The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

It sat at the very end of a quiet dirt lane. Trees grew along both sides of the
lane, and their tops met over it so that the lane was shadowed in green. The
house sat pushed back from the trees, in a small pool of sunlight, but vines
snaked up the red brick chimney and bushes ran rampant around the windows.
A small roof sheltered a door painted red, like the chimney, but the house
itself was a flat gray, dull behind the bushes. Curtains were drawn over the
windows and the door was shut tight.
The iron-faced woman made a clicking sound as though annoyed. She
pulled the car to a stop and cut the engine. “Wait here,” she commanded. She
pounded a fist against the red door. When nothing happened, she barked,
“Miss Smith!” and after a few more moments of nothing, she turned the knob
and stepped inside.
I nudged Jamie. “Go listen.”
He stood by the open door for a few minutes, then came back. “They’re
fighting,” he said. “The lady doesn’t want us. She says she didn’t know the
war was on.”
I was not surprised that Miss Smith didn’t want us, but I had a hard time
believing anyone didn’t know about the war. Miss Smith was either lying, or
dumb as a brick.
I shrugged. “We can go somewhere else.”
The instant I said that, everything changed. To the right side of the sleeping
house a bright yellow pony put its head through the bushes and stared at me.
I could see that it was standing behind a low stone wall. It had a white
stripe down its nose and dark brown eyes. It pricked its ears forward and
made a low whickery sound.
I poked Jamie, and pointed. It was like something I’d imagined come true.
I felt again in my gut the feeling I’d had on the train when I’d seen the
galloping pony and the girl.
Jamie whispered, “Does he live here?”
I was already climbing out of the car. If the pony didn’t live with Miss
Smith, it at least lived next door, and wherever it was, I was staying too. I
tried to take a step, but my foot wouldn’t allow it. I pulled Jamie over. “Help
me,” I said.
“To the pony?”
“No. To the house.” We stumbled up the stone step and through the red
door. Inside, the house felt dark and close. The air smelled tingly. The room
we entered was full of odd thick furniture, all covered with dark purple cloth.