Mam might not have screamed at me for having a foot like this.
The surgery had worked.
I didn’t have a clubfoot anymore.
As I stared, my feet grew blurry, then cleared, then grew blurry again. Great blobbing tears fell out of my eyes. My shoulders started to shake, and I might have crumpled except that Susan threw her arms around me. She hugged me the way she’d hugged me the morning she found me in London, after the bombing, still alive. “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting used to this hugging business,” she whispered into my ear. It made me laugh even though I was sobbing. I stood and sobbed and stood and sobbed and stood and stood and stood.
• • •
Jamie ran into the ward that afternoon carrying a cardboard box. “Show me your foot!” he said.
I was lying on top of my blankets with my two bare feet stretched in front of me. “Go on,” I told him. I’d been admiring my foot all afternoon.
Jamie climbed onto the bed. His fingers traced the thick scar around my right ankle. “Cor,” he said. “It’s like a real foot now.”
I wouldn’t have guessed my foot could change so much. My ankle would never bend correctly, the doctor said, and the insides of it weren’t normal, but I would be able to walk with the bottom of my foot against the ground, and I would be able to wear real shoes on both feet. That was more than enough.
“Here,” Susan said, handing Jamie’s box to me. “In celebration.”
I lifted the lid. It was a pair of shoes. Leather shoes with a strap around the ankle, like the ones Maggie wore. Good new shoes that were almost impossible to find in the shops anymore.
Jamie said, “We bought them weeks ago. The day before your surgery.”
I slid the left shoe on first. Then I reached down to my new right foot. Stuck the toes inside the shoe. Pushed the heel down. Buckled the strap. The right shoe was a little loose. Both shoes had room at the toes. Room to grow. I could wear the shoes a long time.
In shoes my feet looked identical. You couldn’t even see the scar.
Nobbut a monster, with that ugly foot. That’s what Mam had said. Over and over, until it took everything I had not to believe her.
I would never have to hear that again.
I felt a wave of sudden, overwhelming despair. “This was all it took?” I said, looking up at Susan. “A couple of months in hospital fixed it?” All my life I’d been miserable because of that foot.
Tears came to Susan’s eyes. “Your mother didn’t know,” she said.
“She did,” I said. “She wanted a reason to hate me.”
Jamie looked from me to Susan and back to me again. He whispered, “I thought you’d be happy.”
“Oh, Jamie.” I took a deep breath. “I am happy.” I swung my legs to the floor. “Help me walk.”
“Careful,” Susan said. “Your legs aren’t yet strong.”
“Jamie’ll take care of me.” I held my hands out and let him balance me. We started to walk down the room. One step, then another. Left foot. Right foot.
Before, when I walked on my bad foot, the bones crunched. The skin tore and bled. Every step hurt more. Now every step hurt less. My legs were weak and shaky, but I was walking.
“You’re doing it!” Jamie said.
I could scarcely believe it. “Pretty soon,” I said, “I’ll be running. Faster than you.”
Jamie grinned. “I’ll still be faster,” he said. “I’ll always be faster.”
“Will not.”
“Will too!”
• • •
I wanted to sleep in my shoes, but the nurses made me sleep with my right foot in a brace instead. Only for a little while, they said. I spent another few weeks in hospital, doing exercises and strengthening my legs, and then, in the third week of December, we said good-bye to the nurses and the doctors and the ankle brace and the crutches and everything. I put my new shoes on over thick winter stockings, and we went home.
Chapter 5
“Draw me a map,” I said to Susan as we climbed aboard the train. I walked to the station like a regular girl. Right foot, left foot. No crutches. Barely even limping. Not like the day I’d been evacuated, when my neighbor Stephen White ended up carrying me. “Are we going to travel through London? Show me where we are and where we’re going.” Susan sometimes drew me maps of our village, so I didn’t get lost when I was out on Butter.
