“Can’t I?” Captain DeWitt relaxed into a smile. It worked wonders for his thin face. “You do have the most curious notions of agriculture. Digging for dishes and all that.”
“Now you’re making fun,” said Emmie with relief. “I’ll have you know that our crop of porcelain is second to none. We’re thinking of going into business.”
“Crop?” Miss Lewes emerged, rear end first, pulling her case of rabbits along with her. “I hadn’t thought you’d begun—”
“Oh no,” said Emmie hastily. “It was just a joke. I’ll show you to your room, shall I? And by your room, I mean our room, Kate’s and mine—Kate Moran, that is. You wouldn’t have met her at the luncheon. She’s our assistant director since Mrs. Rutherford left.”
“I’ll help with the bags,” said the captain, once Emmie had run out of breath.
“There’s no need, really. We’re used to hauling things. We’re all terribly muscular, apparently. At least, according to the Boston papers.” Why, oh why, had she felt the need to tell him that? Emmie took refuge in peering into the back of the car. “What is all this, Miss Lewes?”
Miss Lewes began hauling bags from the back of the car. “The carpetbags, the rabbits, and the seeds are mine—the rest are all bundles from the Paris Committee. They’ve sent Christmas stockings and presents for the children—there’s even some chocolate.”
“How thoughtful of them.” It couldn’t possibly be that close to Christmas already, could it? Emmie couldn’t decide whether they’d been at Grécourt for a week or a year; time blurred here. It had begun raining again, the steady drip they’d all come to dread. “Don’t tell the others about the chocolate or it might not last until tomorrow, much less Christmas.”
“Would you like the British Army to guard it for you?” offered Captain DeWitt.
“If by guard, you mean eat, then no,” said Emmie, softening the words with a smile. “It’s for the children, you see.”
Ignoring her instructions, he efficiently stowed a parcel under each arm and a bag in each hand. “How many do you have in your care?”
Since it didn’t seem worth arguing with him, Emmie started walking, leading the way down the path that branched out to the right from the moat, past Marie’s house and the old stables. “Altogether, counting all of our villages? Roughly two thousand. Here at Grécourt we have twenty-seven, but there are always more coming in from the nearer villages. We have the children in for games and sewing and carpentry classes here in the Orangerie on Thursdays. Oh, do let me help you with that, Miss Lewes.”
“What about the animal population?” asked Miss Lewes as they rounded the side of the old chateau.
“We’ve eight cows now. Our people in the basse-cour—that’s the cellars of the old stables—take care of them for us and do the milking.”
“Have they recovered from their ordeal in the boxcar?” inquired Captain DeWitt.
“The more apt question is, have we! Captain DeWitt helped us get the cows home,” Emmie explained to Miss Lewes. “We did appreciate your assistance, you know. They might still be there at the train station at Nesle but for you.”
“They’d have been steaks long since,” said Captain DeWitt cynically.
“Oh, don’t say that! They’re now quite wonderful milkers—we’ve so much milk that we’ve not only enough for our children but to spare. It’s a wonderful feeling being able to give a child a pail of milk and not have to ration it! Especially when they haven’t had any for so long. . . .”
“I can imagine it must be,” said Captain DeWitt quietly, looking at her with a strange expression on his face.
She was going on again, wasn’t she? Boring on, Auntie May would say.
Emmie determinedly turned her attention back to their agriculturalist. “But you wanted to know about the animals, Miss Lewes. We’re waiting for a delivery of pigs and also some goats, which we mean to sell on to the countryfolk. We also keep hens, although our hens have been rather a worry, since they’re not great layers. . . . Well, to be honest, they haven’t laid anything so far. We can’t think why. And here we are! Watch your step. It can be a bit tricky over here.”
The path between the barracks was knee-deep in mud. In desperation, they’d laid some duckwalk left by the Germans, but the knobby concoction of twigs and wire was treacherous at best, apt to trip the unwary. Emmie had landed flat on her backside more than once and Miss Ledbetter had a bruised hip and had spent a week ostentatiously hobbling with a cane.