by Kit Pearson
“This issue is so creepy, I guess they thought it would scare us. It is scary. Are you brave enough to look?”
Of course the other two had to say they were. They knelt on the floor and leaned on the bed while Tim opened the magazine. Then they stared in silence, while he slowly turned the pages.
The full-page photographs were of bodies. Terrible, emaciated, naked bodies. Hundreds of bodies. In one picture they were being shovelled into a mass grave.
Gavin swallowed. “But—but who are they?” he croaked.
“It says they’re in some camps in Germany called Belsen and Buchenwald,” said Tim, sounding out the names with difficulty. “But it doesn’t say who they are or why they’re dead. Or why there’s so many of them.”
Gavin turned back the pages and read some of the text. “It says they’re ‘slave labourers.’ What does that mean?”
“I didn’t know the Germans had slaves,” said Tim. “Do you think they were Allies?”
“We could ask a grown-up,” said Roger.
“But then they’d find out we were looking at this when we weren’t supposed to,” said Tim.
They continued to stare at the hideous pages. Gavin shivered. “Let’s put it away. Maybe one day we’ll find out who they are.”
Tim shoved the magazine under the mattress and they went out to play in the sunshine.
9
A Proposal
“Gavin, I’d like to talk to you in my room,” said Aunt Florence the next evening.
Gavin finished putting on his pyjamas and went in to sit on the soft loveseat in her bedroom. Aunt Florence sank down beside him. “You may have noticed,” she began, “that I’ve been out a lot lately.”
Now that he thought of it, she had gone downtown for many “appointments” in the past few weeks. But Aunt Florence was often out, visiting friends or meeting with one of her charity groups.
“I’ve been working out a plan, Gavin, and now I need your advice. It’s an idea that came to me as soon as we heard about your parents. It wouldn’t have been appropriate to bring it up then. But now it’s time, especially since the war’s over.”
“What is it?”
“I know that Norah has to return to England,” said Aunt Florence slowly. “She’s never felt totally at home in Canada, although she’s adjusted as well as she could. It’s understandable that she wants to go back. She was old enough when she left to remember her own country.”
She paused. “But you’re different, Gavin. You feel like a Canadian now—am I right?”
Gavin nodded. What was she getting at?
“And I think you’re happy living with Mary and me.” Her eyes gleamed, knowing the answer.
“Of course!”
“I know you are,” she said warmly. “From the moment you came here you belonged—much more than Norah did. Now, Gavin, I’m going to ask you something that will startle you. You don’t have to answer right away.” She put both her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes. “Would you like to stay in Canada and live with me always?”
Gavin started to shiver, the joy that filled him was so intense. “Stay in Canada? But how?”
“You’ve been like a son to me these past years. Now I’d like you to be my real son. I want to adopt you, Gavin. I would never have suggested this, of course, when your parents were alive. I knew it was going to be difficult for you to return, but they were your parents—you belonged with them. But now that they’ve gone, you can stay here! If you’d like to, of course.”
Gavin took a deep breath. “Could you adopt Bosley too?”
Aunt Florence threw back her head and laughed. “Of course I’ll adopt Bosley, you funny boy! I know Reg would give him to you for good. Everything would be the same. You and Bosley would keep on living here with Mary and me and you’d become a real Canadian.”
“But what about Norah?”
“That’s the hard part, pet,” said Aunt Florence gently. “You and Norah would be separated. I know how much you love your sister. But she’s growing up. She’ll be leaving you one day anyway. We would certainly have her back to Canada whenever she wanted to come. And we could visit her often in England.”
“But why can’t you adopt Norah too?”
Aunt Florence sighed. “I would. I really would, Gavin, despite our differences, but you know she wouldn’t want it. She wants to return to England and I don’t blame her.”
Gavin thought of something else. “Will my grandfather let you adopt me?”
“You’ve hit upon the one problem we might have. No, he might not let me, and if he objects I won’t be able to—he’s your legal guardian now.” A familiar stubborn expression appeared on her face. “But I think I can persuade him—him and your older sisters and maybe even Norah. I’ll see that you get a good education. In grade seven you can start St. Martin’s, which is the best boys’ school in Ontario. And then university. And you could take piano lessons and French lessons—you’ll have every advantage. And, most important—you would become my heir.”
