The Sky is Falling (23 page)

Gavin smiled. He liked his sailor suit because it had a whistle.

Aunt Mary dropped them off at the Royal York Hotel, where the party was being held. It was the same towering building where Norah and Gavin had sheltered on the day they ran away; Aunt Mary told them it was the largest hotel in the Empire. A woman conducted them into a huge ballroom milling with dressed-up children. Norah held Gavin's hand as they stood amidst the shrill voices.

“Why, it's Norah and Gavin!” Miss Carmichael rushed up and kissed them. “Don't you both look well! You've put on weight—our Canadian food must be agreeing with you. What a lovely dress, Norah! Are you all settled in now? Do you like your school?”

“Yes, thank you.” Norah answered all her questions politely and Gavin began to tell her about grade one. Miss Carmichael was
kind,
Norah realized. She had been kind at the residence too, but Norah had been too miserable to notice. That confusing week seemed a long time ago.

“You're losing some of your accent, Gavin,” said Miss Carmichael. “By the time you go back to England you'll sound like a Canadian! Yours is changing too, Norah.”

Surely it wasn't. Norah didn't want to lose her accent. It wasn't fair that it could happen without her consent.

Dulcie and Lucy found them and they all made their way to the food. “Derek wouldn't come,” said Dulcie. “He says he's too old for a children's party and that he's a Canadian now, not a war guest. I love your dress, Norah.”

Norah was confused. She didn't want to be a Canadian
or
a war guest; she just wanted to be herself. But the long tables of food distracted her. They were piled with Christmas cake, punch, cookies and dishes of candy. Norah had to stop Gavin from stuffing his pockets. She recognized some children from the SS
Zandwort
and they stood in a circle and compared their new families.

“We have a dog!” boasted Johnnie.

“I live with my aunt and uncle in a small town outside Toronto,” said Margery. “I have my own chickens and I sell the eggs.”

For a second Norah envied her; it would have been nice to have been sent somewhere that was more like home. But then she wouldn't be with the Ogilvies. That would seem strange, she was so used to them now.

Seeing some of the children from the ship made her wonder how Jamie was; she'd forgotten all about him.

“Aren't you excited about Christmas, Norah?” Dulcie asked her. “We're going to a pantomime at the Royal Alexandra Theatre. Aunt Dorothy is going to ask you, too.” Norah didn't want to disillusion Dulcie by telling her that Canadian Christmas wasn't going to be the same.

A man called for silence and introduced their host. Everyone cheered and clapped and one of the older British girls gave a short speech of thanks. “We are all touched and grateful at how the Canadians have welcomed us into their homes,” she said. “Let's show our appreciation, everyone.”

There was more clapping and one of the adults began to sing “There'll always be an England.” Norah groaned, but halfway through the song she joined in. Everything at this party was as it had been at the beginning: all of them crowded into a room with speeches and singing. But it didn't bother her any more; somehow it didn't seem important enough to worry about.

“It wasn't too bad,” she admitted to Aunt Florence on the way home. But she was glad it was over.

“It was super!” said Gavin through a mouthful of fudge. “I'm glad we're war guests.”

“I'm not!” blurted out Norah, forgetting to be grateful. Aunt Florence glanced at her. “Sending you away must have been a terrible decision for your parents to make. But since they did, I'm happy it was our home you came to.”

A
T SCHOOL
everyone was getting so excited about the holidays that for the first time Miss Liers had trouble keeping order. She tried to get them to sing a carol every morning, but they kept changing the words to “While shepherds washed their socks by night” and “Good King Wenceslas looked out / In his pink pyjamas.”

“That's enough! We won't have
any
singing, if you're going to act so silly!” She slammed down the piano lid. Norah shared in the suppressed giggles of the class. Poor Miss Liers—she never seemed to want to have any fun.

One afternoon, when Norah went as usual to pick up Gavin at his classroom, some other British children were standing around the grade one and two cloakroom, looking doleful. Lucy was crying and Dulcie was trying to comfort her. “We didn't get the
presents
…” she wailed.

