Beneath the Dover Sky (47 page)

Crimson and gold rippled up and down the silk as Jane moved about the room shyly. Lady Preston clasped her hands together at her chest and nodded her head. Finally Jane stopped in front of a large, freestanding, oval mirror rimmed in dark wood.

“I—I scarcely recognize myself.” Jane’s eyes were dark and wide. “I look so much older.”

“You do. You do indeed. And tomorrow you shall have black high-heeled shoes, and we shall arrange your hair by sweeping it back and add a red poinsettia. I purchased long red gloves for you to wear. We shall add some eye shadow and mascara too. You must meet me here at seven, and we’ll make you the toast of Hartmann Castle!”

Jane turned from the mirror. “I am very happy, Grandmother Elizabeth. You should not love me so much.”

“Yes, dear, I should. This much and more, so much more.”

DEAR LIBBY

YOU WILL NOT WANT TO HEAR HOW WARM A MARCH DAY IS ON THE SOUTH COAST OF SPAIN SO I SHALL NOT TELL YOU. INSTEAD I WILL SAY HOW MUCH I ADORE YOU AND THAT I LOVE YOU WITH ALL MY HEART. AND SOMETHING ELSE. YES I KNOW THIS OUGHT TO BE DONE IN PERSON AT A FINE RESTAURANT OR BY A LOVELY SEASCAPE BUT I CAN’T WAIT FOR MAY! I AM LOOKING AT WHITE CLOUDS OVER A BLUE SEA WITH WHITE BIRDS IN A BLUE SKY AND I AM THINKING OF THE ASTONISHING BEAUTY OF THOSE BLUE EYES GOD GIFTED YOU WITH—AND GIFTED ME WITH FOR I AM FREE TO GAZE INTO THEM AS A SAILOR GAZES INTO THE VAST IMPENETRABLE DEEP.

MY DEAR LIBBY I WANT TO MARRY YOU. I WANT YOU TO BE MY BRIDE. I WANT TO LIVE WITH YOU FOREVER AND A DAY. YES I AM ASKING YOU BY TELEGRAM! I MEAN IT WITH ALL MY HEART. PERHAPS BY ASKING YOU IN MARCH IT MEANS WE CAN BE MARRIED THIS SUMMER AS SOON AS I STEP OFF THE SHIP IN GOOD OLD ENGLAND. LIBBY I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! PLEASE SAY YES YES YES!

YOUR GALAHAD

TERRY

GALAHAD

YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY MAD BUT YOU’RE RIGHT. I’D LOVE TO MARRY YOU AS SOON AS YOU SET FOOT ON SHORE. WE CAN EVEN BE WED ON THE GANGWAY OR ON THE DECK IF YOU’D LIKE. OR RIGHT IN THE WATER WITH WAVES BURSTING OVER OUR HEADS. I DON’T CARE. THE IMPORTANT THING IS TO DO IT. I SHALL MAKE ALL ARRANGEMENTS. SEE YOU IN MAY MY LOVE.

YOUR LIBBY

OH AND THE ANSWER IS YES YES YES!

Plymouth and Devonport, Southern England

The
Hood
docked in May, and Libby was there to welcome Terry home. She waited by the car with Skitt and Jane for two hours as they watched sailors scramble over the huge deck securing the battleship. Finally Terry walked down the gangway in uniform, a sailor behind him toting a seabag over his shoulder.

“I’ve missed you!” Libby cried as she threw her arms around him. “Look at your tan! I’m jealous.”

“You look wonderful. A woman like you doesn’t need a tan. Besides, ginger-haired women burn and peel.”

“Not this ginger. Our honeymoon is still on, isn’t it?”

He laughed and stroked her cheek. “As long as the wedding’s still on.”

“Oh, it’s on all right. I can hardly wait to get away with you to the Mediterranean and take in some very hot sun.”

“Mum!” Jane was at Libby’s side, pulling on her dress. “Are you the only one who gets hugged?”

Terry wrapped his arms around the young woman dressed in a red coat and hat. “How tall you are now. And how lovely you are. You must grow a foot every month.”

“I will be fourteen next month. I have to keep growing to keep ahead of the Sweet boys. They’re holy terrors.”

“Are you still one up on them?”

“I am.” Jane smiled up into Terry’s face. “You’re almost as dark as me.”

“But not as pretty.”

“Thank goodness. I want a father, not a flower.” She dropped her eyes and played with the brass buttons on his uniform. “I know the wedding’s not till next week, but can I—may I—call you Dad now?”

He put his fingers under her chin and tilted her head. “I’d love that.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Let’s start right away. How is my daughter today?”

Jane’s smile opened up her face. “She’s fine, Dad. She’s very fine indeed.”

They hugged again. Looking on and thinking of Michael and then the death of Jane’s birth father, Libby’s eyes glittered with tears she brushed at with her fingers.
Thank You, God. Thank You for this miracle. Thank You, my God
.

