Twenty-Nine
One night on the cot in a tent pounded by rain was enough to remind Grace how difficult this would be. She didn’t know how Victoria did it, seesawing between the immense comfort of Bellefield and conditions like this, with stiff beds, cold showers, and food that was just as likely to make her sick as make her feel full.
“Everything is wet,” she said for the third time that morning.
Heron opened the waterproof case. “That’s why I’ve set this up.”
She went to the case and peered in. “What am I looking at?”
“This is a heater,” he said, pointing to the small lamp on the inside of the case. “We can put our wet clothes here in this corner”—he put a collection of their socks and two of Grace’s shirts on the left side of the case—“and it will make them dry again. They’ll be toasty
