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xxvii. JE TE LAISSERAI DES MOT

MASTERS OF THE AIR
AMOR VINCIT OMNIA

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THORPE ABBOTTS
MAY 1945

         || THE EARLY DAWN WAS ENVELOPED IN AN EERIE SILENCE, a fragile hush that hung over the world like a shroud, broken only by the frenzied gasps escaping the parted lips of Celeste. Shadows crept along the walls, their elongated fingers brushing against the edges of her restless form. Her slumber, once a sanctuary of peace, had been infiltrated by the malevolent tendrils of her subconscious—dark vines twisting and coiling, distorting her delicate features into a mask of terror that even the bold moonlight hesitated to grace.

The stillness fractured with startling abruptness as, in a crescendo of despair, Celeste's ethereal scream shattered the fragile tranquility of the chamber. The sound was raw and primal, a soul's cry echoing against the cold, stone walls, setting the very air aquiver with the intensity of her distress. Her slender frame convulsed, trembling under the weight of invisible horrors, each spasm carving lines of fear deeper onto her pallid countenance, rendering it a tragic tableau etched by unseen hands.

Beads of perspiration, like crystalline tears birthed from her anguish, traced glistening paths down her ashen skin. They caught the faint flicker of candlelight, reflecting the tempest raging within her fragile being—an unspoken agony woven into each droplet.

"No! No!" Her voice pierced the velvety darkness, sharp and brittle, a haunting melody of despair that hung in the frigid air like an unwelcomed echo. In the throes of her turmoil, Celeste's trembling hands reached out, clawing into the void, grappling with phantoms unseen. Each frantic movement painted a silent ballet of desperation, her fingers slicing through the darkness as if trying to grasp fragments of a reality slipping further away with every heartbeat.

And then, with a desperation that hung heavy in the stillness of the night, she whispered that name that carried with it a weight of sorrow that even the stars seemed to mourn — Ana. The syllables lingered in the air like a lament, a mournful elegy for a bond once cherished, now shattered by the cruel hands of fate.

Egan, roused from his slumber, emerged from the haze of dreams to find Celeste ensnared in the throes of her anguish. His eyes, pools of concern and compassion, beheld her with understanding that transcended mere words. With a quiet resolve, he cast aside his own disorientation and instead, moved closer to her quivering form.

"It's alright," his voice, a whisper of solace amidst the storm. Drawing her into the shelter of his arms, he cradled her trembling frame like a precious gem—his touch a balm that sought to soothe the scars etched upon her soul.

Celeste writhed in the grip of unseen foes, a name escaped her parched lips. Ana lingered in the hallowed space between dreams and reality, a testament to the ceaseless ache that gripped her heart.

Egan's voice resonated through the room like a haunting melody, as he uttered words of comfort to the trembling brunette. "It's okay, you are not in Ravensbrück," he murmured—trying to hold her still. Celeste's reaction, a swift swatting motion towards his hand, echoed a primal instinct etched deep within the recesses of her tormented past.

Unfazed by her initial recoil, Egan remained a bastion of unwavering patience, his touch as tender as the first rays of dawn kissing the dew-laden petals of a fragile flower. With a steadfast hand, he meticulously readjusted the bandages that cradled the wounds on her shoulder—each movement a silent prayer for her healing and peace. The scars that marred her once flawless skin seemed to whisper tales of unspeakable agony—yet Egan's presence exuded a soothing balm that sought to ease her burdens.

Wide-eyed and breathless, Celeste's gaze darted around the room in a frenzy, her heart racing like a wild stallion yearning for freedom. It was only when the familiar sights of her quarters at Thorpe Abbotts embraced her that she felt the grip of terror loosening its hold upon her trembling form. Slowly, the storm within her began to subside, her ragged breaths finding a rhythm in harmony with the stillness of the room.

As the quietude of dawn settled upon them like a comforting shroud, Celeste found solace in the sanctuary of Egan's warm embrace. Their entwined figures spoke of a silent accord, a tacit acknowledgment of shared trials and tribulations that bound them together in a fragile web of understanding. It was in the steady rhythm of Egan's heartbeat that Celeste sought refuge, a lullaby of reassurance that promised safety amidst the tumult of her fractured memories.

"It haunts me every night, Egan, the unending horror of that place," she whispered, her voice carrying a poignant tremor that bespoke of the fragility of her wounded soul. The major, with a gentle sweep of his hand, brushed aside the strands of unruly hair that framed his furrowed brow—his chin finding a resting place atop her bowed head.

"You know I won't let them do anything to you ever again. You are here with me now," he whispered, intertwining his fingers with hers. "Always with me no matter what..."

As they lay there, hands laced together like a delicate tapestry unfurled to the heavens, Egan's mind wandered to the ring nestled in his military chest, a silent guardian of his most profound intentions.

Thoughts of the notes carefully inscribed before his departure lingered, their weight heavy upon his heart. Would he find the courage to pose the ultimate question, to invite Celeste to become his companion through the tumultuous journey of life until their final breaths intertwined in the dance of mortality?

Would the time come to ask the question that danced on the edge of his thoughts? To propose and bind their souls in a union that transcended mortality? The mere contemplation stirred a tumult within Egan, as if the fabric of fate itself held its breath, waiting for his next move. The nerves jangled like a discordant symphony.

And so they sat in the quiet dawn, enveloped by the melodic chatter of awakening birds and the gentle caress of the sun's golden tendrils through the windowpane—painting their skin with a tender warmth akin to a lover's embrace.

