A Place to Hang the Moon

by Kate Albus

  When Edmund thought about such things, there was a good deal of swashbuckling involved. His storybook father was a cowboy in the Wild West, though he did some pirating when his travels took him seaward. Mum was not much different. She cared little for the washing of ears—or of anything, come to that—and she allowed him both his own horse and his own rifle. Edmund’s only nod to tradition was that his storybook mother was the greatest cook this side of the Rio Grande—wherever that was.

  In William’s vision, cookery was also a priority, though the dishes he dreamt of were less fanciful than his brother’s. Where Edmund envisioned chocolate cake for breakfast, William wished for a perfectly poached egg on buttered toast—served in bed if he was ill, and in the garden if the weather was fine. The storybook mums and dads he coveted were the reliable ones. The ones most likely to think it wrong for a boy of twelve to be responsible for anything more than excelling at his studies, keeping his bedroom tidy, and being polite when company came to call.

  Oddly—or perhaps not oddly at all if you give it some thought—the mum Anna pictured was not unlike William. She was kind, of course. She read stories—that goes without saying—and she was comfortable to sit upon while she read them. She abided no nonsense unless nonsense was precisely what was required. She was there with a fervent embrace when a fervent embrace was the only thing that could make it better. And she was there with—well, she was there.

  “Can I help you?”

  All three startled at the voice behind them, turning to find a woman looking at them expectantly. Her chestnut hair was pulled back in a low bun. She wore a nubby cardigan over a delicately-flowered dress. The pile of books balanced in her arms suggested that this might be the librarian.

  “We were just looking,” William answered.

  The woman’s voice was soft—whether it was in her nature or something required of a librarian, the children couldn’t tell. “We specialize in just looking. Are you some of the children who’ve come from London? I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”

  William nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We arrived yesterday.”

  “Well, welcome. Will you be wanting library cards?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Would that be possible?”

  “Certainly. Guest bibliophiles are quite welcome.”

  While she wasn’t sure of the precise definition of bibliophile, Anna was certain that it meant something she wanted to be.

  “Well, carry on choosing your books,” the librarian continued, “and when you’ve made your selections, come to the desk and I’ll have cards for you to fill out.” With that, the woman retreated with her pile of books.

  The children set to browsing. Anna and Edmund chose quickly and sank to the floor to delve into their selections. William took longer. While he would never admit that Edmund was right, his choice of the Britannica from the nursery shelf back in London had been shortsighted. Now that he faced the reality of life as an evacuee, William did not want to read about the Polish astronomer HEVELIUS, Johannes, even if the man had mapped the surface of the moon. He found he had no interest whatsoever in the poetry of HOPKINS, Gerard Manley. William wanted escape, not enlightenment, and he scoured the shelves for something that might fit the bill.

  Perhaps twenty minutes passed. Perhaps two hours. Anna looked up from her book at her brother’s still-empty hands. She unfolded herself from her seat on the floor and stretched. “Mrs. Forrester’s likely going to be here soon. Shouldn’t you choose something?”

  William shrugged. He offered a hand to haul Edmund up, and the three made their way to the main reading room, where they found the librarian at the lending desk.

  Edmund handed over his book first. The librarian grinned. “The Incredible Adventures of Professor Branestawm,” she said, riffling the pages. “I haven’t read it. Will you tell me about it once you’ve finished?” Edmund nodded. The woman turned to Anna, who was holding up her choice—The Yellow Fairy Book. “Is this your first Fairy book, or have you read any others?”

  Anna answered with some pride that she had read the Lilac. “And I’m also reading A Little Princess,” she said, “but it’s the only one I brought from home, so I want to make it last.” She was confident that a lady who worked in a library must be interested in such details. “Edmund brought The Count of Monte Cristo, and William brought the encyclopedia.”

  The woman stamped Anna’s book. “You’re reading the encyclopedia?”

  William nodded, his cheeks warm.

  “All of it?”

  “I’m only up to H.”

