by Sarah Monzon
There were so many broken things she could fix, restore—planes, cars, pretty much anything made of metal that had an internal combustion engine—but she’d been foolish to entertain the notion that she could in any way bring back to life a broken man. Michael would have to come to terms with the way his life had turned out, accident and disappointments all. And he’d have to engage his mind and spirit to fight for his future. She knew he had endless possibilities for a great one, but until he embraced that as well, he was stuck.
Making the right decision didn’t lessen the pain though. She hurt. An ache in her bones she’d only experienced with having the flu. Her own heart crumbled at the loss of him. No matter how much she’d bucked and balked in the beginning at Brett asking Michael to keep an eye on her, she’d become more than used to having him around. She’d become attached. But when she thought of Michael, the way he’d let himself become entrenched with the wrong perception of who he was and what he had to offer, that was when it felt like her insides were ripping apart.
Seats behind her vacated, and the line of passengers in the aisle dwindled. She stood and grabbed her seabag from the overhead compartment. She shimmied between the rows of seats and thanked the smiling flight attendant standing between the exit and the cockpit. Air conditioning blasted her as she stepped into the airport’s terminal. Low hums of conversation, the sound of turning wheels as luggage was pulled behind, the cackling of the overhead speakers—they mixed together as she kept her eyes forward and focused on following the signs to the passenger pickup area.
Descending on the escalator, she scanned the open area, not really knowing who or what she was looking for. She’d given Alice exactly sixteen hours’ notice. For all Jack knew, she’d need to secure her own transportation to the address provided.
A shoulder bumped against hers, and she looked at the offender, giving a small smile as she accepted the businessman’s apology. Better find a bench so she could check her e-mail. Maybe Alice had replied with instructions. A vacant seat in a row that had been bolted to the floor drew her attention, and she strode toward it. Her seabag fit between her legs as she pulled out her phone and opened her e-mail.
“Miss Rogers? Jack?”
Jack placed her phone on the top of her bag and stood, relief taking the edge off the fatigue hanging on her like her nephew Dominick liked to do. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about taking a taxi.
“Alice?”
The woman nodded as they shook hands. Her palms matched the rest of her—smooth, refined, cultured. She was expertly put together in designer dark-wash jeans and a fitted jacket that cuffed below the elbow. A simple necklace drew attention to an intricate lace blouse. In comparison Jack bore the calluses of hard manual labor and had decided on a pair of comfortable NAVY sweatpants for her long flight. Maybe the differences would make other women feel inferior, but Jack didn’t adhere to that sort of thing.
“I’m so pleased you were able to come. I hope whatever emergency that came up to postpone your trip worked out okay?” Her eyebrows rose in question.
Jack’s stomach clenched. “Not as I’d hoped, but I haven’t completely given up yet.”
Alice smiled. “I’ll continue to pray then.” Her blue eyes looked over Jack’s shoulder. “Should we gather the rest of your luggage?”
Jack pocketed her phone and then lugged the seabag onto her back. “This is it.”
“Splendid. My car is parked nearby.”
After a short walk to the parking garage, they neared a shiny Alfa Romeo Spider. Jack eyed the car, then Alice Abbott. “This is yours?” She pointed to the sleek car built for speed.
Those blue eyes twinkled with a hidden secret, and Alice laughed. “If my car shocks you, then you are in for a load of surprises.” Alice opened the driver’s-side door and paused to speak over the roof of the car. “Did you not Google us?”
The car had surprised her. Not because of the price tag adjoined to it—people who hired her to restore vintage airplanes were hardly the types to shop at the Dollar Store—more so because she hadn’t pictured Alice Abbott behind the wheel of something with so much power. Jack peered over the roof, detecting a daring edge to the coiffed woman—perhaps there was more to the proper English lady than Jack had first suspected.
But why would she need to Google Alice? Jack had never researched clients before. They had planes they wanted restored, and she was the one to do the work. Simple. But maybe Alice did things differently. Made sense. Didn’t want to hire someone who had a criminal record or anything like that. Yet the way Alice had said it, with delight at Jack’s ignorance and more than a hint of pride, had Jack’s hand itching for her phone. Had she missed something pivotal? What was she about to walk into?
“Are you hungry? We’re to meet my father and grandfather at a great little pub just outside the city.”
Pub she could handle. Some authentic fish and chips sounded wonderful. If Alice had said teahouse, Jack wasn’t sure she’d have been able to contain her eye roll.
They drove in relative silence before Alice pulled up to a corner pub and parked on the street. As soon as Jack stepped out of the car, the smell of frying oil and draft ale assaulted her. The beer she’d pass on, but the thought of a basket of hot crispy fries had her mouth salivating.
She followed Alice into the establishment, inhaling deeply. The Union Jack hung large and proud along the side wall, where it presided over the dining room. Front and center, however, stood an impressively long shellacked bar with tufted stools pushed up against a brass footrail. A soccer game played on the large televisions hanging at an angle behind the bar.