"Are you alright?" Egan's voice, a beacon of concern, broke the tranquil spell. Celeste, her gaze meeting his, found solace in his unwavering presence. His tender kiss upon her brow carried a message unspoken.

"Don't dwell on that camp," he muttered with a hint of playfulness. Those very words urged Celeste to embrace the present moment. Her meek laughter, a melody in the silence, mingled with the promise of a future yet to unfold.

And then, with a curiosity that sparked the air between them, Celeste voiced the unspoken question that lingered in the ether. "So... what plans do I hear for our future?" Her words, like a fluttering butterfly, sent Egan's heart into a frenzy of uncertainty. Had she glimpsed the depths of his heart in those fleeting moments of vulnerability?

"Uh..." Egan's voice, a symphony of nervousness, faltered as his hand instinctively sought solace in the tousled waves of his hair. The uncharted territory of the future lay before them, a canvas awaiting the brushstrokes of destiny, painted with hues of love and uncertainty. And in that moment, amidst the golden embrace of the morning sun, a promise lingered—a promise of a future intertwined, where two souls would find their home in each other's hearts.

Celeste, with a tender touch, traced the elegant contours of his chest, her fingertips dancing over his skin like whispers of silk. Arching an eyebrow mischievously, she gazed up at him, a spark of defiance in her eyes. "Oh, what troubles the noble major now? Has the mighty warrior been rendered speechless at last?" Her voice carried a hint of playful taunting, punctuated by a cocky smile that threatened to disarm even the sternest of expressions.

In response to her jest, he playfully narrowed his gaze, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Taking her hand delicately, he held it suspended in the air for a tantalizing moment, his fingers splayed in a gesture of silent challenge. "I am of a certain knowledge that a particular someone is rather ticklish," he teased, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Celeste scoffed in feigned disbelief, a playful glint in her eyes as she leaned back slightly, a daring challenge in her posture. "Oh, you wouldn't dare..." Her words trailed off as she braced herself for his impending playful retaliation.

With a swift movement, Egan raised his eyebrows in a playful dance before quietly muttering, "Oh, but I certainly would..." In an instant, his fingers became a flurry of feather-light touches, expertly finding her most vulnerable spots, eliciting peals of joyous laughter from Celeste as her body involuntarily curled in on itself.

Their laughter intertwined in a harmonious symphony, filling the room with an infectious joy that transcended the confines of time and space. Celeste, attempting to defend herself, grabbed a nearby pillow and playfully swung it in his direction, her laughter filling the air like music.

"Stop!" she managed to gasp between fits of laughter, her eyes shining with unbridled mirth. Egan, undeterred, buried his face in the crook of her neck, his voice a mere murmur against her skin. "Never," he vowed, his determination evident as he continued his relentless assault of tickles, each touch a testament to their shared bond.

In that fleeting moment, as their laughter mingled in the air like a sweet melody, the weight of the past seemed to dissipate, fading into oblivion. The trials and tribulations they had faced together were but a distant memory, a fading nightmare that had finally reached its conclusion after years of turmoil.

Though physical wounds had healed and scars had begun to fade, the indelible marks left on their souls would forever serve as a poignant reminder of the battles they had fought and conquered together. And as they revelled in the simple joy of shared laughter, a sense of profound liberation washed over them.

Where Laughter danced in their eyes, mischief unraveling in their shared moments of intimacy. The cozy room was filled with a charged energy as Egan and Celeste engaged in a playful tussle, their hands intertwined in a silent struggle for dominance.

Suddenly, a resounding knock shattered the tranquil atmosphere, drawing both Egan and Celeste into a sudden stillness. Their gazes shifted from one another to the looming door, uncertainty clouding their features. Celeste, a delicate blush tingeing her cheeks, spoke softly, her voice threaded with a touch of apprehension, "Who might it be?"

Celeste queried, a hint of weariness present in her voice as she attempted to muffle her soft laughter, the blanket barely concealing her modesty. If truth be told, she half expected the intruders to be Arnie or Jackson, whose pranks were well-known amongst their circle. Yet, the voice that reverberated from behind the door instilled a shiver down her spine, sparking a sudden rush of panic within her.

"It appears to be your father, Chief leader," Col. Jefferson's voice reverberated through the wooden barrier, his formal tone betraying a hint of concern as he gave a second firm knock. Celeste's eyes widened in a mix of dread and urgency.

"Oh, shit! It is my father," she whispered frantically, her movements swift and agitated as she scrambled off the bed in a flurry of motion, hastily retrieving her scattered attire. In her haste, she inadvertently pushed Egan from the comfort of the bed, the audible thud echoing in the room and prompting a wince from Celeste.

Egan, now sprawled upon the cold floor, swiftly rose to his feet, the once cozy blanket now serving as a modest cover for his bare form. Celeste, in her state of panic, hurriedly ushered him to dress himself, a sense of urgency palpable in the air as they attempted to regain their composure.

Another knock echoed, prompting Celeste to call out in a strained voice, "Just a moment, father! Dressing, as we speak!"

Her fingers fumbled with the fastenings of her attire as Egan scrambled to don his own garments, a mismatched flurry of buttons and fabric. Little did they realize in their haste that they had inadvertently swapped garments. Egan now adorned in a shirt several sizes too small—resembling a tightly packed sausage within its casing.

As Celeste flung the door open, an ethereal light spilled into the room, illuminating the silhouette of her father as he cautiously stepped across the threshold, his gaze sharpening as it landed upon Egan. A flicker of bemusement crossed Col. Jefferson's countenance as he observed the major's attire, noting the pronounced strain of the shirt—a garment that clung to Egan's frame as it strained at the seams.

