The Sky is Falling (18 page)

W
HEN PAIGE AND BERNARD
met on Monday, they took to each other at once. The two were so different that they filled in each other's gaps: Paige's loud and lively nature was balanced by Bernard's thoughtful calm. Norah fit neatly in between, like the filling in a sandwich.

The three of them met almost every day after school and every weekend, sometimes at the library and more often at Paige's. This was easy to arrange because Norah was allowed to go to the Worsleys' whenever she wanted. They called Bernard “Albert”, his middle name, and said Paige had met him at the library—which was the truth, of course.

Mr. and Mrs. Worsley accepted “Albert” as easily as they did everything their daughters did and only interrupted their long afternoons of play to suggest snacks. Norah thought Paige's parents were practically perfect.
The only conflict Paige had with them was about clothes. Lined up in her wardrobe was a long row of dresses that matched her sisters'.

“When I'm thirteen I won't have to look like Barbara and Daphne any more.” She sighed. “That's still so far away. It's such a trial, but it amuses Mother. You'd think we were the Quints!”

“Who?”

“The Dionne Quintuplets.” Now Norah remembered her mother mentioning them.

“We went to see them once,” said Paige. “We drove up north and lined up for hours, then we went through a kind of tunnel and watched them through a screen. They were riding around on five tricycles. It was really weird, like looking at animals in a zoo.”

“Are they really exactly alike?”

“Exactly. Like five Daphnes—yeech!”

Dressing alike seemed a small price to pay for belonging to such a happy-go-lucky family. If only she and Gavin had been sent
here
to live! Norah spent as much time as she could at the Worsleys'. So did Bernard; he told her he liked going there instead of to the empty house he came home to almost every day.

Paige had come over to the Ogilvies' a few times, but it was hard to think of something to do in their silent house. And they all preferred to play outside, either in the ravine or in the Worsleys' large backyard. Paige thought of a new, elaborate game each week. They played at being Captain Marvel, Knights of the Round Table and all the
characters in
The Wizard of Oz
. They tried to train Thistle to be as obedient as Toto, but the stubborn little dog was as rowdy as his owners. At first Norah wondered if Bernard would think he was too old for pretending, but he joined in.

It was Norah who made up the game of Spitfires and Messerschmitts, but both she and Bernard insisted upon being RAF pilots.

“There's no way I'm being a Nazi,” said Bernard quietly.

“It's only a game,” said Paige. “Okay,
I'll
fly a Messerschmitt—so will Barbara.”

It
was
only a game, thought Norah as they roared around machine gunning each other. It didn't really matter which side she was on. But she thought of Tom and proudly piloted her imaginary Spitfire. Then she roared even louder to drown out the painful thoughts of what he and the other Skywatchers would be doing.

Sometimes they went exploring on bicycles, when they could persuade Barbara to lend hers to Norah. It was too small, and her legs became cramped from being bent in the same position. She thought longingly of her own bicycle. Would it be rusted by the time she got back to Ringden?

“If only you had a proper bike, we could go all the way to the beach,” complained Paige. “Couldn't you ask for one for Christmas?”

Ask Aunt Florence for something as expensive and important as a bicycle? It was impossible. Norah was sure
that Aunt Florence would never approve of her having one anyway, not if she suspected how free it would make Norah. Once the three of them had even ventured downtown, carefully avoiding cars and the treacherous streetcar tracks.

“C
OME RIGHT HOME
from school today, Norah,” said Aunt Florence one Thursday. “A social worker is coming to see how you're getting along.”

Reluctantly, Norah told Paige by telephone and Bernard at recess that she couldn't meet them. After school she was made to wash and put on clean white socks. Then she and Gavin were brought into the living room and introduced to Mrs. Moore, a merry, round woman in a tight dress that was popping its buttons. Around her were the remains of tea; she must have already spoken to the Ogilvies. Aunt Florence left Norah and Gavin alone with her.

“Well!” she began, a bit too cheerfully. “Aren't you lucky to have come to such a luxurious home! Are you happy living here? Is there anything you'd like to tell me?”

