Between carols, I dragged over a chair next to Louisa’s piano stool.

“There’s a sort of unofficial no bombs ban over Christmas,” I told her. “Both sides do it. But of course Old Cromwell’s being a Scrooge about making us fly on Christmas Day, since the ships don’t get a holiday either, and we thought we’d have some fun behind his back. We’re going to take Ellen and Phyllis along for the ride. What about it, Louisa?”

She turned to me, staring.

“To the airfield? In the Tilly?”

I laughed. “No, in a Bristol Blenheim,” I said. “Out over the North Sea during the Christmas truce.”

Very softly and slowly, she played the opening bars of “Joy to the World.”

Then she stopped. She glanced at me, biting her lower lip, and croaked, “Yes, please.”

She was so eager it made her look like she was about ten years old. I laughed again.

“You’ll get a ride in the Tilly as well, come to think of it, if Ellen brings you over tomorrow morning,” I said. “Wear extra socks. Wool. Three pairs at least. It gets colder the higher you get.”

Louisa:

The sun on Christmas morning rose shining through clouds, bright red as a cherry-flavored boiled sweet, a poinsettia in full bloom, a glowing punch bowl of holiday sorrel. I leaned into the window and pulled back the blackout curtains and thought, I will be up there with it today!

Jane was excited because I was excited. She came downstairs to see me off, wearing a beautiful short silver fox-fur cape. Mrs. Campbell was slamming things around behind the bar. She couldn’t keep public hours until the twenty-seventh of December, and fretted about not being able to work.

Phyllis scolded, “Think of those young men in the air on Christmas Day! They’re not complaining.”

“Why are you in and out the kitchen if you’re not working?” Ellen provoked Nan.

“I’ve to fix Christmas dinner for you girls, haven’t I?” Mrs. Campbell grumbled. “You’ll be hungry when you’re back from your flight. Morag’s mother, Mrs. Torrie, has sent a bit of venison.”

Most of Mrs. Campbell’s meals involved tinned beef, cabbage, and turnips, so a morsel of fresh meat would be a proper treat.

Jane took off her cape, bundled it into a fluffy roll, and piled it on top of the counter.

“Happy Christmas, Nancy,” she said. “I thought you might like to have a fur, as I’ve little reason now to wear them all.”

Nan Campbell went as pink as when 648 Squadron were chanting her name the day they got there.