Page 48 of Two Wars and a Wedding

Ava refused to be amused. “Maybe,” she said, “if you would actually attend to your studies, you might not feel the need to distract yourself with flirtation with married men. If you had gone to the library yesterday instead of running off to Piraeus to see the troops . . .”

“That wasn’t with Charles,” Betsy protested. “I mean Monsieur de Robecourt. The colonel’s wife invited me, and, oh, Ava, I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. You should have seen the evzone soldiers in their red caps and blue coats, singing away like anything, the strangest, saddest song I’ve ever heard. It made me want to run out and fight the Turks single-handed.”

“This isn’t our war.”

“If Lafayette had thought that, we might still be a colony.”

“Lafayette was a military commander. What do you mean to do, recite Homer at them until they beg for mercy?”

“That’s not fair. My pronunciation isn’t that bad.” Betsy grinned at the thought. “I could always hit them with the bits of Herodotus about the defeat of the Persians.”

“This isn’t . . . whenever that was.” The only history that interested Ava were the bits involving scientific developments. She had dutifully memorized dates for exams and then just as promptly excised them from her head.

Betsy allowed herself a smirk. “There were multiple defeats of the Persians. Would you prefer 479 BC or 449 BC?”

“Well, then. Isn’t that where you’re meant to be spending your time? Didn’t you say that Professor Richardson gave you a bunch of inscriptions from Eleusis to go through? You haven’t gone once to the American School in the past week.”

“I’ve had you visiting.”

“Ha,” said Ava eloquently. “You’ve been to Piraeus to see off the troops. You spend half your time in the ladies’ gallery of Parliament—”

“I thought you might like to hear the debates,” protested Betsy.

Events were moving so quickly Betsy could scarcely keep track of them all. The prime minister was accused of betraying Greece to foreign interests; the king took over the government and sent his own aide to Crete at the head of a force of three thousand men; the Turks went crying to the Great Powers; reservists were being called up; the Union of Greek Women was outfitting a hospital and organizing the sewing of uniforms for the war that everyone was certain was to come.

By the time the papers were out, the news was already old. Parliament was the place to be.

“I can’t understand a word of it!”

“I translated for you. And rather nicely too. Hasn’t my Greek improved?”

“Yes, your modern Greek has progressed remarkably. But aren’t you meant to be pursuing a career in classical studies? Isn’t that what your fellowship is for?”

Yes, but they wouldn’t let her. It didn’t matter how much she had worked, how many hours she had spent sitting conspicuously in the library diligently engaged in the interpretation of inscriptions; it hadn’t even mattered that she’d climbed to the top of Mount Helicon. Betsy was beginning to suspect that if Athena herself were to appear to Professor Rutherford to demand Betsy be given permission to participate in excavations, the director would probably shake his head and inform the goddess of wisdom that men belonged in the field and women in the library.

But Betsy couldn’t say any of that to Ava. Not when she wanted Ava to get up the nerve to pursue her own ambitions.

“Pericles said that just because you don’t take an interest in politics doesn’t mean that politics won’t take an interest in you,” Betsy argued. “Herodotus will still be there a month from now. But the rising on Crete is happening now. How could I be here and bury my head over my books and ignore it?”

“You said the same about the dramatic society, the hockey team, the Smith College Monthly. . . .” Ava began ticking off extracurricular activities on her fingers.

“Yes, yes, I know.”

“And the Philosophical Society, the Banjo Club, the Voice Club, the Gymnasium and Field Association . . .”

They had all seemed so important at the time. So much more urgent than her classwork. Until her father had been called up to see the dean in the frostiest of frosty Februaries and the cold had settled in his lungs.

Betsy hugged herself. “This is different.” It wasn’t any use fighting with Ava. It never had been. The only thing that ever worked was distraction. “The Union of Greek Women is getting up a first aid class. Would you like to come with me?”

Ava eyed her narrowly. “When have you ever shown any interest in nursing?”

“Aren’t you glad I am? You can tell me how I’m rolling my bandages wrong. They’ve got a woman doctor to teach it.” Betsy let that sink in. “She did go to Radcliffe, but no one’s perfect.”

“Hmm,” said Ava, which was Ava for “I know exactly what you’re trying to do, but it’s too much bother to argue with you.” Besides, Betsy had known Ava could never resist if she dangled the prospect of mutilated limbs in front of her. This was a woman who splinted the legs of stray birds and stopped passersby to peer down their throats.

Ava never liked admitting when she was wrong. Or accepting help. But here was a way that Betsy could help without seeming to help. Once she was immersed in medical texts, Betsy had no doubt Ava would be herself again—and they could be as they had been at Smith. Although, if she were being honest, the distance between them had started at Smith, somewhere around the end of their final year. Betsy wasn’t sure if it was because Betsy was grieving her father, or if the awkwardness had come of knowing that when they left Smith, Betsy would be pursuing her chosen career while Ava would be going on to Concord and genteel servitude rather than medical school.

Betsy had great hopes for the nursing class.