“Yes.” Mrs. Rutherford fixed Julia with a long, thoughtful look. “It was Bavarians quartered here, Marie says. Being Catholics themselves, they tend to be leery of blowing up churches. Of course, that didn’t stop them from looting the church plate—scruples only go so far. But we can manage without, I imagine.”
“The patron saint of the village is St. Matthew,” piped up Anne Dawlish. “The villagers were telling me about it. His feast day is coming up quite soon—on the twenty-first, they said.”
“That’s it, then. Hold a mass for St. Matthew’s Day.” Julia looked up to find everyone was staring at her. Two bright spots of color showed in her cheeks. “Well, it’s obvious. I spent several years in a village much like this one. They set their lives by the church calendar. There were processions for saints’ days. . . . If we can find a priest to perform a mass for St. Matthew’s Day, it will mean more to them than anything else we can do.”
“You aren’t Catholic, are you?” Maud was staring at Julia as though she’d grown an extra head.
Julia looked at her coolly. “My mother’s second husband, the count, was. They all are here, in case you hadn’t noticed. I spent two years in the tutelage of nuns—for which you’ll be grateful if I ever have to sew you up.”
“There must be a chaplain attached to one of the regiments in the neighborhood,” mused Mrs. Rutherford. “I’m sure we can borrow someone to perform a service. It is an inspired notion, Dr. Pruyn. Well done.”
Julia shrugged. “Anyone who’s lived in France could tell you the same.”
Emmie was full of chagrin that she hadn’t thought of it herself. She plunged in as best she could, trying to make up for lost time. “It’s brilliant! We can learn the prayers, so we can say them with them—it will make us seem less alien. Kate can help, can’t you, Kate? You’re Catholic. You can tell us what to do and what to sing. And then we can have all the children for a party afterward. . . .”
“I didn’t know we had Catholic girls at Smith,” said Liza in a loud whisper.
“There are a few,” Maud said carelessly. “One doesn’t generally meet them, though.”
“You’re determined to have that party, aren’t you?” said Kate to Emmie, smiling, but her smile had a fixed quality to it.
“We don’t have to have a party,” said Emmie, floundering. She hadn’t known it was a secret, that Kate was Catholic. It was just part of the Kate-ness of Kate, like her hair being brown. She hadn’t meant to make things awkward. “Not if it wouldn’t be appropriate. I don’t know what one generally does after a mass. . . . It’s supposed to be a cheerful thing, isn’t it, a saint’s day?”
“The 11th Engineers is stationed near here, aren’t they?” asked Alice, mixing her pronouns with abandon in her nervousness. “There must be some Catholics among our boys who could help.”
“Among the enlisted men, I would think,” said Margaret unthinkingly, then looked at Kate and turned bright red.
“We should ask Madame la Maire.” Kate held herself with white-lipped control. “About holding a mass. She’ll be able to tell us what we ought to do.”
“Of course,” said Emmie a little too quickly. “I should have thought of that.”
“All??” Someone rapped on the door of the barrack, making the whole wall shake. The door opened, and a man’s head stuck through the opening, rather cautiously, as though he expected them to be in a state of undress. “Did somebody order a shipment of cows for Grécourt?”
“Cows? Oh. Goodness. Yes.” Emmie half rose from the table, nearly oversetting her soup, incredibly relieved to have the excuse to go. “Those are my cows. I mean our cows. Do you have them with you?”
“The cows are in Nesle. In a boxcar,” the man explained patiently, in very slow, simple French. “The station manager requests you come get them immediately.”
“Nesle,” said Emmie, not sure what to do first or how one was meant to convey cows or, for that matter, where she was meant to be going. She had a vague idea that Nesle was in Switzerland. She tried to picture the map in her head, but she’d never been much good with maps, or any sort of directions, really. She’d once got lost in Gramercy Park. Instinctively she looked to Kate. “Where is Nesle?”
“Six miles,” said Mrs. Rutherford, unperturbed. “You’ll need someone to drive you.”