The Sky is Falling (14 page)

Norah listened to him with growing admiration, as he explained more about the countries he'd studied. He knew as much as a teacher. Miss Gleeson smiled at them when she returned; she didn't seem to mind them talking in a library.

Norah noticed the time. “I should go,” she whispered. “I have to be home by three-thirty so they won't suspect anything.” The two of them exchanged a conspiratorial look and walked out together.

Bernard gave her a ride on the back of his bicycle to her street. “Are you going to school on Monday?” he asked, as if Norah played truant whenever she felt like it.

“I suppose so. Miss Liers might not believe me if I stay away too long.” She remembered something and gulped. “Do you think, if she finds out, I'll get the Strap?” The grade fives were always whispering about the Strap. One day when Charlie had started a fight in the playground, he'd come back from Mr. Evans's office with red puffy hands.

“Only boys get the Strap,” Bernard assured her. “And I won't, because Mum will give me a note. She knows I have to have a break sometimes. Would you like to come over to my place tomorrow?”

“Sure!” said Norah, trying out some Canadian slang. “I'll have to ask, though.”

“Phone me in the morning and let me know.” He wrote down his number for her.

Norah skipped down the leafy street, her insides light and airy. Now she remembered how friendship sometimes happened—so quickly that, a little while after you'd met a person, you couldn't believe you hadn't always known each other. Just before she reached the Ogilvies' she remembered to retrieve her books from the ravine.

“May I go over to a friend's house tomorrow?” she asked at dinner.

“How nice, Norah!” smiled Aunt Mary. “I'm glad you've made a friend.”

But her mother frowned. “What's her last name?”

“It's a boy—Bernard Gunter.”

“Gunter? That's not a name I know. Is this boy in your class?”

“He's in grade six,” said Norah. “May I go?” Why did Aunt Florence have to make such a fuss over a simple request?

“I think you'd better have him over here first, then I'll decide. I'm sure your parents wouldn't want you associating with anyone unsuitable.”

“They would leave it up to me,” blurted out Norah before she could stop herself.

“Enough sauce, my girl! If you'd like to ask this Bernard over for lunch tomorrow, I'll ask Hanny to prepare something special. Then we can all meet him.”

Norah finished her dessert in deflated silence. All her elation over having a friend was spoiled. She was sure Bernard would never want to come to the Ogilvies' to be inspected like something from a store brought home on approval.

But to her surprise, he didn't seem to mind. “Mum says they live in a big house,” he said on the phone the next morning. “Sometimes she lets me come along to the places she works in—once I found a secret passage! How many rooms are there?”

Norah said she wasn't sure.

“Maybe we can count them,” said Bernard. “See you at noon.”

She felt better after he had hung up. Lunch was sure to be an ordeal, but it would pass quickly. Then, surely, Norah would be allowed to play with Bernard alone. She decided to show him her shrapnel.

Norah waited on the front steps for Bernard to arrive.

“This place is gigantic!” he exclaimed on the way in. He was very clean and tidy. His unruly hair was somewhat subdued with water, and his blue shirt looked freshly ironed. He was even wearing a tie.

He was also very polite. He said “please” and “thank you” in all the right places and chewed his macaroni in careful small mouthfuls.

“What does your father do, Bernard?” asked Aunt Florence.

Bernard swallowed before he answered. “My father died two years ago. He was a garbage collector.”

Aunt Florence gave a small cough as Aunt Mary said gently, “I'm sorry, Bernard. You must miss him.”

“Where do you live?” Aunt Florence asked next. “How does your mother manage on her own?” In five minutes she seemed to have found out everything she wanted to know. For the rest of the meal she sat in unusual silence.

Gavin shifted his chair closer and closer to Bernard's. “Do you want to come and see my rocking horse after lunch?” he asked eagerly.

“He wants to look at
my
things,” said Norah. “May we please be excused?” Gavin trailed after them, but Norah ignored his wistful look and shut the door of her room before he reached it.

