“You’re not to worry,” the iron-faced woman said, which was perhaps the most ridiculous lie I’d ever heard. She thumped her clipboard. “I’ve got the perfect place for you.”

“Are they nice?” Jamie asked.

“It’s a single lady,” the woman replied. “She’s very nice.”

Jamie shook his head. “Mam says nice people won’t have us.”

The corner of the iron-faced woman’s mouth twitched. “She isn’t that nice,” she said. “Plus, I’m the billeting officer. It’s not for her to decide.”

That meant the lady could be forced to take us. Good. I shifted my weight off my bad foot and gasped. I could get used to the pain while I was standing still, but moving made everything so much worse.

“Can you walk?” the iron-faced woman asked. “What did you do to your foot?”

“A brewer’s cart ran over it,” I said, “but it’s fine.”

“Why don’t you have crutches?” she asked.

Since I didn’t know what crutches were, I could only shrug. I started to walk across the room, but to my horror my foot gave way. I fell onto the wooden floor. I bit my lip to keep from screaming.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” the iron-faced woman said. She knelt down. I expected her to yell, or haul me to my feet, but instead—this was even worse than falling in the first place—she put her arms around me and lifted me off the floor. Carried me. “Hurry up,” she said to Jamie.

Outside, she deposited me into the backseat of an automobile. An actual automobile. Jamie climbed in beside me, wide-eyed. The woman slammed the passenger door, and then she got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “It’ll only be a minute,” she said, looking back at us. “It really isn’t far.”

Jamie touched the shiny wood beneath the window beside him. “’S okay,” he said, grinning. “Take your time. We don’t mind.”

The house looked asleep.

It sat at the very end of a quiet dirt lane. Trees grew along both sides of the lane, and their tops met over it so that the lane was shadowed in green. The house sat pushed back from the trees, in a small pool of sunlight, but vines snaked up the red brick chimney and bushes ran rampant around the windows. A small roof sheltered a door painted red, like the chimney, but the house itself was a flat gray, dull behind the bushes. Curtains were drawn over the windows and the door was shut tight.

The iron-faced woman made a clicking sound as though annoyed. She pulled the car to a stop and cut the engine. “Wait here,” she commanded. She pounded a fist against the red door. When nothing happened, she barked, “Miss Smith!” and after a few more moments of nothing, she turned the knob and stepped inside.

I nudged Jamie. “Go listen.”

He stood by the open door for a few minutes, then came back. “They’re fighting,” he said. “The lady doesn’t want us. She says she didn’t know the war was on.”

I was not surprised that Miss Smith didn’t want us, but I had a hard time believing anyone didn’t know about the war. Miss Smith was either lying, or dumb as a brick.

I shrugged. “We can go somewhere else.”

The instant I said that, everything changed. To the right side of the sleeping house a bright yellow pony put its head through the bushes and stared at me.

I could see that it was standing behind a low stone wall. It had a white stripe down its nose and dark brown eyes. It pricked its ears forward and made a low whickery sound.

I poked Jamie, and pointed. It was like something I’d imagined come true. I felt again in my gut the feeling I’d had on the train when I’d seen the galloping pony and the girl.

Jamie whispered, “Does he live here?”

I was already climbing out of the car. If the pony didn’t live with Miss Smith, it at least lived next door, and wherever it was, I was staying too. I tried to take a step, but my foot wouldn’t allow it. I pulled Jamie over. “Help me,” I said.

“To the pony?”

“No. To the house.” We stumbled up the stone step and through the red door. Inside, the house felt dark and close. The air smelled tingly. The room we entered was full of odd thick furniture, all covered with dark purple cloth. The walls were dark colors, in patterns, and so was the floor. A pale, thin woman wearing a black dress sat on one of the purple chairs, very upright and rigid, and the iron-faced woman, equally rigid, sat across from her. The pale woman—Miss Smith—had bright red spots on her cheeks. Her hair billowed around her thin face like a frizzy yellow cloud. “. . . don’t know a thing about them,” she was saying.

“Here they are!” the iron-faced woman said. “The girl’s hurt her foot. Children, this is Miss Susan Smith. Miss Smith, this is . . .” She paused, and looked down at us, puzzled. The other children on the train had had name tags, but not us. “What’re your names?”

I paused. I could have a new name, here. I could call myself Elizabeth, like the princess. Heck, I could call myself Hitler. They’d never know.

“Ada an’ Jamie,” Jamie said.

“Ada and Jamie what?” the iron woman said. “What’s your last name?”

“Hitler,” I said.

Jamie shot a look at me and said nothing.

“Don’t be impudent,” the iron woman scolded.

“Can’t,” I said. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means your name’s not Hitler,” the woman said. “Tell Miss Smith your last name.”

“Smith,” I said. “Ada and Jamie Smith.”

The iron woman, exasperated, hissed between her teeth. “Oh, really! Well, it doesn’t matter.” She turned to Miss Smith. “The teachers will have them on their records. I’ll inquire. Meanwhile, I’ve got to go. It’s been a very long day.” She stood up. I sat down firmly on the chair closest to the door. Jamie darted into another.

“Good-bye,” I said to the iron woman.

“I like your automobile,” Jamie told her.

“Now, really,” Miss Smith said. She got to her feet and followed the iron-faced woman out of the house. They argued for several more minutes, but I already knew who would win. The iron-faced woman wasn’t going to let herself be beaten twice in one day.

Sure enough, the automobile roared away. Miss Smith marched back into the room, looking fiercely angry. “I don’t know a thing about taking care of children,” she said.

I shrugged. I had never needed taking care of, but I decided not to say so.