by Kit Pearson
This morning, however, nothing could bother Eliza. It was her birthday. Before breakfast she had opened a parcel from her parents—two new books, a blue turtle-neck sweater and a fountain pen, something she’d wanted for a long time. Best of all, her birthday card contained a plane ticket to Toronto in December. Her mother had also sent a cake, which Eliza now balanced carefully in its box.
She felt older, but not too old. Twelve was the best age, she decided—still a whole year away from the terrors of thirteen, but more powerful than eleven.
They were all wearing one another’s clothes. Eliza had Carrie’s blue corduroy jumper on over her new sweater. It was too short, so she wore red tights with it. Eliza’s kilt drooped on Carrie, but Carrie liked kilts and didn’t have one of her own. Pam, who coveted Carrie’s American clothes, had borrowed one of her flowery print blouses to match her own skirt. Jean’s skinny figure was engulfed in Pam’s fuzzy orange sweater-dress. Even Helen, who didn’t care about clothes, had begged a baggy sweater from Eliza because she had nothing clean of her own to wear.
Eliza had lent it to her reluctantly. If she had to live all year with Helen, however, she couldn’t ignore her completely. Instead she was carefully cool, and numbed herself to Helen’s forceful presence. It was a rest to be so neutral.
Aunt Susan arrived with her baby and drove them downtown. They had a large, satisfying lunch at the Bon Ton. Carrie held the colicky baby on her knee all through the meal and bounced away her whimpers. Helen devoured three chocolate éclairs. Then Aunt Susan dropped them off at a movie, with careful instructions on how to get to her house on the bus.
There was time after the film to explore Granville Street. Eliza’s aunt had never let her and Carrie come downtown alone before, and it made them feel important to be part of the bustling Saturday crowd.
Each of them chose a different store to go into. They looked at budgies (Jean), shoes (Pam), Chinese imports (Eliza), records (Carrie) and chocolates (Helen). In the last place the other four pooled their pocket money and bought Eliza peanut clusters for her birthday.
“It’s great not to have a matron breathing down your neck,” said Helen to Eliza as they waited for the bus. Eliza wondered again why she was being so agreeable. In spite of her resolution to remain unaffected, Helen’s comment made her feel sorry for the other girl, being confined inside the school walls week after week. Almost all the boarders visited with friends or relatives on Saturdays, but Helen seemed to have nobody to sign her out.
The bus wheezed over the Granville Bridge and continued along Fourth Avenue. Eliza watched attentively for their stop. “It’s so nice out,” she said when they got off at Blenheim Street. “Do you want to see our secret beach? We don’t have to be back at Aunt Susan’s until five.”
She had discovered the beach the first day she’d been in Vancouver, and since then she had shared it with Carrie every week. It wasn’t really a secret, but no one else ever came there. Now, as they continued down Waterloo Street, across Point Grey Road and through the tiny park to the cement stairs, she felt proud at being able to show it off.
The steps were wet and mucky and Pam complained that her shoes were getting dirty.
“We keep jeans and old shoes at the Chapmans’,” Carrie explained in a superior tone. “I wish we’d changed, Eliza.” She seemed to be boasting that Eliza was her special friend; Eliza was surprised and flattered that Carrie, who seemed so confident, would do that.
It was a messy beach, littered with rocks, long pieces of driftwood and lumber thrown up by the tide. There was hardly any room for bare sand.
“I’ve seen lots nicer beaches than this!” said Pam scornfully. “You should see Hawaii—miles and miles of white sand.”
“But look at the cliff!” said Eliza, who had only explored tame lake beaches before this year. “It’s just like a cave.” The bank was hollowed out as if by a spoon into even layers of blue, green and rust-coloured rock. Water dripped continually from the overhang and bushes hung down like vines.
They sat gingerly on the cold rocks that dotted the grassy mound Eliza privately called the look-out.
“Where are the Lions?” asked Jean. Every Sunday, as the bus took them downtown to church, they looked for the two peaks that resembled sleeping lions. Here on the beach, it was too low to see them. Eliza stared dreamily at the snow-frosted mountains across the water; it was so clear that their lower slopes seemed covered in green fur. As she turned her head she could see the darker mass of Stanley Park, then the toy-like buildings of the city. Huge liners were anchored in the bay, as far out as she could look. Uncle Adrian said they came from all over the world. It was a view she never got tired of.
