The War I Finally Won

  “Susan said not to move him.”

  “Yes. I suppose that’s right. I’ll go, then, and find Susan. Unless you’d rather I stayed with you?”

  I shook my head, hard. Lady Thorton shrugged herself out of her coat. She draped it over Jamie. “Tuck yourself under the edge of that,” she said. Rain began to fall again. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

  I bent over Jamie, shielding him from the rain. His chest rose and fell. The wind blew harder. I shivered. Jamie’s eyelids fluttered. With a sigh, he turned his head to one side.

  “Don’t move!” I said.

  His eyes opened. Relief flooded me. I nearly collapsed.

  “My arm hurts,” he said. “It really hurts. And my head.”

  “Don’t move,” I said.

  Jamie scowled at me. “Where’s Mum?”

  It had always been me that comforted Jamie, not Mam. “It’s me, Ada,” I said. “I’m right here. Don’t move. Help’s coming. You’re going to be okay.”

  “I want Mum,” he whispered. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes.

  • • •

  Susan and Lady Thorton came back in Lady Thorton’s car. “Mum,” Jamie said. He tried to get up. Susan held him down. She let his head rest against her legs and stroked his hair. Minutes later, Dr. Graham pulled up in his own car. By then Jamie could tell us that he could feel and move his hands and feet. Susan said that was good. It meant he probably hadn’t broken his neck.

  He’d broken his arm. It was bent because he’d broken his arm bones.

  He’d end up with a crippled arm, like my foot used to be.

  Dr. Graham wrapped sticks and bandages around Jamie’s arm. He helped Jamie stand and walked him toward the car. Jamie looked back, eyes fearful. “Mummy?” he said.

  “She’s not your mummy,” I said.

  Susan put her arm around me. “Come. We’ll all go.”

  • • •

  In his office Dr. Graham straightened Jamie’s broken arm. Jamie howled. I covered my ears. My stomach hurt. Dr. Graham put Jamie’s arm in a plaster cast like the casts I had in hospital. He said Jamie had a concussion, a bad knock on the head. We would have to wake him up all through the night to make sure his brain wasn’t injured.

  “I can do that,” I said. I would sleep in Jamie’s room.

  “You need your rest,” Susan said.

  “I want Mummy,” said Jamie.

  “Stop calling her that!”

  “It’s all right, Ada,” Susan said. “What a mess we’ve had. But everything’s going to be all right.”

  It was not all right. Jamie would be crippled. He would be unlovable. Just like me.

  • • •

  Back at the cottage, Lady Thorton and Maggie were waiting for us in the kitchen. They cooed and fussed over Jamie. “My son Jonathan broke his arm once in just the same way,” Lady Thorton said. “When you fall from a height, never try to catch yourself. Pull your arms in, take it on your shoulder, and roll.”

  Jamie stared at her. Lady Thorton said, “I’m sure you’ll remember next time.”

  I said, “He can’t climb trees if he’s going to fall.”

  “Nonsense,” said Lady Thorton. “All boys climb trees.”

  The Thortons had brought over some stew their housekeeper had made, and brewed tea, a whole strong fresh pot.

  “I had to boil the water in a tin pan,” Lady Thorton said. “I couldn’t find a kettle. I thought this place was better stocked.”

  “It’s very nice,” Susan said. “Believe me, we’re grateful.”

  Lady Thorton shrugged. “Silly to have it sit empty when you needed shelter.”

  Jamie wasn’t hungry. Susan took him upstairs. I sat down beside Maggie at the table. “This wasn’t the day any of us were expecting,” Lady Thorton said. “Ada, I’d originally come to see your foot.”

  I’d been happy to show it to Maggie, but not Lady Thorton.

  “No, thank you,” I said.

  Her smile stiffened. “Don’t be silly.”

  I wasn’t being silly. I’d hidden that foot my entire life.

  Lady Thorton didn’t like being refused. Her whole face said so. “Mum—” said Maggie.

  “Come now.” Lady Thorton tapped her fingers on the table. “I’ve taken an interest in you, Ada. I want to see how you’re progressing. Show me.”

