March–June, 1928
Jerusalem
I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the LORD.
Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem.
Jerusalem is builded as a city that is compact together:
Whither the tribes go up, the tribes of the LORD, unto the testimony of Israel, to give thanks unto the name of the LORD.
For there are set thrones of judgment, the thrones of the house of David.
Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: they shall prosper that love thee.
Peace be within thy walls, and prosperity within thy palaces.
For my brethren and companions’ sakes, I will now say, Peace be within thee.
Because of the house of the LORD our God I will seek thy good.
“Thank you.” Robbie leaned back, loosened his uniform collar, and closed his eyes. “I need to hear that every day of my life.”
“Shall I read it a second time?” asked Shannon.
“Can’t hurt.”
She read Psalm 122 again from the Bible on her lap.
Robbie and Shannon were sitting together on a terrace that overlooked the Old City of Jerusalem. For miles the green tops of palm trees stirred in the warm breeze. Walls and buildings made of large square stones the color of honey sprawled between the palms. Directly in front of them was the Dome of the Rock, its gold roof flaming in the afternoon sun. Below them men and women in various types of robes crowded the streets. As Shannon read, voice after voice called out in Hebrew or Arabic as donkeys brayed while the harnesses on their necks and shoulders jingled from the attached small silver bells.
“Your voice is sweeter than those shouts,” Robbie said, opening his eyes and looking at Shannon.
“Only because I’m not selling anything. If I were, then the Dublin fishmonger in me would come out soon enough.”
“Do you think so?” Robbie ran a finger over both sides of his dark moustache. “You look splendid. How are you feeling?”
“As splendid as I look, kind sir.” She placed a hand over the roundness of her stomach. “I think it’s time you wrote your mother and father.”
“Well—”
“Come! I am almost four months along. Doctor Schultz says I am as healthy as a horse—a Connemara horse at that.”
“Still I worry.”
She closed the Bible and smiled at him. “My silly British soldier. What happened to me happened so many years ago. Yes, back then they were worried about a miscarriage. Not anymore.”
“You were badly hurt.”
She reached across the space between them and ran a hand down the side of his face. “I was. Now I’m healed. And the man who beat me so badly is dead and gone. Write your mother and father. Heaven knows they could use some good news.”
“Very well.”
She pinched his cheek gently. “That’s not the only thing that’s worrying you, is it? What happened today?”
“What happens every day. This time it was a group from the Grand Mufti. They are concerned that the Jews are planning to take over the Temple Mount. You know, where the Dome of the Rock is. They fear they’ll rebuild a temple like Solomon’s.”
“What do you think?”
“Really, I can’t see it. But every now and then one of the Jewish leaders spouts off about a Jewish nation that extends from Dan to Beersheba and about erecting a new temple on Mount Moriah—the site of the Dome of the Rock. And then the Muslims get agitated, and their mullahs whip them into a frenzy. There’s bound to be trouble.”
“So did you talk to any of the Jewish leaders about this?”
Robbie stared at the Dome of the Rock. “Of course. But what can they do? They can’t control every Jew in Palestine anymore than the Grand Mufti can control every Muslim. I’m constantly getting reports of imams ranting about wiping out all the Jews in Jerusalem, and not only Jerusalem, but the entire length and breadth of Palestine. So the Jews smuggle in more guns to defend themselves. And the Muslims smuggle in more guns to defend themselves. I only have a hundred British soldiers, Shan. I can’t stop a war. If they want another Belfast, I expect they are going to get it.”
“Surely things aren’t as bad as all that, love. We have many Muslim and Jewish friends, and we all get along well together at our dinner parties.”
Robbie drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Yes, because we’re all moderates, aren’t we? But moderates never run revolutions or uprisings. And when the day of trouble comes, they are swept away by the fanatics and hotheads who will murder anyone or blow up anything for their great cause. Moderates never kill like fanatics do. That’s why they never last, and the position they take for peace and goodwill vanishes with them.”
Shannon took his hand. “So what’s your next step?”
