stuffed them into a clever pocket she’d fashioned and had sewn into the front of her skirting. Finally, she could take deep lungfuls of clean air that wasn’t laden with various scents from pomades, perfumes, and powders. Seeing that wretched reporter had only solidified her resolve to never let go her dreams.
With one last indulgence into tears, she wiped the remaining moisture away and then headed over the rapidly darkening grounds toward the gardener’s shed where she stored her equipment. Because her father hated to see the balloon on his morning rides, she’d talked the gardening staff into letting her use the shed. They had a newer, bigger outbuilding anyway so didn’t mind giving this one up. What was more, they’d told the estate foreman that they still used the old building. That way, he wouldn’t have it torn down.
“Why does the staff believe in me, but my own parents don’t?” She swung open the door, and the sight of her rose-colored pile of silk that was her balloon never failed to make her smile. The coin she’d paid her modiste to acquire copious yards of that silk was worth every farthing spent, for it fairly glowed during sunrise and sunset flights.
Humming snatches of a popular waltz she particularly enjoyed, Anne ran her fingertips along the gondola which is where she stood while piloting the craft. It was a sturdy basket with tightly woven strips of wood that had been treated with resin to make it durable . She counted the number of burlap bags filled with sand which would help her increase her height once in the balloon. And finally, she took a peek into the basket to make certain her flying ensemble lay within. Skirting simply wasn’t practical when climbing in and out of a balloon basket, so she’d fashioned a unique outfit for herself, much to her modiste’s shock and delight.
Ivory-colored breeches, a fine lawn shirt that featured loose-fitting long sleeves, a leather vest with a matching jacket that came to her knees would cover her frame. Brown leather boots, goggles to keep the wind from her eyes, and a leather cap that would help cushion her head should she crash land completed the ensemble. Scandalous? Of course. Practical? Always.
When there’s enough coin flashed, anything is possible. As of yet, her father hadn’t complained about the withdrawals she made from his account, but she feared that unless she made a success of herself and her hobby, he’d soon cut off her access.
All of that plus canisters of hydrogen gas and the pipes needed to transfer the gas from said canisters and into the balloon’s envelope, sat in the back of a flatbed wagon that Matthew—one of the footmen of the house—would drive the vehicle out tomorrow to a prearranged location at the far end of her father’s property where she’d make a test flight. She’d planned to go up just after dawn, for the sun wouldn’t be high enough then to interfere with the gas levels. There was nothing worse than the sun heating the gas in the balloon, which would shoot her too high too fast and was difficult to control.
Oh, there was nothing like the freedom of flying through the air as if she were a bird! She adored the feeling of her stomach bottoming out, the sensation of weightlessness until she became accustomed to being up in the air, of seeing everything familiar as small specks on the ground as she soared above.
Anne knew deep down in her soul with an unwavering certainty that this was what she’d been born to do. Why couldn’t her parents understand her drive to break records and make her mark in history? It was so important that she do this, not only for humankind but also for the advancement of women in general. Imagine what the female population could do if given half the chance. And if balloon travel were sustainable for longer periods of time, it could help the general population. Perhaps doctors could reach patients quicker, or soldiers could use balloons to survey troop movements in times of war.
Though, that might be a tad dangerous, for it would take nothing to have an enemy shoot the balloon’s silk and cause the contraption to come crashing down, probably killing the pilot.
No, I don’t want my knowledge being used for evil purposes.
As she left the gardener’s shed and pulled the door closed behind her, she sighed. Aaron used to be so excited the night before a flight. When her brother had been alive, her father had thought nothing of supporting him in his scientific endeavors. Anne had been his assistant, but she’d had every bit of intelligence that he did. Together, they’d done small flights, had shocked the crowds of Surrey by covering ground quickly and effortlessly.
A wave of sadness swamped her and pressed hard into her chest. “Oh, Aaron, I’m so sorry.” His death could squarely be laid at her feet, for she’d pushed to go higher, fly longer on that fateful trip, the one they’d finally convinced their parents to come witness. He’d had plans to go to London and join and balloonist’s team there to try for a flight over the English Channel and beyond to land in Paris.
But disaster had struck, and now her father rarely lingered in her company. He’d not forgiven her for the loss of his heir. She understood that, but why couldn’t he acknowledge that she was still grieving too, that the guilt she carried was near crushing on any given day? Why could they not grieve together?
With a stifled sob, Anne scrubbed again at the tears on her cheeks as she walked toward the manor house. “I’ll show every one of my critics they’re wrong. I will succeed and, in the process, I’m going to change history. For all of us.” She had to, for she’d worked too hard to give up now.
Perhaps then her parents would see she was still worthy of their love even if she was female and not the heir.
