The soldier Iris had helped off the lorry was one of them.
It was almost midnight now, and Iris and Marisol were sitting on a stack of empty crates in a corner, shredding bedsheets into bandages. Attie had been gone for hours, and Iris couldn’t help but wonder where she was, if she had reached the war front yet. How much danger she would be in.
“She’ll be safe,” Marisol said gently, as if she had read Iris’s mind. “I know it feels futile to say this, but try not to worry.”
Iris nodded, but her thoughts ran in a tight circle. She kept seeing the moment the lorry doors were opened, revealing the wounded soldiers.
“Marisol?”
“Hmm?”
Iris was quiet, watching her shred the sheets with precision.
“Is Keegan fighting in the war?”
Marisol froze. But she met Iris’s gaze, and there was a hint of fear within her. “Why do you think that, Iris?”
“My brother is fighting for Enva, and I recognize the same gleam in you that dwells in me. The worry and the hope and the dread.”
Marisol sighed, her hands dropping to her lap. “I was going to tell you and Attie eventually. I was just waiting.”
“What were you waiting for?” Iris asked.
“I didn’t want it to interfere with your work,” she replied. “Helena has no idea my wife is fighting. I don’t know if she would even send correspon dents to my door if she knew. You are, after all, supposed to be writing from a neutral perspective.”
“She knows my brother is fighting, and she still hired me,” Iris said. “I don’t think you should have to hide the fact that your wife is brave and selfless.”
Marisol was silent, her long fingers tracing the bandages on her lap. “She’s been gone seven months now. The day word broke out that Dacre had taken the town of Sparrow, she enlisted. In the beginning, I asked her—I begged her—not to go. But then I realized I couldn’t hold her in a cage. And if she felt so passionately about fighting Dacre, then I needed to support her. I told myself I would do whatever it took at home to help, whether that was making food for the infirmary or agreeing to house war correspondents, or even giving up my groceries to send to the soldiers on the front.”
“Does she ever write to you?” Iris whispered.
“Yes, whenever she can, which isn’t often. They were on the move for a while, and now the army must prioritize transporting only the most essential of things, and letters often get overlooked.” Marisol paused before asking, “Have you heard from your brother, Iris?”
“No.”
“I’m sure you will soon.”
“I hope so,” Iris said, although her heart was heavy. She hadn’t received a reply from the E Brigade’s C.O. yet, and she worried she never would.
An hour later, Marisol told her to rest. Iris lay on the infirmary floor and closed her eyes, exhausted to the bone.
She dreamt of Forest.
Dear Carver,
I’m sorry I haven’t written to you in a while. The days have been long and hard here. And they’ve made me realize that I don’t think I’m brave enough or strong enough for this. I don’t think my words will ever be able to describe how I feel right now. I don’t think my words will ever be able to describe the things I’ve seen. The people I’ve met. The way the war creeps like a shadow.
How am I supposed to write articles about this when my words and my experience are so terribly inadequate? When I myself feel so terribly inadequate?
Love,
Iris
Dear Iris,
I don’t think you realize how strong you are, because sometimes strength isn’t swords and steel and fire, as we are so often made to believe. Sometimes it’s found in quiet, gentle places. The way you hold someone’s hand as they grieve. The way you listen to others. The way you show up, day after day, even when you are weary or afraid or simply uncertain.
That is strength, and I see it in you.
As for your bravery … I can honestly tell you I don’t know anyone of your mettle. Who else packs up everything and leaves the comfort of their home to become a war correspondent? Not many. I admire you, in more ways than one.
Keep writing. You will find the words you need to share. They are already within you, even in the shadows, hiding like jewels.
Yours,
—C.
{24}
Dangerous Instruments
“She’s back,” Marisol said.
Iris paused on the threshold of the B and B, eyes wide with surprise. She had just walked home from the infirmary in the dark, breaking curfew, and had expected Marisol to greet her with a reprimand.
“Attie?” Iris breathed.
Marisol nodded, shutting the door behind her. “She’s in her room.”
Iris bounded up the stairs and knocked on Attie’s door. When there was no answer, her heart skipped in dread, and she cracked the door open.
“Attie?”
The room was empty, but the window was open. A night breeze played with the curtains as Iris stepped deeper into the room, leaning out the window to catch a glimpse of her friend sitting on the roof, binoculars raised to her face as she gazed up at the stars.
“Come join me, Iris,” Attie said.
“You don’t think Marisol will kill us for sitting on the roof?”
“Maybe. But at least she’d do it after the war.”
Iris, who had never been fond of heights, carefully edged her way onto the roof, crawling over to sit beside Attie. They sat in silence for a few moments, until Iris gently asked, “How was the front?”
“Grueling,” Attie replied, her attention still focused on the stars.
Iris gnawed on her lip, thoughts racing. I’m so happy you’re back! I was worried about you. It didn’t feel right, being here without you …
“Do you want to talk about it?” Iris asked tentatively.
Attie was quiet for a beat. “Yes, but not now. I need to still process it.” She lowered the binoculars from her eyes. “Here, take a look, Iris.”
Iris did, and at first it was blurry and dark until Attie taught her how to bring the binoculars into focus, and suddenly the world exploded with hundreds of stars. Breathless, Iris studied the clusters, and a smile crept over her face.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
“My mother’s an astronomy professor at Oath University,” Attie said. “She taught me and my brothers and sisters the names of the stars.”
Iris spent a few more seconds studying the sky before she handed the binoculars back to Attie. “I’ve always admired them, but I’m terrible at naming the constellations.”
“The trick is to find the northern star first.” Attie pointed upward. “Once you find it, the others are easier to name.”
The girls fell silent again, staring up at the constellations. Attie eventually broke the quiet with a whisper.
“I have a secret, Iris. And I’m debating if I should tell you.”
Iris glanced at her, surprised by Attie’s confession. “Then that makes two of us,” she replied. “Because I have a secret too. And I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
Attie snorted. “Fine. You’ve convinced me. But you must go first.”
Iris proceeded to share about her enchanted typewriter and her letters to Carver.