A Leap of Faith

I took the mail out of the post box, and started sorting through it as I walked up the stairs to my flat. The flat was in an old building in North London. The best I could afford on the salary I had.

“No … no … definitely not … another bill; great … no … don't have money to donate to you … no … wait a second,” I said, and stopped just inside my flat, staring at one envelope.

It was an airmail envelope from an address somewhere in New Zealand. I knew that New Zealand had two major islands (North Island and South Island), but that was about the extent of my knowledge of its geography. Where was Christchurch?

I went to my grandfather's Rand McNally World Atlas and flipped to the South Pacific section. There was New Zealand. Ah. There was Christchurch. A port on the east coast of the South Island.

Next, I opened my laptop and sat down on the living room couch. I clicked on the Mozilla Firefox browser icon and went to Google's search engine. I typed “Christchurch, New Zealand” and hit the “enter” key. A few moments later, I saw the first page of results. I looked above them and clicked on “images”. Soon after, a page filled with a lot of small photographs appeared.

If this was supposed to be in the South Pacific, why in the world did it look like it belonged somewhere in England? It didn't look tropical at all. It looked like a stereotypical English city. Even the churches looked overtly English.

I went back to the airmail envelope. The name above the return address said: George L. Murphy.

Who? Never heard of them.

Maybe this was one of those Nigerian lottery scams? They try really hard to hide who they really are and where they're really from.

But why would they act as if they were from New Zealand? That didn't make much sense. But, then, I'm not a scammer and I don't think like one.

Fine. Might as well open it and see what they're trying to trick me out of, and then I can just toss it in the bin.

I grabbed a letter-opener and sliced it across the top of the airmail envelope. Reaching inside, I pulled out a sheet of paper. The text was typed, and then signed at the bottom.

Dear Ms. Colleen Hornby,

I apologize for not communicating with you sooner, but my life has often been so filled with activities that free time has been a rarity, and boredom an impossibility. After I relocated from England to South Africa, and from there to New Zealand, I didn't realize at first that out of all of my relatives, I had lost contact with the one I'd enjoyed being with the most: yourself.

Your parents have no doubt given you all sorts of description of the sort of person that I am. Some of which is quite accurate, while a small minority could not be further from the truth. It is true that I am something of a vagabond, but I am not a con man. I have come by my fortune using honest means at my disposal.

But now that I am in my nineties, a will would only cause legal battles after I am dead. Wealth and material possessions do tend to bring out the worst in one's friends, family members, and relatives. Therefore, I have spoken with a solicitor whom I have known and trusted for many years now and set up a trust fund in your name. The Inland Revenue Service will probably express deep frustration with this, but it is, so I have been informed, quite legal by the current inheritance laws of England and New Zealand.

The amount is considerable, but I will not reveal it here. I only assure you that when you reach the age of twenty-one, this letter will be posted to you and that the funds can be withdrawn as you see fit. Perhaps you will be generous enough to share some of them with any charity that you feel is worthy of such financial assistance. As far as taxation goes, I believe that Swiss banking laws will keep as much of it within their borders as possible. Had I chosen a bank in England instead, most of it would have already been paid to the Inland Revenue Service. I enclose the bank account number herewith; do your best not to lose it. The bank is located in Zurich. Give them the account number and they will know exactly who you are.

I have but one regret: That I could not be with you one more time. During your past visits to my home in England, you have made my declining years more enjoyable than they might otherwise have been. I am grateful that your parents permitted you to visit me all those times. Please thank them for me.

There is, however, one stipulation prior to your access to the trust fund.

I knew it. There's always a string attached.

Nothing too earth-shakingly difficult, I hope. Unlike myself, you have not proven to be the most adventurous of people. As you said to me once, “I prefer to have my feet firmly on the ground. Jumping out of planes, climbing mountains, or diving in the ocean, I leave up to those who enjoy risk-taking.” Had I been so restricted, I doubt that I would have lived as long as I have. Therefore, I wish you to try at least one of them, even if you never do so again. You will have no trouble affording whichever experience you choose. May your leap of faith be an enjoyable one.

Yours sincerely and with much respect,

Uncle George Murphy

George Murphy. I drew a blank at first.

Then suddenly I could see in my mind a tall, thin man, short red hair, sparkling green eyes, a long nose, and mischievous smile. He had been old-fashioned and preferred to dress in suit and tie, instead of flannel shirts or t-shirts and jeans. When had I last seen him? Twenty years ago? And why had he chosen me to be his benefactrix instead of his spouse, or his children, or his grandchildren, or any other relative?

