“She can see how brave and strong you are, and it frightens her. It’s like the Little White Bird in our stories. When he plays mean tricks on people, it’s because deep down inside he feels small. Do you understand?”

Jane hadn’t understood then, but now she thinks she might know what her mother was trying to say. Later that same night, she’d asked her mother if there was such a thing as monsters for real.

“I’m afraid so.” Her mother had said it without hesitation and Jane had startled at the answer; it hadn’t been the one she’d been expecting at all. She’d tried to twist around in her mother’s lap in the big rocking chair beside the window, but she couldn’t quite get to a place where she could see her mother’s face properly to see if she was teasing. Her mother had stroked her hair again, rocking them gently, and Jane had felt warm and safe, the way she’d wanted to before.

“What happens if I meet a real monster?” Jane asked.

“Well.” Her mother kissed the top of Jane’s head. “You have to stand up, even when you’re scared, because if you let the monsters frighten you and take away the things you love, then they win.”

Jane had felt her mother turn her head, looking out the window at the starry sky as she continued talking.

“And the problem with monsters winning, Jane, is once they do, they want to win all the time. They want to win more and more, because they’re greedy, and we can’t have that, can we?”

“No, Mama.”

Then her mother had tickled her, and Jane had forgotten all about monsters, laughing and begging her mother for a story before she went to bed.

Thinking back on it now, Jane wonders if her mother was talking about the girl who knocked Jane down, or the kind of monster that hides under beds, or maybe even the kind of monster her Uncle Michael and her father fought in the war. Maybe her mother had been talking about all three of them. Or something else entirely.

What she does know is that her mother was right—she has to stand up even though she’s scared. Because otherwise the monsters win.

“Come on.” Jane takes Timothy’s hand, glancing down at him. The trust in his eyes frightens her even more than what lies at the end of the path, but he’s counting on her. She cannot let him down. “Let’s show the monsters we aren’t afraid.”

LONDON 1921

Wendy takes a deep breath, smoothing her hands over the front of her dress, then clenching them together across her midsection, the fingers of each hand gripping the wrist of the other. All she has to do is put one foot in front of the other and walk. She made the same journey in reverse almost a year ago. Step. Breathe. Step. She walked out of St. Bernadette’s, surely she can walk back in. It can’t be that hard. This time she is a guest, a visitor. No one can hold her or keep her here.