“Your air?” said Gavin. “What does that mean?”
“It means that one day—along with Mary, of course—you’ll inherit this,” smiled Aunt Florence, waving her hand around her. “Surely your family wouldn’t want to deny you that.”
She leaned over and kissed him. “I know this is a lot for you to take in, pet. I don’t want you to give me an answer yet. Think about it until the weekend, all right?”
“But can’t I tell Norah?”
“If you want. But I don’t think you should tell her until you’re sure of your decision. You know she’ll be against it. Why wouldn’t she? And this is a secret, all right? I’ve told Mary, but I don’t think you should discuss it with anyone else but Norah.”
Gavin could hardly make it into bed, he was so stunned. He put down one arm and fondled Bosley, grinning into the darkness.
He didn’t need any time to think about it. He had never wanted anything as much in his life. If Aunt Florence adopted him everything would stay the same! He could keep Bosley! He would be safe and secure in Canada instead of living in a scary country where people had been killed by bombs. There would be no Norah, but as wave after wave of relief swept over Gavin he tried not to think about that.
FOR THE REST OF THE WEEK Gavin thought he would burst with the excitement of Aunt Florence’s proposal. “We’ll be able to keep going to Gairloch every summer, Boz,” he whispered to the dog. “We’ll always know Tim and Roger. Next year you can go in the Dog Show again, and this time you’ll win!”
He didn’t think he wanted to go to a posh boys’ school and wear a uniform, but that was two years away. Maybe by then he could talk Aunt Florence out of it.
The future, which had been a black tunnel, now seemed like a long vista of sunny days. Gavin walked around holding a bubble of happiness inside him. Every time he looked at Aunt Florence or Aunt Mary they exchanged secretive smiles. He knew that Aunt Florence guessed what he’d decided, but he’d promised to wait until the weekend to tell her.
And he should talk to Norah before then. But every time he began to climb the stairs to her room he thought of a reason to wait until later. In the daytime it was easy to revel in the joy of staying in Canada. But at night he twisted in his sheets, thinking about Norah.
If only she could stay too! But he knew she wouldn’t, not even for him. He tried to reassure himself with what Aunt Florence had said—that Norah would be leaving him anyway. She was getting as grown-up as his other sisters. One day she might get married, like Muriel, or get a job, like Tibby.
But Norah was the only sister he knew. She was his best friend. How could he face those clear eyes and tell her he was staying behind?
He could picture exactly how she’d react. They were so different from each other. Norah always knew what she wanted. She was so sure about everything, so brave. He was so wishy-washy … such a coward.
He couldn’t tell her.
“I’ve decided,” he announced to
Aunt Florence on Saturday morning. “I’ll stay. I’ll stay and be your son.”
“Oh, Gavin.” Aunt Florence clasped him so hard that Gavin couldn’t breathe. “Let go!” he laughed.
She loosened her hold. There were tears in her eyes. “You have made me very, very happy. And I’ll make you happy, you’ll see. You’ll be the happiest boy in Canada!” she crowed, kissing him firmly on each cheek.
“There’s still Norah and Grandad,” Gavin reminded her.
“Did you talk to Norah?”
Gavin hung his head. “I couldn’t,” he whispered. “Could you tell her?”
For a second a flicker of fear passed over Aunt Florence’s face. Then she straightened her blouse and said briskly. “All right, pet. Why don’t you send her down to me right now? We might as well get this over with.”
“What does she want?” demanded Norah, when Gavin appeared at her door. “I’m trying to finish my essay.”
“Just go and see her,” said Gavin. He put his hand on Norah’s arm as she brushed past him. “And Norah … listen to her, okay?”
Norah gave him a quizzical look and flounced downstairs. Gavin followed slowly. His mouth was dry and his stomach churned. He sat on the floor outside his room and watched Aunt Florence’s closed door. Bosley’s warm side pressed against him.
