RECALLING HIS ARRIVAL HOME
FROM DUNKIRK
Dover—April 1944
“KANSAS!” COMMANDER HAROLD BAWLED IN ERNEST’S EAR, hugging him and pounding him on the back. “I can’t believe it’s you!” And for the space of perhaps thirty seconds, Ernest wondered if he could convince him he was mistaken—if his two-day stubble and Cornish accent might create just enough doubt that he could look bewildered and say, “I’m sorry, I’m afraid you’ve confused me with someone else.”
But it was too late. The Commander had already seen the look on his face when he’d realized this was the Lady Jane. And now what the hell was he going to do?
If the Commander told Lady Bracknell …
He suddenly remembered Bracknell saying, “Algernon specifically requested you for this delivery.” Tensing already knows I know the Commander, he thought.
That’s why he sent me. But how had he known that? And what was the Commander—
“What are you doing here, Kansas?” Commander Harold was saying.
“What am I doing here? What are you doing here? I thought the Lady Jane had been sunk at Dunkirk—”
“Sunk?” he bellowed, outraged. “The Lady Jane?”
Jesus, the sailor up on deck will hear him, he thought. “Shouldn’t we—” he cautioned, pointing at the hatch.
“You’re right, lad,” the Commander said, and waded over to the hatch, reached up, and pulled the trapdoor shut. “You should know nothing can sink the Lady Jane, not even a Nazi U-boat.”
“But then what happened? Where’s Jonathan?” he said, almost afraid to ask. “Did he make it back?”
“Make it back?” the Commander bellowed, surprised. “Why, you saw him up there on deck not five minutes ago.” He tipped the hatch open and shouted,
“Jonathan! Get down here!”
“Aye, aye, Captain Doolittle,” a man’s voice said, and the sailor came down the ladder, still carrying the wrench and saying reprovingly, “Grandfather, you’re not supposed to call me Jonathan. My name’s Alfred—” He stopped when he saw Ernest, looking uneasily at him. His hand tightened on the wrench.
This can’t possibly be Jonathan, Ernest thought, staring at the tall, broad-shouldered sailor. He’s a grown man.
“Sorry, Captain Doolittle,” Jonathan said. “I didn’t know you had company.”
“Stop that Captain Doolittle nonsense,” the Commander said. “Can’t you see who this is? It’s Mike Davis!”
He may not even remember me, Ernest thought. It’s been four years.
“You know,” the Commander prompted. “Kansas!”
“Oh, my goodness!” Jonathan exclaimed, shifting the wrench to his other fist so he could shake hands. “Mr. Davis!” He was beaming. “This is wonderful!”
“Wonderful” was the word, all right. They were alive. His unfouling the propeller hadn’t got them killed. Especially Jonathan—the Commander had known what he was getting into when he took off for Dunkirk, but Jonathan hadn’t. He’d been just a kid.
Though he wasn’t any longer. “I can’t believe it!” he was saying, pumping Ernest’s hand vigorously. “I’m so glad you’re here. I never thanked you for saving our lives. Without you, we’d be at the bottom of Dunkirk harbor. And you nearly got killed yourself, trying to—” He stopped short and looked down at the water Ernest was standing in. “I mean, your foot and everything. I thought they were going to have to cut it off.”
So did I, he thought.
“We’d never have made it without you,” Jonathan said. “I should have recognized you, but you look so different!”
“I look different? Look at you! You’re all grown up!”
“Having German torpedo boats on your tail ages you rather quickly. But what are you doing here?”
“That’s the same question I’ve been asking your grandfather. I’d heard you didn’t make it back to Dover after your second trip to Dunkirk.”
“We didn’t,” the Commander said. “We were commandeered.”
“They needed us to go to Ostende to take off an intelligence officer they couldn’t afford to let the Germans get hold of,” Jonathan explained. “So they offloaded our passengers onto the Grayhoe, and we went to Belgium instead.”
“And when we got him back to Ramsgate, they asked us if we’d do a few other jobs for Intelligence, like —”
“Grandfather,” Jonathan said warningly. “That’s classified. I’m not certain we’re allowed to—”
“Bah! We can tell him. Can’t we, Kansas?”
“Not Kansas,” he said. “These days it’s Ernest Worthing.”
“What’d I tell you, Jonathan? And I’ll wager he’s got even more secrets than we do, haven’t you, Kansas?”
“Yes,” he said. Most of which I can’t tell even you.
