by Kate Albus
The film was pure magic, even for William, who was—as feared—seated next to Frances. He was fairly certain that, when her hand accidentally brushed his during “When You Wish Upon a Star,” it wasn’t accidental at all. He crossed his arms over his chest as tightly as he could and was thus able to enjoy himself.
“That Walt Disney is brilliant,” Edmund said as the children filed out of the cool, dim theater into the startling afternoon light.
On the way back to the village, William was strategic in his choice of seats, sandwiching himself between Anna and the window. She fell asleep against his shoulder within a few minutes. Edmund was not long behind her, nodding off in his seat as the bus rumbled on.
The afternoon sun was low by the time the buses shuddered to a stop in front of the school. William gave Anna a nudge and she woke reluctantly, rubbing an eye with her fist. William turned to find Edmund with his head against the window, a thin line of drool making its way from the corner of his mouth.
William shook his brother’s shoulder. “We’re back, sleepyhead.”
Edmund swiped at his mouth with his shirtsleeve. “That was fast.”
By now, the children were regular customers at the lending library. They stopped in on their way home, eager for new selections. Mrs. Müller seemed ready to close up shop when they arrived but greeted them warmly. Anna, still rather twitchy with excitement, recounted nearly the entire plot of Pinocchio.
“I think she knows the story, Anna,” Edmund said.
Mrs. Müller grinned. “I do, but I’m enjoying hearing your sister tell it, just the same.”
Anna couldn’t resist turning to Edmund with a rather self-satisfied smile.
“It was really good,” William said. “Just as good as the book.”
“Better,” Edmund said, then looked at the librarian. “Sorry.”
“That’s quite all right, Edmund.”
“I mean…it had songs. The book didn’t have songs.”
“I understand,” Mrs. Müller said, stifling a laugh and turning to Anna. “And what news of our Little Princess? Still taking it slowly?”
“As slowly as I can,” Anna said. “At least, I’m trying. But it’s hard to put down. Sara’s been locked in the attic by that horrid Miss Minchin.”
The librarian studied her. “Do you need something a bit less…troublesome…to read alongside it?”
Anna nodded. The librarian closed one eye, considering. “What about Anne of Green Gables?” she asked.
“Is it another orphan story?” Anna asked.
The librarian chuckled. “I suppose there are rather a lot of orphan stories out there.”
“Why do grown-ups write so many of them?” William asked.
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Mrs. Müller confessed. “Perhaps they think children fancy the notion of living on their own, without adults to tell them what to do. It’s quite daft, if you think about it, isn’t it?”
“Mmmm,” William said. “Daft.”
The torture twins, as Edmund had dubbed them, still hadn’t warmed to the presence of their foster siblings. Rather the opposite, truth be told. Since their arrival, Jack and Simon seemed to have made a project of playing tricks on the boys as often as possible. One night, Edmund’s toothbrush was nowhere to be found. The next, it was William’s comb. Forced, thus, to approach Mr. and Mrs. Forrester about the purchase of new things, the boys simply swallowed and shrugged when asked how such items could possibly go missing.
The worst attack was directed at William, who opened his rucksack at school one morning to find it had been liberally doused with tiny flakes of something that looked like charcoal. Upon closer inspection, the offending substance was determined to be pepper. For days, William was overcome with fits of sneezing when he opened his pack to retrieve something.
Anna shook her head. “You ought to tell Uncle Peter and Auntie Nellie.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Edmund grumbled. “They’d never believe us.” It seemed he had come around to this notion since the painful business with the stolen sweets.
“I think they would,” Anna said.
Edmund only grimaced. “Mums and dads take the part of their own kids.”
“But what if their own kids are awful?”
“Kids are never awful to their own mums and dads. To the mums and dads, they’re perfect. And filthy vackies like us aren’t going to convince anyone otherwise.”
“Edmund’s right,” William said. “The Forresters think Jack and Simon hung the moon.”
Anna was taken aback at the phrase she had only ever heard in reference to her own mother. “Must be lovely,” she whispered.