Amidst the verdant embrace of the sprawling estate of Colonel Jefferson, an air of palpable tension lingered. The venerable colonel, a man of esteemed stature with a countenance that exuded authority, let slip a soft hum of disapproval beneath his breath. His scrutinizing gaze, sharp as a rapier's edge, oscillated between his demure daughter, Celeste, and the gallant Egan who stood before him.

"What's the meaning of this?" Colonel Jefferson queried, his hands finding purchase upon his hips in a gesture of stern reproach.

Celeste, the epitome of grace even in her discomfort, offered a nervous chuckle in response, "Nothing... he was just aiding me with my bandages..." Her voice faltered, tapering off into a whisper as she beheld the disquietude etched upon her father's features.

"Right," the colonel intoned with a measured pause, "Anyways, you are needed to report to the watchtower with Crosby for the day." A glimmer of hope flickered in Celeste's eyes at the prospect of taking flight once more, only to be swiftly extinguished by her father's next words, "As coordinator," he added with finality.

A melodious groan of discontent escaped Celeste's lips, her countenance a portrait of resigned acceptance. "Fine, that's great..." she grumbled softly, her lips drawn into a slight pout. "But first, I need to, um... change," she awkwardly interjected, gesturing towards the garment Egan had inadvertently donned.

The colonel arched a skeptical brow at his daughter's request before dismissing it with a wave of his hand. Celeste released a heavy sigh, unaware of the tension she had been holding within her fragile frame. "Well, we best be about it. You get to revel in merrymaking, and I am condemned to the role of an office dame," she quipped sarcastically, a wistful smile playing upon her lips as she cast a sidelong glance at Egan.

A chuckle bubbled forth from Egan's lips at Celeste's jest, his eyes alight with playful mischief. "Oh, now, I can certainly grow fond of an office dame," he teased impishly.

Rolling her eyes theatrically, Celeste swatted away his advances before recoiling in pain from the twinge in her shoulder. "Now, now," Egan teased, a mischievous glint in his eye as he playfully prodded her forehead, "may I have my shirt returned to me?"

"Only in return for a kiss..." he remarked with a gentle smile before she finally gave in.

    — Egan drove purposefully towards the watchtower, his mind rattled with excitement and anxiety. He wiped his hand upon his trousers in a back and forth motion—accompanying by the gentle rustle of his uniform. The cool breeze tousling his midnight hair as they steadily approached.

Celeste groaned lightly upon arriving, believing she'd rather be out looking at rock walls or some ruins than doing paperwork. But atlas, duty called and her father made her do something that wouldn't require her to do heavy lifting or anything.

So having deposited Celeste at her destination, Egan found himself at a crossroads—a sense dangling in the air like the delicate petals of a daisy. His mind swirled with thoughts as he retraced his steps to his private chambers, the weight of a crucial decision perched upon his shoulders.

Within the sanctity of his officer's chest, nestled amongst his uniforms—lay a box of profound significance. His fingers delicately brushed against the velvet exterior, a silent promise lingering in the air. Would this be the day to alter the course of their intertwined destinies, to pose the question that had long dwelled within his heart?

As the sun cast its golden rays upon the aged pages of Celeste's cherished journal, a wave of nostalgia enveloped Egan's consciousness. Memories of a life envisioned danced before him, a tapestry of domestic bliss woven with threads of hope and longing.

Concealing the box within the recesses of his pocket, Egan resolved to seize the moment. Yet again the mere thought of  proposing sent a shiver down his spine—this wasn't anything like being a bomber, something he trained his life for.

The hours preceding the anticipated event found the major ensconced within the office's mess hall, his restless pacing a testament to the turmoil brewing within. Anxiety coursed through his veins like a relentless tide, each heartbeat a drumroll heralding the imminent climax of his carefully orchestrated plan.

Rehearsing the poignant words that would forever alter their shared narrative, Egan grappled with uncertainty and anticipation in equal measure. "Celeste, will you..." he would begin, only to halt his speech midway, the weight of the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. "No, no that's won't work..."

With a resolute shake of his head, Egan steadied his nerves, the glint of determination shimmering within his cerulean eyes. Adjusting his tie with meticulous precision, he recited the proposal once more, each syllable laden with the essence.

Amidst the cacophony of rustling papers, the scratching of pens against parchment, and the soft ticking of the tall wooden clock that adorned the watch tower of the airbase, Celeste found herself engrossed in the intricacies of paperwork. The afternoon sun cast a warm glow through the large windows, illuminating the cramped space where she sat, diligently organizing files and reports.

She sat at a rather cluttered desk— her delicate fingers gracefully flipping through an array of paperwork concerning the day's flight operations. The faint scent of aged parchment filled the room, mingling with the distant hum of propeller engines coming to life on the airstrip below.

Beside her, Crosby, shuffled through his own set of documents with a well-practiced efficiency. The camaraderie between them was unspoken, built upon years of shared experiences in the aviation world.

As the sun began its slow descent towards the horizon, an expectant hush settled over the airbase. Arnie's plane had made its grand return mere minutes prior, yet his absence at the watch tower did not perturb Celeste in the slightest. She maintained an air of indifference towards his usual courtesies, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand.

However, a nagging sense of unease began to creep into her consciousness, prompting her to cast worried glances across the bustling airstrip—searching for any sign of his presence. She caught sight of Ben and Robert, but nothing of Arnie.

