“I do not need—”
“Humor me.”
Mama huffed again. And then closed her eyes, as if the better to sound out the state of her own stomach. A moment later, she nodded. “Let me rinse my mouth, then I believe I’ll be all right to go and lie down.”
“I’ll fetch you a basin once you’re comfortable again so you needn’t get up next time if you don’t want to.”
“I’m not an invalid.”
No. But if this was the flu that had London in its teeth, she could be in another hour. Please, God, no. Not Mama. Protect her, touch her, heal her. I beg you. She didn’t let herself think of the number of other prayers just like hers that must have been offered up in the last few weeks on behalf of other loved ones.
And of the number of times the Lord must have answered, I’m sorry, my child. But no.
She shadowed Mama on the slow walk to her bed, wanting to be reassured by the fact that she didn’t need help. She made herself smile as she slipped out with the promise to return momentarily. And then she tried to hide the shaking of her hands as she poked her head into the breakfast room.
Ivy hadn’t eaten more than a bite, and she stood the moment Lily appeared. “Well?”
“She says it’s just that canned fruit from last night that smelled a bit questionable.” She had a feeling her smile was unconvincing, though. “I’m going to stay with her. Daddy, will you drop a note by Charing Cross for me on your way in? And let Admiral Hall know?”
“Of course, my dear.”
She hurried out to find paper and a pen, scribbled a note for Ara, and left it on the entryway table for Daddy to grab on his way out. A basin then in hand, she returned to Mama, who had drifted into sleep in the five minutes Lily was away. Good. Rest was always a necessary ingredient of healing. Rest and prayer.
Making herself comfortable in Mama’s chair by the window, Lily picked up the Bible sitting on the side table and flipped to the page her mother had marked. Her eyes refused to focus on the words, but even feeling the weight of the book against her palms brought a measure of comfort. A small one, but a measure nonetheless. A reminder that He had been Lord long before she entered this world, and He would be Lord long after. That history would always march on, humanity living and dying, loving and losing, praising and cursing, but that He was unchanging.
Daddy slipped in a minute later, kissed Mama’s forehead and then Lily’s, and promised to let everyone know she wouldn’t be in today. He’d no sooner left than Ivy came in, a cup of tea and plate of toast in hand. “You still need to eat,” she whispered, sliding both offerings onto the table where the Bible had been.
Lily forced a smile. “Thanks.”
Her sister’s gaze rested on the bed. “I should stay too. I’ll send word to the school—”
“You said last night you were already down two teachers. They need you there.” She reached for Ivy’s hand and squeezed. “Go. I’ll send word if she gets worse, I promise. I know what to watch for.”
“More than I would. Even so.” Ivy let out a blustery breath, but then she pulled away. “All right, I’m going. And I’ll be praying all day.”
“I know.” Lily held her smile until Ivy left, and then she glanced again at the book in her hands. This time, familiar words came into focus for her. Psalm 56:3. A verse she had memorized ages ago. What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.
Simply knowing the words couldn’t stop her from fearing just now. But then, the words themselves didn’t say if I am afraid. The psalmist feared too. It was a given. A when. The problem, then, wasn’t in experiencing the feeling. Only in what she chose to do with it.
She could probably pass the whole morning by enumerating every time she’d been afraid and had chosen something other than trust. But that didn’t seem like it would help her overmuch. Instead, she read through the next several psalms, counting each time the writer feared or cried out or complained, and how many times he turned it all over to the Lord. Though his life was in danger, though his enemies surrounded him, he chose to trust.
That required bravery as well as faith.
Mama woke from her nap after an hour, and Lily helped her sip a bit of tea . . . which sent her running back to the toilet. At least she was still strong enough to want to get up rather than use the basin, though. Upon settling again, she declared herself not tired enough for another nap, so Lily fetched a novel from the library and read aloud to her.
Her fever increased by a degree or two throughout the morning, but the thermometer didn’t read a high enough number that Lily felt the necessity to alert anyone, and her mother’s lungs remained clear. No blue tinge to her lips. That didn’t, of course, mean that it wasn’t the flu or that it might not prove itself serious later. But she didn’t feel too bad for slipping out for a few minutes in the early afternoon to find a bite to eat while Mama dozed again.
Sandwich in hand, she decided to stretch her legs for another minute and wandered toward the entryway to see if the post had come.
It had. She leafed through it, chewing on her sandwich.
“Everything all right, Miss Lily? How is your mother?”
Lily turned to smile at Eaton, who stood with worry lines etched into his face. “She is resting. And her breathing is clear, which I take as a very good sign.”
“Praise God for that. I shall just—”
The doorbell sang through the entryway, cutting him off and making Lily jump. And fight back a surge of irritation. Shouldn’t everyone know that there was someone inside trying to sleep?
Eaton moved the three steps to the door and pulled it open. “Miss Ivy?”
Ivy? Probably stealing a few minutes to check on Mama, but why would she ring the bell? Though Lily had been reaching for her plate, she instead turned to the door.
Just in time to see her sister’s pale face a moment before Ivy crumpled to the ground.
23
You were right.”
Zivon let those lovely words sink into his mind as he sat before Hall’s desk, a balm on the wound he’d been trying to ignore. He didn’t ask what he’d been right about, he didn’t pump a fist in triumph at the mere statement, he didn’t even heave a sigh of relief. He just sat there, still and calm, and waited for the admiral to go on.
DID tapped a finger to something on his desk, though Zivon couldn’t see what it was from this angle, other than a photo of some sort. “These two are definitely grumbling about mutiny among the German soldiers. You may be on to something here, Marin.”
Sweet vindication sang through his veins, but he did nothing more than nod. “Which two, sir?” He’d said it as if Zivon should know.
He apparently should, Zivon saw, when Hall lifted the photo he’d tapped.
The photo that had been stuffed in Evgeni’s passport.
His mind whirled. Screamed.
The admiral didn’t seem to notice. “Lily helped us put it together. She had another shot of them in her archives, but from the first few months of the war, when they were but oberjägers, both of them. It seems they’ve advanced in the ranks through a series of battlefield promotions, but both are from humble origins. Not gentlemen, like most of the officers.”