by Kit Pearson
One afternoon Miss Carmichael found her and shooed her outside. “It’s too nice a day to be cooped up with a book. Come out to the grass. We’re having a lovely time blowing bubbles and there are some journalists here who want to meet you all.”
Reluctantly Norah put aside her book and followed Miss Carmichael to the lawn. She was handed a piece of bent wire and invited to dip it into a pail of sudsy water. Iridescent bubbles floated around her in the warm air. The weather was hot for September; the heat pressed on her skin like a wet sponge. Blinking, she watched her bubble rise, feeling like a mole who had emerged from under the ground.
Beside her, Lucy was being interviewed. “Now tell me what you think of Hitler,” a journalist asked her.
“Hitler ith a nathty, nathty man,” said Lucy coyly. Her lisp was newly acquired.
A family of five was being lined up for a picture. The star of the group was Johnnie, who posed in the middle of his older brothers and sisters. “We’ve come to Canada to help win the war,” he declared proudly.
“Why do you say that?” a journalist prompted.
“’Cause children are a nuisance at home. If we’re out of the way then the grown-ups can fight better!”
The journalists leaned forward eagerly. “Tell the nice people what you said on your first night when I asked how you were feeling,” coaxed Miss Carmichael.
Johnnie looked confused until Miss Carmichael whispered to him. “I said—I said I was eager and brave!” he shouted. “I’m so brave I’ll—I’ll”—but his eldest sister dragged him away, her hand over his mouth.
Two women carrying cameras had been listening on the edge of the group. “Excuse me,” one said to Miss Carmichael. “We’re visiting Toronto from the United States and we couldn’t help overhearing this adorable little boy. He’s just too precious to be true! These children are evacuees, aren’t they? How can we get one?”
“We don’t call them evacuees,” Miss Carmichael corrected. “That sounds as if they have no homes to return to. They are Canada’s war guests. We’re hosting them for the duration. If you want to sponsor a child you’ll have to ask your own government.”
The next day Miss Carmichael brought them the evening paper. Lucy’s and Johnnie’s pictures were included, among many others, over a story headed “Young British War Guests Blowing Peaceful Bubbles at Hart House.”
“We’ll have to send this home!” cried Dulcie. “Do you see how they put in your words, Lucy?”
Norah couldn’t find herself or Gavin in the photographs. It made her feel more than ever that she wasn’t really here.
9
Alenoushka
Towards the end of the week the “nominated” children left to go to their friends and relatives. “Goodbye, Norah,” said Dulcie hesitantly, as Miss Carmichael helped her carry her luggage to the door of Falconer House. “Do you think we’ll see each other again?” She ran her tongue over her raw lips; her rash was worse.
“I’m sure you will,” said Miss Carmichael. “The Milnes can find out from us where Norah is living, and there’s going to be a party for all of you at Christmas.”
Norah walked with Dulcie as far as the door and waved, surprised at feeling sad. Goosey and Loosey were a trial, but they were faces from home.
“When will Gavin and I go?” she asked Miss Carmichael that night. “Do you know who we’ll be living with?”
“Not yet, but we’ll match you up with someone as soon as possible. We need your beds for the next batch of children and school has already started. But don’t worry, the response has been tremendous.”
That was on Thursday. On Saturday, Norah heard her name mentioned as she came down the corridor to their room. Miss Carmichael was helping Mrs. Ellis change the sheets.
“They’ve decided on a place for Norah and Gavin,” Miss Carmichael was saying.
Norah froze and listened intently. She knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but this was important. She couldn’t catch the name Miss Carmichael gave in answer to Mrs. Ellis’s question.
“The family only wanted a boy,” Miss Carmichael continued, “but they’ve persuaded them to take Norah as well. I do hope she’ll settle in. Gavin is so sweet, but Norah can be difficult. She’s such a loner, it isn’t natural.”
Norah was enraged. Gavin was the difficult one, not her! Did Miss Carmichael enjoy changing his sheets and washing out his pyjamas every day?
