Page 102 of The Unknown Birds

He held out his hand for hers, and Ashley took it, feeling as though together they were on the precipice of some great leap.

Chapter 30

London, August 1939

For weeks the rains of sorrow have soaked

The wood in my heart’s cold hearth;

And the windows and doors of my soul are choked,

And sunbeams can find no path.

—John Brown

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July marched on, and Ashley’s students marched with it, continuing to spend a few hours each day at school. By August, they could all write and address correspondence so they’d be able to send letters home, and they’d begun bringing in rags to tear and roll for bandages during history lessons.

“Why are we doing this, Miss?” Fred asked when she distributed the supplies one day.

“It’s an old habit I picked up long ago,” she halfway lied. “Busy hands help your mind stay engaged in the subject matter—especially when you find the subject dull,” she teased to a round of self-deprecating giggles. “Besides all that, they’re dead useful to have around. Once prepared, twice rewarded!”

“I’m going to need a lot more rags,” Walter moaned. He’d never been a particular fan of history.

A few of the older students saw through her lies, but they kept it to themselves for the sake of the younger ones.

She also finally faced the ghastly shadow in the corner and asked them to bring in their government-issued gas masks so she could teach them how to wear one properly. For homework, they had to show their parents what to do and report back, grading their family’s efforts. Despite the nightmare of it all, Ash slept better knowing if the time came, they’d be ready.

It was exhausting, though. The forced cheerfulness left her hanging on by a thread. Or perhaps it was merely September creeping ever closer. She could feel it, heavy like the air before a storm—the anniversary of being severed from Rook at the Somme. It was always difficult, but this year felt different, wringing out every ounce of joy she’d tried to soak up in the country and store away for winter. It was like trying to carry water in her hands.

Rook noticed of course. He was too perceptive by half, but unsure how to fix it beyond distracting her and sticking close. At first she claimed to be too tired and busy to join him for a meal during the week because she hadn’t any appetite, and then when they did step out on Saturday, she declined an invitation back to his flat for dessert, knowing this time he offered more than German pastries, and for some reason she couldn’t explain, she needed to keep such offers at arm’s length.

But Rook wasn’t willing to return to a state of mixed-up signals and halfway truths.

“Tell me.”

“What?” She tried to play it off with a laugh.

He stopped walking and took her hand, stepping into an alleyway. “Are you having second thoughts? Do you regret our time at Collingwood? I would understand if you were simply swept up in the⁠—”

“No. I only regret our time there couldn’t last forever.”

His face softened and he tilted his head to better see her eyes. “It can, you know.”

She shook her head. “For a moment the world seemed bright and full of color, and I could pretend we weren’t teetering on the edge of a precipice about to fall.”

He pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin. “The world may be. We’re not.” Somehow even his comfort made her heart feel so much heavier.

“How can I finally have everything I ever wanted, only for war to come and rip it all away again?”

“We won’t let it,” he assured her.

“When has war ever given us a choice?”

“Christmas,” he reminded her. “We chose joy.”

“And Cooper was punished for it. One night, out of how many thousand?”