The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

I nodded. Talking to Miss Smith had helped my panic subside. I
unclenched my hands from the blankets and lay back down. “You could sleep
here,” I said to Miss Smith. Jamie was in the middle of the bed, so there was
room on her side.
She shook her head. “No, I’ll—well, maybe. Just this once.” She slid in
beside Jamie and pulled the blankets over herself. I pulled my end over
myself, feeling again the unexpected softness, the warmth.
The next thing I knew the room was full of light, the sound of church bells
was coming through the open windows, and Miss Smith was saying, “Oh,
Jamie, you wet the bed.”
He never did, at home. I remembered the surly salesman who’d
complained about his evacuees’ bedwetting, and I gave Jamie such a glare
that he burst into tears.
“No matter,” Miss Smith said, though she looked annoyed. “It’ll all wash.
Monday we’ll buy a rubber sheet in case it happens again.”
She was all the time having to buy stuff. I said, mostly to ease my worry,
“Of course, you’re rich.” Of course she was, with the posh house and all the
food, not to mention a bank to hand her money.
“Far from it,” she replied. “I’ve been living off the sale of Becky’s
hunters.” She stood up, stretching. “What’s with those blasted bells? Have we
slept that long? I suppose I should be taking you to church, that’s what a
decent guardian would do.” She shrugged. “Too late now.”
Downstairs she made tea. She told Jamie to put the radio on. A deep,
sonorous voice came out of it, very solemn and slow. Something about it
made Jamie and me sit to listen. Miss Smith came in from the kitchen and
perched on the edge of the chair.
The Voice said, “As the prime minister announced just a short time ago,
England and Germany are now at war.”
The church bells had gone silent. Jamie said, “Will they bomb us now?”
and Miss Smith nodded and said, “Yes.”