William ran up and joined them. He rubbed his hands together to keep them warm. “Hey, Powell. Did Great-Aunt Helga give you any trouble up there?”

Tom nodded. “I almost felt like she was pushing my hands away from my parachute release.”

“Yeah. It looks like it was a doozy.”

“I’d rather them all be boring.”

“Yeah. You don’t want to be the medical case where the doctor says, ‘Isn’t that interesting?’ You also don’t want to have memorable jumps.”

They stood close to each other, clenching their bodies tight to keep warm as they watched one paratrooper after another land in or near the circle, release their chutes, and take up their rifles. The sky resembled a polka-dot canvas with its gray background and the white spots decorating its landscape.

“Hey, look!” shouted one of the youngest privates. “Something’s wrong up there!”

Tom’s and William’s heads whipped up to where he was pointing. And indeed, as the plane hurried off, one parachute after another engaged and the jumpers floated down. Except one.

“He’s coming down too fast!”

“Open it! Open it!”

The chorus of worried voices shouted commands that could not be heard by the jumper. And not that he would have needed it. Whomever was up there was well aware of his predicament.

He fell, faster and faster, past the men whose chutes had opened as needed and they watched with horror.

“It’s Beck!” someone yelled. “He was the last one.”

Tom didn’t want to believe it. Not John Beck. He was the best jumper in their company. It had to be someone else.

But he knew it wasn’t. John was the last one on the roster to jump. And it was the last man who was speeding nearer and nearer to the ground.

William and Tom and the whole company ran out to where he’d disappeared behind the trees, hoping against hope for a miracle.

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

November 1943

When the doorbell rang, Margaret laid the pair of socks she was knitting on top of her workbasket. Several skeins of yarn hid a half-finished baby’s blanket that she labored over during free evenings, its delicate strands an indulgence that she was happy to pay for from her own hard-earned money. She’d nearly forgotten to hide it before Dottie and Gladys came over tonight. She didn’t want Dottie to see it—not only because it was a surprise, but also because crochet was a new medium for her. She’d gone to the Harrison Street branch of the Brooklyn Library and checked out a book that explained patterns.