The War that Saved My Life (31 page)

“Probably not,” Susan said. “I asked.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes. “What’d we do, then?”

“Nobody will say for sure.”

I picked through the boiled potatoes on my plate. Susan had left the peels on, because peeling potatoes wasted food and we weren’t allowed to waste food in wartime. I didn’t like the peels. England had a lot of potatoes; we were supposed to eat them every day.

“Probably turned him,” Susan said. “Made him a double agent. That means the government would force him to send false messages back to Germany, with that transmitter of his.”

“They’d make him tell lies,” I said.

“Yes,” Susan said.

Jamie scowled. “I wouldn’t do that. If the Germans caught me—”

“I would,” I said. “If he doesn’t lie, they’ll shoot him. I’d lie if I had to.”

Now sometimes the German planes attacked in daylight. If they were far away Jamie and I stood in the field and watched them, shielding our eyes against the sun. The planes looked like swarms of insects buzzing in circles in the sky, until one plummeted, leaving a trail of smoke. From such a distance I couldn’t tell the English planes from the German ones, but Jamie could.

“One of ours,” he’d say, or, “One of theirs.”

Sometimes we could see the puff of a parachute opening, as a pilot bailed out. I always hoped for that puff, even when the plane was German.

Two of the pilots who had come for Christmas dinner had died. When Jamie found out, he cried himself to sleep. I thought of their faces, how they’d laughed and played with Jamie. Unlike Jamie, I hadn’t remembered their names. I’d been too upset, that day, about my green dress.

I understood why I’d been upset on Christmas. I’d felt overwhelmed; I really couldn’t help myself. But now, thinking back, it seemed a little silly to be unhappy about a dress when the pilots were dead. If I had it to do over, I would at least have learned their names.

England lost planes every day. Germany lost more. New planes flew into our airfield from the north of England. New pilots came straight from their training fields. They went up every day, and not all of them came back.

We had to win this battle, Susan said, or we would lose the war. On the radio Prime Minister Churchill said, “Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.” It meant the pilots were saving us all. It meant they were the only thing keeping the Germans away.

September came. I quit attracting so much attention in the village. A week ago British planes had attacked Berlin: The first time we’d taken the war onto German soil. Fred cackled in delight. “We’ll show ’em now.” A small piece of a damaged German plane had come down on the edge of one of Thorton’s wheat fields. Fred gave it to me to take to Jamie.

“How do you know it’s German?” I asked, turning the scrap of metal over in my hands.

“I saw the bugger,” Fred said. “He was heading back over the channel, trailing parts of his airplane as he went.”

It was bad training to let Butter run when he was close to home, but that day I did it. I felt so happy. The sun was warm, I couldn’t see planes or hear sirens, and Jamie would be so pleased to have the chunk of German plane. Butter galloped happily, his ears pricked. I’d been practicing my jumping all summer, and even though Fred hadn’t given me permission yet, I knew we were ready. Instead of slowing Butter for the pasture gate I turned him toward the stone wall, and urged him forward.

He flew it. We’d jumped the wall at last.

Across the field I could see Susan standing in the back garden with Jamie and an adult I didn’t know. I kicked Butter on, flying down the field. “Jamie!” I yelled. “I brought you a piece of a Messerschmidt!” I pulled Butter up and patted his neck, laughing. “Did you see us jump?” I asked Susan. “Did you?”

Then I recognized the woman standing beside her.

Mam.

Mam.

I didn’t know what to think. I steadied Butter in front of the garden wall, my hands on the reins, and looked at her. She looked back at me, shading her eyes with her hand. Her expression, of mingled anger and disinterest, didn’t change. “Hello,” I said.

She scowled. “Who’re you?”

She didn’t recognize me
.

I dismounted Butter, landing carefully on my good left foot. I untied my crutches from the back of the saddle and swung myself forward, over the garden wall. “I’m Ada,” I said.

Her expression turned to outrage as she realized who I was.

“What the ’ell’s this?” she said. “Just who do you think you are?”

Jamie was holding Mam’s hand. Jamie looked so hopeful.

“Coming in on a pony!” Mam said. “Like little Princess Margaret, are you now?”

