Looking at the Moon

by Kit Pearson

  Norah tried to stay calm as Lois gave her a cool, appraising look. “That’s a pretty purse you have, Norah,” said Lois, as if Norah were a little girl pretending to be a grown-up. Sucking her milkshake hard, Norah glared at the other girl over the top of the container. She noticed how Lois continually drew Andrew’s attention towards herself by touching his arm lightly or mocking him.

  To her great relief the Mitchells left to meet their father. Now she had Andrew to herself again, but he still seemed to be with them in spirit. “What clowns,” he laughed. “The whole family’s like that—they’re much less formal than our family. Everyone does what he wants and their grandmother is a scream. When Jack and I were little, she used to tell us wonderful stories about growing up in New York.”

  “Is Jack your best friend?” said Norah abruptly.

  “I guess he is, although we’ve lived in different places for quite a while and we’ve—well, never mind. He’s a marvellous fellow—the most intelligent person I know. One day he’ll be a famous author. He already writes brilliant short stories and he’s going to write about his war experiences—that will be something. He’s the only friend I have who also wants to do something creative with his life. The difference is that his family is all for it,” he added, his voice turning hard.

  Norah was even jealous of Jack, and he was far away fighting. All at once she felt tired and stale. The milkshake had made her more thirsty, not less, and her sandalled feet were clogged with dust. She had been with Andrew an entire afternoon but hadn’t managed to say anything to bring them closer.

  “Let’s go and see if that pot is ready,” said Andrew. A few minutes later they were lugging the heavy iron pot towards the car. Then Andrew drove fast out of town.

  “Do you want to try?” he asked, slowing down.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you want to try driving? It’s perfectly safe—this part of the road is always deserted and I’ll take the wheel if you get into trouble. My father used to sometimes let me drive when I was your age—along this very road.”

  Norah was so overcome she could only nod with shining eyes. Andrew pulled over and changed places with her. Patiently he explained the functions of the pedals and gearshift. Her heart thudded as she turned the key and the engine responded. Slowly she let out the clutch as he told her, and pressed the gas pedal gingerly. The car jerked a bit and then, like an obedient animal, rumbled along the road. She managed to shift into second and third without stalling.

  Norah clenched the steering wheel so hard her knuckles stuck out sharply. “You can go a little faster,” Andrew chuckled. “At this rate we won’t be home until dark!”

  “But what if someone comes?” asked Norah, staring pop-eyed ahead of her.

  “Just keep to your side of the road and you’ll be fine.”

  Luckily no one did come. After a few minutes Norah relaxed a bit and began to enjoy driving. She liked the feeling of the car’s power under her control and went a little faster, giggling when the car responded as if it had wanted to speed up.

  “I’d better take over now,” said Andrew. “We’re coming to a crossroad. You did very well,” he added, as Norah geared down, turned into the side of the road and stopped.

  “Thank you,” she breathed. “That was super! When I grow up I’d like to be a chauffeur or something. But Clare says I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “She says only men can be chauffeurs.”

  “Don’t listen to Clare,” said Andrew, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Women can do a lot more things than they used to. My mother drives a huge ambulance in Winnipeg. She loves it! Be a chauffeur, if that’s what you want. Don’t let anyone stop you—okay?”

  “Okay,” said Norah, too overcome to suggest that he should do what he wanted to as well. She sat beside him in a dream the rest of the way to Ford’s Bay. She’d driven a car! Even her mother had never done that. The day had been redeemed; she put out of her head the disturbing sight of the prisoners of war and the unwelcome Mitchells.

  “We’d better keep the driving a secret,” said Andrew when they were back in the boat. “I don’t think Aunt Florence would appreciate it.” They exchanged a grin. As the boat slowed down to approach the island Norah kept sneaking looks at Andrew. His clear eyes were fixed on Gairloch and a peaceful expression was on his face.

  Now she could say it. She could whisper, “I love you, Andrew,” the way women did in movies. Then he would reveal that he loved her too, that he always had but thought she was too young to tell.