If she had been asked this a few weeks ago, Norah might have unloaded the burden of her misery and homesickness. Now she was filled with confusion.

She only used the Ogilvies' house for sleeping, eating and reading. She still wet the bed almost every night and, most of all, she still wanted to go home. But if she said these things they might send her to another family—then she would lose Bernard and Paige.

“I have a smashing room,” she said, trying to be as truthful as possible, “and Hanny is a very good cook. And I've made two friends,” she added proudly.

The woman laughed. “Two friends already! Well done! And how are you getting along at school?”

“Fine.” She could only lie about that. Even with Bernard as an ally, school was as lonely as ever.

“That's good. And I can tell Gavin is thriving here—look at those rosy cheeks! I'm sure that next year he'll be strong enough for school.” Gavin sat quietly, stroking his elephant.

He was
too
quiet, these days, Norah thought uncomfortably. It probably wasn't good for him to spend so much time following Aunt Florence in and out of stores. He was often left alone, as well—sometimes when she came in he was playing by himself in the hall. She remembered him saying he wanted to go to school. She could tell Mrs. Moore that he should go there now—and that he always had rosy cheeks. But she remembered again that then she'd have to take care of him. It would be a waste of her precious after-school time to have to bring Gavin home every day.

Mrs. Moore passed them the cake and nibbled on a huge piece herself. “The Ogilvies' cook
is
excellent,” she said. “This is delicious! I think we can assume that this home was a good match for you two. You seem to have adjusted very well. Are you looking forward to our Canadian winter? You'll find our weather much colder than yours. We have
snow
here—you'll love it!”

“But we have snow,” said Norah. “Last winter there was so much that the roads were blocked and all the stores were closed. It was so cold that some birds were frozen to the branches.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Moore looked disappointed. Then she brightened. “Is there anything at all I can do for you? Anything you need?”

Could Mrs. Moore get her a bicycle? Would she pay for it, so she wouldn't have to ask Aunt Florence? Norah knew she wouldn't. She shook her head and said politely, “No thank you, there's nothing we need.”

Mrs. Moore spoke privately to the Ogilvies again. After she left, Aunt Florence looked relieved. “I'm glad you didn't find anything to complain about, Norah,” she said awkwardly.

“You
are
happier, aren't you?” Aunt Mary's face was so pleading that it was for her that Norah answered. “Yes, thank you. May I go over to Paige's now?”

18

The Witches Are Out

T
owards the end of October, the last of the leaves blew off the trees and the weather became colder; one morning there was even an icing of snow on the ground. Norah's bare legs tingled when she came in, and she puffed on the tops of her fingers to warm them. Mum had sent the long knitted leggings Norah wore last winter under her skirts, but none of the Canadian girls seemed to wear them, so she left them in her drawer.

Then Aunt Florence took her and Gavin to Simpson's to buy them winter clothes. They picked out two-piece snowsuits, close-fitting hats called toques, wool scarves and mitts, and buckled rubber galoshes lined with fleece. There were knee-length britches for Gavin and, for Norah, itchy wool stockings that were held up by complicated garters.

Aunt Florence wanted to buy Norah a new party dress as well. “You can have your choice of any of these,” she said grandly.

Norah looked curiously at the bright dresses hanging in the girls' department. She'd never had a store-bought
dress; she usually wore hand-me-downs from her sisters. She thought of how the Viyella dress chafed her armpits. But she'd already accepted enough of Aunt Florence's charity; she could ask her mother to make her a new dress.

“No, thank you.”

“You're being very stubborn, you know. I
like
buying you things.”

Did she? Or did she just want Norah to look respectable … Norah couldn't decide. And she had more important things to think about than clothes: in two days it would be Hallowe'en.

“What's Hallowe'en?” she had asked when Paige and Bernard had gone on about it.

“Don't you
know
?” They interrupted each other in their eagerness to tell Norah about dressing up and going out at night to collect treats from the neighbourhood.

“Isn't there Hallowe'en in England?” asked Bernard.

“I'm not sure—not where I live, anyway. But in November we have Bonfire Night.”

“What's that?”