Apparently I'd made the biggest impression on him and without really trying to. I had just liked being with him. Despite how he dressed, he wasn't stuffy. He was fun. And he always had plenty of stories to tell (I still wasn't sure how many of them were based in fact and how many were completely fictitious). I would always be asking him to tell me another story and he rarely failed to comply.

I leaned back, wondering what in the world to do next.

It sounded like I would be at least slightly wealthy in the near future, provided that I fulfill the stipulation. Would it be worth the effort? Hard to say. As he'd remembered, risking my life had never been anything I was terribly interested in. But, if I stepped out of my comfort zone, out of the box I usually spent most of my time in, I stood to gain quite a bit. Maybe it would be worth just one leap of faith after all.

Searching via Google, I looked at each possibility: skydiving, mountain-climbing, and scuba-diving. I didn't exactly want to slip and slide down a mountainside. Swimming underwater sounded interesting until I found that the risk of getting the bends and/or drowning didn't exactly thrill me. Which left skydiving. Ten thousand or twenty thousand feet up in the air, with a parachute, and – hopefully – an instructor joining me as I jumped out of a plane.

Suicidal. I had no desire to make a deep impact on the ground far below. No thanks, no, no, no.

And then I thought, “But what about all that money?” I only had to do it once and I would likely never be poor again.

Fine. But I'd better not regret this.

----------

The airfield was north of London. It had once been out in the countryside back before World War II, but the sprawl that was London had finally reached it in recent years and absorbed it into itself. The website had said that the skydiving school at this airfield was mainly for beginners, including those who had never made a jump in their life. The instructors had made thousands of jumps and the website assured me that they would never let a beginner make a solo jump.

You'd better be right about that or I'm going to bloody well sue you until you haven't got a pence to your name.

The classroom was in a barrack near the airfield. I could imagine RAF pilots having their pre-mission briefings here, dressed in their RAF uniforms, some with their caps tilted at rakish angles. The instructors were roughly half-men, half-women, which I hadn't expected, but was pleased to see. The woman who gave the lecture to us had short silver hair, wore a khaki jumpsuit, and was very good at explaining everything that would happen before, during, and after a jump.

“In case your main chute doesn't work, you will always have a backup chute,” she said. “Not only that, but you will always be accompanied by one of us. Any questions?”

One of the other students raised their hand and the instructor nodded at them.

“Have you ever had a bad landing during one of these lessons?” the student asked.

“There's always the risk of it,” the instructor said. “However, it has been reduced as much as possible. There are no certainties in life, whether you make a jump or not. In my opinion, crossing a busy street in London is probably more dangerous than making a jump. But you aren't required to take my word for it.”

The student said nothing.

“Any other questions?” the instructor asked.

No one else raised a hand.

“Excellent,” the instructor said. The room next door has all the kit that you will be required to wear. We cannot assure you of a perfect fit, but you should be able to find one that fits you well enough.”

“Just like in the Army,” one of the students said.

“Precisely,” the instructor said. “Dismissed. Get dressed and meet me and the other instructors at the jump plane.”

----------

We sat in two rows, one on each side of what would've been the passenger section. The plane's turboprop engines increased in volume, and then we sped down the runway, our speed increasing. What felt like moments later, there was a bump and we steadily climbed upwards.

“There's a field several miles from the airfield,” the instructor beside me said, raising his voice so that I could hear him. “We've used it many times before. There will be a van from the airfield waiting to transport us back to the airfield.”

“I wish I felt as calm as you are,” I said loudly in return.

“I'm never calm,” he admitted. “I've just learned to tuck my fear away until I'm back on solid ground.”

“Why do you do it, then?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Why would I want a boring life?”

“And if you're killed in a bad landing?” I asked.

“Then it was a life well-lived,” he said. “Don't think like that, though. There's nothing to be afraid of.”

“I hope you're right,” I said.

---------

When we reached the correct altitude, one of the instructors went over to the entry doors near the rear of the plane and slid one of them open. The sound of the wind and the plane's engines was abruptly much louder. They gestured to the rest of us and we stood up, getting in line. I was glad I wasn't first. Instead, I was about eighth or ninth instead.

One by one, student and instructor jumped out of the plane, arms and legs spread. Then something white blossomed on their backs and their chutes opened.

