The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

The next week three things happened. First, Miss Smith spent most of each
day either sleeping or staring dully into space. On Monday she made meals
for us but did nothing else. On Tuesday she didn’t even get out of bed. I’d
watched her cooking on her range enough to understand how it worked, so I
fed Jamie and me. Midafternoon I made Miss Smith some tea. Jamie carried it
up the stairs for me and we took it into her room.
She lay on her side, awake but staring at nothing. Her eyes were red and
swollen. She seemed surprised to see us. “I’ve abandoned you,” she said,
without moving. “I told Lady Thorton I’m not fit to care for children. I said
so.”
I set the tea on the table by her bed. “Here, miss.”
She sat up. “You shouldn’t have to take care of me,” she said. “I’m
supposed to be taking care of you.” She took a sip, and fresh tears sprang to
her eyes. “You’ve sugared it,” she said.
That was how she took it. One sugar, no milk. I’d watched. “Yes, miss,” I
said, ducking a little in case she tried to smack me. “Not much, though.
There’s plenty of sugar left. I didn’t take any.” Though I’d let Jamie have
some.
“I’m not going to hit you,” she said. “I wish you’d understand that. I’m
neglecting you, certainly, but I won’t hit you, and I don’t care what you eat. It
was thoughtful of you to sugar my tea. It was thoughtful of you to bring me
tea in the first place.”
“Yes, miss,” I said. Thoughtful: good or bad?
She sighed. “And we haven’t heard back from your mother. Your name is
Smith, though. Your last name. Until Lady Thorton told me, I was sure you
were lying.”
“Yes, miss.”
“After that business about Hitler.”
I turned to go. I’d had an eventful morning, and I was hungry myself, and
could do with some tea.
“It’s a common enough name, Smith,” Miss Smith said. “But still, I
thought you were lying.”