How could she with so much destruction and loss around her? Every day homes were destroyed and people were killed. The nights were blanketed in darkness, their food was bland and marbled with gristle. Through it all was the ever-present wail of the air raid siren, reminding them that this state of things would continue on and on and on with no end.
The war had been interminable and felt as though it would last forever.
After announcing Mr. Evans’s death, Grace had been slow in her replies to Viv and George. The only words that she could summon were far too heavy for war letters. It wouldn’t do to weigh them down with her burdens.
She went through the motions of reorganizing the display in the front window, letting her focus drift to the aesthetic where she didn’t have to consider the numbness inside her.
A familiar face appeared at her side.
Mrs. Nesbitt’s gaze skimmed the neatly arranged books amid paper flowers made from painted newspapers. They were meant to represent the incoming spring despite the dull, drizzling weather.
“Are you putting up another display?” She sniffed. “Is that not your second this week?”
Grace lifted a shoulder. “It may bring in more customers, which will benefit us all.”
Mrs. Nesbitt hummed with an argument she was too disinterested to share and picked at a stray bit of string on her WVS jacket. “Having you drop dead from exhaustion will benefit none of us.”
Grace offered a mirthless chuckle.
“I don’t speak in jest,” Mrs. Nesbitt said dryly. “But with sincerity. Miss Bennett, no amount of work you do will bring him back.”
Of all the hurtful things Mrs. Nesbitt had thrown at Grace, this bite had the sharpest teeth.
Tears burned in Grace’s eyes. “Please leave.”
“You’ve told me things I needed to hear in the past, and I’m now returning the favor.” Mrs. Nesbitt’s demeanor softened. “Though it does pain me to do so, whether you believe it or not.”
As much as her barb had stung, the sudden compassion of the irascible woman only made the ache in Grace’s chest grow worse.
“I can assist you if need be, by working a day or two until you hire an assistant.” Mrs. Nesbitt sighed at the great sacrifice she was suggesting. “But you can’t keep going on like this.”
It was the same thing Mrs. Weatherford had said to Grace. It struck her suddenly where Mrs. Nesbitt’s true motivation must have originated—Mrs. Weatherford herself.
“Did Mrs. Weatherford put you up to this?” Grace asked.
Mrs. Nesbitt scoffed. “I have eyes, my dear. And you are a stiff wind shy of collapsing.”
Grace diverted her attention from the woman, not wanting to acknowledge what had been said. Mrs. Nesbitt offered nothing further and instead turned on her heel to leave.
That evening, Grace was fit to be tied with frustration over Mrs. Weatherford sending Mrs. Nesbitt—of all people—to chastise her for working too much. She pushed open the door, ready to confront the woman she’d always known to be a friend.
“Grace,” Mrs. Weatherford called out in a morose tone. “Grace, is that you?” Her footsteps sounded in the kitchen, followed by a cooing change to her voice that indicated Tabby was close at her heels.
Mrs. Weatherford pushed through the kitchen door. “Oh, Grace,” she lamented. “They’ve added cheese to the ration list now. Cheese!” Her eyes shifted heavenward.
“Did you send Mrs. Nesbitt to speak with me?” Grace asked, trying her best to keep the sharpness from her voice.
Mrs. Weatherford snorted. “I’d never send that woman to see to my personal business.”
“So you didn’t tell her to approach me about working too hard?” Grace put a hand to her hip, skeptical.
At least until Mrs. Weatherford gave a bark of laughter. “As though you’d listen. But I’ll keep saying it, and you’ll keep ignoring me up until the day you understand why I’d been warning you.” Mrs. Weatherford lifted Tabby into her arms. The cat nuzzled her chin, and she spoke around his head-butting affection. “I assure you, I’d never send someone on my behalf when I’m more than capable of haranguing you on my own.” She hesitated. “Though I did wish to speak to you on another matter.”
Grace braced herself for something awful. As it seemed most news was these days.
“I’ve considered going through the necessary channels to adopt Jimmy and Sarah.” Mrs. Weatherford set Tabby down amid a puff of dispelled cat hair. “I wanted to see where your thoughts might lie on the matter of them living with us.”