Numb, Iris accepted the letter. She stared at it—her name scrawled in dark ink over the envelope. It wasn’t Forest’s handwriting, and Iris suddenly thought she might be sick.
She turned away from her friends, uncertain if she should read it in their presence or go find a private place. She took four steps away and then thought her knees might give out, so she halted. Her hands were icy, even as she squinted against the brunt of the sun, and she finally opened the envelope.
She read:
Dear Iris,
Your brother was indeed fighting in the Second E Battalion, Fifth Landover Company, under Captain Rena G. Griss. He was unfortunately wounded in the Battle of Lucia River and was taken via transport to an infirmary in the town of Meriah. As his captain was one of the casualties, this news failed to reach you.
A fortnight later, Meriah came under fire, but Private Winnow was evacuated in time. As his injuries were sustained some months ago and his entire company perished at Lucia River, he was incorporated into a new auxiliary force and is fighting bravely for Enva’s cause. If any further news of his current station reaches my desk, I will pass it onto you.
Lt. Ralph Fowler
Assistant to the Commanding Officer of the E Brigade
“Iris?”
She pivoted, blinking away her tears as Marisol touched her shoulder.
“My brother,” Iris whispered, overcome with hope. “He was wounded, but he’s alive, Marisol. That’s why I never heard from him, all these months.”
Marisol gasped, drawing Iris into an embrace. Iris clung to her, battling the sob of relief that threatened to split her chest.
“Good news?” Keegan asked.
Iris nodded, slipping from Marisol’s arms. “How far away is Meriah?” she asked Keegan.
A shadow passed over the captain’s face. She must be remembering the battles, the bloodshed. How many soldiers had died.
“About eighty kilometers,” Keegan replied. “Southwest of here.”
“So not that far,” Iris whispered, tracing the bow of her lips. Forest was fighting with another company. One that might be near Avalon Bluff.
“Iris?” Attie said, breaking her reverie. “Does this mean you’re staying?”
Iris opened her mouth to respond, but the words hung in her throat. She glanced from Attie to Keegan to Marisol, and then blurted, “I need to speak to Kitt.”
“You’d best hurry,” Keegan said. “The last evacuee lorry will be leaving soon.”
Her announcement sent a shock wave through Iris. She nodded and turned, sprinting down the street. The town still felt frantic, but lorries of residents were beginning to drive away, pressing east. Iris jumped over a discarded suitcase, over a sack of dropped potatoes, over a crate of tinned vegetables.
High Street was surprisingly quiet. Most of the residents here had already been transported, but as Iris drew closer to the B and B, she saw that the front door was wide open.
“That should do it, Kitt. Thank you, son.”
Iris slowed to a walk, her eyes following the voice. It was Peter, the next-door neighbor. He and Roman were loading possessions into the back of his small lorry.
“Happy to help, sir,” Roman was saying, securing the crate. As Iris approached, she could see his jumpsuit was dampened with sweat. She reflexively looked at his right leg, worried she would find blood seeping through the fabric again.
“Kitt,” she said, and he turned. She watched the tension in his posture ease at the sight of her, and he reached for her hand, pulling her closer.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“Yes.” But the words seemed to crumble, and she quietly handed Roman the letter.
He frowned, confused until he began to read. When he looked at Iris again, his eyes glistened with tears.
“Iris.”
“I know,” she said, smiling. “Forest is alive, and he’s with another company.” Iris swallowed. She couldn’t believe she was about to say these words. She couldn’t believe that she was standing in such a moment, one that could seal her fate. “I was planning to evacuate with you. But after this letter, I need to stay here. The whole reason why I became a correspondent was for Forest. He is the last of my family, and I traveled west in the hopes that my path would cross with his. And now that I know he could be heading this way, preparing to defend Avalon Bluff against Dacre … I have to stay and help.”
Roman’s arm tightened around her as he listened. His eyes were so blue they pierced her to the bone, and she wondered what sort of expression was on her face. She wondered what he saw in her, if she looked determined or frightened or worried or brave.
“I won’t ask you to remain here with me,” Iris continued, her voice wavering. “In fact, I know it’s best if you go, because you’re still recovering, and most of all, I want you to be safe.”
“I came here for you, Iris,” Roman said. “If you stay behind, then so will I. I’m not leaving you.”
She sighed, surprised by the relief she felt to hear his decision—he wasn’t going to abandon her, no matter what the next day brought—and she wrapped her arms around his waist. And yet she couldn’t help but glance down at his leg again.
“Can I give you two a lift?” Peter asked. “My wife will be in the cab, but if you want to sit in the back, there’s room.”
“No, but thank you, Mr. Peter,” Roman replied. “We’re staying put to help.”
Iris watched as Peter and his wife drove away with a cloud of exhaust. She felt a pit in her stomach, and she wondered if she was making a huge mistake, if she would come to regret this decision to stay. To resist flying to the east with Roman when she still had the chance.
The street fell quiet and still, save for a few soldiers marching by. A newspaper fluttered over the cobblestones. A bird trilled from the hedges.
Iris began to walk back to Marisol’s, her hand in Roman’s. She thought about the wedding they had been so close to having. How they had been mere hours from weaving their lives together. How everything had just changed, as if the world had turned inside out.
But Forest is alive.
She clung to the hope of seeing him, of their paths crossing. Even if it seemed improbable in the chaos that was bound to unfold.
Quietly, Iris and Roman returned to the kitchen. Their typewriters sat on the table, and the twin doors leading to the terrace remained open just as they had left them. A breeze had stolen into the room and blown a few loose papers onto the floor.
Iris, uncertain what else she should be doing while she waited for Keegan and Marisol and Attie, knelt and began to clean up the mess. Roman was saying something, but her attention was snared by one of the papers on the floor. There was a muddy boot print on it.
She held the paper up to the light, studying the mark.
“What’s wrong, Winnow?” Roman asked.
“Did you walk over these papers with dirty boots, Kitt?”
“No. The papers were on the table when I left to help Peter. Here, let me see that.”
She handed the page to him and realized there was another sheet on the floor with a boot mark. Iris stood, her eyes straying to the open doors. She followed the light to the terrace and stood on the threshold, studying the backyard.
The gate was open, creaking in the wind. The tree boughs groaned. The chimes sang. And there were boot marks, marring the garden. Someone had tromped directly through it, over the carefully tended rows and sprouting plants.