At first he heard the low, reasoned murmur of Aunt Florence’s words. Norah’s response was swift and sure: “No!” Gavin clutched Bosley as her voice grew louder. “He’s not staying! You can’t do this!”
“What’s going on?” Aunt Mary had come out of her room.
Gavin gave her a desperate look. “Aunt Florence is telling Norah.”
“The poor child,” murmured Aunt Mary. “I wonder if this idea of Mother’s is right …”
Gavin couldn’t bear to be left out any longer. He stood up and opened the door. Norah and Aunt Florence were facing each other like two opponents in a boxing ring. Both pairs of grey eyes flashed with determination. Norah looked much angrier, however, while Aunt Florence was struggling to stay calm.
“I knew you’d react this way, Norah,” she said. “But I think that once you’ve thought about it, you’ll see it’s the best thing for Gavin. Isn’t he the one we should be thinking about?”
“Gavin is not staying in Canada!” shouted Norah.
Desperation filled Gavin. Norah was standing in his way—destroying his only chance of safety and happiness.
“Listen to me, Norah!” They all stared at him with surprise. “I want to stay! I want to live in Canada!” Her hurt expression melted his anger into tears. “Oh, Norah … why can’t you stay too?”
“I have already suggested to Norah that I adopt her as well,” said Aunt Florence stiffly. “She says she would rather go back to England.”
“But I want to stay here!” begged Gavin. “Please, Norah …”
Norah looked around at all of them. Her face was bleached of colour and her voice icy. “All right, Gavin—stay. You can have him, Aunt Florence. And you can all just—go—to—hell!” She spun around and ran out of the room.
BY THE EVENING they were limp from spent emotion. Aunt Florence had gone up to Norah’s room and stayed there a long time.
“She wants to speak to you now,” she told Gavin. She shut herself up with Aunt Mary and Gavin trudged up the stairs to the tower.
“Come in,” said Norah weakly. She was lying on her bed. “Listen, Gavin,” she muttered. “I’m sorry I said that awful thing. I didn’t mean it. Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” whispered Gavin, although he didn’t think he’d ever forget the sting of those words. Words hurt. He sat down on the end of the bed, keeping as far away from Norah as he could. Her voice still sounded bitter and she looked as terrible as when they’d heard about their parents. Her hair was in uncombed strings over her tear-marked cheeks and her nose was raw from crying. He had made her feel this way.
“Do you really want to stay here?” Norah asked him.
Gavin nodded miserably. He was wounding her even more but he had no choice.
“Are you sure Aunt Florence hasn’t just brainwashed you into saying yes? She’s always had some sort of weird power over you.”
“I made up my own mind. I’m sorry, Norah. I have to stay, don’t you see? Canada’s my home. I don’t remember England. I don’t even remember—” He stopped, afraid to hurt her again.
“You don’t remember Mum and Dad,” she sighed. “I know that now.”
“I don’t want to lose you,” said Gavin. “But Aunt Florence said we can visit you, and you can visit us too.”
“She told me that too.” Norah sat up. “Aunt Florence is offering you a lot,” she said tightly. “You’ll get a good education and one day you’ll be rich.”
And I’ll get to keep Bosley, Gavin added to himself.
“She seems to think it’s the best thing for you,” continued Norah. “I don’t! But Aunt Florence always gets what she wants. I just hope Grandad refuses—I bet he will.”
She finally managed a small, clenched smile. “But I also want you to be happy, Gavin. Aunt Florence says I shouldn’t upset you about it. So I’ll keep quiet until we hear Grandad’s decision. That’s the best I can offer.”
“Thank you,” whispered Gavin. He had to leave before he cried. He ran down to his room and crawled under his eiderdown.
What a horrible, horrible day. It was even worse than when his parents died, because this time all the anguish revolved around him. He gazed around his neat room, at his models and soldiers and books arranged exactly as he liked them. In Muriel’s house in England he probably wouldn’t even have his own room.
Surely Grandad would say yes and Norah would accept it. Then maybe he could stop feeling so guilty.
