by Kit Pearson
THE NEXT MORNING she woke up automatically just before the rising bell clanged outside the door. She looked around with surprise at the pristine white room, the brown woolly curtains with bright sunlight glinting through their cracks and the three sleeping forms beside her. I’m in the sickroom, she thought, stretching luxuriously. I don’t have to get up at all. She felt perfectly all right. Not nauseated anymore, and strangely airy inside; better, in fact, than she’d felt all term.
Lazily she watched Holly wake up. The little girl’s eyes popped open, and she sat up at once and began talking. “I threw up in the night, Eliza—did you hear me?”
Eliza wrinkled her nose. “No, but I can smell it!”
The nurse came in as the other two were stirring. “Now, how are you all today?”
Holly told her in great detail how she’d been sick, proudly showing Miss Monaghan the evidence in her basin.
“You should have pressed the buzzer for me, Holly—that’s what it’s for.” It was odd how much more Matilda focused on you when she was a nurse than when she was a matron. In the dorms she was vague, but in the sickroom she was all solicitous attention.
Beth said she felt feverish, and Miss Monaghan stuck a thermometer into her mouth. Maureen thought she was better. “Well, stay in bed until noon, and we’ll see. You can leave then if you’re all right. How are you, Eliza?”
Eliza thought fast. “I was sick in the night, too,” she lied. “But I made it to the bathroom. I think I could be sick again.”
“You keep still and warm, and I’ll bring you some ginger ale. Maureen, you may have a light breakfast—I’ll just nip out and order it.”
Eliza was ravenous after no dinner the night before. Her mouth watered as she watched Maureen eat a boiled egg, and she sipped her tepid ginger ale slowly, trying to make it last.
Except that she felt hungry, the rest of the morning passed pleasantly. It was sinfully delicious to stay in bed and listen to the clatter of the boarders’ feet as they hurried down to breakfast. After they left for classes the residence was silent except for the distant ticking of the hall clock, the whine of a vacuum cleaner upstairs and the drone of a plane tracing a path against the blue sky. Eliza even began to think it was better than being sick at home; here there was lots of company.
Beth didn’t talk much, for which Eliza was grateful. She was Madeline’s best friend, and Eliza felt shy with her. Maureen, a notorious gossip from the Red Dorm, informed Eliza about all the grade eight day-girls. Most of their attention, however, was absorbed by Holly.
Everyone liked her. She came from a logging camp far up on Vancouver Island, where there were no schools. She was small, neat and self-contained, calmly accepting the fuss everyone always made over her. Helen had been the same age when she came to Ashdown, and Eliza wondered if she had adapted as easily as Holly had. It wasn’t very likely.
Eliza couldn’t imagine herself living away from home at age nine. Yet Holly didn’t seem homesick at all, and Eliza felt ashamed of her own recent unhappiness.
She and Maureen took turns reading aloud Struwwelpeter, which they found on a shelf of old books. It was so ridiculously gruesome they had a hard time speaking through their laughter. Even Beth seemed to enjoy it. But Holly didn’t laugh; she listened gravely, her eyes wide.
Maureen left at noon, and while Holly and Beth slept, Eliza read two more of the books. One was an English school story, like the ones she had at home. As she read it, she thought about how different Ashdown really was from a story. The nice parts were just as good, but the bad parts were worse, and the books said nothing about all the dull parts in between. Being sick, however, was turning into a good part. She felt totally relaxed, with nothing to worry about. Except for being hungry.
“I think I could manage to eat something now,” she told Miss Monaghan later that afternoon. She could hear the boarders at tea and drooled at the thought of the huge oatmeal cookies they always had.
“You haven’t been sick all day—how about some chicken broth?”
That was better than nothing. Eliza slurped it up eagerly; she had never tasted anything so good. “I don’t know how you can eat,” shuddered Beth and Holly, who had both been sick again.
In the evening the nurse brought in the television and they lay back comfortably against their pillows and watched it. Their lights were turned out at eight o’clock, but Eliza wasn’t tired. She stayed awake for a long time, trying to figure out how she could spend at least one more day in the sickroom.