  But the Putt-Putt arrived at the dock while Norah was still trying to pick exactly the right moment. The picnickers were back. Gavin and Sally jumped up from their fishing rods to greet them and the family engulfed her once more.

  12

  The Party

  “The Elders want to see you, Flo,” panted Janet. She had run all the way down from the cottage. “They’re just finishing breakfast but they asked me to tell you to meet them in the living room in five minutes. What have you done?” she added curiously.

  “Nothing!” Flo looked annoyed. “I wonder what they want. What a bother … I was just going to go to the mainland to get some more writing paper.”

  “Well, hurry up,” said Janet. “Aunt Florence has that solemn look. I bet you have done something—something awful—and you won’t tell us!”

  She ducked to avoid Flo’s pillow. Then they watched the tall girl meander up to the cottage, refusing to hurry.

  “She sure has nerve,” said Clare. “I wonder what’s up.”

  Norah sat down heavily. “Maybe it’s news—bad news! You know—about one of the boys she writes to.”

  They stared at her. “Oh, no,” said Janet softly. “Oh, poor Flo …” Even Clare’s face showed concern.

  Norah twisted a corner of her sheet in her hands, the same choking fear filling her as in her nightmare about home. Last night, when Uncle Barclay had told her Churchill was in Canada for a conference, she had been irritated to be reminded once more about the war. Now its tentacles stretched toward them.

  They sat on their unmade beds and waited. Then Janet leaned far out the window.

  “She’s coming! She’s running and she doesn’t look sad at all—she looks happy!”

  Flo tore into the dorm and collapsed on her bed. “Listen everyone, I have wonderful news!” She glanced at their drained faces. “What’s wrong?”

  Janet bounced down beside her and gave her sister a squeeze. “Nothing!” she crowed. “Tell us!”

  “Wait until you hear this. The Elders are abandoning us!”

  “What?” Clare frowned. “Don’t joke, Flo. This morning has been dramatic enough already.”

  “It’s not a joke! You know that wedding they’re all going to this Saturday.”

  They nodded. Aunt Anne’s sister was getting married from the Royal Muskoka Hotel on one of the other lakes, and Sally was to be a flower girl.

  “They were going to leave for the hotel on Saturday morning and come back the same day.” Flo grinned. “Well, now they’re staying overnight! They won’t be back until Sunday evening because someone’s having a lunch the next day.”

  “But that means—” began Janet.

  “Exactly! We’ll be alone. Andrew and I are in charge. We’ll have the whole island to ourselves for almost two days!”

  “But what about the Hancocks?” said Norah.

  “They’re going away too! Their nephew is home on leave and they’re taking the train back to Toronto for the weekend.”

  “It’s not that great,” said Clare. “Won’t we have to babysit George and Denny? That will take all our time—you know what brats they can be.”

  “They’re going to the wedding! Aunt Anne thinks they should see Sally being a flower girl and her relatives have arranged a sitter for them afterwards. So it will just be us! Of course, there are the other little boys, but they’re easy enough to look after. Now listen, I have a wonderful idea—let’s have a pa
rty!”

  “Now you’re talking!” said Clare. “On Saturday night?”

  Flo nodded. “Andrew and I can ask all our friends and you may too, of course.”

  Janet looked worried. “Are we allowed to have a party?”

  “Of course not, silly! But no one will know, because almost everyone’s parents will be at the wedding too!”

  “I don’t think we should do it,” said Janet primly. “What if the Elders find out? Imagine how furious Aunt Florence would be …”

  Flo grimaced but Clare said, “Don’t be such a baby, Janet. We won’t get caught, as long as we clean up afterwards. I think it’s a swell idea. I’ve been waiting all summer for something exciting to happen and this is it!”

  “It really will be all right, Janet,” Flo reassured her sister. “Let’s make a list!” She tore a page from her writing pad. “We’ll ask the Mackenzies, the Laziers, Ceci Johnson and her friend from the States … We’ll have to spend the next few days going around in the boat and passing the word—we can pretend we’re going on a lot of picnics.”

  “Make sure there aren’t too many girls,” warned Clare. “And I’ll ask Louise to bring all her records.”

