by Kit Pearson
Norah watched the launch disappear, then looked for the sail. By now Andrew and Uncle Gerald, or he and Flo, had taken all the cousins out in the sailboat—everyone but Norah.
Gavin was right—she loved sailing. Two summers ago she and Janet rigged up the rowboat with an improvised sail made out of an old sheet and pretended it was the Swallow, from one of Norah’s favourite books. But the rowboat was too heavy to move very fast without oars.
They were only allowed to go out in the sailboat when Uncle Gerald or Uncle Peter, Clare’s father, was here. But the two youngest uncles were never able to come to Gairloch for long and the other two didn’t like sailing.
Now Norah watched Andrew and Uncle Gerald tack as they approached the dock. Gavin and Sally were crouched between them. Norah wanted to be in the boat so much she could feel the jibsheet between her hands.
But she wouldn’t ask—not Andrew. She swung the glider violently until its creaking almost drowned out Uncle Reg’s record.
“Norah!” Gavin had rushed up the hill to the verandah. He always knew where to find his sister. He climbed into the glider beside her, his cheeks flushed and his fair hair in a tangle. “Did you see me out there? It was swell! We went really fast and I leaned right over the water—that’s called ‘hiking.’ Sally almost forgot to duck when Uncle Gerald gybed. Do you know what gybing is?”
“Of course I do,” sighed Norah.
“Andrew sent me to find you,” continued Gavin. “He wants to know if you want a turn next. This will be their last sail today.”
Despite the reluctance in her mind, Norah’s feet seemed to stroll down to the dock on their own. She tried not to let her face show how much she wanted to get into the boat.
“There you are, Norah!” Andrew was sitting in the stern. “You’re certainly hard to find. Every time we tried to give you a turn you’d disappeared.”
“Want to come now?” Uncle Gerald asked her.
“Yes, please.” Norah looked only at Uncle Gerald as she answered. With him along, she could ignore Andrew. She put on a life-jacket and stepped into the Christina. The boat’s canvas sails crackled in the breeze, as if it were impatient at having to stand still.
“Gerald!” Aunt Anne came hurrying down the steps, Denny in her arms. “Will you come and cope with George? I’ve left him screaming in the cabin. He says you promised to take him fishing right after lunch and he won’t mind me. You have to come.”
Uncle Gerald frowned. “But we were just about to take Norah for a sail. Can’t he wait an hour?”
“You know how worked up he gets. Please, Gerald—I can’t do a thing with him!”
“Georgie’s screamin’ real loud,” said Denny with satisfaction. They could all hear the faint, enraged cry: “Daddy …”
“All right …” Uncle Gerald stepped out of the boat. “Norah’s used to sailing, Andrew, and you’re doing fine. I think the two of you will be all right on your own.” He hurried up to the cabin.
“Let’s get going!” said Andrew. He handed Norah the jibsheet and took hold of the mainsheet and the tiller. “Cast us off, Gavin.”
Norah thought of leaping from the boat but it was too late. Gavin untied the painter and she had to catch it. Then he pushed away the bow and in an instant she was out on the lake, trapped with Andrew.
Frantically Norah tried to remember her duties as crew: pulling in the fluttering jibsail and setting it to the same angle as the mainsail. She clutched the rope so tightly, her bones showed through her knuckles. If she had to be in the boat with Andrew, at least she would show him she knew how to sail.
They were going to be too busy to have a conversation. Andrew’s only words came every few minutes: “Ready about … tacking.” At first the two of them moved awkwardly, stumbling over each other’s legs; but soon they synchronized their movements and shifted from one side of the boat to the other as one person. The Christina skimmed the water like a gull, the wake curling behind. No motor noise jarred the ride, just the vibration of the wind against the taut sails. Norah gazed up the mast, which seemed to pierce the bright sky. Then they hiked out to flatten the boat and she leaned far over the water, her hair whipping backwards and spray flying into her mouth. She let her mind fill with the joy of sailing, and pretended there was no one in the boat but her.