He sighed. “Just housekeeping chores. I’ve asked the Jewish leadership to remember the ruling in ’25 that forbids the use of chairs and benches and prayer screens at the Western Wall of the Second Temple where the Jews gather to pray.
“The Muslims are anxious that nothing be left there on a permanent basis. They’re afraid it will become the start of a synagogue, and a synagogue will be followed by a full-blown temple going up.”
Shannon laughed. “That sounds rather ridiculous.”
“Yes, well, what sounds ridiculous in another country or up here on our terrace makes complete sense on the streets of Jerusalem. And it usually ends up with someone getting beaten or shot.”
Tubingen, Germany
Catherine stood by the window with the letter in her hand. “The big news is that Shannon is five months along now.”
“What!” Libby turned away from her bedroom mirror. “Five months? That’s wonderful! But why are we only hearing about it now?”
“I don’t know. She’s due in September.”
Libby waited another moment before going back to applying her lipstick. “Boy or girl? Do they say?”
“They don’t say.”
“What’s your guess?”
“Heaven knows we have enough boys to populate a private school in Oxfordshire. I say we need a girl to be a proper cousin to Jane.”
“That’s sweet, but Jane will be in university by the time this little one is six.”
“No matter. They can catch up to each other when they’re in their twenties and thirties.”
“Maybe.” Libby gazed into the mirror and puckered her lips. “We need to send Shannon a card.”
“We do.” Catherine picked up another letter. “Ben is coming along better than hoped, Vic says. He’s gotten the hang of those artificial legs and can move about on his own pretty well, though he still uses a cane.”
Libby stepped back from the vanity and slipped her arms through the sleeves of a long, blue woolen coat. “That’s marvelous. It really is.”
“Jeremy and Emma swing by every Friday night. The children have a grand muck up together, Vic and Em and Caroline have a terrific chat, and Jeremy closets himself with Ben. No one knows what those two go on about since they’ve never been that close.”
Libby wrapped a dark-blue scarf about her neck. “Mmm.”
“Oh dear. Papa’s lost the dogs.”
“No.”
“Gladstone in January and Wellington at the beginning of March. What a shame. Vic says he’s absolutely devastated.”
Libby came to the window and peered over her sister’s shoulder at the letter. “I feel so bad for him. He loved them so much. Well, we all did. Does the baron know?”
“I doubt it. Unless someone wrote him or cabled him separately.”
“He gave Papa those German shepherds.”
Catherine nodded. “I remember.” She kept reading, her lips moving.
Libby craned her neck. “What’s the rest of it about?”
“Little things.” Catherine paused. “She mentions a letter from Kipp. He’s well. Sent Matt and Charles a couple of Foreign Legion caps in the mail. Y’know—with those flappy things at the back. Caroline’s stuffed the sweatbands with newspaper, and the boys are marching up and down the estate with wooden rifles Harrison carved for them.”
“No. Before that.”
“Nothing, I told you.”
Libby’s eyes snapped to indigo blue. “I can read, thank you. I didn’t know Dad and Mom were having a big row over me.”
“I tried to spare you the news. Why carry that around in your head?”
Libby took the letter from her sister. “It actually does help to know he’s taken my side. No, I’m not happy about them having a long drawn-out fight. But yes, it is nice to know one of them thinks enough of Jane to fight for her.” She kept reading. “Ben is determined to fly again. You skipped that part too.”
“Look, you told me all this reminded you of how you helped Michael get back on his feet and back in the air after his crash during the war. I didn’t see the point of making the comparison even sharper.”
“I’m a big girl, Cathy, I can handle it. I cried myself dry in America.”
“Mum! What’s taking you so long?” Jane stepped through the doorway, her arm linked through another girl’s. “The sun is going to go behind a bunch of clouds. You said we could shop in the old part of Tubingen before we go to Switzerland this weekend.” She half sang, “It’s a beautiful day in May…”
Libby handed the letter back to her sister. “If Uncle Albrecht has finished all his marking and all his student interviews, we can go.”
