She placed the kettle on the stove, then opened the cupboard.

His mind toiled over what to say. There was much that he wanted to know about Susan. But he chose to start with a topic that he thought would be important to her. “What do you love most about pigeons?”

Susan turned, a smile forming on her face. “Everything.”

Ollie, relieved to see her reaction, pulled a chair from the table and gestured for her to join him.

Susan sat.

“Tell me more about everything,” Ollie said.

“They’re remarkably clever,” Susan said. “I challenge you to name another animal that can find their way home from hundreds of miles away.”

Ollie rubbed his chin. “Tortoise?”

Susan chuckled.

Ollie leaned in. “What else do you love about them?”

“Affectionate—both parents raise their nestlings,” Susan said. “They’re exquisite, with spectacular colors and patterns. I adore their cooing, which, in my opinion, is even more soothing than a cat’s purr. They walk with an endearing waddle. And their flight is quite graceful.” She placed her hands on the table. “But what I admire most is their devotion to family. They’ll go to great lengths to find their way home.”

Ollie smiled. “What do you call someone who knows all about birds?”

“Ornithologist.”

“You’ll make a grand one.”

“You really think so?”

He nodded.

Susan ran a finger over a scratch in the table. “What do you like most about flying?”

“I wish I had words that could describe the sense of freedom I get when I’m soaring through the clouds. It’s exciting. And peaceful.” Ollie pointed above his head. “Up there, I feel like a bird—even better, a pigeon.”

Susan smiled and paused. “You’ll make an admirable RAF pilot, Oliver from Maine.”

He noticed Susan’s hand, inches from his fingers. His stomach fluttered.

The kettle began to whistle.

Susan placed her hand on her lap.

“Are you preparing tea, my dear?” Bertie called from the living room.

“Yes,” Susan said, looking at Ollie.

“Splendid!” Bertie said. “I’ll be right in.”

Ollie watched Susan leave the table, wishing the kettle would have taken hours to boil.

CHAPTER 16 - EPPING, ENGLAND

CHAPTER 16

EPPING, ENGLAND

The rain brought the premature arrival of darkness and, shortly thereafter, the howl of air-raid sirens. With their hunger stolen by the invading Luftwaffe, Susan, Ollie, and Bertie skipped dinner and hunkered in the living room.

Antiaircraft guns erupted. The cottage vibrated.

Susan, sitting next to Ollie on the sofa, covered her ears.

Ollie looked at Bertie, leaning back in his chair. “How long?”

Bertie shrugged. “The worst is when they pass over the guns at North Weald Airfield. They’ll stop once the Luftwaffe leave for London.”

Shells exploded. China rattled.

Several minutes later, the guns stopped, momentarily revealing the patter of rain. Candlelight flickered over the room. And for the next hour, they listened to the rumble of bombs on London.