May 1942
Ipswich, England
William cried, and Scarlett rocked him gently, swinging him side to side as the air-raid sirens wailed above them. The shelter was full and dimly lit, but she imagined her expression mirrored those around her. There were a few children huddled in the corner, playing a game—for the younger ones, this had become routine, just another fact of life.
The adults passed around reassuring smiles that were anything but. The air raids had picked up in the last week, the Germans bombing city after city in retaliation for the bombings in Cologne. Though the raids had never ceased completely, Scarlett had grown complacent over the last few months, and though this wasn’t the first time she found herself in a shelter, waiting to survive, or not, this was the first time William had.
She’d known fear before. Felt it in those moments the hangar had exploded back in Middle Wallop, or the times Jameson came home late, or not for days, while they escorted British bombers. But this fear, this terror clenching her throat with an icy fist was a new level, a new torture in this war. It was no longer only her life that hung in the balance, or even Jameson’s, but that of her son’s.
William would be six months old in a couple of days. Six months, and all he’d known was war.
“I’m sure they’ll give us the all clear in just a moment,” an older woman told her with a kind smile.
“Certainly,” Scarlett replied, adjusting William to her other hip and pressing a kiss to the top of his head through his hat.
Ipswich was a natural target, Scarlett knew that. But they’d been lucky so far.
The sirens stopped, and there was a hum of collective relief throughout
the long tube that served as their shelter underground.
The ground hadn’t shaken, though that wasn’t always a sure way to tell if they’d been hit, only that they hadn’t been hit nearby.
“There aren’t as many children as I would have expected,” Scarlett said to the older woman, mostly to distract herself.
“They built shelters at the school,” she explained with a proud nod. “They can’t fit all the children, naturally, but they go to school in shifts now, taking only as many children as can fit at once. It’s thrown more than a few schedules into upheaval, but…” She trailed off.
“But the children are safer,” Scarlett assumed.
The older woman nodded, her gaze flickering to William’s cheek.
“I can appreciate that,” Scarlett said, holding William just a little tighter. Six months ago, evacuating the children from London and other major targets had felt so logical to her. If the children were in danger, of course they should be evacuated to safer areas. But holding William in her arms, she couldn’t imagine the strength those other mothers must have had to put their children on a rail, not knowing exactly where they would be headed. She couldn’t get past her own gut check reaction that William was safest with her, but in her own need to stay close to Jameson, was she ultimately
placing William in more danger?
The answer was unequivocally yes, and she couldn’t deny it, not seeing as she now held him in an underground air-raid station, hoping and praying for the best.
The all clear sounded through the station, and the crowd began to file out. The sun was still shining as she exited the air-raid station. What had felt like days had only been hours.
“Passed right by us,” she heard an older man say.
“Our boys must’ve frightened them off,” another added with pride.
Scarlett knew better, but she didn’t say so. Her time plotting the bomber raids taught her that fighters weren’t often a deterrent. They just hadn’t been the target. It was as plain as that.
She walked the half mile home, talking gibberish to William the entire
time while keeping her eyes on the sky. Just because they were gone now didn’t mean they wouldn’t return.
“It might just be the two of us for tonight, little one,” she said to William as she opened the front door. With the increased raids, Jameson hadn’t been allowed to sleep off-station in over a week. Their house was only fifteen minutes away from Martlesham-Heath, but fifteen minutes was a lifetime when there were bombers approaching.
She fed William, bathed him, fed him again, and had him put down to bed before she thought about eating, herself.
She couldn’t stomach much, especially not knowing where Jameson was. It had been frightening to move his markers across the plotting board, to know when he engaged the enemy, to know when members of his squadron had fallen, but it was worse not knowing.
Scarlett sat at her typewriter, opened the smaller box that she had added to her collection in the past few months, then took out her latest page, and continued writing. This box was for their story—she couldn’t just lump it in with the other sketched-out summaries, partial chapters, and unfinished thoughts. If one story had to be kept up-to-date, it was this one, just in case it was all she’d have to give to William.
