by Kit Pearson
It started with Carrie asking what religion everyone was outside of school. Her family was Lutheran, and Jean’s was Presbyterian. Helen didn’t know. “I guess I was baptized,” she said, “although I don’t remember, of course. My grandmother’s Catholic and she’s always saying I should be too, but you won’t catch me joining a church. We get too much of it here.”
Eliza and Pam were the only ones who went to an Anglican church at home as well as at school. “I don’t believe in God, though,” said Pam bluntly.
Jean looked shocked. “Don’t believe in God!”
“Me neither,” said Helen. She and Pam exchanged a surprised glance; it was so rare that they agreed on anything.
“I do,” said Carrie calmly. “I don’t see any reason not to.”
Eliza was stunned. Pam’s flat statement had swept through her like a cold wind. And what a hypocrite she was, if she didn’t believe—she always wrote flowery essays about God for scripture class.
“Put it this way,” continued Pam. “It’s like saying to someone, ‘There’s an orange behind that bush,’ and they have to believe you without being allowed to look. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“But that’s the whole point!” Jean’s voice was trembling but determined. “Believing there is, without knowing, means you have to have faith!” She looked to Eliza for support. “What about you, Eliza? You believe in God, don’t you?”
“I guess so.” Eliza shifted in her bunk guiltily. She had always thought she did, so why couldn’t she answer more confidently? This was probably going to be one of those questions it was going to take years to figure out—like so many other things this term.
“Why don’t you, Helen?” persisted Jean, after giving Eliza a puzzled look.
Helen yawned. “I’ve never seen any use for it. Though if you want to, Scotty, carry on,” she added, unusually gentle, as she always was with Jean. Then she became fierce. “But I sure know there’s no Santa Claus up in the sky to grant you wishes.”
Eliza wondered, as she often had lately, how much Helen had suffered in her life. At the moment she seemed like the oldest, not the youngest, in the Yellow Dorm.
Then Jean started arguing with Pam, becoming more and more agitated. Pam seemed just as bothered that Jean was disagreeing with her for once as she was by what Jean was saying. Carrie defended Jean staunchly, and Helen occasionally added an argument on Pam’s side. Eliza just listened, her mind in a whirl.
When Jean came close to tears, however, they knew it was time to stop. “I don’t see why we have to talk about it so much,” concluded Carrie firmly. “You either believe in God or you don’t, and I do.” She got up and closed the curtains, giving Jean a reassuring smile.
How different we all are, thought Eliza in the dark silence that still rang with words. But the others, unlike her, were at least certain about their differences. She felt so wishy-washy. If she really believed in God, for instance, she should probably condemn Helen’s stealing. If she didn’t, then maybe it shouldn’t bother her. But she always found herself wavering, and then, because she didn’t want to think any less of her friend, she just told herself it was Helen’s problem, not hers.
She lifted the curtain and looked out at the clear cold stars. Where did they come from? Nobody knew. For some reason that was a comforting thought. If nobody knew, then she didn’t have to.
A WEEK LATER, Helen’s parents arrived in Vancouver.
“The brat needs glasses and they want to get a second opinion,” Helen explained to Eliza, scowling. “My mother can’t stand the idea of another daughter in specs.”
They were only coming for one day, and Helen was to join them for dinner. The only time you could go out on a weekday was when your parents were in town.
“Why don’t you ask me too?” said Eliza. The thought of meeting Helen’s parents was scary, but curiosity over-came her fear. You learned a lot about people when you met their parents, and Eliza had met everyone’s except Pam’s and Helen’s. It wasn’t hard to picture Pam’s—they sounded a lot like her. But Helen’s mother and step-father were a mystery. It would be a pleasant surprise if they weren’t as bad as Helen made them out to be.
Helen looked puzzled at her suggestion. “Do you really want to? And meet my bratty sister too? You won’t have a good time.”
Eliza assured her that she did. Neither Helen’s parents nor Miss Tavistock objected, so at seven on Wednesday evening she found herself sitting in a Chinese restaurant with Helen and her family.
