William had fallen on his right hand on their last jump, and though he mustered up the ability to shoot on the rifle range, he didn’t hide his pain back at the cottage. He’d turned down John and Tom’s pleas for him to see a medic because he was afraid they would sideline him.

“Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eyes. And where care lodges, sleep will never lie,” Tom mused.

“What’s that, Professor?”

“Shakespeare.”

“Of course it is.” William threw a pillow at him. “You college boys love to show off.”

“Hey,” Tom defended. “We’re sitting in the land of Shakespeare. Cut me some slack.”

“I know, I know.” Tom could see William grin in the dim light and he was relieved for it to make an appearance. William continued. “Have you taken a good look at a map? My pops would be happy to know how close we are to Oxford. He was a Rhodes scholar. A fact he inserted into every stump speech on the campaign trail.”

“I know what you mean. You would think from hearing him talk that my dad’s Bronze Star was the flippin’ Congressional Medal of Honor.”

William’s mouth twisted and he lowered his voice. “You know, son, I walked six miles uphill both ways to school and I expect you to shine my shoes with your tears of gratitude.”

Tom laughed. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Really, though, my pops once gave me a ten-dollar bill for my birthday. And on the envelope, he wrote ‘Here is milk from the cow that got no respect.’”

“Ouch.”

“Maybe that’s why he hasn’t written. He’s waiting for me to do something worth writing a speech about.”

William’s words hung thick in the silence. There was no response for what Tom, too, felt so deeply, words betraying him. He could only return to what they’d begun talking about.

“You know, Stratford-upon-Avon would be less than an hour from here if I could only wrangle a Willys Jeep for a bit. What I wouldn’t do to send my mom a postcard from there.”

Tom thought about all the places he’d only read about that were so very close. London. Oxford. Cambridge. And Paris, across the English Channel, still quite a distance and under siege by the Germans. But the French roots on his mother’s side had always felt alive in him, and he wanted to see the place where his ancestors had walked.

If only a war weren’t going on and they could go exploring. And yet, without the war, they wouldn’t be here in the first place.

“If I see an opportunity, I’ll find us a Willys and we’ll go. Maybe Dick Winters will need me to head that way on an errand,” offered Tom.

“Not likely. It’s to Littlecote and back for you. But thanks, anyway.”