For an hour she and Bernard examined the shrapnel and the old books. Bernard was properly impressed and wanted to know all about the Battle of Britain. He found an old geography book and asked if he could borrow it. “Let's try to count the rooms now,” he suggested.

“Not today,” said Norah uneasily. “We'd better just stay here.” She couldn't decide whether Aunt Florence had approved of Bernard or not. Her silence had been perplexing.

She found out the verdict at dinner. “Your young friend seems very well brought up,” said Aunt Florence. “Obviously his mother has absorbed the standards of the homes she works in. But I'm afraid I can't allow you to associate with him, Norah. His background is quite unsuitable—why, his mother works for my friend, Mrs. Fitzsimmons! It would just make him uncomfortable to mingle with a family like ours. And then there's his nationality. I don't know why I didn't realize at once that he was German.”

“He's Canadian!” cried Norah, throwing down her fork. “And what does it matter what his mother does? At home my friends' parents do all sorts of things!”

“Kindly lower your voice, Norah,” commanded Aunt Florence. “A small village is different than a large city—you can't be too careful.” Her voice became less harsh. “I'm doing this for your own good. You are part of this family now and it's my duty to take care of you.” She sighed. “You should really be going to Brackley Hall, where Mary went.”

Norah bristled. “I don't
want
to go to a snooty school! And I'm
not
part of your family! I didn't choose you and I wish I didn't live here!”

There was a shocked silence. Aunt Mary pressed her linen napkin to her lips and Gavin stared at Norah with round, frightened eyes.

Finally Aunt Florence spoke, her voice icy. “Might I remind you that we didn't have a choice either? If we had, I'm sure we would have picked a child who was grateful for the opportunity to live with a privileged family, instead of rude and inconsiderate. We have to put up with
you,
so you had better put up with us. I don't want you to have anything to do with Bernard. That's my decision, and I don't want to hear any more about it.”

Aunt Mary took a deep breath. “Mother, isn't that a little hard? He seemed like such a
nice
boy.”

“Mary, really! I think Norah had better miss dessert and go straight up to bed.” Aunt Florence looked as if she'd like to order her daughter to do the same.

Up in her room Norah tugged on her pyjamas violently, shaking away her angry tears. She glanced at the photograph of her family. Dad's eyes looked reproachful and she remembered his parting words: “If you're impolite or ungrateful, the Canadians will think that's what English children are like.” But he'd also said the people she'd be living with would be kind.

She picked up the photograph and shut her parents' faces into her top drawer. Aunt Florence was wrong. Norah couldn't and wouldn't obey her. Bernard would have to be a secret. She would just have to work out a way to see him without Aunt Florence knowing.

L
ATE THAT NIGHT
she woke up when she heard a noise on the second floor. It sounded like singing. She crept downstairs and saw a light on in Gavin's room.

Was he ill again? Norah tiptoed along the hall and listened outside his door. It was Aunt Florence who was singing, in a rich, tender voice.

Dance to your daddy,

My bonnie laddie.

Dance to your daddy,

My bonnie lamb.

You shall have a fishie

In a little dishie.

You shall have a fishie

When the boats come home.

“When will I see
my
dad?” asked Gavin. “And my muv….” He sounded as if he had been crying.

“As soon as the war is over, sweetness. But you're with me now, and I'll keep you safe. Is the nightmare all gone now? No more bogeyman? Lie down, then, and I'll sing to you again.”

Norah peeked in as the vibrant voice crooned. Aunt Florence was wearing a pink silk dressing gown that made her look soft in the dim light. She was stroking Gavin's hair and her expression was sad and yearning.

“Why are you angry with Norah?” asked Gavin sleepily. “You made her unhappy.”

“Your sister has to learn to control her temper,” said Aunt Florence stiffly. “But don't worry about Norah, sweetness. She's such a strong girl, I'm sure she's not that upset. Go to sleep, now.”

