The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

“Surely there’s a social worker—a priest—someone who could read it to
her, and write out her reply?”
Probably there was, but Mam would never ask them. “Why’s it matter?” I
asked. So long as Mam knew where we were, and could come get us when
she decided to. “Do you want her to come take us home?”
Miss Smith gave me a strange look. “I do not. You know why it matters.”
I didn’t.
Sometimes I was so angry about everything I didn’t know.
Miss Smith bought acres of black material for the blackout. We’d been under
blackout regulations since the first day of evacuation, before the war even
began. It meant that nobody, no houses, buildings, shops, or even things like
buses or cars, was supposed to show any sort of light outside after the sun
went down. That way if the Germans came to bomb at night, they wouldn’t be
able to see where any of the cities or villages were. It was harder to hit a dark
place than a lit one.
For the first month Miss Smith hadn’t bothered covering the windows—
she just didn’t put any lights on at night. Jamie and I went to bed before the
sun went down, so we didn’t care, and Miss Smith could sit and brood in a
dark room as easily as in a bright one. But now the sun was setting earlier, so
Miss Smith made blackout curtains for the upstairs windows, and fabric
stretched over frames for the windows downstairs.
We stayed up late one Saturday, putting all the blackout up, then turning on
all the lights inside. Jamie and I walked around the house outside, looking for
any chinks of light, and yelling to Miss Smith when we saw one. She adjusted
the curtains until the chinks were gone.
Afterward she made us hot cocoa. “Very good,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll
get used to having the house this dark.” She looked almost happy, almost
cheerful for a change.
I wondered what it would be like if Jamie and I really were stuck here all
winter. I hated winter in the flat, so cold. Miss Smith had a fireplace in the
main room. She could burn coal.
“I haven’t had my sewing machine out since Becky died,” she continued.
“It felt good to be making something, even if it was only those awful curtains.
I suppose I might run up a few things for the two of you.”
Miss Smith had made us try on all the clothes Lady Thorton brought, and
give back whatever didn’t fit. She’d also thrown away the clothes we’d come