“The students are gone, Mum. The streets are empty. There’s never been a better time to go to the shops.”
“Yes, I’m ready then.” Libby put a hat on her head and looked in the mirror. She smiled at the reflection of Jane and her friend. “Good afternoon, Eva. You look exceptional.”
Eva was the same height as Jane. She had dark skin similar to Jane’s. Eva’s flaxen hair was separated into two braids that framed her face, and her blue eyes shone like suns out of dusky cheeks. She grinned. “Thank you, Mrs. Woodhaven.” She glanced down at her black coat and black leather boots. “Papa said he would spoil me because I did so well at school this spring.” She pouted, her lower lip pushing out from her mouth. “But I cannot come up to Pura with him for another four weeks.”
“We shall have your rooms perfectly ready for you and the baron and be counting the days,” Catherine announced.
Jane bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. “Montgomery is waiting at the front door, Mama.”
“Good. So we’re all ready to walk by the riverfront and those colorful old houses?”
“More than ready.”
“Downstairs to Montgomery then.” Jane and Eva were gone in a flash, giggling as they raced down the steps to the front door.
“Girls!” Libby called after them, “A herd of wild elephants couldn’t make more noise than the pair of you!” She glanced at Catherine. “We’ll be back in a few hours but not in time for tea.”
Catherine nodded. “Don’t rush. You’ve never enjoyed the city without the mob of university students. You’ll have Eva here in time to attend mass with the baron? At St. Joannes Evangelist?”
“Of course. I promised Jane and I would join them.”
“That’s splendid.” Catherine held up an envelope. “There is a letter for you when you find the time.”
Libby stopped in the doorway. “For me? Not for both of us?”
“Certainly not for both of us.”
“Who’s it from?”
“A secret admirer, I believe.”
Libby came back into her room. “What rot. I’ll be ready for a man in my life when the clock strikes midnight for 1941.” She took the envelope from her sister’s hand and read the return address. “I don’t know anyone in the Royal Navy. Oh!” Her cheeks flamed immediately. “It’s not what you think it is.”
“Isn’t it? And what do I think it is?”
“Terry. Terry Fordyce. He quite adores Jane. And the feeling is mutual. Even Michael remarked on how the two of them hit it off from the first.”
“So why isn’t the letter addressed to Jane?” Catherine asked.
“Why, he—he naturally…she being so young…he obviously thought it best to correspond with her through her mother so there would be no hint of any sort of impropriety.”
“Impropriety? She’s a child.” Catherine folded her arms over her chest. “Why don’t you open it and read the first page aloud?”
Libby’s face reddened. “Why would you ask such a thing?”
“I don’t really care to hear the first page, Lib. I just want you to be honest with me. You know very well to whom Terry is writing. My guess is this isn’t the first letter you’ve received from Terry Fordyce, is it?”
“No.”
“But you didn’t think to mention it to me?”
Libby’s temper flared and her blue eyes suddenly sparked with color and heat. “Well, why would I? The two of you used to be…well, an item, as the columnists would say. I didn’t want you to get the impression I was going around with him behind your back.”
“Is that what you’re doing?”
“We’re friends, that’s all. Just friends. How on earth could I go behind your back with him anyway? You’re married to Albrecht, and you haven’t seen Terry in a year and a half. You’re not interested in him anymore, right? He’s out of your life. I don’t need your permission to post him letters or receive them from him.”
“I am married—happily married. But Terry was and is very dear to me. It could have been him in my life. You know that.”
“I do. That’s why I haven’t talked about the letters.”
“I wouldn’t want him coming for a visit, Lib.”
“He’s not going to come for a visit. He just got back from the Med on the eighth of May.”
“How do you know?”
Libby licked her lips and kept her eyes on Catherine’s. “He sent a telegram the other day.”
“I see.”
Libby suddenly thrust the envelope at her sister. “Go ahead, read it then.”
“I won’t.”
“You want to know what he’s saying to me? You think you still own him?”
