“Your open bedroom window works splendidly to avoid the soldiers,” Bertie said.

Susan kissed Duchess on the head. As she removed the canister from the pigeon’s leg, a tail feather fell to the floor. She stopped, noticing that Duchess’s once-shimmering fluorescent colors now appeared dull, as if bleached by the sun. Along with the bird’s rapid heart rate, Susan realized that Duchess wasn’t cooing. She blew warm air over her frigid wings. After a few minutes, Duchess began to produce a soft murmur. Susan exhaled. She retrieved a jar of grain that she had stored in the kitchen and sprinkled the feed onto the table. Gently, she placed her pigeon in front of the food.

Duchess gave a few pecks, then sat down and closed her eyes.

Susan pushed grain to her.

The pigeon made no effort to eat.

“She can’t keep up the pace,” Susan said to Bertie. “It’s too much.”

Duchess tucked her head under her wing.

Bertie leaned forward, attempting to get a better view from his chair. “She’s doing what she believes to be her duty.”

Susan hesitated, then opened the canister and slid out the note.

“No need to read it all to me,” Bertie said. “Merely tell me the intelligence, and I’ll scribble it on paper for the soldiers.”

Susan nodded.

Bertie removed a sulfa pill from the bottle on his table and swallowed it with a gulp of tea. He looked at Susan. “You’ll see him again, my dear.”

She stepped to him and gave him a hug.

“Not so close. Don’t want you ill.”

“Don’t care.” She squeezed him tight, noticing that he’d lost weight. Bones protruded under his pajamas.

Duchess raised her head, stretched her wings, and fluttered to Bertie’s chair.

He stroked a wing with his finger.

Susan retrieved a note that she had already written for Ollie. She began to place it in the canister and hesitated. She grabbed a pencil and the codebook, then added to her message.

She rolled the paper, placed it inside the canister, and attached it to Duchess’s leg.

Duchess flew to the window. She pecked against the glass.

“No,” Susan said. “You need to rest.”

Duchess tilted her head and ruffled her feathers. She pecked at the glass.

Susan picked up Duchess and stroked her back.

Duchess squirmed, then fluttered from Susan’s hands. The pigeon returned to the window and pecked harder.

Bertie coughed. “She wants to leave.”

“Too soon.”

For several minutes, Duchess incessantly tapped on the glass. Each time Susan tried to touch Duchess, the pigeon flapped away and then waddled along the baseboard. After Susan’s sixth attempt to calm her, Duchess fluttered around the living room.

A breeze brushed Susan’s face. She turned to see Duchess land on the mantel.

“Please,” Susan said. Slowly, she stepped to the fireplace and gently rubbed the soft tuff on Duchess’s head. “A wee rest.”