“No,” Iris replied, her throat narrow. She had sent out multiple telegrams since she had returned to Oath. Shots in the dark to railroad stations that were still operational despite how close they were to the war front.
MISSING PERSON ALERT STOP ROMAN C KITT STOP BLACK HAIR BLUE EYES WAR CORRESPONDENT STOP LAST SEEN IN AVALON BLUFF STOP CONTACT I WINNOW VIA OATH TELEGRAM OFFICE STOP
Iris had received no answers yet, but then again, what had she expected? Countless soldiers and civilians were unaccounted for these days, and she distracted herself with readying her typewriter, which truly wasn’t hers but a spare one that the Tribune was lending her. It was an old instrument; the space bar was worn down from countless thumbs and it possessed a few keys that liked to stick, creating plenty of errors. Iris was still trying to get used to it, longing for the magical one her nan had once given her. The typewriter that had connected her to Roman. The Third Alouette.
Iris fed a fresh sheet of paper into the roller, but she thought of her typewriter, wondering where it was. The last time she had seen it had been in her room at Marisol’s bed and breakfast. And while the B and B had miraculously survived the bombing, there was no telling what Dacre and his forces had done to the town once they had overtaken it. Perhaps the Third Alouette was still there in her old room, untouched and coated in ash. Perhaps one of Dacre’s soldiers had stolen it, using it for nefarious correspondence, or maybe had smashed it to glimmering pieces on the street.
“You all right, kid?” Helena Hammond’s voice suddenly broke the moment, and Iris glanced up to see her boss standing beside the table. “You’re looking a bit pale.”
“Yes, just … thinking,” Iris replied with a faint smile. “Sorry.”
“No apologies needed. I didn’t mean to interrupt your contemplations, but I have a letter for you.” A smile broke Helena’s stern countenance as she withdrew a crinkled envelope from her trouser pocket. “Someone I think you’ll be happy to hear from.”
Iris yanked the letter from Helena’s hand, unable to hide her eagerness. It had to be news about Roman, and her stomach twisted with hope and terror as she ripped opened the envelope. Iris was first taken aback by how long the message was—too lengthy to be a telegram—and she exhaled, her breath tremulous as she read:
Dearest Iris,
I cannot even begin to describe how relieved I was （and still am!） to learn that you had returned safely to Oath! I’m sure Attie has already told you of what happened in Avalon Bluff that terrible day, but we waited for you and Roman at the lorry as long as we could. Even then, it felt like my heart had broken when we drove away without the two of you, and all I could do was pray that you were safe and that we would all find a way to reunite.
Helena wrote to me and shared that Roman is still unaccounted for. I am so sorry, my dear friend. I wish there was something I could do to ease the worry you must feel. Know that you are always welcome here at my sister’s house in River Down. We are only a day trip away from you in Oath, and there is a room here for both you and Attie should you wish to visit.
Until then, my heart is with you. I miss you!
Your friend,
Marisol
Iris blinked away her tears, slipping the letter back into the envelope. It had only been two weeks since Iris had last seen Marisol. Two weeks since they had all been together at the B and B. Two weeks since she had married Roman C. Kitt in the garden.
A fortnight wasn’t much time at all; Iris still had faint bruises and scabs on her knees and arms, from when she had crawled through the rubble and clouds of gas. She could still hear the thunder of the bombs exploding, sense the shudder of the earth beneath her feet. She could still feel Roman’s breath in her hair as he held her, as if nothing would ever come between them.
Two weeks felt like a gasp of time—it could have been yesterday for how raw Iris’s inner wounds were—and yet here in Oath, surrounded by people who were living life as normal, as if war didn’t rage kilometers to the west … it made those days at Avalon Bluff feel like a fever dream. Or like they had happened years ago, and Iris’s memory had retraced those moments so many times they had turned sepia with age and wear.
“Marisol is good, I take it?” Helena asked.
Iris nodded, tucking the envelope beneath a book on the table. “Yes. She invited me and Attie to visit her and her sister.”
“We should go soon,” Attie said.
Of course, Iris thought. Attie had already been in River Down. She had driven Marisol （as well as a mewling cat named Lilac） there to fulfill her promise to Keegan. And Keegan, a captain in Enva’s forces, was another person whom Iris was worried about. She didn’t know if Marisol’s wife had survived the battle at Avalon Bluff.