The Wings of Morning (33 page)

Lack of sleep and the questions from the press corps weighed Jude down, but after lunch, Lucille and the rest of the squadron’s SPADs, all sporting the galloping knight with the lance on their fuselages, took to the sharp autumn air. The bite of the cold at twenty-two thousand feet brought him back to life. Zed forced a Fokker D.VII to crash-land by a British trench, where the pilot was quickly scooped up at gunpoint, but that was it for the sortie, and they returned to an early supper and a celebration meal the cooks had planned for Schleiermacher’s capture and Jude making ace.

The next day was dark and heavy with rain, and no one flew. Jude spent a good part of it helping Tex and Billy write letters home to their sweethearts.

“Why do you think I’m some sort of expert on this?” he asked them.

“You’ve had a gal forever,” Tex replied. “And your batman says you mail a letter almost every week. So you must know something.”

“What I say to my—gal—and you say to yours, they’re two completely different matters.”

“Come on, Captain,” Billy prodded as the three of them sat in the empty dining room together. “Just a few ideas. Just a few golden opening lines.”

Jude sat thinking as the rain banged against the windows.

“All right,” he finally said. “Have you talked about moonlight? And starlight?”

“What?” Tex exclaimed. “In the sky?”

“In—her hair, her eyes. On her skin. Have you mentioned whether the color in her eyes is like…a sunset, or dawn, or the sea? What about her voice? Does it remind you of a creek—whispering—as it runs past a grove of cottonwoods near some of your Texas hills? Billy, do her words make you think of, uh, soft summer breezes and…the way butterflies move from flower to flower?”

Both of the men gaped at Jude, then began scribbling ideas down on paper.

“Thanks a lot, sir,” Tex said as he wrote. “You sure are cookin’ with gas.”

The next day was full of sun. Jude held Kitty up to the window and turned the model just like a plane flying across the sky. Then he prayed, read his Bible, and dashed off a note to Lyyndaya.

He placed the note in an envelope, sealed and addressed it, and gave it to his batman. “Spencer, see if you can get this out today.”

The young man grinned. “I’ll do the best I can, sir. After me and the boys have had a chance to read it first, of course.”

Jude laughed and punched him on the arm. “Here’s a tip—Billy’s and Tex’s letters are juicier.”

At breakfast it was Flapjack who stood up and read from the Bible—the first time in his life he had done so, he admitted in a rare moment of self-disclosure. A verse had caught his eye when he had been leafing through the tome the evening before. He had one hand in his pocket, the other holding the page, and was slouching a little at the podium—nevertheless his voice was strong and steady and even dramatic.

“‘
If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me
.’”

After everyone had eaten, the White Knight squadron took off as one and flew toward Pont-à-Moussan and Metz. They cruised at twenty thousand feet, looking for German fighter formations or reconnaissance aircraft.

For a long time the blue and white sky was quiet. Jude kept turning his head, looking in every direction, but nothing appeared. Part of his mind began to drift toward Pennsylvania and Lyyndaya, while another part dwelt on reports of food riots in Germany and demonstrations against the war. Could it be possible the German Empire might collapse from within? Could the conflict be over as soon as November or December? He saw himself disembarking from the train in Paradise and Lyyndaya waiting for him in a black carriage. Bishop Zook and the pastors sat nearby in a different carriage. What could he say to the leadership of the church that would convince them to welcome him back? What words could he speak to Lyyndaya to convey all he felt for her after a year’s separation? Mulling over these things preoccupied him more and more as the squadron held formation for no-man’s-land and Metz.

So he did not realize the Albatros fighters were there until he and his men were under attack, the Germans dropping out of the sun one after another like fireflies, their guns winking and glittering, the bullets tearing into wood and fabric, smoke and flame erupting from his engine, Lucille hurtling through the sky as if she had a mind of her own, Jude with no time left to think, hardly any time left to pray.

S
wallows were rolling across the October fields in dark clouds as Lyyndaya and her sister walked slowly along the road, Ruth leaning heavily on Lyyndaya’s arm. The sun was still warm on their faces and there was green in many of the trees, although leaves the color of pumpkins skittered across their path. Their house was only a few hundred yards in front of them and they could see their mother sitting on the porch watching her daughters while pretending to sew a torn pair of pants.

“She’s been working on Papa’s trousers for more than an hour,” said Ruth.

“It must have been a large rip. Perhaps Papa caught it on a nail.”

“If only she would relax.”

“We almost lost you. I suspect it will be months before she believes you’re completely well.”

“But the epidemic is over, isn’t it? She knows that?”

“It’s not entirely over,” Lyyndaya said. “There are still plenty of cases, especially in the cities, and especially in Philadelphia. It’s true that things have quieted down, but that can change in a few days or weeks. No one knows when this influenza will die out to the point that the doctors can actually stand up and say to the public there’s no longer a reason to fear it.”

“No one is sick here that I know of. Are you still thinking of volunteering in a hospital in the city?”