“I thought they’d be sent to the country,” said Mrs. Ellis. “They come from a small village, don’t they?”
“I would have thought that would be more suitable, but apparently the woman was very specific about having as young a boy as possible—and Gavin’s the only five-year-old left. I shouldn’t be saying this, but I imagine they couldn’t very well refuse her, she has so much money.”
Norah shuffled her feet to let them know she was approaching.
“There you are, Norah!” Miss Carmichael smiled. As with Mrs. Pym, Norah had the feeling she felt sorry for her. “I have wonderful news! A family called Ogilvie would be delighted to have you and Gavin be their guests for the war. There are two ladies—Mrs. Ogilvie, who’s a widow, and her daughter. You’ll be staying right here in Toronto—isn’t that nice? You’re lucky—the Ogilvies are very well off and you’ll be living in a grand house in Rosedale. What do you think of that?”’
It was far too much information to absorb at one time. Besides, the Ogilvies didn’t want her—just Gavin. All Norah could say was, “When do we go?”
“Someone will pick you up tomorrow after lunch. Now come and help me pack your things.”
EARLY SUNDAY MORNING the children were taken to church. The night before, Norah’s dwindling group had been enlarged by a contingent of evacuees fresh from the ship. Norah felt sorry for them as they trooped out after supper for their medicals. At least she was finally leaving, however frightening her new home sounded.
In church the minister prayed for the British people “bravely carrying on their struggle alone.” Norah prayed too, naming each member of her family carefully. She tried not to think of what they would be doing. Instead she imagined a family called Ogilvie; her chest grew heavy.
When they got back to Hart House they were told that a librarian had arrived to tell them stories before lunch.
“You take Gavin in,” said Miss Carmichael. “I have all these new children to deal with.”
Stories sounded babyish, but Norah took Gavin’s hand and went into the room they used for recreation. Children were scattered all over, playing with toys and puzzles. A small woman with very bright eyes sat on a low stool in front of the fireplace, watching them calmly.
“Once upon a time there was a farmer and his wife who had one daughter, and she was courted by a gentleman …” she began slowly. Her vibrant voice cut through the chatter. As she carried on, the children drew closer and squatted on the floor in front of her.
When she reached the point where the people in the story were all wailing in the cellar, some of the children began to smile. By the time the man was trying to jump into his trousers, they were giggling. Gavin laughed for the first time since they’d left England, and Norah felt a chuckle rise inside her.
“… and that was the story of ‘The Three Sillies,’” the woman concluded.
“Tell us another!” demanded a fat little girl called Emma.
“Once upon a time Henny Penny was picking up corn when—whack!—an acorn fell on her head. ‘Goodness, gracious me!’ said Henny Penny. ‘The sky is falling! I must go and tell the king.’”
She came to the part about “Goosey Loosey,” and Norah grinned, looking around for Dulcie. Then she remembered she had gone.
There was a satisfied silence in the room after Foxy Loxy had finished off his witless victims. “Of course, the sky wasn’t really falling,” said Emma knowingly.
“It is at home!” declared Johnnie. “It’s falling down all over England, and that’s why we had to go away.”
The librarian looked startled,
but only for a second. She showed them how to do a game with their fingers called “Piggy Wig and Piggy Wee” Then she told them “The Three Little Pigs”. All the younger children huffed and puffed with the wolf, even Gavin. They moved closer to her and one of them stroked her shoes. Emma wriggled onto her knee.
“And now, I want to tell you the story of Alenoushka and her brother.” Her tone had become sad and solemn and the rollicking atmosphere changed to hushed expectancy. “Once upon a time there were two orphan children, a little boy and a little girl. Their father and mother were dead and they were all alone. The little boy was called Ivanoushka and the little girl’s name was Alenoushka. They set out together to walk through the whole of the great wide world. It was a long journey they set out on, and they did not think of any end to it, but only of moving on and on …”
The back of Norah’s neck prickled. She was pulled into the story as if by a magnet and she became Alenoushka, trying to stop her little brother from drinking water from the hoofprints of animals, and desperate when he did and turned into a little lamb.
