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No one answered.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Wednesday in Mr. Hunt’s office, I met with half a dozen delegates from the devastated regions, all of whom wanted the Smith Unit in their own districts, as the Red Cross considers our work at Grécourt nearly done. Each man thought he had just the place for us in his territory.

Thursday, Williams, White, McCoy, and McMorris finally secured their passes to Grécourt. Liza Shaw, who had previously been with the Unit, asked if she might rejoin, and as her pass was still good, we cheerfully welcomed her back.

Friday morning’s paper told us of heavy bombardments, but upon inquiry, Mr. Hunt told us he didn’t think it ought to impede our getting back. Just as our train pulled out of the Gare du Nord at 8 a.m. on Saturday, we heard two heavy explosions, and while, at this time, there is still some uncertainty as to their origin, they are thought to have come from a massive gun seventy-five miles away. . . .

At the station in Noyon, we were met by Mr. Barbey (the man who got our new house for us) and the first thing he said was “Grécourt has been evacuated.” Just then a shell burst near us. I don’t know which alarmed me more.

We have been trying to get word of the rest of the Unit. . . . A young doctor of the AEF told us he had heard they had been doing wonderful work, evacuating civilians through Roye. He kept telling us he was sure they would be all right, until I was quite ready to tell him that I thought we knew more of them than he did!

I do hope they are all right. . . .

—Mrs. James R. Barrett (née Ruth Irwin), ’02, Director, to the Paris Committee

March 1918

Montdidier, France

Zélie whimpered in Kate’s lap.

Kate felt like whimpering too, but that wouldn’t be the responsible thing to do. Not that anyone was watching her, here on the outskirts of what had once been a village, protected only by the dubious shelter of an overturned farm cart. It was better than nothing, she supposed, trying to tuck the blanket from the truck closer around Zélie without moving the girl’s leg, which, even to Kate’s inexperienced eyes, looked very bad indeed.

She’d found Zélie fallen in a shell hole, looking like so much crumpled laundry, not far from Moyencourt. It had been hellish getting her out, and even worse getting her back to the truck, with Zélie clinging to her neck, in such pain with every movement. Kate had wrapped the leg as best she could—she was afraid to even touch the bit of bone sticking out—and tried to drive as gently as she could on the rutted road, but they’d made it only as far as Ercheu when the jitney gave out entirely.

Which would never have happened if she’d done what she ought to have done and taken it to Alice to look at.

Kate sat with Zélie on her lap, doing her best not to move—or cry. She’d been unpardonably thoughtless. Blame it on lack of sleep, blame it on the confusion of the retreat, blame it on whatever one liked, she ought to have known better.

Kate looked down at the child in her lap. She looked so small, so fragile. They all joked about how bossy Zélie was, but, sleeping, her face was rounder and softer. Kate was forcibly reminded of just how young she still was, just one step away from babyhood. But what a babyhood. Zélie’s entire life, her entire life as she remembered it, had been lived under the shadow of war, one long litany of loss. No wonder she had gone back into a war zone after a goat. The goat was all she had.

She ought to have known better. She ought to have known that Zélie would do something like this.

They’d made a joke of Zélie following her around. Kate had been touched and flattered by the little girl’s affection. But when it came down to it, she had failed Zélie. She could tell herself that it had been the right thing to do, sending Zélie off with the rest of the basse-cour—and it had!—but she might have taken the extra time to explain to Zélie what was happening, to ask Marie or Mme Lenois to take special care of her. Or to find a way for them to take the blasted goat. Instead, she’d just waved them all off and told herself her duty to them was done.

And now here they were. With a broken truck. In the dark. Troops moving all around, German planes overhead, explosions coming from the east. She could try to carry Zélie, but she didn’t think they would get far that way. Even if she weren’t so worried about jarring Zélie’s leg, Kate wasn’t sure she could carry her—how far was it back to Montdidier? Fifteen miles? Twenty? Too far. Even a mile would be too far.

Kate smoothed the little girl’s hair back from her brow and tried to think. In the morning, when it was light, it should be easy enough to get help—they could flag down a dispatch carrier, send word to the Unit. But who knew what the morning would bring? The Germans might be moving already, now, under cover of darkness. She’d heard explosions before, and thought, hoped, that it might be their British friends blowing up the bridges across the Somme, but there was no guarantee that would hold the Germans for long.

Who would get to them first? Their friends? Or the Germans?

“Kate?” Kate shivered with cold and misery. She must have been drifting off to sleep, dreaming. She’d thought she heard Emmie calling her name.

“Kate!” There it was again, and it really did sound like Emmie, unless it was the auditory equivalent of a mirage, panic creating false sounds, or just ears gone tinny with the constant booming of the guns.

Gently, as gently as she could, Kate wiggled out from under Zélie, who winced and muttered, her sleeping face creased with pain. Kate’s right leg had gone completely numb; she had to drag it along, trying to flex her toes to drive the blood back into it.

Light arced through the night, half blinding Kate. She heard the sound of a scuffle and then Julia’s voice saying, in a harsh whisper, “Turn that thing off! What do you want to do, send an engraved invitation to the Boche?”

A wave of sheer joy flooded Kate. She might hallucinate many things, but not Julia telling Emmie off.

“Emmie? Julia?” Kate staggered around the cart, so giddy with relief she hardly felt the pins and needles in her right leg.

“Kate!” Emmie grabbed her, hugging her so enthusiastically she couldn’t breathe. “You can’t imagine how worried we’ve been! What happened? The sentry said something about a girl and a goat—”

“I came to find Zélie,” Kate said at the same time, both of them speaking over each other, “and I’ve got her, but the jitney broke down, and Zélie’s leg is broken, and, thank heavens, I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life!”