“I don’t think that.”
“Of course you do. You may be married to Albrecht, but you still think of Terry as your property. Is that just in case things don’t work out with Albrecht?”
Catherine’s face stiffened like granite. “How dare you.”
“Terry and I are friends, no more. I have no intention of taking him out of Jane’s life just because you can’t let go. And if he should want to visit one day, why can’t he?”
“It would be very awkward. I don’t want him here.”
“Then if he comes you can throw me out. Throw Jane and me out into the street. We’ll find lodgings somewhere else in Tubingen. Or we could head for Stuttgart or Heidelberg…even take the train east for Munich and be out of your life completely. Father will see us properly set up.”
“I don’t want you out of my life.”
“Then you will have to let me have my own friends, including males…even old men friends of yours.”
Catherine’s face was pale. The light in the window whitened as the sun moved into a cloudbank. “I don’t know if I can do it, Libby. I think it’s too much to ask of me.”
Libby stared before she whispered, “You still love him.”
Dover Sky
Edward smacked his fist into the palm of his hand.
“It was a scurrilous attack directed at me and my alleged pro-German sympathies.”
His father looked up from his newspaper. “Labor attacks the government for what it considers our pro-French stance. Lord Buchanan would have found a way to go after you even if your sister hadn’t married Professor Hartmann. Besides, Hartmann is well respected at our universities. You must ignore Buchanan.”
Edward paced back and forth in the parlor. “How can I ignore him? Did you catch his snide remark about my ties to the Orient and the Boxer Rebellion in Peking in 1901? About the massacre of missionaries and Chinese Christians?”
“I did.”
“First he lays Germany and its problems at my feet because of Catherine’s marriage to Hartmann. Then he smears me with the Boxer Rebellion because Libby is rearing an Oriental girl as her own. My own family is working against me.”
“For heaven’s sakes, Edward.” Lady Preston set her cup in the saucer in her hand. “Your father and I come to Dover Sky for the summer to get away from politics. Must you go on and on?”
“There will be an election next year, Mother. Suppose I lose my seat due to the antics of my sisters?”
“You are not going to lose your seat. What that vagabond from the Hebrides has to say is of no consequence, especially when it comes to matters of the family. We will decide what is right and wrong among us. The voters will respect that. Catherine has married a prince—there is no other word for Albrecht. And we have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of in terms of her conduct.”
Lord Preston was back to reading his newspaper. “In any case, the German economy is doing very well indeed.”
“And the Chinese economy? How well is it doing?”
Lady Preston’s eyes flamed. “If anyone is going to take Libby to task for her choices, it will be your father and me. Not you, Edward, and certainly not the Labor Party. I am not in agreement with what Libby has done. I pray she may still change her mind, but the poor girl has been through more than her share of tragedy and grief. Imagine losing her husband in a plane crash!”
“I know, Mother.”
Lady Preston lifted the teacup to her mouth, her face still cut by lines and wrinkles of rage simmering just under her skin. “Your father and I are having our own row about Libby and Jane. We don’t see eye to eye on this issue, but I will say that Jane is a beautiful girl who deserves every opportunity to develop into a lady. I simply hope it happens somewhere else and with a different family—preferably American.”
The pop of a cricket bat striking a ball came through the open window. Edward bent and looked out, keeping his hands in the pockets of his striped trousers. “Ben’s just made a hit. Ramsay is running for him.”
Lady Preston’s sharp lines smoothed and rounded into a full smile. “Ben is exceptional. All week I’ve watched him when he didn’t think anyone was about. Working on climbing stairs. Walking on the grass and falling a dozen times. I understand it’s much more difficult than getting about on concrete walkways. But he climbs to his feet and carries on no matter what. I could see the sweat on his face. And how it must hurt! He went back to London twice in the past fortnight, Victoria tells me, to get his artificial limbs adjusted. He never quits, does he? A good lesson for our family. And for you, Edward.”
“Yes, yes, all for England, tallyho, Mum.”
