France, April 15, 1918
Phineas felt the thump as he hit the cobblestones, not the best landing but by no means the worst he'd had. He looked around for Jeffrey and realized that was going to be a hard habit to break.
"France, 1918. Revolutionary War," Bogg thought and laughed aloud at the recollection of that first day with Jeffrey. Looking back, Phineas realized he was probably wrong to tease the terrified boy. But it was his sense of humor, and the boy seemed so strong and resilient right at that moment. Phineas hadn't appreciated until Kitty Hawk how truly vulnerable the boy was.
As he began to walk, Bogg wondered how Jeff was faring at headquarters, in that entirely different, almost magical, time zone. And then he looked around at the faces of the soldiers around him. So many were not much older than Jeff; some, who lied about their ages, were undoubtedly younger. "Doughboys" Bogg recalled, too many of whom would end up buried here in France far from home and countless others who would return with injuries and health problems that would plague them throughout their lives.
"He's safe," Bogg reminded himself. Still, it was difficult to accept that the kid wasn't right there. Certainly they had their times of separation to complete missions, but Bogg always felt better when he knew he could reach out and grab his kid in an emergency.
"Unlikely to have an emergency at headquarters, and if there were, he has about 100 chaperones," Bogg thought. Over the years, any visit to headquarters led to Jeffrey befriending someone new. His sincere interest in their jobs and lives was too charming for most to resist. Such a special kid.
"But he's not a kid any more," Bogg reminded himself. "Even if he's still mine."
The best thing he could do, for himself and for Jeffrey, was focus on the here and now.
"Red light, Bogg," he thought. "Think about the red light."
First, of course, was finding it. The guidebook, which felt awkward to carry after all these years, could help him solve it. Rarely was it of any use in finding it. That seemed to rely on providence.
Looking ahead, Phineas realized he might have found it very quickly. He saw a soldier, not the impossibly young sort who had distracted him, but instead about Bogg's own age. He was reading a letter held close to his face. The man looked about to step into the street just in front of a military convoy.
Phineas was close enough to leap for the man and pull him backward, and the two fell onto the sidewalk.
"Lieutenant, are you OK?" Bogg asked quickly, as he picked himself up and offered a hand to the shorter man.
"I'm fine, sir," he said. "Feeling a bit ridiculous I suppose, but I was re-reading this letter from my Bess, and … well, I am grateful you were paying attention when I was not."
The man held out his hand. "Lieutenant Harry Truman. Lieutenant, but a near-sighted one. I suppose I should save the reading for when I'm not in traffic. I was just on my way back from the theater, thinking about what I was going to write and felt compelled. Letters from Missouri arrive far too infrequently, and I find myself re-reading and re-reading. I apologize for being an inconvenience and offer you my thanks," he said in a forthright tone.
Phineas smiled. "Phineas Bogg. And it was no inconvenience, lieutenant. I'm glad to have been of help. But, yes, perhaps you should keep the reading for your quarters."
"Good advice. Thank you again. Let me tuck this into my pocket and be on my way."
Bogg knew that name and was unsurprised to open the omni to find a green light.
