And Nothing But the Truth

by Kit Pearson

  She opened Noni’s letter. It was brief, just saying how much she and Aunt Jean and Uncle Rand missed Polly, and how eager they were to see her on the weekend. “Your wee dog has tried hard to behave and sometimes he succeeds,” Noni wrote. “He sends his love, as we all do.”

  At the bottom of the letter was Tarka’s dirty paw print. Polly kissed it, and suddenly felt lighter. Tomorrow evening she would be home.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  BACK ON THE ISLAND

  POLLY HAD NEVER TRAVELLED TO THE ISLAND BY HERself. Mrs. Blake drove her down to the harbour in Miss Guppy’s little grey car. She waited with Polly until it was time to board the steamer. “Now, don’t talk to strangers, and be sure you get off at the right island,” she said.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve done this trip zillions of times,” said Polly happily.

  She ran up the gangplank, almost forgetting to turn and wave goodbye to Mrs. Blake. Right away, some women from Kingfisher Island recognized her and asked her about school. To avoid their questions, Polly spent the whole time on the deck.

  How wonderful to smell the salt air again! She pulled off her hat, released her hair from its braid, and let it stream in the breeze. She was wearing her own clothes and Daddy’s necklace.

  Polly drank in the familiar landscape greedily: big and small islands, the rounded shapes of distant hills, and the ever-changing, rippling water below her. She spotted many sleek seals, a few otters, and, in the distance, a school of leaping dolphins. By the time the steamer docked at Valencia Island the sun was starting to set, and the air became chilly. Polly pulled her hat over her ears and put on her gloves. Her feet and nose were still freezing, but she didn’t want to go inside.

  Finally, the fir-covered cliffs of her own island came into view. Now the sky was pink. The boat rounded a point, and Polly could see the long wharf and the familiar buildings on either side of it: the hotel, the store, the church and rectory, and, best of all, the white house with the blue roof—the house that had sheltered her for the past three years. She was home.

  Noni waved from the end of the wharf; Tarka was prancing at her feet. In a few minutes, Polly was in her grandmother’s arms. “Oh, Noni—oh, Noni …” she sobbed. “I’ve missed you so much! And Tarka, my little Tarka-dog!”

  Tarka scratched at her legs, squealing hysterically. Polly picked him up and buried her face in his fur, sobbing even harder.

  “Whisht, Polly!” Behind her glasses, Noni’s grey eyes looked worried. “I’ve missed you, too, but you’ve only been away for a week! It can’t be as bad as all that. Cheer up now, hen. You have two whole days ahead of you to enjoy.”

  Walking home felt like waking up from a bad dream. Polly’s legs trembled she was so relieved to be scuffing her feet in the dirt road. At least Noni didn’t ask her about school. Instead, she told Polly how Tarka had stolen a whole loaf of bread out of the larder.

  “That’s why his tummy is so fat!” giggled Polly.

  Aunt Jean and Uncle Rand came for dinner as usual. They asked about school, but Polly tried to divert their questions by quizzing them about what had been happening on the island.

  “Well!” said Aunt Jean. “You won’t believe this, but Mildred Cunningham had a dress made in Vancouver and it fastens at the side with a zipper! Zippers are fine on galoshes, but not on a dress. I can’t believe she’d go in for such a fad. I told her it would never stay shut and she was only setting herself up for an embarrassing situation, but of course she won’t listen to me.”

  Polly grinned. Nothing had changed; Aunt Jean and Mrs. Cunningham had been rivals since they were girls.

  “She’ll be the next to get one—wait and see,” whispered Uncle Rand to Polly as Aunt Jean was taking out the plates. “Now, tell me what subjects you’re studying.”

  Polly sighed, but she had to be polite. She recited all her subjects.

  “So many new things to learn,” said Uncle Rand. “It makes me wish I were starting school all over again.”

  “Tell us about your roommates,” Aunt Jean urged, coming back into the dining room with a blackberry pie.

  There was no escape. Polly had to list her roommates and say where they were from. Then Uncle Rand asked her about her teachers.

  Finally, Noni said, “Enough questions, now. I think Polly’s tired. Let’s have a song or two, and then she can go to bed.” They gathered around the piano. Polly belted out the tunes, the familiar words cancelling out everything that had happened this horrible week.