Already she wished she hadn’t come. Four-year-old Tracy kept kicking her under the table. She banged her chopsticks on her plate, refused to eat anything but rice and whined about her new glasses.
“I hate them!” she pouted, pulling them off her face and slamming them on the table. “They’re ugly!”
Helen pushed up her own glasses and stared haughtily through them at her sister.
“I know they’re ugly, sweetie,” said Helen’s mother. She put the glasses into her purse. “You can take them off for a while.”
“Now, Peg,” objected Helen’s step-father. “Dr. Andrews agreed with the doctor in Prince George—she should wear them all the time. Give them back to her.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” snapped his wife. They began to exchange angry, sarcastic remarks, Tracy interrupting the sharp voices with demands for ice cream.
Eliza and Helen shovelled down almond chicken in silence. Helen’s face was bent so close to her plate Eliza could see only the top of her head. Never before had Eliza heard two adults attack each other so viciously. She sat stiffly, trying to pretend she was invisible.
“Everyone’s listening to you,” Helen muttered at last. Her mother glared at her, but the argument subsided. For the rest of the meal all the attention was focused on Tracy. Neither of her parents said anything to Helen, except to criticize her last report card. The only thing they said to Eliza was a question about where she came from.
Tracy and her father waited in the car while Helen’s mother took them into the residence. She pecked her daughter’s cheek. “We’ll see you at Easter, Helen. I hope you’re behaving yourself.”
After she left, Eliza and Helen stood awkwardly in the hall. Eliza wanted desperately to say something sympathetic, but you couldn’t criticize someone else’s parents unless they did it first.
“Well,” said Helen, shrugging. “Now you know. I wasn’t exaggerating, was I?”
Quickly, before she had time to feel self-conscious, Eliza squeezed Helen’s hand. Then the two of them trudged up the stairs to bed.
14
A New Boarder
T here were two events left in the second term: the School Play and the School Birthday. Helen was the only member of the Yellow Dorm in the play, and that was an accident. One evening on the veranda she’d been demonstrating to Eliza and Carrie how Fidget, who was plump, tried to pull up her girdle in class when she thought they weren’t looking. Helen tugged and squirmed and panted, not noticing when the others suddenly quenched their laughter. Miss Tavistock had come up behind her and was watching her gyrations.
“That will do, Helen,” she said crisply after a few seconds. “Since you enjoy making a spectacle of yourself, perhaps you should try out for the play.”
“But I couldn’t be in a play, Miss Tavistock!”
“Nevertheless, I expect to hear that you attended the auditions.”
Since this was clearly an order, Helen had no choice. And although she grumbled about it, she seemed pleased when she was chosen, especially since Pam, who had also auditioned, hadn’t been.
The play was a musical—Oliver! Her dorm-mates had heard Helen rehearse the songs so often that they knew them all by heart. On opening night they sat with Eliza’s aunt and uncle and Jean’s parents, watching her proudly.
Helen was one of the street urchins. With torn knickers, bare feet, burnt cork smudged across her face and her hair sticking straight up with exertion, she looked just like a mischievous boy. She
had no lines, but as she cavorted around the stage with the rest of Fagin’s Gang, Eliza marvelled at her intense involvement. It wasn’t like Helen to get caught up in school activities.
“Watch out for pickpockets, Scotty!” yelled Helen after the performance, leaping upon Jean from the bathroom doorway and tearing the other girl’s dressing-gown pocket inside out. Eliza caught her eye and shook her head frantically. Someone might guess how suitable her role was if she kept this up.
Helen’s high spirits infected the rest of them. They squashed together on the foot of her bed after Lights Out, recalling every detail of the play.
“You were so good, Helen,” said Carrie. “You really were.”
“Oh, it’s just me natural self coming out. Did I look weird with my glasses on? I wouldn’t have been able to see without them.”
Carrie assured her she didn’t and Eliza listened to their friendly talk with relief. Now that Carrie was certain of spending Easter with Eliza, she seemed much more willing to accept Helen as part of their threesome.