"Where is he?" Celeste muttered beneath her breath, her words barely audible over the soft rustling of papers. Her emerald eyes darted around the bustling airstrip, searching for any sign of the missing pilot.

Just as a furrow of concern creased her brow, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the watchtower. Rene, her furry of blonde curls dancing along—appeared at the top of the stairs. Her chest heaving as if she had sprinted all the way from the hangar.

"What's the matter?" Celeste's inquiry, laced with a thread of apprehension, hung in the air like a delicate silk veil.

Rene, unable to reply immediately due to her labored breathing, coughed lightly before managing to utter, "It's Arnie...he's in the hospital bay."

The words hung in the air like a dense fog, sending a shiver down Celeste's spine. "With what ailment?" she pressed, her heart quickening its pace in anticipation of the answer.

Rene's eyes, wide with concern, met Celeste's gaze. "He's in there... for things," she stuttered out—yet her voice almost dared to give her away....

Celeste's heart raced as she ascended the narrow stairs of the watch tower—the wind whistling through the cracks in the stone walls. Rene followed closely behind, warning her to slow down for heavens sake. But Celeste shook her head, Arnie could have been dying and she needed to be there.

The blonde had a grave expression etched upon her weathered face. Celeste demanded the driver of a jeep escort her to the bay, her urgency was met with curious glances and raised brows before he obliged. As they raced through the roads, receiving looks from staff and locals alike as they passed. Once arriving, Celeste jumped out of the jeep—not once taking the time to open the door.

The brunette breathless with worry, rushed into the hospital— eyes searching desperately for any sign of Arnie. The nurses, clucking sympathetically, soon directed her towards the back.

Undeterred by their words, she pressed on. Finally ending at the end of the hut, she quickened her pace, her steps echoing through the wooden structure.

Pushing open the door, Celeste's eyes fell upon a bed with a body-shaped bag perched upon it. With bated breath, she slowly approached—where terror clawed at her chest as she hesitantly placed one foot in front of the other. Her hand reaching out to touch the lifeless form within the confines of the bag.

As delicate fingers danced tentatively along the edge of the coverlet, unable to grasp the fabric—it was suddenly pushed aside, and Arnie's familiar face emerged, alive and well. He sprang up, letting out a mischievous laugh that echoed through the room.

Startled beyond belief, Celeste let out a scream that could have woken the entire hospital wing. Yet Relief soon flooded through Celeste as she recoiled, a mixture of emotions swirling within her. "Damnit Arnie!" she exclaimed, her voice a blend of fear and relief. "What on earth possessed you to put us through such anguish? I thought we had lost you!"

Arnie, with a gleam in his eye, chuckled at Celeste's outburst before offering a sheepish apology. "I couldn't resist the chance to give you a good scare." His playful tone did little to quell Celeste's rising exasperation as she delivered a well-deserved smack against his shoulder.

As their banter echoed in the confines of the medical bay, a sudden hush fell over the room. Celeste with a contemplative air about him, interjected with a wry comment. "A jest in poor taste, Arnie, I daresay. What might you have done if the tables were turned?"

Arnie paused, his expression turning thoughtful as he rubbed his chin in contemplation. "Ah, a question i haven't thought about," he mused, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. Celeste, her anger dissipating into amusement, exchanged a knowing glance. She then playfully slapped his leg in retaliation.

"Well Arnie maybe you should..." she began, her voice a whirlwind of reproach until, mid-sentence, a new arrival halted her tirade. The colonel, his countenance a picture of amusement, entered the room with an air of joviality.

"Ah, the skirmishes of youth," he chuckled, his eyes twinkling with paternal affection. "Are we pummeling our dear friends again?" he teased, his words laced with an affectionate jest that only a father could muster. Yet, before Celeste could summon a retort, another interruption occurred, this time in the form of Jackson. A vision of whimsy with a floral diadem perched jauntily atop his head.

Celeste's darkened brow furrowed in bewilderment, an intricate tapestry of emotions weaving its way across her delicate features like threads of silk spun by forgotten hands. "What is going on?" she muttered softly, her voice a mere whisper carried by the gentle zephyrs that danced through the open window of the parlor, before gracefully stepping back, a silent retreat from the enigma that unfolded before her.

"Nothing?" Jackson interjected in a tone that tilted upwards at the end, an intonation that posed a question rather than provided an answer, his eyes betraying a flicker of unease that did not pass unnoticed by the discerning gaze of Celeste. Her father, and two of her trusted crew, Something was amiss—she felt it in the very marrow of her bones.

A subtle shift in the air caught her attention, drawing her gaze to where Jackson's eyes darted fleetingly—behind her. The subtlest hint of a smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as she remarked, "Okay, you gentlemen are behaving rather peculiarly..." Her words laced with a touch of sarcasm, a shield against the growing sense of uncertainty that enveloped her like a shroud—each heartbeat a muted drum.

Taking another tentative step backward, Celeste turned on her heel, her emerald eyes alighting upon Egan, whose form stood like a statue cast in the pain light—his arms held in an awkward embrace around himself as if guarding against unseen perils. "Egan, what is the meaning of this?" she inquired, her voice a symphony of confusion and curiosity, a delicate melody that hung suspended in the air like a silver note that refused to fade.