Finally Andrew, shaking the water out of his hair, grinned at her. “I hate to end this, but I think we’ll have to go back. I missed lunch and I’m ravenous! Get ready to gybe.” He reversed the tiller and hauled in the mainsheet. “Boom over …”
Norah ducked her head as the boom swung across. Now the two sails billowed out on either side and the Christina became a sedate swan swimming for shore.
Andrew pulled up the centreboard and told Norah to move back. She perched on one side so she’d be as far away from him as possible. She tried to keep watching the jib, but there wasn’t much need to concentrate on it now that they were moving more slowly.
Andrew stretched out his long legs and leaned against the stern. “You’re a good sailor, Norah. Did you learn in England?”
Why did he always have to look right into her face when he talked to her? Norah’s words came out in hard, painful chunks. “Oh, no. My family doesn’t own any boats. I learned here. Uncle Gerald taught me. And Uncle Peter.”
“I learned at Gairloch, too. My dad taught me—my first dad, that is. But my stepfather doesn’t like sailing. He gets seasick!”
Norah wondered if he liked his stepfather and how he had felt when his mother married again. But if she asked him that he might ask her more questions.
It was so difficult to remain aloof when they were sharing something so enjoyable. Norah trailed one hand in the warm water. Perhaps—just for this trip—she would let herself forget about how much he bothered her.
“Your little brother is a real character,” chuckled Andrew. “He told us that his elephant—what does he call it—Creature?—should have a life-jacket too, in case he fell in. He must have been very young when he left England.”
“He was five,” said Norah. “That’s the youngest age you could come over on the overseas evacuation plan.” For a surprised second she wondered if her parents would have sent her alone if Gavin had been only four.
“At least you had each other,” said Andrew, as if he were reading her thoughts. “And did you really not know who you’d be living with? Aunt Florence said you were assigned to her!”
“No, we didn’t know. We waited for a week at the university before we found out.”
“I’m not sure I’d like to have Aunt Florence as my guardian,” said Andrew. “Aunt Mary is a peach, but Aunt Florence has always reminded me of the Queen of Hearts in Alice—‘Off with her head!’ She read Alice to us the last summer I was here with my parents. That book sometimes reminds me of this whole family. A bit mad, don’t you think?”
Norah nodded vigorously, remembering Aunt Florence’s odd story about the little visitor. “Sometimes I just don’t understand them! And Aunt Florence is hard to live with. She’s so fussy!” Then, remembering as always that she was a guest in this country, Norah added dutifully, “But it was very kind of her to take us in. And sometimes she’s funny. Last winter she took up tap dancing! They had lessons on the radio and she thought it would be good for her figure. Gavin and I used to spy on her. She looked so silly, bouncing around the dining room. But she gave up after two lessons—she said it was bad for her heart.”
Andrew threw back his head and crowed with laughter. “Aunt Florence probably has a better heart than I have! She can be ridiculous, but there’s something magnificent about her, too. I think my grandmother was terrified of her. Did you know this boat was named after her?”
“After who?”
“My grandmother. Christina. She was Aunt Florence’s younger sister, but she and my grandfather are both dead. She was my father’s mother—and Aunt Dorothy’s and Uncle Peter’s.”
“Oh.” Sorting out the Drummonds was like doing a hard puzzle.
Andrew sighed. “My grandparents were easy to take, but I think my mother was glad to get away from the rest of the family when she married again. Yet there’s something endearing about all of them, too. When I’m here I feel so … safe. As if nothing has changed and nothing else in the world—the war especially—exists. I guess that’s why I have to come back once in a while. And of course the best part is this incredible lake—just look at it!”
Andrew let go of the tiller and flung his arms dramatically. The boom swung over without warning, the boat heeled—and Norah was tipped backwards into the water.
She heard herself yelp before she went under. But she bobbed up immediately like a cork, spluttering out a huge mouthful of the lake. The Christina was making a wide circle ahead of her as it turned back.
When the boat drew up beside her, Andrew leaned over and grabbed the back of her life-jacket. He fished her out, dripping and giggling. “Norah, are you all right? What a stupid thing to do—I’m so sorry!”
