“First of all, thank you for letting me join your group.” Alice paused. “I’m working on a book called Women and Children First—and, well, it’s about just that really. We’re collecting stories of remarkable relationships, bravery, family reunions, you know the kind I mean . . . to do with women and children, the uplifting ones. Stories of battling the odds and winning.” She hoped that even if George and Theo turned down her initial proposal, she would be able to convince them if she just gathered enough good material. She’d pinned clippings to a board that dominated her office, a decoupage of children’s faces. But Theo was right, there had to be an overwhelming optimism to the book, the triumph of human nature, and she wasn’t sure they had that yet—and she was running out of time.

“So how can we help you?” Helena asked.

“Well, first, by putting me in touch with anyone you know who would be willing to share their experiences.”

Rex and Helena nodded, but Marjorie just listened.

“Can you give us an example?” Rex asked.

“All right . . . well, did any of you hear about the boy who was saved from a burning restaurant just before Christmas? A daring rescue by a Polish refugee. It would be that kind of heroic act—a real story, not fiction. One where we would include pictures of him and his family being reunited, and the rescuer, of course.”

Helena tilted her head as if she was giving it some consideration.

“Other stories we’re looking for are those that might not have such happy endings, ones about children who have been taken by baby farmers—”

“By whom?” Henry asked.

“Baby farmers,” Alice said louder, “like the ones in these articles.” She passed the clippings around—stories about children being shipped overseas without any checks or safeguards, photographs of railway stations where infants were swapped, and of notorious maternity homes selling babies to adoptive parents and earning fees from both the parents and the birth mothers—and her heart beat a little faster as she watched their expressions change. Helena shifted uncomfortably in her seat, while Marjorie chewed her lip as she read. Terrance’s feet tapped nervously on the floor. Rex leaned closer, straining to read the print. Their involvement made her feel that it wasn’t just about Eadie anymore, that they were investing their support to help all the poor helpless children who were being traded like the Lend-Lease food.

When they had all finished, Alice said, “I wonder if in your neighborhoods, or among your families and friends, you might know of anyone this has happened to.”

“I say,” Rex said, “I’ve an idea.”

“What?” Marjorie said, head bobbing up.