IT STRETCHED OUT TO TWO. Eliza discovered that if she just said she felt sick she was allowed to have dry toast, soup, ginger ale and tea, “to see if you can keep it down.” The other two were beginning to feel better and had some food too, but they couldn’t swallow more than a few mouthfuls. When they weren’t looking, Eliza stole the pieces of toast they left on their trays, hid them under her pillow and gulped them down at night.
The two-day space became a special little world, inhabited only by Beth, Holly and herself. Miss Monaghan left them alone for long periods, since she still had to look after the juniors upstairs.
They spent the whole of Thursday morning cutting out Holly’s book of paper dolls. Holly was the neatest cutter, but she was used to it. Eliza was amazed how much she enjoyed folding back the white tabs and fitting the clothes carefully onto the cardboard figures. Her fingers remembered the pleasure of it from years ago.
“This is really fun!” said Beth, slitting open a hat. She was a quiet girl, with a serious face. Eliza knew she wrote poetry; it was often published in the school magazine. It surprised her that Beth was helping them with the dolls. Somehow the three of them all seemed the same age.
They named the dolls—Prudence, Marigold, Amaryllis and Rose—and had a fashion parade across Holly’s bed. Then they played Battleships and Hangman, made up elephant jokes and told ghost stories.
That evening a large parcel arrived for Eliza. It contained schoolbooks, some of her own books, Helen’s radio and John. There was a note inside:
Dear Eliza,
Miss Clark made Pam send your homework. We were going to put in food, but then we remembered why you went in there! We thought you would be missing your bear. Get well soon!
Love,
Carrie, Helen, Pam and Jean
It was too bad about the food, but Eliza was touched. She missed the others; it felt like more than two days since she had seen them. She knew John was supposed to be a joke, but she was delighted to have him. They made him a paper hat, and Eliza let Holly keep him on her bed. She shoved her homework under her own bed; she would just tell her teachers she hadn’t felt well enough to concentrate.
“Madeline’s told me a lot about you,” said Beth on Friday morning, when Holly was taking a bath. “She thinks you’ll be a prefect one day, you’re so enthusiastic.”
Eliza was flabbergasted. A prefect! And she certainly hadn’t been enthusiastic this term. Her cheeks turned pink with surprised pleasure. Since the week of her dare she had avoided Madeline, but it appeared that Madeline had not forgotten her, after all.
“I could never be a prefect,” she said shyly. “I won’t be here then.”
“Aren’t you at Ashdown until grade twelve?”
“Oh no—just this year.” Imagine boarding for five more years! Although most girls stayed once they’d started. Everyone else in the Yellow Dorm would be here that long. Eliza remembered that her parents had once considered sending her in grade ten—what if they still did? The possibility put a new light everything, but she didn’t want to think of it right now.
She would much rather talk more about her house captain. “Do you think Madeline will be head girl next year?” she asked Beth.
“Lots of people do. I’m not sure she wants to—she’s worried enough about having time for her music when she’s a prefect, which she’s sure to be, of course. And … well, she may have other plans for next year.”
“What other plans?”
But Beth acted as i
f she’d already said too much about her friend. Eliza was too exhilarated by Madeline’s high expectations of her to worry about it. She felt ashamed for neglecting Madeline; perhaps if they became close again the other girl would tell whatever she was being so mysterious about.
Eliza wondered if Beth wanted to be a prefect. It was supposed to be such an honour. Pam had already informed Eliza that she intended to be elected one, which was why she was always trying to make such an impression. Eliza couldn’t, and didn’t want to, imagine being old enough to wear a light blue blazer and boss everyone else around.
Holly returned and they had strenuous races with some crutches they found in a cupboard. Miss Monaghan appeared and stopped them. “I think all of you are better! But you may as well stay in here today, since it’s Friday. Then you’ll be rested for school next week.”
