A Refuge at Highland Hall (18 page)

He couldn't worry about the Zeppelin now. He had to find his way back to St. Pol. One look at his fuel gauge and his stomach took another dive. His main tank was empty. Had he lost the rest of his fuel when the plane rolled?

How would he make it back to his base now?

Dripping-wet clouds swirled around Alex as his plane glided down through the misty sky. He squinted and brushed the moisture from his goggles. Suddenly, the ground rose up to meet him, and the plane landed with a jolt, lurching and creaking as it rolled to a stop on an incline.

He blew out a shuddering breath and lifted his goggles. The fog was so thick he could barely see past the propeller of his plane. He had landed on a slope, with the nose of his plane pointing down, but he couldn't see much more than that.

He climbed out of the cockpit on stiff, shaky legs and jumped down to the ground. Rough patches of grass covered the hillside. A few birds called in the distance, but after the wild explosions and ear-piercing gunfire he had just endured, the quiet of the Belgian countryside was unsettling.

Shivers raced down his back, and his teeth began to chatter. He quickly realized it wasn't the cool temperature that caused his response, but the stress and shock of all that had happened on his mission.

He closed his eyes and pulled in a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He had to regain his focus and check out the plane. His training kicked in, and he started his inspection.

There didn't seem to be too much damage, several bullet holes in the fuselage and wings, but nothing that would prevent him from trying to take off again. If he could get some fuel and start the engine.

If he couldn't, his orders were to destroy the plane by setting it on fire and to burn his papers so they wouldn't fall into enemy hands.

His gut clenched, and determination coursed through him. He was not giving up yet. All the time he'd spent in the hangar with Meddis had taught him how the plane worked and how to make some basic repairs. He walked around to the front and peered at the engine.

A dog barked in the distance. Alex gripped the propeller and froze. The barking continued, but it didn't move closer. He held his breath and waited, his heart pounding in his throat. He heard a sliding squeak, like someone opening a window. A man yelled at the dog in French. The animal whined a few times, then fell silent.

Alex released a breath and turned back to the plane. There was no time to waste. The sun would burn off the early morning fog soon, and his protective curtain would be gone. Even now, the news of the Zeppelin's destruction might prompt the Germans to send out patrols to search the area.

He systematically checked the inner workings of the plane and discovered the line between the pressure and gravity tanks had come apart. He worked as quickly as he could, trying to reconnect it, but his hands fumbled, and he dropped some of the small parts in the long grass. He muttered under his breath and searched until he found all three pieces. Finally, he secured the line, and a triumphant smile broke across his face. That should do the trick.

The main fuel tank might be empty, but he had some fuel left in the reserve tank. Would it be enough to get him back to St. Pol or at least carry him back across the front lines to safety?

There was only one way to find out.

He swung the propeller hard, then ran toward the cockpit, but the engine sputtered out before he could climb aboard. He tried three more times without success. Starting the plane and keeping it going was a two-man job.

Frustration burned in his chest. The sun was rising higher, and the fog was starting to clear. How much longer did he have before the owner of that dog came outdoors to begin his morning chores?

Off in the distance a horse whinnied, and the sound of several horses trotting through the woods reached him. His heart lurched. He turned and searched across the field—and his breath stopped in his throat.

Not more than a quarter mile away, a squadron of German cavalry rode out of the trees and into the open farmland. One of the men shouted to the others, and the sound of his guttural voice sent a terrifying jolt through Alex.

He had to get his plane off the ground now, before they spotted him, or he would spend the rest of the war in a German prison camp.

Help me, Lord!

He swung around, and an idea rushed through this mind. If he could get the plane rolling downhill, he might be able to keep the engine going long enough to climb aboard. He grabbed hold and started pushing the Morane, then swung the propeller. The engine sputtered and died. What if the sound of the engine alerted the Germans to his presence? He had no choice. He had to try again.