CHAPTER NINE
The end of summer meant the village children’s return to school. The evacuees kept their morning routine. The village children took over in the afternoons. Now that the Forrester boys were back in school, they were quick to find things to grumble about.
At dinner one night during their first week back, Jack swallowed a piece of sausage with a dramatic shake of his head. “One of their lot”—he gestured toward William, Edmund, and Anna—“has written vackies all over our history books.”
“Oh, dear,” Mr. Forrester murmured. “Vandalism.”
“I know,” Simon said. “Something like that would never have happened before they turned up. Shows what we get for sharing our classroom.”
Edmund couldn’t contain himself. “Why would evacuees write vackies on anything?”
Simon shrugged. “Haven’t been taught proper manners, I suppose.”
“Now, son,” Mr. Forrester chided.
Edmund chose to ignore Simon’s remark. “I mean,” he said, “evacuees don’t call themselves vackies. It’s not exactly a term of—what do you call it, Will?”
“Endearment?” William said.
“Right,” Edmund said. “It’s not exactly a term of endearment—we don’t call ourselves vackies, and we don’t care for anybody else doing it, so why would we write it in a bunch of history books? That would be like you writing…Simple Simon.”
“Mum!” Simon whined. “You’re not going to let him call me names, are you?”
“I wasn’t—” Edmund began.
Mrs. Forrester gave Edmund a grim look. “Edmund. No more name-calling.”
“But I wasn’t—”
Edmund was silenced by the firm press of William’s foot on his own.
“Everything was excellent, Auntie Nellie. Thanks.” William rose to clear his plate. Anna followed quickly on his heels, and Edmund, not wishing to be left alone in enemy territory, did the same.
On the seventh of September, news arrived of a massive air attack on London. Gathered round the radio in the Forresters’ parlor, the children listened for the names of streets they knew, parks and squares and buildings they’d heard of. Anna wept silent tears at the mention of casualties.
Jack sneered at her. “Don’t be such a baby.”
“Don’t call my sister a baby,” Edmund growled.
Mrs. Forrester hushed them. “Boys, please. Do you recognize any of those places, pet?” Anna only shook her head and sniffled.
William grabbed her hand. “They’re mostly naming places in South London. We’re from further north.”
“Even still, pet,” Mrs. Forrester said, “what about your grandmother?”
“The—ehm, our g-grandmother’s…,” William stammered.
Long gone, Edmund thought.
“She’s, ehm—with her sister near Watford,” William said, recovering himself. “That’s well north of the city.”
“We’re in for it now, aren’t we, Dad?” Simon asked. “If they’re bombing London?”
Mr. Forrester was ashen. He switched off the radio and wiped his brow. “I don’t know, son. I just don’t know.”
The bombs fell on London again the night after, and the night after that. The children began to meet the nightly radio broadcasts with teeth gritted. On the fifth straight night of bombings, they listened to
a reporter in the Piccadilly Tube station describing masses of Londoners seeking shelter a hundred feet underground as bombs wrecked their homes above. On the tenth straight night, they heard news of the sinking of the SS City of Benares, whose passengers included a hundred children being evacuated to Canada and the United States. They’re just like us, William thought. Only not anymore.
On the thirty-seventh straight night, they listened as the king’s daughter, the young Princess Elizabeth, made her first radio broadcast.
Thousands of you in this country have had to leave your homes and be separated from your fathers and mothers. My sister—Margaret Rose—and I feel so much for you, as we know from experience what it means to be away from those we love most of all. To you, living in new surroundings, we send a message of true sympathy; and at the same time, we would like to thank the kind people who have welcomed you to their homes in the country.
Mrs. Forrester puffed. “Did you ever imagine? The princess—thinking of us?”
Right. Edmund scowled. She’s been up all night, thinking of Nellie Forrester.
Anna’s mind lingered on the bit about missing those we love most of all. It’s easier for us, I suppose, she thought. We haven’t left parents behind. It’s just ourselves. Perhaps this should have brought some comfort, but Anna found that it only filled her with a hollow sort of ache.