She glared at him over the rim of her cup before changing the subject. “How is Charlotte feeling?”
Edward finally smiled. “She’s a great beauty, isn’t she? Three months along and such color in her eyes and cheeks. I’ve fallen head over heels with her all over again.” He glanced out the window again. “She’s chatting with Victoria, Emma, and Holly. Ben’s still at the bat. Harrison’s bowling. Owen’s doing very well for himself fielding.” He let out a lungful of air and nodded. “Quite right, Mum. The fight must go on. Our family’s worth fighting for, isn’t it? And our country, of course.”
“I should hope so, dear.” She set her cup and saucer on the white wicker table beside her. “That’s more like the Danforth spirit.”
Lord Preston glanced up from his newspaper again. “I’d like to take Pluck out to blue water tomorrow morning. Are you game?”
Edward scooped a handful of cashews from a glass dish. “I’d like that, Dad. Can I bring Owen?”
“By all means. Short rations and weak grog, but I hope the salt air and enemy action will make up for it.”
Edward popped a large cashew into his mouth. “I’m absolutely certain it will.”
Jeremy and Ben stood under the willow trees in the dusk. The lights of Dover Sky could not be seen from where they stood.
“One of the stumps had shrunk a bit more. They had to make some changes in London.”
“How do your legs feel now?”
“Never better. I can’t say I’m pain-free, but it’s much improved from a few months ago.”
Jeremy smiled. “You’ve made a lot of progress.”
“I’m doing it for Vic, Ramsay, and Tim. But I’m doing it for Michael as well.”
“I understand that.”
“So it’s time for the next big step, Jeremy. I’ve got to go up.”
Jeremy squatted by the thin stream of water and took up some pebbles with his left hand. “When?”
“This summer.” Ben gazed west through the willows at the last line of red light where field and sky met. “Look, I’ve got to do it on the day we crashed in August. Not before and not after. In one of our Fokkers. I have to be ready on that day.”
Jeremy tossed the pebbles in his palm. “How will Victoria feel about it? Or your mum and dad?”
“They’re bound not to like it. They’ll be superstitious about the date and say I’m tempting fate. But you don’t believe that, do you, Jeremy? You’re a Christian minister. God’s bigger than our doubts and fears, isn’t He?”
Jeremy kept tossing the pebbles.
Ben glanced at him. “Or are we prisoners of fate?”
Jeremy shook his head. “Not in Christ.” He dropped the pebbles and stood up, brushing off his pants. “You have a destiny that’s in God’s hands. We all do. So how do we go about getting you up?”
“It’s mostly hand movements. I just need a few run-throughs with the rudder while I’m on the ground because that’s what is operated with my feet. The chaps we have managing the airline are going to drop in with one of the Fokkers on that day. Then they’ll take it back to London because we have a lot of business these days.”
“Will that be enough time for you to get a feel for the controls?”
“More than enough. I’m thinking it will be far easier for me to fly than to walk or run.”
“All right.”
“Jeremy, will you go up with me? I need a copilot.”
Jeremy looked at him in surprise. “I’ve never flown. Why are you asking me? Get one of your flying chaps to crew with you.”
“You’ve helped me get this far. I want you up with me. Nothing’s going to go wrong. My hands are steady as rocks. All I need is to walk through the basics with you in case I need your help with the stick. I want Jeremy Sweet up there with me.” Ben grinned. “You’re my good luck charm.”
Jeremy smiled. “An Anglican good luck charm? What happens when they take the Fokkers away? How do you keep up your flying skills then?”
“Our SPAD S.XXs have been mothballed. They’re bringing in one of those as well and leaving it here at Dover Sky. I’ll keep flying with it.” He paused. “So what do you say, Jeremy? Will you go up with me? Will you fly?”
Jeremy nodded. “I will, Ben. Why not?”
The English Channel, near the Port of Dover
“What do you think, Owen? How d’ya like it?”
“I love the sea, Grandpa. Dad says he misses being a sailor on a battle cruiser.”