Alice led them past the long bar and into the dining room to the right. Two elderly gentlemen sat at a table by the window, one in a wheelchair, his hands and head shaking in a continuous tremble. Alice leaned between the men and pecked a kiss on each of their cheeks before rounding the table and taking the seat closest to the window. Jack lowered herself to the last vacant seat with a smile. The familial resemblance between the three people she was seated with was undeniable. Same striking blue eyes, same slender nose and rounded chin. Three generations gathered around her to share lunch…and hopefully a few stories.
Alice extended her hand first to the oldest gentleman in the wheelchair. “I’d like you to meet my grandfather, Henry Caldwell. He’s going to be celebrating his ninety-sixth birthday next month.” She moved her hand to the gentleman seated directly opposite her. “And this is my father, Albert Caldwell.”
“Nice to meet you both.”
Albert Caldwell’s eyes were kind, soft around the edges yet deep and discerning. They reminded her of her own father’s, though his were a deep brown.
“We’re simply delighted that you were able to accept the position.” He looked her over with a sideways tilt to his lips. “My mother would have approved of you right off.”
A waitress approached, and they placed their order.
Jack traced the square of her napkin. “It was her plane, right? Your mother’s, I mean. The one you want me to restore.”
Albert shared a look with his father and then his daughter, his smile hitching higher. “Not exactly.”
“Oh?” Her hand stilled on the paper square, and she looked up. Was this what Alice had meant when she’d said Jack was in for a surprise? If so, she might as well end it right there. No way would she be a part of something shady.
Alice laughed and touched Jack’s arm. “Don’t look so aghast. Grandmother commandeered the plane over seventy years ago and saved countless lives because of it.”
“Including mine.” The man who’d seen almost a century go by, Henry Caldwell, spoke in a strong voice that belied the lack of control he had over his muscles. “Time and again Alice saved my life. In so many ways. On so many days.”
Alice? Jack glanced at Mrs. Abbott, who leaned in and whispered, “I was named after my grandmother, you see.”
“I’d love to hear the story.” And then decide if she would be break
ing any laws working on a stolen military plane.
The waitress returned carrying a tray with their drinks. She set them on the table with a smile and then turned and left.
Jack reached for her Sierra Mist, the glass cool against her palm. She took a quick sip through the straw, thankful the carbonation and lemon-lime flavor jolted her a bit. She hadn’t slept much on the flight over.
“Father should really tell the story.” Albert leaned back in his chair as he looked at his dad. “He’s always had a knack for such things.”
Alice bent toward Jack again, as if sharing a secret. “Grandfather was a journalist during the Second World War.” Her voice lowered even more. “And a spy.”
Espionage, stolen military plans, unmarked heroic missions. Maybe she should have Googled Alice Abbott and her relatives. They sure did have an impressive list of adventures in their family tree.
Henry reached a shaking hand to his tea, the cup clinking against the saucer as he fumbled to hold the curved handle. Albert scooted forward and lifted the steaming liquid to his father’s lips.
Henry swallowed, then lifted his watery eyes to Jack. “My Alice was an American, like you. Determined, strong, unafraid to forge her way where few women had dared to tread. And I loved her the minute I laid eyes on her.”
The waitress approached with a laden tray. She deposited plates in front of them all, Jack’s golden basket of fish and chips last. “Do you need anything else?” When no one voiced a request, she turned on her heel to return to the kitchen.
Jack pinched a hot fry between her thumb and forefinger. She should really wait until they cooled off more, but she bit the tip instead. So good. Her gaze lifted to Henry Caldwell, waiting for him to continue the story.
And what a story it turned out to be. Mr. Caldwell had likened her to Alice, but Jack had never had to be so brave.
“We married with only her aunt Sybil and a few witnesses in attendance.” His faraway look receded as his eyes came back into focus. “After that I brought her back to my family home, and that’s when—”
“How’s your roast, Grandfather? It will be cold by the time you take your first bite.” Alice pinned her brows to her hairline as she looked pointedly at Henry’s untouched plate.
“Oh?” He studied his plate, fork in hand, then speared a piece of cut-up meat with the tines. His jaw worked as he chewed then swallowed, giving them all a sheepish smile. “Forgive me, my dear. You know how I could go on and on about my love.”
When…when what? When the military had discovered Alice’s location and hauled her off to jail? When the Germans realized who’d thwarted their plans and sent a bomber to pay retribution?
Jack leaned forward in her seat, forearms resting on the tabletop, waiting for Mr. Caldwell to finish his tale and not leave her hanging.
He brought another bite of food to his mouth.
Jack’s eyes swung to Albert and Alice. Maybe they’d pick up where Henry had finished off. “Then what happened?”
Alice ignored Jack, instead concentrating way too hard at wiping her fingers clean. Okay, no answers there.
She looked to Albert, who peered at his daughter, his brows dipped in question. Finally, his eyes switched to focus on Jack, and he shrugged. “A legacy. But one you’ll have to see for yourself.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Present Day, Florida
“So that’s it?”
Adam’s incredulous voice grated on Michael’s nerves. He’d seen his brother like a dog with a bone in the courtroom, but he’d never been the recipient of such tactics before. Unpleasant, to say the least.