  “As in HORRIBLY boring,” Edmund said.

  The librarian raised her hand to her mouth to hide a smile. “Well. Extraordinary, all of you,” she said. “You must be true connoisseurs.”

  Anna couldn’t for the life of her say what connoisseur might mean, but it sounded awfully elegant.

  The librarian looked at William’s empty hands. “Did you not want to borrow anything today, then?”

  He shrugged. “I couldn’t decide.”

  “Hmmm,” murmured the library lady. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Have you read any Agatha Christie?”

  William shook his head.

  “She’s not meant for children, typically, but it seems to me that a boy who chooses to read the encyclopedia isn’t your typical child.”

  “That’s certain,” Edmund said under his breath.

  The librarian grinned. “Shall we find one for you?”

  “Thanks very much,” William said, following the woman to the mysteries and feeling a thrill that his selection was coming from outside the children’s section.

  The librarian pulled a book from the shelf and handed it to him. “It’s one of my favorites. A train full of people trapped in a snowstorm with a murderer aboard.”

  William’s spine tingled. “A murderer?”

  The lady raised her eyebrows. “Indeed.”

  William smiled. “It sounds perfect.”

  “Enjoy it,” the librarian said. “Well done you, on the encyclopedia. I hope you keep it up, but I suppose when one is set adrift in an unknown land, a bit of diversion might not be such a bad thing?”

  William’s eyes widened at the lady’s mind reading. “Thanks very much.”

  He followed the librarian through to the main reading room. Mrs. Forrester had arrived, sagging under the burden of her parcels. “Ah, there you are, children,” she said. “Lovely. You’ve chosen, then?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Anna replied. “We just need to get our library cards.”

  Mrs. Forrester’s eyes lit on the librarian. “Mrs. Müller.”

  “Good afternoon, Nellie,” the library lady said. “I hope you and Peter and the boys are keeping well?” She glanced at the children. “I gather you’ve quite a billet-full, haven’t you?”

  “Indeed,” Mrs. Forrester replied. Her usual chirpiness seemed to have drained from her. “Will you be needing anything from me, Mrs. Müller, to complete the children’s transaction?”

  The librarian—Mrs. Müller, the children supposed—offered them a tight smile. “Just your names, children, and your signature as the responsible adult, Nellie.”

  William spelled their names for the librarian, who took down the information, then looked at Mrs. Forrester. “And your address, please, Nellie. I don’t recall that your family has library cards on file for that information?”

  Mrs. Forrester shifted her parcels. “No.” She filled in the cards, then looked back at the librarian. “If that will be all?” The chill in her voice was evident.

  “It will.” The librarian’s smile heaved under the weight of its own effort. “Enjoy your books, William, Edmund, Anna.”

  The children liked that the woman had already committed their names to memory. A librarian seemed a good sort of friend to have.

  Back at the Forresters’, the children were eager to retire for some reading. They were nearly to the stairs when Mrs. Forrester called out from the parlor that perhaps Anna might like to sit with her a
nd look at the latest Woman’s Weekly.

  Edmund snorted.

  Anna watched her brothers retreat up the stairs. “Ehm, thanks, Mrs.—Auntie Nellie. That sounds lovely.”

  The twins were nowhere to be found, and about this Edmund and William had no complaints. They settled in for a delightful afternoon. William got quite lost in the murder mystery, interrupted only occasionally by Edmund’s cackling at his own book. It was nearly five o’clock when the slamming of the front door announced the arrival of Jack and Simon.

  “Here we go,” Edmund muttered.

  The twins could be heard barreling up the stairs, but they went silent at the bedroom door. Crossing their arms, they appraised William and Edmund.

  “We’re letting you sleep in our room,” Jack barked, “but that’s it. Get your things and shove off.”

  Edmund and William rose, their cheeks burning. William somehow managed a measured response. “Where are we to go, then?”

  “I’m sure your sister and her dollies would like some company down the hall.”