The other children were as spellbound as she. They sat like stones while the rich voice went on, forgetting the storyteller in their utter absorption in the story itself.
O my brother Ivanoushka,
A heavy stone is round my throat,
Silken grass grows through my fingers,
Yellow sand lies on my breast.
NORAH DIDN’T REALIZE her eyes had welled with tears until one rolled down her cheek.
The story ended happily. Alenoushka was rescued from a witch’s spell, and when she threw her arms around the lamb he became her brother once more. “And they all lived happily together and ate honey every day, with white bread and new milk.”
The haunting voice stopped and the room was still. Norah’s body was loose and relaxed. She felt the rough rug under her legs and Gavin’s warm thigh pressing against hers.
The librarian stood up and left the room without acknowledging them or saying goodbye. It was as if the stories had used her to tell themselves. The children got up quietly and went in to lunch.
NORAH’S EASE ENDED after they’d eaten. She and Gavin, dressed in cleaned and pressed clothes, waited in the front hall.
“Where are we going to live now?” whispered Gavin.
Norah was struggling to secure her hair-slide. “What do you mean, silly? We haven’t lived anywhere yet.”
“Yes, we have. First we lived in the hostel. Then we lived on the boat with Mrs. Pym and then we lived here with Miss Carmichael. Now where are we going to live?”
“With a family called Ogilvie who have a posh house. You know that, Gavin, we’ve already told you.”
Miss Carmichael came up to say goodbye. “Now, be sure to behave like polite guests and everything will be fine. Someone will come and visit you in a while to see how you’re getting along.”
The front door opened and into the hall stepped a plain, plump woman. She wore a brown linen suit and a beige hat; her beige hair was twisted into a tidy knot and her brown eyes looked anxious. “How do you do? I am Miss Ogilvie. And this must be Norah and Gavin. I’m very pleased to meet you both.” Her voice sounded more frightened than pleased.
Norah shook the woman’s limp hand. It was covered with a spotless beige glove.
“I want to stay here,” whimpered Gavin, hiding behind Miss Carmichael.
“Off you go, Gavin.” She handed him a large boiled sweet. This was such a surprise that Gavin sucked it busily instead of crying.
Miss Carmichael kissed them both. “I’ll see you at the Christmas party,” she smiled.
Miss Ogilvie led them out to a sleek grey car. “Perhaps you’d prefer to sit beside each other in the back,” she said hesitantly.
Norah watched the university become smaller and smaller behind them. Then she turned around and watched the neat back of Miss Ogilvie’s hair as they drove wordlessly through the still Sunday streets to their new home.
PART 2
10
The Ogilvies
The car turned into a quiet, leafy street and stopped at the house at the end, a house so tall and enormous it looked like a red brick castle. There was even a tower. The windows stared down at Norah like a crowd of inquisitive eyes. She carried her suitcase up wide white steps flanked by green pillars.
Inside, the house was even more resplendent. The front hall was as large as two rooms in Little Whitebull. It looked even bigger because it was almost empty of furniture, except for a mahogany table on one side with a silver bowl full of roses on it. Arched doorways led to several rooms off the hall; a curved staircase disappeared upwards.
Miss Ogilvie stood in the hall beside them as if she, too, were a stranger who didn’t know what to do next. “Now, let’s see …” Her timid voice rang out in the silence. “Mother is anxious to meet you, of course, but this is her rest time. I’ll show you your room and you can unpack before tea.”
She led them up two levels, first on thickly carpeted stairs, then on bare, slippery ones. At the very top there were only two rooms: a small one containing a huge bathtub and a large, circular bedroom with built-in seats around its windowed walls.
“This is the tower!” cried Norah. She ran to the windows and looked out at the lush tops of trees.