Perhaps she had romanticized a detail or two, but wasn’t that what love did anyway? It softened the sharper, uglier moments of life. She was already on chapter ten, which brought them nearly to William’s birth.
Once she finished that chapter, she dutifully put the last piece of paper back into the smaller box, then reached for a fresh sheet. She’d finally reached halfway, or at least what she thought was halfway, in an actual manuscript. She lost herself in that world, the clack of the typewriter keys filling the house.
She startled at the knock at the door, her fingers freezing over the keys as her head snapped toward the unwelcome sound.
He’s not dead. He’s not dead. He’s not dead. She repeated the phrase in a hushed whisper as she stood, then took the agonizing walk past the dining room, to the front door.
“He’s not dead,” she whispered one last time as her hand reached for the doorknob. There were plenty of reasons someone might call at this hour… She simply couldn’t think of them at this moment.
She lifted her chin and yanked open the door, ready to face whatever fate lay on the other side. “Constance!” Scarlett’s hand flew to her chest, hoping to contain her galloping heartbeat.
“I’m sorry to call so late!” Constance threw her arms around Scarlett. “I had just gotten back to the hut, and one of the girls said Ipswich had an air- raid scare. I had to see for myself that you were all right.” Her sister held her tight.
“We are all right,” Scarlett assured her, hugging her back. “I can’t say the same for Jameson, because I haven’t seen him in a few days.”
Constance pulled back. “They canceled his Sleeping Out pass?”
Scarlett nodded. “He’s been home twice since the raids began, but only to grab a clean uniform and kiss William and me goodbye once again.”
“I’m so sorry,” Constance said, shaking her head and lowering her eyes so her hat obscured her expression. “I should have spent my leave here with you, instead of taking it in London for yet another wedding arrangement session.”
Scarlett took her sister’s hand in hers. “Stop. You have your own life to live. Why don’t you come in, and let’s—”
“No, I have to get back,” Constance said with a quick shake of her head. “Nonsense,” Scarlett argued, glancing over Constance’s shoulder to see the new car parked at the edge of the pavement. “It is already so late, and if you can’t spend the night, at least let me make you some tea before you drive back.” Her eyes narrowed slightly at the lack of insignia on the
bumper. “It’s a lovely car.”
“Thank you,” Constance said with no joy. “Henry demanded I take it. He said no fiancée of his would be dependent on public transportation.” Constance lifted her shoulders in a minute shrug as she looked back at the sleek automobile.
A sick feeling slid through Scarlett’s stomach as she realized that
Constance had yet to meet her eyes. “Come on, poppet, just one cup.” She reached across the threshold and tilted Constance’s chin up.
Rage filled her heart. She was going to bloody kill him.
With the living room light illuminating her little sister’s face, Scarlett now saw the bruise marring Constance’s eye. The skin around it was puffy, red in places, and light blue in others, speaking to the bruise that would no doubt appear overnight.
“It’s nothing,” Constance said, jerking her head out of Scarlett’s grasp. “Get in here.” Scarlett tugged Constance inside and shut the door behind
them, then led her sister to the kitchen where she put on the kettle. “It really is—”
“If you tell me it’s nothing again, I’m going to scream,” Scarlett threatened, leaning back against the kitchen counter.
Constance sighed and removed her hat, placing it on the table next to Scarlett’s typewriter. “What would you have me say?”
“The truth.”
“There are degrees of the truth,” Constance said, folding her hands in her lap.
“Not between us there aren’t.” She folded her arms across her chest.
“I angered him,” Constance explained, her eyes lowering to her hands. “Turns out he doesn’t like to be kept waiting, or to be told no.”
Scarlett’s chest ached. “You cannot marry him. If he does this before you’re married, imagine what will happen after.”
“You don’t think I know?”
