The Sky is Falling (20 page)

She tried to think clearly. Where was she going to go? All she knew was that she wanted to go home, to find her way back to England and her parents. The only way she could do that was to return the way she had come: by train to Montreal and from there by ship. First she had to find the train station; that shouldn't be too difficult. She remembered it was a short distance from the university. She could go downtown and ask someone.

But adults might question her and wonder why she wasn't in school. Could she get away with travelling alone on a train? And how was she going to find out what ship to go on? Would she have to stow away on it, like someone in a story?

The load of all the problems that lay ahead over-whelmed her. She had not slept well the night before and the horror of the fire had left her drained. It was unusually warm for November; her snowsuit was a cosy cocoon. Curling up on a heap of dry leaves, Norah slept.

She dreamed about journeys, about walking and walking and walking with no place to reach. As she walked she held a small warm hand that gave her strength. She was in England; she was walking with Gavin. The sense of endless journeying left when they approached their own village. As they hurried up the main street to their house, a huge relief flowed through Norah. She began to run, pulling Gavin along and laughing in anticipation of feelng her parents' arms around her.

But Little Whitebull was demolished. In its place was a pile of burnt and flattened rubble—like the fort, like Grandad's house in Camber.

“Where are you?” Norah cried desperately. “Mum! Dad! Grandad! Where are you?”

“They're gone …” cackled an ugly voice. It was a goblin voice, a bogeyman, a Guy … coming from a leering face with a brush of a moustache and a swastika on its hat. It leaned over her and laughed raucously. “They're
gone,
they're
dead
… I killed them!”

“No!”
screamed Norah and woke herself up. She sat up with a jolt and sobbed. It was only a dream, but she couldn't stop crying for a long time.

Now she wanted to reach England all the more, to make sure her family was safe. Why was she wasting time down here? She stood up, brushed off the leaves, picked up her schoolbag and reached out for Gavin's hand.

Her hand closed on air. She thrust it into her pocket angrily. Gavin was still at the Ogilvies', being cosseted and spoilt. She didn't want or need him.

Then her legs trembled so much she had to sit down again, as everyone's words came to her; “Take care of Gavin, take care of Gavin …”

She had
never
taken care of him. From the very beginning of their journey to Canada, she had only wanted to be rid of him. She remembered all the times when he'd given her that hurt, perplexed look; all the times she could have comforted him, but didn't. And the last time, a few hours ago, when she'd made him cry by pushing him away. He was only five, a small, lost boy with no family but her. He was her brother; Aunt Mary and Bernard and Paige didn't have brothers. She thought of Aunt Mary's anguished voice when she had talked about Hugh. She had lost her brother; Norah still had hers.

She remembered the day, years ago, when they'd set Gavin on one side of the kitchen at Little Whitebull and, chortling with proud glee, he'd taken his first wobbly steps straight to Norah. How he used to call “Ora, Ora,” when Mum scolded him. But she had only thought of him as a nuisance; someone who claimed her mother's and sisters' attention so completely that she had turned to her father instead.

But he was her brother. He needed Norah and Norah needed him. And she was planning to leave him behind in a strange country with a foolish woman to ruin him.

Norah ran up the hill almost as fast as she had the night before. She tried to catch her breath as she pushed open the front door a crack and peeked in.

Good: the hall clock said just past two. She hadn't slept as long as she thought. And Gavin, as usual, was playing in the hall with the canes and umbrellas that had once belonged to Mr. Ogilvie—patting and grooming and talking to them quietly, pretending they were horses.

Norah watched him for a moment. She saw his dreamy, withdrawn expression, his aloneness. What had it been like for him these past two months, shut up in this dull house by himself when Aunt Florence was busy? She wanted to rush up and greet him noisily; she felt as if she hadn't seen him for years.

But she had to be cautious. “Gavin,” she whispered.

Gavin dropped a cane, startled.

“Shhh! It's only me. Come on, we're going out.” Norah crept into the hall and got his snowsuit.

“Going out? With
you
?” His face was so eager that Norah hugged him.

