Free The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley Page B

accent.”
    I said, “You talk funny to me.”
    She laughed. “I guess. But you can ride, and our evacuees, the ones staying with us, I mean, are all terrified of horses. Where’d you learn to ride in London?”
    “Didn’t. Just teaching myself here.”
    “Well, you’re pretty good.”
    “On a posh horse like this one, anyone would be,” I said. “Our pony has me off half a dozen times a day.”
    “Ponies are snakes,” she replied. “Sneaky devils. You should see what mine gets up to.”
    It turned out the horse we were riding was her brother’s hunter, and her mother was making her keep it exercised. “Just until I leave for school,” she said. “Which should have been last week, only they’re moving the school, evacuating it, I suppose, so we’re starting late. And I hate this horse, I do, and he hates me. Goes like a lamb for anybody else. Mum won’t believe me, and he’s worse when he’s by himself, and he won’t pony with my mare, so I’m stuck fighting him alone for an hour a day. All the stable lads have run off to join up and Grimes is overworked and there’s nobody to go with me.”
    All this talk—which I only half understood—seemed to suddenly exhaust her. She sagged against my shoulder. “You’re all right?” I asked.
    “Not really,” she said. “I feel sick.”
    The horse swung authoritatively around a corner. I hoped he knew where he was going. He seemed to, and anyway, Margaret wasn’t telling me anything different.
    She swayed suddenly. I wished I was behind her, so I could hold her steady. “Maggie?” I said. There was a Margaret on our lane and everyone called her Maggie. “Maggie, hang on.”
    I pulled her hand farther around my waist. She leaned her head between my shoulder blades, muttering to herself. I worked hard to keep the horse steady but walking fast. I didn’t know how far we had to go.
    “M’mother likes Jonathan better than me,” Maggie said, more loudly. “She doesn’t really like girls. She’ll do anything for him, but she’s always cross with me.”
    “My mam likes my brother better too,” I said. “She hates me, because of my foot.”
    I could feel her lean over to look at my bad foot. I was glad that it was bandaged. She swayed, off balance. “Careful,” I said.
    “Mmm,” she said.
    “A brewer’s cart ran over it,” I said.
    “Oh,” Maggie said. “Well, that’s a silly reason to hate you.”
    The horse clomped on. Maggie’s head bounced against my shoulder. “It wasn’t a brewer’s cart,” I said, after a pause. “It’s a clubfoot.” That word the doctor had used.
    “Oh, clubfoot.” Her voice slurred. “I’ve heard of that. We had a foal born with a clubfoot.”
    The horse turned again, down a long gravel drive planted on both sides with straight rows of trees. He stepped faster now, swinging his head. Maggie groaned. “I’m going to be sick,” she said.
    “Not on the horse,” I said.
    “Mmm,” she said, and was, but she leaned over far enough that most of the sick missed the saddle. Then she nearly fell off. I grabbed her. The horse swung his head impatiently.
    “He’s always happier going home,” Maggie murmured. “Rotten bugger.”
    “What’s a foal?” I asked.
    “What? Oh—a baby horse. We had a horse born with a clubfoot. That’s what Grimes called it.” She swayed again. “I feel awful.”
    I tried to imagine a little horse with a twisted hoof. Butter’s hooves were long and curling, but they didn’t twist. What would a horse do if it couldn’t walk? No crutches for horses. Were there?
    “Did it die, then?” I asked.
    “What? Oh, the horse. The clubfoot horse. No. Grimes fixed it. Grimes and the farrier.”
    The trees opened up and in front of us was a huge stone building, big like I imagined the dock warehouses must be. Big like the London train station. It couldn’t be right. Whatever the place was, it wasn’t a house.
    The horse shook his head at my attempts to rein him in. Instead of