“Yes … I hope you don’t mind being up here alone. Is it all right?” Miss Ogilvie’s voice was shy. “I prepared it myself.”
Norah had never encountered a grown-up who was so nervous. She walked around the room carefully, trying not to make sudden movements that might startle her.
Two narrow beds were along one wall, each covered in a satin eiderdown. New-looking curtains hung from the windows. On a table were piled boxes of jigsaw puzzles and games. Some battered tin cars and trucks were parked in a row under the table and a shabby rocking horse with a real horsehair mane stood in a corner. Gavin went over to it and stroked the mane gently.
“I’m afraid they’re mostly boys’ things,” Miss Ogilvie apologized. “You see …” Her voice faltered.
Norah thought she was about to reveal they had only wanted a boy. Her excitement over the lofty room subsided.
“… you see, this was our nursery—my brother’s and mine. Most of these toys belonged to him, but I found one of my dolls for you, Norah.” She pointed to a small doll with a chipped plaster face lying on one of the beds. “I used to love dolls, but of course not all girls do,” the soft voice continued anxiously.
Norah fingered the doll’s yellowed eyelet dress. Miss Ogilvie watched so hopefully that she tried to sound enthusiastic. “Thank you. She’s very nice. Where’s your brother, then? Does he still live here?”
The woman’s plain face seemed to collapse upon itself. “Oh, no! Hugh was killed in the war. Not this war, the first one.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
There seemed nothing more to say after that. Miss Ogilvie looked as if she wanted to leave. “You get yourselves settled,” she said, “and I’ll come up for you when it’s time for tea. We have a formal tea on Sundays and an informal supper later. Perhaps you could change into your best clothes. And could you wipe his mouth?” she added hesitantly. Gavin’s lips were smeared red from the sweet Miss Carmichael had given him. “First impressions are important, don’t you think? I’ll see you later.” She disappeared down the stairs.
The horse creaked as Gavin rocked on it slowly. Norah took out all their clothes and put them away in the wardrobe and the chest of drawers. There was lots of space left over when she’d finished. She placed the photograph of the family on the small table between the beds. At the bottom of her case she found her bundle of shrapnel and ran her hands over the smooth, iridescent metal before she decided to hide it under her mattress.
Then she made Gavin wash his face and go to the toilet. That was in with the bathtub; at home it was a separate room attached to the scullery. She had already become used to pressing a handle instead of pulling a chain.
She picked out some c
lothes for them. The only dress she had that was fancier than the one she wore was a very rumpled winter one of flowered Viyella. She tried to get rid of the wrinkles with a wet flannel.
“I’m too hot,” complained Gavin, after Norah had made him put on his grey wool shorts and knitted waistcoat. At least the waistcoat partly covered up his wrinkled white shirt.
“Stop whining. You heard what she said about first impressions.” Norah looked for a ribbon and tied a sloppy bow on one side of her head. Even the ribbon was wrinkled.
“Let’s take these horrid things off.” She unfastened the identification disks around their necks and threw them into the wastepaper basket, feeling lighter.
They sat quietly on the window seat and looked down on the rooftops below them. Norah began to feel hopeful. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, living here. Even if the Ogilvies only wanted Gavin, this marvellous room was an unexpected pleasure. And if she were as polite as possible, they might want her as well.
Miss Ogilvie knocked at their door. “Oh,” she gulped, as she inspected them. “You should have asked the maid to iron your clothes. Never mind, it’s too late now. Mother likes people to be punctual and she’s already waiting in the den.”
She acted as if they were about to be greeted by royalty. Norah’s chest felt constricted as she and Gavin descended the long staircase and followed Miss Ogilvie into a room off the hall.
“Come in, come in,” a resonant voice called impatiently. “Let’s have a look at you.”
In contrast to the stark hall, the cosy room overflowed with fat chintz chairs, more bowls of flowers and tables crowded with ornaments and silver-framed photographs. “Den” was a suitable word; it was like stepping into a scented, muggy cave.