He swung the propeller once more and pushed the plane as hard as he could, and she started rolling downhill. He made a mad leap for the cockpit and pulled open the throttle. She responded beautifully and roared to full speed, racing down the hill.

Shots rang out behind him. He ducked and darted a quick glance over his shoulder.

Germans on horseback raced across the field, shouting and shooting as they rode toward the plane.

Joy surged through Alex as he lifted off into the fading mist. He rose above the Germans as they raced along below. Leaning over the side, he lifted his arm and shouted, “Give my regards to the Kaiser!”

A bullet whizzed past, and he ducked back, laughing and shouting his thanks to the heavens.

Alex flew higher until he cleared the mist. He'd done it—started his plane on his own and escaped capture by a whole troop of angry German cavalrymen.

He glanced at his fuel gauge, and his elation quickly deflated. With the main tank empty, he was flying on what was left in reserve, and he had no idea how far that would take him.

He descended through the light clouds again, looking for landmarks. Should he set a straight course to the west, hoping to find St. Pol? Or head south, praying he made it past the front lines? How was he to decide when all he knew was that he was somewhere between Brugge and Evere?

He mulled that over as he flew on, looking for any clear sign that would help him pinpoint his location. Suddenly, the ocean came into view, shimmering in the morning sunlight. Relief coursed through Alex, and he shot off another quick prayer of thanks. He banked to the left and followed the coast south, back toward St. Pol.

It couldn't be too far now. Searching the coastline, he spotted the jetty and beach north of Dunkirk with rows of seaside cottages. Only a few more minutes, and he would pass over Dunkirk and then, south of that, he'd see the landing field at St. Pol. He'd be home safe and would share the news about the Zeppelin with Commander Longmore and his friends. What a celebration that would be.

Without warning, the engine sputtered and the plane jerked. Alex grabbed hold of the stick. The engine gasped and sputtered again—then died.

Had he run out of fuel?

A strong wind from the ocean caught the plane and sent it tilting at a crazy angle. Alex gripped the controls, scanning the ground, looking for somewhere to put her down.

The beach was too rocky. The roads were narrow and packed with rows of small homes on both sides. Wooded areas filled the land beyond the houses.

Lord, please, I can't bring her down on top of someone's house!

He tried to bank to the left, away from the village, but the plane was not responding. The wind caught him again, tipping the plane and spinning it around. A loud
crack
filled the air. A piece of something broke off and crashed into his propeller. The plane convulsed—

—and plunged toward the ground.

Alex's cry rose up on the wind and echoed out across the morning sky.

Penny rolled over in bed and tugged the thick blanket up to her chin. Opening her eyes, she squinted at the light slipping in around the edge of her bedroom curtains. She checked the clock on her bedroom fireplace mantel and saw it was only ten after six. Why had she woken so early?

She closed her eyes once more and settled down beneath the covers, but hazy images rose in her mind and sent a tremor through her.

In her dream she was back in London, walking down the street with the children. Then she heard a strange roaring sound and looked up. A fleet of huge German Zeppelins approached from the east. Panic shot through her. She must take the children to safety. But when she looked around, the children were gone. Crowds filled the street, pushing past her while she frantically called the children's names.

Where was Alex? He would help her find them.

She turned and looked for Alex, but she couldn't see him. Pushing against the crowd, she called for Alex, then begged for help from the passing crowd, but no one seemed to hear her pleas. On and on she ran, struggling against the tide of people, searching for Alex and the children. Bombs fell and exploded around her, rocking the street and knocking her to the ground.

She threw off the blanket and sat up in bed, her heart pounding. She blinked a few times, trying to shake off the hold of the frightening dream. She was not in London. She was safe at Highland. No bombs would fall here. The children were still safely tucked in their beds, and Alex…

What about Alex?

A strange sense of foreboding swept through her.

She shook her head. He was all right. He must be. She had just received a letter from him three days ago. But an anxious gnawing clawed at her stomach, stealing away her usual sense of calm and confidence.

