Page 6

A couple of the women chuckled; Kate didn’t think Mrs. Rutherford had been joking.

“I have a little gift for you.” Reaching into one of her multitudinous pockets, Mrs. Rutherford drew out something that jangled and clanked. It resolved itself into a series of chains, each with a metal tag at the end of it.

“Miss Baldwin . . . Miss Cooper . . . Miss Dawlish . . . Miss Englund . . . Miss Ledbetter . . . Miss Mills . . . Miss Moran . . .”

The tag was warm from Mrs. Rutherford’s pocket. Kate ran the ball of her thumb against the lightly incised words, the cuts still rough in the metal.

K. Moran. SCRU. On the other side: Rue Scribe, Paris.

“Miss Patton . . . Miss Pruyn—pardon me, Dr. Pruyn—Miss Randolph . . . Miss Shaw . . . Miss Van Alden. Ah, and here is mine.” Mrs. Rutherford fitted her own tag over her head, tucking it neatly beneath her collar. “You must wear your badge at all times. They are not the most beautiful of ornaments, but they are necessary.”

“But why?” asked Miss Cooper, the girl who had clapped, looking up from her tag.

From the other side of the room, Julia spoke for the first time.

“They’re to identify our bodies,” said Julia in her hard, beautiful voice. “When the ship goes down.”

Chapter Two

Dear Mother,

Don’t you like the life preservers all over the stationery? It’s quite different from the last time we crossed to France together—all the talk is of submarines and lifeboats. But there’s really nothing to worry about, they say, so long as we follow the regulations and don’t do anything foolish.

They’ve given us tags to hang around our necks with our names on them. Mine says “E. Van Alden, SCRU.” It’s merely a precaution, of course. It makes us feel quite military.

—Miss Emmaline Van Alden, ’11, to her mother, Mrs. Livingston Van Alden

August 1917

Paquetboat SS Rochambeau

Somewhere in the Atlantic

Miss Cooper dropped her tag.

Everyone stared at Julia, who just shrugged. “Don’t kill the messenger. It is what it is.”

Emmie jumped up, her own tag clutched in her hand. “Well, I think it’s rather fun to have a keepsake of our time together. A memento!”

Some of the women smiled back. Some didn’t.

“No one is drowning,” said Kate flatly, not out of conviction, but because if Julia said the sky was blue, Kate would claim it was purple. Emmie had forgotten what it was like, mediating between the two of them. Or maybe she simply hadn’t wanted to remember. “There are lifeboats in plenty and these lovely, bulky life jackets with which they’ve provided us.”

“Ah yes. That’s another thing. You need your papers for the lifeboats.” Mrs. Rutherford rustled about among her pile of papers, producing thin slips, which she proceeded to distribute. “You are each assigned to a place in a lifeboat. Please do try to remember to keep your papers on you. You will need to show it to take your seat.”

“What happens if we haven’t our passes or run to the wrong boat?” asked Miss Cooper, looking worried.

“I don’t know about you,” said Maud, “but if the ship is going down, I’m climbing aboard the nearest lifeboat and asking questions later.”

“There’s really no need for that sort of thing,” said Mrs. Rutherford. “As long as everyone follows the protocols, there shouldn’t be any confusion.”

“But wouldn’t the ship be tilting?” asked Miss Cooper, twisting the chain of her tag around and around her fingers. “What if you couldn’t get to your lifeboat?”

“I’m sure it’s all moot,” said Emmie soothingly, looking to Kate to back her up. “They have to think of these things, but, really, we’re not at all the sort of ship the Germans want, are we? And they do seem to have thought of everything, haven’t they? I’m sure we’ll be safe as—as—”

“One can be in enemy-infested waters,” said Julia.

Miss Cooper gave a tremulous smile. “You make it sound like mice.”