“Not through London, no,” Susan said. Soldiers moved aside to give us seats together. Susan stowed our bags in the luggage rack and tucked Bovril’s basket beneath the seat. She found a pencil and a piece of paper in her handbag. She drew. “This is England. Here’s where we are. Here’s London. Here’s home.” She added a squiggly line to show the train route to Kent.
Jamie pointed at the blank space on the side of the paper. “What’s over there?”
“Dragons,” said Susan.
We stared at her. She laughed. “It’s a joke,” she explained. “People used to draw dragons on the edges of old maps. When the world hadn’t been fully explored, mapmakers imagined dragons living at the far ends.”
We still stared. “What’re dragons?” asked Jamie. I didn’t know either.
“Enormous, mythical, fire-breathing creatures, like giant lizards,” said Susan. “Sometimes they can fly.”
Jamie’s eyes widened. I frowned. Was Susan serious? I couldn’t tell. “I don’t want dragons,” Jamie said.
“All right,” Susan said. “We’ll keep them off our map.”
She drew the English Channel instead, south of England, and a line for the coast of France on its far side. She wrote Occupied by Germany across France. “Worse than dragons,” she said.
I doubted that. Worse than giant, fire-breathing lizards that could fly? Sounded like we should send dragons after Hitler.
• • •
It was night before we reached our village station. We took the taxi to our new cottage. Jamie pressed his forehead against the taxi’s window. “We used to live in a tree house,” he said, “but now we’re going to go live in a cave.” This was, of course, from The Swiss Family Robinson.
“That’s right,” Susan said. “It’ll be spartan at first, but we’ll make it cozy. It will be much warmer and drier than living in that tree.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why do you encourage him?”
She grinned. “Can you suggest an alternative?”
Well, no. I really couldn’t.
The cottage was set in a gloomy woods, bare now in winter and somber and gray. Its pale stone walls glimmered in the moonlight. “I thought it was supposed to be little,” I said. The cottage was twice the size of Susan and Becky’s old house.
Susan blinked. “I expected it to be little. Lady Thorton described it as little.”
Little compared to Thorton House, which was the size of a train station, but not little compared to anything else.
Susan paid the cabdriver, took an enormous iron key from beneath a flowerpot on the front step, and slid the key into the lock on the door. Inside, the cottage was entirely dark. Blackout screens covered the windows. Susan fumbled for a light switch, and a single electric bulb, hung from the middle of the ceiling, flickered on, barely illuminating a large, nearly empty room. In the corner something skittered out of sight. I hoped it was a mouse, not a cockroach or a rat. Jamie pulled the lid off Bovril’s basket. Bovril growled and streaked toward the noise.
For the first time ever, I loved Jamie’s cat.
The air smelled fresh, not dank, but the plaster walls radiated cold. I followed Susan as she inspected the ground floor, clicking on lights as she went. On one side of the big room was a kitchen, with a rickety table and a set of chairs. Behind that was a small back room, empty, and a sort of scullery with a washboiler and a bin full of coal. “Thank heavens,” Susan said when she saw the coal.
As we approached the stairs Jamie ran down them. “Five bedrooms!” he said.
“Oh, good,” I said. “Bovril can have his own.”
Jamie shot me a look. “Bovril and I are sharing. You can have your own.”
“Even better,” I said.
I went upstairs. Five bedrooms and a bath. Two bedrooms were empty. Three contained beds already made up with pillows, blankets, and sheets.
It was kind of Lady Thorton to furnish our beds. Generous, like the full coal bin.
Like my surgery.
I went back down the stairs. This is how I did it: Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. Just normal. Just walking.
It felt fantastic.
Jamie was hauling a full coal scuttle into the sitting room and Susan was making up the fire. I said, “We don’t need this much space.”
“I know,” Susan said. “I appreciate it, I truly do, but I’d have preferred something smaller. This will cost the earth to heat.”
Jamie looked up at her through a fringe of tousled hair. “We want a big cave,” he said. “When the storms come, we’ll need room for everyone.”