She rose from her bed and strode across her room toward the window. Pulling open the drapes, she lifted her face to the soft morning light and looked outside.

Sunshine streamed across the parkland, highlighting the bright-green grass on the hillsides. She shifted her gaze to the lush flower garden on the east side of the house. Curving stone paths and neatly trimmed hedges crisscrossed the garden. Taking in the peaceful view usually soothed her spirit, but not this morning.

She sat on her window seat and clasped her hands. It was foolish to give in to anxiety brought on by a dream, but as much as she tried, she couldn't brush those feelings aside. A strong urge to pray flooded through her, and she lowered her head.

Dear Father, please watch over Alex this morning, wherever he is, and keep him safe. I don't know what kind of danger he faces today, but You do.

She closed her stinging eyes.
Help me, Lord. I'm not sure if these fears are simply a result of that crazy dream or if there is some real threat Alex faces today. Either way, help me let go of my fear and put my trust in You.

She waited a few more minutes, gazing out the window until her emotions settled enough for her to rise and meet the demands of the day. It was almost time to wake the children and help them wash and dress before they all gathered in the great hall for Scripture reading and prayer.

But as soon as they finished breakfast and she had the children settled in a quiet activity, she intended to write to Alex and tell him about the dream. Maybe that would calm her heart and help her shake off this unsettled feeling.

P
enny gasped at the headline on the front page of the newspaper and quickly scanned the first paragraph of the article.

Julia and Sarah looked across the dining room table at Penny. Several of the children turned her way as well.

“What is it?” Julia asked.

“Listen to this!” She read aloud, “ ‘British Aviator Bursts Zeppelin in Mile-High Duel. For the first time on record, a Zeppelin in flight has been destroyed by an aviator in an airplane.' ” Penny looked up and beamed her smile around the table, bursting to read the next section.

“Alexander James Goodwin, a young lieutenant in the Royal Naval Air Service, who made his first flight only five months ago at Upavon, is the hero of this extraordinary exploit, which was performed aloft over Belgium at six o'clock yesterday morning.”

“Hooray for Alex!” Donald shouted, and several of the children applauded.

Andrew glared at Donald. “As if you know him.”

“I do. We all do. He came to see us in London and told us about training to be a pilot.”

Andrew sent them a skeptical look.

“It's true, isn't it, Miss Penny?” Jack said.

“Yes, Alex was with us during the air raid, before we moved to Highland.”

Andrew gave a slight shrug, trying not to look impressed.

Julia turned to Andrew. “Lieutenant Goodwin is an old friend of our family. My brother Jon and I knew him when we lived in India.” She looked back to Penny. “What else does the article say?”

Penny continued reading.

“The King has been graciously pleased to grant the Victoria Cross to Lieutenant Goodwin of the Royal Naval Air Service, for the act of bravery specified below:

‘For most conspicuous bravery on the Third of August, 1915, when he attacked and, single-handed, completely destroyed a Zeppelin in midair.'

This brilliant achievement was accomplished after chasing the Zeppelin from the coast of Flanders to Ghent, where he succeeded in dropping his bombs on it from a height of only one hundred and fifty feet above the airship. One of these bombs caused a terrific explosion, which set the Zeppelin on fire from end to end, but at the same time overturned his airplane.”

Penny's voice faltered, and she stared at those words.

Was Alex all right? She quickly scanned the rest of the article.

Concern lit Julia's eyes. “Is there more?”

Penny nodded, debating if she should read the rest aloud. But she'd come this far. “ ‘In spite of this, he succeeded in landing safely in hostile territory and after a short time started his engine again. On his return flight, he was forced to make an emergency landing and…was injured.' ”

Lucy leaned forward. “What happened to him?”

Penny's heart pounded while she scanned the article again. “It doesn't say.”

