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"What do you think of a woman who elects to raise a child by herself?"

"I believe children should be raised by their mother and their father, but I know that sometimes that's not wise or even possible," Lucy said. "I'm not one to judge the decisions of others."

"Nor am I," Edith said. "I have no doubt that your child will be much better off being raised by a loving single mother than by a woman and a man who exist in a state of violence."

Grace smiled sadly as she helped Lucy pull a quilted bedspread across the double bed. When they finished straightening the sides, she sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Edith.

"I'm glad you feel that way," Grace said. "It appears we will be living with each other for the next few months, and I wouldn't want differing opinions to stand in the way of our getting along. I like both of you, and I'd like to be your friend."

"You can be my friend," Lucy said, suddenly cheery. "In fact, if you don't mind, you can be my sister, my big sister! Sometimes I find Edith dreadfully insufficient."

Grace laughed.

"I'd like to be your friend too, Edith."

Edith glared at Lucy and then smiled at Grace.

"I'd be happy to be your friend and your sister."

Edith meant it too. She
could
be a friend and a sister to Grace Smith. She looked forward to talking to someone who had experienced a different side of life and who seemed to share some of her tastes, including cutting-edge literature.

When Edith had entered the guest residence for the first time that morning, she had noticed
The Jungle
by Upton Sinclair,
Twenty Years at Hull House
by Jane Addams, and
The Shame of the Cities
by Lincoln Steffens on Grace's nightstand. She had also seen
The Tale of Benjamin Bunny
by Beatrix Potter and
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
by L. Frank Baum but decided that she could ignore them for the time being.

"I see you're a fan of Mr. Sinclair, Grace. What did you think of
The Jungle
?"

"I thought it was enlightening."

"Did it change your thinking?"

"Yes."

"How so?"

"I'm now a little less partial to sausages."

"It's all propaganda, in my opinion," Lucy said. "There's nothing wrong with sausages. Papa used to cook them for us at least three times a week, and they were delicious."

Edith rolled her eyes.

"We've had this debate a hundred times, if not a thousand," she said to Grace. "Lucy is right. There is nothing wrong with sausages, as long as they're made without rats."

Grace laughed.

"Do you consider yourself politically progressive?" Edith asked.

Grace glanced at Lucy, as if to gauge her interest in the question, and then returned to Edith. When she spoke, she did so in the thoughtful tones of a person who did not want to offend.

"I consider myself open to ideas," she said. "I do not believe one side has a monopoly on truth or wisdom. I do believe that we can learn much simply by listening to people with different views and experiences."

"Indeed," Lucy said. "I've been telling her that since we were two."

"Well, sometimes there are not two sides to a story," Edith said. "Sometimes there is only right and wrong, and I believe Mr. Sinclair is right. Mr. Steffens is right, too, as is Miss Addams. The plight of the poor and the conditions in our cities are shameful."

Perhaps recognizing that she was no match for her sister in a political discussion, Lucy walked over to the nightstand and sorted through the books. She eventually picked up
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
and held it up.

"At least this book is not political," she said. "Even Edith would agree with that."

"I do not! Everyone knows that the Tin Man is America's heartless steel industry and that the Scarecrow represents this nation's uneducated agrarian class."

"Who is the Cowardly Lion then?" Lucy asked with her arms folded.

Edith shook her head. Her other half was testing her patience again.

"Must I tell you everything? He is William Jennings Bryan. That's why I don't like that book. Baum is openly mocking one of my heroes."

"Well, I like it! I think it is entertaining and charming and teaches wonderful life lessons. What do you think, Grace?"

Grace pushed herself entirely onto the bed and kicked off her shoes. She spread her hands across the middle of the bed, leaned back, and gave Lucy the kind of reassuring glance that Edith knew her sister loved.

"I like it too. I like the movie better, of course, but I think the book is precious. Political or not, it is a triumph of the imagination."

Edith glanced at Lucy, who returned her puzzled expression, and then looked at Grace.

"Did you say you like the movie?"

Grace turned white even before Edith got the words out. She quickly moved her hands forward, sat upright, and addressed her questioner.

"Did I say movie? I obviously did not get enough sleep last night. I meant the musical. I saw
The Wizard of Oz
in New York when I was fourteen. My parents and I spent an entire week attending performances on Broadway. It was one of the highlights of my childhood."

"Oh, how wonderful," Lucy said. "We never saw anything like that in London, much less Falmouth. You've lived a charmed life, Grace Smith."

Edith laughed to herself at Lucy's observation. If Grace's story was true, then she had lived anything but a charmed life – or at least a charmed life as an adult. Edith could imagine few things worse than living with a man who drove you away by physically abusing you.

She quickly cast aside her sister's faux pas. Lucy was always blurting out something or another to make people feel good.

Grace's comment, however, was another matter. Few people could confuse a motion picture with a live performance, particularly a person as seemingly intelligent, cultured, and literate as Uncle Alistair's mysterious boarder.

Perhaps some enterprising American film producer had made a movie she hadn't heard about. Edith didn't know the answer. What she did know is that her new big sister appeared to be a whole lot more than a battered wife from Wisconsin. This was a woman worth knowing.

CHAPTER 43: GRACE

Kenmore, Washington – Thursday, November 28, 1918

Grace watched the man at the head of the table fill eight glasses of wine for eight adult diners and one glass of milk for a seven-year-old who thought wine tasted like medicine. Grace had requested only half a glass. She knew from her obstetrician in 2001 that no amount of alcohol was a safe amount during pregnancy, but she also knew that abstaining altogether was the surest way to invite unwanted questions.

She gave the matter a little more thought, decided to stick with her chosen course, and then settled into her chair. She turned again toward the head of the table, where the chief provider rose out of his chair and held out his glass.

