The Sky is Falling (22 page)

Miss Liers actually smiled. “Thank you, Norah, that was
very
interesting. We're glad that you and Dulcie are safe in Canada.” For once, she didn't remind the class of all the children who weren't.

At recess Norah was surrounded by questioners, just as Dulcie had been on their first day. Charlie even asked her if he could see her shrapnel. When Norah brought it back after lunch, the grade sixes came over to admire it as well.

N
ORAH THOUGHT
that after that she would be popular again. But although people were friendly to her now, she was still barred from the activities she liked. In this school, the unspoken rule about boys never associating with girls was never broken. When she asked the boys if she could be in their football game, they just muttered, “Girls don't
play
football,” and looked embarrassed.

Instead, she sometimes joined the girls' skipping. She learnt a lot of new rhymes: “I love coffee / I love tea”, “Dancing Dolly” and “Yoki and the Kaiser”. But when she played with the girls she felt guilty for abandoning Bernard. He was still bullied, especially if Norah wasn't with him.

“Can't you leave him alone?” Norah yelled at Charlie, when they had painted a swastika on his bike.

“You don't understand,” said Charlie, running away before Norah could argue.

“We should tell Mr. Evans!” said Norah, but Bernard wouldn't let her.

“He knows. He's even spoken to Charlie, but that doesn't do any good.” Bernard tried to scrape off the black cross on his fender. “Do you think Paige has any paint I can cover this with?”

Norah kicked the frozen ground angrily. There were some things she could not change.

T
HE WEATHER
became so cold that part of the school playground was sprayed with hoses and turned into a skating rink. Aunt Mary took Norah and Gavin down to the basement, where she opened a cupboard crammed with skates, skis and hockey sticks. “I'm sure we can find some to fit you,” she said. “Look, these must be your size, Norah.”

The black, lace-up boots had shiny blades attached. For Gavin there were double-edged skates that fastened to his galoshes. Aunt Mary dusted off her own skates and had all of them sharpened by the knife man. Then she took them skating.

Last winter, when the village pond had frozen over, Norah had longed for skates. She thought she would be able to do it immediately, but at first she skidded and slipped on the hard cold surface. Soon, though, she was able to take tentative glides, holding Aunt Mary's hand. Gavin clomped around happily, stepping more than skating.

To Norah's surprise, Aunt Mary was really good. Her plump figure became graceful as she turned circles, wove
backwards and even performed little jumps. “What fun!” she laughed. “I thought I might have forgotten. Do you know that I once won a cup for skating?” She taught Norah how to keep her balance, and by the end of the afternoon Norah had gone all the way around the rink by herself without falling. The cold air blew by her glowing cheeks as she tried speeding up. It felt like flying.

Then Paige and Bernard appeared and started a game of hockey. When it was over, Norah had fallen so much that her knees, elbows and bottom were sore and wet. But she could hardly wait to skate again the next day.

G
AVIN TURNED SIX
at the end of November and Aunt Florence held an elaborate party for him. All the children in his class were invited, as well as the Worsleys and the Smiths. Bernard came too—Gavin had asked for him especially. After a hired magician had performed, the older children helped organize Musical Chairs, Pin the Tail on the Donkey and Button, Button, Who's Got the Button. Then they all sat around the dining-room table for cake and ice cream.

Gavin's face was as bright as his six candles. He had received countless toys and books; the biggest was a red tin fire engine he could ride in. But his favourite present was a tiny sweater for Creature that Hanny had knit on toothpicks. Norah was no longer worried about him being too indulged. Gavin, she decided, was so much himself that no one could spoil him.

After most of the guests had gone home, the Ogilvies, Mr. and Mrs. Worsley and Norah and Paige collapsed in the living room. Barbara and Daphne had taken over Gavin's Meccano set and were teaching him how to use it in his room.

“Let's have a drink,” moaned Aunt Florence. “I'd forgotten how exhausting birthday parties are.”

The living room was a disaster: paper hats, burst balloons, streamers and candy wrappers littered the rug. “Shall we start to clean up?” Norah asked.

