“Just happened? The thing practically exploded,” retorted Julia. “There were feathers everywhere, people squawking, hens squawking—”
“Poor things!” Florence patted a chicken crate. “Were they all right?”
“Were they all right?” Emmie had never heard Julia so voluble. “They were having a grand time. They got into someone’s lunch and scattered war bread everywhere. The guard tried to make a run for it and tripped over a piece of broken crate. After that, no one was going to bother with a little thing like passes.”
“We did get them all back in the crate,” Kate reassured Florence. “And strung the broken bits back together with twine. I never meant for the box to break.”
“It was a good thing it did,” said Julia cynically. “Or they’d have had me off the train, chickens or no chickens.”
“Well, I know some people who’ll be very grateful for these,” said Florence. “One woman in Offoy told me that she desperately needs another chicken, because she has only one, and it’s pining for company.”
“Do chickens pine?” asked Kate skeptically.
“Why shouldn’t they? It’s miserable being left all alone,” said Alice, with a little too much feeling.
“You could send the poor hen one of Emmie’s roosters,” said Nell mischievously. “A barnyard romance might take its mind off things. . . .”
“It works for some,” said Gwen loftily, pointedly looking at Emmie and Nell, both of whom she considered sunk beneath reproach. Florence was too busy with the chickens to realize she was being included in the ranks of the fallen.
“Has the rooster a mustache?” inquired Julia blandly. “A dubious mustache, perhaps?”
“I’m sure the roosters will be delighted by the company—as are we.” Mrs. Barrett stepped in, smoothly turning the conversation. “I had meant you to have a longer rest, but I’m beyond glad to have you both back. Pass or no pass. The number of people we’ve had to turn away from the dispensary is nothing short of heartbreaking. Dr. Stapleton has been doing his best, but with his own work at the Red Cross hospital . . .”
Kate looked at Julia, and some sort of unspoken message passed between them.
“About that,” said Kate innocently. “Now that Dr. Pruyn is back, wouldn’t it be best to release Dr. Stapleton to his regular duties? We wouldn’t want to keep him from his war work.”
“But we’ve still only one doctor—with no insult to your abilities, Dr. Pruyn,” said Mrs. Barrett, smiling at Julia. “I don’t want you collapsing from overwork.”
“I won’t,” said Julia. She waved a hand imperiously in Gwen’s general direction. “Miss Mills can assist me. She’s more than capable.”
Everyone, including Gwen Mills, stared at Julia. Julia had, in the past, been cutting about people who took one nursing course and considered themselves medical professionals and had done everything in her power to damp what she considered Gwen’s medical pretensions.
“Why, yes, naturally.” Gwen floundered. “I’d be more than delighted. . . .”
“You see?” said Julia coolly. “There’s no need to strain the resources of the Red Cross.”
“And there’s Miss Van Alden,” said Kate, turning to Emmie. “I’ve seen her administer first aid. She saved a child from extensive burns our first week here.”
“That was just ambrine,” said Emmie, confused and pleased. At least, she would have been pleased if she didn’t have the feeling that she was being used as a pawn in an obscure game set up by Julia and executed by Kate. “Anyone would know how—”
“I didn’t,” said Kate. “After all her years of social work, Miss Van Alden is an accomplished practical nurse. And she’s a wonder with children.”
“Except for Zélie,” said Emmie.
“Zélie is a law unto herself,” said Kate fondly. “Zélie and that goat of hers.”
“Minerva butted Dr. Stapleton last week,” contributed Nell, grinning. “He was bending over a patient and—”
“We can make a trial of it,” broke in Mrs. Barrett. “It’s only until the rest of the Unit gets their passes. . . . Oh bother. There go the planes again. Do you think those are our boys this time?”
“Is the big push really coming?” Kate asked Emmie as they prepared for bed, having made a mad dash across the lawn to their barrack. Canvas was tacked over the windows, and the only light was the dim glow of the stove.