Shaking herself out of her daze, she handed round the peanuts and joined the discussion about Mary Poppins. Carrie, Pam and Jean raved about it.
“But it wasn’t right!” objected Eliza. “They left out all the good parts of the book and added dumb songs instead. And Mary Poppins is supposed to be stern and plain-looking.” Like Miss Tavistock, she mused.
Helen yawned. “I thought it was boring. Why didn’t we go to Tom Jones instead?”
“Because we’re too young, of course,” said Pam. “But it wasn’t boring. It was beautiful, all those old-fashioned clothes.”
Jean turned apologetically to Eliza. “I liked the songs.”
Even though the five of them were constantly together, it seemed odd for them to be together by choice. Eliza noticed new things. Carrie and Pam were the prettiest. Carrie was what Miss Bixley called a “true blonde,” and her eyes were transparently blue. Pam looked like one of the healthy schoolgirls in The Girls’ Own Annual, her dark curls blowing against her bright cheeks. Helen’s face was pasty compared to theirs, as pale and puffy as a mushroom. No one could call her attractive, but she certainly stood out: her electric hair, huge glasses and largeness all drew attention to her.
Eliza wondered if she were pretty; the question had never occurred to her before. She decided that, like Jean, she was probably quite ordinary-looking.
Helen climbed down and began poking in the sand with a stick. “I bet there’s rats down here,” she said cheerfully. “Matilda told us she saw a rat on Second Beach last week.”
“Rats!” The others drew up their feet in horror, except for Jean. She said she’d once tried to tame one that had lived in their garbage can. Eliza marvelled that Jean, so afraid of people, could be friends with a rat.
“Let’s go back to your aunt’s,” said Pam with a shiver. “I’m freezing.”
AFTER DINNER THEY SPRAWLED, bloated with cake and ice cream, around the Chapmans’ living room. Carrie was helping Aunt Susan put the baby to bed. Eliza pretended to watch TV with Pam and Jean, but she was really listening to Uncle Adrian talk to Helen behind her. He was showing her his fishing rods.
“I used to go fishing with my father all the time,” Helen said eagerly. “At Nulki Lake. We caught rainbow trout. Have you ever used a fly called a Doc Spratley?”
Eliza was astonished at the enthusiasm in her voice. Who would have thought that Helen, of all people, liked fishing? Eliza liked it herself. She had to, in her family, her father and uncle were such fanatics.
On the way back to school in the car Uncle Adrian said, “In the spring, Helen, you’ll have to come out with Eliza again and go salmon fishing with us.” A yearning look flickered on Helen’s face, then disappeared as she resumed her usual arrogant smile. Eliza flushed. Her uncle thought she and Helen were friends.
ON WEDNESDAY EVENING they celebrated Helen’s birthday. After prep all the grade seven boarders were allowed to sit alone in the dining room and demolish the slab of chocolate cake that had “Happy Birthday, Helen” written on it in green icing.
Helen presided at the head of the table, flourishing the cake knife. “Chocolate, chocolate, dee-lish-us chocolate,” she chanted. “P.J., have a huge piece. Sheila and Joan, pass your plates. There you are, Eliza Doolittle. Eat up, everyone, and rot your teeth!” A piece of icing
flew off the knife and landed on Linda O.’s cheek. Helen at once daubed her own cheeks with icing, and the two performed a whooping war-dance around the table.
“Helen’s so wild tonight,” Carrie whispered to Eliza. “I guess she’s happy because it’s her birthday.”
Eliza watched the red-headed girl flop down in her chair and concentrate on her cake. As far as she knew Helen had received no presents, but she’d seen her give some money to Miss Bixley to buy the cake. Perhaps the money was all she had got. Helen never talked about her family. Eliza had heard every detail about Carrie’s brothers and sisters and parents; she knew that Jean was an only child, and that Pam’s brother went to boarding school in Toronto. But all she knew about Helen was that she came from a small city in central B.C.
