Free The Sky is Falling by Kit Pearson Page B

lush tops of trees.
    â€œYes … I hope you don’t mind being up here alone. Is it all right?” Miss Ogilvie’s voice was shy. “I prepared it myself.”
    Norah had never encountered a grown-up who was so nervous. She walked around the room carefully, trying not to make sudden movements that might startle her.
    Two narrow beds were along one wall, each covered in a satin eiderdown. New-looking curtains hung from the windows. On a table were piled boxes of jigsaw puzzles and games. Some battered tin cars and trucks were parked in a row under the table and a shabby rocking horse with a real horsehair mane stood in a corner. Gavin went over to it and stroked the mane gently.
    â€œI’m afraid they’re mostly boys’ things,” Miss Ogilvie apologized. “You see …” Her voice faltered.
    Norah thought she was about to reveal they had only wanted a boy. Her excitement over the lofty room subsided.
    â€œâ€¦ you see, this was our nursery—my brother’s and mine. Most of these toys belonged to him, but I found one of my dolls for you, Norah.” She pointed to a small doll with a chipped plaster face lying on one of the beds. “I used to love dolls, but of course not all girls do,” the soft voice continued anxiously.
    Norah fingered the doll’s yellowed eyelet dress. Miss Ogilvie watched so hopefully that she tried to sound enthusiastic. “Thank you. She’s very nice. Where’s your brother, then? Does he still live here?”
    The woman’s plain face seemed to collapse upon itself. “Oh, no! Hugh was killed in the war. Not this war, the first one.”
    â€œOh. I’m sorry.”
    There seemed nothing more to say after that. Miss Ogilvie looked as if she wanted to leave. “You get yourselves settled,” she said, “and I’ll come up for you when it’s time for tea. We have a formal tea on Sundays and an informal supper later. Perhaps you could change into your best clothes. And could you wipe his mouth?” she added hesitantly. Gavin’s lips were smeared red from the sweet Miss Carmichael had given him. “First impressions are important, don’t you think? I’ll see you later.” She disappeared down the stairs.
    The horse creaked as Gavin rocked on it slowly. Norah took out all their clothes and put them away in the wardrobe and the chest of drawers. There was lots of space left over when she’d finished. She placed the photograph of the family on the small table between the beds. At the bottom of her case she found her bundle of shrapnel and ran her hands over the smooth, iridescent metal before she decided to hide it under her mattress.
    Then she made Gavin wash his face and go to the toilet. That was in with the bathtub; at home it was aseparate room attached to the scullery. She had already become used to pressing a handle instead of pulling a chain.
    She picked out some clothes for them. The only dress she had that was fancier than the one she wore was a very rumpled winter one of flowered Viyella. She tried to get rid of the wrinkles with a wet flannel.
    â€œI’m too hot,” complained Gavin, after Norah had made him put on his grey wool shorts and knitted waistcoat. At least the waistcoat partly covered up his wrinkled white shirt.
    â€œStop whining. You heard what she said about first impressions.” Norah looked for a ribbon and tied a sloppy bow on one side of her head. Even the ribbon was wrinkled.
    â€œLet’s take these horrid things off.” She unfastened the identification disks around their necks and threw them into the wastepaper basket, feeling lighter.
    They sat quietly on the window seat and looked down on the rooftops below them. Norah began to feel hopeful. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, living here. Even if the Ogilvies only wanted Gavin, this marvellous room was an unexpected pleasure. And if she were as polite as possible, they might