“The cleaning woman will do it tomorrow,” said Aunt Florence with relief.

Norah thought of Gavin's party last year. He'd had only two friends in, but they'd made almost as much mess as thirty children today. It had taken Mum all evening to get the house tidy again.

Today Mum would probably be thinking about Gavin turning six. So would Dad and Grandad and Muriel and Tibby. They would be missing him a lot. She wondered if Mum would make a cake anyway, but that would be difficult this year, with rationing. Norah suddenly wanted to be home so much that she picked up a magazine to hide her brimming eyes.

Paige scratched herself under her pink organdy front. “I wish I could change out of this prickly dress,” she whispered to Norah. “I'd like to give it to your friend Dulcie. She kept telling me how much she liked it.”

“She can't help it,” said Norah automatically. She'd blinked away her tears and was now listening intently to
the grown-ups, who were sipping their drinks and talking about the blitz.

“First London and Coventry, now Southampton and Bristol,” sighed Mr. Worsley. “When will it end?”

“When
will
it?” asked Norah desperately, her voice strained and broken.

He answered carefully. “No one knows, Norah. Not for a long time, I'm afraid.” He smiled at her. “It's tough, I know—but we're glad you and Gavin will be here for the duration.”

“She's a very brave girl, to endure what she has so far,” said Aunt Florence. Every time she said something as flattering as this, Norah was surprised.

Paige chuckled. “Be tough, Norah—endure the duration!”

“Very clever,” said her father dryly, “but stop showing off.”

Norah sighed. “Endure” and “duration” and “tough” were all hard words—and hard to do. Perhaps now she
could
endure. In the past month she'd “adjusted”; she'd even stopped wetting the bed.

Now she was able to write long, uncensored letters home and say honestly that she was all right. But that still didn't mean she wanted to be here.

21

Tidings of Comfort

N
orah packed a snowball and threw it at Dulcie's feet. Paige, Barbara and Daphne, in matching tweed coats, tried lying in a row and making snow angels until their mother stopped them. All around the front door of St. Peter's Church, children threw polite snowballs that missed their targets or kicked at the ground with impatient feet, unable to play properly in stiff Sunday clothes while surrounded by adults.

Norah edged up to the group that included the two Ogilvies. Maybe if she looked hungry enough, they would get the hint and start for home. Every Sunday Aunt Florence and Aunt Mary talked to the other churchgoers before the service, whispered about them during it and stood around in chattering groups afterwards. It had been the same in Ringden. Grownups seemed to go to church to observe and gossip—and to waste valuable time. Last night it had snowed again. It was almost noon, and Norah still hadn't been set free in it.

“Since this is their first Christmas away from home, we're going to make it as special as possible,” Aunt Mary was saying.

“Oh, so are we!” said Mrs. Milne eagerly. “We're so worried that Derek and Dulcie and Lucy will be homesick, though they've managed splendidly so far. It's changed our lives, you know, to have children with us.”

Aunt Mary said softly, “Yes … it's changed ours, too.”

Finally the last handshakes were given, the last goodbyes were said and the children were released from waiting. Norah and Gavin ran ahead, kicking up sparkling sprays of snow.

Norah thought about Christmas. No matter how special the Ogilvies tried to make it, she knew Christmas couldn't be the same in Canada. She slowed down, trailing a branch along the sidewalk. While the Ogilvies' household was busy with elaborate Christmas preparations, all she could think of was what her family would be doing at home.

“Will you help me build a snowman after lunch, Norah?” asked Gavin.

Norah nodded. The busier she was, the less time she had to be homesick.

Buying presents was one thing that kept her from brooding. She had helped Hanny pack an enormous food hamper for her family, filled with Christmas pudding, cakes, tins of fruit and fish, and a whole ham. Norah wriggled with excitement as she thought how glad they would be to get it.

“Before you came, the war seemed so far away,” said Hanny. “Now it's our war, too.”

Aunt Mary had taken them to Woolworth's to buy the rest of their presents. “Hugh and I always did our shopping here when we were your age,” she explained. She gave Norah and Gavin a dollar each and left them alone. They spent an hour wandering separately up and down the crowded aisles.