“I’m okay,” gasped Norah. “I fell off before the boom could hit me. It was just such a surprise! But the water isn’t cold at all. At least you righted the boat before it capsized.”
“You’re shivering! Here, take this off.” Andrew helped her undo her sopping life-jacket, and rubbed her arms and legs. Then he took off his shirt and wrapped it tightly around her, his face full of concern. “Don’t tell anyone about this, promise? Think of what Aunt Florence would say, nearly drowning her war guest! I still can’t believe I did something so idiotic. Don’t worry about the jib any more. Just sit up on the side and get some sun. We’re almost there—I can see the dock. I only hope no one saw us!”
Norah kept shaking, but it wasn’t from being cold. She turned away from Andrew so he couldn’t see her face and struggled to get herself under control. With awe, she hugged his protecting shirt around her, still feeling the touch of his warm hands on her skin.
6
Secrets
N orah left Andrew without a word. Up in the boathouse she peeled off her wet clothes and put on dry ones, then hurried out again in a daze, not knowing where she was going.
“Can you help me?” Flo’s words startled Norah. She was plodding down the steps, weighed down by Uncle Reg’s phonograph. Norah ran up and grabbed one end of it.
“Where are you taking this?” she asked.
“To the boathouse!” said Flo triumphantly. “It’s for us! The Elders have a new one—Mr. Hancock just picked it up in Port Clarkson. Uncle Reg says this one sounds tinny, but I don’t care. Now we can have music!”
Flo began setting up the phonograph on Sally’s empty bed—the little girl had got her way and now slept in the Boys’ Dorm. Janet and Clare rushed in, their arms full of records. “Where is it?” asked Clare. “Dibs on choosing first! I wondered when I’d get to play these—Uncle Reg was always hogging it.”
She dropped her pile of records on the bed and flipped through them. “Put on this one—it’s number one on the hit parade.”
Frank Sinatra’s smooth voice filled the space. The sound was tinny and the needle scratched, but having music made the boathouse even cosier. Each of the girls curled up on her bed and hummed along.
“You’ll never know just how much I care …”
That’s me! thought Norah. Turning to the wall to hide her blushing cheeks she mouthed, “I love you.” The revelation was still a shock—like bursting out of her old skin and finding a fragile new one underneath.
Every Saturday in the city Norah went to the movies with her friends. Now she felt as if she were in a movie: like Casablanca or Gone with the Wind.
Her feelings had to be a secret; even—especially—from Andrew. She didn’t know how she would handle it if he knew. For now she just wanted to think about him as much as possible.
The song ended and Clare beat Janet to the turntable and started it again. Flo jumped up and grabbed her brush. “How I wish I could do something!” she grumbled, dragging the bristles through her long hair.
“What do you mean?” asked Janet.
“I wish I could leave school and get a job in an airplane factory or something—but Mother and Dad won’t let me. It’s so unfair. All my male friends are over there helping to fight and I’m stuck at home learning algebra.”
“The war’s so boring,” yawned Clare. “How can you be interested in it?”
“I don’t see why I can’t contribute,” said Flo. “Like Norah’s older sisters—they’re in the British army, right, Norah? As soon as I’m eighteen I’m going to join the RCAF, if I can talk Mother and Dad into it. But that’s a whole year away. Lucky Andrew—at least he’s starting his officer training this fall.”
“Is Andrew staying for the rest of summer?” asked Norah. She dropped his name into the conversation as casually as she could, amazed that it didn’t ring out like a gong to the others the way it did to her.
“I think he’s staying until university starts,” said Janet. “So he’ll probably drive back to Toronto with you.”
“Too bad for Norah,” said Clare. “You’ll just have to put up with him.”
“Don’t you like Andrew?” Flo asked her with surprise.
Norah flushed so hotly she was sure Flo guessed her secret. But Clare saved her. “Norah’s too much of a tomboy to like boys. When we’re all engaged she’ll still be climbing trees.”
“Don’t be mean, Clare,” said Flo. “There’s no reason Norah has to be interested in boys. She’s only thirteen—give her time.” She smiled at Norah, and Norah was so relieved she smiled back. Let them all go on thinking she didn’t like Andrew.
