The next morning when Lizzy woke up, the first thing she did was pick the hay out of her hair. She glanced out the window to decipher what time it was, and as she did so, she noticed a folded beige piece of paper with her name on it. Lizzy immediately recognized the handwriting.
She unfolded it and scanned the contents, her face slowly draining of all colour as she did. This is what she read:
Dear Lizzy,
I'm trying to warn you... she's not to be trusted. I can't tell you who I mean, but it's important that you learn who I'm writing about and destroy this once you do. DON'T BECOME TOO ATTACHED. THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING.
Your friend Amanda, disguised as – ahem – 'Minnie', just letting you know I left George healthy. Please heed my warning.
PLEASE KEEP THEM SAFE.
Keep the world safe.
'Minnie'
Lizzy, in a bit of shock at the bold letter, gently folded the page and hid it under the pile of hay she called a bed. She stood and slowly dressed in her usual work clothes, preparing for a barrage of requests as soon as she entered the house. What she found, however, was that almost nobody was up. She remembered it was Sunday, and Patrick and Finn were heading for church. Alone.
A single figure stood at the counter with his back to her, and whoever it was didn't seem to notice her as she closed the door with a small creak.
He sipped his coffee. She stepped across the room and placed a hand on his arm.
"I just thought I'd give them a chance." Patrick put his mug down and buried his face in his hands.
"Well, I suppose church just isn't for some people." Lizzy leaned against the counter, elbows supporting her weight.
"What about you? I know you said not for two weeks, but..." His eyes were bright and hopeful. She hated to let him down.
"I'm sorry. I – can't. Not today."
"Why not?"
Lizzy looked away. "Something – well, a while ago –" She sighed. "I used to go to church. Every Sunday. With my godmother and – her daughters. My – god sisters? I still don't know what to call them."
Patrick laughed. Lizzy did, too, but her eyes were far away. She was transported to a different time – a simpler one.
"I remember I was always so excited for the weekend to come – I could barely wait. I loved all the pretty dresses, hair ribbons, and let me tell you, we never ran out of ribbons! There were always plenty. More than plenty.
"Early February. We were about to leave, all of us were getting our spring jackets on in the parlour – it was a mild winter, especially for Germany – and someone knocked. Well, more like banged on the door – and everyone was suddenly at strict attention. No-one made a sound.
"My godmother told us not to leave the room under any circumstance. Even if she asked us to leave later, not to go with her. Then she left the room.
"Suddenly, there was a large noise – a bang – we were all huddled together on the couch and we flinched in unison, then laughed. We had to. Without that laughter we would've left when the imposters – soldiers of some sort – tried to drag us out of the room, would've gone with them. The stress levels were too high, our minds to young, too vulnerable. After they left – 'we don't need more children anyway,' they said – all seven of us rushed to the church, forgetting our grandmother's warning and – and –" Lizzy's tears slowly dribbled their way to her chin, collecting there. Patrick reached over and gently brushed them off. "Sorry," he said softly. "They were going to drip. Continue."
Lizzy wiped her eyes quickly and commenced talking. "My godmother was there, a bullet wound in her arm. She was surrounded by several women in the congregation who had medical training. She was stable, but I learned they had pointed the soldiers – under threat, of course, but they still – they told on us. Then the soldiers came back and we – I –"
Lizzy buried her face in her hands and cried. She was somewhat surprised at herself for letting down her guard enough to cry in front of Patrick – in truth, she wasn't even sure how she could tell him this story, one she hadn't told anyone. For several long moments she attempted to control herself, finally gaining mastery. Then she breathed shakily and concluded her story.
"I've never been back. A month, or maybe two, later, I was being dragged away into this, this war, by Alexander. My godmother had been killed. I was eleven. If anyone asks why I fight, the reason behind it all, there it is. Actually, don't tell them anything. I don't want that story publicized."
"I can see why." Patrick gave her a one-armed hug, then went back to his coffee.
"For the record," he added after a long pause, "my past isn't something I would like shared either."
"Then you can sympathize."
"Yes, I can. Actually, I can do more. I can empathize."
"Ooh," Lizzy smiled waveringly. "very good. What's your life story?"
"Short version or long version?"
"Short. I don't have a lot of time."
"I'm sorry, but both versions take at least a month to tell. The longer one takes six."
Lizzy's brow creased. "Any of those come with free food?"
"Only if you pay extra."
