“The runways are usually lined with planes, except during flight missions. They must have scrambled them all into the air during the attack.” He placed his arm over her shoulder. “Our pigeons, at least the majority of them, are likely on their way to France.”

“What now?”

“We go home and wait for Ollie and our pigeons to return.”

Susan looked one last time at the ravaged airfield, but the distance, smoke, and fading sunlight prevented her from seeing any sign of Ollie. She clasped her hands and prayed he was safe, then helped Bertie down from the hayloft and drove home.

As she pulled the lorry into their farm, an overwhelming sense of helplessness caused her heart to palpitate. She hoped to see Bertie’s truck parked at the cottage, Duchess pacing her window ledge, and Ollie waiting on the porch. But there was only the intrusive military tent, its canvas flapping in the wind.

“They’ll be all right,” Bertie said unconvincingly.

Susan noticed a slight change in the tone of his voice. “It’s getting dark. Go inside, and I’ll check on the pigeons.”

He nodded, then limped into the cottage.

Susan rapped on the grain can much harder than usual, hoping the noise could somehow draw Duchess home. Between lofts, she glanced down the lane, praying that she’d see Ollie returning in Bertie’s truck. It was the setting sun, and knowing that the Luftwaffe would likely return, that forced her inside.

She retrieved cold towels for Bertie’s knees to control the swelling. But the damage was done. His kneecaps were red and the size of melons. He grimaced as the towels touched his skin.

Susan tried to make a call to get information about the attack, but the telephone lines were still dead. She checked the radio and found nothing but static, typical during blackouts. After lighting a candle and closing the curtains, she sat on the sofa and noticed the indentation where Ollie had sat beside her the night before. She ran her hand over the cushion and wanted to cry. She barely knew him, but there had been an instant connection. She trusted him. Her heart had never felt this way about another man. And she believed—despite a war and being from different continents—that they could have a life together. She prayed that he was unharmed. Where are you, Ollie?

“Don’t give up hope, my dear.” Bertie rubbed his knees. “We must believe Oliver is safe.”

Susan nodded, then lowered her head.

“And Duchess, too.”

Susan buried her head in her hands.

“I never told you this, Susan,” Bertie said, adjusting a towel over his leg and leaning forward. “When you tried to hatch a pigeon egg in your grandmother’s bowl, I had all but given up hope. In fact, I had bought another box of tobacco, just so I could be prepared to bury the egg.”