“This is the ‘but’ you’ve been dancing around, isn’t it?”
“I’m coming to it, because I’ve never known you so deaf, and they say there’s none so deaf as those that don’t want to hear. Now then—” He stopped speaking for some seconds, as if to consider how he might go on. “I want you to hear me out—and really hear me, Maisie. Brenda and me, we got into a bit of a panic with these children turning up, and fair to be said, it was like a fever around here, what with war being declared and then this business about officers at the manor, these Canadians who’re supposed to be coming. We took in the lads because it was what we should do—pull together. And then little Anna came along—not a sound out of her, but the lass has a strong will! I can tell you now, in my opinion it takes more to keep quiet than it does to use your voice. I said to Brenda, ‘It’s Maisie’s house, she should know what’s going on and come down here,’ so she got on the telephone, and you know the rest. But I felt it even then, that the girl would pull your heartstrings. And I’m telling you—because you’re my girl, my daughter—that you’ve got to stand back.”
Maisie opened her mouth to speak, but Frankie silenced her.
“And another thing—you’ve been looking into this business of refugees. I’ve heard you on the telephone talking about it to Billy, last time you were here. I told you before—evacuees are our own refugees, and refugees go home, Maisie. I saw it in the war—they came over here, and our people did their best for them. They opened their homes—but when the war was finished, they wanted them out, back to their own country, and with their own people. You see love, if refugees stay on, well, it’s not easy for them—because people who belong here can turn on a pin. Same with these children. The locals here might not like it, but they’re doing their bit—yet they’ll want them gone as soon as it’s safe for the nippers to go home. And their mums and dads won’t want them down here forever either. When outsiders come, there’s always someone local with a chip on their shoulder, and when those locals see the outsiders getting what they consider to be better treatment, they make it harder for everyone. Now, then—the pony is here, so the girl might find she has something to say now, and that’s worth the money because we’ll be able to find out where she belongs. We’ll do for her what we would do for any evacuee—and let that be the end of it. She didn’t come here to go home miserable when the time comes—and mark my words, that’s what will happen when she leaves that pony behind. What’s of account is the child’s feelings, and not yours, Maisie. You’re not one of these Lady Bountiful types, trying to make up for the fact that they’ve got nothing better to do all day by interfering in everyone else’s lives. And Anna can’t fill the hole that James—and the baby—left behind. I’m sorry, but I see it in your eyes, even if you can’t see it for yourself. It’s got to stop—for your sake as much as hers.”
Silence hung in the kitchen. Her father had scored a knife through Maisie’s heart—but she knew he was right.
“I think you know me better than I know myself. I’ve overstepped my mark, and I did it without thinking. I think I do it all the time. It’s my Achilles’ heel.” She sighed, tears biting at the corners of her eyes. “I can’t take the pony away now, but we can tell Anna she has to share it, if—when—the boys come back.” She sighed, stood up, and stepped towards her father, who had come to his feet; she reached to him for his embrace. “Thank you for coming with George to collect the pony. And you brought her up a treat; her coat’s shining, and she looks so bright—at least she’ll appreciate her new home, so it wasn’t such a bad day’s work.”