“Does he indeed?”
Edward laughed and wrapped a line tightly around a cleat on the mast. “I don’t like going into the drink. I like it best when I’m on top of the waves and not underneath them.”
Owen smiled and closed his eyes as spray broke over Pluck’s bow. “I like the wind and the water, Dad.”
“I see that. I expect you’re a bit of a sea dog. Likely in your blood. What say, Father? Didn’t we have seamen on Mum’s side as well as the Danforth side?”
Lord Preston, in a dark-blue peacoat like the ones Owen and Edward had on, had both hands on the spokes of the wooden wheel and an eye on the mainsail as he steered. “We did. Sailed with Drake and Nelson—officers, privateers, explorers.”
“Who, Grandpa?”
“Too many to mention. Your grandmother is a Cornwall, and they have as many sea dogs as the Danforths.”
The yacht slit through the Channel waters and chop, the waves like cold iron, the sky a mix of gray and blue and white, gulls turning in wide circles above their sail. The boat was trimmed in navy blue, burgundy, and white like the Union Jack that flapped at its stern.
“You must tell me one story.” Owen tugged on a line slick with salt water. “I am your crew.”
Lord Preston barked a short laugh. “Indeed you are. I have one tale then. I can tell you more when we’re ashore. This is from your grandmother’s side, mind. A Cornwall. A midshipman. Perhaps five years older than you are now. On board a British frigate right in this Channel. Got into a fight with a French warship with more guns. After a lot of smoke and flame and noise, Cornwall’s ship only had two working cannon, while the French had more than a dozen still in play. So what to do, Owen? Two guns, powder and shot running low, the Frenchmen bearing down on you. Do you turn tail and head for England or strike your colors and go to a French prison?”
Owen puzzled this out. His blue eyes were so much like his mother’s as they remained motionless even as his dark-red hair, just like his father’s, was whipped about by the wind. “I wouldn’t want to do either, Grandpa.”
“Ha! Duck your heads. Coming about.” The boom swung across the boat, and Edward and Owen stooped. “Spoken true like our brave Cornwall midshipman. Sheet her home, if you please, Master Edward.” Edward sprang to secure the line for the mainsail. “They surprised the French, Master Owen, by coming right on and ramming them, bowsprit to bowsprit. The French cannon were useless to inflict harm. Then they boarded her, screaming like devils, cutlasses slicing the air, pistols flashing, and after ten minutes they had her! Indeed, sir, they had her. They kept a prize crew on board, and sailed both side by side back to an English port. Might have even been Dover. In the great hall at Dover Sky you will see a painting of this very thing. When we are back and have our tea and jam I shall point it out to you.”
Owen’s cheeks were red and his eyes bright as wind and wave lashed them. “You must tell me another, Grandpa.”
“On shore in the officers’ mess. But I have a grand sea poem for you. Fragments of it, mind you, bits and pieces, windblown spume and hard hurled sea spray, but extraordinary for all of that. Now this poem must be memorized, Master Owen, word for word. Are you ready?”
“I am, sir.”
“Very well then. Ulysses by Alfred Lord Tennyson.”
Lord Preston began to recite as Pluck continued to press ahead through the sea.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vexed the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honored of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought
with me—That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
“Hurrah!” Owen clapped his hands. “That is my poem! To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield! I shall never yield! But what is windblown spume, Grandfather?”
“The thick white foam that gets in your hair and eyes like dandelion fluff. Will you have it memorized for me by the time we sail again, Master Owen?”
“I shall. Will you tell it to me again?”
“Over tea and jam, sir, over tea and jam.”
Edward smiled as a large wave broke over the length of the yacht, soaking them all. “I think you told me the very same poem at the very same age. Only it wasn’t on a boat.”
Lord Preston gazed up at the set of the sail. “It was on the Liverpool docks.”
