by Kit Pearson
“I would like it very much. And Jean can help me,” she added. Jean was the only boarder the Pouncer seemed to like, presumably because she had a Scottish background.
“Will you come into my study and discuss it? The rest of you wait out here and eat your ice cream. Jacqueline, you may have some too.”
They gave the dog a whole bar to himself, broken up in a dish. He lapped it up daintily and Jean wiped the white drops off his whiskers.
“His name’s Bill,” said Jackie. “Oh, I hope it’s all right. I could see him every day.”
After a while Miss Tavistock came to the door and called in Jackie, saying she must phone her mother—that sounded hopeful. And ten minutes later it was decided: Bill would live at Ashdown, basing himself in Mrs. Renfrew’s room in the New Residence.
As the Pouncer and Jean led the dog away, and Jackie left reluctantly, Eliza wondered privately if the rest of them would ever be allowed near him. But just to have a dog in the school—even though he was such a small, timid dog and she preferred large ones—made it seem more like home.
“THAT WAS a wonderful dare,” she told Helen, as the two of them and Carrie spent their half-holiday looking for lost tennis balls in the trees behind the courts.
“Mmmm … I told you so.” Helen began to bounce a ball against the board fence. She looked more contented than she had all term; she also seemed to be getting thinner. When Carrie and Eliza started talking about what they would do in Seattle next week, Helen didn’t seem to mind. It’s because we’re friends with her, Eliza realized. The only other friend Helen had was Linda O., but she and Helen mocked each other so much, Eliza wondered how close they really were.
“Uncle Adrian says he’s going to take the three of us fishing at Campbell River in May,” Eliza told them.
“Great! I’ll show you how to catch a fish,” said Helen. She stopped bouncing, and they sat in a row on the sunwarmed concrete, their backs against the fence.
“Are you coming back to Ashdown, Eliza?” said Carrie, breaking a companionable silence.
“Of course I am, silly! There’s still one more term.” It amazed Eliza that, just a month ago, she wouldn’t have wanted to come back. But now she was looking forward to it.
“I don’t mean next term—I mean next year. Are you coming back for grade eight?”
“Aren’t you?” said Helen, turning quickly to peer at Eliza. “I always thought you were!”
Eliza didn’t know what to reply. First Beth had opened up the possibility of returning in grade ten—now these two were talking about next year. “I-I was always just coming for a year,” she said, trying to avoid Helen’s accusing stare. “I thought you knew that. I’ll be going to school in Edmonton next year. An awful school—it’s so big.”
“Then why don’t you come back?” demanded Helen.
“I don’t know if my parents would let me. And anyway, I missed them a lot this term.”
“So that’s what was wrong with you!” said Carrie. “Well, I miss mine too, sometimes. Though I guess I see them more than you see yours.” Helen said nothing, but threw the tennis ball away savagely.
Carrie nibbled the end of her braid. “Why don’t you at least ask your parents if you could stay, Eliza? Then decide.”
Eliza just wanted to change the subject. She was content with the present right now; she didn’t want to think about the future. The cement under her was getting cold, even through her thick bloomers. She jumped up. “Oh, maybe I will. Come on, let’s go and see Bill again.”
PART 3
Spring
15
Bluebells
A s Eliza and her aunt and uncle drove through the stone gates of Ashdown again, the first thing she noticed was a purply-blue haze that extended far into the woods. A mass of bluebells had sprung up in the two weeks she had been away. She remembered Miss Peck telling her that a bluebell was on Ashdown’s crest because there were so many of them in Ashdown Forest. But she didn’t know bluebells grew here as well. It seemed a good omen for the term ahead. Probably her last term. As soon as she realized that, she had a flash of herself, in future years, recalling the surprise of the bluebells. I’m missing it already, she thought. She said goodbye to her aunt and uncle impatiently, eager to get up to the dorm to see the others.
Eliza had spent half of her Easter holidays with Carrie, and half with Aunt Susan and Uncle Adrian. Seattle had been exciting. The United States was different from Canada. The people and places she saw seemed brighter and more defined, as if the U.S. was in colour, and Canada in black-and-white. Carrie’s older brothers and sisters, home from college, had taken them on several excursions into the city. The rest of the time they had scurried in and out of the Olsens’ large white house in Ballard, ridden bikes to Green Lake Park and helped out in the Scandinavian import store that Carrie’s parents ran.