Now it was the turn of myself and my instructor. It was the woman with the silver hair. She gave me an encouraging smile, took my left hand in her right hand, and shouted, “One! Two! Three! Jump!”

We jumped.

I could feel the wind in my hair and hear the loud ruffling sound of the wind blowing against my kit and my instructor's kit. Below us, I could see thin, scattered clouds, and below that, a green patchwork like a quilt, divided every so often by a dark solid line. The patchwork were probably fields, and the dark solid lines were probably roads. We were still too far up to see if there was any traffic on the roads.

Soon after, my instructor tapped me on the side of my head. I looked at her. She held up her fingers; three were upright, her pinky and thumb were curled downward. Three fingers became two fingers, two fingers became one finger, and then no fingers were upright anymore. We pulled the metal ring on the front of our kits. There was a sudden tug and loud ruffling. We rose upward for a little bit as our chutes opened to their fullest extent. Then we started floated slowly downwards.

My instructor gave me a smile as if to say, “Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?”

I nodded, though I was far less sure of it than she was.

We seemed to be drifting over one of the roads. Those power-line towers looked a little too close, but we missed them by a comfortable margin. The woods up ahead, though, didn't look like they would oblige us by moving out of the way and let us reach the field we were supposed to land in. We went over the trees at just barely treetop height. I could feel the branches bumping against my boots.

Just a little further. Just a little –

The wind that had been helpfully blowing us toward our landing field apparently decided to change its mind. We bumped into each other, our chutes wrapping around each other and the lines getting tangled. Without anything to slow our descent, we fell.

My instructor put her arms around me, using her body to protect mine. I closed my eyes and prayed for a safe landing, even if it didn't seem possible anymore. We bumped into heavy things which I guessed were tree trunks. I felt branches scraping us as we fell past them. And then we landed on the ground. The impact was softer than I thought it would be. We rolled a bit and then came to a stop.

“Are you okay?” my instructor asked.

I nodded. “How about you?” I asked.

“No worse for wear and tear,” she said. “I seem to be still in good nick.”

“Same here,” I said.

She pulled her right sleeve back from her right wrist. There was something like a watch around her wrist. She tapped it and it lit up.

“Thorpe and Hornby here,” she told it. “Can anyone hear me?”

There was crackling and hissing, and then a voice said, “Please repeat.”

“This is Thorpe,” she said. “I'm with Hornby. We landed in the woods. Can you hear me?”

“Clearer now,” the voice said. “How close are you to the landing field?”

“Less than a mile, I think,” my instructor said.

“Can you walk?” the voice asked. “Or do you need medical attention?”

“I think we can walk,” she said.

“We'll be waiting for you, then,” the voice said.

My instructor carefully stood up and then reached down to help me stand up. Together we cut ourselves free from our chutes and their lines.

“Has this happened before?” I asked her.

“Once,” she said. “I ended up with a sprained ankle and my instructor had some bumps and bruises.”

“And you still continued jumping,” I said.

“Of course,” she said. “Wouldn't miss it for the world. Come on. Let's get moving.”

---------

The rest of the group, including those who had come in the transport van, were waiting for us at the landing field. They seemed to have landed all right. They asked how we were and checked to make sure we were okay.

“We would've been fine if it weren't for that change in the wind,” my instructor said.

“I wouldn't be so sure,” I said. “We came in really low over the treetops.”

“The wind should've carried us over that, but it didn't,” my instructor said. “Happens sometimes.” She handed me an envelope with my name on the front. “This is for you. It's from your uncle.”

I glanced at her, then opened the envelope and read the short message:

Congratulations, Colleen. I hope your adventure was enjoyable and nothing went wrong. I didn't think you would choose the other two possibilities, so I sent this message to the skydiving school and asked them to give it to you after your jump. You've fulfilled my stipulation. Enjoy your new wealth and have a happy life. -Uncle George

“What I have to do to inherit,” I said with a sigh. “At least I don't have to do this again unless I want to.”

“He would've been proud of you,” my instructor said. “You didn't act scared once. You kept your cool. That's important in skydiving. Too many get scared and start making all sorts of mistakes. Anytime you want to make another jump, just come to the airfield and ask for me.”

“Don't bet on it,” I said.

She smiled. “You did just fine, Ms. Hornby. I wish all my first-time students were like you. Good luck in all you do in the future.”

“You, too,” I said.