  Janet and Norah listened quietly, scarcely believing that they were included as well. Then Janet added a few names to the list. Norah didn’t have any friends up north to ask but that didn’t matter—she was beginning to feel excited.

  “Flo, do you think Andrew will want to do it?” she dared to ask, not looking at Clare.

  “Oh, I’m sure he will,” said Flo. “Andrew always likes to have a good time. It’ll be nice to plan something with him again, the way we used to. We won’t be able to tell him until he gets back from the Mitchells’, though.” She looked wistful. “He’s always over there.”

  “Make sure you ask Jamie and Dick,” said Clare.

  “What about Peter and Ross and Gavin? What if they tell?” said Janet.

  “Janet, will you stop worrying!” said Clare. “I’ll manage Peter and Ross. I know enough things they’ve done to threaten them with. How about Gavin, Norah—can you trust him?”

  “Of course I can!” said Norah indignantly. “He won’t say anything if I ask him not to, and I don’t have to threaten him.”

  “We’ll give them something to do so they feel part of it,” said Flo. “I know—they can meet the boats and help tie them up. Now food … we need another list.”

  FOR NORAH, the best part about preparing for the party was that Andrew was so enthusiastically involved. He stayed on the island and shared in their secret plans, even coming down to the boathouse at night to discuss them. He treated Norah to the same teasing banter that he did the other cousins; Norah was relieved that Clare didn’t say anything.

  While the cousins were keyed up with suppressed excitement about the party, the Elders were busy getting ready for the wedding.

  “I’m sorry we have to leave you all behind, Norah,” said Aunt Mary, as Norah helped her pin some new silk flowers on her hat. “It’s going to be such a beautiful wedding—the wedding of the summer. But I suppose you’ll like being on your own for a change.”

  “We will,” Norah assured her. She wished she could tell Aunt Mary about the party; she was the only Elder who probably wouldn’t mind.

  “There!” Aunt Mary tweaked a bow on the hat. “That should match my new dress perfectly. I have to pick it up today.”

  Now that the dress was finished, Norah wondered what she’d use for an excuse to visit Tom. Would he be at the wedding? Would Aunt Mary have to pretend she didn’t know him? Or perhaps they would decide that this was the occasion to announce their engagement. Quiet Aunt Mary was really the most romantic member of the family, Norah thought dreamily.

  “Weddings! What a lot of fuss!” complained Aunt Catherine. Norah sat on the old woman’s bed while she shook out an ancient beaded sweater and frowned at a moth hole in it. “They’re bad enough in the winter but having to get all dressed up in the summer … I’m half-inclined to stay here with you young ones. I’m sure you’ll have a better time than I will.” She tugged on the sweater and grimaced at her reflection in the mirror.

  “Oh,” said Norah in a panic. But then Aunt Catherine added, “I have to go, though—the bride’s parents are old friends. Weddings terrify me, you know.”

  “Why?”

  “Because all my life I’ve had a recurring nightmare of standing in front of the altar and suddenly changing my mind—but not daring to say so because everyone would be disappointed. Whenever I see the bride and groom standing there I feel trapped. Much better to be independent, not saddled with someone for the rest of your life.”

  Norah was shocked. “But what about love?”

  “Love!” Aunt Catherine chuckled. “Love’s all very well, and none of us can do without it. We wouldn’t want to, either. But it’s like champagne—bubbly and sweet, but the effect doesn’t last. Not the moonlight and roses kind of love, anyway. Look at our last king—Edward—where did love get him? It lost him the throne.”

  A dim memory stirred in Norah of sitting in the kitchen with her family, listening to the king’s words from the wireless, words she had often heard grownups quote since then: that he could not be king “without the help and support of the woman I love.”

  “But why can’t he marry her and still be king?” she had asked.

  “Because she’s divorced and they won’t let him,” Muriel had replied. “So he’s sacrificing his throne for her. Isn’t that romantic? It’s true love …”

  “Love! Puh!” Grandad had sputtered. He had sounded very much like Aunt Catherine just now. “What’s so important about love? It’s duty that’s important. The fellow is neglecting his duty.”

