Free Flight of the Tiger Moth by Mary Woodbury

day’s events, the energy that had been let loose like a miniature volcano in the church and in his house. He’d never seen his mother so ­excited.
    He took a deep breath and shook himself like a damp dog. Then he rode over to the doctor’s house. The doctor was out in the country delivering a baby but his wife said she’d tell him about Jack’s dad’s accident. “Sounds like something Bill would do.” She ­smiled.
    A village was like a big family. The good, the bad, the strange and the ­run-­of-­the-­mill – they all lived in Cairn. Until the aerodrome came, it had been Jack’s whole, private world. Now it seemed his village had shrunk to a dot on a prairie that stretched for thousands of miles, all the way to a hospital in England and, he hoped, somewhere safe in the French ­countryside.
    The streets of Cairn lay quiet in the Sunday afternoon sun. Pine siskins serenaded from the elms. Most of the adult males of the town were snoozing on old couches in kitchens, or, if they were lucky, on a porch swing or hammock. Mothers and older sisters tidied dishes and gossiped. C hildren played quietly in yards. All the stores were closed and shuttered. Even the Chinese restaurant closed on Sundays until ­suppertime.
    Jack hoped Buddy would be all right. There was only a week more of school and then Jack would be working five days a week at the air base, able to see Buddy every day. This next week would be pretty easy. There were a couple of exams left and the field day with the kids from ­Mortlach.
    Jack pulled up behind his house and parked his bike. He went in, letting the screen door bang behind him. He’d have to fix that. His dad was always trying to get around to it. Jack could hear his voice coming from the ­parlour.
    “Maybe that’s the doctor.”
    “What are we going to do if you’re laid up, Bill?” His mother’s voice sounded ­anxious.
    “We’ll have to wait and see what Doctor Kowalski says. Right now it just hurts like heck and my left leg feels numb.”
    “The doctor’s out on call.” Jack poured himself a glass of cold water from the pitcher in the icebox and joined his parents. “He’ll come when he gets back. How are you?”
    “Oh, I’ll live.”
    “If you had fixed that stool when I asked you to…” Jack’s mom knitted furiously on a khaki scarf for a soldier. “And we had such a great afternoon too.”
    “Do you need anything, Dad?” Jack was itching to wander over to Wes’s house and tell him about Trevor and Basil’s plans. “Something to read?”
    “I’m too sore. It’s a sorry Sunday when I can’t read the Reader’s Digest and get my supply of jokes for the week. Who wants stale jokes? That’s worse than stale bread.”
    “This is serious, Bill,” Ivy chided. “Why do you have to make everything into a joke?”
    “I thought you married me because I made you laugh.”
    Bill Waters winked at Jack. He tried to shift on the pillows and grimaced. “Did you hear the one about the man with the wooden leg named Charlie?”
    “What was the name of his good leg?” asked Jack. It was an old joke. One he and his dad used every once in a while. “I’m going over to Wes’s to tell him about the big Labour Day concert. Is there anything you need before I go?”
    “Find out when Catherine Anne is coming home. I need her in the choir, especially now that we’ve got big plans.” His mother sounded downright ­happy.
    “You need Cathy to keep those young flyboys happy,” laughed Bill. “Who’s going to warn the poor girl she’s being used as bait?”
    “Bill!”
    Jack hurried out before anything more could be ­said.
    >>>

    The McLeods were sitting in the side yard. Lemonade, tea and cookies sat on the wooden table. Wes was reading Shakespeare’s Macbeth to bone up for the exam. He’d ace it anyway. English was his best ­subject.
    His mother and father were chatting. Jack ­interrupted.
    “I’ve got news. Some good and some bad. Dad fell and hurt his back