“If you know, then why go through with it? I know you love that land, and I know you think it’s the last piece of Edward, but Edward wouldn’t want you to be battered and bruised to keep it.” Scarlett crossed the distance between them and dropped to her knees in front of her sister, taking her hands in her own. “Please, Constance, please don’t do this.”
“It’s out of my hands,” Constance whispered, her lower lip trembling. “Announcements have been made. Invitations have been sent. By this time next month, we’ll be married.”
Scarlett felt tears prick at her eyes but would not let them fall. It wasn’t her fault that Henry was an abusive ass, but she couldn’t help but feel as though her sister had taken her place at the guillotine.
“There is still time,” Scarlett pressed.
Constance’s eyes hardened. “I love you, but this discussion is over. I’ll happily stay another hour or two, but only if you promise to let it drop.”
Every muscle in Scarlett’s body tensed, but she nodded. “I’d ask if you need to ring your section later, but I noticed your new rank,” she said with a forced smile, nodding toward the insignia on Constance’s shoulder.
“Oh.” The corners of Constance’s lips tugged upward. “It happened last week, I just hadn’t had time to see you yet.”
Scarlett rose to take the seat next to her sister. “You deserved it long before last week.”
“It’s funny, really,” Constance said with a small pucker between her eyebrows. “Robbins walked up to me after a watch, handed it to me, and simply said that my new duties would start the next day. Quite anticlimactic, really.”
Scarlett smiled in earnest this time. “Will he let you stay in?” she asked, unable to avoid the question.
Constance’s smile fell. “I think so. It turns out he doesn’t have much of a say as a civilian, since he isn’t physically fit to serve. But we both know that if I fall pregnant, well…”
“Yes, well, we know all about that.” She gave her sister’s hand a squeeze. “Since your immediate future isn’t up for discussion, what would you like to do?”
Constance’s gaze fell to the typewriter. “Did I interrupt you writing?” Warmth flooded Scarlett’s cheeks. “It’s nothing.”
The sisters’ eyes locked, both knowing that what they’d written off as nothing really meant everything.
“I’d hate to stop you in the middle of the grand masterpiece,” Constance said, lifting her eyebrows.
“Hardly a masterpiece,” Scarlett replied as the kettle whistled.
“How about you finish up the tea, and I’ll be your personal secretary and type?”
Scarlett grinned at the impish look on her sister’s face. “You just want to sneak a peek at what I’m writing.” Nevertheless, she stood and made her way to the stove.
“Guilty,” Constance admitted, taking off her jacket and hanging it over the back of the chair before sitting in front of the typewriter. “Well,” she said, sending her sister a poignant look. “Go ahead.”
Scarlett looked her sister over, then turned her attention to the tea. She couldn’t stop this marriage. She couldn’t take the bruises from Constance’s face, nor would she ever be able to. But she could help her escape, if only for a little while.
“All right,” she agreed. “Read me the last line.”
…
Jameson brought the Spitfire down in a near perfect landing, though he felt anything but on his game. The Germans had been swift to retaliate, and the bombings had increased tenfold, if not more.
There were now three Eagle Squadrons, full of Americans ready to risk their lives. Rumor had it, by the fall, they’d all be back in American uniform, but Jameson had stopped listening to rumors ages ago.
He taxied, then turned his fighter over to the ground crew. He could’ve sworn his muscles creaked in protest as he climbed out of the cockpit. The number of hours he’d spent in the sky lately felt like they outnumbered the ones he’d spent on the ground, and his body had taken notice. It had been weeks since he’d been allowed to sleep at Scarlett’s side.
The few hours he’d managed to spend with her hadn’t been nearly enough. He missed his family with an ache so sharp, it threatened to slice him in half, but every day became more apparent that he should miss them more… That they should be as far away as possible.
“We’re off for the night,” Howard said with his arms raised in victory.
“What do you say, Stanton?”
