Jane and Miss Comstock hastened toward the cabin. As they reached it the co-pilot threw open the door.
“For heaven’s sake, hurry,” he begged. “I’m afraid this woman is going to faint.”
Jane got a glimpse of the white, drawn face of Mrs. Van Verity Vanness and she knew that she was going to be in for some busy minutes. The landing stage was wheeled up to the plane and Jane hurried into the cabin. The one passenger aboard the special was clinging to the co-pilot and Jane gently disengaged her arms and placed them about her own shoulders.
Mrs. Van Verity Vanness was sobbing softly. “I’ll never be able to go on. I’m too ill.”
Jane didn’t argue with her, but with the aid of Miss Comstock, helped the passenger out of the plane and into the cool, sweet night air. It was then that she got her first good look at the woman she was to care for on the trip to Chicago.
Mrs. Van Verity Vanness was between sixty-five and seventy. The cheeks were still full and bore few wrinkles, but the hands gave away the fact that Mrs. Van Verity Vanness was well past middle age.
“I can’t walk. Don’t make me,” she begged.
“We’ll only take a few steps,” said Jane, her own strong arms supporting the older woman. “Breath deeply and enjoy the air. Don’t think about flying.”
“But I’ve got to get to New York.” There was a sob in the older woman’s voice, and she shuddered as she looked at the hulking tri-motor. Even a thought of returning to the plane struck terror into her heart.
Jane turned to Miss Comstock and whispered a suggestion.