Читать книгу Stars, Stripes and Surprises - Valerie Tripp - Страница 5

olly McIntire was skipping rope at the end of her driveway on a blustery afternoon in early spring. She was waiting for her friends Linda and Susan. Molly had a very important piece of news to tell them. Oh, wait until they heard! Molly skipped a little faster, as if that would make them come sooner. The wind sent high white clouds hurrying across the sky. It pushed hard against Molly, too, but she wouldn’t budge from her lookout post. Where were Linda and Susan? Molly stopped skipping. She shaded her eyes and peered down the street. They were supposed to come over right after lunch. Molly felt as if she had been waiting forever.

At last Molly saw her friends. Linda was walking quickly. She bent into the wind. Her hands were shoved deep in her pockets. She stopped from time to time to wait for Susan, who was much slower. Susan had one foot on the curb and one foot in the gutter, where she was carefully cracking the thin ice over winter’s last puddles.

“Hurry up!” Molly called. Linda poked Susan and they both ran to Molly.

“Guess what! Guess what!” shouted Molly as they came near.

“What?” Linda and Susan puffed together.

“An English girl is coming to stay with us!” said Molly happily.

“Oooh!” breathed Susan.

“What do you mean?” asked Linda.

“A girl,” said Molly, “from London. Her parents want her to come to America, where it’s safe. She’s supposed to stay with her aunt here in Jefferson until the war’s over. But her aunt has pneumonia or something and can’t take her, so my mom said she could stay with us.”

“Until the war’s over?” asked Linda.

“No, just until her aunt gets better,” said Molly. “But Mom said she’d be with us a couple of weeks at least, and that means she’ll be here for my birthday.”

“Oh, Molly,” sighed Susan. “You’re so lucky! A real English girl for your birthday!”

“I don’t get it,” said Linda. “Why is she coming now? It’s 1944, and England has been in the war a long time.”

“Well,” Molly thought out loud, “maybe her house was just bombed by the Nazis.”

“And she’s probably raggy and starving like the children in Life magazine pictures,” added Susan.

Linda shook her head. “Not everybody in England is ragged and starving, Susan,” she said. “For all you know, she’s as rich as a princess.”

“A princess!” said Susan joyfully.

“I bet she even looks like one of the English princesses, Margaret Rose or Elizabeth!” said Molly. “I bet she has dark curly hair and blue eyes. She’s going to share my room and come to school with me. She’s exactly our age.”

“Does she know your dad in England?” asked Linda.

“No, I don’t think so,” answered Molly. Molly’s dad was a doctor who was in England helping sick and wounded soldiers.

“When does she come?” asked Susan.

“Today!”

“Today!” shrieked Susan and Linda. “What time?”

“Mom said before dinner,” Molly answered.

“Well, I’m not going to stand out here all day waiting for her,” said Linda. She was holding her coat collar up around her ears. “I’m cold. Let’s go inside.”

“Maybe when the English girl is here, Mrs. Gilford will give us little tea sandwiches every afternoon, like they have in England,” said Susan dreamily.

“Maybe,” said Molly. “Oh, it’s going to be so much fun!”

“Will you two come on?” said Linda. She led the way to the house.

The three girls raced inside, through the bright kitchen, and down the stairs to the basement. Their new hideaway was in the corner next to Dad’s workbench. They had set up a card table there and draped an old blanket over it. It was their pretend bomb shelter. A few Saturdays ago, when they went to the movies, they saw a newsreel that showed the different kinds of bomb shelters people used in England. One bomb shelter was a steel table with sides that rolled down. The sides were made of metal links. The table was set up in a living room. The newsreel showed a family rushing to get under the table at the sound of a warning siren. It seemed almost like a game, the same idea as musical chairs.

The girls had been very impressed. Imagine having a bomb shelter right in your own living room! It was horrifying and exciting at the same time. They had gone straight to Molly’s house after the movies and made a pretend bomb shelter of their own. They liked to sit under the blanket-covered table and play that the house was collapsing around them. It was pleasantly scary.

“It smells like mothballs in here,” complained Linda as she crawled under the table. “Do we have to have this old blanket over the table all the time?”