“It's for Guy Fawkes Day. We make a Guy—like a big rag doll—out of old clothes, and we put him in a wagon and take him through the village for a few days, calling ‘a penny for the guy.' Then we use the money to buy fireworks. We stuff the Guy with the fireworks and burn him in a huge bonfire on the green—everyone dances around it. Except last year we weren't allowed to have one because of the black-out.”

They wouldn't be able to this year, either, she thought sadly. But Hallowe'en sounded just as thrilling. She joined in the excited plans about costumes.

“We could be Guys!” suggested Paige. “Aren't they sort of like tramps? All we'd have to do would be to wear old clothes—you could ask the Ogilvies for some, Norah.”

Norah wondered if she would be allowed to participate in such lawless-sounding activities. Aunt Florence, however, seemed to approve of Hallowe'en. She had bought Gavin a fancy clown suit trimmed with yards of orange and green ruffles. A bright orange wig went with it. After dinner on Hallowe'en night, she painted Gavin's face with rouge and white make-up.

“Doesn't he look precious, Mary?” Aunt Florence held Gavin out at arm's length, then kissed him. “Now I'll take your picture and send it to your parents. Come along, Norah, you get in it too.”

Aunt Mary had helped Norah find some old clothes. She wore a pair of Hugh's tattered fishing pants, a shapeless shirt and Mr. Ogilvie's felt hat. With glee at being allowed to be so messy, she'd daubed her face and hands with a burnt cork.

“Don't stand too close to Gavin,” warned Aunt Florence. “You might get him dirty.” She focused the camera on them. “There!”

Norah blinked from the flash as the front door knocker sounded. Into the hall walked another tramp, a witch and a black cat with a bedraggled tail: Paige, Barbara and Daphne.

“I want you back by nine o'clock, Norah,” said Aunt Florence. “I'll lend you my watch. Do you have rules about where you're allowed to go, Paige?”

“Yes, Mrs. Ogilvie,” said Paige politely. “We aren't allowed to cross Yonge Street.” She winked at Norah when Aunt Florence's back was turned.

“Let's go, then, Gavin.” Aunt Florence was planning to drive him around to all her friends' houses. His cheerful wig and make-up were a sharp contrast to his doleful expression. He turned to Norah and said plaintively, “Can't I come with you, instead?”

“You're too young,” muttered Norah.

“Of course not, sweetness,” agreed Aunt Florence. “You'd have trouble trying to keep up.”

“Why can't he?” asked Paige. “We'll take care of him.”

“Thank you, Paige, but I don't think he'd enjoy it.” Gavin looked back longingly as Aunt Florence led him away.

Norah was surprised he wanted to come; she thought he was afraid of the Worsleys. But she forgot his hurt face when they went out into the street. Shadowy figures hurried past them in the darkness: ghosts, cowboys, pilots, soldiers and pirates. A spooky breeze swirled dead leaves around their feet. They met Bernard, as planned, at the corner. He made an odd-looking tramp in his glasses.

“Shell out! Shell out! The witches are out!”
The thin cry echoed around them as gangs of purposeful children tramped up the steps of houses lit with leering pumpkin faces.

In school they had been asked to collect pennies instead of candy for the war effort, but they carried pillowcases along with their milk bottles. At almost every door they received a treat as well as a donation.

Paige refused to ask for money. “It's not fair. I've already collected the most bottle caps in my class for the Red Cross. Tonight's supposed to be
our
night! If they don't give us any candy, we'll play tricks on them.”

“Like what?” asked Norah.

“Like soaping their windows or taking off their gates or filling their mailboxes with horse buns,” said Paige. “At least, that's what the older kids do. I've never actually done a trick—but that doesn't mean I wouldn't.”

They crossed Yonge Street to cover Bernard's neighbourhood as well. On one corner Charlie and his friends were noisily overturning garbage cans. They watched from a distance, careful to stay far enough away to run. Then they dared one another to ring the bell of an unlit old house. Daphne was the only one brave enough, but no one answered.

“Hello, Norah!” Norah jumped as a white gloved hand tapped her shoulder. It was Dulcie, in a lacy dress and jewels. Her face was thick with make-up.