"I love Thanksgiving," Alistair said. "I love the food, I love the traditions, and I love the spirit of the holiday. Thanksgiving is a reminder that no matter what fate brings, we can all be thankful for something. I know I am."

Alistair scanned each face at the table and continued.

"I'm thankful that the war has ended and that Captain Walker has returned to us safely. I'm thankful that Margaret's brother, Albert, is now resting comfortably in an Army hospital and will soon return to his loved ones. I'm also thankful for my health, my family, and the recent addition of three wonderful young ladies to my home. So it is in that spirit of thanks that I ask you to raise a glass in a toast. Here's to peace, to health, to family, to friends."

Grace joined glasses with John to her right and Penelope to her left as the others greeted each other in similar fashion around the table. She wasn't quite as thankful as Uncle Alistair on this particular day, but she conceded that her cupboard wasn't bare. Despite the crushing losses of the past seven weeks, Grace acknowledged that she still had reason to be thankful.

Among other things, she had her health, a good friend, and a loving family that had accepted her unconditionally. She also had a life growing in her womb, a life that would surely alleviate the excruciating pain that went with knowing she would never see Joel, Ginny, or Katie again.

"I understand congratulations are in order, Grace," Robert Walker said as he passed a plate of turkey to his wife.

Grace felt her stomach fall to the floor.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"John told me about your heroism at the theater. It's not every day that a woman without medical training saves someone's life."

Grace wanted to say that it wasn't every day that
anyone
without medical training saved someone's life, but she allowed Robert's omission to go unanswered. She was grateful that he had not brought up a subject that was surely on the minds of most around the table.

Grace was pregnant, and everyone in the room, including Penelope, knew she was pregnant. But only two, Alistair and Margaret, knew she was the wife of a Seattle research geologist and the mother of twin girls in 2002. Only two knew her entire story.

Alistair and Margaret had discreetly told the others that Grace had fled an abusive husband in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, and had come to Seattle to build a new life while she sought a divorce. Grace had given them permission to tactfully spread the word. She figured it was better to put up with condescending stares now than to repeatedly answer embarrassing questions later.

She looked at Robert, a balding and fit man of fifty, and replied to his comment.

"I did only what anyone would have done in that situation."

"I doubt that," Robert said. "I heard that most in the lobby watched from the sidelines as the poor man gasped for life. You are to be commended, my dear. What I don't understand is how you learned such a skill."

"I read a lot, Mr. Walker. I learned the procedure by reading a first aid manual."

Grace scanned the table for reaction to the claim and saw Margaret offer a warm smile. She hated telling lies but loved having allies who could keep secrets. Grace's affection and respect for the matron of the house had grown immeasurably in the past few weeks.

She felt much the same about an uncle who had offered his home to a total stranger and had continued to meet her material needs. If she was thankful for nothing else this Thanksgiving, she was thankful for the incredibly gracious couple who had taken her under their wings.

Grace was grateful for other things, of course, such as the girl at her side. She knew that Penny could never replace Ginny and Katie, but she also knew that she could go far in filling the gaping holes in her heart.

She was also grateful to have John Walker in her life, though she was not quite sure what to do with him. Under different circumstances, she would have run to the handsome Army captain. He had all the qualities she admired in a man, including a sense of humor, a kind heart, and seemingly limitless compassion for others. But she was in love with Joel Smith, the man and the memory, and could not yet bring herself to consider a suitor.

Grace looked across the table and saw another blessing. Edith Green had brought a smile to her face more than once in the past week. She had a biting wit, maturity beyond her years, and an intellect that was every bit the equal of her adopted older sister's.

They had spent hours talking about literature and politics and thankfully little about Grace's dubious past. As the most politically liberal and tolerant member of the Green family, Edith had little use for judgment and discrimination.

Then there was Edith's alter ego, her mirror image, the woman Grace had dreamt about for years, a woman a drunk driver had so cruelly cut down in the prime of her life. She was perhaps the greatest blessing of all.

When Grace had first laid eyes on Lucille Green, she had wanted to smother her with hugs and kisses. She had wanted to open her heart and bare her soul. She had missed her mother, her closest friend in life, so much that it often made her physically ill.

But Grace knew that the British girl who had stepped out of Uncle Alistair's Oldsmobile six days earlier was not her mother, at least not the woman who had raised her. She was rather a cheerful, outgoing teenager who had yet to meet the love of her life and bear children who might be very different from a girl who had been born one spring day in Mankato, Minnesota.

Grace sipped the rest of her wine and took a bite of the chestnut stuffing Edith had prepared. It tasted much like the stuffing she had eaten on Thanksgiving Day in 1941, when Grace had taken Joel Smith to Edith's house to meet her sole remaining relative.

She again let her mind wander. That day seemed both distant and immediate. She could still picture the food that Edith had put on her table. She could picture
Joel
. She could recall the bruises on his face, the sadness in his eyes, and the dejection in his voice as he struggled to explain events he knew would change their world forever. She could remember all that followed.

Grace looked at the happy people around her and resisted the temptation to cry. She was
not
thankful that she had lost her husband, children, and former life. She was not thankful that she could not have them back. But she was thankful that they still existed in her mind. Memories mattered, even painful memories, and nothing, not even a time portal, could take them away.

CHAPTER 44: GRACE

Sunday, December 1, 1918

For forty minutes the seminary student, getting his first taste of the pulpit, had kept the congregation spellbound, combining Old Testament judgment and New Testament compassion with a contemporary message. Speaking without notes, he had covered numerous themes and had done so in a way that had clearly touched most of the parishioners. When he had finished, men clapped, mothers cried, and three hopelessly blond women in the front row smiled.