That morning, after pondering the matter for some time, she had wished Helen a Happy Birthday. Helen grinned so widely that Eliza began to think she was wrong about her after all. It was as if Helen cast some kind of spell over her and she couldn’t dislike her, no matter how much she tried to. Even if they weren’t friends, it was a relief not to have to be her enemy.
“Now we’re all twelve,” said Helen, smacking her lips after her last swallow.
“I’ll be thirteen in February,” boasted Linda O., “and you’re still the baby, Helen.” The two of them were always exchanging insults.
“Well, we’re coming along behind you as fast as we can, Linoleum!” retorted Helen. “And one day we’ll be seventeen, and out of here! Free-e-e-e!” She slid a plate with a second piece of cake on it down the table to Linda O.’s place.
So Helen didn’t mind growing older. Eliza was surprised, since Helen shunned teenage things as much as she did herself. The week before, the five of them had peeked in at the grade nines at their tea dance in the dining room. Each of the older girls was paired off with one of the boys who’d been sent over from St. Martin’s, the boys’ school a few miles from Ashdown. Helen had made as much fun of the gyrating couples as Pam and Carrie had envied them. Jean watched them wide-eyed, as if they were another species. Eliza had just gaped in dread. At home her friends were probably all going to dances. At least here the ordeal was delayed until you were fifteen.
Eliza licked the last cake crumbs off her plate. Carrie poked her and pointed to the window. “There’s Madeline.”
“I wonder why she’s out of senior prep so early?” said Eliza. “I think I’ll just go and say hello.”
Slipping out of the dining room, and then the front door, she was just in time to meet her house captain at the top of the veranda steps.
“Hi, Eliza,” smiled Madeline. “Can you help me carry these boxes over to the New Residence?”
“Do you think I’m allowed to?”
“Oh, I’m sure you are. Look, there’s Bix … Miss Bixley, Eliza’s just going to help me carry these—she’ll be back soon.”
Her arms full, Eliza trotted to keep up with Madeline’s quick steps. “What’s in the boxes?”
“All the costumes from last year’s house plays. I thought I’d sort them out and see what we can use this year.”
After they deposited the boxes in the hall Madeline invited Eliza into the Senior Sitting Room. Leading off it was a small kitchen.
“You seem to be having a lot of birthdays in your dorm,” said Madeline, handing Eliza a cup of cocoa.
Eliza told her about her Saturday party and her presents, but inside she was feeling awed to be sitting here. The walls were plastered with posters of rock-and-roll stars. A sign on the refrigerator said “Lost! One gold hoop earring. If found, please return to Sharon before the Saints’ dance on Saturday.” Someone’s red high-heeled shoe had been abandoned on the couch.
The room seemed soaked in the rumours that floated over to the Old Residence: that someone had pierced her dorm-mate’s ears with a hot needle; that two girls had been caught smoking in the bathroom; that the grade elevens had mailed parts of a dissected frog they’d smuggled out of biology to Crewe, the boys’ school on the Island.
“I don’t want to grow up,” Eliza blurted out suddenly.
“You’re certainly doing a good job of it,” teased Madeline. “Your uniform is already too short!”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Madeline’s eyes lost their amused look. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “I know—you don’t want to be a teenager. I didn’t either when I was twelve.”
It was as if Madeline had read her mind. Eliza waved her hand around the room. “I don’t! I hate all this stuff! Have you read the Narnia books?”
Madeline nodded.
“Remember when Susan doesn’t go back to Narnia because all she’s interested in is lipstick and nylons and invitations? I think it’s right that she misses everything. She doesn’t deserve to go back!”
“But, Eliza, that’s not growing up. It’s not just being silly about boys and make-up and things.”
Eliza wondered if Madeline had a boyfriend at home, as many of the seniors did. If she did, she never talked about it.
“You aren’t like that,” she said hopefully.
“Well, all I care about right now is becoming a pianist. It helps to know what you want to be—it gives you a reason not to go along with the crowd.”
“I don’t know,” said Eliza. “I never think about it.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll find out one day. Just enjoy being twelve.”
