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I’m coming to you, Constance, and nothing is going to stop me. You’re my destiny and have been from the moment we met. For you, I’d do anything. Always.

The final strand popped, and his hands were free at last. He yanked off the suffocating burlap sack and untied the rope around his neck. Gulping down deep breaths of fresh air, he tried to get his bearings. He touched his hair gingerly, and his fingers came away sticky with blood. Well, that was hardly surprising. Mr. Associate had given him quite a whack on the head.

He crawled over to the doors of the railcar and opened them. Flat fields of farmland stretched as far as the eye could see. If luck was with him, he was somewhere in the Midwest, maybe Ohio or Iowa. If he could get to Cleveland or Chicago, he could catch a ride in a mail plane and be in Brooklyn by nightfall on Saturday.

Gradually, the farmland gave way to suburbs, and the suburbs gave way to a city. Cleveland! He’d bet his life on it. He’d flown over this country a thousand times. The train came to a stop, and he hauled himself up and onto firm ground. God bless Cleveland!

He hopped over the tracks, one after another, carefully avoiding any oncoming trains, until he reached the station platform. People stared as he passed, and it was hardly a surprise. He’d been wearing the same clothes for five days, and his hair was sticky with blood, but all he had to do was make it to a phone and call for help.

He went up to a ticket booth and said, “I’m an employee of the U.S. Airmail, and I need to make a phone call.” He’d made this request countless times, but usually, he had a smoking airplane behind him to give him credibility.

“Get lost, ya deadbeat,” said the man at the ticket counter. Apparently, surviving near death multiple times in a row wasn’t enough. He also had to endure the disdain of bureaucrats.

“Get lost yourself, why dontcha?” He’d had enough of being pushed around for one week. All he wanted was to get home to Constance.

“Excuse me, sir,” said a matron in blue serge. “I’m here with the Cleveland Ladies’ Assistance for the Indigent League. I believe I can help you.”

For Christ’s sake, he wasn’t a charity case. “I’m not looking for a handout, ma’am.”

“I didn’t say you were. But I do believe I can help you, if you’ll just come with me.”

At this point, he’d do just about anything to make his phone call, so he said, “Fine.”

She led him to a nearby phone booth. “I will give you twenty-five cents to make your phone call if you’ll just take my pamphlet.” She held out a quarter and the pamphlet, entitled God loves you when no one else does. He reached for the coin and she pulled it back. “Pamphlet first. I truly do care about your soul.”

He forced himself to smile and take the pamphlet, folding it and putting it in his pants pocket. “Thank you for the pamphlet. God bless you, ma’am. May I have the quarter to make my call?”

She narrowed her eyes at him and handed him his coin. “See that you make a wise choice about who you call.”

He knew exactly who he was calling—the United States Postal Service. If he had enough money to make two calls, he would have called the Pritchard residence too, but there was only enough for a local call. Fortunately, he had the number for the Cleveland airfield memorized.

He put in his coin, and the operator connected him immediately.

“This is Beth Froman at the Cleveland Airmail Service.”

“Thank God, Beth! It’s Jack Thompson. My plane went down in the Alleghenies, and what happened after that is a crazy story, but I’m at the train station. Can someone come and get me?”

There was a long silence at the other end of the phone. “Beth, can you hear me? Are you there?”

“Yes, sorry. It’s just that… Well…”

“You thought I was dead, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question. Of course, they all thought he was dead. It had been far too long without communication, and it was entirely possible someone saw his crashed plane.

“Well, yes. We did. Is it really you? How is it possible you’re still alive?”

“I swear I’ll tell you the whole story as soon as I get some food, water, first aid, and a clean change of clothes. Please have someone come get me. It’s been a very long week.”

“Yes, of course. Right away.”

Finally, he was on his way home. “Oh, and Beth?”

“Yes?”

“Can you call the Pritchard residence for me? You should have their number on file. It’s the emergency contact number for both Ernie and me. I need to let them know I’m alive.” He’d call himself as soon as he got a chance, but the sooner Contance got word he was safe, the better.

“Of course. I’ll reach out right after I send someone to pick you up.”

Fifteen minutes later, Lacey pulled up in a cab and opened the door. “Jesus, Thompson, you look like hell.”