She finally gave them some real food: egg sandwiches and carrot sticks and applesauce. As Eliza gobbled it up she knew she would be ready to leave tomorrow, thinking with relish of the good dinners she always got at Aunt Susan’s.
THAT EVENING Eliza crept to the door and listened to evening prayers being conducted on the other side of the wall. She was beginning to wonder what had been happening in the residence while she’d been away.
Miss Tavistock cleared her throat and began her nightly talk. Usually it only consisted of trivial announcements, but this evening she had a longer speech. “I am happy to be able to tell you that whoever has been taking money from the Pound Box has returned it. I’m still sorry that this person has not had the courage to confess, but I would like to thank whoever it is for paying the money back. I hope she has learned her lesson and will never do such a thing again. That’s all I wish to say about the matter—we’ll consider it closed.”
“What did she say?” asked Holly, when Eliza had got back into bed.
“Oh, nothing much. I couldn’t really hear.”
She escaped into a book for the rest of the evening. But after Lights Out she had to face the revelation she’d had while listening to the headmistress’s words.
It was Helen. She was the thief. All sorts of niggling suspicions that had prodded Eliza’s mind during the term came together in this certainty. She remembered the licorice Helen had bought for the feast—and the radio. And the money she’d given Miss Bixley for the cake. But the most glaring evidence was the twenty-dollar bill Helen had asked for from her grandmother—she must have felt really desperate. That’s what she used to pay it back, and that’s why she’d been so cheerful that day: she’d been relieved.
She also must have been scared, after Miss Tavistock’s lecture in January. That explained why Helen was so full of nervous energy this term, and why she seemed to be harbouring a secret. Eliza couldn’t imagine how she had managed the interview with Miss Tavistock, but Helen had always been a good actor.
It was wrong to steal, of course, although she had paid it back. What worried Eliza more was the amount of trouble her friend could have got into by risking so much. But what bothered her the most was that Helen hadn’t told her. Eliza felt cheated, as if the person she had thought she knew all along had turned into someone else.
Now she even wondered if Helen had been stealing, after all, when she was younger. She felt guilty about not believing her. But what if Helen had told her she was innocent so Eliza would feel sorry for her and be her friend? I would have been friends with her anyway, she thought.
But would she? She hadn’t known Helen very well then. It wouldn’t have been much of a draw to friendship, to admit you were a thief.
Now she had to know. She had to talk to Helen about it. It all had to come out into the open, or they couldn’t keep on being friends.
Although she was sorry to end her peaceful time there, she could hardly wait to get out of the sickroom. Beth and Holly seemed like sisters, but Eliza knew that would end when they were all back in their dorms.
WHEN ELIZA WALKED into the Yellow Dorm after breakfast the next morning she was greeted with hoots of delight. She grinned at them all, but reddened at the sight of Helen.
“Helen lost two house points for fooling around in the play rehearsal,” said Pam. Helen shrugged proudly.
“I got my perm all cut off—see, Eliza?” said Jean, whirling around for approval.
Carrie pulled Eliza over to her bed. “I have something to ask you. Are you going to Toronto for Easter? If you aren’t, would you like to come home with me? My parents would love to have you.”
Eliza felt a bubble of anticipation rise up inside her. It would be much more interesting to visit Carrie in Seattle than to stay in a hotel at Harrison Hot Springs and help look after the baby. She had never been to the United States before. “Oh, yes,” she said eagerly. “I’d like to, Carrie. I’ll ask my parents.”
She didn’t have to think of a way to talk to Helen; the latter did it for her. “Let’s meet in the cape cupboard tomorrow after rest,” she whispered. “I have lots to tell you.”
13
Helen Confesses
F or the rest of the weekend Eliza hoped that Helen was going to tell her everything herself. But the other girl had had nothing specific in mind. They sat in the cupboard on Sunday afternoon and Eliza listened to her chatter about the school play. She worked up the courage to speak, glad it was so dark in the cupboard and she didn’t have to see Helen’s face.
“You aren’t even listening,” complained Helen, when Eliza failed to laugh at her latest remark.