Helen tried to chin herself on the railing at the end of Eliza’s bed. “It would be great to live on the streets like that, doing what you wanted. Which reminds me—we haven’t had a dare for ages, not since Eliza’s.”
“I didn’t think we were playing that anymore,” said Carrie. They had all forgotten about the Daring Game. Eliza was surprised to discover she felt too old for it.
Helen rooted around in her blazer pockets for some paper. “This will be the last one, just to end the term. I haven’t done one yet—neither has Scotty or P.J.”
“You know I won’t,” yawned Pam, getting into bed. But even she was being more tolerant of Helen than usual. It was Helen’s night.
Helen shook the hat and drew out a name. “It’s Scotty! I was hoping it would be—I have a perfect dare for you.”
“I don’t think I want to play,” Jean’s voice wavered.
“You don’t have to,” said Pam. “Don’t worry, Jean, they can’t make you.”
“But we’ll all help you with it,” entreated Helen. “Come on, Scotty, be a good sport. I heard something yesterday that gave me a great idea. You’ll love it—you all will.”
ON THE MORNING of the School Birthday the sun illuminated the whiteness of the freshly painted veranda railing. Beside it an early cherry tree had unfurled its delicate pink blossoms. Eliza noticed it on her way into prayers. This leisurely Vancouver spring was continually presenting her with new surprises. It was so different from the prairies, where it was snow one day, and mud and green leaves the next.
“Like the straightness of the pine trees / Le-et me-e upri-ight be.” She sang the words of the school hymn with gusto, watching the very upright figure of Miss Peck sitting in a wheelchair on the stage beside Miss Tavistock and the visiting Canon Finch. The old woman sang resolutely, without a hymn book. Then Miss Tavistock wheeled her aunt to the front of the stage.
“My dear girls—I’m getting much too old for long speeches, and I won’t bore you with one this year. But let me just congratulate you all on our school’s fifty-fifth birthday, and hope that we will continue for fifty-five more years to uphold the wise old traditions that have made Ashdown what it is.” They had to strain to hear her reedy voice. She looked so slight in the wide, cushioned chair, as if she had shrunk since Eliza had last seen her.
The Junior School presented homemade birthday cards to Miss Peck and Miss Tavistock, and baskets were passed for donations to the scholarship fund.
Then the prefects displayed their present to the school—the new Canadian flag. Eliza admired it as two of them held it up and everyone applauded. Its crisp maple leaf flanked by bright red borders looked so refreshing compared to the dingy Red Ensign drooping beside the stage. Eliza was proud that Canada now had its own flag. She remembered the impassioned school debate about it a few months ago, and a dinner-time conversation when she’d been at Miss Tavistock’s table. “I do think it’s a shame to do away with the symbol of the old country,” the headmistress had begun. When the whole table drowned her out with violent disagreement, she laughed and said she supposed she’d better keep up with the times.
Now Canon Finch was speaking in his dry English voice. Eliza stopped listening and began to feel apprehensive about what was going to happen during lunch. It really was the best idea Helen had ever had; and even if it didn’t work, none of them could get into trouble. But she wondered if Jean would go through with it.
Eliza liked Jean and shared with her an addiction to reading. Although Jean read nothing but animal stories, she must have gone through every one that had ever been written, and she had introduced Eliza to a lot of new titles. Eliza sometimes recommended books about other subjects, but Jean wouldn’t touch anything unless it had a dog or cat or horse in it.
Carrie only liked Nancy Drew mysteries, and Pam and Helen never read outside school. Pam did her required reading diligently and wrote neat book reports that always got an A, but she often told Eliza she should be out playing games instead of curled up with a book. Helen couldn’t understand why Eliza and Jean would want to do anything that resembled school work for pleasure.
Jean was awfully quiet, however; she didn’t let any of them get to know her very well. They all protected her, although Pam’s protection was more like smothering. Certainly Jean had never before done anything as nervy as this dare.
