"Best keep an eye on Iris, Edie, or she'll nick your young man."
"Dad." Edith laughed and tucked her arm more firmly in her father's. Ahead of them, Iris skipped between Paul and Edith's brother Martin, each of her hands in one of theirs. As Edith watched, Martin said something to Paul, who shifted his gait slightly and then nodded.
"All right, Iris," Martin said. "One… two… three!" Together he and Paul swung her into the air.
"Again!" she cried.
Paul grinned, his serious face suddenly bright. "One… two…three!" He timed it, Edith saw, so his weight was on his steady right leg while Iris was in the air. Iris squealed with joy, and he laughed at her pleasure. Edith smiled so hard that her eyes watered.
Iris' mother, Edith's sister Amelia, laughed from close behind. Edith risked a glance over her shoulder and saw that Amelia was steadying their mother on the icy pavement, while back at the church porch their other sister Evelyn was retying one of Daisy's hair ribbons while Jack stared up at the white sky, looking for planes. Just as well; she and Amelia could get dinner on the table quicker with the older children out of the way, even if they were only two pairs of hands.
"Last time," Paul said to Iris. "Get ready…"
Coming along the pavement in the opposite direction were three soldiers, an airman, and two young women. Martin saw them and drew Paul and Iris to one side to make space for them to pass. He smiled, and Paul raised his hat.
Iris sang out "Happy Christmas!" and then repeated it when none of the party would look at her. One of the women muttered to the airman, and one of the soldiers said something that made Paul's jaw go taut. Martin looked at the ground, then tried to draw Iris along, but she was looking up at Paul with her face furrowed in confusion.
"Happy Christmas," Edith's father said to the party, as if he hadn't noticed the interchange. And perhaps he hadn't.
"Happy Christmas," the leading soldier answered.
"Will you be all right for a moment, Dad?" When he nodded, Edith let his arm go and hurried forward to join Paul.
"Right, Iris, get ready," Paul said again.
"Why did he say that?" she asked.
"He thinks we ought to be in uniform," Martin answered. "It doesn't matter," he added, looking at Edith.
"Are you a Quaker like Uncle Martin, Mr. Milner, and just come to our church on Christmas?"
"Iris! Don't ask personal questions!" Edith found her fists were clenched. She drew a long breath and forced a reassuring smile. "Run back and tell Aunt Evelyn and your cousins to hurry up."
"We did promise her one more swing, Edie. It's all right." Paul's smile was strained, but his eyes were earnest. He touched her arm before he turned back to Iris. "No, I'm not a Quaker, but I'm not a soldier. I was in the army, and now I'm a policeman."
"Is that a 'served occupation?"
His mouth twitched. "Yes. Now, one more swing? Ready, Martin? You count, Iris."
Curiosity satisfied, Iris took a firmer grip on Paul and Martin's hands. "One… two… three!"
"Now let's keep Grandfather company and let Aunt Edith walk with Mr. Milner," Martin said. "What are you most excited to eat at Christmas dinner?"
"Don't look like that," Paul said quietly. "We're both fine. Martin's had worse, I'm sure." He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm.
Edith reached up with her free hand to arrange his scarf as they walked, then touched his bare lapel. "Do you need a buttonhole on this overcoat for your King's Badge? I can make you one this evening. It won't even take half an hour. Evelyn has brown thread."
"No. Thank you." His face had that closed, far-away look, the one she'd seen too often in the awful days between Jane's death and the arrest.
Edith nodded and looked at the pavement. He never wore it; he'd have had someone sew him a buttonhole before now if that was all he needed. She hung on to Paul's arm and wished it had been her he'd come home to after Trondheim.
"I haven't…" He paused; she looked up and wished she could pull him down to kiss that faint thoughtful crease between his dark brows. "Do you think I ought to wear it? Would it be better for Martin, or for other men like me, if I did?"
"I don't think so. It's nothing to do with anyone else, is it? I just hate people being cruel to you and I'd like them to see that they're wrong."
"I haven't thought about it, about wearing it, for years. Jane…" His mouth tightened, and Edith's ribs tightened too. "She didn't want to see it. Any more than she wanted to see…" He glanced towards his left foot.
"The DeSoutter," Edith finished for him. She schooled herself not to say any more.
"And it seemed like vanity to me, I suppose. No one watching me inch up Stone Street on my crutches would wonder why I wasn't in uniform. To wear a silver badge insisting that I'd once been whole, what would be the point of that?"
It would make you safe, Edith thought, but she didn't say it. She knew, now, that Paul didn't want safety. He wanted truth. She thought of his clear, quiet voice singing the last hymn, of his strong, slender hands like a surgeon's pointing out the words in the hymnbook for Iris. He rules the world with truth and grace… "You are whole," she said, very low. "You are, Paul. In all the ways that matter."
"No," he answered, just as softly. "We are. Together."