“I do! But sometimes I think I shouldn’t. Everyone else in grade seven is different from me. Even Carrie likes teenage things sometimes. Jean doesn’t, but I bet Pam will change her.” Eliza wondered why she was telling all this to Madeline and stopped, her face hot.
Madeline looked reflective. “Let’s see … when I was your age I felt different too, but I guess I didn’t care about it as much. It certainly must be easier to be like everyone else. Like wearing a disguise that you can throw off later when you don’t need it. You and I just don’t happen to like that disguise, all the things other people think is growing up. But that’s all on the outside. I think real growing up’s on the inside.” She flushed. “But listen to me, I sound as if I know all about it. I’m only sixteen, you know.”
Eliza, thrilled by the words “you and I,” gazed at Madeline with uncritical admiration and pondered her words. She thought she understood the inside kind of growing up. It was like getting your period—something that was going to happen anyhow. The other kind, the outward disguise, was much more of a problem. She wished she had the confidence Madeline had to cope with it.
Madeline was looking embarrassed. “Listen, Eliza, I don’t know what else to tell you. Being a teenager isn’t always that great, but everyone has to go through it. Just don’t worry about it! And one good thing about Ashdown is that it’s easier to be yourself here. Don’t you think so?”
Eliza wondered. The only people who accepted her as she was were the older ones—Madeline, Miss Tavistock and the teachers and matrons. Helen didn’t. Carrie did so far, but she sometimes had conflicting interests. Just the other day she had been puzzled when Eliza didn’t admire the new straight skirt her mother had sent.
But Madeline was partly right: the fact that there weren’t any boys at Ashdown meant it was easier to change at your own rate. Eliza missed having boys in her classes. But it sometimes seemed, the older she got, that she wasn’t allowed to be just friends with them anymore.
Madeline looked a bit desperate in the face of Eliza’s solemn silence. “Eliza, you probably only feel different because you’re younger than the others. But what about Helen? She just turned twelve too. Does she feel the same way?”
“She said she wanted to be seventeen!”
Madeline laughed. “I can’t imagine Helen at seventeen. It’s hard to predict what she’ll turn out like. Are you two friends?”
“No … I’d like to be sometimes, but I don’t think she does.”
“How do you know unless you suggest it? I think you’d be good for Helen—she seems like a lonely kid.”
<
br /> This was something new to think about, along with everything else they’d discussed. Talking seriously with Madeline was like being with an older sister. Eliza ran back fast through the chilly darkness to the Old Residence, holding her cape open and pretending she was flying.
8
“See Amid the Winter’s Snow”
Madeline’s suggestion appealed to Eliza, but she didn’t know what to do about it. She wasn’t like Carrie. She couldn’t just go up to someone and say, “Let’s be friends.” The rest of the term went by and Eliza and Helen remained on polite, but distant, terms.
Waking up before the bell one morning, Eliza wondered lazily if she should get up and be the first in the bathroom. But it was so toasty warm just lying curled up in bed. And something was different. The room felt muffled, as if it were lined in cotton batting. It was a familiar feeling that filled her with nostalgia, but what was it? Christmas coming? All at once she knew. In one movement she snatched open the curtains and bounded out of bed.
“Snow!” she yelled. There was a chorus of groans. “It snowed last night! Wake up, everyone, it snowed!” The lawn was a blanket of ghostly whiteness that shimmered in the dark. Eliza tore off her pyjamas and looked for her clothes. “Get up, Carrie. Come on, we’ve got to go out!”
“It’s still night,” murmured Pam. “Go back to bed.”
“It’s six-thirty,” said Eliza. “Only half an hour before the bell. Come on, we can have a snowball fight! I didn’t think it ever snowed in Vancouver!” Carrie and Jean got up sleepily, stumbled to the windows and admired the changed landscape. Pam opened her eyes and yawned. Helen, however, remained hidden under her tent of blankets.
“It never lasts,” she mumbled from inside it. “Let me sleep. You’d think you’d never seen snow before, Eliza.”
Eliza was ransacking her drawers. “I didn’t think I would this year! If it’s going to melt, let’s go out now!” She paused and examined the grey lump that was Helen, then unrolled her recklessly from her cocoon, ignoring her protests. “Come on, quick. Everyone get dressed! Hurry up, Pam!”
