Page 114 of The Unknown Birds

“Don’t cry, Little Bird,” he whispered when given permission to kiss the bride. And he kissed her with a warmth that promised ten thousand more tomorrows before they turned and ambled together up the aisle.

Their friends threw rice as they left the church, and pigeons swooped down to gobble up the grains as the sound of a radio broadcast drifted from some unseen open window. A car was waiting to drive them wherever they wanted to go, and all down the street traffic stopped as though the world had paused for them, but from the bleak and silent expressions it couldn’t be so.

Then the words coming through the radio snapped to attention in Ashley’s brain. It was the unmistakable voice of Prime Minister Chamberlain. “This morning, the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German government a final note, stating that unless we heard from them by 11:00 that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently, this country is at war with Germany.”

A cold chill ran through Ash, and she began to tremble, but Rook pulled her close and brought her back to him. “Together,” he reminded her. “When you’re afraid, I’ll carry it for you.”

“Together,” she repeated.

“Where to?” the somber driver asked, and Rook tilted his head towards Ashley.

“Regent’s Park, please.”

“I think they’ve removed most of the animals from the zoo, ma’am.”

“Not the zoo. Queen Mary’s Garden. My husband proposed to me there.”

“Very good, ma’am,” the driver said, ushering them into the car.

Rook smiled an impish grin but had the decency to refrain from announcing how she’d declined that first proposal.

“Should I wait?” the driver asked when he let them out near the garden entrance.

“No, thank you,” she said. “We’ll be fine.”

With her hand tucked in Rook’s elbow, they strolled into the grounds to find another little flycatcher flitting from shrub to shrub, blissfully unaware of Chamberlain’s address.

“Ask me again,” she told Rook when they reached the bench where they had sat a few days prior.

Amusement plucked his lips, but he knew how to follow orders. “Will you marry⁠—”

“Yes,” she interrupted. “Every day, from now until hereafter. My answer will always be yes.”

Epilogue

London, September 1946

(For the sparrow flies unthinking

And quarrels in his flight;

The heron trails his legs behind,

The lark goes out of sight;

But the great and flashing magpie

He flies as poets might.)

—T. P. Cameron Wilson

Magpies in Picardy

It was a beautiful late summer day—the kind where the sun shines warm with hope for bright tomorrows, and you can taste the crisp promise of autumn on the breeze.

Ash watched Rook wrestle seven-year-old Mabel into a knitted red jumper she would definitely tear off and lose the moment no one was looking. He must have felt her gaze on him for he turned, grinning brightly over his shoulder and winking when he caught her eye.

His unruly curls were almost fully grey these days, racing to catch up with his stubble, which had long since gone all white. At fifty years old, Ash still thought he was the handsomest devil she’d ever laid eyes on in her life.