Page 72

Kate’s lips felt numb. “No, I don’t dislike it.”

On the contrary, she was terrified of losing it. Of Maud finding out and deciding she was hardly a real member of the Unit at all. When had she come to love it so?

“Just think what you would have missed if you’d never come!” Emmie leaned forward earnestly. “And you wouldn’t have come if you had had to pay, would you?”

Kate could feel her stomach drop, but she couldn’t make herself lie. “No.”

Emmie’s face lit up like a thousand candles on a Christmas tree. She clapped her hands together, bouncing on the balls of her boots. “You see? Oh, Kate. Surely you must see how much the Unit needs you—how much you’ve done. And you seemed so unhappy at that school in Boston. . . . So it all turned out for the best.”

“But that’s not—” Kate’s throat felt scratchy with frustration and chicken feathers. “You can’t just sweep in and decide you know what’s best for me! I’m not one of your settlement house girls, Emmie.”

Emmie grabbed Kate’s hands in hers, squeezing them affectionately. “But it was what was best for you, wasn’t it? And for the Unit. They’ve made you assistant director! That says something, doesn’t it? What does it matter who paid for what? You’re here and that’s all that matters.”

Kate stood frozen, her hands caught in Emmie’s, feeling like she’d never known Emmie—or that Emmie had never known her. “No. It’s not. You’ve made me into your debtor—your hireling. You’ve made me beholden.”

Kate saw relief in Emmie’s face and knew she’d entirely misunderstood. “Is that all? You don’t need to pay it back—I never wanted you to pay it back. It really doesn’t matter, Kate. Can’t we just forget it? You can pay your own way going forward if it makes you more comfortable.”

“Thanks,” said Kate flatly. “How big of you.”

Emmie looked at her in confusion, like a kicked puppy, and Kate felt a moment of guilt. But this was her life Emmie was playing with.

This was the job she’d given up and the trip she’d taken overseas and working in a war zone, all under false pretenses. Emmie had blatantly, openly lied to her. Because she knew Kate would mind. But she’d gone ahead and done it anyway. And kept on lying.

Kate couldn’t quite get her head around it, the selfishness of it. “Did you never stop and think of how this might make me feel?”

Emmie twisted her hands together. “I was hoping—I was hoping you would never find out. And then it would all be all right.”

“Mademoiselle Marron!” Zélie came running up, breathless, barreling between them. She stopped in front of Kate, too full of her news to notice the tension in the air. “Deux camions . . . anglais . . . And a billet for Mademoiselle Aimée.”

Zélie glanced a little nervously at Emmie—she was still wary of Emmie after that incident with the ball back in September. She was Kate’s own special assistant and it was foolish and childish to be grateful she was here now, as a sort of shield.

“Thank you, Zélie,” said Kate, taking the note from her and handing it to Emmie, holding it out from the edge so that their fingers wouldn’t touch. Emmie took it, casting a long, searching glance at Kate before dropping her head to the paper.

“It’s from Captain DeWitt.” Emmie looked up, her whole face lighting. “He’s sent us two loads of duckwalk—proper duckwalk—and eight Tommies to set it out for us. He says he’ll come by later to see that they’ve put it down properly.”

“The Tommies,” said Zélie, “the Tommies, they ask that you tell them where the walk is to go.”

“You’d best go, then. Or we’ll have those camions blocking our drive all day. Liza can’t drive, so I need to take Dr. Stringfellow out. Some of us need to earn our keep. Apparently.” Realizing she was being horrible, Kate added stiffly, “Please give Captain DeWitt the thanks of the Unit.”

“I will. And Kate?” Emmie paused and turned back, clutching the note like a holy relic. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner—but I’m glad you’re here.”

“Mademoiselle Marron?” Zélie was tugging at Kate’s arm. “Mademoiselle Marron? Is there anything else I can do?”

“No.” I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner? That wasn’t an apology at all. Because Emmie didn’t think she needed to apologize. Kate felt sick with anger and grief. It had all worked out as Emmie wanted it to work out and therefore it didn’t matter that she’d done violence to Kate’s deepest sensibilities. Maybe she thought Kate didn’t have any sensibilities. What was pride to the poor?

“Mademoiselle Marron?”

Kate looked down at Zélie with regret. “I’m sorry, Zélie. My mind was elsewhere. J’étais distrait.” The girl looked so disappointed that Kate added, “I have to drive to Hombleux today. Would you like to ride along with me and the doctors?”

It was some distraction, listening to Zélie talk about life before the war—but never her brother, she never talked of her brother, who had been killed by a mine in a field, and Kate was very careful never to ask—and to watch her wonderment as they detoured to Noyon, which Zélie swore was so big it must be bigger than Paris. They let her help hold the bandages and she felt very grown-up and important indeed, and Kate took a moment from seething to be soothed by the thought that at least she had made someone happy. At least someone saw her as a person and not a project or a pawn.

Not that Emmie really saw her as either of those things, Kate knew, not consciously. But she couldn’t get past it, that Emmie believed she’d done nothing wrong—nothing other than being found out, that was. Emmie had wanted her here and so Emmie had arranged it, and never mind how Kate might feel about it.

And what if Kate had been miserable in Boston? It was her right to be miserable in Boston. Yes, she was happy here, but not at the cost of her self-respect. She hated that she’d been the recipient of Emmie’s largesse. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t known about it; she ought to have known about it; she ought to have known Emmie well enough to guess. Maybe she had guessed, on some level, and had chosen not to know, which made it worse, because then she was complicit in her own beggaring.

They didn’t want to pauperize the French villagers, Mrs. Rutherford had insisted. They were to sell, not give. But that was just what Emmie had done to Kate. She’d forced her charity on her. And maybe, just maybe, Kate might have forgiven her if she’d been properly horrified. If she’d broken down and apologized and acknowledged she was wrong. But to stand there and insist it was for the best—

It made Kate furious just thinking of it.