Searching for Shona (7 page)

Then her thoughts went back to Shona again—how she and Anna had found Clairmont House and that there was no way to tell Shona. Was Shona wishing they had never changed places? She surely would if she knew that Marjorie was living in Canonbie not far from the house that was somehow tied up with her past.

But she
could
write to Shona! She could write to Marjorie Malcolm-Scott at Willowbrae Road, Edinburgh, and put “Please Forward” on the envelope. Mrs. Kilpatrick must know the address of the cousins in Canada and could sent the letter on.

Marjorie climbed out of bed and felt her way across the room to make sure that the curtains were closed before she turned on the light.

“What are you doing, Shona?” Anna asked, blinking as light flooded the room.

“I’m going to write a letter to the real Shona and tell her that we’ve found Clairmont House.”

“Don’t do that!” Anna said. “Maybe she’d want to come back.”

“That’s why I have to do it,” Marjorie answered.

“Please don’t! I’d much rather have
you
here,” Anna pleaded.

But Marjorie sat down at the dressing table and began to write the letter on a page torn from her school exercise book. She wrote quickly, in case she changed her mind.

“Don’t send it,” Anna begged. “If you tell her about her playroom, she’ll come back.”

“I don’t know that she can come back—not while the war’s on.”

“If Shona wants to, she’ll come,” Anna said with conviction.

Chapter 7

Anna’s Bad Day

After celebrating Christmas both Miss Campbells were busy in the shop taking inventory—counting each reel of thread, each skein of silk, and all the bolts of material they had on hand. Marjorie was left in charge of Anna, but Anna seemed to have plans of her own these days, spending long stretches of time away by herself. Marjorie scarcely noticed because she was so engrossed in
Anne of Green Gables
. The Christmas holiday passed quickly and uneventfully.

One night, just before school started, the girls were awakened by the wail of the air-raid siren. They had heard it before, but only when it sounded on Saturday afternoon at one o’clock for practice. This time it was real, warning them that there were German planes overhead, planes loaded with bombs. Marjorie’s skin prickled and she pulled the covers over her head trying to shut out the sound.

“Wake up, girls! Wake up!” Miss Campbell burst into the room and started shaking Marjorie. “There’s an air raid! We have to go down to the shelter. Bring your blankets.”

In great haste, tripping over her blankets, Marjorie followed the Miss Campbells down the stairs. Anna was so doped with sleep that, at first, she didn’t understand what was happening.

The Miss Campbells didn’t have a real air-raid shelter, but had decided the safest place in their house was the broom closet under the stairs. In the event of bombs exploding nearby, they would be protected from flying glass and falling bricks. The structure of the cupboard actually made it almost as safe as a shelter. They had stocked it with tins of biscuits and bottles of lemonade and candles and magazines.

But when Anna reached the closet door, she suddenly became frightened.

“Not in there! Not in there!” she shouted.

“Come along,” Miss Morag said impatiently, but Anna kicked and screamed, knocking over the mops and brushes standing near the door.

When they finally allowed Anna to sit out in the hall, her sobs subsided somewhat. Marjorie would have liked to join her. The closet was quite large, but the lack of windows and fresh air gave Marjorie a trapped feeling. It smelled of polish and ammonia and dust, and she was sure there were spiders and earwigs lurking in the corners, but the Miss Campbells were so proud of their improvised shelter she didn’t like to abandon it.

“Come in and join us, Anna,” Miss Morag said in a pleasant voice. “We’re going to have tea and biscuits.”

But Anna only started crying again.

“Likely someone shut her up in a cupboard when she was little,” Miss Agnes suggested. “Did they treat you all right in that orphanage you came from?”

“Oh, yes,” Marjorie answered.

“How long did you live there?”

“My parents died when I was four,” Marjorie answered.

“And what about Anna?” Miss Morag asked.

“I don’t remember.”

Just then they heard the drone of the German bombers. They were used to the sound of planes passing over, even at night, but to their straining ears these German planes sounded different—a dull throbbing that rose and fell with an uneven beat, a heavy sound. The sound of planes loaded with bombs.