“Yes. We're running away. But they might try to stop us, so we have to be quiet. What's Hanny doing?”

“Making a pie. She's going to call when it's done so I can have a piece.”

Norah could smell it cooking. “Then hurry!” She helped him into his leggings. “I wish we could get more food and your toothbrush, but there isn't time. Do you have Creature?”

Gavin held up his elephant, his eyes shining. “We're having an adventure, aren't we?”

“Right. Come on, now.” With her brother's warm hand firmly in hers, Norah led him out the door.

F
IVE HOURS LATER
, they sat huddled on a hard bench hidden behind a bush in a park close to the train station. A nearby streetlight radiated a faint circle of light.

Norah sat in the light, reading aloud from
Five Children and It
: “‘I daresay you have often thought about what you would do if you had three wishes given you.'” When she reached the part where the children couldn't decide what to wish for, she turned the book over impatiently.
Her
wish was so simple, but bringing it about seemed increasingly complicated.

The temperature had dropped and now she was glad of their snowsuits. Gavin's cheeks and nose were cherry-red with cold. “Keep reading, Norah,” he begged. “I like that funny Psammead.”

“In a minute—I have to think. You go and swing for a while, it will warm you up.”

Gavin obeyed easily. He was so contented to be doing something with Norah that he didn't seem to mind the hours they had already spent walking and waiting.

First they'd gone downtown and ventured into the bank to change the five pounds.

“Where did you get this?” the teller asked suspiciously. “It's a large amount for a little girl.”

“Our m-mum sent us with it—she's ill,” stuttered Norah, feeling a bit ill herself with the huge lie.

The teller still looked suspicious but she finally handed Norah a wad of Canadian dollars.

After that they had asked a boy the way to Union Station and gone there on a streetcar. Norah was afraid to
call more attention to themselves by asking about the train to Montreal. She finally found a schedule on a notice-board; to her dismay, the next train didn't leave until eight-thirty that evening.

They passed the time by buying tea and cheese sandwiches in the station restaurant. The cashier looked at them curiously but she didn't say anything. Then they settled themselves on a long, slippery bench in the echoing station hall. They took off their snowsuits and leaned comfortably against them. The station milled with weekend travellers, but they were all preoccupied with where they were going or whom they were meeting. No one paid any attention to Norah and Gavin until a policeman approached them.

“Are you kids alone?” he asked kindly, with an English accent.

Norah thought fast. “No, our mum's gone to get us some sandwiches. We have to wait a long time for the train.”

“Where are you off to, then?”

“Montreal. We're going to visit some friends of Mum's for the weekend.”

“War guests, are you?”

Norah nodded.

“You're lucky your mother could come over with you. I have a sister and three nephews back home I wanted to bring to Canada, but it's too late now. Since that ship was torpedoed, they've suspended all evacuation indefinitely. Where are you from? I grew up in Newcastle.”

Norah told him. He was so friendly she wanted to pour out everything, but that was impossible. And the longer he chatted, the sooner he would wonder where their mother was. At least Gavin knew enough not to contradict her story.

She became more and more agitated. Then, to her relief, a drunken man shouting on the other side of the station caught the policeman's attention.

“I'll have to check this out. Now don't move from that bench. I'm sure your mother will be back soon.”

As soon as he'd left Norah grabbed their things and pulled Gavin outside. “Where are we going?” he asked, as they hid behind a pillar and struggled into their snowsuits.

“I don't know. We'll just have to keep walking until it's time to buy our tickets. If we sit down we look too conspicuous.”

So they walked and walked again until their legs ached, peering into store windows and warming up in the lobby of an enormous hotel. When it got dark they were less visible, but the lights of the passing cars glared in their faces and made them jumpy. Finally they found the park and settled on the half-hidden bench.

Now Norah watched Gavin pumping hard, his body a darting shadow in the darkness. It was too cold to stay here much longer; they should probably start back to the station.

She dreaded trying to buy a ticket. What would she say? She was certain they wouldn't sell her one, and perhaps the policeman would be waiting for them.