“What happened?” Norah asked. Gavin and Lucy tried to explain.

After lunch a film crew had arrived at Prince Edward School to make a movie of all the kindergarten to grade two war guests. They were going to send it to England so their parents could see their children having a happy Christmas in Canada.

“He took us into the gym and there was a huge Christmas tree,” sniffed Lucy. “There were all sorts of presents underneath.”

“The man said they were just empty boxes,” said Gavin solemnly. “He said we had to open them and pretend they were presents, because it was just a game for the movie.”

“But they weren't empty at all!” said Lucy. “There were dolls and games and I got a music box that played ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow'.” She began to cry again. “But at the end of the movie we had to give them back. He said all the toys belonged to his children!”

“Never mind,” said Dulcie. “Soon it will really be Christmas and you'll have presents you can keep.”

Norah wondered if her parents would see the movie. She had never known that being evacuees would involve so much attention—applauding crowds, newspaper photographs, broadcasts from the princesses and now a movie.

The next week there was another radio message, one far more personal than the one from Princess Elizabeth. “I have a wonderful surprise for you, Norah and Gavin,” bubbled Aunt Mary. “The CBC is sending messages to Canada from your parents. They can't give us an exact time, but after school today you might hear their voices!”

Norah couldn't believe it, not until they all crowded around the radio that afternoon. Out of the shiny wooden case came faint British voices, full of longing: “Keep your chin up, Tim … We miss you, Kathleen and David … Happy Christmas, Margaret …” Before each message, the announcer said the family's name.

As the broadcast went on, Norah's throat constricted with fear. She thought of her terrible dream. Ever since she'd had it, she had waited even more avidly than before for letters from her family to make sure that they were all right. But she hadn't had one for two weeks. If
she didn't hear her parents' voices now, the worst might have happened.

But then the announcer said, “And now we have a message for Norah and Gavin Stoakes, who are staying with the Ogilvies in Toronto.”

Mum's light voice filled the quiet room. “Hello, Norah and Gavin. We want you to know that we miss you and love you.” She wavered at the end.

“Dad here. Have a very happy Christmas. Everyone is fine and Grandad and the girls send their love.”

That was all.

Gavin had frozen as soon as he heard his mother. When the message was over his mouth hung open for a second; then he began to babble. “That was Muv and Dad! Did you hear that, Norah? Did you, Aunt Florence? That was my
muv
!” He looked at Aunt Florence doubtfully and pulled Creature out of his pocket. On his face was the same bewildered expression he'd had when he first left home.

“You poor little boy …” began Aunt Mary, but her mother gave her a sharp glance.

“I did hear them, Gavin,” she said. “Didn't they sound close? Now you come with me and we'll have a nice story about Pooh.” She led him out of the room.

They had sounded
too
close, thought Norah. It made it all the harder to accept that they were so far away. How could their voices come all the way across the ocean? She wondered where they'd gone to send their messages—to London? Mum would have got all dressed up in her grey
suit and Dad would pretend he wasn't nervous. And Grandad would bluster about being left behind.

“O-oh tidings of co-omfort and joy,” sang a choir at the end of the broadcast. It
had
been a kind of comfort, to hear their familiar voices. At least she knew they were safe. But it wasn't a joy. She would only feel joy if she could be with them for Christmas.

“Are you all right, Norah?” asked Aunt Mary. She took out the cribbage board. “Shall we have a game?”

Norah was good at cribbage now. She let herself think only of her peg drawing ahead of Aunt Mary's.

O
N CHRISTMAS EVE AFTERNOON
Norah helped Aunt Mary balance Christmas cards on top of picture frames. They were waiting for the “Drummond clan,” as Aunt Florence called it, to arrive; some of the Montreal cousins were driving down to stay for three days. Edith had spent the whole morning complaining and making up beds in the spare rooms. Three great-nieces were to sleep on cots and the extra bed in Norah's tower. She tried not to worry about what they would be like.

She had never seen so many cards. At home her parents got just enough to fill the mantlepiece, but dozens and dozens had arrived at the Ogilvies.