Norah slipped upstairs before Aunt Florence caught her. Gavin didn't
belong
to her, she thought angrily. And what a babyish song for a five-year-old. But she couldn't forget that look of longing. Perhaps Aunt Florence had once sung the song to Hugh.

15

News from England

N
orah stood beside her desk on Monday morning, her chest so heavy she could hardly breathe. Around her, the rest of the class mumbled their way through the Lord's Prayer and “God Save the King.” Miss Liers left the piano, returned to her desk and took the roll call.

Why did she have to have a last name so far along the alphabet? Norah sat on her hands to stop them from shaking and Dulcie looked over with surprise. If only Bernard were in her room, someone would understand her agony.

Finally Miss Liers called “Norah Stoakes” in her tight voice.

“Present, Miss Liers.”

The teacher raised her head. “You weren't here on Friday, Norah—did you bring a note?”

“I'm—I'm sorry, Miss Liers. At home we didn't need to bring a note when we were sick.”

Her voice was so strained, it must have sounded convincing. Miss Liers appeared to believe her. “Here you
do
need one,” she said coldly, “but we'll let it go today. Kindly remember next time you are ill.” She frowned at the rest of them. “That goes for the whole class. Far too many of you are forgetting.”

Norah slouched with relief. It was over, and she'd hardly had to lie. She knew she'd never play truant again. It was too nerve-racking. But now school would not be quite so bad, not when she had a friend to meet at recess.

She found Bernard at the flagpole, as they'd planned. They both looked around warily for Charlie, but he was at the other end of the schoolyard playing football.

Norah didn't know how to tell Bernard he couldn't come to the house again. “Aunt Florence says we're not allowed to see each other,” she blurted out awkwardly.

“My mother
said
she might not approve of me. That's why she made me get all dressed up.” Bernard's voice was nonchalant, but his eyes looked hurt. “Does this mean we can only meet at school?”

Norah shook her head, grinning. “I've thought of a place we can meet every day, and no one will ever know—the library!”

S
HE GOT A FORM
from Miss Gleeson that afternoon and took it home for Aunt Florence to sign. From then on, she was allowed to go to the library every day after school. It was a perfect solution, because it was almost legitimate. Norah
did
choose books every day and brought them home. Miss Gleeson had a knack of
knowing exactly what she would like and saved new ones for her. When Norah got home she went straight to her room and read until she had to join the Ogilvies in the den before dinner. She often read long into the night as well. No one ever checked on her after she'd been sent upstairs. In school she became sleepy and inattentive, but the work was easy enough that she didn't fall behind.

Aunt Florence seemed pleased that Norah had found an activity that kept her occupied and out of the way. Norah even heard her boast about it to one of the Sunday evening bridge players: “Norah's turned into a real book-worm,” she said, with surprising pride.

But Aunt Mary began watching her anxiously. “You're looking peaky, Norah. I think you spend too much time alone.”

What she didn't know, of course, was that Norah wasn't alone. She now took her lunch to school every day; after she gulped it down in the classroom, she and Bernard had half an hour to talk in the playground. It never took her long after school to choose her books. Then they had a whole hour to play.

Often they went to the ravine, descending into it well before they reached the Ogilvies', to be out of sight. They were building a fort under the bridge and carried down old scraps of lumber and cardboard. Bernard had invented a complicated method of making a roof by weaving thin branches together. It took a long time because the branches kept snapping.

The trees were changing colour rapidly and the air was as tart as new apples. Horse chestnuts littered the ground in their split green cases. They collected them to make conkers—Bernard called them bullies. At Bernard's place, they baked them hard in the oven, bore holes through them with Mrs. Gunter's meat skewer and threaded Bernard's skate laces through the holes.

But their beautifully tough conkers were wasted as they stood on the sidelines of the bully matches that now happened daily in the schoolyard. No one invited Norah and Bernard to compete. Instead, they had to be content with swinging at each other's.

Charlie and his gang seemed reluctant to beat up a girl, so Norah's presence protected Bernard. The boys still shouted “Hun” and “Limey” after them, but they ran away together and tried to laugh.