  Polly opened her eyes and stretched. She was in her own comfortable bed, the same arbutus tree gleamed in the sun outside the window, and, best of all, her beloved Tarka dozed at her feet. As soon as she moved, he wormed his way up and pressed against her side, then flipped onto his back so Polly could rub his tummy.

  The only sound was the swish of the sea and a raven’s hoarse croak. There was no clanging bell, no rigid schedule, and no crowd of noisy girls. She was alone, and she had the entire day to do as she pleased.

  As usual, Polly made tea and toast for herself and Noni, and carried it upstairs on a tray.

  “Ah, hen, what a treat! All week I had to go down and make my own breakfast.” Noni patted the bed. “Come and sit beside me.”

  Polly leaned against the pillow and nibbled her toast, tossing bits to Tarka. Her grandmother put down her cup. “Now, tell me what you really think of St. Winifred’s.”

  Polly didn’t want to think of school at all, but she had to answer. “I hate it,” she muttered.

  “What do you hate about it?” Noni asked calmly.

  Polly spat out her words like hot coals. “I’m never alone and I hardly ever get to go outside. There are loud bells that tell us to do things. Our dorm floor is splintery, and my bed is lumpy. There are so many stupid rules—we can’t even talk in the halls! It’s crowded and noisy, and the food is horrible. In the school bathroom there’s only one roller towel for all of us—it’s disgusting! Our homeroom teacher is really mean. Miss Guppy is just as bossy as she was when Maud was there. I miss you and Tarka and everyone else on the island so much. And Noni, the drawing teacher told me I was a show-off!”

  “Gracious, what a lot of things to hate! It’s a shame about your drawing teacher. But I’m sure your other art teacher will be different. Isn’t there anything you like?”

  Polly thought hard. “Having indoor toilets.”

  Noni chuckled. “That must feel like a real luxury after the island. But there must be something else you like. What about the other girls in your dorm?”

  “I like Eleanor,” said Polly, “and Daisy’s all right. But Rhoda is really spoiled and stuck-up.” She took a deep breath. “Oh, Noni, do I have to go back?”

  Now Noni looked flinty. “Polly, we’ve gone over this so often. I’m very sorry you don’t like St. Winifred’s, but you’ve only been there for a week. It’ll take a while to get used to being in a large school, and to being so regulated. Of course you miss us—we miss you terribly. But we’ll see one another every weekend, and I guarantee you’ll like St. Winifred’s better soon. Your—your father and Maud and I, and the rest of the family, would be so disappointed if you left. You would be disappointed in yourself when you were older—you would have given up this chance for an excellent education.”

  Her face softened. “Many things in life are difficult, but you already know that. You’ve always been my brave lassie—can you try to be brave now and give the school a chance?”

  Polly sighed. Of course Noni would react like this. What would her grandmother think if she knew Polly was only there for a year? “All right,” she muttered.

  Noni kissed her. “Good for you. Now, why don’t you make yourself a sandwich and go find Biddy and Vivien. It’s such a beautiful day. You don’t have to be back until dinnertime—ask your friends if they’d like to come.”

  Biddy and Vivien were much more sympathetic to Polly’s complaints about St. Winifred’s. They sat on the beach, enthralled and horrified, as Polly told them about
the rules and the ugly uniform, described the food and imitated the Hornet.

  “You poor thing!” said Biddy. “It sounds like a prison.”

  “It is,” said Polly. “I hate it!”

  “I would hate it, too,” said Vivien. “But Biddy and I aren’t much better off, Polly.”

  She and Biddy shared a governess with Dorothy, another girl on the island. “We only have to go in the mornings,” said Vivien, “but they last forever. Miss Peate is so boring, and she isn’t very smart. I’m far better at math than she is.”

  “She has B.O.!” said Biddy. “And she files her nails while we’re reading.”

  “At least you have the afternoons off,” said Polly.

  “Yes, but we both have to work,” said Vivien. “I have to help Dad in the orchard, and Biddy has to babysit.”

  “I have to look after Shirley all afternoon and pick up the twins from school,” said Biddy. “Neither of them minds me—they drive me crazy. Oh, Polly, everything has changed so much! I wish it were last year and we were still in grade seven.”