“You must know a lot of people,” she said to Aunt Mary.

“Well, the Drummonds and Ogilvies are both very large families and since Mother is the oldest, all the friends of the family send cards to her. We're never able to
get them all up. And the trouble with getting so many is the number we have to send.”

Norah had seen Aunt Florence's special notebook, with long lists of names and ticks for sending and receiving cards. Some names got crossed off, and some added; it was like an elaborate game.

She had received five Christmas cards herself. There was one from her principal and joint ones to her and Gavin from Joey's mother and Mrs. Curteis. Another was from Molly. She said she was sorry Norah had been evacuated too, but she hoped she was having a good time in Canada. “Wales is very wet,” she wrote. “Sometimes I get homesick, but Mother and Dad are coming here for Christmas.”

The last card had an English robin on the front. It said:

Dear Norah,

The dogfights have stopped so I guess the Battle of Britain is over. Now there are bombs in London instead. We don't have the Skywatchers any more. I have the most shrapnel in the village. When are you coming back?

Your friend,

Tom

Both of these cards were so unsettling that Norah put them on her windowsill without reading them again. Molly and Tom and her other friends at home seemed like people in another life.

“There!” Aunt Mary stepped down from her stool. “I think we're finally ready.”

Norah followed her glance around the living room. Every picture had cards stuck on top and large bunches of holly stood in silver bowls on the tables. In one corner was the largest Christmas tree Norah had ever seen, making the room smell like a forest.

“Turn the lights on, Norah,” said Aunt Mary. “They should be here any moment. I'll go and help Hanny get things ready.”

Norah plugged in the tree. She and Gavin had helped decorate it with fragile glass balls, crocheted snowflakes and lights that bubbled. As the lights heated up, the balls swayed gently. On the top branch perched an angel with gauzy wings.

It was certainly a beautiful tree … but Norah thought of another one, the little tree that Dad cut down in Stumble Wood each year and set on a table in the front room. There were no strings of lights, but the tinsel on it sparkled in the light coming through the window. She remembered making paper chains; opening a new package of coloured paper that sometimes included a few silver or even gold strips and the whole family sitting around the kitchen table pasting the strips into circles. They hung the chains in garlands from corner to corner in all the rooms; Dad's head would brush against them. Last of all they hung the mistletoe from the front door and everyone who visited was trapped under it and kissed, accompanied by shrieks of laughter …

Norah blinked hard and looked at the Ogilvies' tree again. Presents were piled so high under it that its lower branches were hidden. More were beside it against the wall. Many of the presents had her and Gavin's names on them. One large parcel was wrapped in brown paper and string. It looked plain beside the fancy paper of the rest, but it said “To Norah from Mum and Dad”. She was going to open that one first.

A faint stirring of excitement rose in Norah. She bent to rattle her parents' present. Then the door knocker sounded and she quickly dropped the parcel.

“Merry Christmas!” cried voices in the hall. “Aunt Florence! Aunt Mary! And who's this cute kid? You must be Gavin.”

A crowd of people swarmed into the living room, bearing even more presents. Norah stepped back as they kept pouring in. All of them had loud ringing voices and a purposeful bearing. A whole roomful of people related to the Ogilvies was too much to take in.

“And this is Norah, our other war guest,” said Aunt Florence. She looked proud and put her arm across Norah's shoulder as she introduced her. Norah drew strength from its warmth as she said “How do you do” again and again.

After they had all sat down with their drinks, she began to sort them out. There were five adults and five children. Two little boys about Gavin's age would be sleeping in his room.

The three girls brought their ginger ale over to sit beside Norah. The eldest was Florence—Flo, she corrected
quickly. She was fourteen and her sister Janet was eleven. The other girl, Clare, was twelve. They chatted with an assurance that made Norah feel like a stranger again. After all, they were really family, not just guests.

Janet looked the nicest of the girls; she had a plain, broad face and laughed a lot. “I'm so excited, I think I might be sick!” she told Norah. “I usually am at Christmas.”