A soft smile graced Egan's lips, a flicker of warmth in the cool expanse of the room—a gesture that spoke in the absence of words. With a steadying breath, he closed the distance between them, his gaze locked upon her like a sailor navigating uncharted waters. "My little lady," he began, his voice a tapestry woven with threads of fervor and vulnerability, "from the moment we met at the bar where I spilled your drink on you—I knew that you were the compass that would guide me home when flying, the steadfast beacon that would illuminate the darkest corners of my soul. You are my equal in stubbornness and grace."

Celeste's heart fluttered like a caged bird yearning for the freedom of the skies, her breath caught in the delicate web of emotions that ensnared her. "Egan, you're making me worry about you at this moment. Are you feeling okay?" she confessed, her voice a fragile whisper that hung between them like a fragile blossom trembling in the breeze, petals unfurled to the whims of fate.

With trembling hands, the major then knelt before her, producing from within his pocket a velvet box containing a dazzling gem that sparkled with the brilliance of a thousand suns. It wasn't much but simple, just as she liked.

Celeste's eyes widened in astonishment, her delicate hand reaching to cover her mouth in shock. "will you marry me?" Egan barely choked out, fear holding his body captive.

There the world held its breath, as if nature itself awaited her response. Celeste gazed into Egan's soulful eyes, eyes that had seen both joy and sorrow—ones that mirrored her own hopes and fears.

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she gazed upon Egan. Her delicate hand trembled, reaching out to touch his cheek— voice a whisper that carried the weight of a thousand promises.

"Oh Egan," Celeste spoke, her words a gentle caress that wrapped around his soul like a velvet embrace, "I think after everything we've been through, the answer is yes...a thousand times over.." Yes to Egan, yes to love, yes to a future that shimmered with the promise of happiness and fulfillment. In that single word, spoken with a grace and a solemnity that belied its simplicity, Celeste bound herself to Egan, heart to heart, soul to soul.

The major's countenance was filled with a luminous joy, an effulgent smile enveloping his countenance like the first rays of dawn after a prolonged night of despair. With a tremulous hand, he sank to one knee before Celeste, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears of felicity, as he bestowed the ring upon her delicate finger.

Celeste, effervescent with happiness, enveloped him in a warm embrace as he rose, pressing a gentle kiss upon his lips. Egan, with a gallant flourish, twirled her around in his enfolding arms, eliciting soft peals of laughter that resonated through the hospital corridors.

The applause that erupted like a chorus of jubilation, a cacophony of felicitations reverberating like church bells on Sunday morning—filled the room. Even Colonel Jefferson, who had observed their courtship with a discerning gaze, joined in the ovation with a measured yet approving clap.

Unbeknownst to Celeste, Egan had sought the colonel's counsel that very day after being at the officer's mess—tracing his steps with the precision of a seasoned huntsman tracking elusive prey through thick underbrush.

Initially skeptical, as a man of war often is when faced with matters of the heart—Jefferson had scrutinized Egan's worthiness with a perturbed brow. Recalling the major's past exploits and skirmishes. However, as Egan unveiled the depths of his commitment, his unwavering fidelity to Celeste evident in every word and gesture, the colonel's doubts dissipated like morning mist under the gentle caress of the dawn sun. A nod of approval granted, albeit not without the stipulation of a humorous yet symbolic gesture—a demand for Egan to perform twenty pushups,

A week later, as whispers of the imminent return home for the American contingent circulated, a mixture of excitement and sorrow filled the air. The crew, in a flurry of activity, made preparations for the impending departure against the backdrop of the idyllic English countryside, a poignant tableau of beauty and farewell.

Having bid adieu to her maternal kin the day prior, Celeste stood poised on the cusp of a new beginning, her heart aflutter with anticipation, as the promise of the future intertwined with the melancholy of parting.

As Celeste surveyed the scene before her, a pang of sadness tugged at her heart. The children of Thorpe Abbotts had become dear to her during their stay, and the thought of saying goodbye weighed heavily on her mind. Sammy and the boys, her constant companions during their time at the estate, surrounded her in a flurry of activity, each vying for a final embrace before their parting.

"Take care," Celeste whispered softly, her voice tinged with emotion as she knelt down to brush a stray lock of hair from the face of a little girl who gazed up at her with wide eyes. Sammy, ever the rascal, pouted—refusing to look at the American. "Oh come on now Sammy..." Celeste muttered, reaching a hand towards the young girl.

"You are leaving me!" Sammy screamed loudly, of which Rene tried to calm the storm. "Now now girly, the American's have to leave now."

Sammy merely huffed loudly before handing over the cat .
Nugget mewed softly in Celeste's arms. With a careful handoff, she passed the orange kitty to Arnie, who stood nearby holding a curious contraption—a human oxygen mask designed to ensure the feline's comfort during their ascent to high altitudes.

Celeste watched Arnie secure the mask in place, before he flashed a thumbs up— ready to embark on the next leg of their journey. The thought of leaving Thorpe Abbotts behind was indeed a painful one, but the promise of being home ahead filled her with a spark of anticipation.

With one final glance back at the estate and the children she had grown to love, Celeste steeled herself for the road ahead. As the crew prepared to set off towards the horizon, she knew that the memories of the base would forever hold a special place in her heart, a chapter in her story that would be cherished for years to come.

Celeste and Egan's union was not to be sealed until the hazy days of September, well the 26th to be exact—when the air bore the faintest whisper of fall; where snow would soon cover every part of Wisconsin. And the leaves had fallen from their graceful place upon the heavens. 

It was then when both had found themselves once more on American soil. The return home was less than she had imagined. The car rumbled to a stop at the familiar driveway, but Celeste remained still, her fingers clutching the fabric of her trousers with white-knuckled intensity. The house before her, once a beacon of childhood memories, stood altered—its paint slightly faded, the garden untamed, as though time had marched on without her.

