As they cleared the last of the wreckage from the shop floor, Grace looked to the pile of books. It was a haphazard stack, with some spines facing outward and some turned in or on their side. It wasn’t sorted by bookseller, let alone category, and would be a hefty undertaking to put to rights once more. But then, so too would the shop.

It would be like starting from her first day at Mr. Evans’s shop. Except he wasn’t there and the whole world had so drastically changed.

Emotion bubbled up in Grace, confusing and overwhelming, leaving her uncertain if she wanted to laugh or cry. In truth, she was nearly compelled to do both at once.

“We’ve been able to save a good bit,” Mr. Stokes said encouragingly.

“What’s happened?”

Grace turned at the familiar voice to find Mrs. Kittering. A glance at Grace’s watch confirmed that it was nearly time for the afternoon reading. Which meant Mrs. Kittering would not be the only customer to show. In the next several minutes, doubtless there would be dozens more.

She rushed forward to Grace, her large, soft brown eyes going wide as she took in everything. “I’m so sorry to see this. After everything you’ve done, after everything you’ve made of this shop.”

The woman’s sympathy lodged deep in Grace’s chest, echoing the hurt already radiating inside.

“I’ll sort it out,” Grace replied with as much courage as she could muster. Admittedly, it wasn’t much.

But she was British. What’s more, she was a Londoner, baptized as such by the firestorm of war, by bombings and incendiaries.

Behind Mrs. Kittering, several more people had begun to enter the shop, gazing in awestruck bewilderment as they beheld the damage.

Mr. Stokes squeezed Grace’s shoulder.

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Stokes.” She smiled gratefully at him.

“I can stay longer if you like.” Despite the generosity of his offer, exhaustion darkened the undersides of his eyes. Still he hesitated to leave.

“Go on home, Mr. Stokes, I’ll take it from here.” Mrs. Weatherford’s soft voice chimed into the conversation.

He gave her a resigned smile. Even he knew better than to argue with her. With a final salute, he left the shop, no doubt to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

“Grace, dearest.” Mrs. Weatherford took her arm.

The support she offered was kind, but it was too much when Grace was so fragile. It would be too easy to fall into the comfort of Mrs. Weatherford’s maternal embrace and shatter.

Instead she offered a grateful smile and shook her head.

Every now and again, Mrs. Weatherford backed down when she knew it was best to do so. Fortunately, this was one of those moments. She lowered her head in acknowledgment and returned to the step where Jimmy and Sarah waited for her with wide, questioning eyes.