  The other two agreed. They sat there glumly until Polly said, “Well, at least next year I’ll be back on the island all the time.”

  “Yes, you will,” said Biddy. “I’m so glad you don’t like St. Winifred’s. I was worried that you’d want to stay.” She jumped up. “Come on, we only have the weekend together! Can we take out your uncle’s gasboat?”

  The rest of the day went by far too fast. The sea was so calm that they were able to take the boat as far as Vivien’s farm. Then they helped pick apples and ate their sandwiches under the trees. After lunch, they putted back in the boat, then rode their bikes to the lighthouse, with Tarka and Biddy’s dog, Bramble, riding in their baskets as usual. Then they hung around Biddy’s room, looking at movie magazines.

  Polly stretched out on Biddy’s bed and listened to the other two argue about who was prettier—Jean Harlow or Loretta Young. Being part of this cozy threesome again felt so safe.

  “I wish we could see some of these movies,” complained Biddy. “Will you be able to go to movies in Victoria, Polly?”

  “Maybe,” said Polly. “When Maud was there, the boarders were sometimes taken to them.”

  “Lucky you!” said Vivien. “It’s so frustrating to live somewhere with no movie theatre.”

  Polly didn’t want them to think there was anything good about St. Winifred’s. “They only go on the weekends,” she said. “I’m not a full-time boarder, so I’ll never see one.”

  “Tell us about your roommates,” said Biddy. “Are they nice?”

  “Two of them are. Eleanor’s really smart and Daisy’s good at sports. She’s trying to get on her house basketball team.”

  “Who’s the third one?” asked Vivien.

  “Rhoda … she’s awful. She’s really conceited and she boasts all the time. I can’t stand her!”

  “Do they like boarding school?”

  “Eleanor likes the classes, and she’s so practical she just puts up with the rest. Daisy is the sort of person who likes everything. And Rhoda … well, she seems to hate it as much as I do,” finished Polly slowly. She didn’t want to admit she had anything in common with Rhoda.

  “Do you like Eleanor and Daisy as much as us?” asked Biddy.

  Polly grinned. “Of course not! You two are my best friends.”

  Biddy and Vivien were eager to come for dinner. Noni and Aunt Jean had cooked Polly’s favourites: roast chicken, roast potatoes, and butterscotch pudding. None of them urged her to eat her vegetables the way they usually did.

  Then they made two teams for charades: Polly, Uncle Rand, and Biddy against Vivien, Aunt Jean, and Noni. Vivien was such a good actor that her team won every time. It was very late when Uncle Rand drove the girls home.

  Polly took Tarka out for his last walk of the day. She strolled along the road while Tarka marked the bushes. The stars were a million diamonds sparkling above her, and the moon made a silver path on the sea. Polly had always found the night sky reassuring, as if she were part of a wondrous mystery. Several times, she had tried to paint it, but she hadn’t yet captured its essence.

  How could she go back to a place where she wasn’t allowed to stand and marvel under the stars?

  Polly sat in the tiny stone church and listened to Uncle Rand preach about the parable of the sower. He joked about what a dismal gardener he himself was, and everyone laughed. Polly listened proudly. Once, Uncle Rand’s sermons had been so obtuse that no one could understand them. But after Polly had told him that, his preaching became simpler.

  At coffee time, everyone came up to Polly and welcomed her home. They kept asking her how she liked school. All she could do was smile and murmur “Fine.”

  Mrs. Mackenzie, Alice’s mother, wrung Polly’s hand like a rag. “I hope Alice is keeping out of trouble,” she said.

  Polly tried to answer just as sternly. “Alice is never in trouble! In fact, she was just made president of her class.”

  “That’s hard to believe,” said Mrs. Mackenzie.

  Polly escaped from her and bumped into Chester’s parents. “Why, Polly, how nice to see you back on the island!” said his mother.

  “We telephoned Chester last night,” his father told her. “He’s really enjoying being back at school, and he’s trying out for the debating team.”

  St. Winifred’s had absorbed Polly so much that she’d forgotten Chester was also in Victoria, boarding at St. Cuthbert’s.

  A warm memory flooded her mind, of sitting with Chester at the lighthouse and watching the whales. Then he had kissed her! That seemed like years ago, not months.

