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It wasn’t snowing. That was all she had to say?

They were in a war zone in the middle of the night. She had no idea where they were or how much essence they had left, and somewhere was a group of French deserters—Kate was reasonably sure they were deserters—who wanted them dead. And all Emmie could say was that she hadn’t known it would snow.

“Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?” Kate demanded. “I told you we’d have a new truck soon—”

She broke off as the engine made a strange sputtering sound and then went alarmingly quiet. Kate managed to turn the wheel, steering the truck to the side of the road, before the jitney stalled out entirely.

Emmie’s voice was full of trepidation. “What happened?”

“We’re out of essence.” There ought to have been another can in the truck, but there wasn’t, because she hadn’t bothered to check before she went running off after Emmie, convinced Emmie was lying dead in a ditch somewhere between Grécourt and Courcelles. “We could try to walk, but I have no idea where we are. We’re going to have to camp here until morning.”

Here being the side of a road, which could, in the snow, be just about anywhere. They were surrounded by barbed wire, stunted trees, and the ruined remains of houses, which could have been anywhere between the Somme and Switzerland. With the headlamps of the jitney dead, it was pitch-black, the true darkness of the more horrifying sort of fairy tale. And it was cold, bitter, wretched cold.

In the darkness, Kate heard Emmie fumbling with her haversack. A hand emerged right in front of Kate’s face and a small voice said, “Biscuit?”

Kate thought about saying no, on principle, but she was hungry. Without a word, she took the biscuit from Emmie.

They crunched in silence for a moment, and then Emmie said, “I am sorry.” When Kate didn’t answer, she went on, stumbling over her words, “I meant to leave Courcelles by two at the latest, but then Mme Lepinasse was so ill, and I couldn’t leave her—”

“So, really, it’s not your fault at all,” said Kate, knowing she was being unfair, but unable to help herself, because she was cold and scared and really not at all looking forward to freezing to death. “Nothing is ever your fault. It’s always Saint Emmaline off to save the world, and never mind who gets hurt along the way, because you always mean well.”

“But—I don’t know what else I could have done,” said Emmie helplessly.

“You could have not been there! We should never have taken Courcelles in the first place—but that was another one of your impulses. You had to have Courcelles, and then poor Margaret had a nervous breakdown.”

Admittedly, Margaret would probably have had a nervous breakdown anyway, but Kate was in no mood to be reasonable. Being reasonable didn’t seem to have gotten her anywhere. She had tried to be reasonable, but Emmie had gone running off on her own, and here they were.

“And never mind that we have a schedule—a schedule designed to keep everything running properly and everyone safe—you have to go running off to the edge of beyond!”

She could feel Emmie stiffening on the bench next to her. “There was nothing for me to do at Grécourt. . . .”

“There’s always something to do! There were parcels to sort and children to teach and letters to write—you could have found something. You could have helped Florence with the animals or Nell with sorting books. You just didn’t want to because it’s so much more fun playing Lady Bountiful among the peasantry!”

Kate hadn’t meant to say it. She hadn’t even known she was thinking it. But there it was. The words hung in the cold air, ugly, between them.

“I’m not—I don’t—” In a very small voice, Emmie said, “I was just trying to help.”

“I know.” Kate could feel the cold seeping into her bones, the cold and the weariness. She should have felt vindicated, but instead she just felt drained. Because Emmie was trying to help. “You can’t just do whatever you want whenever you want to. You’ve been so sheltered—you have no idea what’s out there.”

“Like those men tonight?” There was a moment of silence, and then Emmie asked, “Do you really think they meant to force themselves on us?”

“Yes.” And if they were deserters, possibly also kill them, but Emmie sounded upset enough that Kate decided not to mention that. “Emmie—I know you didn’t know.”

“But that’s no excuse, is it?” Emmie sounded frantic. “You’re right. I got us both into this. I made you come here. If you hadn’t hit that man—”

“Thank my stepfather for that. He taught me. I never thought I’d use it, though.” Next to her on the bench, Kate could feel Emmie shivering, and not just from cold. Feeling thoroughly chastened, Kate scooted a little closer, until they were side to side. “We’ll get out of this, Emmie. We will.”

They sat in the dark, huddled together for warmth, listening to the tree branches crackle in the wind.

“Do you know what time it is?” asked Emmie.

They used one of Emmie’s precious matches to check the watch pinned to Kate’s jacket.

“Nine thirty,” said Kate, wanting to cry. She’d thought it was well past midnight. It would only get colder throughout the night. Their hands and feet were already dangerously numb. At least nine hours to get through before it would be light enough to venture on.

“We could do calisthenics to keep warm,” suggested Emmie.

“Or we could sit as still as possible so we don’t attract wolves.”