Sir. Mildred Cram

to fall like lead pellets; there was a smell of dust and sulphur in the air, and a distant thrumming sound seemed to roll around the horizon and to encircle the field. At that moment Edward might have turned back. A sort of jerk ran through his body as if a string had been pulled by an unseen hand. He started to speak, to say that he was sorry . . . if she was frightened, of course they’d try to get back to the city . . . But then he realized that this was something between Valerie and himself; it had nothing to do with the onrushing hurricane or with the danger ahead: she must believe in him and trust him and go with him, unquestioning, as women who love go with the men they love.

      “Please trust me, Valerie.”

      “Very well. I will.”

      That was all. She took her place beside him. Now they were together, mother, father, sons. The take-off was smooth except for a shudder as a gust of wind struck like a slap against the Cessna’s side. Then they were clear and lifting easily. As always Edward responded to the plane’s obedience to his will. He had discovered that he could love a mechanical thing if he could animate and control it. A feeling of exultation overcame any doubt he may have had.

      “Don’t worry,” he said, turning his head briefly to glance at Valerie, “we’ll make it. And then you’ll be glad. Charleston’s going to take a beating, but Washington’s in the clear.”

      The boys were staring out through the suddenly drenched and streaming window into a blackness that was blacker than night . . . and only a moment ago the sun had been shining in a blur of vapour! The plane wavered, lurched, dropped, climbed again, shuddering, fighting for altitude.

      “So soon,” Edward heard himself say. “Where did it come from? How did this happen?”

      He knew when she reached over and put her hand out to the boys. He knew when she told them it was going to be all right . . . their father would get them safely home.

      Then they were driving through a wall of ice, encased in a sound like the splintering and crackling of broken glass, and out again into a fraction of calm when the plane steadied and balanced. At that moment Edward realized that he had no control whatever; the hurricane had taken over and was playing with this floating object as if it were a leaf whirled and tossed and driven along a gutter. A jagged flash of lightning cut through the dark: tangles and loops of fire, worm-like, writhed on the wings. The Cessna tilted again, slid sideways into a void, dropping endlessly down and down and down . . .

      Did Valerie scream? Did he, himself, cry out? Probably not. It was too quick, that last plunge, that plummet drop into chaos and silence.