The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

Huh, I thought. Imagine dressing up tables. Imagine wasting cloth to dress
up tables.
A lady came over and Miss Smith asked for scones and a pot of tea. I
remembered to put my napkin on my lap and to say thank you to the lady
when she brought the tea, and the lady smiled and said, “What nice manners!
She’s an evacuee?”
I didn’t know how the lady could tell, and I didn’t like it that she could.
Miss Smith said, “It’s your accent, you talk different from us country people.”
I talked different from posh people is what she meant. I knew I did, and I
didn’t like it, either. I was trying the best I could to sound like I fit in.
When we finished our tea we went back to the school. Miss Smith walked
right into the building without saying anything. She marched down the hall
and threw open the first classroom door. She didn’t knock. I caught up to her
just as she sucked in her breath. I looked inside and saw what she saw.
The whole class, including Jamie, was working at their desks with pencils
and paper. Jamie’s left hand was tied to his chair.
It was tied tight even though he already had a bloody welt on his wrist.
When I’d tied him up, at least I had let him go right away.
Miss Smith said, “What is the meaning of this?” in a voice that made some
of the little girls jump. Jamie saw us. His face flooded red.
Miss Smith went to him and untied his arm. Jamie ducked. He ducked like
he expected her to hit him, the way I ducked sometimes. Miss Smith said,
“Jamie, I’m so sorry, I should have come sooner,” and put her arms around
him. Jamie leaned against her. He started to sob.
All this time I’d stood frozen in the doorway. Most of the students sat
frozen at their desks. The only sounds were Jamie crying and Miss Smith
murmuring words I couldn’t quite understand.
The teacher unfroze herself with a jerk. She advanced on Miss Smith, eyes
blazing. “I’ll thank you not to interfere!” she said. “Every time my back’s
turned he’s using that hand of his. I won’t have it! I wouldn’t have to tie him
if he’d obey me.”
Miss Smith held her ground. Her eyes glittered. “Why shouldn’t he use
that hand?”
The teacher gasped. I didn’t recognize her, though I supposed she’d been
on our train. She was an older woman with gray hair braided around her head,
and round wire eyeglasses and a skirt that was too tight. When she gasped,