• • •
Susan gave me the bedroom at the top of the stairs. A whole bedroom all my own. It was large and spare, with a single window, yellow wallpaper, and a cold, bare wood floor. It had a bed, a table with a lamp on it, a bookshelf, and a small dresser for my clothes. Everything I could possibly need.
I took off my shoes and put them on the bookshelf, where I could see them if I woke in the night. I unpacked my bag, taking out my nightclothes and my extra socks and underwear. From the very bottom I pulled out the box I kept my birth certificate in. I put that on the shelf beside my shoes. I took off my sweater and dress and put on my nightgown. I shivered, and put on my hospital dressing gown. I turned off the light, took down the blackout screen, and looked through the window into the garden behind the house. An Anderson shelter lay half-buried near the scullery door, and a large, empty square pen enclosed a patch of grass farther back.
I heaved the window open and thrust my head into the night air. “Butter,” I said. At Susan’s old house, Butter lived in the back pasture. Whenever I called him he’d come galloping, ears and tail alert. He would slide to a stop just in front of me and gently lower his head. He never once knocked me down, not even in the beginning when I was weak and afraid. “Butter,” I whispered, choking back tears. I missed him so much.
Susan came in carrying another blanket. She stood beside me at the window. Tears were rolling down my face now, but Susan didn’t comment on them. “It’s a lovely garden,” she said instead.
“I miss Butter.”
Susan pulled the window shut. “You’ll see him tomorrow,” she said. “First thing.” She hugged my shoulders. “To bed now. You’re worn out.”
I was. I hadn’t realized it, but I was suddenly so tired I could barely stand. I slid between the cold sheets of the bed. Susan tucked the extra blanket around me. Her lips touched the top of my forehead as I fell asleep.
Chapter 6
“Bovril caught a mouse!” Jamie yelled from down the hall.
I jerked awake. It was morning. I was glad my bedroom door was closed.
Though mice were better than roaches or rats.
I dressed quickly. Butter. Downstairs, Susan was fiddling with the unfamiliar stove. “Oatmeal?” she asked.
“No, no, no,” I said, stuffing my arms into my coat. Susan laughed. She told me the path to take to the stables, and handed me a piece of bread to eat on the way.
It was cold and the sun barely lit the gray woods. The air smelled like home—like hay and grass and salt from the sea. I breathed deep. I’d missed it so.
After a few turns, the path opened onto the side road that went from Thorton House to the stables. I could see the stable cupola. I knew where I was. “Fred!” I yelled, and then I ran.
I hadn’t run much yet. I lurched and stumbled and felt out of breath, but I was running, actually running, and it was so much fun I laughed aloud. I turned the corner into the stable yard and there was Fred, Lady Thorton’s groom, lifting his cap to scratch his bald head like always.
His face lit up. He held out his arms. That was good, because I couldn’t make my legs stop. I smashed straight into him. Fred laughed and swung me up in the air in a circle, and when he set me down firm on both feet he kissed my cheek. We had always been friends—he taught me how to ride and I helped him with chores—but he’d never kissed me before. “Ah, lass!” he said, taking out his handkerchief and wiping his eyes. “I didn’t think I’d see you so spry. I didn’t think they could.”
“You never said that!”
“I thought you’d be some better,” he said. “Running, now, running I didn’t expect.”
I grinned at him. “Running,” I said.
“Running,” he repeated. “Eh, I’ve missed you. It’s good you’re back.” He took a deep breath. “We’ve plenty of work to do.”
I turned toward the row of stalls. “Butter!”
Butter tossed his yellow head over one of the open half-doors. His ears flew forward. He whickered low in his throat. His eyes shone.
“He missed you,” said Fred. “We all missed you.”
I’d never been missed before.
I swallowed hard. I went to Butter and rubbed his forehead. He sniffed my hands. I said, “I was afraid he’d forget me. I was afraid you both would.”
“Not a chance,” said Fred. “We need you, don’t we? We’re that glad you’re back.”
Needed. I was needed. “Is Maggie home?” Her boarding school was a long way away.
“Soon,” Fred said. “She’ll be happy to see you too.”