  Taken an interest sounded a lot like paid for your surgery. I knew I didn’t have a choice. I unbuckled my shoe and removed it. I took hold of my stocking. My breath felt tight. My fingers trembled. I peeled off my stocking, pushed my foot forward, and looked at the floor.

  “Hmm.” Lady Thorton leaned close. She stretched out her hand as though she might touch me. I scooted my foot away. “They seem to have made a good job of it,” Lady Thorton said. “How does it feel?”

  “Fine.” I could barely force out the word.

  “Wonderful,” Lady Thorton said. “I’m very happy for you.”

  I was not happy. Mam’s voice echoed inside my head. Nice people hate that ugly foot.

  Lady Thorton wasn’t nice. She was fierce. She was nosy. She always got her way.

  She had brought us dinner and put her own coat over Jamie. She had paid for my surgery. I knew I had to be grateful, but I didn’t have to like it.

  Chapter 10

  Susan insisted I lie down in my own bed. She set her alarm clock so she could check on Jamie throughout the night.

  I couldn’t sleep. My muscles twitched. Pictures flashed through my head, of Jamie sprawled on the ground, of Stephen’s pale anguished face, of Mam, of Mam, of Mam.

  Mam was dead. She couldn’t hurt us.

  I couldn’t forget her.

  Eventually I took my pillow and a blanket and crept into Jamie’s room. He was sleeping with his head propped on two pillows, his mouth open, snoring slightly. Bovril snored beside him, tucked under the covers too.

  I wrapped myself in the blanket and lay down on the floor. I couldn’t see Jamie, but I could listen to him breathe.

  I was still awake when Susan tripped over me in the dark. “Ada, go back to bed,” she said. “I told you. I’ll take care of him.”

  “It’s my job to take care of him. Not yours.”

  “Not actually,” Susan said. “Not anymore. Go to bed.” She tried to hoist me up, but I made myself boneless and limp and slithered back to the ground. “Oh, very well,” she said. “Stay where you are. But go to sleep. I’ll take care of him.”

  I slept some. I woke each time Susan’s alarm went off. I watched each time Susan shook Jamie awake and talked to him to be sure his brain was working.

  She kissed his forehead.

  He called her Mummy.

  The next morning Jamie was tired and grouchy but definitely still alive. He stepped on me when he climbed out of bed. “Why’re you on my floor?” he asked, scowling.

  “I was taking care of you.”

  “No, you weren’t.” He stalked off to the bathroom.

  • • •

  “Yesterday I thought it was the Germans,” I said to Susan downstairs. “When Jamie screamed. I thought the Germans had invaded.”

  She nodded. “I understand. But I think the invasion’s off, at least for the winter. That’s what people are saying. Because of the Battle of Britain—because we won.”

  The Battle of Britain was when all the pilots died. It was when the village children went away.

  Susan looked into the teapot. She sighed. “Quite a bit left over from yesterday,” she said. “Can’t waste it.” She drained the tea off the leaves into a pan and set it to warm on the stove. I shuddered. I hated warmed-over tea. “Oatmeal?” Susan asked.

  I nodded. I could hear Jamie singing to himself as he walked down the stairs. He sounded fine. Not frightened. Not even hurt very much.

>   Susan came up beside me. “Ada, what you said, last night—”

  I knew instantly what she meant. “It is too my job to take care of Jamie,” I said. “It will always be my job to take care of him.”

  Susan sat down at the table. She patted the chair beside her until I sat too.

  “You will always be Jamie’s big sister,” she said. “You’ve done a very good job taking care of him. But now it’s my job to take care of both of you. It will always be my job. Let me do it. I’m the grown-up. You get to be the child.”

  As though Susan could just take over, manage everything—

  “What would you have done,” Susan continued, “if when you woke Jamie up, he sounded confused?”

  “I’d have shaken him,” I said. “I’d have yelled at him until he made sense.”

  “What if that didn’t work?” Susan shook her head at me. “Would you really have gotten angry at Jamie because of something he couldn’t do? That doesn’t sound like you.”