Anna gave another frightened cry and hurled herself into the closet, spilling Miss Campbell’s tea all over the blankets. By the time they had sorted themselves out, the planes had passed over. After some time the siren sounded again, but with a different note. It was the all-clear siren.

They went back to bed, only to be awakened half an hour later by another wailing siren. They got up again and went down to the shelter, but this time Miss Agnes didn’t bother to make tea. Anna didn’t fuss, but Marjorie could feel her shivering under the blankets—probably as much from cold as from fright because she hadn’t bothered to put her slippers on.

The next day in his usual unemotional tone, the news commentator said that there had been an air raid on Glasgow. Considerable damage was reported.

As the air raids continued, the people of Canonbie gradually gained confidence. They no longer crawled out of bed to spend their nights in makeshift shelters. The German planes were just flying over on their way to drop bombs on the Glasgow docks. But the Miss Campbells still woke the girls and took them downstairs. They huddled under blankets in the broom closet, drinking cups of hot, sweet tea, and then crept back up to their cold beds after the all clear sounded, shivering and wakeful, wishing for morning.

The interrupted nights were having a bad effect on Anna. As the weeks wore on, she became more and more ill tempered, and everything seemed to go wrong. One Friday morning they all slept in. The Miss Campbells rushed out to get the shop open by nine, leaving Marjorie and Anna to get themselves ready for school. Anna dawdled over breakfast and refused to do anything for herself.

“You tie my shoes, if you’re in such a big hurry,” she ordered Marjorie. “And you can find my gloves too!”

“Find them yourself,” Marjorie answered angrily. “And you can walk to school on your own. I’m not waiting any longer. We’re late already!”

Marjorie rushed out of the house and ran all the way to school, getting there after the bell had stopped ringing. She hoped Anna wouldn’t get into trouble. At playtime, Marjorie looked for her, but didn’t find her.

When she reached home, Anna was already there, and Marjorie asked suspiciously where she’d been all day.

“Mind your own business!” Anna shouted, running from the room.

The next day things were worse. In the morning Anna went into the spare bedroom and took out the box of Christmas ornaments, which was kept in a drawer in the bottom of the wardrobe. She thought it a shame that such lovely things should be hidden away in a drawer all year and only looked at for a few days at Christmas. There was one ornament in particular, a tiny silver bird, that she wanted to see again.

Each ornament nestled in paper in its own section of the box. She slowly unwrapped them and laid them on the bed. She worked very carefully, and all might have gone well had not Miss Morag come bursting into the room and startled her. Anna jumped guiltily and knocked against the bed. Two fragile ornaments rolled off and fell to the floor with the tinkling sound of broken glass.

Miss Campbell was very angry and banished Anna to her room, telling her never, never to touch things that didn’t belong to her.

At lunch Anna spilled her milk, and there were more shouts and tears. Even Marjorie sided with the Miss Campbells, saying primly that one shouldn’t waste food in wartime.

In the afternoon both Miss Campbells had to go back to the shop. Saturday afternoons were usually busy, and Miss Morag asked Marjorie to see if they couldn’t find something useful to do. She sounded tired and discouraged.

After they’d gone, Marjorie took out the big wicker basket full of newly washed clothes waiting to be ironed. She put the flat irons in front of the fire to heat.

“Can I do some?” Anna asked.

“You just go along and play,” Marjorie answered sharply.

She herself wasn’t quite sure about this undertaking because she had only ironed handkerchiefs and pillowcases, and that had been under Miss Agnes’s supervision. However, all went well. It was very satisfying to turn the wrinkled garments smooth and new looking, and she liked the smell of the hot cotton and linen. She was careful to test each iron before using it on the clothes, and while she used one iron, she set the other in front of the fire to heat. She hung the ironed garments neatly on the airing rack.

At last only two dresses were left, the Miss Campbells’ Sunday-best silk dresses. Marjorie knew they would want to iron them themselves. With a feeling of great satisfaction, she went off to look for her book.

Anna had been sitting in the armchair by the fire watching Marjorie. She liked the easy way the heavy iron slid over the cloth, leaving it flat and smooth. Several times she asked if she could have a turn, but Marjorie didn’t listen. So, when Marjorie finally left the room, Anna realized her chance had come. She could now have the fun of ironing, and also she could make up to the Miss Campbells by doing an especially good job on their Sunday dresses.

