Lizzie and the Lost Baby
Page 1
Contents
* * *
Title Page
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Glossary
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright © 2016
All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to trade.permissions@hmhco.com or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.
www.hmhco.com
Illustrations by © 2015 by Becca Stadtlander
Cover design by Sheila Smallwood
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Blackford, Cheryl.
Lizzie and the lost baby / by Cheryl Blackford.
p. cm.
Summary: Evacuated to a remote Yorkshire valley during World War II, a homesick ten-year-old English girl discovers an abandoned baby and befriends a gypsy boy, despite local prejudice.
ISBN 978-0-544-57099-3
1. World War, 1939–1945—Evacuation of civilians—Juvenile fiction. 2. World War, 1939–1945—England—Yorkshire—Juvenile fiction. [1. World War, 1939–1945—Evacuation of civilians—Fiction. 2. World War, 1939–1945—England—Yorkshire—Fiction. 3. Friendship—Fiction. 4. Romanies—Fiction. 5. Abandoned children—Fiction. 6. Prejudices—Fiction. 7. Yorkshire (England)—History—20th century—Fiction. 8. Great Britain—History—George VI, 1936–1952—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.B53232Li 2016
[Fic]—dc23
2014047003
eISBN 978-0-544-63372-8
v1.0116
For Mum and Dad.
And for David, who has
always believed in me.
Chapter One
LIZZIE
EVERY WINDOW on the train had been painted black, blocking any possible view of the passing scenery. Lizzie knew the paint was necessary to hide the train’s lights from German planes, but she wished she could see outside where there might be farmland, mountains, or rivers to watch. Instead, as the train sped along the tracks, all Lizzie saw was her own frizzy-haired reflection in the blank black rectangle of glass.
Children from Lizzie’s school were crammed into the train carriage. Some sat on suitcases in the aisle while others bickered and jostled for room on the crowded seats. Some sat blank-faced with their gas masks slung over their shoulders and their possessions in their laps. A few of the older children played a card game using a suitcase for a table. A tiny girl cried, “Mummy, I want my mummy,” over and over again. Lizzie couldn’t reach the girl to comfort her—there were too many other children in the way.
In the strange cocoon of the carriage, Lizzie had lost all sense of time. It had been early morning when she’d taken Peter’s hand, said goodbye to their mother, and climbed onto the double-decker bus outside their school in Hull. It had still been morning when the bus had stopped at the railway station and she’d guided Peter to a seat on the packed train. They’d long ago eaten their potted meat sandwiches, but Lizzie’s watch had stopped at eleven o’clock, and she had no idea how many hours had passed since then on the rattling, clattering train.
“Look after Peter, love,” her mother had said after giving Lizzie a final kiss. “Don’t let them send you to different homes. Seven’s too young for him to be on his own.”
Lizzie had turned in a sudden panic on the bus step and said, “Do we have to go?”
Her mother’s eyes had glistened. “Yes, love, you do. We’re at war now. It won’t be safe in Hull—the Germans will bomb the city.”
“Why can’t you come with us?”
“I have to stay behind, Lizzie. Parents aren’t allowed to go.” Her mother had painted a false smile on her face and said, “You’ll have such an adventure in the country. You’ll be safe there, and I’m sure someone kind will take you in.”
Lizzie had heard this so many times from her parents and her teacher, Mrs. Scruton, that she could recite the speech herself. She knew that city children had to be evacuated to keep them safe from the bombs. She knew that most of their fathers would join the army to fight the Germans. She knew that most of their mothers would take the place of the men in the factories and offices. But knowing the reasons why she had to leave didn’t help—Lizzie would rather face the bombs than live in a strange place with people she didn’t know. After all, they had a bomb shelter now.
Before he’d left to join the army, her father had removed the roses from their back garden and dug a big hole in the lawn. He’d made walls using half-buried sheets of corrugated metal and a roof from more of the metal sheets before mounding a huge pile of soil over the top. When the bomb shelter was finished, he’d put two camp beds inside for her mother and grandmother to sleep on and a little Primus stove for them to make tea.
“That’ll do nicely,” he’d said. “You’ll be safe in there.”
The shelter was cramped and damp and probably full of spiders. Still, if it would keep Mummy and Nana safe in a bombing raid, wouldn’t it keep Lizzie and Peter safe too?
But Lizzie hadn't been given a choice to stay.
She shifted on her seat and pushed Peter’s lolling head into a more comfortable position on her shoulder. He made little whimpering noises in her ear as he slept and his head was heavy, but she was grateful for the relief from his endless questions.
“Where are we going?” he’d asked as the train pulled out of Hull Station. “Why didn’t Mummy come with us? Who will look after us?”
Lizzie’s stomach flipped a somersault. Who would look after them?
She reached into her school satchel and felt for Nana’s gift. Her fingers gripped the smooth hard box for comfort. Inside the box, nestled on a bed of white satin, was a beautiful new fountain pen.
