“Where are you going?”

“To stretch my legs,” he said.

“Take your walking stick.”

He shook his head and shuffled toward the field.

Susan suspected he was headed to the barn. Bertie cherished his sheep, which he used solely for shearing their woolen fleece. Bleating sheep, although not as soothing as cooing pigeons, always seemed to comfort him. And since the lofts were now filled with cardboard tubes and parachutes that would send his blood pressure rising, spending time with the sheep would be a good way for him to forget about Source Columba, if only for a short while.

She went about her duties, caring for the pigeons for the remainder of the morning. She poured feed. Refilled water bowls. Examined squabs. Even repaired loose boards that separated the cubbies. Anything to keep her mind occupied.

After Susan finished sweeping, she went inside and made lunch, albeit it was nothing but leftover oatmeal mixed with withered bits of turnip. As she placed the food on the table, she noticed it was almost two o’clock, rather late to be having lunch considering the sun would be setting in a few hours. So she went to retrieve Bertie, hoping he was enjoying his brief time of solace. As she crossed the field, a herd of sheep, huddled in one of the few remaining sections of green grass, began to disperse. What she saw took her breath away.

A shoe. A calf. A scream boiled in her throat. She tripped and fell. She struggled to get up, stepped on her skirt, and dropped to her knees. Sheep scattered. And there he was, facedown in clover, surrounded by crying lambs.

CHAPTER 34 - AIRAINES, FRANCE

CHAPTER 34

AIRAINES, FRANCE

“The flight lieutenant doesn’t like you,” Madeleine said, walking with Ollie to the barn. Louis trotted along behind them.

Ollie glanced at the cottage.

Madeleine rubbed Louis’s snout, causing the hog to snort. “Is he angry with you for getting stuck inside his plane?”

Ollie opened the barn door. “Let’s just say he’s not fond of Americans.” He carefully removed Duchess, tucked inside his sling, and then placed her into the cage, which he had hidden under a pile of straw. Duchess closed her eyes, as if she were sleepy, then curled her head under her wings. He stood, his ankle stiff and sore, and looked at Madeleine. “Especially ones that strike an officer.”

Madeleine laughed. A rasp rattled in her lungs. “Over a woman?”

He nodded.

“Susan?”

“You could be a palm reader, Madeleine.” Ollie poked a finger into the cage and examined Duchess’s leg, wondering how he could have failed to properly secure the canister. What can I use to attach a message with now? String? Wire? Tape? “I don’t suppose you could tell me where I could find a pigeon canister, could you?”

She paused, then glanced outside. “Oui.”

Ollie adjusted his weight. His swollen ankle pressed against his boot. “Where?”