The infirmary at last came into view. Iris noticed how Keegan’s strides lengthened until she was almost running. The yard was teeming with nurses and doctors assisting wounded patients into the trucks.
What should I do? Should I stay or go? Iris’s thoughts helplessly rolled, just like the siren that continued to wail.
Keegan fought the flow of traffic into the infirmary hall, Iris in her shadow. Most of the cots were empty by now. Footsteps rang hollow off the high ceilings. Sunlight continued to faithfully pour into the windows, illuminating the scuffs on the floor.
The air smelled like salt and iodine and spilled onion soup. Keegan came to an abrupt halt, as if she had stepped into a wall. Iris looked beyond her to behold Marisol, a few paces away. The sun gilded her as she bent down to lift a basket of blankets, Attie at her side.
Iris held her breath, waiting. Because Keegan was like a statue, frozen to the spot, watching her wife.
At last, Marisol glanced up. Her mouth went slack, the basket tumbling from her hands. She ran to Keegan with a shriek, weeping and laughing, leaping into her arms.
Iris felt her vision blur as she watched them reunite. She dashed her tears away, but not before she met Attie’s gaze.
Keegan? Attie mouthed with a grin.
Iris smiled and nodded.
And she thought, Even when the world seems to stop, threatening to crumble, and the hour feels dark as the siren rings … it isn’t a crime to feel joy.
* * *
“I want you to evacuate, Mari. You’ll go with one of my sergeants, and they’ll take good care of you.”
“No. No, absolutely not!”
“Marisol, darling, listen to me—”
“No, Keegan. You listen to me. I’m not leaving you. I’m not leaving our home.”
Iris and Attie stood in the infirmary yard, awkwardly listening as Marisol and Keegan argued between kisses.
Keegan glanced at Iris and Attie, waving a hand toward them. “And what of your girls, Mari? Your correspondents?”
Marisol paused. A stricken expression overcame her face when she looked at Iris and Attie.
“I want to stay,” Attie said. “I can help in any way I’m needed.”
Iris hesitated. “I also want to stay, but with Kitt’s injury…”
“You should evacuate with him,” Marisol said gently. “Keep him safe.”
Iris nodded, torn. She didn’t want to leave Attie and Marisol. She wanted to stay and help them fight, defending the place that had become a beloved home to her. But she couldn’t bear to leave Roman.
Keegan broke the tense moment by drawling to her wife, “So you can want Iris and her Kitt to be safe, but the same can’t be said for me over you?”
“I’m old, Keegan,” Marisol argued. “They’re still young.”
“Marisol!” Attie cried. “You’re only thirty-three!”
Marisol sighed. She stared up at Keegan and said firmly, “I’m not leaving. My girls can do whatever they feel is best.”
“Very well,” Keegan conceded, rubbing her brow. “I know better than to argue with you.”
Marisol only smiled.
“I suppose Kitt and I should catch a ride on one of the lorries?” Iris said, the words thick in her mouth. Her guilt flared as she glanced down at her hands, lined with garden dirt and smudged by ink ribbons.
“Yes,” Keegan said, her tone grave. “But before you go, I have something for you.”
Iris watched, spellbound, as the captain reached into her pocket, withdrawing what looked to be a letter. Keegan extended the envelope to her, and for a moment, all Iris could do was stare at it. A letter, addressed to her, wrinkled from war.
“What is this?” Iris faintly asked. But her heart knew, and it pounded in dread. This was the answer she had been waiting for. An update on her brother.
“It got sorted with my post,” Keegan explained. “I think because your address is Avalon Bluff. I was going to mail it along with my letter to Marisol, but then we were on the move and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to send it to you sooner.”
Numb, Iris accepted the letter. She stared at it—her name scrawled in dark ink over the envelope. It wasn’t Forest’s handwriting, and Iris suddenly thought she might be sick.
She turned away from her friends, uncertain if she should read it in their presence or go find a private place. She took four steps away and then thought her knees might give out, so she halted. Her hands were icy, even as she squinted against the brunt of the sun, and she finally opened the envelope.
She read:
Dear Iris,
Your brother was indeed fighting in the Second E Battalion, Fifth Landover Company, under Captain Rena G. Griss. He was unfortunately wounded in the Battle of Lucia River and was taken via transport to an infirmary in the town of Meriah. As his captain was one of the casualties, this news failed to reach you.
A fortnight later, Meriah came under fire, but Private Winnow was evacuated in time. As his injuries were sustained some months ago and his entire company perished at Lucia River, he was incorporated into a new auxiliary force and is fighting bravely for Enva’s cause. If any further news of his current station reaches my desk, I will pass it onto you.
Lt. Ralph Fowler
Assistant to the Commanding Officer of the E Brigade
“Iris?”
She pivoted, blinking away her tears as Marisol touched her shoulder.
“My brother,” Iris whispered, overcome with hope. “He was wounded, but he’s alive, Marisol. That’s why I never heard from him, all these months.”
Marisol gasped, drawing Iris into an embrace. Iris clung to her, battling the sob of relief that threatened to split her chest.
“Good news?” Keegan asked.
Iris nodded, slipping from Marisol’s arms. “How far away is Meriah?” she asked Keegan.
A shadow passed over the captain’s face. She must be remembering the battles, the bloodshed. How many soldiers had died.
“About eighty kilometers,” Keegan replied. “Southwest of here.”
“So not that far,” Iris whispered, tracing the bow of her lips. Forest was fighting with another company. One that might be near Avalon Bluff.
“Iris?” Attie said, breaking her reverie. “Does this mean you’re staying?”
Iris opened her mouth to respond, but the words hung in her throat. She glanced from Attie to Keegan to Marisol, and then blurted, “I need to speak to Kitt.”
“You’d best hurry,” Keegan said. “The last evacuee lorry will be leaving soon.”
Her announcement sent a shock wave through Iris. She nodded and turned, sprinting down the street. The town still felt frantic, but lorries of residents were beginning to drive away, pressing east. Iris jumped over a discarded suitcase, over a sack of dropped potatoes, over a crate of tinned vegetables.
High Street was surprisingly quiet. Most of the residents here had already been transported, but as Iris drew closer to the B and B, she saw that the front door was wide open.
“That should do it, Kitt. Thank you, son.”
Iris slowed to a walk, her eyes following the voice. It was Peter, the next-door neighbor. He and Roman were loading possessions into the back of his small lorry.