It’s hard to be here, so near the front, with the noise of the guns and the night sky all lit up from the artillery fire. To be honest it sounds like hell, and I pity the poor people caught up in it, all the more so since I’ve seen your brother. But the farm where I’m staying is like a paradise. I don’t mean the sort of paradise you read about in books with angels and harps and all that, more a quiet paradise on earth, with turtledoves cooing in the woods and tubs of red geraniums and a weathervane on the roof in the shape of a fox. It’s called Chez Thibault. That means Thibault’s house, and it’s been Thibault’s house for nearly two hundred years, having been built by the current owner’s great-grandfather …

Lotti and Ben left Buisseau on a raised road flanked on both sides by fields. After walking almost two miles through gentle farmland, they noticed that the fields around them had become dotted with ponds and pools, which reflected the sky, filling the landscape with light.

“Pretty,” said Lotti. “But why so much water?”

“Shell holes.” Ben swallowed. “And there are no trees.”

“Oh,” murmured Lotti. “I see.”

They walked on, their footsteps steady and their eyes straight ahead, feeling increasingly uneasy. About forty-five minutes after leaving Buisseau, they came to a track, where a small sign indicated that they should turn off for Chez Thibault.

“We’re nearly there,” said Lotti. “The place where Nathan stayed.”

“Yes,” said Ben, almost inaudibly.

The place where Nathan stayed, the farmer Nathan stayed with …

He knew before they even reached the farmhouse that it would be terrible. Turtledoves cooing in the woods, Nathan had written—but the woods were blown to bits, and all the birds were gone, and the farmhouse was destroyed.

Lotti reached for Ben’s hand and held it tight. Together they advanced toward the ruins. A piece of metal stuck out of the ground at an awkward angle by an old well. When they drew near, they saw it was the weathervane in the shape of a fox.

“They must have come back,” whispered Ben. “The bombers. After they hit the hospital, after the farmer wrote to me.”

“I’m sorry,” whispered Lotti. “Oh, Ben, I’m so sorry …”

What could she do, to take away his grief? What had helped her, all those years ago after her parents died? Queen Victoria the cat, and Moune, before she disappeared … Being held, being loved … She glanced at Ben. His face was ashen. Should she hug him? She wanted to, but then he squared his shoulders in a way that suggested he didn’t want to be touched.

“I think,” he said very carefully, “that I would like to go to where Nathan died.”