And Sara Hack was busy in London. Daily, troop trains rolled in and out of Victoria Station … returning the sick and wounded. She was a Red Cross volunteer. She served biscuits and tea in all kinds of weather, snow … sleet …Aching with fatigue, still she served until she could no longer stand on her feet. One night after she’d collapsed into bed, Nathan chastised her. “You know, Sara,” he said, “you can’t go on working this way. It’s beyond your endurance.” Sara smiled at the face she had loved for so long. “Nathan … would you really have me not do my share?” “You do more than your share … that’s the trouble.” “But we’re so fortunate. Our sons are still alive. And Phillip is home to stay.” “Yes, he’s home … minus an arm.” “I work with a woman who’s lost six sons, Nathan. Six. And still she never stops giving.” “I’m sorry for her,” said Nathan, “but I must insist that you devote yourself to less strenuous efforts.” She smiled.”