Not more than I’d be happy to see her. I ran my fingers through Butter’s mane. “Can I ride first, before I start work?”
Fred took down my old sidesaddle. I shook my head. “I’m going to ride astride, like Maggie,” I said. “I’ve got two useful feet now.”
He hesitated, grinning at me. “Posh ladies ride aside.”
I laughed. “I’m not a posh lady,” I said. “I’m a regular girl.”
“Eh, you could be,” Fred said.
“Could be a regular girl?” I said. “Yes, please.”
Fred laughed and dug Butter’s old straight saddle out of the Thortons’ tack room. Our tack hadn’t been bombed; it had all been in the stable beside Susan’s house. Fred had it now.
It was a joy to settle the saddle onto Butter’s back, to tighten the girth around him, to slide the bit into his mouth and buckle the bridle around his head. A joy to hoist myself into the saddle and slide both feet into stirrups. Fred helped me lengthen the leathers. I’d grown while I was in hospital.
Fred patted Butter’s neck. “Not too much now,” he said. “You’ll not have your balance back nor your strength, and I’m counting on your help with the chores.”
I knew he was right. I wasn’t strong yet. I wouldn’t ride up my lookout hill or far into the fields. I’d ride into the village and find my friend from London, Stephen White. He’d want to see my new foot.
Butter’s hooves clopped against the paving stones. The winter air nipped my nose. Butter’s strides made my hips sway. I breathed deep and felt myself relax. My right ankle was stiff in the stirrup. It would always be stiff, no matter what, but it didn’t hurt. I nudged Butter into a trot. I’d never had much practice posting—you didn’t post the trot in a sidesaddle—but I understood how it should work and after a few bounces I found a soft rhythm. My right foot was fine as long as I didn’t force my ankle down. I steadied my shoulders and worked to keep my hips even. I’d always been lopsided before.
Butter blew out a long breath. I scratched his shoulder. If I could stay in the saddle forever, I’d never be afraid.
• • •
Stephen White lived with a very ol
d man named Colonel McPherson in a small house on the near side of the village. I hadn’t heard from Stephen while I was in hospital, but I hadn’t expected to. Sometimes I wrote to Maggie, because she was away so much at school, but writing letters was still hard for me. I hadn’t been reading or writing for very long.
Stephen White was the first friend I ever had. When we evacuated London he helped me escape. He was the only person besides Jamie who really understood what my old life with Mam had been. I knew he’d be as happy as Fred to see me walking well.
I drew rein in front of the colonel’s cottage. Stephen always kept it neat but now it looked forlorn, abandoned. Dried leaves blanketed the front stoop. Blackout curtains covered the windows and I couldn’t see smoke coming from the chimney. The colonel chilled easily; he always kept a good fire.
I dismounted and dragged Butter up the front walk. I knocked.
Behind me, a flat, emotionless voice said, “Ada. I didn’t expect to see you. I didn’t know when you were coming back.”
I turned. “Stephen?”
Stephen White stood in front of me holding the handles of a bicycle. He looked awful. His face was gray and thin, and dark circles ringed his eyes. His bony wrists stuck out from his shirt cuffs. He wore a wide black armband on one sleeve. “What’s happened?” I asked.
Stephen swallowed. “Lots,” he said. “It’s good to see you. I’m leaving in the morning. I’ve got something for you—for Susan, really.”
“Leaving?”
“My dad joined the merchant marines. His ship signed me on as a cabin boy. Pay Hitler back, we will.”
“What about the colonel?” I said. “Besides, you’re not old enough to fight!”
Stephen shrugged. “Thirteen’s old enough for a cabin boy. I didn’t have to lie. Dad and I are spending Christmas with my aunts in London, then we’re off.”
I didn’t know what to think. “That’s dangerous,” I said. Hitler blew up supply ships all the time.
“I suppose.” Stephen looked me up and down. He still didn’t smile. He’d always been cheerful before. “You look good,” he said. “The surgery went well?”