Seeing Bertie’s sadness reminded Ollie of his parents. An ache grew in his chest. He wondered how long it took to recover from losing a loved one. One year? Ten years? A lifetime? Ollie returned the pipe to its place on the mantel, then retrieved a cold towel from the icebox.

“Thank you, Oliver,” Bertie said, changing a wrapping. “Perhaps you could check on Susan.”

Ollie found Susan sitting on the porch steps. The creak of the door spring caused her to turn. He noticed Duchess on her lap.

“Mind if I sit down?” Ollie asked.

Susan slid over.

Ollie sat, wrapping his arms around his knees.

Susan stared at the dark clouds rolling over Epping Forest. “Do bombers fly in the rain?”

“Yes,” Ollie said. “They can fly above the clouds, but it may be difficult to find their targets.”

“Pigeons can fly in the rain.” Susan ran a finger over Duchess’s wing. “They have oily feathers that repel water.”

Duchess turned her head, a golden eye staring at him.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and a windstorm will ground the Luftwaffe,” Ollie said.

“That would be lovely,” Susan said.

Ollie played with the frayed end of his bootlace. “Are you worried about Duchess?”

“Not Duchess. It’s the other pigeons.”

Ollie looked at Susan.

“Duchess isn’t part of the mission.”

“Oh,” Ollie said.

“Raised her myself. She’s quite the pet, even pecks at my window every morning.”

“I see.”

Susan stretched her back. “I should probably check on Grandfather.”

“Bertie sent me to check on you.”

Susan smiled.

“He was telling me about your grandmother.”

“What did he say?”

“That you’re a lot like her.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I believe it was.”

A few raindrops struck their shoes. Wind rustled the birches. They moved up a step, under the canopy of the porch.

“I noticed a picture in my room. Were you the baby in the photo?”

“Yes.”

“Your parents?”

Susan nodded.

The rains marched through the trees, drops striking the leaves sounding like a rolling crescendo on a snare drum.

Susan placed the pigeon to her cheek. “You need to get home, Duchess.” She gently released the bird.

Duchess fluttered about the yard, then landed on a birch. Reluctant, the pigeon didn’t enter her loft, despite being pelted by raindrops.

“We should go inside.” Susan stood and brushed the back of her skirt. “It’ll be dark soon.”

Ollie watched Susan enter the cottage, feeling like he had intruded by asking about her parents. He noticed that Duchess was still perched on her branch, her head perked to the side as if she were listening. “Looks like we’re both grounded,” he said to the pigeon. Ollie stood and went inside, where he found Susan in the kitchen.

“Would you like some tea?” Susan asked, filling a kettle.

“Yes, please,” he said, taking a seat at the table.