those last few days on the boat melting away. She hadn’t even realized how terrified they had all been of torpedoes until the threat was gone. It was such a relief to be able to curl into a blanket, even a blanket on a floor, without having to use a life vest as a pillow or worry about awaking to water. . . .
Until someone awakened her by dropping a pile of pots. That’s what it sounded like, metal pots, clanging, a cacophony of pots, all tumbling down, one on top of another. There was shouting and confusion, and for a horrible moment Kate was on the ship again and they were going down . . . down . . . down.
Kate opened her eyes but she couldn’t see anything. She was blind. She was underwater. She was drowning, her limbs wrapped in seaweed, pinning her down, that complete darkness fearsome, pressing down around her, stopping her breath.
Until someone yelped, “Owwww! My foot!”
And she was in an attic in Paris, a very dark attic in Paris, surrounded by seven other members of the Smith Relief Unit, some already up and blundering about, trying to find the curtains. The noise, the awful noise, clanging and banging and blaring, was coming from outside.
“I think you just stepped on my spleen,” said an aggrieved voice, thick with sleep. Kate thought it might be Miss Baldwin, but she wasn’t sure.
“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t see—what is that?” demanded Miss Englund’s voice, rising over the din. “Ouch!”
“That was my arm,” said Miss Patton plaintively.
“No, not that. The noise.”
Miss Englund tripped over one of Kate’s feet. Kate hastily scooted herself back as close to the wall as possible, wriggling to try to get free of the blanket, which seemed to have wrapped itself around her like the seaweed in her nightmare. Just a nightmare, she reminded herself, blinking away the sleep and the horror. Only a nightmare.
But the sirens were still sounding. There was some sort of horror going on out there. Kate resisted the urge to wrap her blanket around her head and pretend she was back in Boston.
“I’ve got it!” called Miss Englund, achieving the wall of windows, having maimed roughly half her fellows in the process. She tugged one of the heavy curtains open, fumbling for the window latch. “Girls, girls, come out here! You must see this.”
Kate stumbled to her feet, pulling the blanket around her shoulders like a shawl. Emmie was already there ahead of her, her angular form belted into a dressing gown.
“What is it, what is it?” asked Miss Cooper breathlessly, coming up behind Kate.
Together, they crowded onto the iron balcony, blinking at the cars racing down the street, dozens of them, hundreds of them, a multitude of them, horns blaring.
“Look up,” said Miss Englund, and Kate did and saw the improbable sight of colored lights winking in the sky, red and green, attached to shadows like giant dragonflies, long wings stretched out on either side, swooping down, then up again, making the stars dim, blotting out the moon. Kate couldn’t take her eyes away from it.
“It must be an air raid,” said Emmie wonderingly. “I read about them, but . . .”
“But you don’t understand it until you’re in it,” Miss Patton said, staring like the rest of them, all of them craning their necks to see the marvel above.
“Yes, that’s it exactly,” said Emmie. “It doesn’t seem real somehow.”
“Oh, it’s real all right,” said Miss Englund, rubbing her ear as another siren blared out.
“Do you think they mean to drop b-bombs on us?” Miss Cooper was shivering so hard she could hardly speak, even though the August night was warm. “Do we need to do something, do you think? Or g-go somewhere?”
Kate looked down at the street. “No one else seems to be going anywhere.”
Of course, it was hard to tell. The lights were all dark in all the buildings. But no one seemed to be running for cellars.
“I think it would be zeppelins if they meant to bomb us,” said Miss Englund briskly. “And those don’t look like zeppelins. Well, if that’s all, I’m for bed. I’ve some cotton if anyone wants some to stuff in their ears.”
“Yes, please,” said Miss Patton, drawing her dressing gown more tightly around her.
“Miss Cooper! Margaret! You’re freezing!” Next to her, Emmie was clucking over Miss Cooper, chafing her cold hands. “Those pajamas feel like they’re made of paper. Come inside. Kate?”
“In a moment.” It was strangely beautiful up there, the