“Yes!” said Molly. “Remember the newsreel? When the bombs came, the people got under the table and rolled the sides down so they wouldn’t get hurt.”

“But those sides were like a fence,” said Linda. “They had holes so you could at least breathe.”

“Well, a blanket is the best we can do,” said Molly. “Let’s just play.”

“Maybe the English girl has a bomb shelter just like this in her house in England,” said Susan as she twisted the top off Molly’s Girl Scout canteen. They kept the canteen full of water in case they decided to stay in their shelter for a long time. They wanted to keep crackers there, too, but Mrs. Gilford thought cracker crumbs would bring ants.

“Do you think English people ever stay in bomb shelters overnight?” asked Linda. “It’s so crowded in here.”

“I think sometimes they do,” said Molly. She tried to straighten her legs, but there wasn’t enough room under the table. “They have to stay in as long as the bombing goes on. Because if they came out too soon, something might fall on them, like bricks or a building or—”

WHAM! Something heavy landed right above their heads. The table wobbled. BAM! The table was struck again.

“Bombs away!” they heard.

The girls looked at each other and giggled. “Ricky!”

Molly lifted the blanket and stuck her head out. Ricky was bouncing his basketball on top of the table. “Don’t do that!” Molly said. She didn’t mind very much, though, because the thud of the basketball made it easy to pretend there were real bombs outside.

“Some bomb shelter,” said Ricky. “This wouldn’t last two seconds if a real bomb fell. Don’t you girls know anything? Real bomb shelters are outside, dug into the ground like caves.” He bounced the ball on the table again.

“This is like what they have in England,” protested Molly.

“Like fish it is,” scoffed Ricky.

“It is, too,” said Susan from inside. “We saw it at the movies.”

“Where? In the cartoon?” asked Ricky.

“You wait, Ricky,” said Molly. “Wait till the English girl comes. She’ll tell you about bomb shelters.”

Ricky groaned. “Just what I need,” he said. “Another dippy girl around.” But Molly noticed he didn’t say anything more about their bomb shelter.

Ricky had just left when Molly’s mother called down the stairs. “Girls? Come up here, please.”

“She’s here!” squealed Molly. “The English girl!” The three girls tumbled over each other struggling to be the first one out of their bomb shelter. They pounded up the stairs and into the kitchen. Molly stopped so suddenly that Susan stumbled into her back.

There, standing by the kitchen table, was the English girl. Mrs. McIntire was standing behind her, with her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “Emily,” she said, “I’d like you to meet Molly. Molly, this is Emily Bennett.” Very gently, she pushed Emily toward Molly. Emily kept her eyes on the floor.

Molly held out her hand and smiled at Emily. “Hi,” she said.

Emily glanced up at Molly, then looked down again. She touched Molly’s hand with icy fingertips, whispered “How do you do,” and stepped backward toward Mrs. McIntire.

Susan pushed past Molly. “How do you do?” she said. She pulled the sides of her pants legs as if they were the wide skirt of a ball gown and bobbed down in a curtsy. “I’m Susan,” she said as she rose awkwardly. “I thought English girls always curtsied.”

Ricky snorted and Molly and Linda giggled at Susan. Emily didn’t look up, but Molly saw that her ears turned pink with embarrassment. She thinks we’re laughing at her, Molly thought.

Molly moved toward Emily. “This is Linda,” she said. “And here’s Ricky, my brother. He’s twelve. I have another brother named Brad, who is four, and a sister named Jill. She’s fourteen. You’ll meet them later.”

Everyone was quiet, staring at Emily. Then Mrs. McIntire said, “We’re very glad you’re here, Emily. You’ll get used to the names and faces soon.” She patted Emily’s shoulders. “Ricky, would you carry the suitcase upstairs, please? Molly, why don’t you show Emily your room.” She smiled and said, “It’s going to be your room, too, Emily, for as long as you stay with us.”

A very quiet parade climbed up the stairs. Ricky was in the lead, with Emily following. Molly, Linda, and Susan lagged behind. Linda whispered to Susan, “She’s awfully little. And she sure doesn’t look like a princess.”

