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honor, and pride
aren’t enough to get him through the shell-shock, much less break through
to his Gifts again. Furthermore—”
    Should
she tell them?
    She
was a physician; she had to.
    “Furthermore,
I consider that without Doctor Pike’s help, there is a real possibility
that he may do away with himself if he can’t manage to get himself through.
Because I am not sure he can live with the pain, the fear, and the conflicts
inside himself as he is now.”
    There.
She’d said it.
    She
expected them to look shocked, to protest. They didn’t; they only looked
saddened and resigned.
    “It
won’t be the first one we’ve lost that way,” Almsley said
softly, revealing the reason for their reaction. He turned to Alderscroft.
“What do you think, send him home on recovery leave?”
    Almsley
hadn’t asked her, but she answered anyway. “At least if he is at
home, he will be in familiar surroundings and far away from anything military.
It might help.”
    Alderscroft
nodded his massive head, slowly. “Get his grandmother to keep an eye on
him; I think it’s the best we can do. I’ll talk to some people, and
get him leave to recover at home.” He turned back to Maya. “Thank
you, doctor. You have been of immense help; more than you know. I only wish it
were possible to take more of your advice. I promise, we will see to it that
everything that
can
be done, will be. And it will not be for lack
of—flexibility—on our part.”
    That
was a dismissal if ever she had heard one, and reluctantly, she allowed her
husband to assist her to her feet and took her leave.
    But it did nothing
to end her anger—which was the only way she could keep her own profound
depression at bay.
I hate this bloody, senseless, useless, stupid war
.
     

4
    March 14, 1917
London
    THE ROBINSONS HAD
TAKEN THE first train to London, set themselves up at the Savoy Hotel, and gone
straight out to take care of the most urgent need for all three of
them—new wardrobes. But their visits to the first three fashion
houses—their usual haunts—were less than a success.
    “Have
you ever seen such ugly colors?” Carolyn complained (rather too loudly)
to her mother, as she and her sister followed hard on their mother’s
heels out to the pavement in front of the third. “Drab brown, drab olive,
drab navy and drab cream. Khaki, khaki, khaki! And nothing but tweeds and
linens! And for spring and summer! What about silk? What about muslin? Do they
think we’re all Land Girls?”
    Her
mother shrugged. “We’ll try another atelier, dear,” she said,
with a glance up the street, looking for a taxi. “Someone who isn’t
trying so hard to be patriotic and dress us all in uniforms.”
    “I
don’t see why one has to be plain to be patriotic,” Lauralee
pouted. Her sister sniffed.
    “Plain?
Made up like a Guy, more like!” Carolyn exclaimed. “I don’t
want to look like I’m in uniform and I don’t want to look like
a—a suffragette! I want—”
    “Leave
it to me, girls; I have some notions,” Alison replied, and spied a free
taxi in the same moment. Taxis were thin on the ground in London now, but
Alison had no intention of subjecting herself to the Underground or the
‘buses. It didn’t take much more than a lifted finger and a spark
of magic to summon it, as it passed by five other people trying to hail it,
including one disgruntled cavalry officer.
    She
leaned over and gave the driver—a very old man indeed—an address
that made him look at her in surprise. But he said nothing, and she took her
place beside her daughters. It was pleasantly warm; unpleasantly enough, they
were all three wearing last year’s spring gowns. This would never do.
    To
the surprise of her daughters, the establishment that the taxi left them at was
not
any of the usual fashion houses Alison patronized. She ignored
their surprise, for it was painfully clear to her that the usual establishments
would not do this year. There was probably a good reason why all the