One bright fall afternoon, Mrs. Warren took the children to a hillside on the outskirts of town to forage the last of the wild damson plums.
“Delicious,” Edmund murmured. He had come up with an especially sweet one. He lay on his back in the sun with Anna and William, his mouth full of perfect fruit, his hands smeared purple. Nearby, some of the younger boys were busy with sticks, digging on the crest of the hill.
Mrs. Warren called out to them. “Boys, whatever are you doing?”
It was young Hugh who answered. “Setting a trap.”
“A trap for what?”
“Hitler.”
Mrs. Warren sighed. “Oh, Hugh—”
“We’re going to dig a trench,” another boy chimed in, “then cover it with branches and such. That way, if the Jerries come, they’ll fall in and we’ll have ’em trapped.”
Mrs. Warren had a vision of an innocent old-age pensioner meeting his death in the children’s trench. On second thought, she doubted a gang of children would be able to inflict too much damage on the hillside. “All right, boys. Well done, all of you.”
Edmund roused himself and set off down the hill for a second helping of plums. Under one especially fruitful tree, he spotted something that brought a flash of delight to his very soul. Coiled between the roots lay a dead snake. Freshly dead, from the looks of it—the creature retained its jeweled reptilian shimmer. It was missing an eye, which gave Edmund the curious impression that it was winking at him. He glanced around before slipping the creature into his rucksack.
That evening at dinner, even the sharp kicks Edmund received under the table from Jack couldn’t dampen his spirits. He chatted with William and Anna about school assignments, with Mr. Forrester about the shortage of bacon. He complimented Mrs. Forrester on the meal, thinking all the while of the snake.
When it was time to get ready for bed, he took his time washing up, a fact duly noted by his siblings as he fiddled with the toothpaste.
“Come on, poky boots,” Anna said grumpily.
William, too, was impatient for his turn. “Hurry up, Ed. Where’s your head tonight, anyway?”
Edmund hadn’t time to answer. Upstairs, one of the Forrester boys was suddenly squealing at a pitch that even Anna couldn’t have matched. As they heard Mr. and Mrs. Forrester bustle up the steps in alarm, William and Anna turned to their brother.
William’s eyes were wide. “What did you do?”
Edmund only grinned. “What makes you think I’ve done anything?”
The children made their way toward the front hall as the screaming upstairs crescendoed, Auntie Nellie joining the chorus. Anna squeezed her eyes shut and tried to imagine what Edmund might have done to cause such a commotion.
The answer came to them as Mr. Forrester stomped past on his way to the front door, the snake in his outstretched hand. Anna recoiled as she watched him throw it into the hedge at the far side of the garden. Mr. Forrester closed the door and stood for a moment, gathering himself.
By now, Mrs. Forrester had come downstairs as well. Her hair was disheveled, her chest heaving. “A snake. A dead snake. In Simon’s bed.”
Anna gasped. “Oh, my.”
A thick stillness filled the foyer. Edmund looked at the floor, grinding his teeth to stifle the giggle that was threatening to escape.
“Any…idea…how that got there?” Mr. Forrester asked, each word an effort.
William’s voice came out a bit squeaky. “No, sir.”
“No, sir,” Anna said, genuinely appalled at the thought of a snake in anyone’s bed. Even someone as deserving as Simon.
“Nope,” Edmund said, just a hair too glib. “No idea, Uncle Peter.”
The toxic silence returned. Mrs. Forrester fanned herself with her hand, never taking her eyes from Edmund.
Mr. Forrester considered the children for what seemed an eternity. “Right. Off to bed, all of you.” He looked directly at Edmund. “And there’ll be absolutely no more nonsense. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” the children chorused, and made their way upstairs.
Alone in Anna’s room, William glared at his brother.
Edmund offered a lopsided smile. “C’mon, Will. I couldn’t just take it all on the chin without doing anything.”
William sighed, wishing for just a moment that he had pulled off the trick himself, before coming back to his senses. “This can’t end well, Edmund.”