  Edmund’s blood boiled as William gathered their books and suitcases, then handed Edmund his, steered him into the hall, and closed the door.

  “They can’t do that!” Edmund growled.

  “The thing is,” William whispered, “I think they can. What are we going to do, tell the Forresters their precious boys are monsters?”

  Edmund considered this, chest heaving, as Anna appeared at the top of the stairs. The trio made for her room, where the boys told her their tale of woe.

  “We’ll just make this our room, then, for all but sleeping,” she said. “I don’t want to be alone, anyhow.”

  The boys sat, Edmund on the floor and William on the bed.

  “How was Auntie Nellie’s Woman’s Weekly?” Edmund asked with undisguised glee. His sister’s misfortune was a welcome distraction from his own.

  “Even worse than you could imagine,” Anna said with a huff.

  “Oh, I could imagine it being pretty bad.”

  Anna set her shoulders. “She read me a story about how to get on without nylon stockings now the war’s made them so tough to get.”

  The boys couldn’t find words adequate to this subject.

  “You’re supposed to draw a line down the backs of your legs with an eye pencil, to look like a seam,” Anna explained.

  William wrinkled his nose. “You’re to draw on your legs?”

  “That’s not the worst bit,” Anna said, sighing. “She wants me to draw the line on for her.”

  Edmund thought this might be the best thing he had ever heard. The bleak exchange with the Forrester boys forgotten, he could hardly speak for laughing.

  Anna scowled. As it would be her holding the pencil, she failed to see the humor.

  At supper that night, Jack and Simon wasted no time launching an assault.

  “Charlie says loads of the vackies have got nits,” Jack said, swallowing a mouthful of potatoes.

  “Now, son, don’t say vackies,” Mr. Forrester admonished. “Anna and Edmund and William are our guests.”

  Jack offered Edmund a patronizing grin. “I’m not saying they’ve got nits, Dad.”

  “Of course you’re not, darling.” Mrs. Forrester clucked.

  Edmund’s fists were clenched. “We haven’t.”

  “Certainly you haven’t, children,” Mr. Forrester said. “Certainly. It’s only that—well, you must understand that we read about an awful lot of problems with some of the children who were evacuated last fall. It was all over the papers, you know.”

  Edmund disregarded William’s nudge under the table. “We were checked before we left London. We aren’t lousy.”

  Mrs. Forrester gave a tight smile. “Of course you aren’t.”

  Edmund gritted his teeth and spent the remainder of the meal soothing his nerves with the thought of the Dairy Milk bars he had brought from home.

  But after supper, when the children retreated to Anna’s room and he clicked open the latch of his suitcase, he found…nothing.

  Well, not nothing. The socks, shirts, trousers, and other boring bits were in there. But no Dairy Milk, no jelly babies. Nothing that mattered.

  “That’s it,” he said, eyes alight. “They’re in for it now. They’ve taken my sweets!” He slammed the suitcase shut and stormed out the door.

  “Edmund…,” William said, knowing he ought to stop his brother before he did something rash. But Edmund was already halfway down the hall. William and Anna followed, their hearts sick for their brother. The stealing of sweets, after all, is an act committed only by those with unspeakably black souls.

  Edmund flung open the door to the twins’ bedroom. It swung back on its hinges, hitting the wall behind with a terrific thwack.

  “Where are they?” he bellowed.

  Jack and Simon sat up from their comics. “Where are what?” Simon asked. He smiled the most unpleasant smile. “And don’t bang the door. Mum hates that.”

  “There were loads of sweets in my suitcase and they’re all gone!” Edmund shouted. “Where’ve you put them?”

  Jack and Simon didn’t have time to answer before Mrs. Forrester appeared in the doorway. “Whatever is the commotion up here, children?”

  Simon shook his head. “I told him not to bang the door, Mum.”

  Mrs. Forrester looked at Edmund. “What is going on?”

  Edmund took a deep breath. “I brought sweets from home, and they’re gone.”