“Life is rarely like a Hollywood rom-com. Yes, I’d love to whisk off to England and win back the girl, but I can’t. First I have to make sure her past never catches up with her again.” He stuffed another shirt into his seabag.
“Take a detour. Fly to London. Tell her you’re done being a martyr, then take care of stuff back home.”
Michael didn’t bother looking up. “I’m not going to show up and then zoom off again. I don’t want to be with her only to have to separate again a moment later.”
“Fine.” Adam shoved an envelope under Michael’s nose. “She asked me to give you this.”
He raised his head in a snap. “And you’re only just now getting around to it?”
Adam shrugged without apology.
Last straw. Michael’s son or daughter, if and when he had one, would be an only child. Siblings could be the worst. He snatched the envelope from his brother’s hands and ripped it open at the top. Unfolded the paper and scanned the contents. Huh.
“What does it say?” Adam bounced on his toes to peek over the top of the paper. “A long gushy love letter with doodled hearts and poems?”
“How are you the oldest?” Michael rolled his eyes and reread the message. “It’s just three words.”
Adam tapped his chin. “‘Michael, get lost.’ No. How about, ‘You’re a jerk’? Hmm. Probably not. Oh, I know—”
“It says ‘I love you,’ then a postscript with an address.” He let gravity pull him to the edge of the bed with a plop.
Adam lost the tease from his expression. “Of course she loves you.” His hand anchored on Michael’s shoulder. “And she had faith that you’d work all this out.”
Tears collected in Michael’s eyes, and he blinked them back, embarrassed that he’d weakened so much that they’d gather in the first place and that his brother was there to witness it. “I don’t deserve her.”
The hand on his shoulder shook him side to side, the bed dipping beside him under his brother’s weight. “You’re one of the best men I know, Michael. I’ve always been immensely proud of you. Trust me when I say, you guys deserve each other. And I don’t mean that in a passive-aggressive ‘you’re both so horrible you deserve each other’ way like they say it in the movies. I’m being sincere.”
Michael snorted. “For once.”
Adam grinned unabashedly. “I’m wounded.” He lowered his hand. “Seriously, though. I know we’ve already told you we’d been worried. It was like a black cloud had been hanging over you. And we got it. I mean, you went through a lot, bro.” He nudged Michael with his shoulder. “It’s good to see a glimpse of the old Finch again.”
“If there had been a black cloud, then Jackie is the ray of sunshine that broke through it.” A half smile lifted one side of his mouth as he expelled a self-derisive breath. “Not exactly the most poetic, was it?”
“Give yourself a break. You were used to making war, not love.”
Sarcasm widened his face. “Riiight.”
Adam stood and clapped his hands together. “So plan of action, Lieutenant?”
“Win the girl?”
Adam slowly shook his head, making clucking noises with his tongue. “That’s the objective, not the course of action. Didn’t they teach you strategies in the navy?”
Michael stood and slung his seabag to his back. “Just get me to the airport. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“If you say so, but I really think you should consult your older, much wiser brother.”
Michael shoved Adam’s shoulder to get him moving toward the door. “If I need advice, I’ll call Trent.”
***
He had thirty minutes to kill before his plane started boarding. Perfect time to do a little reconnaissance on Jackie’s new employer and figure out an itinerary. Plane tickets would need to be purchased, and hotel and rental car reservations had to be made. Jackie’s note had seemed like she was waiting for him to show up, but if her feelings or thoughts had changed from the time she’d given Adam the note to the time he saw her again in England, then he needed to be prepared. Because there was no way he was leaving without her. She’d fought for him and then given him the space to fight for himself. It was his time to step on the battlefield if need be.
Safari opened on his iPhone, and he typed in the address into the search engine. He’d expected a white pages listing with a resident’s name and
possibly a phone number, not the extensive website that showed after he clicked the first result. Whoa. He read the mission statement, browsed the gallery—basically clicked every menu option available, his eyes widening as he went, a sense of rightness falling into place somewhere in his center. Mr. McClaren’s Piper, Jackie, and now what the website declared as Henry and Alice Caldwell’s legacy. Pieces fitting together. Excitement bubbled, not unlike what he experienced after strapping himself into his Super Hornet and awaiting the signal from the shooter to launch from a carrier.
He closed his eyes in a moment of gratitude.
You were always meant to soar.
Isaiah 40:31 followed the thought as a benediction, and he grasped on to it with all of his being. But those who trust in the Lord will find new strength. They will soar high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint.
He opened his eyes, awash in peace and feeling light. A call to his mom to thank her for making him memorize a new verse each week growing up was in order, but first…
He opened a new window in Safari to start a new search. This one to see what he’d need to be able to make a transatlantic flight in a vintage single-engine plane.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
England, 1944
“This is your house? Alice closed her gaping mouth as she stood, transfixed, before a stately gray stone mansion.
“More like a family estate.” Henry opened the trunk of the car and retrieved the luggage.
“You’re the Earl of Rivendall.” Aunt Sybil stepped out of the automobile, her tone suggesting she’d just placed the last piece in a puzzle that had stumped her for far too long. She covered her laugh behind a gloved palm as she turned merry eyes to Alice. “Your father is going to love this.”