But Susan’s eyes were glowing. “Of course she’s little. Didn’t I tell you she’d be starving?”

Emily was the skinniest girl Molly had ever seen. Her knee socks were twisted and saggy around her legs, which were as thin as spaghetti noodles. Even her hair was skinny. It was gingery-red and absolutely straight. Her eyes were pale blue. Her skin was pale, too, as if she had not been outside in the sunshine for a very long while.

Ricky put Emily’s suitcase on one of the beds in Molly’s room and left. Linda and Susan flopped onto the other bed. “Well, here we are,” said Molly. “Want me to help you unpack?”

Emily shook her head no. She stood by the door.

“Here,” said Molly, “I’ll make some room for your stuff in this chest.” She scooped up a messy armful of socks from one drawer and shoved them into another. “You can have this whole drawer,” she said.

Emily opened her suitcase. Carefully she lined up three pairs of socks, some underwear, and two pairs of pajamas in the drawer.

“Is that all you have?” asked Susan. “Did all your clothes get lost or burned up or something?”

Emily didn’t answer. She was hanging two skirts and a white blouse in Molly’s closet. She put the blouse on the hanger and buttoned up all the buttons. She folded the collar and moved the shoulders so that they were exactly straight on the bony skeleton of the hanger. “Well, we have lots of clothes and things you can use, so don’t worry,” Susan added.

Emily put her suitcase under the bed and smoothed the bedspread. “You sure like things neat,” said Molly. She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Emily seemed to have a wall around her that made her difficult to talk to. Then Molly thought of something Emily would be familiar with, something she could certainly talk about. “Come on, Emily,” she said. “We have something to show you down in the basement.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Susan. “You’ll like this.”

Molly led the girls back downstairs. Emily walked stiffly, as if she were cold. When they got to the basement, she moved even more slowly. Molly pointed to the bomb shelter. “See?” she said. “It’s a bomb shelter, like you have in England. We play in it all the time.” She lifted the edge of the blanket and showed Emily the dark space under the table. “Want to go in?” she asked. “Come on. It’s fun.”

But Emily backed away from the bomb shelter. “No,” she said. “No thank you. I’d rather not.” Then she turned and walked quickly back up the stairs.

Molly, Susan, and Linda watched her go. “At least she finally said something,” said Linda.

Molly sighed.

“You’d better go up and try to talk to her,” said Susan. “You’re supposed to be making friends with her, right?”

“Right,” said Molly. She climbed slowly up the stairs to the kitchen. Mrs. McIntire was sweeping the kitchen floor.

“Are you looking for Emily?” she asked. “She said she was going upstairs to write a letter to her parents.”

Molly wasn’t sure what to do. “Do you think I should go up there?” she asked her mother.

Mrs. McIntire bent over to sweep under the kitchen table. “Why don’t you leave Emily in peace for a while,” she said. “She’s probably feeling rather overwhelmed. She’s had a big day.”

“She’s awfully quiet, isn’t she?” said Molly. “She never says anything.”

Mrs. McIntire straightened and chuckled. “Not everybody is a chatterbox like you are, olly Molly. English children are taught to be reserved—to be very polite and quiet. Emily probably feels shy.” Mrs. McIntire swept the dirt into a dustpan. “Think how you’d feel your first day with a brand-new family.”

“It seems as if she doesn’t like us,” said Molly. “She won’t smile or anything, and she wouldn’t play in the bomb shelter either.”

Mrs. McIntire put the dustpan down and thought for a moment. “Give Emily a chance, Molly. Remember, bomb shelters haven’t been places for her to play. In fact, the whole world must have seemed cold and dangerous to Emily for a long time. The war in England has been going on since she was five—practically her whole life. I think Emily is like a little crocus who’s not sure it’s spring yet. It will take some time for her to realize it’s safe to come out now.” She grinned at Molly. “I imagine quite soon I’ll have two chatterboxes on my hands. But meanwhile, you be as warm and friendly and welcoming as you can be to Emily, okay?”

“Okay, Mom,” said Molly.

“That’s my girl,” said Mom.

Mom made it sound easy to make friends with Emily. Molly wasn’t sure it would be.