Her eyes twinkled. “It’s more like a ‘biblical flood fund.’ I still save every spare dime, I suppose because it makes me feel safe.”
For someone with as many dreams as Delia once had, to haveremained stuck in an office all these years because she feared risk seemed rather sad.
“Will you go with me to Chicago?” he asked for the third time. “I’ll be there to protect you from gangsters and runaway streetcars, perhaps oversized rats and any other terrors Chicago might throw our way. And if a cow tries to start another great fire, I’ll handle that too. I’m very strong and brave.”
“And modest.”
He nodded. “All those good things. Yes.”
She huddled deeper into her coat as indecision rippled across her face. “Let me think about it,” she said. “It’s a big step.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’ll meet you tomorrow morning at the New York Stock Exchange,” he murmured into her hair, and she nodded.
She pulled back to meet his eyes. “Nine-thirty sharp. The stock exchange opens at ten, and you’ll be meeting with Mr. Babcock ahead of the bell.”
He gave her a salute and a wink before heading off to catch the ferry.
It was after midnight when Finn got back to Camp Mills. A sleepy guard checked him in at the gatehouse, and then he walked past the endless rows of olive-green tents. Living in a tent hadn’t been too miserable, but the dusting of snow on the tents guaranteed it was going to be a chilly night.
He lifted the flap of his tent, trying to move soundlessly, but crackling of the straw on the ground gave him away.
“I’m awake,” his tentmate said in a groggy voice.
“Sorry,” Finn whispered anyway. As he went to remove his boots, he bumped into the trunk in the center of the tent and bit back a curse.
“You can dial up the lamp,” Daniel said. “By the way, you got a letter there on your cot.”
That was a surprise. He received a handful of letters from the guys in France after he first arrived, but nothing lately. He struck the flint to light the wick in the lantern and dialed it to the lowest setting. The amber flame cast a dim circle of illumination, but it was enough to see the large manilla envelope lying on his cot.
The return address included the name Theo Montgomery, the opera-singing pilot Finn had served with in the Lafayette Escadrille.
Finn lowered himself onto the cot, his legs suddenly weak. What if one of his friends had been killed? His fingers trembled as he ripped open the envelope. It contained a copy ofLa Libre Belgique, along with a short note. His heart pounded as he scanned Theo’s familiar handwriting.
Theo wrote that they’d all been folded into the U.S. Army and transferred to the Saint-Mihiel Training Center. They were learning new equipment, and he had nothing good to say about the food. The knot in Finn’s shoulders began to ease as he neared the end of the letter. All seemed to be going well in France.
He turned the page over and read the final line of the letter:I thought you would be interested in this issue of La Libre Belgique. I’m sorry, my friend.
Finn’s heart thudded as he dropped the letter and skimmed the newspaper. An article in the top left had been circled:Une Femme Courageuse Arrêtée pour avoir Distribué un Journal.
His mouth went dry. His French wasn’t strong, but he knew the wordarrêtéemeant arrested, and Mathilde Verhaegen’s name jumped off the page.
Then it got worse. His name was printed in the article as well.Dansleur recherche du pilote américain abattu Finn Delaney,les Allemandsont fouillé le domicile de Mme Verhaegen et ont trouvéle journal.
Panic-stricken, he struggled to translate the French. His heart thudded, and despite the chill, his entire body began sweating.Keep your head, a voice silently warned. It was the first thing pilots were trained to do when danger threatened.
“Daniel, do you read French?”
“Nope.”
The date printed at the top of the newspaper said it was three weeks old. Mathilde had been arrested three weeks ago! While he’d been dining in fancy restaurants and going to the theater, Mathilde was locked up in a German prison cell. Who was looking after her kids? Had they arrested Pieter too?
Finn needed to know exactly what had happened. He pulled on his boots, folded the newspaper under his arm, and bolted from the tent. The camp had in residence a French instructor, Lewis Hendra. Finn had visited the man during Hendra’s first week in the camp but wasn’t sure he could find his tent.
He raced to the east section of tents, his ragged breathing turning into white wisps in the cold air. The tents all looked alike, so he stopped at one and jerked a flap open. Two men lay asleep on their cots.
“Do either of you know Lewis Hendra?”
“Who?” one of the men said groggily from the shadowy interior of the tent.