Everyone in the Olsen family had treated Eliza and Carrie like two amusing puppies whose every whim must be satisfied. The cook found out Eliza’s favourite foods, and Carrie’s grandmother lengthened one of her old dresses for her. It made a pleasant change to be the youngest in a family; no one expected anything of her.
Back in Vancouver, Eliza had a quiet week playing alone on the secret beach when the weather was dry and reading in the den when it was not. One day Aunt Susan took her down to The Bay to buy some new summer clothes. This turned into a battle. Eliza and her mother usually agreed about clothes. Aunt Susan, however, had an irritating preference for ruffles, extra flaps and zippers that had no function, and unnecessary accessories. “Wouldn’t you like a purse?” suggested her aunt. “Here’s a nice little white one. After all, you’re almost a teenager—you’ll want a bag to carry things in.”
“I’ve got pockets,” muttered Eliza, shaking her head. What a nuisance, carrying something extra around with you all the time! She refused barrettes for her straggling hair and insisted on getting it cut. Aunt Susan thought she should grow it out.
And her aunt wouldn’t let her get everything in blue. “You need variety,” she insisted, making her select a yellow and a pink T-shirt as well. Eliza’s mother had always accepted her daughter’s devotion to one colour. She understood that, if blue was your favourite, you wanted to wear it as much as possible. Eliza felt like saying it was her parents’ money they were spending. But she always had to be polite to Aunt Susan because she did so much for Eliza.
While she was away from it, Eliza daydreamed a lot about returning to school, and she wondered what Helen was doing. She hoped she wasn’t too miserable at home. The Chapmans had phoned at Easter and told Eliza they were all flying to Vancouver to pick her up in June. Only two months away; it seemed like no time at all. Now that she was going to see her parents so soon she forgot about missing them. She wanted this last term at Ashdown to pass slowly.
WHEN ELIZA ASSEMBLED with the rest of the boarders that evening, she thought of bluebells again. Miss Tavistock had gathered them together to announce some sad news: Miss Peck had died during the holidays.
“She went in her sleep, very peacefully,” said the headmistress, her face pale. She told them about the quiet family funeral and said that there would be a memorial service at the school next week.
After she dismissed them, several of the seniors stayed to express their sympathy. Eliza wanted to say something too, but she didn’t know what. She hovered at the edge of the group and tried to absorb the fact that the spirited old woman, who had told her all about the Ashdown bluebell and had been interested in her on a particularly lonely day, no longer existed. In her mind, Miss Peck still sat erectly in her chair by the window in Crestwood Retirement Home.
Finally the last senior left. Eliza moved forward and murmured, “I’m sorry, Miss Tavistock. I liked Miss Peck.”
“I know you did, Elizabeth,” The headmistress put her hand on Eliza’s shoulder. “She liked you too. She told me you were the kind of student she hoped Ashdown would produce.”
As usual, Eliza was embarrassed to be la
belled a model Ashdown student instead of just herself. But she was glad Miss Peck had liked her. She went to bed filled with a kind of peaceful sadness.
THE NEXT MORNING before breakfast Miss Bixley measured them for their summer Sunday uniforms.
“It’s awful—I can’t wear it!” said Pam, throwing the white dress on the floor.
“Now don’t be so fussy, Pam. Try this one.”
“They look like nurses’ uniforms,” giggled Carrie. Eliza studied herself in the mirror and grimaced. The dresses were made of a slippery nylon material with permanently pleated skirts, sleeveless tops and peculiar short-sleeved jackets called “boleros” that went over them. Hers was more yellow than white and too big on top; it bagged over the narrow belt, but Miss Bixley said it was the closest fit she had. Ashdown students must have been wearing these for years. Eliza remembered an old photograph in the scrapbook Miss Peck had shown her, and the dresses had looked the same. She wondered how many students had worn hers.