“But he's all right, isn't he?” Donald's usual cocky expression had been replaced by an anxious, searching gaze.

Penny's throat burned. What could she say? She sent Julia a pleading glance.

“I'm sure we'll hear more soon.” Julia's voice remained calm, but Penny could read the concern in her eyes. “Until then, I'm sure Lieutenant Goodwin would appreciate our prayers.”

Lucy looked around the table. “I think we should pray for him right now.”

“That's a wonderful idea.” Julia sent her a tender look. “Let's bow our heads, and perhaps two or three of you would like to pray, and then I will close.”

Penny clasped her hands and lowered her head. She wanted to pray aloud, but a dreadful lump had lodged in her throat.

“Dear God, would You please take care of Alex and help him feel better soon.” Rose's sweet voice sent a comforting wave through Penny.

After a short pause, Donald added, “Dear God, thank You for Alex. He is a real hero for knocking down that Zeppelin. Would You help him heal up from that crash-landing so he can fly again? Thank You, amen.”

Jack and Lucy prayed aloud for Alex, and strength flowed into Penny's heart as she listened. Surely, with such sincere pleas from the children, God would hear and answer.

Finally Julia spoke. “Dear Father, we're grateful for Alex's heroic service, and we ask You to be with him now. Please provide excellent medical care for him, and bring him comfort and speedy healing. We also ask that You help us trust You while we wait for more news. Help us remember that You love Alex and You're constantly caring for him. May those truths calm our hearts and provide an anchor for us all. In Jesus's name we pray, amen.”

“Amen,” echoed around the table.

Julia looked up. “Thank you, children. You may all be excused. Please go to the library, choose a book to read, and wait for us there.”

The children were subdued as they pushed back their chairs, carried their plates to the sideboard, and walked out of the dining room.

Penny waited until the last one passed through the doorway, then she looked across the table at Sarah and Julia. “I have to find out what happened to Alex.”

Julia gave a slight nod. “Jon may be able to help. I'll write to him today.”

“What about William?” Sarah asked. “Perhaps he could use his connections at the War Office to find out more details.”

“That's a good idea,” Julia said. “I believe Alex's mother lives in London. I think she would have been notified about Alex's accident. We could contact her.”

Penny bit her lip. Writing letters and waiting for replies would take days or weeks. Where was Alex
now
? What if his injuries were serious? Could they find a way for him to return to London and be treated there? Surely it would be better for him to come to England than to stay in a field hospital in France.

She looked up and met Julia's gaze. “I want to go to London…today.”

Julia's eyes widened. “What would you do there?”

“I want to make sure Alex receives the best care possible.”

“I'm sure his commander and his family will see to that.”

Penny gripped her napkin in her lap. “His father is dead, and he's not close to his mother. She didn't even come to see him off when he left for training. We're probably the closest friends he has. We have to do something.”

Sarah's eyes flooded with sympathy. “You might find some answers in London, but I don't think it's wise for you to go alone.”

“Would you go with me, Sarah?”

She hesitated. “I wish I could, but I don't think I should leave Aunt Agatha. She nearly drove poor Ruby to tears when I went to see Clark off at the station, and I was only gone an hour.”

Penny sighed and sat back in her chair. Of course Sarah was right. It wouldn't be wise to leave Aunt Agatha. And even if it took them only one day to find out what happened to Alex, where would they stay? Jon and Kate's home in town had been closed up since they brought the children to Highland.

Still, the sticking point wasn't where she would sleep or even how she would find her way around—the main issue was traveling to London alone.

Julia laid her napkin on the table. “I'll go with you.”

Penny sat up. “Thank you, Julia, that would be wonderful.”

“I think Lydia, Helen, and Ann can manage the children without our help for a day or two, and Mr. Lawrence and Mrs. Dalton will see to the house and meals.”

