She will rebuild her walls. Brick by brick, she will protect her heart from Mary and Elsie and the memory of Oliver. She’ll be stronger than the regret that sent her running from London, stronger than the sorrow that sent her running from the row house. She has to be.
The house is dark and quiet when Beatrix returns. She slips off her shoes and pads up the narrow staircase to her room. She pushes the door open and steps inside before she realizes her mistake. It’s not her room. It’s Robert’s room.
At least she hasn’t woken him. He looks up when his door creaks, and for a single soaring heartbeat, he could be Oliver, sitting at his desk, hunched over a leather-bound journal.
“Sorry,” Beatrix says sheepishly. “Force of habit.”
Robert closes his notebook. “It’s all right.”
“Well, good night,” she says, pulling the door closed behind her.
“Wait.” Robert stands slowly, leaning heavily on his desk.
Beatrix stops, her hand on the knob. Robert limps closer. He stares into her eyes, searching for something.
“I’m sorry if this is forward of me, but your eyes are…”
“Two different colors?” Beatrix offers.
Robert shakes his head. “Haunted.”
“I’ve seen a lot of ghosts.” She is looking at one right now, isn’t she? Robert will become a ghost to her. And Mary. And Elsie, and every single one of her brothers and sisters, every single person trying tosurvive this war. Even if they make it. They will all end up nothing but dust and memories, and she will be left behind to remember them all.
“So have I.”
“I know,” she says. Because she saw it in his eyes, too, the moment they met hers at the train station.
Robert waits for her to say something else. When she doesn’t, he gives her a half-hearted smile. “Well, if you want to talk, you know where to find me.”
Beatrix wakes with a start on the sofa. Mary sobs by the front door, and the sound of a freight train thunders overhead. She throws off her quilt and scrambles to her feet.
“What’s wrong?”
The answers come simultaneously, one from Mary, one from Robert.
“Elsie’s missing.”
“A zeppelin’s been sighted!”
Beatrix isn’t sure which is the reply that stops her heart.
Mary sinks down on the couch, on the verge of hysterics. “What was she thinking? It’s black as pitch out there, not even the moon to see by.” She buries her face in her hands.
Robert kneels in front of her, and if it pains his leg, he doesn’t notice. “Think. Where would she go?”
Mary shakes her head.
The rest of the children have gathered in the living room, roused from their beds by the sound of the approaching zeppelin and their mother’s tears. George tugs on Beatrix’s skirt.
She crouches next to him. “What is it, George?”
“Elsie wanted to see the faeries. She said she’d prove they were real. It’s my fault she’s gone.”
Beatrix’s blood runs cold as his words sink in. “It’s not your fault.” It’s hers. The realization hits her like a bolt of lightning. “There’s no moon.”
Robert turns to her. “What?”
“It’s a new moon,” Beatrix says. An utter dark, perfect for seeing faerie dresses made of starlight. She grabs her coat and throws it over her shoulders. “I know where she’s gone.”
