Since our clothes are already grime covered it doesn’t matter much that we sit down on the grassy dirt under a peach tree at the edge of the herb garden. I place Sarah in Kat’s arms because Kat seems to be most at peace when she is holding her sister, and the baby soon falls asleep in that tender cradle of young arms. Belinda will tell Elliot everything, I’m guessing, even what happened on the stairs. Probably what happened after, too. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I do not know the man.

But I do know what she has told me of him. She trusts him, and I can tell that he loves her. Still. I imagine she will also tell him Kat is not truly my daughter and that I will leave this place with her, and that when I come back—for I’ve decided I will come back to the inn to live, at least for a while—I will likely return alone. As I imagine her telling him this, I decide at that precise moment that I shall keep the surname Martin gave me even though I know it isn’t truly mine. If Candace and her father don’t insist I take back my maiden name, I don’t see the harm in keeping it. I’ve a marriage license that looks official enough. I shall ask this favor of Candace. It’s nothing compared to what I am giving her in return. This thought oddly comforts me, that I can keep it. It’s the only thing of Martin’s that I still want.

Kat and the baby and I sit in that beautiful, calm place for what seems a long while. I revel in the sun dappling our faces and the clean air and the buzz of honeybees in the blossoms above our heads. I chase off any thought of transporting Kat to Candace tomorrow so that I can simply enjoy an hour with no ash or queues or troubling realities.

When Belinda emerges from the inn some time later, she sits beside us on the ground and puts Sarah—who is awake now and starting to get restless—to her breast. I want to ask her how much Elliot now knows, but we can’t have that conversation with Kat sitting between us. I will have to wait to ask her after Kat goes to bed.

“Where is he?” I say instead.

“I insisted he go home. I know he’s got business of his own that has gone unattended while he’s been running the inn for me. There aren’t any guests at the moment. The four who were here left this morning, but I’m guessing more refugees will be arriving in the days ahead as the southern roads out of the city become accessible. Let’s go inside, wash and rest up, and change our clothes.”

I look down at my soiled shirtwaist. “I don’t have any other clothes. I had to abandon my bag when we evacuated the pavilion.”

“I have plenty of dresses that you can choose from and which I won’t fit into for a while yet. I owe you everything, Sophie. Everything I have is yours.”