The children's daily routine ran through Penny's mind, bringing a ripple of unease. It was a lot to ask of Lydia, Helen, and Ann, but she had to go to London and see what could be done for Alex. “If we give the children a list of activities to do while we're away, that might help. I'm sure they can handle the girls, but we might want to ask Mr. McTavish to watch over the boys.”

Sarah laid her napkin on the table. “I have an idea. Mr. McTavish said the cherries in the orchard are ripe and ready for picking. Perhaps that would keep the children busy.”

“Yes.” Julia smiled. “That's an excellent idea. They could even plan a picnic and give a prize to the child who picks the most cherries.”

Relief flowed through Penny. “I'm sure the children would enjoy a contest like that.”

Julia pushed her chair back and stood. “Oh, dear, I forgot, my father is coming at ten to check on Kate and Aunt Agatha.”

“It's all right.” Sarah stood. “Mrs. Dalton and I can meet him and explain your absence.”

Julia gave a slight nod, looking distracted. “I wanted to speak with him about something else, but it can wait until his next visit.”

“Are you sure?” Penny asked. “We could wait and take a train this afternoon.”

“No, I'd like to leave as soon as possible. It would be best if we could take care of matters by late afternoon and return home tonight.”

Penny rose, eager to prepare for their trip. “Thank you so much.”

“You're welcome, my dear.” Julia came around the table and gave her a hug.

Penny closed her eyes, soaking in the comfort of Julia's warm embrace. With Julia's marriage to William, she had become much more to Penny than her former governess. She had stepped into the role of cousin, guardian, and elder sister, all wrapped into one.

Thanks overflowed from her heart. Surely, with Julia's help, she would be able to find out what had happened to Alex. If his injuries were serious, Julia would help her deal with that news. And if that was the case, she would do everything in her power to bring him back to England and St. George's to recover.

But what if that wasn't possible?

She pushed that thought away. She would not accept defeat. Alex had gone to great lengths to protect his country. Now she would do whatever it took to see that he had the best care possible.

Painful throbbing pounded in Alex's head, stabbing the back of his eyes. It felt like someone was hammering a stubborn nail into solid oak. He moaned and tried to turn his head, but it felt so heavy he could hardly move.

Why couldn't he open his eyes? Where was he?

He parted his lips and pulled in a ragged breath, and pain shot through his jaw. His mouth was so dry…his tongue felt like a swollen piece of meat. He tried to swallow the dryness away, but it was no use. He moaned again.

“There now, Lieutenant.” The gentle female voice drifted toward him. “Rest easy.”

Who was that? He tried to pry open his eyes, but only one opened a slit.

A fuzzy female form bent over him. She wore a gray dress and a white apron with a large red cross stitched on the front. A white cap covered most of her dark-brown hair.

“Who are you?” His voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

“Nurse Johnson.”

His mind felt so fuzzy he could barely think how to form his words. “I'm thirsty,” he croaked.

“I'll get you a drink.” She walked away but returned a moment later, propped him up a little, and held a cup to his lips.

Cool water slid across his parched tongue and down his raw throat. Relief. Blessed relief.

“Slowly now. There's no need to gulp it down.”

He took another sip and moistened his lips, then she eased his head and shoulders back on the pillow. He lay there, breathing hard, spent and confused. Just drinking that water had taken all the energy he possessed. He squinted up at Nurse Johnson. “What happened to me?”

“You don't remember?”

He searched his mind, trying to recall how he'd landed in the hospital in such pain.

She laid her hand on his shoulder. “You crash-landed two days ago, just outside Dunkirk. But before that, you brought down a German Zeppelin.” She smiled and small lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes. “You're a hero. The King plans to give you the Victoria Cross as soon as you're well enough to travel to England.”

Memories rushed back at her words, and his eye drifted closed. He remembered taking off in his Morane, flying up into the darkness…heading for Belgium…spotting the Zeppelin…chasing it through the starlit sky. Then the gunner on top of the airship spotted him, and bullets whizzed past his plane.