Susan noticed the rattle in Bertie’s chest. Despite the sulfa pills, eucalyptus oil, Dr. Collins’s daily visits, and hours of sitting over a steaming bowl of hot water with a towel draped over his head, her grandfather’s condition was worsening. As days passed and his congestion thickened, she disguised her fear with a fa-çade of optimism, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the tremor in her voice. “No,” she said, placing the cloth on his forehead. “We agreed we’d never go back there.”

“It’s getting worse,” he said.

Susan thought of the bombings. The Luftwaffe had attacked Britain each night for well over a month, but she’d stopped counting. London was crumbling. People were dying. And the enemy was showing no sign of letting up. In fact, the attacks had only escalated, in both frequency and intensity, as if the Luftwaffe had limitless numbers of planes and explosives. They kept coming. Every night. The bombs bigger. The destruction greater. She had stopped reading the newspaper, dreading the reports of fatalities, many of whom were civilians. She also made it a point to step outside when Bertie listened to the daily radio broadcast. The words over the airways were depressing, speaking often of war atrocities and reminding her that Ollie was stuck in the midst of Nazi occupation. Hitler would likely bomb Britain into submission by spring. Life, as she knew it, would be changed forever. “I won’t allow them to make us sleep in holes.”

Bertie removed the washcloth from his head and dropped it into the basin. “I want you to go to Northampton,” he said, taking her hand.

His weak grip caused a lump to form in Susan’s throat.

“I’ve always been proud of you,” he said. “I can’t imagine a better granddaughter.”

Her eyes welled with tears.

“Source Columba needs you, my dear. You’re of greater help to Britain by training pigeons than caring for an old man with a wee cold.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“I’m not asking you, Susan.” He looked at her, his eyelids swollen with fever. “I’m telling you.”

Susan felt his fingers relax. She watched his frail hand, covered with dark, bulbous veins, drop to his lap.

He coughed and pulled his blanket to his chest. “You got your stubbornness from me, I’m afraid.”

Discreetly, she wiped her eyes. He’d brought up the subject of her going to Northampton more than once over the past two days. And knowing Bertie, he’d continue his endeavor to keep her safe. But how could she leave him? Who would care for him? Although she’d sent word with Duchess to inform Ollie about Northampton, she wasn’t ready to leave. This was her home. Her grandfather. Her pigeons. Deep down, she knew she’d have to go. But not today. Or tomorrow. The most she could do, at least for the moment, was to delay the inevitable.