  “You loved Granny,” Tibby had said gently.

  “That’s different—that’s marriage,” Grandad had retorted.

  “Don’t you think anyone should get married?” Norah asked Aunt Catherine now, more bewildered each second.

  “You poor child—what have I been telling you? Of course marriage can be splendid for some people. Look at Dorothy and Barclay—they’ve always seemed to me to have a good steady relationship. Marriage works when all the romance nonsense ends and you learn to give each other space and respect. But it’s not for me. Everyone doesn’t have to marry, you know. I could have, several times. But I’m just as happy—probably happier—alone. Not that anyone is going to propose to me now!” She struggled out of the sweater and shook herself like a small, fierce terrier. “But don’t listen to the ramblings of an old woman, Norah. You’ll fall in love one day and you might get married too. Just make sure you do what you want to do.”

  Norah walked slowly downstairs. She had always thought that Aunt Catherine wasn’t married because no one had ever asked her. But to deliberately choose not to be … And she was happy, there was no denying that. Happier than some of the aunts, like Aunt Mar, who seemed only half-here with Uncle Peter away, or Aunt Anne, who fussed so much about being a perfect wife. But her own parents—now that she thought of it—had always seemed to be contented with each other. She wondered if Muriel and Barry would be.

  Andrew waved to her as he walked by on the verandah. Norah’s heart danced and she forgot her unsettling reflections. It seemed to her that love was much simpler than Aunt Catherine made out—and of course, she wanted to get married.

  “GOODBYE! Have a good time!” All the cousins stood on the dock and waved cheerfully. Uncle Gerald and his family had already left with a neighbour and the eight remaining Elders were crammed into the Florence, with Uncle Barclay at the wheel.

  “They look like people in the movies,” Gavin whispered to Norah. With their festive hats, bright floral-printed dresses, strings of pearls and crisp suits the aunts and uncles glittered with importance. A long time later, whenever Norah thought of the Elders she remembered them like this: “dressed to the nines,” as Aunt Catherine said, looking as proud and excited as children going on an outing.

  “
Take good care of Bosley, Gavin,” said Uncle Reg.

  “You are only to leave the island for an emergency,” said Aunt Florence.

  “And remember, Flo—no visitors,” added Aunt Dorothy. In the noisy farewells, Flo managed not to answer.

  “Behave yourselves!” were the last words they heard. They waved dutifully until the launch was out of sight; then they grinned at each other.

  “We’re free!” laughed Flo. “Let’s get going. Andrew, you have the list of food to get. The rest of you come up and start moving furniture.”

  BY NOON, when Andrew had returned from Ford’s Bay with cartons of Orange Crush and Coke and packages of crackers and peanuts, the cottage was ready. All the living-room furniture had been pushed to the sides or put out onto the verandah. The rugs had been rolled up, leaving a bare expanse of painted floorboards. A stack of records lay ready by the new phonograph.

  The little boys had listened solemnly while Flo told them about the party. “If you say anything, Peter and Ross, I’ll tell Mother you were the ones who broke her sewing machine,” said Clare.

  “Don’t worry—we’ll never tell!” said Gavin earnestly. The three of them beamed with the honour of being included.

  They all helped spread the crackers with cheese and a dab of jelly and arrange them on plates. Then Flo cooked them a huge batch of corn-on-the-cob for lunch. They devoured it in minutes, their faces gleaming with butter.

  “Hanny will notice we’ve used all the butter ration,” said Janet.

  “We’ll just do without it for the rest of the weekend,” Flo told her.

  “Come on, you three—I’ll take you fishing in the rowboat while the women make themselves beautiful,” said Andrew. Gavin, Peter and Ross ran after him.

  As soon as the boys had left, the girls went skinny-dipping off the dock, playing catch with the floating bar of soap. Then they washed their hair in the lake. Norah watched the other three put their hair up in pincurls.

  “Shall I do yours too?” Flo asked her.

  Norah wasn’t sure how different she wanted to look, but she decided to risk it. Flo carefully twisted squiggly shapes all over her head. The four of them sat in a row to dry their hair and Flo began to shave her legs.