She nodded.
Quenby took the wooden princess out of the box and set it gingerly in one of Bridget’s palms. “Do you recognize this?”
Bridget folded the toy between both hands before clutching it to her heart. “Where did you get her?”
“From a friend who’s been looking for you.”
“Dietmar?” she asked, and in her voice, Quenby heard a thread of hope.
Quenby nodded slowly. “Except his name is Daniel now. Daniel Knight. And he’s been worried about you for more than seventy years.”
Bridget lowered the princess to her lap. “Long ago, he said he would find me.”
“After you left with the Terrells, Mr. Knight was sent to the Isle of Man,” she explained. “He was interned there until 1944, and then after the war, he searched relentlessly but couldn’t find you.”
“I looked for him as well, but I thought he’d died in the war.” Bridget glanced out at the children. “In my heart, I knew he would keep his promise, if he was still alive.”
“Would you like to see him?” Quenby asked.
Bridget fidgeted with her hands, rubbing them across the book in her lap. “It’s been too long.”
“And yet not so long between friends.”
“Do you believe in a God who saves?” Bridget asked.
“I do.”
“I believe God uses our pasts, even our regrets, to help us and other people find Him.”
“You think God kept you and Dietmar apart?”
“No, but He used our time apart to tear open my heart and fill it back up again.”
Maya sailed up beside them. “Ms. Hannah said she’ll be out in a moment.”
“I need to speak with Ms. Hannah before she meets you,” Bridget told Quenby. Then she held up the book to Maya. “We were just reading your story.”
Quenby could see the cover now with its fierce dragon, blowing fire at a little girl. The title was Dragons & Ash by Princess Maya.
Bridget handed the book to Maya. “Could you read it to our guest while I speak with Ms. Hannah?”
Maya looked quite pleased to do so.
When Bridget pushed herself up on the arm of the bench, Maya reached for one of her arms, helping her move onto the scooter, and Quenby reached out to help as well. Then Bridget maneuvered her way toward the house.
Maya settled back down on the bench beside Quenby.
“Did you write this?” Quenby asked, tapping on the cover.
Maya nodded. “With a little help from Ms. Bridget.”
“When did you become a princess?”
“When Ms. Hannah and Ms. Bridget invited me to live here.”
Quenby smiled with her until her phone chimed. “Just a moment,” she said as she dug it out of her handbag.
Should I phone the police? Lucas texted.
She sent him a message right back. No.
Did you find her?
She sent back a smiley face and then dropped the phone into her bag.
Maya opened her book. The first illustration was of the fierce dragon from the cover, more charcoal black than green.
And Maya began to read her story.
Fire flared from the dragon’s breath, his throat and cheeks seared with burns. He was ugly and fierce and tortured the villagers who tried to fetch water at the town well. Each night he paced through the streets, searching for anyone who dared to leave their home. Some nights he sprayed fire on the houses and the residents were forced to run.
Maya turned the page, and Quenby saw the little girl dressed in a simple brown cloak, her hands clutching the handle of a cup.
Maya continued reading her story, turning the pages slowly so Quenby could appreciate the artwork. As she read, the children began bringing Quenby flowers and she bundled them together as a bouquet.
One little girl lived in town all alone. She’d waited for days to fetch water, and now she was so thirsty, she thought she would surely die without a sip.
All she had was a tin cup, dented from the dragon’s heat. On a cloudy night, she crept through the narrow alleys until she saw the well ahead. As she tiptoed forward, she prayed the dragon was asleep. Or that he’d left their town.
When she reached the well, she uncoiled the rope with the bucket, dipping it down into the water like her mother used to do. Her first sip of water was cool and sweet on her tongue. There was life in her tin cup, streaming down her throat, filling her empty stomach.
When the cup was empty, she refilled it and began to drink again.
But then the dragon rounded the corner, its beady eyes searching the broken buildings around the square until it found her.
The girl trembled at the dragon’s roar, water spilling over the sides of her cup. It tromped slowly toward her, and she knew she should run, but the fire would find her, no matter which direction she fled.
She was terrified of the dragon, but the creature had taken her mother and her father and her beloved brother. It had stolen away her grandparents and auntie and her sweet dog.