At least the rest of the summer uniform was bought, not borrowed from the school. Eliza liked it even better than the winter one: a blue gingham cotton dress, white ankle socks and navy-and-white saddle shoes. It seemed a waste to wear it for only one term. Her shoes sparkled with newness, and she admired their gleam all the way down the stairs as she went out with Jean to take Bill for a walk.
Bill had turned out to be a very unsatisfactory kind of dog. He was frightened of most of the boarders and was always imploring Mrs. Renfrew to pick him up. Jean was attempting to make friends with him again after her absence. After two days of constant attention he was fairly trusting of her, but he shrank from Eliza when she reached out to pat him.
They tried to make him fetch. He trotted obediently after the stick, but then just sat down and stared at it glumly. His bushy grey eyebrows made him look as if he were trying to work out some perplexing problem that was too much for him.
“What he likes best is to sleep on Mrs. Renfrew’s chair,” said Jean. “I think he feels safe there.” She crouched down. “Oh, poor little Bill, why are you so sad?” In answer the little dog stood up on his hind legs and hugged her neck. “He always does this,” explained Jean, picking him up.
Eliza sighed, missing Jessie, who was bold and exuberant and loving to all. Only a few months until she saw her, too! But at least the addition of Bill to the school had changed Jean: she was much more purposeful, and sometimes she even stood up to Pam.
Pam had returned in a terrible mood. She seemed a lot older, somehow. She had a whole suitcase full of Beach Boys records and sophisticated outfits. And she looked as if she were wearing her new clothes even when she was in uniform. Her mother had flown from Geneva to spend the holidays in Vancouver with her daughter. But Pam had leaned that her parents had to stay abroad another year, so she would be boarding again in the fall.
“Never mind,” Carrie said when she’d told them this yesterday. “We’ll all still be here. Except Eliza,” she added in a different tone. Carrie had spent much of their time in Seattle trying to convince Eliza to ask her parents if she could return. Eliza had finally persuaded her not to talk about it, but the subject put a slight strain between them. And Eliza couldn’t ask—she was too afraid her parents would say yes, and then she’d have to decide.
Pam wasn’t consoled much by Carrie’s remark. “I’d much rather be a day-girl again. Or I could go to school in Switzerland—think of all the skiing! But there’s one good thing about staying in Vancouver. Norm will be here.” She paused dramatically.
It was so obvious she wanted them to question her further, that Eliza and Helen refused to. Carrie and Jean, however, took the bait: “Who’s Norm?”
Norm was fourteen and a day-boy at St. Martin’s. He was the son of the family friends with whom Pam and her mother had been staying. “I’ve known him all my life, but I never really saw him before, if you know what I mean.”
This was sickening; Eliza and Helen looked at each other with disgust. Eliza felt the same awkward embarrassment she had experienced in Seattle a few weeks ago when Carrie had taken her to a mixed party. Eliza had hidden in the kitchen, where she’d found the host’s nine-year-old brother feasting on all the extra food. The two of them had a soothing game of Monopoly. Eliza had hated the way Carrie preened at the party, exactly the way Pam was acting now. But for the rest of the holidays her friend had been her usual everyday self. It was exasperating, as if Carrie were two different people, whereas Eliza always felt the same. The teenage silliness she’d hoped to avoid by coming to Ashdown seemed to be happening anyhow.
THERE WAS a miraculously long period of clear weather—not a drop of rain fell for two weeks. Spring was at its height, and the city was a fragrant garden. Eliza was enthralled by the variety of flowering trees she saw on their weekday walks through the neighbourhood streets. Each tree’s blossoms blended with its new leaves to form a dappled canopy: white and green, white and copper, pale pink and copper, dark pink and green. The petals drifted in the air like snow and collected in heaps by the curb. Eliza and Carrie persuaded the matron to let them break away from the two-by-two crocodile line, scoop up the blossoms and throw them into the air like confetti.
To take advantage of the dry spell, there were lots of outdoor games: tennis and track-and-field, both of which Eliza loathed, and baseball, which she loved.