The assembly sang the school song, then “Happy Birthday, dear Ashdown.” Eliza thought this was silly, but everyone was getting giddy anyhow, especially when the house captains burst through the door with an enormous cake, blazing with candles. There were a few informal classes before the day ended in a half-holiday. Eliza had hoped to say hello to Miss Peck, but she saw the white-haired figure leave in a taxi.
At lunch Eliza watched Jean speak to the prefect at the head of her table and slip out of the dining room. A few minutes later Helen left her chair, approached Ann, the head boarder, and whispered to her urgently. The older girl shook her head emphatically several times. Finally, however, Ann sighed, got up and said something to Miss Tavistock. The headmistress looked surprised. She glanced over at Helen, who was bent intently over her macaroni, and tapped the bell she always kept beside her at the table. “Your attention, please, girls. Helen Beauchamp has an announcement to make.”
Helen skipped over to the dining room door and stood in front of its glass windows. “We have something to show you,” she said simply, and opened the door.
Jean walked in with her arms full of a wriggling grey bundle. Behind her, her face flushing with embarrassment, was Jackie Chung, a day-girl from 7B.
“It’s a dog! Oh, it’s so cute! What’s it doing here?” Pandemonium broke out, until it was quelled by the sharp ting of the bell.
“Girls, girls! Now, Jean, what is all this about?”
Jean looked caught between laughing and crying. The small dog had crooked its front legs over her shoulders, as if it were hanging on. It trembled violently. “Th-the Yellow Dorm would like to present this dog to the boarders as a birthday present,” Jean squeaked, then put the dog on the floor and picked up the leash that trailed from its collar.
A universal “Ahhh …” filled the room, and chairs were scraped back as some people stood up to get a closer look.
Miss Tavistock stood up too, and banged the bell. Eliza watched her face; it looked stern, but she couldn’t tell whether this was because of the noise or the dog.
“Sit down, everyone, and be quiet! You’re frightening the poor animal. Now look, here is a surprise for your dessert.” A tray of ice cream bars appeared from the kitchen, distracting some of the boarders’ attention. “Everyone take one and go quickly outside—everyone except the Yellow Dorm. And Jacqueline, what are you doing here?”
Holly paused to stroke the dog on her way out. “Oh please, Miss Tavistock, can’t we keep him?”
“We’ll see, Holly, but I doubt it very much. Now hurry along outside. The rest of you sit down.”
&nbs
p; They sat in a row at one of the tables, and Eliza thought of the Yellow Dorm’s feast, which seemed so long ago now. Jackie was at the end, the dog huddled on her lap.
Miss Tavistock half-smiled at them, but she looked bewildered. “Now, it is very nice of you to give the school a birthday present, but where did this dog come from? Is it yours, Jacqueline?”
Jackie nodded unhappily, but didn’t seem to be able to speak. She buried her face in the wavy grey fur of the dog’s neck.
“Pamela, you’re the dorm head—suppose you explain.”
“Oh, but Miss Tavistock, it wasn’t my idea!”
Coward, thought Eliza. Pam had been just as excited about it as the rest of them.
Finally Helen explained, with help from Jackie, how the day-girl’s family was looking for a new home for the dog “because we think my little brother’s allergic to him.”
“We thought he could live at the school. Then Jackie could still see him a lot, because she lives across the street. Please, Miss Tavistock,” begged Jean, unusually bold.
“Who would take care of him?” The headmistress frowned, but patted the dog as he got down and sniffed her feet.
“We would,” they chorused.
“What about the holidays? You can’t expect the kitchen staff or the matrons to take on that responsibility, and I am certainly not going to. I really think, Jacqueline,” she continued gently, “that you’ll have to find another home for him.”
“I would take care of him in the holidays,” said a gruff voice from the back. It was Mrs. Renfrew, lurking at the other end of the dining room.
The Pouncer! Who would have thought she would help them out! The matron came over and picked up the dog. He stopped shivering and rested his head on her shoulder.
“The poor, wee thing,” she murmured, in a purring voice none of them had ever heard before. “He is just like a dog I had as a child.”
Miss Tavistock looked completely taken aback. “But Mrs. Renfrew—surely you don’t want the added work of an animal to look after!”
