The girl’s face closed. “Avec les boches.”
Of course. She should have known better than to ask. “Mine is in America, all the way across the ocean, in a city called Brooklyn.”
The girl looked interested, but Miss Baldwin came up, holding out a picture book. “Won’t you read with me?”
The girl went with her, with a backward glance for Kate. Kate gave her a little wave, and then joined the group at the refreshment table.
“Does anyone know who that girl was?” she asked, breaking into a discussion about the best way to kill fleas. “The one who was screaming.”
Emmie’s face was gray. “I feel so awful. . . . I never meant . . .”
Alice Patton put down her coffeepot. “That’s one of mine, from the basse-cour. She’s called Zélie. It’s a terrible story—well, they’re all terrible stories, aren’t they? Her whole family—mother, father, two older sisters—were all taken away by the Boche. Zélie and her brother were left with a neighbor. She’s five, he was eight.”
“Was?” Kate could feel her stomach doing something unpleasant.
“They were playing in a field, running about as children do—that’s what the people there told me—and he stumbled across an unexploded shell.”
She didn’t need to say more. None of them did. Kate had to catch herself to keep from crossing herself. It wasn’t something she’d done for years; she wasn’t even sure where the impulse had come from.
“Oh my goodness,” whispered Emmie, her eyes enormous in her stricken face, all bones and teeth. “Was he—？”
Alice fiddled with the handle of the coffeepot. “She saw it happen. There wasn’t enough left of him to bury.”
“So when I threw the ball . . .” Emmie clutched at her collar. “I have to make it up to her.”
“Stop.” Kate grabbed her arm before she could go. “Miss Baldwin’s reading to her. Leave it be.”
“I can at least give her an extra candy.”
“And make her look like she needs special treatment? If you did that, it would be for your own sake, not hers.” Emmie looked so stricken that Kate immediately felt guilty. “Emmie, I didn’t mean—”
“You’re right.” Emmie ducked her head, blundering around the side of the refreshment table. “She’s better this way. I’ll—I’ll just go help Margaret with the milk.”
“It is a great success, isn’t it?” said Alice uncertainly. “I mean, aside from poor Zélie. Look how many people came to us.”
“And it will be even better when—” Liza began, but Maud elbowed her hard in the ribs.
“When we finally get some decent furniture in our barrack,” said Maud decidedly. “And curtains. It’s unthinkable to have the sun shining in your eyes first thing in the morning.”
The general consensus was that the St. Matthew’s Day celebration was a great triumph. When they met for breakfast the next morning, there was a festival air, everyone congratulating everyone else. Only Emmie seemed subdued; Kate had heard her thrashing about on her cot deep into the night.
“Well done, ladies.” Mrs. Rutherford called them to order by tapping her coffee cup with her spoon. “Monsieur le Commandant was deeply impressed that we, foreigners, have a care not only for our people’s bodies but for their souls. He says it is a sign that we understand this place and will do right by it—and anything we need from him, we need only ask.”
“Medicine,” said Dr. Stringfellow firmly. “Ask for medicine.”
“And more books!” chimed in Miss Baldwin.
“Did you know,” said Miss Ledbetter, “that the parish of Grécourt was founded on St. Matthew’s Day in the year of our Lord 1235? Just think of it! Twenty years after Magna Carta, two hundred years before Agincourt, this little scrap of land—”
Everyone started talking at once, eager to avert further musings on the medieval. “That nurse told me we should go to Miss Morgan’s place at Blérancourt—”
“That nice French officer said he has another cow for us, if we want it—”
“Could we add another village to our rounds?” Emmie’s voice rose over the rest. “Someone was telling me about another village, just a little farther north, called Courcelles. It’s in an awful way, they say. The Germans were stationed there during the early part of the war but there was a terrible fire and a German officer died and they retaliated rather horribly. The priest was telling me there are fifty children there and not one of them well. Couldn’t we do something for them?”