Dear Caroline,
The heat can just about drive you crazy out here. Heat and hate. It takes me places I don’t want to go in my thoughts. Should I have married you after the war instead of Chris? Why couldn’t I understand how much I cared for you? How was it possible for me to love both of you at the same time? The long stretches of inaction are as murderous as the fighting with my head spinning around like this. But I pray, I think of how sweet a person you are, I remember how much we both loved Chris, I think of Matthew and Charles and I know how lucky I am…how blessed.
In case you wonder where that picture is of you on our wedding night, the one where you’re indoors by the candles at Dover Sky with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on anyone, well, it’s here in Morocco with me. I look at it all the time. It’s a bit curled from being in my pocket, and I suppose faded by the sun, but it’s still you—the most beautiful woman in the world, a beauty that never ended with what I saw but carried over to what I always knew about you within and without.
I miss you very much.
Kipp
My love,
Please don’t keep going back to the past. Yes, there was a lot of pain and confusion. But you loved a lot too. And now you are loving me with all your heart. I know that. We also have two sons we adore. And me, well, I have loved you since I first saw you at that Christmas ball at our estate when I was sixteen. Nothing has changed since then no matter what I’ve said or how I’ve acted or how disappointed I’ve been. God blessed me with a family and a friend I loved named Chris, who sees us from heaven and who wanted us to love each other and be together for the rest of our lives. Oh, Kipp, we have lived such an exceptional story! Look at what’s happening for us. I wouldn’t want to change anything because if I did I might change what we’re experiencing right now.
I’m waiting for you. Come back to me, Kipp Danforth. Our honeymoon was too short. We need another as soon as you return to Dover Sky. The boys can come too. We have to go somewhere and just be the two of us and sometimes the four of us. I look forward to that very much.
I am so in love with you!
Caroline
Victoria lay beside her husband in the dark, turning things over and over in her mind. Finally, unable to drop off, she placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Darling?” she said softly.
“Mmm?”
“Are you asleep?”
“Mmm.”
“I just want you to know because I don’t think I’ve ever said it in so many words, that I think you are amazing.”
Ben opened his eyes and lifted his head. “What?”
“You crashed and lost one of your best friends. The doctors removed both of your legs below the knee. But you didn’t give up. You’re walking. Most importantly, you didn’t give up on your wife or your children.”
“My wife and children? How could I?” He sat up. “Were you afraid of that?”
“Yes.”
“It hasn’t been easy, Vic—”
“I know that.”
“But it never entered my head to abandon you or the boys. Not once did I dwell on that.”
“Do I have Jeremy to thank for that?”
“Partly.”
“I need a hug, love.”
He gathered her into his arms.
She reached down and touched one of his stumps. “This doesn’t matter, you know,” she whispered.
“Shh.”
“It doesn’t, Ben. You’re more of a man than most of those walking about on their own two legs. You’re magnificent, honestly.”
“You shall give me a swollen head, and then I’ll have problems with that part of me too.”
She played over his chin and lips with her fingers. “Tim and Ram are so proud of their father. Are you aware of how much they love you?”
“I think the world of them. I’m glad they feel the same way.”
“Ramsay asked if there was another war if you would enlist and fight. I said no, that you couldn’t fly in the military again. Then he asked if you might not fight on the ground like Uncle Kipp is doing. I said probably not. He wept, Ben, how he wept. I held him but I couldn’t comfort him.”
Ben said nothing for a moment. “You know, don’t you?”
“I do know.”
“How?”
“A woman’s intuition. Comparing notes with Emma. Jeremy didn’t let anything out of the bucket, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I have to do it, Vic. I love flying. It’s a bigger part of me than my limbs were. I can’t let it go. And I owe it to Mike. I do. He fought back and flew again after his crash and his brother was killed. Well, Mike was my brother too, wasn’t he? So I owe him the same. I’ve got to go up. I’ve asked Jeremy to go with me.”
“Jeremy? He’s never flown a plane in his life. Why can’t you go up with someone who can take the controls if something goes wrong?”
He stroked her hair. “Nothing will go wrong.”
“How can you say that?”