Egan, her newly minted fiancé, was quick to step out, his eyes alight with anticipation. His footsteps crunched softly on the gravel as he circled around to her side. Celeste's heart pounded, not from excitement, but from the weight of memories etched into her soul, invisible to the world but vivid within her.

Egan's smile never faltered as he gently opened her door. She hesitated, her gaze locked on the porch where she had bid farewell years ago, her hand trembling slightly. Then, silently, Egan extended his hand toward her, warm and steady. She looked into his eyes—filled with a quiet understanding—and finally, her fingers intertwined with his.

"Welcome home, my love..." he whispered softly, his breath warm against her ear.

With his support, Celeste rose from her seat, stepping onto the gravel with tentative feet, the first steps towards reclaiming a life that had been paused for far too long. They had only returned here after visiting his hometown of Manitowoc.

The day started out as any other, Celeste and Egan were greeted with breakfast in bed by one of the older maids; one whom had raised Celeste as one of her own. About midday is when the commotions started; right the dot when her men arrived.

Amidst the flurry of preparations and the soft rustle of silk draperies, Celeste moved slowly through the expanse of her family estate. Her uniform hugged her frame tightly, each step a measured echo against the polished floors. The house was alive with frantic energy—maids darted about, their hurried footsteps and excited chatter weaving through the grand halls like an invisible tapestry of anticipation.

Yet within this sea of activity, Celeste found herself adrift in solitude. She paused beside a velvet couch, her slender fingers lowering gently onto the plush fabric. She brushed her hand back and forth, feeling the contrast between the softness beneath her touch and the growing ache within her chest. The vibrant voices of the maids echoed around her, filled with joy and excitement for the festivities of her wedding.

A single tear traced a silent path down her cheek, glistening briefly before vanishing into the fabric of her emotion. No one prepares you for the journey home—the quiet return to oneself, the shift from the extraordinary to the ordinary. As she stood there, amidst the echoes of celebration, Celeste faced the tender ache of adjusting back to a life that suddenly felt both familiar and distant.

A figure from the past emerged as a gentle beacon of familiarity in their midst. Arnie, being the brother from another mother—with a heart as vast as the ocean, had orchestrated a reunion.

Lady Qin, whose grace and elegance rivaled that of a queen from a distant era, heeded the call—journeying across oceans and continents to reunite with Celeste. As she stepped into view, her raven hair cascading like dark silk, Celeste's heart skipped a beat. The years melted away in an instant, replaced by a flood of cherished memories and an ache she hadn't realized she carried.

The raven haired woman's smile broke like dawn after a long, starless night—radiant and full of warmth. Her arms opened wide, an unspoken invitation that Celeste accepted with a rush of emotion. The moment their bodies met in an embrace, Celeste felt the weight of years apart dissolve into the comforting familiarity of Lady Qin's touch.

"My sweet lil tiger..." Lady Qin whispered, her voice a tender melody that reached into the deepest parts of Celeste's soul. Celeste melted into her embrace, her eyes brimming with tears of joy, her heart soaring with the pure, unfiltered happiness that only the presence of a beloved friend could bring. One she had not seen since the cruel grip of 1942.

After many catching up, it was in a quiet corner of Celeste's childhood home, where shadows danced in harmony with the lights, The French Kiss crew gathered all the parachutes they had salvaged.

The men, their fingers deft and sure, lent their strength to the task at hand—their laughter mingling with the soft murmur of conversation. Together, they cut the silk into myriad pieces.
After course, Arnie was in a race to see who'd drink the most. Each stitch, each fold, each intricate detail was woven with love and care—as if their very souls were imbued into the fabric.

Lady Qin, with her skilled hands and keen eye, supervised the transformation of the parachutes into a dress fit for a queen. She meticulously directed the seamstresses, ensuring that every contour and every line followed the patterns flawlessly. And so, each parachute was meticulously transformed, with Frankie's portion was reimagined as delicate arm sleeves to create the illusion of his presence—like a ghostly figure hovering by her side as she walked down the aisle.

As the dress took shape, a startling revelation unfolded before their eyes - Celeste's size had doubled. At first, it seemed a mere anomaly, a trivial detail amidst the grandeur of the moment. But as Lady Qin retraced the measurements, a sudden understanding dawned upon her like the first light of dawn breaking through the night sky.

The realization struck Celeste like a thunderbolt, her breath catching in her throat as her world spun on its axis. Her hands instinctively sought out the gentle curve of her abdomen—a sacred place where new life blossomed. The joy and trepidation mingled within her like a tumultuous sea.

Yet at her earliest doctor's visit to confirm what was happening, his words echoed solemnly in the chamber of her mind—warning of the dangers that loomed ahead. The pregnancy, he cautioned, posed a grave risk to her wounded heart—it was not as strong as it once was and any strenuous work could cause it to collapse. It was a shadow that darkened the path before her.

But even with the grave news, Celeste was content with herself. As the day arrived of their wedding, she stood before the mirror—merely seeing a shadow of who she used to be. Her hand instinctively found its way to her abdomen. She been given a second chance, even with the odds stacked against her.

Rene was the maid of honor, with Marge as one of the bridesmaids. Somehow Jackson had found himself dressed in the bridesmaid attire, fashioned with a bouquet of flowers and a pink suit. How that was entirely possible, well, Lady Qin may have helped with it.

