“Oh,” I uttered, looking at him accusingly. “You’re not the postman.”

“No. May I come in?” he said bad-temperedly, barging past me into the hallway, trying to brush off some of the rain. He put his somewhat shabby suitcase down next to the stairs.

“May I ask who you are?” I said, rather crossly.

“Colonel Mallard,” he muttered.

“As in the duck?” I asked vaguely. He didn’t look like a colonel. He was wearing civvies and was frankly more than a little unkempt.

He nodded, his eyes flickering over the dilapidated hall. The servants’ dwindling has taken its toll on my poor house, although I was relieved when Mrs. Peck left, as I couldn’t work out who was in charge of whom any more.

“I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a hurry,” the Colonel said, turning toward the stairs.

I glared at him, wondering what on earth he was doing. “Well, I don’t know what you’re in a hurry about, or what it has to do with me, but I would be grateful if you could tell me what you’re doing here.”

“I’ve been billeted here.” After scrambling around through his pockets, he dragged out a crumpled, soggy letter and handed it to me.

“Oh!” I had a quick look. “I was told to expect you next week. Your room’s not even ready yet.”

“Well, I’ll just have to make do with it the way it is, won’t I,” he said, looking at the stairs impatiently.

I led the way up, the man’s heavy footsteps following me. Hardly bearing the notion of him inside David’s room, I eased the door open, taking one last glimpse, one last breath of its peaceful air before it became someone else’s.

The Colonel was well over six foot, and the room suddenly seemed terribly small as he entered. I hurried back to the door, feeling a little claustrophobic. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” I said, and disappeared off before I became teary.

What a dreadful man! Although I suppose it could be a lot worse; he could smell of cow dung, or whistle, or even more dire, take up residence in my living room. It’ll be awkward sharing my house with a stranger, so unlike the soft warmth of David. I wondered what Colonel Mallard does at Litchfield, as I worry that the war may be lost if this is the general countenance of the people we have in charge. He hardly looks like one of Mrs. B.’s “important bigwigs.” He’s far too disheveled and disorganized, like a big old cardboard box.

As I began peeling the potatoes for dinner, thinking of going over to see Hattie as soon as I could get away, I heard the door upstairs open, and for a split second I thought it was David, and his cheery voice would carry down the hall, “I’ll be off now, Mum!”

The heavy tramp down the stairs jolted me back.

“Mrs. Tilling,” he called from the hallway.

“Colonel Mallard,” I replied, hurrying out of the kitchen, wiping my hands on my apron. “Will you be requiring dinner in the evening? If so, I’ll need your ration book.”

“No, I’ll eat at the canteen,” he said, and then added, “Thank you,” in an officious way.

He held out a tattered satchel. I recognized it immediately as David’s, realizing that I must have left it in the room when I began tidying everything away. I snatched it from him in annoyance. Why can’t he leave everything alone?

“Is that all?” I said, desperate for him to leave. But he stood for a moment looking through me, as if trying to remember if he had everything, and then turned and headed for the door, muttering a sullen “Good-bye.”

I closed the front door and wandered numbly back to the kitchen. From the window over the sink I can see the tumbledown tower of the church, and if you climb to the top of that tower on a clear day, you can see the yellow-brown turrets and pinnacles of Litchfield University. I stood and thought about how my dreams have become smaller over the years, from when I was young and yearned to study, to meeting Harold and dreaming of my own family, to Harold dying and my world circulating around David, the only light left in my sad little life.

And now all I dream is that he doesn’t die. Everything else, including the new intruder, means nothing.

To calm my nerves, I went for a brisk walk, and found myself in the church, sitting in the pew at the back on the left, piecing together the new world around me.

“All right there?” A voice came from behind, instantly recognizable as Prim.

“Yes, just coming to terms with a strange colonel staying in my house. He’s billeted with me.”

“Before I found my house in Church Row, I stayed with a lovely old gentleman. He still joins me for tea from time to time. Perhaps it’ll improve as you get to know each other.”

“He’s such a grumpy curmudgeon, I can’t imagine ever getting on with him. I’ll have to see if I can find another room for him somewhere else.”

“I’m sure that if you take the time to talk to him you’ll realize he’s just like you or your son, or anyone else. There’s a war on. Why not give him a chance?”

She had that twinkling little smile on her face, and I couldn’t help but smile, too. “That’s the ticket,” she said, and continued her hurrying in and out with various music stands and scores.

“Prim,” I began as she scuttled by. “You coming here and reinstalling our choir has been such a tremendous lift for us. Do you really believe that singing will help us get through this gruesome war?”