Chapter Seventeen

After Miss Perkins has tucked Sam into bed, through the thin walls, he hears voices.

His mother moans. “Crowe has evicted us from the apartment.”

What? Mr. Crowe can’t kick them out. Apartment 207 is Sam’s home. But deep down Sam understands that Mr. Crowe can. It’s just that the threat has hung over his head for so long that it has stopped seeming real.

“Mrs. Davis, I told you that you needed to start paying your rent on time,” Miss Perkins scolds her. “Still, Mr. Crowe has no business kicking a boy like Sam out of his home. Tomorrow, I’ll give that fellow a piece of my mind.”

“It’s no use. He’s never sent me an official letter before,” his mother’s voice sounds hopeless. “We’re going to end up living on the street just like Ronald predicted.”

Sam’s heart fills with dread as though he’s in a hole in the ground and earth is tumbling in on top of him. How can he live without a home? Without his spot by the window?

“Now, now, Mrs. Davis. Don’t worry.”

If Sam weren’t feeling so low, he would smile. Miss Perkins is trying to soothe his mother just like she calms Sam.

“Mr. Crowe’s letter says that if we move out by the end of next week, he won’t sue me for all the back rent that I owe,” his mother says.

“We’ll figure something out. We always do,” Miss Perkins says.

“Just when I was beginning to hope that I might be able to start a new life,” his mother cries.

“There. There,” Miss Perkins says.

“It’s not you who’ll have to live on the street with a handicapped child!” his mother snaps.

Their voices are softer now and not even Sam’s great ears can make out the words.

A few minutes later, the front door closes. He can hear his mother’s footsteps heading towards her bedroom. He longs to feel his mother’s soft touch, but remembering how upset she sounded, he has little hope that she will tell him goodnight.

Sam’s fear grows to fill the silence. Because of his endless hours spent lying on his back, he has identified a world on his bedroom ceiling: three continents, fourteen rivers and twenty-two islands. He has memorized every detail of the view from his window: the number of doors leading to Stirling Junior High, the shapes of the oak trees on the lot, the exact bend in the crooked light post. The Tomcats, his special team—he knows every player’s name—practice on the court below.

Apartment 207 is the only home that he has ever known.

Sam thinks of someone else who was afraid that she was going to lose her home. Miss Perkins. He wishes that she were with him now.

In her lecture, if Mrs. Martin hadn’t skipped over the Battle of Britain, she would have told the class that during the winter of 1940, Hitler had relentlessly bombed London and other parts of England. About forty-five thousand civilians died, including some people who Miss Perkins knew. Although Miss Perkins refuses to name these people or even talk about them, Sam feels their presence with him tonight. He’s imagining the loneliness and terror of Winnie and Miss Perkins, the survivors. Night after night, they lay in their beds wondering when the next bomb was going to explode. Would their house be a target? Would they be alive in the morning?

The Battle of Britain is the occasion for one of Sam’s favorite speeches. He has asked Miss Perkins to read it to him again and again. Just hearing Winnie’s words makes him feel brave.

In his head, Sam starts reciting the speech, We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.¹⁵

When the old ladies at church call Sam a ‘brave boy,’ their flattery makes him angry. He has never respected the sitting-in-thewheelchair type of bravery. He admires the World War II type of bravery: firing guns, dodging bombs, making great speeches, standing up to an evil man like Hitler. Yet, tonight, he decides that even though he’s just lying in bed, bravery is what he needs most.

What will the world feel like without his home? A trap that is cold, dark, and lonely. Like that winter in London.

I won’t leave. I don’t want to go, Sam thinks. The shadow from his bureau falls onto his bed, and Sam pretends that it’s Mr. Crowe. Take that. He punches Mr. Crowe with loose fists. The bed sheets are twisted, and his blue blanket has fallen onto the floor. Lying there without covers, his hands and feet are freezing but he reminds himself: during the Battle of Britain, Winnie and Miss Perkins slept despite the bombs exploding and the shells whistling in the night.

Sam wraps their bravery around him like a blanket so that he, too, can sleep now.

We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight…

***

After leaving the apartment, Miss Perkins hurries down the aisle at Corner Market. She eats most of her meals at Mrs. Davis’, but she likes to keep tea, biscuits, cream, and a few other items in her cupboard. She looks forward to her late-night snacks. A cup of tea takes the ache right out of her feet. It’s her miracle drug.

She is selecting a box of biscuits from the shelf when a snippet of conversation startles her.

“Can you imagine? A disabled student at Stirling?” a woman’s shrill voice says.

“We pay taxes. That’s not fair to the rest of the kids,” a man’s voice answers.

“That’s what our P.T.A. president says,” the woman replies.

Miss Perkins drops the box of biscuits into her basket and hurries to catch a glimpse of these obnoxious people.

At nine o’clock, Corner Market has only one clerk, and the checkout line has backed up into the aisle. She nearly bumps into a man with a limp. His Asian wife is selecting a jar of pickles. Nearby, a man with a gray mustache is smoking a pipe. The woman next to him is flipping through a knitting magazine. Miss Perkins isn’t sure which of the couples were guilty of the offensive conversation. So she glares at each of them.

Imagine the nerve, Miss Perkins thinks as she trudges home with her grocery sack in her arms. The nerve of Mrs. Riley. The nerve of whoever it was in the grocery store. She suspects the woman with the knitting magazine and her mustached husband.

And on top of everything else, Mr. Crowe. Their heartless landlord is evicting the Davises. It’s as if the whole world is turning against Sam. Except for me, Miss Perkins sighs wearily.

How fast will Mr. Crowe act, Miss Perkins wonders? Could Mrs. Davis really have to move as soon as next week? Sam loves his apartment. He loves his window. What are we going to do? Miss Perkins thinks as panic rises in her throat. Despite the cold night, her anger makes her feel hot.

But as she waits at the corner for the light to change, Miss Perkins remembers a sign that she used to pass on her way to work during the war. A golden crown drawn on top represented the King. The text was simple but powerful:

“Stay calm and carry on.”

That’s what she did during the war. That’s what real Londoners do. Muddle through. By the time the light has changed, her breathing has slowed. A nice cup of tea. With a biscuit. She’ll feel better after she’s drunk her cup of tea.