  “Not angry—”

  “So what would you do?”

  I didn’t know. I hadn’t listened to everything Dr. Graham said about Jamie’s concussion. I’d been too worried about his arm. I’d always known how to take care of Jamie before.

  “I knew what to do,” Susan said. “I made sure I woke him up as often as I needed to. If he needed it, I would have gotten him proper care.” She looked at me steadily. “The same as I get you proper care.”

  I hadn’t put my shoes on yet. I flexed the toes on my right foot. My toes that faced forward, after all this time.

  “Breathe,” Susan said.

  I breathed. In. Out. I said, “Will Jamie end up—will he—you know—”

  She waited.

  I said, “Will his arm be crippled?”

  “No,” Susan said.

  I swallowed.

  She said, “In a few weeks he’ll be completely fine.” Susan touched my shoulder, lightly, the way she did when she was trying to make me come back from in my head far away. “Just as you would have been fine, if you’d had proper medical care when you were a baby.”

  Of all the things I hated my mother for, that was the worst. That I could have had a regular foot all along.

  Susan got up to pour us some tea. I sipped it. Horrible bitter stuff. I said, “I have so much to learn.”

  “We all do,” Susan said. “We never stop learning.”

  It was nice of her to say that. I knew it wasn’t true.

  Jamie came into the kitchen. “I’m hungry,” he said. “Can I have double oatmeal?”

  “Yes,” said Susan. “Just a minute now.” She got up and gave the oatmeal a stir.

  “Can I have lots of sugar on it?” asked Jamie.

  “No,” said Susan.

  “But I’m very hurt and very hungry.” Jamie looked up at her through his long eyelashes. “I banged my head and broke my arm.”

  Even I could see he looked perfectly normal.

  “You can have all the oatmeal you want,” Susan said, “and no sugar at all. I have plans for the sugar.” She bent down and gave him a kiss.

  A kiss just out of nowhere.

  These things were so easy for Jamie.

  “You’ll spend today being quiet and still,” Susan told him. “You will take naps. If you feel well enough we’ll still go to church tomorrow night.” Tomorrow was Christmas Eve.

  “I thought you were dead,” I said. Jamie stared at me. “When you were laying there. I thought you were dead and I’d die too.”

  Jamie said, “Why would you die? You didn’t fall.”

  I swallowed. Couldn’t speak.

  “It was very scary,” Susan said. “But everything’s fine.”

  I shook my head. Bombs fell from the sky. Boys fell from trees. Anything might happen. Anytime.

  • • •

  Susan made Jamie a nest of blankets and pillows on the cottage’s dingy sofa. She read eight chapters of Swiss Family Robinson. I sat in front of the fire and practiced breathing, in and out, to keep myself calm. “Are there any books with dragons in them?” I asked when Susan paused.

  “There are,” she said. “St. George, the patron saint of England, is said to have killed a dragon. I’m sure there must be stories written about him. I’ll see if I can find us some.”

  • • •

  In the afternoon while Jamie slept, I went out alone and cut down a tiny scraggily fir tree with an ax Fred lent me. I dragged it into the house and propped it near the fireplace. It looked pathetic. Susan’s old lights and ornaments had blown up, and there weren’t any new ones to buy. We couldn’t even find colored paper to make our own decorations.

  “It’s a war tree,” Susan said. She hung a few bright buttons on it, and a feather I found in the yard. “A wartime Christmas.”

  Last Christmas I’d been so flooded by bad memories. I said, “Jamie and I don’t need Christmas. We’re used to not having Christmas.”

  “I know,” Susan said. “But I love Christmas. I want a happy one, and I want to share it with you.”

  I didn’t want Susan to expect me to feel happy. I didn’t want to disappoint her. I didn’t want to embarrass myself at the Thortons’ house. The closer it got to Christmas, the more I just wanted to forget the whole thing.

  • • •

  On Christmas Eve, at night, we went to church, the way we’d planned to the year before. I didn’t have a fancy dress. Susan couldn’t make me one this year, not without a sewing machine, and the dresses she’d bought me while I was in hospital were ordinary. So that was good. Susan insisted on tying a ribbon in my hair. When she wasn’t looking I pulled it out.

