“I feel like one of the hags from Macbeth,” she told Emmie as she took over from Anne at one of the big soup pots.
Emmie gave one of her unexpected laughs, bubbling out of her. “Can’t you just see us cooking up eye of newt and toe of frog when we run out of chickens?”
“They’re French,” said Kate, feeling immeasurably cheered, even if she was beginning to see double. “They eat frogs anyway.”
By the time Dr. Devine came to collect them to take them on to wherever they were going, Kate wasn’t quite sure what day it was anymore. She was half-asleep in the back of the truck, her head on Emmie’s shoulder, with Nell asleep in Anne’s lap next to her, and Alice asleep on Nell. Julia sat hunched over her medical bag, trying desperately not to yawn, while Florence snored next to her, sleeping like a horse sitting up.
She hadn’t slept, not really, at least she didn’t think she had, but when Kate opened her eyes, the truck had stopped in front of an entirely unknown building on an unknown street. They were in a town, that much was clear; there were tall streetlights and proper sidewalks. But she had no idea what town it was or how far they had traveled.
“You can put their bags in here,” a familiar voice was saying. “We’ve beds made up for everyone.”
Kate blinked at the woman silhouetted in the light from the open door. “Mrs. Barrett?”
“Welcome to Beauvais,” said Mrs. Barrett. Kate stumbled down, out of the truck, and Mrs. Barrett enfolded her in an embrace that smelled like lavender and laundry soap. “We’ve been worried sick about you all. You remember Williams and White and McCoy and McMorris, don’t you? And, of course, I know you know Miss Shaw.”
Liza waved at Kate from behind Mrs. Barrett. Kate had no idea what Liza was doing there. And Dr. Clare, who was, inconceivably, there as well, wearing a violently patterned silk wrapper with her hair braided for bed. Kate began to wonder if she was still asleep and if there were going to be dancing aardvarks next.
“But—where—”
“We’ve taken over a girls’ school,” said Mrs. Barrett. “This is our headquarters now and I’ll tell you all about it in the morning, once you’ve had some sleep. My poor girls, what you’ve been through!”
There was something rather wonderful about being fussed over by someone who reminded Kate strangely of her mother, even though Mrs. Barrett looked and sounded nothing like her mother. Maybe it was the way she took charge, bustling them all inside, counting heads, ordering their duffels upstairs to the dormitory, talking all the way.
“If you can imagine, they actually let us on a train to Grécourt on Saturday—the wires had been cut by bombs Friday night so we had no word that the drive had happened. We got as far as Noyon, and then they sent us back to Paris. You can imagine we were frantic to know what had become of you. Everyone has been asking about the Unit, and they’re all very keen to help. We’ve been offered everything from motorcars to Victrolas. Mr. White of the White Motor Company called personally to offer a car to us.”
“That’s good,” said Kate, her voice rather creaky. “Because I’m afraid I lost the jitney.”
“Not to mention all your things.” Mrs. Barrett looked sympathetically around the remains of the Unit, all of whom were blinking like moles in the light, looking distinctly disheveled and travel worn next to the new girls. Someone came up to Mrs. Barrett, one of the new girls, White or Williams, Kate didn’t remember which. “Yes?”
“We’ve just had a message from the stationmaster,” said the new girl breathlessly. Her uniform was so clean it made Kate’s eyes ache. Or maybe it was just that Kate’s eyes were aching already. “There are loads of refugees coming into the station—no one knows what to do with them—and they wanted to know if we could find them something to eat.”
Kate looked at Mrs. Barrett, and at Emmie and Alice and Nell and Anne and Florence and Julia, all battered and war-worn, all half-asleep on their feet.
“I could manage to open a few more tins of milk,” Emmie said, rubbing her gritty eyes with the back of her hand.
“Me too,” said Nell, smothering a yawn, and Kate felt so full of love and pride for her friends that she thought she might burst with it.
Turning to Mrs. Barrett, Kate said, as briskly as she could, “We’re ready. What do they need us to do?”
Chapter Thirty
Dear Ma,
It’s Mother’s Day here at the “club.” We helped 160 servicemen write letters home today, and now we’re writing our own.