AUNT FLORENCE sent Grandad a cable, asking him to telephone at her expense. To Norah’s fury, the call came through when they were in school. “I wanted to talk to him!” she cried.
“He’s going to phone back again,” said Aunt Florence. “Maybe you can talk to him then. His voice was amazingly clear.”
“But what did he say?” demanded Norah.
She looked embarrassed. “He was … well … surprised, of course. He said he’d think about my proposal and phone back. I did most of the talking.”
“I bet you did,” Norah muttered, so low that only Gavin heard her.
Then a cable arrived:
MUST CONSULT REST FAMILY STOP WILL NOT TELEPHONE UNTIL JUNE
JAMES LOGGIN
“June!” spluttered Aunt Florence. “That’s too long! Doesn’t he realize how hard it is on Gavin to wait? And we can’t make any arrangements for a ship until we know if one or both of you are going.”
“But Mother,” said Aunt Mary timidly, “you can understand how Mr. Loggin needs time to think about it. After all, you’re asking him to give up his only grandson.” Aunt Florence frowned at her.
Gavin stole a glance at Norah. She looked as frustrated as the rest of them not to know.
“Well, he’s left us no choice,” sighed Aunt Florence. Later she told Gavin in private not to worry. “He didn’t sound negative, pet—just rather shocked, which is understandable. Let’s assume you are staying. I’m going to write a long letter to your grandfather. I’m sure I can convince him. But until we know, remember it’s still a secret.”
BUT GAVIN COULDN’T KEEP the secret bottled up any longer. One afternoon, when he and Tim and Roger were in the fort, he told his friends that he might stay in Canada.
“Hooray!” shouted Tim. Roger just grinned.
“Don’t tell anyone,” warned Gavin. “It’s a secret! And my grandfather might make me go back.”
“He must be really mean to do that,” said Roger.
This was exactly how Gavin had been imagining Grandad lately—a mean old man who wanted to spoil his happiness.
“He is mean,” said Gavin. “It would be awful to have to live with him. We don’t even have a house! We’d have to squeeze into my sister’s ho
use. And she and her husband are probably mean too,” he added wildly. He looked at their sympathetic faces. “But wouldn’t it be keen if I stayed in Canada? Then we’d always be friends!”
“I have an idea,” said Tim. “Let’s make a pact, just in case you do have to go back. A pact in blood.”
“Blood!” the other two cried.
“Just a little bit of blood,” said Tim. “We’ll prick our fingers and be blood brothers, the way they did in Secret Water.” They were all avid readers of the Arthur Ransome books.
Roger looked nervous when Tim took out his jackknife and placed it on a log.
“Will it hurt?” he asked.
“I don’t think I want to,” said Gavin.
“Don’t be such cowards,” said Tim scornfully. “Look, I’ll go first.”
He opened up the knife and scratched the blade tentatively on the ball of his forefinger. Then he jabbed. Gavin closed his eyes.
But nothing happened. Tim jabbed again: two, three, five times. But the blade was too dull to penetrate his skin.
“Oh, well,” said Roger. “We can just say a pact.”
“No, there has to be blood,” insisted Tim. He rooted in his pockets and pulled out a safety pin. “This should work.” Placing the point of the pin on the same place, he pushed slowly and withdrew the tip. “There!” They all peered at the tiny gleam of blood on his finger.
“Hurry!” said Tim. “Do yours before mine dries!”
Roger took the pin and pushed it in quickly. “Ouch!” He stuck his finger in his mouth.
“Don’t waste it!” said Tim. “Now you, Gavin.”
Gavin held the pin over his fingertip. “Do it!” ordered Tim.
He pressed the pin into his finger. It really hurt and he withdrew it quickly. Some blood welled up and pooled along the lines in his skin.
How strange to think that his body was full of gallons of this bright red liquid. Blood flowed; that’s what they learned in school. It meant you were alive—life blood. A gruesome thought came into his head. His parents’ blood would have stopped flowing when they were killed. That was what death was.
“You can get way more if you squeeze,” said Roger. They pinched their sore fingers until half a red globule hung from each one.
