No weapon could kill the dragon, but she would fight back, the best she could.
She flung the drops of cold water toward the dragon and braced herself for its fire. But the most marvelous thing happened. The dragon reared its head, blew out of its nostrils, but no fire came. Instead it was only smoke.
The little girl filled her cup again and threw it toward the dragon.
The creature began to shrink, and other villagers rushed out into the street, escaping their shuttered windows and doors. They filled their cups and buckets and began drowning the dragon until the creature was so small, a gust of wind swept into the town and blew the ashes away.
As Maya closed the book, she looked up at Quenby with expectation.
Quenby blinked back her tears, quickly slipping on sunglasses so the girl wouldn’t see her cry. “That was a beautiful story.”
“I dedicated it to my brother.”
Quenby didn’t ask about her brother’s whereabouts. The sadness in her voice made it clear that he wasn’t here.
Maya passed the book to Quenby, and she held it in her lap, the dragon and the girl staring back at her, until the door slid open behind them. Bridget drove her scooter back outside, trailed by a thin woman of timeworn beauty, a woman Quenby recognized from the movies as Hannah Dayne.
“May we speak with our guest?” Hannah asked Maya.
“Her name is Quenby,” Maya told her. “And her boyfriend is waiting outside the gate.”
“Is that correct?” Bridget asked.
“Lucas is a friend,” Quenby replied. “And Mr. Knight’s lawyer.”
Bridget shooed Maya off the bench with her hand. “Go let him in.”
Maya kissed Quenby on the cheek before she raced around the house.
“Her story is remarkable,” Quenby told both women.
Bridget reached for her hand, squeezing it like Mrs. Douglas had done. “There’s power in story,” she said slowly. “We may be powerless at times in this life, but on paper, we can chase our demons away.”
“Do all the children here write their own stories?”
“Most of them do,” Bridget said. “There is a lot of healing to be had, and we think it helps.”
Quenby slipped off her sunglasses. “Where are their parents?”
“Many of them died on their journey,” Bridget said.
Hannah motioned back toward the house. “Could we talk inside, Miss Vaughn?”
Quenby blinked, surprised at the woman’s use of her last name. “You know who I am?”
Hannah nodded. “I saw your picture with the series on refugees.”
Bridget stayed on her scooter, watching the children play, while Quenby followed Hannah toward the house. She’d already admired the woman for advocating for refugees, and her admiration grew as she saw the private work they were doing here, far away from the spotlight.
“My sister is very old,” Hannah said as they walked through the sitting room, into the library. “She’s lived a good life, helping me when I was young and then caring for a number of children. There’s no need to exhume the past.”
Quenby sat in a chair across from her. “It’s not about exhuming. It’s about redeeming what has been lost.”
Hannah looked over at the window. “Redemption comes in different forms.”
“It’s wonderful what you’re doing here.”
“The work has transformed all of us, but unfortunately, our funds to keep up a house like this are diminishing quickly.”
“How long have you been operating this house?”
“My sister has been living here for fifty years.”
Quenby took a deep breath before asking. “I believe my mother might have visited here as a child, perhaps even lived with the other children.”
“What was your mother’s name?” Hannah asked.
“Jocelyn.”
Hannah reached for the arm of the couch, steadying herself as if she might faint.
“She used to talk about a house of buttercream.”
Hannah leaned forward. “You’re Jocelyn’s daughter?” she asked as if she hadn’t quite understood.
“I am.”
“I—I didn’t know she had a girl.”
Quenby’s heart skipped. “Did she grow up here?”
“Oh no,” Hannah said slowly. “She grew up in London.”
“How do you know her?”
Hannah’s eyes focused on the shelves of fairy tales before looking back at Quenby. “Jocelyn was my daughter.”
And with those words, Quenby thought she might faint as well.
CHAPTER 58
_____
Raw tears funneled down Quenby’s cheeks as she climbed into the rental car. She didn’t even care that Lucas was sitting beside her. Their work was done. She’d come here to find Brigitte for Mr. Knight, and yet it seemed as if two lost girls had been found.
Dietmar had rescued Brigitte from the Nazis long ago, but in their afternoon together, Hannah explained that Bridget had spent her life rescuing her and a host of children. Bridget was worried, saying she still needed to protect Hannah from Lady Ricker’s descendants, but Hannah assured her that she didn’t need protection anymore.