“Why would they go there?” she asked, vaguely recalling the map.
“They’ll be blocking convoys trying to head to Tunisia or Italy,” her father put in.
“The Mediterranean must be beautiful,” Dash mused, already moving away from the geography lesson. “Did you fly over water, Uncle Bob?”
“I did. It’s beautiful as long as you make it back to the runway in one piece.”
“Bob,” Aunt Lou chided.
“And Fred is a master at that,” he said with confidence. “He’ll be just fine.”
After they finished the main course, their mother carried the spice cake to the table and set it in front of the sisters. Dash smiled dutifully around the table while her family sang “Happy Birthday” off-key. Then she cut the cake, and Dot passed the plates around.
“I am not giving you any gifts this year,” her mother declared, sitting back down and winking at their father.
The plate in Dot’s hand hovered uncertainly on its way to Aunt Lou. “That’s all right, Mom. We’re eighteen. We don’t need presents.”
Dash heartily disagreed. After all, she still gave her mother flowers forherbirthday. “Why not?”
“Because, darling girl, someone else is,” her mother replied, smiling.
“Here you go,” her father said, handing Dot a box. Her face lit up when she peeked within.
“Dad!Das Geheimnis von Sittaford?Agatha Christie inGerman? This must have been so difficult to find! Where did you get it?” Speaking far too quickly in her excitement, Dot flipped open the front cover. “When was this published? I can’t imagine recently.”
“There were a few to choose from, but yes, they are fairly rare.” Her father radiated pleasure. “Most were translated in the thirties. I was told the Germans are still translating her work today.”
“That’s astounding,” Dot replied, digging deeper. “Oh! And what’s this?Le Meurtre de Roger Ackroyd. En Français aussi!Dad! What a treasure chest!”
Dash winced. Foreign versions of mystery novels? She and Dot might be fraternal twins, but Dot and their father were identical.
“I am so pleased you like it. Five of each language.”
“He’s been collecting them all year,” her mother said.
Dash sat expectantly, hoping her father hadn’t gathered any books for her. If he had, she’d do her very best to say how grateful she was, but books really weren’t her thing. Instead, he turned to his brother. With a flourish, Uncle Bob produced a folded piece of paper, which he handed to Dash.
To Margaret (Dash) Wilson.
FLYING LESSONSfor the summer — or as long as it takes. Love, Uncle Bob
Dash stared at the page, stunned. “You mean it?”
Her uncle’s laugh rolled straight from his heart. “I never say something—or write it down—if I don’t mean it. You ought to know that. My dear niece, you will become a pilot, if that’s what you want to be. I’ll teach you just like I taught Fred, and he’s the best flyboy in the RAF.”
Dash had wanted to fly for as long as she could remember. Her mother claimed her obsession had started the moment she could walk. She wanted to be a bird, a bee, a witch on a broomstick, anything as long as she could soar in the clouds. Nearly every day of her childhood, she had climbed the big maple tree beside the house, wanting to be high above the ground. She still remembered when Gus had first arrived and she’d gone too high. Poor Gus. He’d ended up flat on his back with a broken wrist when she landed on top of him. He never did snitch on her, though. He was a true friend even then.
To this day, Dot had never climbed that tree—she seemed inexplicably content to stay on the ground—but she always came out to keep an eye on. One day, Dot and Gus had been sitting on the grass together, watching Dash in her nest. They had been about eight, so Gus was ten. Dash was working on her aim by dropping rocks into a bucket far below. Most of them were going in with noisy clunks, but quite a few littered the base of the tree.
“Gus?” Dash called. “Please?”
“Okay,” he groaned, getting to his feet, “but this is the last time.”
“Thank you,” she sang sweetly as he collected the leftover rocks. He put them into the bucket with the others then scaled the tree to exchange it with the empty one Dash held.
“Ready?” Dash asked, holding a rock in one hand.
“Aim better this time,” Gus muttered, climbing down and placing the empty bucket on the ground.