For a few days, the twins were shadows of their former selves. Around the dinner table, they offered no complaints about evacuee hygiene. None of Edmund’s or William’s possessions went missing. Jack and Simon even stepped around the boys’ pallets each morning, rather than treading on their pillows.
The first hint of trouble was not recognized as anything that might affect the children personally. Arriving at school one day, Anna, Edmund, and William stopped dead upon entering the front hall. There they found Miss Carr and another teacher staring at the back wall, where the word VACKIES had been painted large and inky black.
From where they stood, the children could make out only snippets of the teachers’ hushed conversation.
“Whatever shall we…”
“…think it was one of ours…”
“…won’t help matters…”
By now, the hall had filled with evacuees arriving for the morning’s lessons. Gasps could be heard as children took in the ruined entryway. Miss Carr gathered herself and clapped her hands for attention. Her voice was especially shrill. “Children! Upstairs to your classes at once!”
Mrs. Warren greeted the children with a sad smile and a shake of her head.
“Do they think it was one of the evacuees?” William asked.
“I imagine so.” Mrs. Warren nodded. “It’s ridiculous to think any of you would have done such a thing.” She sighed. “However, as guests in town, we are unknown and therefore the easiest to suspect.” With that, she bade the children take their seats.
That afternoon, the children arrived at the library to find a sign on the door: DIG FOR VICTORY! BE PREPARED FOR SPRING PLANTING! Inside, three long tables bore trays of earth, worn spades and gloves, and envelopes announcing their contents in neat block print: CARROTS; PARSNIPS; BEETS; POTATOES; RADISHES. Anna wrinkled her nose.
Mrs. Müller appeared from the cloakroom, shining with perspiration. “Children! I’m afraid things are in a bit of disarray here. I’m to give a gardening presentation for the village…you know, encourage people to dig up their boxwoods so there’ll be room for radishes, come spring.” She wiped her brow with the back of her forearm. “But you’re likely not here for a demonstration of radish planting
, are you?”
“Anna hates radishes,” Edmund said. Anna feared that her taste in vegetables would be found lacking by the librarian, whose opinions mattered rather a lot to her. Even on subjects as irrelevant as radishes.
Mrs. Müller only smiled. “I didn’t care for them when I was nine, either. Rather spicy, as vegetables go.”
Anna was relieved.
“Don’t let us keep you, Mrs. Müller,” William said.
The librarian swiped at her brow again. “I suppose I ought to gather the last of my things. Browse to your hearts’ content, though—hopefully the gardeners won’t be too disruptive.”
The gardeners, as it turned out, could not have caused much disruption, owing to the fact that there were only six of them, the librarian included. Florence—the old lady whom Anna had heard asking Mrs. Müller to do the gardening presentation—arrived first, followed by two women of similar age and a gray-haired couple.
“Nora, dear,” Florence said, “I’m afraid Evelyn Norton has engaged a ministry speaker for the WVS at the end of the month. I’ve only just heard about it, and I’m awfully sorry if it means you don’t have the turnout you ought to have today.”
The librarian’s face fell. “I see.”
“Let’s just sit for a bit and see who else turns up, shall we?”
“Of course.” The quaver in Mrs. Müller’s voice was unmistakable. “Make yourself comfortable, please, Florence.”
Anna looked up from the shelves to find Mrs. Müller gazing out the window, twisting her fingers. At a quarter past the hour, Anna saw her talk in low tones with the older ladies. She thought her heart would break as she saw the librarian smooth her skirt, look at her wristwatch, and take a deep breath. With a last glance out the window, Mrs. Müller suggested they begin.
“Are children allowed, Mrs. Müller?” William asked.
Edmund resisted the temptation to protest. Anna, meanwhile, thought she had never loved her brother more than just now, as he came to the rescue of the librarian.
Mrs. Müller asked the children to have a seat.
“Honestly, how many sorts of potatoes does the world really need?” Edmund asked as the three of them made their way back to the Forresters’. The gardening presentation hadn’t been as boring as he’d imagined it would be, but perhaps that was no great compliment, as he had imagined it being astonishingly boring.