Without looking at me, my mother said, “Bess. When you are stronger.”

“Next week. Or the week after.”

“We’ll let the doctor decide, shall we?”

But Dr. Everett was a family friend and not to be trusted. If my mother asked him to keep me in England longer, he’d do it for her.

I tried another tack. “I’d be willing to spend a week in a clinic, to test my strength.”

“I can feel the wind shifting. Shall we turn back?” And as we did, she added, “I’ll speak to the Colonel Sahib, Bess, dear.”

I left it at that, hoping that the seed was planted, and, with luck, would grow. And I hoped as well that I could count on my father to back me up this time.

But I was wrong there. Nothing was said that evening, and early the next morning a summons came from Somerset. My parents bade me a guilty good-bye and set out for home, leaving me in Simon’s care for a few days

“A memorial service. I’d almost forgot, darling,” my mother said, bending to kiss my cheek. “I’ve been so worried for you, it slipped my mind, but thank heavens the Rector sent to remind us.”

“Whose service?” I asked, trying to keep a note of suspicion out of my voice at the sudden and all-too-convenient disappearance of both my parents.

My suspicion was wiped away by my mother’s answer.

“I thought Richard or Simon had told you. Perhaps they felt it was too soon after your own illness. It’s Vincent Carson, Bess. He’s dead. He was killed just after you left France. The original service had to be postponed because large gatherings were discouraged. The family feels it’s safe enough now to hold it. The Colonel Sahib is delivering the eulogy.”

I was about to tell her that Major Carson was dead well before I sailed for Dover, but just in time I remembered that I had only dreamed it. It hadn’t recurred-I was thankful for that-but it hadn’t faded the way dreams usually do. And that was worrying.