“That’s not fair,” Peter had complained when Nana gave it to her. “Her birthday’s not for ages.”
But Nana had patted his head and said, “Hush, now. We don’t know if you’ll be home in time for Lizzie’s birthday, so she’d better have it now. Besides, she’ll need it to write me lots of lovely letters.”
Nana had given Lizzie a whole sheet of stamps—so many stamps. Would they really be gone long enough for Lizzie to write that many letters?
She rested her feet on their suitcase, leaned her head against the back of the leather seat, and closed her eyes, but she couldn’t stop the thoughts. What if the people in the country weren’t kind? What if they didn’t like her? What if she couldn’t look after Peter?
What if you stop worrying? Nana would say.
How would Lizzie manage without Nana to reassure her?
We’re two peas in a pod, you and me. Nana said that all the time, which was funny, because Nana was short and stout like a barrel on legs, and Lizzie was as thin as a rake.
She woke to a sudden jerk and the harsh squeal of brakes.
Mrs. Scruton stepped into their carriage. She took the hand of the little girl who’d been crying for her mother and said, “This is our stop, children.”
Lizzie picked up their suitcase and poked Peter when he almost left his gas mask on the seat. Together they clambered down onto the platform. A long line of train carriages stretched through the small station, and Lizzie wondered if there were any children left in Hull.
Billows of steam wafted from the hissing engine. A man wearing a dark uniform and cap waved a green flag and blew his whistle. The train, their last connection with home, pulled out of the station and disappeared into the misty distance.
Chapter Two
ELIJAH
ELIJAH STOOD OUTSIDE the village shop and considered his options. Bert Baines had no work today, so either Elijah could go door-to-door to scrounge up odd jobs, or he could go back to camp and explain to his mother why he had no money for their supper. A steady drizzle fell from dense gray clouds; there wasn’t much chance he’d find work in this weather.
He looked down at Jack, a bedraggled bundle by his feet. “What do you think, boy? Shall us go home?”
The little tan-and-white terrier wagged his tail.
The shop bell jangled, and Colonel Clegg stepped out. He thrust his chest forward. “You there! What are you doing? Can’t you read what that says?” The colonel stabbed his finger at a sign hanging on the door.
Block letters danced across Elijah’s vision. He read “No,” but the other word defeated him. He planted his hands on his hips and stared at the colonel.
“I suppose you’re illiterate like the rest of your lot. The sign says ‘No Loitering.’ If you’re not here to purchase something, clear off.”
“I’m not doing nowt wrong.”
The words escaped on a wave of resentment. Elijah instantly regretted them; the colonel could make plenty of trouble for him.
There’s times when you must swallow yer pride fer the good of all, my Elijah. That’s what Granddad Ambrose would say.
Elijah looked down at the ground. “I were just looking fer work, sir. Didn’t mean no harm.”
“Work. Humph! That’s rare for you Gypsies. You’re lazy, the lot of you.”
Then Colonel Clegg tilted his head to one side. He looked like a fat pigeon waiting for crumbs. “Go and wait at the station. When you hear the train, come and get me. I’ll be at the Coach and Horses.”
He flicked a threepenny bit onto the ground. “There’ll be another when you fetch me.”
Now that Dad had gone off to join the army, money was tight. Sixpence was better than nothing. Elijah picked up the coin and wiped it across his trouser legs to remove all traces of the colonel. Then he went to wait for the train.
The wind moaned and swirled through the nooks and crannies of the deserted platform. Water dripped from the eaves of the station roof and puddled on the ground. Elijah tried to forget the colonel’s ugly remarks. He was used to the prejudice that most of the Gorgios, the settled folk, displayed toward the traveling people.
Ignore them. Words can’t hurt you, Granddad Ambrose would say.
But Elijah thought of the times when their men had been arrested for no reason and their wagons made to move on by the police. Granddad Ambrose was wrong—hateful words led to angry actions.
Elijah straightened his cap, turned up his collar, and squinted down the line. He saw a faint thickening of the mist in the distance. When he was sure the cloud was steam and not a trick of the light, he raced to the pub.
The colonel flicked a second coin at Elijah before strutting off down the street. Elijah followed him and watched from behind the station gate, curious to see why the colonel was so interested in this train.
Whatever Elijah expected to see, it certainly wasn’t the crowd of children who poured onto the platform. Some of them were clean and dressed like townies; others were grubby and scruffy. The smaller ones carried dolls and teddy bears; the bigger ones carried satchels and suitcases. Every child carried a gas mask.
The colonel and a woman who seemed to be in charge marched the children toward the village. Who they were and why they’d come were a mystery.
Elijah hurried past the churchyard and trudged down the lane to camp. The horses, their spotted coats slick with rain, lifted their heads and whinnied as he passed.