“I don’t know. Not until you’re stronger.”

“I
am
stronger.”

“Not strong enough.”

“What is that?” Ruth suddenly asked, looking ahead.

“Where?”

“Up the road. It is a motorcar, isn’t it?”

Lyyndaya squinted. “Yes.”

“We hardly ever see them here.”

They watched the vehicle come along the road toward them, then slow and turn in at their house. Their mother stood up and they could see her open the front door and call to someone, probably their father. Sure enough, he came out and stood on the porch with Mama just as the sound of slamming metal doors reached the sisters’ ears.

“That’s Bishop Zook,” said Ruth.

“Yes.”

“And soldiers. Officers.”

Lyyndaya felt a coldness in her arms and stomach. “Why would they be here?”

“There’s no reason for them to be here unless it’s about Jude.” Ruth looked at her sister’s face. “Lyyndy, don’t think the worst. They’re probably going to give him a medal for bringing in that German pilot you told me about.”

“Schleiermacher.”

“Who has ever heard of such a thing in a time of war? Why else would they be here?”

As they drew closer the sisters could distinguish more easily between one person and another.

“There’s Jude’s father,” said Lyyndaya.

“You see? It is all right. It’s about an honor they’re going to bestow.”

Yet as they turned into their lane, Ruth determinedly putting one booted foot in front of another, Lyyndaya could almost taste the feeling of dread that rose up in her throat. It seemed that a touch of darkness was drifting toward her from the cluster of people. None of them were laughing or smiling, no one was shaking hands, no one looked relaxed or at ease. It was not a picture of joy.

What has happened? Please, Lord, brace me
.

Jude’s father stepped down from the porch and came to them, his hands outstretched. “Lyyndaya,” he said softly.

She stopped, Ruth leaning against her.

“The men from the army have come to tell us—”

An officer left the larger group by the porch and walked over to them. “Miss Kurtz?”

Lyyndaya hesitated. “We are both Miss Kurtz. We are sisters.”

“Miss Lyyndaya Kurtz?”

“Yes.”

“Major Robert Trenton. Your bishop told me you have been in something of an intimate relationship with Captain Jude Whetstone for some time. Captain Whetstone’s father has said the same thing.”

“I would not use the word ‘intimate’—but we have been good friends…” Lyyndaya stumbled, feeling the blood coming to her face.

“It’s important that I tell you what I have already informed the others of. Captain Whetstone was shot down over the German lines about five days ago. I’m very sorry to have to be the one to tell you this.”

“Shot down?” Lyyndaya felt her mind going numb and could only keep hearing those words. “Do you have him…in the hospital?”

The officer’s blue eyes were firm, but not without gentleness. “Officially, he is missing in action. Our doughboys got to the crash site as soon as they could, but it took some time as the position was under German sniper fire. Captain Whetstone was not in the cockpit.”

Lyyndaya didn’t know what to ask or say. She felt Ruth squeeze her hand with a strength she didn’t know she had in her.

“Is he a prisoner of war, Major?” Lyyndaya heard Ruth ask without a trace of illness or weakness in her voice.

“Both sides exchange this sort of information regularly as a courtesy. The Germans do not have him. They assured us that if they did they would be telling everyone about it.”

“Then where is he?” Ruth persisted, seeming to gain strength with each question she asked on Lyyndaya’s behalf.

Major Trenton was reluctant to voice his opinion, but finally said, “He may have fallen out of the cockpit before his aircraft hit the ground.”

Again, Lyyndaya felt Ruth’s hand tighten on hers.

“But you have found no body?” Ruth demanded.

“No.”

“So he could have escaped from the aeroplane’s wreckage after the crash?”

The major looked away. “He might have. However, German troops were concentrated in the vicinity. It’s doubtful he could have eluded them. Especially if he had sustained injuries.”

“You said he was officially missing in action.”

The officer glanced back at them. His face and eyes were rock. “Yes. Missing in action and presumed dead. I’m sorry.”

From a great distance, it seemed to Lyyndaya, she heard Major Trenton apologize again, say that it was a great blow to America as well, Captain Whetstone was a genuine hero, even the Germans and Austrians had sent condolences and tributes through official channels, a combat pilot who had never taken a life, who had fought with honor, a man who had brought down one of the German Empire’s greatest aces without killing him. A true Christian officer and a gentleman.

“There are some other things I need to tell you,” she heard him say. “I feel they would be an encouragement at such a difficult time. But we should go somewhere and sit down, perhaps?”

“Thank you, Major,” she heard Ruth say. “Our kitchen would be best for that.”

Now Lyyndaya felt her sister guiding her up the porch steps and then through the door into the kitchen. She sat down across from Bishop Zook, whose eyes were dark and kind as they rested on her. Her mother was with her and Ruth. Her father sat on one side of Major Trenton, and Mr. Whetstone on the other. The officers who had accompanied the major elected to stand.