“No, because I have to ask you something.” Eliza took a deep breath. “Did you take the Pound Money?”
There was total silence. Now Eliza wished that she could see Helen’s face, and that she hadn’t sounded so accusing. “I just have to know, Helen, that’s all,” she added pleadingly.
“Yup … I took it. I’m the thief. Now I suppose you don’t like me any more. Although I was only borrowing it, you know. I meant to pay it back all along, and I didn’t think they’d find out so soon. They don’t usually open up the box until the end of the year.”
“You could have been expelled or something. Weren’t you scared when they found out?”
“Well, sort of.” This much of an admission of fear from Helen meant she’d been really frightened. “But I stopped taking it before Christmas. I decided I never would again, and I won’t. Do you believe me?” Helen’s voice was savage, but Eliza knew by now that she sounded angriest when she really cared about something.
“I would believe you,” Eliza began slowly, “except for one thing.” This was the hardest part. “Did you lie to me about stealing in Prince George? You didn’t have to, you know.”
Helen thumped the floor of the cupboard with her fist. “I didn’t lie to you! I didn’t steal then, I told you that! It just kind of gave me the idea for doing it last term, and for doing it …” She stopped.
And for doing it before that? Eliza almost said aloud, but she silenced herself just in time—it was too much like a question Pam would ask. And she didn’t want to hear any more. What other secret was Helen going to reveal? She seemed more of a stranger every second.
Helen finally answered anyhow. “Listen, Eliza,” she said fiercely, leaning over and clutching Eliza’s shoulders. This was unusual; Helen never touched people. “Listen very carefully, because I never want to talk about this again. When I first came to Ashdown I felt like a thief. My mother drilled it into me the whole time I was waiting to come here. So I took little things—mostly food from the kitchen or the tuck boxes, or people’s china animals or comics, which I returned later. I just wanted to see if I could do it—it relieved the boredom. I didn’t take any money until this year. It was borrowing, not stealing,” she added, as if trying to convince herself.
“But why did you?” Eliza asked curiously. “You didn’t need it. You get pocket money like the rest of us.”
“I did need it! I had no pocket money left the week we had the feast, and that was my idea, so I had to bring something. And then it was beginning to look li
ke an awful term. Fidget was bugging me, and you guys were so busy being good. I had to have the radio, just to keep from cracking up. I was going to stop after that, but everyone gets their family to send them a birthday cake, or at least gets the money for one. But my stingy parents wouldn’t give me any because my marks were so low.”
“Didn’t you get anything for your birthday?”
“Underwear. What a lousy present. So I took some money one more time. I was surprised there was enough left, but the Pouncer makes a pile out of all of us. It was just those three times, though. I never will again. And I never stole with those kids. I had no idea what they were doing. Now do you believe me?”
Eliza knew their friendship hung on her answer. She wanted so badly to trust Helen that she did, even though she still felt shaken by this new revelation about her.
“I believe you,” she breathed. “I wish you’d told me about the Pound Money. I could have helped you pay it back. But I suppose it was none of my business. I do believe you, and I’m sorry I asked.”
“Do you promise you’ll never tell?”
“Of course I won’t!” cried Eliza. “You know that!”
Helen jumped up. “Let’s go out and swing. It’s not raining. Why are we wasting our time in here?”
MARCH SEEMED TO speed by, and Eliza felt so much better she could hardly remember how miserable she’d been. Her homesickness had melted down to a small, manageable ache. She began to seek out Madeline again and the older girl seemed glad of her company, although she was as preoccupied as ever. Best of all, Eliza was still friends with Helen.
After the spell in the sickroom she felt whole again, as if she had recovered from a much longer illness than a pretend flu. The weeks of gloomy rain had ended. Every day the Yellow Dorm spent as much time as possible outside. Later, as they lay in bed and talked, they could still smell the sweet spring air through the open windows.
Sometimes their talks lasted long into the night, especially because they so often turned into a debate. This happened the evening they argued about God.
