Free Romeo Blue by Phoebe Stone Page B

as though it’s alive,” I said.

    “Well, Flissy, because of the yeast, it is alive in a way,” said The Gram. “Until we cook it, of course. We’re having some visitors, you know.”
    “Yes,” I said, “I know. But why? Why is Mr. Donovan coming back? Does this have anything to do with my Winnie? And what about the Butterfly Circuit? Isn’t that what it’s called?”
    The Gram dropped the dough on the floured breadboard. She tapped her fingers up and down, leaving white floury fingerprints on the blue metal. “Felicity, your father and I very much would like you to stop poking around. We are living in very dangerous times. We Bathburns are doing the best we can to help fight against the Nazis. Danny, Gideon, myself, and your mother, Winifred. Although I do not like Winifred because of the way she hurt my Gideon, I do admire her for her work. You must protect her by not asking questions.” The Gram put her flour-covered hand against my cheek. “We so love having you with us, Flissy McBee. Perhaps you should not be here. Perhaps we are fools to keep you with us at this time. But we have waited so long for you. We have waited and waited and longed to have you with us. And suddenly here you are amidst all this.” She hugged me and I could feel her whole being rising and falling against me, crying in a silent, tearless way.
    Soon enough, my father came bubbling into the kitchen with a cheerful smile. “What ho, Fliss! Has The Gram fallen into a heap? What shall we do? Howabout we all go out for dinner tonight? We’ll go to the place along the wharf. What’s it called, the Boiling Pot? We haven’t done anything like that since Fliss has been here. What do you say, old bean?” said Gideon, patting me on the back and then putting his arm round The Gram.
    “Oh yes, please!” I said, jumping up and down.
    “We’ll take the whole clan and we’ll even ask Bob Henley along,” said Uncle Gideon.
    “And what about Miss Elkin?” I said. “I think she would be ever so pleased to be invited as well.” Gideon frowned and didn’t answer me. He sat down at the blue table and opened the newspaper. He started whistling and turning pages. The Gram and I began tucking the soft, pliable bread dough into buttered baking tins. Soon, five fat little loaves were sitting all ready to be popped into the cooker.
    I left the room and went upstairs and when the loaves had baked, the delicious smell drew me back downstairs. I stood in the hallway for a moment and I could hear Gideon talking quietly to The Gram. “I’ve heard from Donovan, actually. Unfortunately, our sources tell us there’s a rather important German agent in the area.”

It was as if someone had taken a basket of laundry and dumped it all out into the wind. Shirts and skirts and sheets and towels were let loose, flying every which way. Every idea in the world popped in and out of my mind. Was Mr. Fitzwilliam the Gray Moth? Was that why the man at lunch had planned to mail that letter to Cape Elizabeth? Never before had I ever met anyone who seemed so dark and dangerous as Mr. Fitzwilliam. How long had he been living in that big house on the cliff walk? Not long, I should imagine. Wouldn’t we have run into him around town before if he really lived here? And one day recently, though he didn’t see me, I spotted him down on the rocks below, staring up at our house, studying it, watching for something. What about that story of the architect who had been murdered? I should have realized right then that there was something wrong. And what had this to do with Derek’s father?
    Oh, I so hoped Derek would come home soon. We were to begin dance practice at seven and he was already late. I needed to talk to him. I wasn’t going to tell Uncle Gideon anything until I had talked with Derek.
    I put on a little jacket and went out the back door into the garden. The full moon cast an oddly bright light onthe sleeping wild roses. In the fields beyond there were seas of