Page 43

“Next week,” said Mrs. Rutherford. “You can take the White.”

“I can’t drive,” said Maud, looking at Mrs. Rutherford with barely contained contempt.

“Then you can take the train,” said Mrs. Rutherford, “and someone will meet you at Amiens.”

“With all the packages?” demanded Maud.

“You’ll manage,” said Mrs. Rutherford. “You can collect our chickens while you’re there. We’re expecting—how many, Miss Van Alden?”

“Seventy-two,” said Emmie.

“How am I meant to take seventy-two chickens on the train?”

“In crates, presumably,” offered Fran Englund with a remarkably straight face.

“Oooh, goody,” said Liza. “Could you add DeWitt’s biscuits to the list? I’ve gone through all of mine.”

“And candies—not for us, for the children,” Emmie hastily amended.

“Oh, yes,” agreed Anne Dawlish, looking up. “I went through my whole stock of Tootsie Rolls bribing the children to come see Dr. Stringfellow.”

Dr. Stringfellow snorted. “I’m hardly that scary.”

Emmie made the mistake of glancing at Kate, who had such a Kate-like expression of polite disbelief that Emmie had to take refuge in her napkin rather than disgrace herself by laughing out loud.

“But how do we ever get to them all?” Margaret was still worrying at her soup. “There are just so many. And they all need so much.”

“Yes, like seventy-two chickens,” muttered Maud.

Emmie leaned forward eagerly. “Kate and I were discussing this just earlier today, weren’t we, Kate? Not the chickens, I mean, but how to let everyone know we’re here. What we need is to bring the ones who can come this far here to us—to show them what we can do for them. We could have a party! A children’s party. If we could get even some portion of them here . . .”

“How would they get there?” asked Fran, dunking a hunk of day-old war bread in her soup in an attempt to soften it. “Some of those villages are quite far.”

“Oh, that’s no matter,” said Mrs. Rutherford, brushing that aside. “They’ll find a way if they want to come—they walk the most tremendous distances. They might come for curiosity’s sake, if nothing else. But we’ll want to find something—”

“We should have a mass.” Julia’s crystalline voice cut through the group.

“A mass?”

“A church ceremony,” said Julia impatiently. “The church is still standing, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Rutherford fixed Julia with a long, thoughtful look. “It was Bavarians quartered here, Marie says. Being Catholics themselves, they tend to be leery of blowing up churches. Of course, that didn’t stop them from looting the church plate—scruples only go so far. But we can manage without, I imagine.”

“The patron saint of the village is St. Matthew,” piped up Anne Dawlish. “The villagers were telling me about it. His feast day is coming up quite soon—on the twenty-first, they said.”

“That’s it, then. Hold a mass for St. Matthew’s Day.” Julia looked up to find everyone was staring at her. Two bright spots of color showed in her cheeks. “Well, it’s obvious. I spent several years in a village much like this one. They set their lives by the church calendar. There were processions for saints’ days. . . . If we can find a priest to perform a mass for St. Matthew’s Day, it will mean more to them than anything else we can do.”

“You aren’t Catholic, are you?” Maud was staring at Julia as though she’d grown an extra head.

Julia looked at her coolly. “My mother’s second husband, the count, was. They all are here, in case you hadn’t noticed. I spent two years in the tutelage of nuns—for which you’ll be grateful if I ever have to sew you up.”

“There must be a chaplain attached to one of the regiments in the neighborhood,” mused Mrs. Rutherford. “I’m sure we can borrow someone to perform a service. It is an inspired notion, Dr. Pruyn. Well done.”

Julia shrugged. “Anyone who’s lived in France could tell you the same.”

Emmie was full of chagrin that she hadn’t thought of it herself. She plunged in as best she could, trying to make up for lost time. “It’s brilliant! We can learn the prayers, so we can say them with them—it will make us seem less alien. Kate can help, can’t you, Kate? You’re Catholic. You can tell us what to do and what to sing. And then we can have all the children for a party afterward. . . .”

“I didn’t know we had Catholic girls at Smith,” said Liza in a loud whisper.