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The door opened across the apartment, Lou’s footfalls unnaturally loud. “We’re home,” she announced, sounding unsure. “Is that … all right?”

“Of course it is,” Theo said, standing and quickly adjusting himself. Lou walked in, a cranky-looking Emmy in her arms.

“This one’s overtired,” Lou said, handing Emmy off to Theo. “She started crying during dessert and only just stopped.”

Emmy had promptly buried her face in her father’s shoulder (Barrows like doing that, Maggie thought) and released shuddering breaths that sounded like something someone much older than twenty months would make. “I’ll put her to bed in a moment.”

Lou turned to Maggie, who knew she was pink as a rose, and gave her a once-over. “Did you enjoy dinner?”

“Yes,” Maggie replied, simply.

Lou’s gaze bounced between Maggie to Theo. “David walked me home; he’s waiting outside to escort you back to your apartment.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of him,” Maggie said, and it was. “I’ll go. It’s getting late.” She walked over to Theo and kissed the back of Emmy’s head, then gave Theo a look. She wasn’t entirely sure what the look was, but it must have been something because his mouth hitched to one side and his dimple peeked out. “Thank you, Mr. Barrow, for the evening.”

“You’re very welcome, Miss Cruthers.”

She smiled and turned, thanking Lou on the way out, letting David take her arm in his as he walked her home under the moonlight.

It was warm and quiet, and she was in good company, and she thought very seriously that she might be happy.

Chapter

Seventeen

Tom had insisted on taking Maggie out for errands. Lou had secured the title of the new book club book from Laura, and they needed a trip to the greengrocer for some vegetables anyway, so off to the market it was. His mood improved as soon as they stepped outside the shop.

Maggie felt rather fetching in the new bonnet she had purchased the week before (Lou had insisted on trying to make it herself, which had turned into a rather tragic endeavor they agreed to never again discuss), and she held her head high as she and Tom strolled down the street, nodding to familiar passers-by. A few residents sneered, and she made sure her smile was twice as bright for them. Tom popped into the blacksmith’s for a new paring knife, silently handing it to Maggie to slide into her basket. “Good for peeling apples,” he said, needlessly, and winged his arm for Maggie. She took it, tugging on him to slow down, and exhaled loudly.

“How have you been?” She hated to ask. She knew things were not particularly good, and she knew Tom would not want to admit that they were not particularly good, but she also knew that ignoring how not-good things were wasn’t helping anything. Normally she liked to face problems head-on unless they were very difficult, in which case she preferred neglecting to address them until they became unbearable, but this was not her issue to manage, really, aside from the fact that she lived with two crackling thunderclouds.

“Faring well,” he replied, keeping his eyes ahead. “I saw that you and Louise got ahead of the McIntyre order. Well done.”

It was well done, as a matter of fact. The McIntyres were a large family who lived on the outskirts of town; six girls and three boys, one exhausted mother, and one father whose time was fully absorbed by running the bank in Lancaster. Mrs. McIntyre had put in an order of one new outfit for each child with the idea of creating newer hand-me-downs. Maggie and Lou had gone to the fabric shop to find the softest linen they could, hoping to give the children something warm and safe to tuck into for the short while they had it. She had noted the fabric and put in a special order for several bolts of it; the orphanage would undoubtedly be needing more items. Perhaps just as a donation. She had not discussed it with Tom and Bridgers, but surely only a heartless monster could deny children soft clothes.

“It was mostly Lou,” Maggie said, kicking a large stone out of her way. “She’s terrifyingly fast when she’s determined.”

“She’s terrifying no matter what,” Tom said. He paused, Maggie stopping with him outside of Mrs. Morshay’s floral shop. She looked up at him. His face—more striking than handsome, she had always thought, but undeniably appealing—was paler than usual, and he looked tired. “She and Bridge have become friends, I think.” He started walking again, and Maggie had to gently pull him to go in the right direction.

“I suppose so,” she said. “They seem to get along better with each other than with most people, at any rate.”

Tom glowered. It could be argued that glowering was his default expression, so this wasn’t surprising in and of itself, but unease still shot through Maggie.

“You don’t want them to be friends?”

“I want him to have friends,” he said. His tone was even, but Maggie could see that it was costing him. “Any friend at all. She just seems … frosty.”

Maggie briefly considered how to navigate this potentially fraught conversation. She had just wanted to buy some carrots for dinner and a scandalous novel about a French prostitute who dies from smallpox; she didn’t think she would be discussing the boys’ standoff here in the middle of the street. She cast a glance around for a more private place, then nodded to a small café on the corner. “Let’s talk over some luncheon.”

Tom, all six-foot-three of him, allowed himself to be steered there.

After securing a small, dinged-up table in the corner, Maggie took a deep breath and tucked her chair close. She rested her hands on the table, folded like she would have before giving a reading. “What’s going on?”

“I know you and Bridge talk. I’m sure you know.”

“Not entirely.”

Tom shifted in his seat. “He doesn’t want us to socialize. I understand; it’s dangerous. It will always be dangerous for us. But are we supposed to hide from the world forever? And after he lectures—lectures—me about how I can’t be going out, he makes a friend? He’s a hypocrite.” He snorted. “We need allies, Mags. With this ridiculous pastor murmuring into everyone’s ears, we can only benefit from having more friends than we do already.”