The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

bottom, and something called underwear, which she said we had to wear from
now on—three sets of that—and stockings and then shoes for both of us,
Jamie and me.
“I got shoes already,” Jamie said, eyeing the stout boots Miss Smith chose.
“And Ada, she don’t need ’em.”
Miss Smith ignored him. The shopkeeper, an unpleasant man with hairy
eyebrows, said, “These evacuees is nothing but trouble, isn’t they, miss? My
missus is that fed up already, she’s wanting to send them home. Filthy little
rats wet the bed.”
Miss Smith gave him a look that made him shut his mouth, except he
begged her pardon first. And when we walked out the door I had a brown
leather shoe on my good left foot.
A real shoe. For me.
Miss Smith had had to buy a whole pair. The man wouldn’t sell her just
one. She carried the other shoe in a bag. “We’ll save it,” she said. “Perhaps
someday…”
I didn’t know what she meant, and I didn’t ask. I was getting tired, even
with the crutches, and I only wanted to think about the walk home. But Jamie
danced in front of me, smiling. “If they can fix your foot,” he said. “If they
can fix it!”
I smiled back at him. Jamie was such a hopeless fool.