The record ended and the rasp of the needle filled the room. Janet put on “That Old Black Magic” and Norah lay back dreamily. She had never really listened to the song; now every word seemed to be speaking to her alone.
“NORAH, WAIT!” called Janet the next morning. “I thought we were going out in the canoe!”
But Norah had already fled to her rock. She lay on her stomach and peered down at the cabins. In front of the larger one Aunt Anne was shaking out a rug, shooing away George and Denny, who were playing with toy cars on the front steps.
Andrew’s cabin looked unoccupied. But he must be in there because he hadn’t been to breakfast yet. If he came out, could she call him and wave casually? She knew she couldn’t. Right now she just wanted to study him—to learn him by heart.
But in that case she’d better hide, in case he looked up and saw her here. At the back of Andrew’s cabin were some low-lying bushes. Norah waited until Aunt Anne went inside, taking the little boys with her. Then she slipped off the rock and ran down to hide in the bushes.
Whew! Her heart thudded as she crouched in the damp dirt. The branches poked into her back, and she wanted to sneeze from the dry leafy smell. Immediately, she wished she hadn’t come; it would be so humiliating if Andrew discovered her. But now that she was here, it was safer to stay hidden until he came out.
She didn’t have long to wait. The screen door creaked and slammed and she peeked out to see Andrew stroll out of the cabin and up the hill to the main cottage. When he was far enough away, she dashed back up to her rock and watched his progress.
He wore a white shirt that emphasized his tan, and khaki shorts. His hair glistened in the sun. Norah sighed, thinking of all the days she had wasted avoiding him when she could have been feasting her eyes like this. Andrew went in the kitchen door—Norah could hear him greeting Hanny before it closed.
For the next few days she tracked Andrew as much as possible, feeling as daring and resourceful as when she had been ten, watching for enemy paratroopers during the Battle of Britain. Janet complained because she couldn’t find her. “What are you doing by yourself so much?”
“Oh … reading.” Norah carried a book as an alibi and often needed it while she waited for Andrew to emerge from the cabin or return from the mainland. The lake was too calm for sailing and he spent some time off the island—she’d heard him say he was visiting
friends.
“Reading …” sighed Janet. “I wish you’d do something with me, Norah. Clare’s always reading too—movie magazines. Or she’s visiting her friend Louise on Cliff Island. And Flo spends all her time writing letters. I’m so bored! Gairloch used to be a lot more fun than it has been this summer. I thought that would change when you came.”
Norah squirmed at her foster cousin’s forlorn expression. “Okay—let’s go out in the rowboat.” They rowed out to the middle of the lake and spent an hour diving off the boat. But all the time, Norah wondered what Andrew was up to.
Every night in bed, and during her solitary vigils during the day, Norah made up elaborate stories about her and Andrew. Sometimes she didn’t have on her life-jacket when she had fallen out of the boat and he rescued her just before she drowned. Sometimes she rescued him, pulling him to shore and applying mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
“You are the one,” he would say when his eyes finally opened. “The special person I’ve been waiting for all my life.” Because of Norah’s age they had to keep their love hidden. Andrew would meet Norah secretly in Toronto during his time at university. Then he would go away to war carrying her picture in his pocket. He would be a hero and win many medals. After the war, when she was eighteen, he would return and marry her. (This part needed adjusting because Norah didn’t want the war to go on that long.) They would live in England, in the same village as her parents. Aunt Florence would be furious that Norah had married so young, but there was nothing she could do …
She picked up a sharp stone and began scratching initials in the rock: N.S. + A.D.
“Ugh!” A wet nose was poking the back of her neck. Then Bosley slobbered all over her face. Gavin was climbing up the rock behind him.
“What are you doing, Norah?”
Quickly Norah moved so she was sitting on top of the initials. She smiled at her brother.
“Nothing much. How’s the detective agency?”
“Okay … but we haven’t got any cases. Uncle Reg hired us to find his glasses but that was too easy—they were on the verandah, where he always leaves them.”