  She wondered how far away Chester’s school was from hers. There was no chance she’d ever see him, however; he was as imprisoned as she was.

  “Is Chester coming home for Thanksgiving?” she asked in a carefully neutral voice.

  “Of course!” said his mother. “He’d never miss my pumpkin pie. And it’s his fifteenth birthday that weekend, so we’ll have a cake, too.”

  Fifteen! Polly couldn’t believe Chester was almost that old. He would probably be much more interested in girls his own age than in her.

  Mrs. Hooper had been off for the weekend, but now she rushed up and enveloped Polly in one of her energetic hugs. “I made a chocolate cake for you,” she said. “Look for it in the pantry. And take lots of cookies, as well. You’ll want them for your tuck box, the way Maud used to. How’s she liking university?”

  “She loves it,” said Polly.

  “The house seems so lonely with you both away. At least your grandmother and I have Tarka to keep us hopping.”

  “I hope he’s behaving,” said Polly. “Remember he needs a lot of walks, or he’ll chew things.”

  “Don’t you worry. We’re taking good care of him.”

  Tarka is my dog! thought Polly. I should be the one taking care of him.

  After lunch, Polly spent a blissful few hours on the beach, drawing the view of Walker Island across the pass. But then Noni called her to come and pack.

  Late that afternoon, Polly stood on the boat deck, holding Mrs. Hooper’s cake and cookies in a large box. Noni and Aunt Jean and Uncle Rand and Tarka were already tiny figures in the distance. She waved until the steamer went past the point.

  Mrs. Cunningham stood beside her; she was travelling to Victoria to visit friends. “Let’s go inside, dear,” she said to Polly. “We’ll sit in the lounge and you can tell me all about your new school.”

  Polly had to spend the whole of the trip talking about St. Winifred’s.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A DISAPPOINTMENT

  “THIS IS SCRUMPTIOUS!” SAID DAISY, CRAMMING MRS. Hooper’s cake into her mouth. “Thanks, Polly!”

  The Fearless Four were sitting in the dining room. Each dorm was allotted an evening before bedtime when they could dig into the tuck boxes they kept in the kitchen. Their evening was Monday; Polly was glad of that because the cake was still fresh.

  “
The cookies are great, too,” said Eleanor. She inspected her own box. “I’m going to throw out these they’re so stale.”

  “Tell us about your weekend, Polly,” said Daisy.

  Polly didn’t want to talk about the island with them; it made her miss it too much. “There isn’t much to tell,” she said. “I just saw my family and my dog and my friends, and we took out the boat, and then my friends came for dinner.”

  “I bet you were glad to see your mum and dad,” said Daisy sadly. “I really miss mine.”

  Polly flushed. “I … umm …”

  Eleanor rescued her. “Polly lives with her grandmother,” she said quietly.

  “Oh!” said Daisy. She was too polite to say any more, but Rhoda asked, “Where are your parents, then?”

  Polly wished she could leave the room. “My mother died when I was two, and my father lives in Kelowna,” she muttered. There was no point in explaining he was in Winnipeg at the moment.

  “Why don’t you live with him?” asked Rhoda.

  Polly couldn’t answer. “She just doesn’t,” said Eleanor. “Let’s tell Polly what our weekend was like.”

  “Yesterday was so tedious,” said Rhoda. “We had to walk in a crocodile to church. Everyone stared at us. In the afternoon we had to talk about God and stuff with Miss Guppy. It was incredibly boring.”

  “Saturday was okay, though,” said Eleanor. “They took us to the beach after lunch. When we got back, we could do what we wanted.” She smiled at Daisy. “We played a lot of basketball! Dais here is a pretty fast dribbler. Rho’s pretty good, too.”

  Daisy smiled back. “Sorry, El, but I need to practise if I want to get on the team.”

  Dais? El? Rho? Suddenly, the other three seemed best chums.

  “This cookie is kind of bland,” said Rhoda. “Our cook puts nuts and raisins in hers.”

  “Don’t eat it, then,” retorted Polly.

  Now I’ve caught her! she thought as Rhoda mumbled that it wasn’t that bad and finished the cookie.

  “Rho, will you help me wash my hair tonight?” asked Daisy. “I can never get all the soap out of it.”