The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

tight. “Interesting,” she said. “King Richard the Third had a clubfoot. I’ve
never seen one before.”
I made myself think of the ponies. The pony beside the house, the pony
running next to the train. Me, riding the yellow pony. I went away into my
head and gave myself ponies and that way I could bear Miss Smith touching
me.
“Right,” she said. “We’ll go to the doctor tomorrow, find out what we
should do for you.”
“He won’t want her,” Jamie said. “Nice people hate that ugly foot.”
Miss Smith let out a short, harsh laugh. “You’re in luck, then,” she said,
“because I am not a nice person at all.”
She was not a nice person, but she cleaned up the floor. She was not a nice
person, but she bandaged my foot in a white piece of cloth, and gave us two
of her own clean shirts to wear. They hung past our knees. She combed or cut
the tangles out of our hair, which took ages, and then she made a big pan of
scrambled eggs. “It’s all the food I have,” she said. “I haven’t been shopping
this week. I wasn’t expecting you.”
All the food she had, she said, except there was butter on the slightly stale
bread, and sugar in the tea. The eggs looked slimy, but I was hungry enough
to eat anything, and they tasted fine. When I wiped my plate with my bread
she gave me another spoonful of eggs. “What am I supposed to do with you?”
she asked.
It was such an odd question. “Nothing,” I said.
“Ada stays inside,” Jamie offered.
“I take care of him,” I said. “You won’t have to.”
Miss Smith frowned. “How old are you?”
This question made me squirm. “Jamie’s six,” I said. “Mam said. He’s got
to go to school.”
“He’s awfully small for six,” Miss Smith said.
“Mam said.”
“And surely you’re older than he is?” she continued. “Don’t you go to
school?”
Jamie said, “Not with that ugly foot.”
Miss Smith snorted. “That foot’s a long way from her brain.” She tapped