She didn’t mistrust Will or his intentions. Only the war itself. And maybe, just a bit, herself. But she didn’t think Kate or Julia would see it that way. And this new Kate and Julia, a Kate and Julia who worked together, who had shared jokes and seemed to understand each other’s minds—that was more unsettling still.
Trying to make up for her ungenerous thoughts, Emmie took one of the odd, two-handled bowls from Anne and brought it to Kate. “Did you keep the chickens in the hotel all that time?”
Julia looked surprisingly human with her forehead smudged with soot from the train, her cheeks flushed from their long walk from the station, and her skirt stained with goodness only knew what from the chickens. “Madame would have dearly liked to evict us, but Kate fed her a dreadful line about war service and doing one’s bit.”
“It wasn’t a line! It was all true.” Kate’s lips quivered with suppressed amusement. “But she couldn’t very well throw us and our chickens out after that.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t just stick them in the soup pot,” said Nell.
“And take away a chicken from the service of France?” drawled Julia, raising her brows dramatically.
Kate balled up her cloth napkin and lobbed it at her.
“Children, children,” protested Mrs. Barrett, but she was laughing too.
And then the first bomb fell, making the walls of the house shake and George Washington fall face forward on the table.
“Oh no, we forgot the curtains!” Emmie stumbled to the windows. She yanked the fabric so hard she nearly brought the whole curtain down.
Another crash followed the first, closer this time. The hens cackled in distress in their coops, and outside they could hear a dog yelping.
“The pantry!” exclaimed Alice, and made a dash to extinguish the lamps there. A moment later, the house was plunged into darkness. “Owwwwww.”
“Are you all right?” Emmie called, bracing one hand against the piano to orient herself.
“The doorframe hit me,” said Alice, groping her way back into the room.
“Better than a bomb,” said Nell. For the benefit of their returning members, she added, “That’s the great drawback of the new house. The lighted windows are a positive invitation to the Hun to use as target practice.”
“It was careless of us to forget to draw the curtains,” said Emmie remorsefully. “They keep telling us it will be the big push any day now.”
“And by they, you mean your British friends?” asked Kate, and Emmie could practically hear all the things she wasn’t saying.
“Well, they are the ones who would know,” said Emmie.
They waited in silence in the dark for a few moments, listening. When no further bombs fell, Mrs. Barrett said, in bracing tones, “I think we can risk one lamp.”
A moment later, a match was struck. Mrs. Barrett fiddled with the wick. A faint flame flickered and caught, sending a rosy glow throughout the room.
“Welcome home,” said Nell, from her spot on the rug with her legs curled under her. “Aren’t you glad you’re back?”
“Yes. Surprisingly,” said Kate, draining the rest of her soup. “Bombs and all.”
Sitting on the piano bench, looking around the room in the dim light, at all the familiar faces brought into high relief by the interplay of light and shadow, Emmie thought how very odd it was what one was able to become accustomed to. Being bombarded had become merely a minor irritation, like midges at a picnic. They’d become too used to it to take it seriously.
Would she have ever thought that possible, back in New York?
She’d changed, she realized. They’d all changed.
Kate set aside her soup cup. “We weren’t at all sure we’d be able to get back. My pass was all right, but Julia’s had expired, and I wasn’t sure I could manage all three crates on my own—and after what we’d paid for them, I certainly wasn’t going to leave them!”
“I’m glad to know you only brought me along for the chickens,” said Julia bitingly.
“So what did you do?” asked Anne, perched on the edge of a bench made by her own students. Anne was terribly proud of that bench, the product of her woodworking classes. She sat on it at every opportunity.
“Shenanigans,” said Julia. “Skullduggery. Sleight of hand. Our Kate here turns out to be an accomplished charlatan.”
“That’s all nonsense,” scoffed Kate, but Emmie could tell she was pleased. “When the man came for our passes, I might just have happened to drop one of the crates.”