Egan stood at the center of it all, fashioned in his dress uniform—dashing as when she first met him. His unruly locks barely poking out from under his cap. Cleven stood to his left, clad in his best man attire. Both would fulfill each other's wishes of being best man for another's weddings.

Celeste walked down the aisle like a stately queen, arm in arm with her father. Colonel Jefferson held his daughter tightly, afraid of letting her go. She was his little girl, no matter how stern he was towards her. He leaned in, whispering to his daughter, " You've done great my dear. I'm very proud of you..."

With her father's words, Celeste felt a flurry of emotions rush through. That's all she ever wanted to be told by him. So with a smile, Celeste leaned her head gently upon her father's shoulder as the continued down the carpet.

The evening sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows—casting colorful patterns on the ecclesiastical pews, the melodious chords of the organ signaled the commencement of a joyous occasion.

The nuptial march filled the air, accompanying the stunning vision of the resplendent bride, Celeste, gracefully making her way. And her hair was arranged into an elaborate style on top of her head.

If one were to have asked Celeste merely a year prior whether she harbored any aspirations towards the holy matrimony, she would have met such inquiries with a somber countenance—perhaps even a hint of despondency in her gaze. The tribulations and adversities that had beset her seemed insurmountable—rendering the mere thought of a union a distant and implausible notion.

Yet, fate, in its design, had conspired to lead her to this very moment—where she stood at the threshold of a new chapter in her life.

As Celeste walked with a dignified composure, flanked by her dearest friends and comrades who had stood steadfast by her side through thick and thin—a poignant pang of longing tugged at her heartstrings. The absence of Frankie —casted a shadow over the jubilant proceedings, serving as a poignant reminder of the sacrifices made and the losses endured in pursuit of a brighter tomorrow.

A fleeting moment of reverie enveloped her as she beheld a cherubic little girl, her curls adorned with ribbons—-delicately scattering pink rose petals in her wake. For an ephemeral instant, Celeste fancied that it was Ana, who graced the hallowed aisle with her presence, her laughter echoing like silver bells in the chapel's lofty rafters.

Yet, as the child turned, revealing a visage unfamiliar to her longing eyes, reality pierced through the ethereal illusion, reminding her of the irrevocable parting that lay ahead.

Colonel Jefferson stood somberly beside his beloved daughter—tenderly relinquishing her care into the waiting hands of Egan. With a solemn nod and a fleeting smile, the colonel bequeathed his precious charge to the eager embrace of her betrothed.

As the priest intoned the sacred verses from the hallowed scriptures, his voice resonating with the weight of centuries-old traditions and solemn vows, Celeste felt a blush of warmth suffuse her cheeks at certain tender phrases—eliciting a roguish grin from her dashing groom.

The solemn exchange of vows, uttered with fervent sincerity and unwavering commitment, forged an invisible bond between the two souls, intertwining their fates inextricably as the cords of destiny were woven anew.

"You may now kiss the bride," the kindly priest intoned, his benevolent gaze resting upon the betrothed couple with a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. Yet, before his words had fully dissipated into the hallowed air, Egan, with an ardent fervor that bespoke of his unbridled affection, enfolded Celeste in a passionate embrace, his hand cradling her cheek as his lips met hers in a fervent caress.

The chapel erupted in a cacophony of jubilant applause and exuberant cheers, the harmonious chorus of well-wishers resonating through the hallowed halls with an infectious zeal.

Amidst the jubilant revelry and lively celebration that ensued, Arnie could not contain his exuberance any longer. "Whoop now, let's dance!" he exclaimed with unbridled enthusiasm, his boisterous voice cutting through the jubilant clamor like a clarion call to festivity. And thus, the merry throng took to the floor, twirling and cavorting in a joyous display of uninhibited exultation, their laughter and merriment echoing like a melodious symphony of jubilation in the timeless tapestry of love and matrimony.

   But it was that night when Celeste finally revealed to Egan. Within the dimly lit confines of the elegant room, adorned with plush velvet draperies and intricately carved mahogany furniture, Celeste nervously twirled a delicate lace handkerchief between her quivering fingers. The dim light cast a soft glow upon her porcelain features, accentuating the subtle flush that adorned her cheeks, betraying the inner turmoil that resided within her delicate bosom.

Egan, regarded Celeste with a keen gaze as he reclined upon the chaise longue. His piercing eyes, the color of stormy seas, seemed to search her soul as she hesitated, the weight of her revelation heavy upon her fragile frame.

"Egan," she began, her voice a mere whisper that wove through the air like a delicate silk thread, "I have to tell you something."

Egan, his countenance a mask of concern as he relinquished his regimental jacket upon the nearby settee, fixed his penetrating gaze upon her. His voice, a deep resonance that reverberated within the chamber like the tolling of a solemn bell, implored, "Are you okay? Are you having doubts?"

With a quivering breath, Celeste steeled herself, her cerulean eyes seeking solace in the fathomless depths of Egan's gaze. "No you silly goose,," she confessed, her words tumbling forth like rose petals scattered by an unforgiving tempest, "i know for sure now that I'm pregnant."

For a fleeting moment, Egan's visage remained inscrutable, a portrait of stoic contemplation as he communed wordlessly with Celeste in a silent exchange of unspoken sentiments. And then, like a reservoir unleashed by an unseen hand, a profound sense of awe and reverence suffused his features, transforming his countenance into a visage of unbridled adoration.