Lizzy was staring at her hands and Patrick was draining his coffee cup. They were in these positions when Finn stepped into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Anyone see the house cat? Oh, my feet are cold. Why has nobody started a fire yet?"
Lizzy laughed. The questions were so normal. "I saw her in the living room when I came in."
"Was she on the couch? She's not allowed on the couch. Jane! Lady Jane!"
"Lady Jane?"
"Yes. That is her name. She's the mother of all those kittens out in the barn."
"All of them? Who's the father?"
"All of the dark-coloured ones. The multi-coloured and light-coloured ones are Alice's, and she's mated to Caspian. Oswald is the father of these ones. Now please, let me look!"
Lizzy raised her eyebrows.
"Yeah, he gets grumpy in the mornings. Especially when he's cold. Coffee?" Patrick had moved to the middle of the kitchen, apparently in the act of pouring himself another cup of the beverage. "By the way, Finn, I did light the stove!" he called out to Finn as the disgruntled boy grumbled about his frozen feet.
"Please."
Amanda – er, Minnie – appeared in the house just as Patrick was handing Lizzy her mug.
"Oh, hello," Patrick nodded in greeting. "Would you like some coffee?"
She shrugged. "Sure,"
Lizzy had to admit, her accent was very well maintained. Minnie began a conversation about how early harvests in Ireland were last year, apparently a subject Patrick was interested in, as he talked on and on about it for thirty minutes straight.
"... and, although the peas did very poorly until June, they sprouted up and we got one and a half times our usual amount. I think the lettuce was starving it, personally – I hired a new farm hand and he hadn't quite grasped the gist of – uhh, farming, and he needed more training – which I didn't have time to do, so I handed him off to Kit, a very good friend of mine, who actually comes over every Sunday night – so he planted them too close together. However, the potatoes grew quite nicely, and I appreciate how well the wheat did. We had about four straw harvests instead of our usual num –"
Minnie and Lizzy exchanged glances. "Uhh," Lizzy said, interrupting him. "That's nice, Patrick. Um, I think I have something to do, in the – outside. With the kittens. I mean, I'm going to go help Finn find that cat, what's-her-name, uhh, oh right. Help find Lady Jane." Lizzy stood.
"I think I'm going to go do that, too... 'bye, Patrick!" Minnie/Amanda waved as she jogged out the door, Lizzy just in front of her.
* * *
That evening, while Lizzy, Marjorie, Minnie, Finn, and Alexander were working on their plan of attack, Patrick introduced them to 'Kit'. He had immigrated from Switzerland to Northern Ireland two years before – although he was originally from Scotland – and apparently the locals couldn't grasp his name.
"'Kip', they always call me," he told them, his distinct Scottish accent mingled with a Swedish and Irish one. "And I tell them it's Kit, but they never get it."
"Wait, your name's Kit?" Alexander's mouth dropped open. Kit nodded.
"Yes, it is, and I would rather you wouldn't forget it."
Lizzy smiled. She was going to have a lot of fun with this guy, teasing him and such. After they knew each other a little bit, of course.
"Hello, Kit!" she said, jumping up from her chair and extending her hand for him to shake. "I'm Elizabeth, but you can call me Lizzy."
He sighed in relief, smiled, and shook her hand. "Finally! Someone who got my name right." He bowed. "I am forever in your debt."
Lizzy laughed. "Oh, my, you're a real gentleman!"
Kit joined in her mirth with a deep, full noise that inspired others to laugh as well. Soon the whole room was full of the happy noise, and as the sun set, and the shadows lengthened, laughter still could be heard at random intervals. Eventually they finally went to bed around two-o'-clock A.M., Patrick insisting Kit stay the night, but he declined, saying the evening walk would be pleasant.
The warm summer breeze washed over Lizzy's face as she lay amongst the kittens and hay, re-living the wonderful evening.
"I wonder if Kit's married," she murmured to the rafters. A black-and-white kitten, Coward – little Erin had named that one, thinking the cat looked like a cow and also assuming 'Coward' was a name, like Howard but with a 'C' – meowed in response. Lizzy looked down and laughed as the young animal struggled to retain it's balance on her knee. "Come 'ere," she said, leaning forward and scooping the cat into her arms.
She stared out the window into the clear night sky, reveling in the utter majesty of the blanket of stars above them. For the first time since she was little, after her godmother had been killed, after she had started fighting, she felt peace. In the tranquil evening, her constant fear had been forgotten.
Lizzy forgot her seven-year mission, and slept.