two seconds if a real bomb fell. Don’t you girls know anything? Real bomb shelters are outside, dug into the ground like caves.” He bounced the ball on the table again.
“This is like what they have in England,” protested Molly.
“Like fish it is,” scoffed Ricky.
“It is, too,” said Susan from inside. “We saw it at the movies.”
“Where? In the cartoon?” asked Ricky.
“You wait, Ricky,” said Molly. “Wait till the English girl comes. She’ll tell you about bomb shelters.”
Ricky groaned. “Just what I need,” he said. “Another dippy girl around.” But Molly noticed he didn’t say anything more about their bomb shelter.
Ricky had just left when Molly’s mother called down the stairs. “Girls? Come up here, please.”
“She’s here!” squealed Molly. “The English girl!” The three girls tumbled over each other struggling to be the first one out of their bomb shelter. They pounded up the stairs and into the kitchen. Molly stopped so suddenly that Susan stumbled into her back.
There, standing by the kitchen table, was the English girl. Mrs. McIntire was standing behind her, with her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “Emily,” she said, “I’d like you to meet Molly. Molly, this is Emily Bennett.” Very gently, she pushed Emily toward Molly. Emily kept her eyes on the floor.
Molly held out her hand and smiled at Emily. “Hi,” she said.
Emily glanced up at Molly, then looked down again. She touched Molly’s hand with icy fingertips, whispered “How do you do,” and stepped backward toward Mrs. McIntire.
Susan pushed past Molly. “How do you do?” she said. She pulled the sides of her pants legs as if they were the wide skirt of a ball gown and bobbed down in a curtsy. “I’m Susan,” she said as she rose awkwardly. “I thought English girls always curtsied.”
Ricky snorted and Molly and Linda giggled at Susan. Emily didn’t look up, but Molly saw that her ears turned pink with embarrassment. She thinks we’re laughing at her, Molly thought.
Molly moved toward Emily. “This is Linda,” she said. “And here’s Ricky, my brother. He’s twelve. I have another brother named Brad, who is four, and a sister named Jill. She’s fourteen. You’ll meet them later.”
Everyone was quiet, staring at Emily. Then Mrs. McIntire said, “We’re very glad you’re here, Emily. You’ll get used to the names and faces soon.” She patted Emily’s shoulders. “Ricky, would you carry the suitcase upstairs, please? Molly, why don’t you show Emily your room.” She smiled and said, “It’s going to be your room, too, Emily, for as long as you stay with us.”
A very quiet parade climbed up the stairs. Ricky was in the lead, with Emily following. Molly, Linda, and Susan lagged behind. Linda whispered to Susan, “She’s awfully little. And she sure doesn’t look like a princess.”
But Susan’s eyes were glowing. “Of course she’s little. Didn’t I tell you she’d be starving?”
Emily was the skinniest girl Molly had ever seen. Her knee socks were twisted and saggy around her legs, which were as thin as spaghetti noodles. Even her hair was skinny. It was gingery-red and absolutely straight. Her eyes were pale blue. Her skin was pale, too, as if she had not been outside in the sunshine for a very long while.
Ricky put Emily’s suitcase on one of the beds in Molly’s room and left. Linda and Susan flopped onto the other bed. “Well, here we are,” said Molly. “Want me to help you unpack?”
Emily shook her head no. She stood by the door.
“Here,” said Molly, “I’ll make some room for your stuff in this chest.” She scooped up a messy armful of socks from one drawer and shoved them into another. “You can have this whole drawer,” she said.
Emily opened her suitcase. Carefully she lined up three pairs of socks, some underwear, and two pairs of pajamas in the drawer.
“Is that all you have?” asked Susan. “Did all your clothes get lost or burned up or something?”
Emily didn’t answer. She was hanging two skirts and a white blouse in Molly’s closet. She put the blouse on the hanger and buttoned up all the buttons. She folded the collar and moved the shoulders so that they were exactly straight on the bony skeleton of the hanger. “Well, we have lots of clothes and things you can use, so don’t worry,” Susan added.
Emily put her suitcase under the bed and smoothed the bedspread. “You sure like things neat,” said Molly. She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Emily seemed to have a wall around her that made her difficult to talk to. Then Molly thought of something Emily would be familiar with, something she could certainly talk about. “Come on, Emily,” she said. “We have something to show you down in the basement.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Susan. “You’ll like this.”
Molly led the girls back downstairs. Emily walked stiffly, as if she were cold. When they got to the basement, she moved even more slowly. Molly pointed to the bomb shelter. “See?” she said. “It’s a bomb shelter, like you have in England. We play in it all the time.” She lifted the edge of the blanket and showed Emily the dark space under the table. “Want to go in?” she asked. “Come on. It’s fun.”
But Emily backed away from the bomb shelter. “No,” she said. “No thank you. I’d rather not.” Then she turned and walked quickly back up the stairs.
Molly, Susan, and Linda watched her go. “At least she finally said something,” said Linda.
Molly sighed.
“You’d better go up and try to talk to her,” said Susan. “You’re supposed to be making friends with her, right?”
“Right,” said Molly. She climbed slowly up the stairs to the kitchen. Mrs. McIntire was sweeping the kitchen floor.
“Are you looking for Emily?” she asked. “She said she was going upstairs to write a letter to her parents.”
Molly wasn’t sure what to do. “Do you think I should go up there?” she asked her mother.
Mrs. McIntire bent over to sweep under the kitchen table. “Why don’t you leave Emily in peace for a while,” she said. “She’s probably feeling rather overwhelmed. She’s had a big day.”
“She’s awfully quiet, isn’t she?” said Molly. “She never says anything.”
Mrs. McIntire straightened and chuckled. “Not everybody is a chatterbox like you are, olly Molly. English children are taught to be reserved—to be very polite and quiet. Emily probably feels shy.” Mrs. McIntire swept the dirt into a dustpan. “Think how you’d feel your first day with a brand-new family.”
“It seems as if she doesn’t like us,” said Molly. “She won’t smile or anything, and she wouldn’t play in the bomb shelter either.”
Mrs. McIntire put the dustpan down and thought for a moment. “Give Emily a chance, Molly. Remember, bomb shelters haven’t