With an exultant cry that resonated through the room, Egan swept Celeste into his arms, lifting her aloft as a triumphant gesture of his joy. Pressing his cheek against the gentle swell of her belly, he exclaimed, "By the heavens above, I am to be a father!"

Upon setting Celeste gently upon her feet, Egan's eyes shone with paternal warmth as he bestowed a tender kiss upon her brow. "Do we know if it's a girl or boy?"

Celeste's laughter, soft as the fluttering of butterfly wings, danced through the air as she leaned into Egan's touch. "Oh, dear, you need to learn more about women's bodies. That's not how the gender works."

At the mention of names, Egan's features softened with a tender smile as he caressed Celeste's cheek with a gentle hand. "Well, if it is a girl, how does the name Annie sound?"

A flicker of delight lit Celeste's eyes, her smile radiant as a summer dawn. "Annie...," she murmured, her voice soft with affection. "I love it.""

Yet, as the shadows of evening began to encroach upon the room, a veil of melancholy descended upon Celeste's countenance, dimming the glow of her eyes. Sensing her disquiet, Egan furrowed his brow in gentle concern, his voice a tender caress as he inquired, "What's the matter?"

Tilting Celeste's chin upward to meet his unwavering gaze, Egan vowed with quiet determination, "It's Ana. I can't shake the feeling she's out there, alive. I just need to know."

And in that moment, as Celeste embraced Egan with a fervor born of love and longing, the beating of his heart beneath her ear echoed a promise of steadfast resolve and undying hope. "I'll search for her. I promise..."

   And Egan would keep his promise to search for Ana—through all the data bases known. Sending requests to Europe, asking for the records at certain camps to see if Ana could be found. He never gave up hope...

But admist this, came the search for a suitable abode—particularly in Wisconsin. After the decision made by Celeste, whose independent spirit yearned for a dwelling separate from her family's estate. However, her father acquiesced to accommodate them in the grand mansion, yet Celeste—adamantly declined. She remained steadfast, firm in her determination to roam freely until the day of her father's final breath in 1965.

Their pursuit led them to a quaint countryside—nestled amidst the emerald hills and kissed by the whispering winds. Celeste found solace in the charming dwelling as her family home in Pennsylvania was much like this. Cows and horses, pigs—And there wasn't any loud sounds to spook them at night.

In due course, settling into their new sanctuary, Celeste, with a teasing glint in her eye, never failed to remind Egan of his noteworthiness as an aviator—playfully asserting her own prowess in the skies. She'd often remind friends she was just as good as him, if not better...

When the festive season of Christmas bestowed its gentle embrace, Celeste found herself encumbered by the weight of impending motherhood, her once lithe frame now cradling new life within. At the zenith of her pregnancy, with seven moons having waxed and waned, she felt the burden of her swollen belly with each passing day. Bending, once a simple gesture, now became a Herculean task, her discomfort palpable as she struggled to don her shoes.

"Good heavens," she muttered, casting a rueful gaze upon her footwear, mere inches beyond her reach. "I daresay, the task of starting the propellers of the C-47 pales in comparison to this endeavor." A wistful sigh escaped her lips,

The daily ritual of navigating her swollen frame through the corridors of the mansion became an arduous task, a feat likened to navigating the intricacies of a fighter aircraft. Celeste, usually poised, struggled to lift even the lightest of objects, much to her immense frustration.

Egan watched with a mixture of amusement and concern as attempted to conquer seemingly insurmountable challenges. His chuckles were met with an exasperated glare from his wife, who shot him a look that clearly conveyed her annoyance at his amusement during her moment of struggle.

But in the cozy parlor of their quaint abode, Egan and Celeste were immersed in the annual tradition of adorning the Christmas tree. The flickering glow of the hearth danced across the room, casting a warm ambience upon the scene. Celeste found respite by the crackling fire, her dainty feet propped upon a cushioned ottoman as she tenderly caressed her burgeoning abdomen.

Nugget remained perched atop Celeste's burgeoning belly, regally donned in a collar of opulent splendor, her saucer-like eyes aglitter with the festive fervor that enveloped their homely sanctuary. Each flicker of the firelight cast a spectral dance upon the walls.

Early on in December, Egan had ventured into the wintry forest to procure the finest fir tree that his keen eye could discern. Each bough was meticulously bedecked with baubles and trinkets, shimmering in the firelight as he deftly weaved garlands of gold and crimson throughout its verdant branches.

The mirthful echoes of past lingered in the air as memories of Christmases gone by mingled with the present. Arnie and Jackson, dear friends from ages past, graced their threshold sporadically—but life's course had led them to kindle their own hearths and embrace the mantle of parenthood. Arnie, the erstwhile wanderer, had sought solace in the bosom of his Pennsylvanian hometown, where he labored as a diesel artisan.

It was during his sojourn in the land of rolling hills that Arnie's heart somehow lingered back to Rene... ah yes, the good friend of Celeste. It was as if the two were destined for another. Of course, she was just as spirited whose wit and charm mirrored his own in jest.

The exchange of Christmas greetings between distant friends was a cherished tradition that kindled laughter and light amongst them, as their missives bore forth a mirthful banter that bridged the miles that separated them.

As the last ornament was hung with care upon the boughs of the noble fir, a reverent hush descended upon the room, punctuated only by the crackle of the fire and the soft rustle of boughs.

Then came the time when Celeste had ready herself—the day had arrived.

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AUTHOR NOTES
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IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER TO POST!! BUT HERE IT IS

ONE MORE CHAP AND WE ARE DONE!! I will be posting right after this one!! So no one has to wait!