“Look, it’s easier for me to fly than to walk. Almost everything I do up there is with my hands. The rudder’s the only thing I work with my feet. I will practice on the ground with that until I’m confident my metal feet know their place. Vic, climbing stairs is more difficult than manipulating a rudder. And I’ll show Jeremy how to do that just in case I need help.”
“But why Jeremy?”
“Because his words helped me get this far—along with everyone else’s, of course. Yes, along with your words and prayers too. But I took my darkness to him, unloaded it on him, and he bore it.”
“Is that the only reason?”
He ran his hand over her back, up and down, up and down. “Perhaps it’s because he lost his arm in a war so he understands what I’ve been going through and what still lies ahead. I want us both up there on the anniversary of the crash.”
She dug her fingers into his arm. “The anniversary? Ben, what on earth are you thinking?”
“I’m not going to be ruled by fear, Vic. I simply won’t. God is bigger than the finger of fate, isn’t He?”
“Ben—”
“Isn’t He?” He kissed the top of her head and her soft auburn hair. “I’m going to change a day of darkness into a day of light. I’m going to take a day of mourning and make it a day of celebration. I have to, Vic. And God will help me.”
“My lord?”
Lord Preston swished his razor in the basin of water in his bedroom. “Yes, what is it, Skitt?”
“I thought you might wish to come downstairs, m’lord.”
Lord Preston stroked away foam on his cheek with the razor. “I’m in my robe. Why should I want to go downstairs right now?”
“There is something you should see.”
“Can’t it wait?”
Yips suddenly sounded through the window.
“What is that?” He rushed to the window. Three puppies were romping about on the grass with Harrison. Baron von Isenburg stood watching and leaning on a cane. Lord Preston ran to the door and threw it open. Skitt stood there in his butler suit.
“Why on earth didn’t you tell me, Skitt?”
“I did, m’lord.”
“Next time it’s a dog, shout, ‘Dog! Dog!’ And then I shall respond far more appropriately.”
“Very good, sir.”
Lord Preston rushed down the staircase, lather flying from his face as he tightened the belt about his maroon robe. “Elizabeth! Elizabeth!”
She popped her head out of a doorway just as he reached the front door. “Whatever is the matter, William?”
“Dogs! The baron is here with dogs!”
“The baron? He’s supposed to be in Switzerland with Catherine and Libby!”
Lord Preston swung open the front door and let it bang against a wooden holder for canes and umbrellas. Running down the steps to the lawn, he became an instant attraction for the puppies.
The pups, one black, one brown, and one brown-and-black—tumbled towards him, their tails thrashing.
“Gerard, what is this? What is this?” Lord Preston went to both knees and the puppies scrambled all over him, licking his face and hands until he laughed. “Praise God, what is going on? Where are you going with these rascals? Why are you here?”
“These are Belgian shepherds, Vilhelm. The black one is the Groenendael kind, the brown one a Malinois—you see it has a short-haired coat while the other two are longer haired—and the brown-and-black one is a Tervuren. I have named her Poppy since the breeder is in Flanders, and there is that famous poem from the war about that area. Indeed, I’ve given the black male that very name—Flanders. His coat reminds me of the long fields of dark soil. It is up to you to name the Malinois.”
“I?”
“The puppies are home, Vilhelm. That is to say, wherever you hang your hat is their home.”
“Impossible.”
The baron lifted his cane. “I saw your family to the Hartmann Castle on the Rhine, and then I came back as quickly as I could through Belgium to the coast. My chauffeur drove, and I watered and fed and pampered the beasts.” He lowered his cane and watched his friend play with the puppies. “Once I heard you had lost Gladstone and Wellington, I set the wheels in motion. I know the breeder well, and these will be extraordinary dogs. I expect them to be with you at least until 1945. I have also had them blessed.”
“No.”
“Yes! By a priest in Ypres. I hope they will in turn bless you, my friend.”
The black puppy had his face right in Lord Preston’s and was washing the statesman thoroughly.
“They shall, Gerard. I have no doubt of it.”