She almost always hit a home run. When she stood waiting for the ball to approach, she knew, somehow, when she was going to send it far off into the outfield with a satisfying wooden crack! Then she tore off madly around the bases. It was so exhilarating—everyone always cheered.
“You’re a terrific asset when we’re at bat,” said Madeline. “But I wish you’d learn to catch and throw, Eliza.” When they weren’t up, Eliza was put into right field.
Madeline’s mood this term was even more pensive, and Eliza had finally found out why. She was helping her house captain carry baseball mitts down to the playing field when a grade eleven day-girl passed them.
“I keep meaning to ask you, Madeline,” she said, “did you have a good time in Kelowna? How was Brian?”
Madeline blushed. “We’re in a hurry, Joyce,” she mumbled. “I’ll tell you later.”
Eliza stared at Madeline. “Who’s Brian?”
“Oh, just a boy I know. I met him at Christmas.”
That explained a lot. But Madeline, too? Was sensible Madeline, who had once stated that she didn’t agree with being “silly about boys,” going to become as ridiculous about them as Pam?
“Don’t look so shocked, Eliza,” laughed Madeline. “I was going to tell you about Brian, but I wasn’t sure you’d be interested. He’s just a nice guy I like a lot. I miss him. Would you like to see his picture sometime?”
Eliza nodded reluctantly. First Carrie, then Pam and now Madeline—they were all going crackers. At least she and Helen were still sane.
ELIZA SAT HAPPILY at lunch one sunny Friday, waiting for a second piece of pie. There was an inter-house baseball game after school; Miss Clark had praised her essay comparing spring in Edmonton and Vancouver; and tonight they were all being taken to see My Fair Lady. Last but not least, she had been elected vice-president of 7A. The prospect had scared her, but she soon found out the job consisted of little more than waiting for each teacher in the hall before a class and walking behind her, carrying her books, to the classroom. There the president waited to shout, “Stand for Mme Courvoisier!” Having a position made her feel distinguished. So far, this term was a great improvement over the last.
“Save your tip,” reminded Carrie beside her. You were supposed to cut off the tip of your piece of pie, eat it last and wish on it.
Miss Monaghan was taking the noon roll call to check on what each boarder was doing after school.
“Helen Beauchamp.”
“Games, please, Miss Monaghan …”
“Elizabeth Chapman.”
“Games, please, Miss Monaghan …”
“Pamela Jennings.”
“Dorm please, Miss Monaghan …”
“What’s Pam up to?” whispered Eliza to Carrie. Staying in the residence after school was not encouraged, and Pam was such a tennis fanatic, she always said “games” instead of “walk.”
“I know,” said Helen, across from them. “I’ll tell you later. Meet me in the gym before the game.” Eliza swallowed her tip of pie and wished that Cedar would win.
THEY DIDN’T. Oak, Helen and Carrie’s house, won 10 to 7. Eliza had hit two home runs, but she’d missed five throws.
She and Helen and Carrie trudged slowly up the path from the playing field, stopping at the top to rest on a low bough of Eliza’s tree. Eliza wiped her sweaty forehead and took deep sniffs of the tart smell of cut grass. She pulled off the sticky brown caps from the new tips of a fir tree.
Carrie squinted up at the Blue Sitting Room balcony across the lawn. “Are they there yet?”
“I don’t see them,” said Helen. “Let’s just wait here. She can’t spot us.”
Helen had told them that Norm was visiting Pam after school. “He’s bringing back a sweater she left at his parents’—I heard her asking Bix if it was all right for him to come. I bet that’s just an excuse. They’ve probably got it all arranged.”
Eliza pointed. “Look—there they are!” It was such a warm day, the door leading to the balcony was open. Through it they could see two standing figures.
The three of them scooted across the lawn and crawled into the thick laurel bushes under the balcony. Away from the sun it was chilly, especially with shorts on. Eliza shivered as she squatted and brushed the dirt from her knees.
“Shall we do it now?” whispered Carrie, trying to cover up her laughter with both hands.
“No! Wait and see if they come out onto the balcony.” Helen frowned at her, and Carrie was still.
In a few minutes they heard footsteps overhead. At Helen’s signal they moved over to the side so they could see the balcony more clearly.
