September 11, 1943

I should be sleeping, but I can't. And anyway, I don't want to forget one single thing that's happened since I wrote last.

When I heard the window latch in the front room finally give way, I shoved my fist into my mouth to keep from screaming. I heard a dragging sound and then a solid plop, like someone pulling through the window opening and then falling onto the living room floor.

"Mrs. J?" The voice was male, the accent distinctly American. "Hmm," he said, speaking out loud, "he was sure she'd be here."

I could hear his feet walking through my small house, and finally he made it to the bedroom. "Mrs. J, please. We hardly have any time. Edwin sent me; I promise. If you come out, I can prove it."

After a few seconds, my reason prevailed. What did I have to lose? Nothing, at this point. I crawled out from under the bed and found myself face-to-face with a short man who had a smart-looking black mustache.

"Mrs. J at last!" he said, grinning delightedly.

"Who are you?" I asked.

He bowed over-dramatically and then put out his hand. "My name is Howard Stark, and I've come to rescue you." I shook his hand, wondering if I'd stepped into a comic strip or a boys' adventure novel from the 1920s.

"Here's the proof." He unclasped a watch from his wrist and handed it to me. My breath caught. It was my husband's watch, the one he always wore; it had the same scratch on the face and nick in the band.

"How did you get this?"

"From him, of course," he replied.

"How?" I asked. "The last time I heard anything, they were sending him to England for trial."

"All right," he said, "but this is positively the last question for now. We can't wait any longer. Three days ago, I had your husband released from prison and his charges dropped. I could hardly keep him from coming along, but I finally convinced him you'd be safer with a one-man operation—the fewer people the better. We'll join him in London within a day or two."

He's been discharged from the military, but that doesn't really matter too much because I've hired him as my—sort of butler. He's very good at—butlery kinds of things.

"I know," I said reflexively, trying to digest the information.

"Before you try to ask something else, I did it because Jarvis did something for me a long time ago, and I owe him. Plus, I like him. He's a standup guy. As far as how I did it, I'd love to be more delicate and modest about this, especially since you're a lady—a very lovely lady—but I'm trying to hurry. The point is, I have a lot of money, and the Allies depend on me for the weapons I invent. I threatened them, and they let Jarvis go instead of risking me pulling my support and selling to somebody else. So now we can go." I stared at him, and my first thought was that I really doubted that "delicate" or "modest" was anything he could manage at the best of times.

I followed the man—Stark—into the front room, where he'd left a very small parcel. He opened it and unrolled what looked like a pile of canvas, but it opened up into a large bag with a set of small wheels on one end of it. "All right," he said. "There are police in this area. I saw a couple of them on my way over. I don't think they saw me, but if someone gets the idea of coming over here after we're gone, I want them to think there's been a burglary. That's why I did the business with the window instead of just knocking on the door. I apologize for startling you, by the way. Anyhow, we need to make it look like I'm stealing all of your valuables, not that you're leaving. It wouldn't hold them long, but at least it would confuse them enough to buy us more time. That means you're not going to have room for anything other than what you can bring in your hands, and, I promise I sincerely apologize for this, you're going to have to situate yourself in this bag so I can wheel you out of here like a pile of loot. I have a car waiting a street over, so you won't be in it for long."

My mind worked quickly. I brought this diary and the pen I keep with it in my hands, the pearls my mother had worn to her wedding around my neck, and my father's wedding ring on my thumb. He'd given it to me as they'd led him away, so it was my last piece of him.

Stark gallantly assisted me into the bag, but I settled to the bottom of it like a load of potatoes. With that, he seized the handle and dragged me out of the house, the wheels bumping onto the street outside. I can't say it was the most comfortable ride I've ever taken, but my adrenaline was so high by that time that the bumping and bruising hardly bothered me.

My rescuer had timed his operation well. No one stopped us, and within a couple of minutes, I heard the sound of an idling car engine. The bag was unzipped above my head, and a hand was extended down to me. I extricated myself without too much difficulty and stretched my back.

Wordlessly, Stark opened a back door of the long, black car beside the road, and I got in. The driver looked strangely familiar, and when he turned his head and winked at me, I almost gasped. He was one of the policemen I'd seen lounging outside Mr. Lazar's hotel tailor shop more than once. "Good evening, Mrs. Jarvis," he said in a perfectly flat American accent as his employer got into the car. "I'm one of Stark's." I nodded and tried to smile, but my mind was whirling.

We drove through the city as silently as possible, slowly and without any lights on. I was familiar with the streets to a point, and then we turned away from the places I was used to. Stark turned around and poked his head into the back. "We're going to a field near here. My plane is waiting. We'll have to do a quick turnaround when we get there, but I already know you're more than capable." I nodded. I felt like I'd been doing a lot of nodding since meeting him.

I'd never been on an airplane, but I had very little time to contemplate the idea, because we pulled off the road within five minutes, and the driver stopped to let us out. "Thank you very much, Jones," said Stark. "I'll let your wife know you're well." Jones grinned and tipped his cap to me, and I followed Stark outside, into the heavily wooded area in front of us.

Thankfully, within a few feet, my companion pulled a flashlight out of one of the pockets of his bulky jacket and illuminated the way in front of us. I saw that there was a small dirt pathway of sorts through the trees, and we walked it for a couple of minutes before emerging into a clearing that contained a tiny airplane that looked exactly like the ones I'd seen in the movies.

"Pretty, eh?" said Stark. "She's the fastest one in the world." He was still whispering, but he'd let his guard down a little bit since we were out of the city, and there was no one in sight. He led me over to her and gave me his hand to help me into the front seat next to him.

He buckled me in and gave me flight goggles, then got into the cockpit. "We'll have to refuel in France," he said, "but then it'll just be a hop across the pond."

"France?" I asked, as he was checking the controls.

"Sure," he nodded. "I have resistance contacts there. I can't say it won't be dangerous, but I know who I'm dealing with." I settled back in the seat without further comment. It went without saying that the danger was worth it—if I'd stayed in Budapest, I'd have probably died anyway, and I'd never have had a chance to see Edwin again.

The sensation of flying for the first time is difficult to describe, the feeling that a fall is coming, but it never comes. Instead, you go higher and higher, until the ground seems remote and strange below you.

We're at our desired altitude now, sailing through a surreal, dark, beautiful sky-world. I'm writing by the beam of Stark's flashlight. I want to be able to tell my Jarvis every single thing that happens while I'm getting to him.

My Jarvis—my husband, the man I'd never thought I'd see again. I don't know how to hope yet; it hasn't sunk into my mind that if Stark's plan works, I'll be back in the arms of my protector soon. For now, I enjoy the nighttime.