Norah chose a handkerchief for Aunt Mary, “Evening in Paris” perfume for Aunt Florence and a packet of bobby pins for Hanny. Even though Edith was still acting unfriendly, she picked out a purple comb for her. In the toy section she found water pistols for Paige and Bernard and pretend lipstick for Dulcie. Then she remembered Miss Gleeson and got her a bookmark with “This is where I fell asleep” printed on it. Her basket began to be crowded with presents. What a lot of people she knew in Canada!

She couldn't make up her mind about Gavin. He had plenty of cars and planes and soldiers. She turned down the aisle towards the sound of birds, where brightly hued budgies
cheeruped
importantly. Gavin would love one, but they were too expensive. Then she saw a tank of glittering orange goldfish. Five Cents, said the sign. That was perfect.

She found a clerk, who dipped a small net into the tank and scooped out the fish she chose, the brightest and plumpest. He put it with some water into a waxed cardboard carton with a wire handle. She had just enough
money left for some food. Norah peeked into the carton and watched the goldfish dart around its temporary home. She would ask Hanny for a jar to use as a bowl and hide it in her wardrobe until Christmas.

When she met Gavin, after paying for her presents first so she could conceal the goldfish in her bag, she discovered he had chosen mothballs for everyone. “It says ‘useful' on the package,” he explained, sounding out the word carefully. “I like the smell, too.”

The next sign of Christmas was a huge party that a wealthy store owner was holding for all the Toronto area war guests. Norah remembered Miss Carmichael telling them about it. She didn't want to feel like an evacuee all over again. “Do I have to go?” she asked.

But Aunt Florence insisted. “And please, Norah, let me buy you a new dress. You'll need one for Christmas dinner anyway, and you simply cannot wear that old Viyella any longer.”

“Mum said in her last letter she was cutting down a dress for me out of one of her old ones.”

“But it won't get here in time for the party. I want you to look nice—after all, it's a special occasion. And they'll think I'm not taking good care of you if you look shabby.”

Norah gave in. “All right,” she sighed. Going shopping was a waste of good tobogganing time.

Aunt Florence took her to a fancy store downtown with thick carpets and lots of mirrors. All the salesladies seemed to know who she was. “This way, Mrs. Ogilvie,” said the lady in charge. “Would you like to sit down?” She
took Norah into a changing room and brought dresses in to her.

Norah grew interested in spite of herself. Most of the dresses were too frilly, like the ones Dulcie wore. But there was one she took to immediately. It was red velvet with a simple white collar and cuffs. When she tried it on, the rich weight of it made her feel cosy and secure.

“I like this one,” she said, coming out to be inspected. She ran her hands up and down her sides, relishing the thick pile.

“But don't you want to try on the others?”

“No, thank you.”

Aunt Florence examined every inch of the dress with the eyes of an experienced shopper. “It certainly looks nice on you—it suits your dark hair.” She turned to the woman. “Do you have a hairband that would go with it?”

“Of course, Mrs. Ogilvie.” The manager bustled away and arrived back breathless with a narrow red band. It matched exactly and made Norah's hair feel neat and out of the way, much more comfortable than awkward bows or scratchy hair-slides.

“Very well, we'll take it. You have good taste, my dear. Now shoes.”

Aunt Florence bought Norah black patent strapped shoes and new white socks. Norah peeked at the bill when it was all rung up and gulped. Even in pounds, it was an enormous sum.

“This is awfully expensive, Aunt Florence.”

“Nonsense. It's nice to have someone to spend money on.”

Norah swallowed her pride and said thank you.

“Oh, Norah, just look at these!” cried Aunt Florence. She held up a pair of red velvet shorts. “Aren't they wonderful? Gavin would look adorable in them and then you'd match. I'll take a pair in size six.”

When they got home Gavin took one look at the shorts and shook his head. “I don't like them. Thank you, anyway,” he added, politely but firmly.

Aunt Florence was surprised; it was the first time Gavin had rebelled. “Well, maybe they
are
too young for you,” she conceded. “I'll return them and you can wear your sailor suit to the party.”