It was all impossibly knotty and Kate never seemed to have enough time to tackle the paperwork to even try to untangle it. With only two drivers left at Grécourt, she spent her days in the White truck, driving the social workers and doctors from village to village. By the time Kate settled down with Mrs. Rutherford’s records, it was usually past nine and freezing cold, and she was more likely to fall asleep on the papers than read them.
But now that Alice was back . . . she might just possibly be able to clear a day. Even a few hours would help.
“Alice!” Emmie was skimming and sliding through the mud, embracing Alice with a force that nearly sent them both flying. “Welcome back!”
Alice disappeared in a welter of greetings, Miss Ledbetter waxing poetic about returned warriors.
In the midst of the hubbub, Anne Dawlish quietly touched Kate’s shoulder. “Kate. The coal came while you were away.”
Kate let out a long breath. “Thank goodness. Dr. Stringfellow told me she has enough to do without tending to frostbite.”
Two worried lines appeared between Anne’s eyes. “You might want to come see it.”
“Did I hear coal?” asked Liza, detaching herself from the scrum around Alice. “Oh, goody. I’m freezing. And we haven’t been able to do any baking for days.”
“I had them put it here,” said Anne, pointing to a crate next to the barrack they used as their dining room. It was not a large crate.
“Is that for the week?” Kate had thought Mrs. Rutherford had arranged for monthly deliveries, but maybe . . .
Anne shook her head, looking like she was about to cry. “They said it’s for the month.”
“For the month?” Liza turned too fast and nearly landed on her bottom in the mud.
“I don’t know how I’m meant to keep the children warm during lessons,” said Anne, her voice scratchy. “I’d hoped they could at least be warm with us before they have to go home to the damp and the cold. And not a decent coat among them.”
“We could burn wood,” said Liza hopefully.
“No. Not if we want to try to provide any shelter for the villagers.” The Germans had felled as much as they could, sending it back to Germany to fuel the German war effort. Wood was desperately needed, for rebuilding, for furniture, for heat. To burn it for themselves would be selfishness beyond countenancing. Although if it got much colder, Kate might just be willing to live with the guilt. “I hope you brought extra sweaters. And warm socks.”
“We could, like the medieval peasants, burn the dung of the cow,” offered Miss Ledbetter. “One takes the hardened pats and—”
“No,” said Maud firmly. “I don’t care what the peasants do, I’m not scenting my room with cow dung.”
Liza looked thoughtfully toward the stables. “If it gets cold enough . . .”
“No,” said Maud.
“We can keep warm by walking,” interposed Kate. It was time to relay the rest of the bad news. “We’ll have to walk anyway. We’ve run through most of our allowance of essence. We’re going to have to start rationing it.”
“Can’t we get more?” asked Miss Mills, looking outraged. “Surely, given the importance of the services we’re providing . . .”
“I tried,” said Kate shortly. She’d written the French military authorities, the French civil authorities, the Red Cross, and the AFFW, all of whom had told her the same thing. “They can’t conjure essence out of thin air. There’s only so much to be had. We’ll just have to be careful with what we have.”
“Mrs. R—” began Emmie, and then stopped. But Kate knew what she had been thinking. That Mrs. Rutherford would have found a way. “That nice French officer who stopped by the other day offered to bring us a pony and trap. I could use that to get to Courcelles and Canizy.”
“All that way by yourself?” It was far enough by car; by trap, on the rutted roads, it would be hours. “It’s so far, Emmie.”
“We could go in pairs,” Emmie argued. She’d adopted Courcelles as her own since Margaret left, and had clashed with Kate more than once when Kate had vetoed extra trips on the grounds of saving their gas ration.
Kate wasn’t convinced. “But how would a pony carry two of us? And supplies?”
“We’re not that heavy,” insisted Emmie.
“For a pony?”
“I had a pony once,” said Liza. “Her name was Snowdrop.”