She draped one of the silk dresses over the ironing board, and taking the potholder as she had seen Marjorie do, she lifted the iron from where it had been sitting heating in front of the grate. It was unexpectedly heavy, and she swung it over, landing with a thump, flat on the dress.

Instead of sliding easily over the wrinkled dress the iron stuck and there was a horrid hissing sound and curls of smoke eddied around the iron. There was also a ghastly smell of burning cloth.

“Shona! Shona! Come quick!” Anna yelled in a panic.

Marjorie burst into the room and seized the iron. The handle was hot and she burned her fingers. She grabbed the potholder from Anna and carried the iron back to the fireplace. The ironing board cover was smoldering, so she poured half a kettle of water on it to make sure it didn’t burst into flames.

Then she turned on Anna.

“What did you do that for? What made you do it?” she screamed.

“I only wanted to help, and you wouldn’t let me,” sobbed Anna.

“And I was right, wasn’t I? What will the Miss Campbells say when they come home? They’ll be terribly angry. They probably won’t want evacuees any more, and we’ll be sent back to the orphanage. Then they’ll find out I’m not Shona, and it will all be your fault!”

Marjorie raged on, while poor Anna sat in the big chair by the fireplace, a sad, pale, crumpled figure, too frightened even to cry.

Looking at the gaping hole in the dress, Marjorie shook her head. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

Anna got up, her doll in her hand, and went out of the room. Marjorie took her seat by the fire and waited uneasily for the Miss Campbells to come home. Miss Morag would likely want to send them away and get older girls in their place, girls who didn’t break and burn things.

When the Miss Campbells came home and saw the ruined dress, they were tight-lipped and angry.

“It’s mine,” Miss Agnes said, looking at the label.

“Anna! Anna! Will you come down her this minute,” Miss Morag shouted sternly.

There was no answer.

“See if she’s upstairs,” Miss Morag told Marjorie.

Marjorie went up to their bedroom, but Anna wasn’t there. She searched the bathroom, the spare bedroom, and even the Miss Campbells’ room, and then all the downstairs rooms. Anna was nowhere in the house.

“Look again,” Miss Morag said. “She’ll be hiding in a cupboard or in the wardrobe.”

Marjorie didn’t think this was likely, but she went all through the house again. Then she and the Miss Campbells looked outside. It was dark and wet, and the wind snatched away their voices as they called Anna’s name. She couldn’t possibly be hiding anywhere in the garden on such a wild night.

They went inside and wordlessly hung up their coats. Marjorie set the table for tea, while Miss Morag folded away the ironing board and the airing rack. Miss Agnes sat by the fire, staring into the flames.

During tea, Anna’s empty place seemed to dominate the room. The Miss Campbells didn’t even turn on the wireless because they were straining to hear the bang of the front door that would signal Anna’s return. The meal was eaten in uneasy silence.

The period of waiting stretched on, and it was now almost bedtime, yet there was still no sign of Anna. Suddenly Marjorie jumped up and ran upstairs to their bedroom. She came down again, looking perplexed and unhappy.

“Her suitcase is gone. I think she must have run away—and it’s all my fault. I was so cross and angry with her.”

“We’ve none of us been very patient with the poor wee thing,” Miss Morag said. “I’m afraid we’ll have to tell the police.”

“We can’t do that!” Miss Agnes said, looking horror-stricken. “You know what people will say. They’ll be saying she ran away because we were cruel to her.”

“They won’t say that!” protested Marjorie.

“Oh, yes, they will,” Miss Morag said. “This is a terrible place for gossip, and the worse the thing you say about people, the quicker it is passed on. There have been remarks already about two old spinsters like us taking it on ourselves to bring up two young girls. But we can’t think about ourselves. There’s Anna. We’ve got to have help finding her before any harm comes to her.”

Miss Morag went out into the hall to use the phone. When she came back Marjorie and Miss Agnes looked at her expectantly.

“They were of no help,” she said angrily. “They say that most children who run away come back of their own accord, and there’s no sense in going out now in the blackout. They’ll keep a lookout for her in the morning. What I couldn’t get through to them is that there’s a little girl out there, now, in the dark … afraid …”