Read Online Stolen Child by Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch - Free Book Online Page B

in her arms. She rocked me on her lap, even though my legs were almost as long as hers and my feet could touch the floor. She murmured, “It’s going to be fine, Nadia.”
    I almost started to cry again, but something deep inside me told me that it was time to stop. So instead I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I got myself out of Miss MacIntosh’s arms, and stood up.
    “Why are you here?” I asked.
    “You ran away from school,” she said. “You need to come back.”
    “I cannot.” I folded my arms and tried to look defiant.
    “You don’t have a choice,” said Miss MacIntosh. “It’s against the law to run away from school.”
    So what Linda had told me was true. Would the police be coming next?
    Miss MacIntosh must have noted the panic on my face. She said, “If you come back this afternoon, everything will be fine.”
    “But how can I go back, looking like this?”
    “Be strong, Nadia,” Miss MacIntosh said sternly. “I’m not even supposed to be here right now. I have yard duty. But when Linda told me you had run off, I had to check on you.”
    She stood up and opened our icebox. She took out two apples. “Hold these on your eyes. It will make the swelling go down.”
    As I did that, I could hear her making kitchen sounds — slicing bread and frying eggs. The aroma of sizzling butter and eggs made my stomach grumble. I heard a plate clatter onto the table.
    “Eat,” said Miss MacIntosh.
    I took an apple off one eye. She was sitting across from me, eating an open-faced egg sandwich with a knife and fork. I set both apples down and devoured my own lunch. I was surprised at how hungry I was.
    I took both plates to the sink and rinsed them when we were finished.
    “We need to leave in fifteen minutes,” said Miss MacIntosh. “I want to fix your hair.”
    We went into the bathroom together and I watched in the mirror as Miss MacIntosh carefully undid Marusia’s elaborate braids from the top of my head. “It was a beautifulhairdo,” she said. “Just not right for school.”
    As she combed out my hair, a strange expression appeared on her face. “You’ve got a black mark here,” she said. “Right at the hairline.”
    I inhaled sharply. My tattoo. I turned my left palm upward and stared at the same mark on my inner wrist, but I turned it back down before Miss MacIntosh saw it. Both tattoos were so plain that most people didn’t notice.
    “It must be a mole,” I lied.
    I watched Miss MacIntosh’s face in the mirror. She was about to say something, but then changed her mind. Sometimes I wondered if she knew more about my past than I did. She gently combed out the tangles. The comb in my hair reminded me of another woman who had tackled my tangles, but with the tug of resentment, not care. With it came another flicker of that pink brocade dress …
    Miss MacIntosh didn’t walk to school with me, which I was thankful for. She must have sensed how humiliating it was for me to go back at all, and arriving with a teacher would be that much more unbearable.
    My eyes were still red from crying when I got back to school. The first bell had rung and students were just forming into lines. Some of the kids in my class looked up at me, then quickly turned away. Maybe Miss Ferris had said something to them. But then I heard Eric mutter, “The Hitler girl’s back.”
    I stepped in behind Linda. “Good to see you!” she whispered.
    I sat down in the same desk and tried to act as if nothing had happened. As Miss Ferris droned on with her lessons, I tried to sort out my recent memories. Why was itall coming back to me now? When we were in the DP camp, I just pushed my thoughts out of my mind. I tried that on the ship, and it mostly worked. But when we got to Brantford, the nightmares started up and the memories came back. Why wouldn’t the sadness leave me alone?
    Once we were all seated, I stared at the back of Eric’s head a few seats in front of me. Why did he call me the Hitler girl? It was