Flying Angels(54)

   Max came into the dining room then, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat down with a careful look at their mother. She seemed all right, which didn’t surprise him. He expected nothing less of her.

“Father?” His concern was in the single word. His father wasn’t young, nor was his mother, but she showed her age less, with her long stride and straight back, and a healthy glow from the outdoors year-round. Today was different. She could have let her guard down, her strong protective shield, but she never did.

“He’ll be all right. It’s a terrible shock, but we’re the last ones we know to go through it.” All of their friends had lost at least one son in the last five years. And now they were no different, no matter how painful it was, or what a golden child Phillip had been. No one was exempt. “One wonders if it will ever be over.”

“We’ll never give up the fight, if that’s what you mean, Mother,” Max said staunchly. “We’ll fight on, whatever it takes. Churchill estimates it will take another year.”

“I hope not,” Constance said with an exhausted look.

“How are your missions going?” Max asked Pru as he sipped his coffee. He didn’t ask his mother for sugar, since it was rationed and he knew how hard it was to come by. “The Flying Angels, isn’t that what you call yourselves?” There was a teasing look in his eyes, which was comfortably familiar and reassured her that some things hadn’t changed despite the enormous loss they had just suffered. Max would have to do all the teasing now, since Phillip wouldn’t be there to do his share. They loved teasing Pru, even at their age.

   “That’s what the others call us,” Pru said quietly. “We’re just nurses.”

“And doing a damn fine job, from what I hear. Two of my friends have passed through your hands, or your colleagues’, and spoke well of you. One of them claims the Flying Angels saved his life. He was delirious, I suspect. Flying Devils, more like, if you’re part of it,” he said and smiled at her as their father walked into the room, and Max stood up in respect. Thomas Pommery looked like he’d been through the wars himself, but his back was straight as he took his place at the head of the table, and they ate in silence. Constance served him toast with the jam she made from the fruit in their orchards. There was no butter, and he hated the taste of the margarine. They were both rationed, and there was little enough of that too.

After breakfast, their parents went for a walk to discuss the service for Phillip, and they walked to the cemetery on their property to decide where they would put the monument to him. Pru and Max sat in the sunshine in the garden. It was peaceful there, in spite of what had happened. It felt good to be home, together, whatever the reason. Max was stationed at a base not far from where she was, but he never had time to visit.

They took a walk down to the lake on the path that was so full of memories for both of them. Pru looked up at the trees she had climbed to escape her brothers or taunt them. She’d jumped into the lake more than once in all her clothes.

“You were always braver than we were, you know.” Max smiled at her. “We just pretended. You really were brave. Phillip said that to me once, and I never realized it before, but he was right.”

“I don’t know that I was. I don’t know how brave I am now. You just do what you have to do to get the job done. I took a bit of a walking tour behind enemy lines in France a few weeks ago. We lost an engine and went down. We were MIA for a while, but we got back all right. It took eight days.” It didn’t surprise him, nor the cool way she said it, but it worried him anyway.

   “You and your crew?”

“One of the nurses and me. Hell of a plucky girl. We’ve been working together for quite some time. She’s rubbish at reading a map, but a hell of a nurse, and made of strong stuff. She’s a bit of a firebrand, bright ginger hair to go with it.” She smiled, thinking of Emma and their eight days on the run.

“One of your Flying Devils, I assume,” he said with a laugh, and Pru grinned. It felt strange to smile now, with Phillip gone. It almost made her feel guilty.

“Of course. Good person to get lost with, behind enemy lines. I have no idea how we did it, but we slipped by all the German patrols, and they never caught us. We got picked up by a fishing boat on the French coast and came back smelling like a year of dead fish.”

“Sounds delightful.” He was sure there was much she wasn’t telling him, like all the dangers and risks they encountered. “Were you involved in the business in Normandy?” he asked. Neither of them knew much about the other’s missions. They weren’t supposed to. She shook her head in answer to his question, which was safe to ask her now.

“Nowhere for us to land. They took the wounded off by boat and brought them to us. It was an ugly business. The hospitals were full to the gills, and still are, two months later.”

   “We lost some men there. But it will turn the tides, so it was worth it.” She wondered who decided what was worth it, and how many men one had to sacrifice to turn the tides.

“I hope so,” was all she said, and they walked back to the house and ran into their parents coming back from the family cemetery. They both looked like they’d been crying.



* * *



—

The service the next day was predictably painful, and just what it ought to have been: solemn, respectful, tender, poignant, and no longer than it had to be. Their neighbors had come, friends of their parents’ generation. It was beautiful in a simple way for a greatly loved son who had given his life for his king and country, and would be long remembered as a man and a boy by those who loved him.