  “It’s just church,” Susan said. “You’ll be fine.”

  • • •

  Inside, the church smelled like spice and candle wax and wet wool. Near the altar, a set of wooden dolls sat inside a little pretend stable, with statues of sheep and cows. “It’s called a Nativity set,” Susan said. “Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus.”

  “No horses,” I said.

  “Not in Bethlehem,” said Susan. “Donkeys.”

  Why not horses? I felt cranky, but then Susan opened a hymnal and passed it to me, and I could read the hymn! I could read the words quickly enough that for the first time I could actually sing along. The tune wasn’t hard either.

  I was standing on two feet, without crutches, wearing two shoes. I could read and I could sing. I had walked to church even though it was a long way. I needed to remember that. I tried to force myself to feel happy, but underneath the happiness I felt prickly, like my skin was stretched too tight all over. I might not be a cripple, but I didn’t know who I was.

  • • •

  At home Susan made us hang our stockings and chivvied us off to bed. In the morning my stocking bulged with something I never expected, or wanted at all.

  Chapter 11

  It was a doll. A soft, squishy rag doll with embroidered eyes and a permanent smile. It had long brown hair tied back in plaits, like mine, and little green ribbons like the one Susan had given me. It wore a green dress and tiny cloth shoes.

  I stared at it. I said, “I’m not a baby.”

  Susan replied, very quietly, “I made it for you.”

  I knew that was nice of her. I knew I should say thank you. But I really, really didn’t want a doll. “Stephen White’s sisters had dolls,” I said. I could hear my voice rising. “All the girls on our lane had dolls.” I used to watch them out my window playing on the stoop.

  I thrust the doll back at Susan. “Not me.”

  “We can make up for that,” Susan said.

  “No.” What would I do with a doll? Dress it and talk to it and pretend I’d been like the little girls on our lane? The girls who grew up with friends and kind mothers and two good feet?

  I’d told myself over
and over that I was not going to lose control this Christmas. I was not going to thrash and scream. Now I could feel anger and panic building. I didn’t know what to do. I stared at Susan.

  She stuffed the doll into the pocket of her dressing gown. “Go outdoors,” she said, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me toward the door. “Run around the house a few times. Fast as you can. Go.”

  Jamie said, “Mummy made me a stuffed cat. Look!”

  Susan moved him aside. “Ada needs to blow off steam.”

  I went out without putting on my coat. I ran through the frozen grass, the frosty air burning my lungs, until I started to sweat despite the cold. My right foot ached, but Susan was right. I felt better.

  • • •

  I’d knitted Christmas presents while I was in hospital. For both Susan and Jamie, I’d made mittens out of bright red yarn. I was proud of them—they didn’t have any holes, and you could tell the right mittens from the left ones—but when we got ready to go to Thorton House, I could see how their garish color clashed with Susan’s dark green winter coat and navy wool hat. “You don’t have to wear those,” I said.

  “I like them,” Susan said. “They’re pretty, and they’ll keep my hands warm.”

  Before her house got bombed Susan had nice leather gloves.

  I might have chosen a better color for my mittens, if I’d been able to choose the yarn myself, if there’d been lots of yarn to choose from in the shops, which probably there wasn’t.

  I scowled.

  The closer we got to Thorton House the harder it was to breathe. “Relax,” Susan said. “They’re our friends.” She held a small cake she’d made as our gift to the Thortons. It had taken most of our remaining sugar ration for the month. We climbed the stone steps to the massive front door.

  “Ada, if you need to calm down,” Susan said, “just say ‘excuse me,’ and you and Maggie can take a walk. Go down to the stables and visit Butter.”

  I nodded.

  The door swung open before we could knock. Lord Thorton, dressed in some sort of fancy war uniform, stood in front of us holding out his hand.

  I’d seen him once at a distance, but never up close. He was enormous—not fat but so tall and broad he filled the doorway. “Welcome,” he said in a deep, solemn voice.