“To what?” Jameson asked as he removed his helmet.
“Let’s get out of here and blow off some steam,” Howard suggested as they headed for the hangar.
“If we are really off for the night,” Jameson said, “the only place I’m going is home.” Just the thought had his lips turning upward.
“Oh come on,” Boston chimed in, walking beside Howard with a lit cigarette in his mouth. “Get one of those…what did the Brits call them… kitchen passes.”
Howard laughed as Jameson shook his head. “What you don’t get, Boston,” Howard said with a grin, “is that Stanton here would rather go home to that gorgeous wife of his than ask for a night out with the boys.”
“The last two weeks have been a night out with the boys,” Jameson countered. “And if any of you had a woman half as good as Scarlett, you wouldn’t be so quick to ask for a kitchen pass, either.” Besides, it wasn’t just Scarlett he was going home to. William had begun crawling, the changes in his little body happening so fast that Jameson could barely keep up.
“I heard she has a sister,” Boston joked. “A very engaged sister,” Howard replied.
Jameson’s jaw flexed. Not only was it absolutely abhorrent that Constance was marrying an ogre, but he knew the guilt of it ate Scarlett up and spat her back out daily.
“Flight Officer Stanton,” an airman called, waving his hands just in case Jameson hadn’t heard him.
“So help me God if they don’t let me go home tonight, I’m going to prang an aircraft.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Howard said, slapping him on the back.
Fine, he wasn’t actually going to crash an aircraft on purpose, but the thought had its appeal if it got him just a couple of days with his family. He waved the airman over. The kid couldn’t have been more than nineteen, or maybe it was simply that Jameson felt decades older than twenty-four.
“Flight Officer Stanton,” the kid said between heaving breaths.
“What can I do for you?” Jameson asked, already preparing himself for the possibility of another night without Scarlett.
“There’s someone here to see you,” the kid announced. “Does this someone have a name?” Jameson asked.
“I didn’t catch it,” the kid admitted. “But he’s waiting for you in the pilots’ rest room. He was really insistent that he see you.”
Jameson sighed and ran his hand over his sweaty hair. He hadn’t just spent the last few hours in an aircraft, he also smelled like it. “Okay, let me get a shower —”
“No! He said he needed to see you as soon as you landed.”
“Great.” Jameson kissed the thought of a shower goodbye. “I’ll head over right now.”
To say he was in a foul mood by the time he walked into the rest room would have been an understatement. He wanted a shower, and Scarlett, and William, and a hot meal, not some secretive meeting in the—
“Holy shit! Uncle Vernon?” Jameson’s mouth dropped open at the figure he found lounged in one of the leather armchairs that lined the rest room wall.
“Finally!” His uncle stood with a wide grin and captured him in a bear hug. “I almost had to give up on you. I’m due to leave in the next half hour.”
“What are you doing here?” Jameson asked as he stepped back, noting the American uniform his uncle wore.
“Your mother didn’t tell you?” Uncle Vernon asked with a sly grin. Jameson’s brows rose as he recognized the insignia. “You joined the
Transport Command?”
“Well, I couldn’t very well sit home on my backside while you were over here risking yours, could I?” His uncle’s eyes swept over Jameson in that appraising way he’d always had. “Sit down, Jameson. You look like hell.”
“I’ve looked like hell for the last two years,” Jameson argued, but sat,
sinking into the worn leather. “How long have you been flying for the ATC?”
“Almost a year,” Uncle Vernon replied. “Started out as a civilian, but eventually the pressure got to me,” he admitted, motioning to the rank on the collar of his flight suit.
“At least they made you a lieutenant colonel,” Jameson noted.
His uncle grimaced. “It has some privileges, like being able to hold a flight three hours late when your nephew is in the middle of a dogfight. A nephew I heard happens to be an ace.”
“Wonder where I got those flying skills from.”
“You’ve surpassed anything I could have taught you. It’s damned good to see you, boy. Though even I can admit you’re a man now.”
