16
TARRYTOWN
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 1926
Luke was alone when he picked up Elsa and her box of magazines Monday morning. He’d given Tom and Barney the day off for Labor Day, but not himself.
“What a nice boss you are.” She accepted his hand as he helped her up into the truck, then closed the door. When he climbed into the driver’s seat, she went on, “The American Museum of Natural History remains open on Labor Day, but even if it had been closed, I’d still be working. Mr. Chapman made it clear he wants the Elmhurst project wrapped up as soon as possible. I’ve already been here too long, according to him. He wants me to process specimen exchanges between our museum and a few willing institutions in London, Berlin, and Stockholm.”
As Luke pulled back into traffic and began the journey to Tarrytown, she asked how his weekend had been. He’d spent Saturday at Elmhurst on his own, he told her. Sunday, he’d tried birding in Central Park. This time he’d brought Tom along. “Not nearly as fun—or successful—without you.”
Elsa was sorry she’d missed him in both places and told him so. “Did you spy any interesting birds without me?”
“To tell you the truth, Tom got hung up on some pigeons, so we left early.”
“Pigeons? Why—” She stopped herself, recalling what she’d read about homing pigeons serving during the war, ferrying messages through dangerous skies when radio equipment failed. “Do pigeons still remind him of the war?”
“Apparently.”
She shook her head. “How awful. The city is full of them. But our urban birds aren’t like the trained carrier ones.”
“Close enough, I guess. Tom was part of the Lost Battalion over there.” Briefly, Luke explained the plight of those men, isolated from reinforcements in the Argonne Forest, pinned down by enemy fire for days, unable to get food or water. They’d even been attacked from the air by friendly fire. “A pigeon named Cher Ami finally carried a message to the American base telling them their location and to stop the barrage upon them.”
“I read about that little fellow,” Elsa said quietly. The bird’s name, in French, meant “dear friend.” The pigeon survived his mission but lost his leg and was blinded in the process.
“Tom loved those homing pigeons. That ordeal in the Argonne was the most traumatic episode in his experience. And then about a year after the war, some bigwigs decided to make a film about the Lost Battalion, and they wanted to use the real soldiers. So they took Tom and some others right back to the place where it happened and made them relive it all over again so they could capture it on film.” Luke’s jaw set, and a muscle twitched near his eye.
Elsa gasped. “I can’t imagine experiencing that ordeal once, let alone twice. Even if the veterans had a choice about participating in the filming, it still seems cruel.”
“It set him back, but he’s come a long way since then.”
She allowed a few moments of silence as she looked out the window. Half a block of halting traffic later, she asked, “What about you, Luke?”
“Me? I don’t need pigeons to remember the war, if that’s what you’re asking. All I need is a mirror.”
She wished that wasn’t true. “Do you still see the war in your reflection?”
“On occasion.”
When he didn’t say more, she figured it was easier for him to speak of Tom’s experience than his own. “I’ll never fully grasp what you went through.”
“Good,” he said, surprising her. “I wouldn’t want you to. War is a soul-crushing evil. I found pockets of light and goodness during that time, but in general, I don’t want you to know what it was like over there. That’s a burden I refuse to lay on you.” He glanced at her for only a moment before turning his gaze back to the road. But it was long enough for the sincerity in his eyes to strike her.
“All right, I won’t ask about it,” she said, “but I’m willing to listen if you ever want to talk.”
He nodded. “I’ve done more than my share of talking this morning already. Your turn. How was your weekend?”
Well then. She hadn’t planned on telling himeverythingthat happened on Coney Island Saturday night, but hedidask.
When she reached the part of the story where Archer and Percy agreed to split from her and Ivy, his grip tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.
But when she mentioned the man in the bowler, the look he shot her held a fierceness she knew was not intended for her. “Wait. I’m pulling over for this. And I think I need more coffee.”
In the next two minutes, they’d stopped at a roadside café with a painted wooden sign. Luke purchased two paper cups of coffee and handed one to Elsa. Together, they sat on a bench outside in the shade.
She checked her watch. Luke didn’t.
He drank what must have been half the cup at once. “Tell me everything.”