He vaulted the gate into the field, catching a shower of glistening droplets from the overhanging hawthorn bush, and sprinted through the muck. Two of Mammy’s bantam hens, foraging by the fire pit, squawked and flapped out of his way.
Streams of rainwater ran down the curved tops of the eight bow-top wagons lined up near the river—one wagon for each family in their group. The bow tops were all muted greens and grays, like the sodden trees, but Mammy’s Reading wagon was different—its yellow steps and cheery red door promised warmth and comfort.
Elijah waved at Tyso and Israel, sheltering in one of the tents beside the wagons, and climbed Mammy’s steps. He tucked his wet boots behind the water-filled milk churn on the little porch and stepped through the doorway. Angela and May stood beside the stove warming their hands while Mammy sipped a mug of tea. Her hawking basket sat on the little table by the window, still filled with the carved wooden flowers and clothes pegs she sold.
“Did you sell much?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I didn’t tell any fortunes either. The weather’s made folks bad-tempered. What did you bring me?”
“Only sixpence,” he said, adding the coins to the pitiful collection in an old jam jar.
“Fried taters and onions fer dinner again, then,” Mammy said.
“I tried me best, but Bert Baines had no work, and no one else will hire the likes of us.”
She touched Elijah's arm. “You never gives up—just like yer dad.”
The compliment warmed him better than a bowl of stew, but so far he hadn’t been able to make more than a fraction of the money Dad used to make.
Mammy took a brush to Angela’s long hair, working out the tangles despite her squeaks of protest. “Yer granddad said there’s been children sent here.”
“I seen them get off the train. There were nigh on a hundred of them. Where are their mams and dads?”
Mammy tied a pink ribbon in Angela’s hair. “Government said they had to stay behind in the cities. It’s right sad to think on sending yer little uns away like that. Even if it is to keep them safe from bombs.”
Elijah heard a happy gurgle from the far end of the wagon. He pulled the heavy red curtain to one side. Rose giggled at him and kicked her chubby legs in the air. He picked her up from the bed and smoothed her hair—hair the color of crows’ feathers, just like his own. She had dark eyes, dimples at the corners of her mouth, and tiny ears that stuck out at the top.
You two are the spitting image of each other, Dad used to say.
Elijah cuddled her and gave her a kiss. “That one’s from Dad.”
A familiar figure blocked the doorway.
“I’ve brought these fer you, Vi. To fill the little uns’ bellies.” Bill dangled a floppy pair of rabbits from his meaty fist. “They’ll make a grand stew.” He grinned, displaying the gap where he’d lost a tooth in a fight.
Elijah looked away. All the seasonings in the world would not make that rabbit taste good to him.
Chapter Three
LIZZIE
THE GRAY SKY LEAKED a steady drizzle over the fields on the far side of the railway tracks. The station name had been painted over to confuse any invading Germans, so Lizzie had no idea where the train had stopped, but the station building was small and there was only one platform. She stood on tiptoe to look over the white wooden fence and saw stone houses, different from the rows of brick houses that lined the streets of Hull.
A sho
rt man wearing a tweed suit and round, thick-framed spectacles approached Mrs. Scruton and pointed at a school with rows of blacked-out windows beneath its slate roof. The silent children followed Mrs. Scruton and the man through the schoolyard and into the gymnasium, where a crowd of chattering adults had gathered.
“Attention!” the short man shouted.
The chattering stopped.
He turned to the children. “I am Colonel Clegg. This is Swainedale. You will be billeted here in North Yorkshire until we win the war. Stand still until you are selected.” He barked out the final sentence.
The adults in the gymnasium began to inspect the children. Neat girls and muscular boys were quickly selected. A broad-shouldered man with a sour expression scrutinized Lizzie, but turned away when he saw Peter.
Lizzie spotted Samuel Rosen, looking lost and miserable as usual, waiting at the edge of the crowd. He wore short trousers that were too tight and a jacket that was too big. His eyes were huge in his pale face as he cast nervous glances from one adult to the next. Lizzie watched as a couple approached him. The man had sun-browned skin, a mustache flecked with gray, and mud on the cuffs of his trousers. The pink-cheeked woman draped a raincoat over Samuel’s shoulders and gave him a comforting smile. Kindness radiated from them as they led him out of the room.
Lizzie chewed her lip. Why had the couple chosen Samuel instead of her and Peter? Was she too thin? Were they too untidy? Was Peter’s nose too runny? She straightened her hat, pulled up her brother’s wrinkled knee socks, and gave him a handkerchief.
A tall man in a police uniform strode toward her.
Lizzie swallowed. Had she done something wrong?
But a plump woman wearing a shabby raincoat and a scarf decorated with prancing horses took the policeman’s elbow and whispered in his ear. She led him away from Lizzie and Peter and toward a tiny girl in a neat navy-blue coat.
Lizzie stared at the joins between the planks in the wooden floor. What if no one wanted them?