  Mrs. Forrester looked from one to the other of them. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean they’re gone,” Edmund answered. “They were in my suitcase this morning, and now they’re gone.” He glared at the twins. “They must have hidden them somewhere—unless they’ve already eaten the lot.”

  Mrs. Forrester’s reply left little doubt as to where her allegiance lay. “Jack and Simon would never do such a thing, pet. Perhaps you left your sweets on the train? Or ate more than you realized on your journey?”

  “I didn’t—” Edmund began.

  “That’s right,” Jack said. “I bet you left them on the train. Bad luck, that.”

  “They were here—” Edmund started.

  Jack cut him off. “You know what, Mum? I’ve got a bit of pocket money. I’d be glad to buy some sweets for all of us to share.”

  Mrs. Forrester looked as if she might weep. “Oh, Jack! I don’t even know what to say. That’s so awfully kind.” She turned to Edmund. “See how things work out, pet? Perfectly understandable that you would have left things on the train, in all the commotion.”

  William answered before Edmund could respond. “You’re right, Auntie Nellie. I’m sure that’s what happened.” He met Jack’s and Simon’s wicked grins for only a moment before taking Anna’s hand and nudging Edmund. “We’ll just finish getting ready for bed, then. Good night.” He led his siblings down the hall to Anna’s room.

  Edmund’s whisper only just contained his outrage. “What did you say that for?”

  “What else could we do, Edmund?”

  Edmund’s eyes blazed. “You could have believed me!”

  “I do believe you! But wasn’t it obvious that she wasn’t going to?”

  Edmund’s anger diminished not one bit. “Yes, but that’s not the point.”

  “No. You’re right. It’s not the point,” William whispered. “The point, Edmund, is that the three of us have nowhere else to go. I’m sorry about your sweets, truly I am, but I’m trying to keep us from getting chucked out! Can’t you see that?”

  Just then, Edmund couldn’t see anything other than the unspeakable tragedy of his loss, but he gave up the fight and collapsed in a heap on his sister’s bed.

  William’s words rang in Anna’s ears. Nowhere else to go. She felt tears coming but sensed that her brothers’ row had left no more space in the room for such things. She swallowed. “Tell me something, William.”

  “What?” William turned. “Didn’t I just tell you something this morning?” The evening’s
drama had tapped him of his reserves, but when he saw his sister’s face, the tears so close, he set to work on a new memory. “Right. Well, there’s plenty more.” He squeezed Anna’s fingers as he thought for a moment.

  “Dad hated radishes.”

  Anna nodded slowly. “I hate radishes, too.” She turned to Edmund. “What about you, Edmund?”

  Her brother folded his arms over his face and said nothing. It takes some time to let go of anger, especially when sweets are involved.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As their first week in the countryside marched on into a second, the children’s days took on a familiar sort of order. They woke early and ate breakfast with Mrs. Forrester as Jack and Simon slumbered on. Mr. Forrester was often gone before breakfast, off to the shop to receive the day’s deliveries and manage the growing lines for meat. Before the children left for school, Mrs. Forrester paid a great deal of attention to Anna’s hair. Edmund expressed concern that such enthusiastic brushing might result in baldness. Anna hoped he was wrong.

  The children knew their own way to and from school by now and looked forward to Mrs. Warren’s reassuring welcome each morning. They had learned the names of their classmates, most of whom seemed to be settling in nicely to their new billets. Alfie reported that his foster mother did a bit too much praying for his liking. Frances complained about the unfamiliar foods here in the country. Hugh asked Edmund what their billet was like.

  “Fine,” Edmund said. He shot a look at his siblings. “I mean, not sure if it’s someplace we’d like to stay forever, but…”

  William closed his eyes. Anna widened hers.

  Evenings were spent gathered round the radio, anxiously awaiting news of the war. Most nights, it seemed a distant thing, but as June neared July, it crept closer. They listened in silence as the voice of Winston Churchill, the new prime minister, crackled through the wooden box, telling them that France had fallen to the Nazis.