Jameson rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d say I would have been here sooner had I known, but I wouldn’t have.” He’d never leave his squadron in the sky.
“I’m just glad I got to see you. I wish I could have met your Scarlett and my great-nephew, but maybe we can get the Germans to agree not to attack when I come back next month.” His uncle flashed a smile that closely resembled his own.
“I’ll get right on that,” Jameson said as flatly as he could manage before cracking a smile. “So where do you go from here?”
His uncle arched a brow. “Don’t you know? That’s classified.”
“Don’t you know? I named my son William Vernon.” Jameson lifted his own brow in response. How easy it was to be with him again, as though the last two and a half years hadn’t happened. As though they were at home on the porch, watching the stars come out in the Colorado sky.
“I heard something about that.” His uncle grinned. “I’ll meet up with the rest of the ATC pilots up north, and we’ll head back tonight. It’s hard to believe that sixteen hours make the difference between being in England and hitting the east coast.”
Sixteen hours, Jameson thought. The entire world could change in just sixteen hours. “We’re grateful,” he said, looking his uncle in the eye.
“Every bomber you guys ferry over here from the States is needed.”
“I know,” he replied, his face falling. “I’m proud of you, Jameson, but I wish you didn’t have to be here. And I definitely wish you weren’t raising my great-nephew where bombs fall on sleeping babies.”
Jameson let the back of his head fall against the leather and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m trying like hell to get them out of here. She’s been through the medical exams, we have all the paperwork in order, and they’re entitled to citizenship…as long as my government hasn’t revoked mine.” Scarlett’s appointment for her visa was next week. It was already May, and he knew chances were the quotas had already been filled, but he couldn’t give up hope.
“They haven’t revoked your citizenship,” his uncle promised. “America is in this war now, for better or worse. They’re not gonna punish those who were brave enough to fight before we were provoked.”
“We booked her passage. She has to have her travel arrangements before they’ll grant a visa, but that doesn’t mean she’ll actually get on the ship.” Scarlett had made her feelings all too clear when it came to leaving him, but that had been before the latest barrage of bombings.
“I know some people at the State Department,” his uncle said quietly. “I’ll see what I can do to help move that wheel, but sticking your family on a ship with all those U-boats prowling the Atlantic might be a bigger gamble than letting them sleep in their own beds.”
“I know,” Jameson said softly, running his hands over his face. “I love her more than I love myself. She is everything to me, and William is the best of both of us. If I can’t even save my own son, then what good did I do coming here? What was it all for?”
The two men sat in silence for several moments, both knowing that neither option was safe. Then Jameson realized there was one.
“I need a favor,” Jameson said, turning in his chair to face his uncle. “Anything. You know I love you like you’re my own.”
Jameson nodded. “I’m counting on it.”
His uncle’s eyes, the same mossy green shade as his own, narrowed
slightly. “What do you have in mind, Jameson?” “I want you to help me get my family out.”
…
“Thank God!” Scarlett exclaimed as she raced into Jameson’s arms.
He kissed her before he said a word, lifting her in his arms in their living room. He kissed her over and over, pouring his relief, his love, and his hope into it, until she melted against him.
“I’ve done the wash, and you have a clean uniform in our bedroom,” she said, her hands cupping his cheeks.
“I’ll put it on in the morning,” he assured her with a smile. Her eyes lit up. “You can stay the night with us?”
“I can stay the night with you.” He would stay every night that was humanly possible between now and the date he’d discussed with his uncle.
Her smile was brighter than he’d ever seen, and she kissed him soundly in reply. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered before kissing her again.
“I want nothing more than to carry you upstairs and make love to you until we’re both limp,” he whispered against her lips.
“That plan is brilliant,” she replied with a smile. “With one exception.”
That exception was currently crawling their way, drool spilling from the corner of his lips.
“He’s teething,” Scarlett explained with a slight grimace.
