Chapter 10Sylvia trotted down the stairs and along the passage toward the kitchen, smiling to herself. Lucy always made her smile. There was a lightness about her that never seemed to waver, even if she was struggling herself. She was the original Pollyanna, always playing the Glad Game without ever saying so aloud. It had charmed Sylvia from the first, despite how black her own thoughts were during that summer of 1917 as she was dealing with her loss of Anna. She’d leaned on it, in fact, allowing Lucy to prop her up without it ever being discussed in so many words. Sylvia should thank her if she could bring herself to speak of it.
Walt was in the kitchen, scrubbing potatoes and staring out of the window at the birds in the cobbled courtyard.
“It’s my turn,” Sylvia said.
“I thought you