“I learned to ride,” I said. “I go sidesaddle so it doesn’t hurt my—”

Mam thrust a battered envelope under my nose. “And this,” she said. “What’s the meaning of this, eh?”

I looked. It was one of Susan’s letters. It was her handwriting on the envelope.

“Want some kind of operation, do you?” Mam said.

My heart leaped. “They can fix my foot. The doctor said—”

“Like ’ell they can,” Mam said. “Isn’t nothing going to fix that foot. First I get a letter says now I have to pay the government for taking my kids away, nineteen shillings a week and the government wants me to pay—”

“No one will make you—” Susan interjected.

“—and then here’s this. Sent to the wrong place, just got it, I did, and what is it but someone with the bloody cheek to be tellin’ me what to do with my kids. And then here you are, all dressed up, sittin’ on a pony, nose in the air, actin’ for all the world like you’re better than everybody—”

“No, Mam,” I said.

“—like you’re better than
me
.”

“No, Mam.”

“Come on,” Mam said. “We’re goin’ home.”

Susan tried to argue. Mam turned on her and glared. “You’re tellin’ me where I can take my own kids? You? A lazy slut in a fancy house—” Mam went on from there, telling Susan off every possible way.

I felt myself grow cold, distant, far from all of them. My mind folded in on itself. But no, I had to stay present, I hadn’t taken care of Butter. I started back to the pasture. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” Mam said.

“I need to untack Butter. He can’t stay with his saddle on.”

“Like ’ell! Come back here, we’re catching the next train.”

I still moved toward Butter. Mam walloped me, caught me straight between the shoulders with a hard blow. I hadn’t expected it, and I flew forward, scattering my crutches and scuffing my palms in the dirt. Jamie cried out. Tears came to my eyes. I’d forgotten what being hit was like. I staggered to my feet.

“I’ll take care of Butter,” Susan said.

“C’mon, Ada,” Mam said. She had her hand on Jamie’s neck, so I couldn’t see his face. She marched him toward the side gate.

“Wait!” Susan said, turning back. “They need their things.”

“They don’t need nothing,” Mam replied. “Dressed up like toffs. You’ve done them no favors, lettin’ them get above themselves. They don’t need no things, not where they’re goin’.”

Susan ran into the house anyway. She came out carrying her copy of
Swiss Family Robinson
. “Take this,” she said to Jamie, thrusting it at him. “It’s yours.”

Mam eyed the book suspiciously. “He don’t want that,” she said. “What would he do with that?”

“I don’t want it,” Jamie echoed. His hopeful expression had vanished; he looked petrified. “I don’t!”

“No,” I said. “He doesn’t.”
Don’t make him take it,
I silently begged Susan.
It’ll be worse for him if you do.

Susan looked at me. Her face went blank. She slipped the book under her arm. “I’ll keep it for you, Jamie,” she said. “Ada, I’ll take care of Butter. I promise. I won’t let his feet grow long again.”

Mam pushed Jamie through the gate.

Susan said, “No.”

She said, “You don’t have to go. Ada. Jamie. You can stay with me. I’ll fix it. I promise. You can stay.”

Mam scowled. “Think you can steal my kids, do you?”

“I’ll go to the police,” Susan said. “They’ll listen to you, Ada. They’ll listen to us. You can stay.”

The pause that followed this seemed to last a lifetime. Mam sucked in her breath. Jamie snuffled. I looked at Susan and I said, “You didn’t want us.”

Susan looked straight back at me. She said, “That was last year. I want you now.”

But Jamie was holding Mam’s hand. The police might let me stay with Susan, but they’d have no reason to take Jamie from Mam. Mam never locked Jamie up.

I said, “I can’t leave Jamie.”

Susan looked back at me and very slowly nodded. Mam muttered something under her breath. She yanked Jamie down the road. I followed. When I looked back Susan was already on the other side of the garden wall, unbuckling the girth of my saddle. She didn’t look up. She didn’t say good-bye.

When we got to the end of the drive Mam stopped. “What’re those?” she said, pointing to my crutches.

“I walk faster with them,” I said.

She snorted. “Like you need to walk.”

I said, “I
can
walk.”

“Not for long, missy,” Mam said. “Not for long.”