Dover Sky

Lord Preston put his glasses on his nose to read the list in his hand. “The photographer arrives the morning of the wedding. We must get
the family pictures taken after the ceremony. And special baby pictures—Catherine with Angelika and Shannon with Patricia Claire.”

Lady Preston was at a table nearby with a pen and a pad of paper. “For heaven’s sakes, William. Patricia is hardly a baby—why, she’s almost three.”

“How big can she have gotten?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Aren’t you and Harrison picking them up at the pier in Dover?”

“Yes, yes, after lunch.” He glanced over his glasses at his wife. “What are you jotting down?”

“These are meal suggestions for Mrs. Longstaff. She and Norah have matters quite in hand, but I didn’t see Harrison’s Cock-a-Leekie soup here or your Welsh rarebit on the menu.”

“But the pheasant—we have the pheasant? There are hundreds of guests coming.”

“We have dozens of pheasants. Not to worry, Dear. Stick with your own list, please.”

Lord Preston removed his glasses and placed them in his coat pocket. “I must see how my aviation room is coming along. Ben and Victoria are flying down with the children before supper.”

Lady Preston scribbled on her pad. “Oh you and your aviation room. By all means, look in on it, William. There’s nothing more pressing than that.”

The day of the wedding began with a May shower, but by noon the sun was shining. The ceremony was held down near the pond, the swans keeping their distance and paddling about in the middle of the water. Kipp and Caroline’s daughter, Cecilia, who would be two in October, and Robbie and Shannon’s daughter, Patricia, who would turn three in September and was quite noticeably not an infant anymore, were the flower girls. Jeremy and Emma’s twins, Peter and James, both thirteen, their younger brother, Billy, ten, along with Caroline’s son, Charles, aged nine, Kipp’s son, Matthew, aged eight, Ben and Victoria’s son, Ramsay, also eight, and Edward and Charlotte’s
Owen, who was eight too, were chosen to usher the lords and ladies and other guests to the chairs arranged neatly on the lawn by Harrison and Skitt. Jane held the rings on a red-velvet cushion by the outdoor altar where Reverend Jeremy Sweet, St. Andrew’s Cross, Church of England, London, assisted by Ben Whitecross, Methodist Chapel, Lime Street, Liverpool, brought Commander Terrence Fordyce and Libby Danforth Woodhaven into holy wedlock before God and people on the late Queen Victoria’s birthday.

After the ceremony, the photographer was trying to arrange the large Danforth family on the grass for family photographs but the children kept bolting and chasing each other across the large expanse and the adults kept edging towards tables groaning with soups, meats, and greens placed amid crystal bowls filled with crimson punch.

“Now Ben and Kipp, you are the fliers in the family. You see what we’ve done with this room here? There are so many sea paintings at Dover Sky, I decided it was time to balance out the equation.”

Oil paintings and watercolors of aircraft covered the walls. In some, the planes were lined up on the ground or warming up for takeoff. In most, they were in the air darting through clouds, flying over the whitecaps of the Channel, or navigating above the patchwork quilt of the Kent countryside. Four or five were paintings of war with Sopwith Camels pitted against Fokker triplanes, SPADs looping and rolling in aerial combat with Fokker D.VIIs. Kipp examined one of a Sopwith Camel taking on the red triplane of Baron von Richthofen.

“Is this supposed to be the Red Baron and Roy Brown going at it on April 21, 1918?” he asked as he bent down to peer at the brass plate on the frame. “Well, he’s got the planes and the weather right, but from what I understand, the two never went at it head-on. The baron was after one of Brown’s chums, so Brown dived on him from behind and cut loose with his guns. The baron carried on for a few more miles and crashed behind our lines stone dead.” Kipp straightened and grinned as he glanced about the room. “But it’s marvelous, Dad!
Really quite something. I’ll make this my official headquarters when I’m home for the weekend. I’ll do all my airline paperwork in here.” He walked behind an oxblood leather armchair and tapped a watercolor that showed Sopwith Camels with the morning damp rising off their wings like steam. “That brings back memories, eh, Ben?”

Ben nodded. “It does. Whoever painted that one had to have been there.”

“He was.” Lord Preston stood with his hands behind his back. “Whenever possible I employed veterans who had an eye for detail and knew pilots’ movements and moments.”

“It’s brilliant.” Ben was taken by the portrait of an officer standing by an SE5a. “I love this one. Is that Ball?”

Lord Preston smiled. “I’m so glad you’re pleased. It is Ball, yes.”

Kipp dropped into the oxblood armchair. “A welcome respite from that madness on the lawn. I wish someone would fetch us some cold drinks.”

Lord Preston pressed a buzzer by the door. “There’s bound to be someone indoors. Let’s see who shows up.”

“You’ll have to do something for Robbie now, Dad,” Kipp said. “You do know that, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The great hall has sea paintings for the likes of Edward and Terry. Now Ben and I have this aviation room. But what about Robbie? He’s British Army. What are you going to do about that?”