Something firm and resolute collapsed inside Norah. She had rescued Gavin from the Ogilvies; to carry on from there seemed impossible. She was only ten years old—the grown-ups would thwart her all the way. However much she wanted to, she had known all along they couldn't really go back to England.

They were stuck here; stuck in Canada with no place to go. Just as at the beginning of her dream, they were on a journey with no end in sight.

Gavin jumped off the swing and ran back to Norah. “I'm much warmer now, but I'm hungry again. Can I have my sandwich from lunch? Norah? Why are you crying?”

Norah's body heaved with sobs and hot tears stung her cold cheeks. “I'm so tired,” she wailed. “I'm tired of—of fighting. Why does there have to be a war? I
hate
the war! I just want to go
home
.”

Gavin thumped her back. “Let's go then,” he said calmly. “Aunt Florence will wonder where we are. I don't think she'd like it if we ran away without telling her. And there's apple pie for dessert.”

Norah was so surprised she stopped crying. “I don't mean the
Ogilvies
. I mean home! In Ringden, with Mum and Dad and Grandad. In
England
. Don't you remember?”

“'Course I remember. But I thought Canada was our home now.”

Norah stared at him. “Gavin, do you like living at the Ogilvies'?”

“I like Aunt Florence and Aunt Mary and Hanny and all my new toys. But I don't like shopping and going out
for tea all the time. I wish I could go to school like you.”

“But you came with me when I said we were running away!”

“You said we were going to have an adventure. But we didn't even go on a train and I thought we'd be finished the adventure by dinnertime. I'm tired of it now. Can't we go home? Please?”

Norah gave up. There was nowhere else to go but the Ogilvies'. “All right,” she said wearily, drying her wet cheeks with her mitt. “We'll get into a lot of trouble, though. I will, anyway. Probably they'll send me to a different family.” She stood up. “But I won't go without you! Would you mind that, if we had to live with someone else?”

“I wouldn't like it,” said Gavin gravely, “but I'd go with you. Dad said we had to stick to each other like glue!”

Norah had to smile at his serious expression. “He was right—from now on, we will.”

“Come on.” Gavin took her hand and pulled her out of the park. “Maybe there'll be some pie left.”

P
EOPLE STARED AT THEM
on the streetcar, but no one asked questions. When they finally reached the Ogilvies' house they found it blazing with lights. A police car was parked outside.

“Uh-oh.” Norah paused a minute and gathered up the last shreds of her courage. This was going to be much more difficult than watching the sky for paratroopers. She was so worn out, she wondered if she could make it up the steps. “All right … let's get it over with.”

They pushed open the front door and stood in the entrance of the living room, hand in hand. A noisy rush of bodies descended on them. Hanny squealed and Aunt Mary kissed them again and again. Mrs. Worsley wept. Mr. Worsley kept ruffling Norah's hair repeating, “Well! You're safe! Well, well!” Even Paige and Dulcie were there, jumping up and down and pulling on Norah's arms.

They were glad to see her! thought Norah with tired surprise. Everyone was hugging and kissing her. No one was angry. She felt as slack as a rag doll, as she was passed from arm to arm.

Then she stiffened. Aunt Florence had Gavin enveloped in her embrace. “Oh, my sweetness, are you all right? Are you sure?” She released him gently and turned to face Norah. For a few seconds the two of them stared awkwardly at each other.

“Are you going to send me away?” whispered Norah.

“Send you away?” To Norah's astonishment, Aunt Florence's eyes were swimming in tears. But they were probably only left over from greeting Gavin.

Her strong voice faltered, though, as she continued. “I will
never
send you away, Norah. You're one of the family. I want to apologize for what I said this morning. Will you forgive me? Will you let me have another chance?”

Everyone, including Norah, was silenced by this humility. Aunt Florence put out her hand. Norah hesitated for only an instant, then she took it in her own. She kept hold of the firm grasp as her eyes closed; Aunt Florence caught her before she reached the floor.