Jameson let go of his wife, only to scoop up his son and hug him tight. “Are you getting new teeth?” he asked before blowing raspberries on William’s neck.
…
“Of course he is all smiles for you.” Scarlett rolled her eyes. The way Jameson looked at their son stopped her heart. It was equal parts love and
awe and only served to make her husband even more attractive.
Jameson’s face fell and took Scarlett’s stomach with it. “He won’t be in a minute,” he said softly.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“We need to talk about something,” he said quietly, then dragged his gaze to meet hers.
“Tell me,” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. “Your appointment is next week, right?”
Her chest tightened, but she nodded.
“I know you agreed to go to the States if something happened to me, but what do you think about going sooner?” He shifted William in his arms protectively, at odds with his words.
“Sooner? Why?” she whispered, her heart breaking. It was one thing to know that William wasn’t safe here, but it was another for Jameson to send them away.
“It’s too dangerous,” Jameson said. “The raids, the bombings, the deaths. I won’t be able to live with myself if I have to bury either one of you.” His voice came out as though it had been scraped over broken pieces of shrapnel.
“There’s no guarantee I’ll even get a visa,” she countered, her heart fighting what her mind had already told her was best. “We’ve talked about traveling before.”
Nearly all of the commercial ships had been pressed into military service, and while it had been possible, barely, to book passage across the Atlantic, there was still danger. She lost track of how many civilians had died when the U-boats sank their ships from underneath them.
“I love you, Scarlett. There’s nothing I won’t do to keep you safe.” He gazed lovingly at their son. “Keep you both safe. So, I’m asking you to go to the States. I’ve found what I think is the safest way to do it.”
“You want me to go?” Thousands of emotions hit Scarlett all at once— anger, frustration, sorrow, everything seemed to roll up into one ball and lodge itself in her throat.
“No, but can you honestly tell me it’s safe here for William?” His voice faded at their son’s name.
“I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered. She hugged herself tighter, for fear that if she let go even the slightest bit, she would shatter to pieces at his feet. He was right, it wasn’t safe. She’d come to the same conclusion yesterday in that air-raid shelter, but the thought of leaving Jameson was a knife in her soul.
He pulled her against him, tucking her in tight into his side as he held their son in his other arm. “I don’t want you to go,” he admitted in a guttural rush. “But if I can save you, I will. Exeter, Bath, Norwich, York, the list goes on. Over a thousand civilians have died in the last week alone.” “I know.” Her hands fisted in the material of his uniform, as if she could stay if she held on just a little tighter, but this wasn’t about them anymore. It was about their son, the life they’d created together. Thousands of British mothers had trusted their children to strangers to keep them from harm’s way, and here, she had the chance to deliver her son from harm herself. “You want us to take the ship to America?” she asked slowly, tasting the
bittersweet words on her tongue. “Not exactly…”
She looked up at Jameson and arched an eyebrow. “I saw my uncle today.”
Her eyes flew wide. “I’m sorry?”
“Uncle Vernon. He’s here flying with ATC. He’ll be back in a little less than a month.”
Scarlett swallowed. “At which time he’ll come to dinner so I can meet him?” she guessed hopefully, knowing that wasn’t what he meant.
Jameson shook his head. “At which time he can get you out.”
How? How could he be sure she’d get a visa below the quota? How could he be sure he’d get them out? How? The questions hit her at such speed that they all skimmed right over her, because everything in her soul, in the center of her being, had focused on the other piece in this puzzle. “Less than a month?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Less than a month.” The agony in Jameson’s eyes was something she’d never forget, but he nodded once. “If you agree.”
It was her choice, but there wasn’t one. Not really.
“Okay,” she agreed, tears pricking her eyes. “But only because of William.” She would risk her life to stay with Jameson, but she couldn’t risk her son’s if there was any other option.
Jameson forced a smile, then pressed a hard kiss against her forehead. “For William.”
