As Lucy ran on tirelessly, looking only to the goal ahead, thoughts raced tumultuously through her excited brain until her father, mother, Bob and William, the past and the uncertain present, were jumbled together into a maze of doubt and wondering. Only to see Bob—to talk to him—somehow everything would then be straightened out. She thought of Captain Jourdin. What ages since she had bound up his injured hand on Governor’s Island. For two months now he had been back in the French Service and Bob’s letters had told her of his new and brilliant exploits. How Bob had dreamed of having a part in all this, that was now coming true! With a rush of strange happiness Lucy felt that she herself had now a part in it as well. For a moment she had forgotten the leave-taking so near at hand.
“Tired, Lucy?” asked Miss Pearse, slowing up to catch her breath. “We’re almost there.”
The streets became lanes as they neared the outskirts of Château-Plessis. The houses thinned to scattered cottages set among neglected gardens—almost all empty and forlorn, for this side of the town had been most exposed during the bombardment which ended in its capture. In another few moments they passed the last house of the lane and, beyond what was left of a grove of bright green poplars, opened a wide grassy meadow. It stretched with several others, in broad undulating lines as far as the wood which lay between the fields and the French trenches. The nearest meadow was a favorite landing-place for aviators scouting above the town.
A few hundred yards to the left a little crowd of people had gathered around two airplanes resting on the grass. At sight of them Miss Pearse and Lucy both cried out with the little breath left them. For a second they stood still, panting aloud, with crimson cheeks and hair stuck in damp wisps to their hot foreheads. Then they ran on to the edge of the crowd which had collected close about the aviators, eager to offer help and friendly greetings.
Bob Gordon was standing by one of the planes, his hands full of tools. His gloves and helmet he had flung upon the grass, but now his work was done, and he stood idly by while his companion put the finishing touches to the repair of his bullet-riddled wing. Bob’s face was hot and streaked with oil and dust to the roots of his brown hair. His sunburned cheeks were thinner than when he had left West Point less than a year ago. He looked calm and self-reliant beyond his years, his whole lean figure filled with energy and decision. He was not yet twenty-one, but to Lucy he seemed a boy no longer.
The crowd made way for her in astonishment as she begged and pushed her panting way among them. Then Bob turned at the disturbance and caught sight of her. His face was a study of unbelieving wonder and delight as he let fall the tools and sprang to meet her. Lucy flung her arms about his neck and he hugged her so close he could feel her heart beating as she fought for breath. For a moment neither of them spoke a word, Lucy too breathless and Bob too overcome. Around them the friendly little crowd broke into delighted cries of sympathy and pleasure. Captain Jourdin lifted astonished eyes from his forgotten work, and Miss Pearse, with swimming head and parching throat, dropped down upon the grass.
“Lucy! You!” said Bob at last, drawing back from his little sister and holding both her hands to look into her face. “You’re here at Château-Plessis!” Still he seemed almost incredulous, and his eyes wandered over Lucy, while he held her hands, as though he thought his eyes had tricked him.
“Oh, Bob, how are you?” Lucy faltered, getting her breath at last, but struggling desperately with the strangling emotion that caught her at sight of her brother. September, 1917—how long ago that seemed since she had said good-bye to him that morning at Governor’s Island. And what dreadful days they had been through since then!
Bob pulled her down beside him on the grass with an eager, searching look into her face. “How is Father? Tell me that first.”
“He’s better—truly, Bob—much better,” Lucy answered quickly.