It had been the perfect day, though she toyed with the idea of the bonfire. Roderick wanted to go, and she was certain Christian expected her there—no doubt because he had a high opinion of himself. The way he strutted past her, more times than she had fingers to count.
No, she wouldn’t think about him any more than she’d think of a varmint’s sleeping habits. Instead, she’d sit back on this lovely porch step of her auntie and uncle’s summerhouse and admire the rippling water not far from her toes—that is until the mosquitoes would begin to eat her alive. She scurried quickly to the gazebo at the end of the dock then closed the door in a snap.
The water was serene. She’d never seen such blackness before and so many stars. They made her feel tiny. At the end of the harbor, the bonfire was blazing wildly as cheers erupted, energy pulsating along the water all the way to her.
Gillian wondered if he was there now. As mini flutters inside her danced on the heels of excitement, she considered his behavior earlier. He was sweet really, not as cheeky as she made out. Maybe he’d never met anyone with an Irish accent before. It threw him, that was all. She remembered a boy in grammar school who was too shy to express his affections toward her best friend, Tilly. So instead he teased her horribly, pulling her hair and even once closing his desktop on it so when she stood up in front, she was pulled back like a bucking mare. If she recalled correctly, they were married now. She hadn’t seen Tilly in dogs’ years. Wouldn’t that have been something had they been called Gilly and Tilly. But no one had ever called her Gilly… until now.
Roderick shuffled his feet outside the door, making her heart skip. “Are you coming?” he said.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
The blaze up close was even more spectacular. Although she and Roderick had come together, Gillian hoped he would set off quickly to scout for fun. That way, she could spy the brew of Canadians without being coddled. Besides, Roderick didn’t deserve her company. After all, no wink… no cousinly coterie! She’d hold that grudge later though. For now, it served her well arriving on the arm of such a good-looking fellow.
Gillian was wearing her wide-legged trousers. Although she had decided to pay no attention whatsoever to her clothing, she had changed, fearing those flying leeches they called mosquitoes. They were even worse here than the midges back home. But these trousers would whack them off with every step, making her feel bold. Perhaps she should buy Roderick a pair.
Her little sailor top cut across the shoulders and she could feel her clavicle attracting attention. Where was that Christian? Her eyes shifted in all directions, though they weren’t woggly in the least. Who would ever say woggly wasn’t a word? She once knew a boy who could only be described as having woggly eyes. They were nearly dangling from the sockets.
“Come!” Roderick shouted, pulling her hand. “People are roasting hot dogs in the fire with long sticks.”
“Good Lord! That’s awful!”
“No, silly! They’re sausages,” he said laughing. Roderick set one up then handed it to her. Gillian’s head was whirling with all the activity. Even the nans and granddads were out, some sipping on hot toddies no doubt, keeping their bones warm in the night air. Although it wasn’t the least bit chilly, especially with the fiery cocktail in front of her.
The flames were high, and the fiddler was back, she noticed. Oh, how it made her long for Ireland, this music. She sighed, her chest swelling again when suddenly she saw him through the flames. He was watching her. She made doubly certain it was true by spying those around, but those eyes were most definitely planted on her! Didn’t even bother to shift them—nervy creature! Gillian felt her brow knit together; she didn’t know why, but somehow he infuriated her. He was so obvious—brash. Or perhaps it was simply that he found her electrifying. She couldn’t blame him for that. Though he might well have been dishy, not every girl was going to drool at the very sight of him. In fact, she didn’t see a single female melting by his side.
Good God, he was coming this way. Even the throng of people didn’t faze him. He was lovely in this firelight, the way he walked, the ease about him, the way his shirt was rolled up to the elbow, loosely hanging over his trousers with a simple undershirt to keep warm. His shaggy hair ruffled even more as he combed his fringe with his fingers before reaching her. Before her next breath, he was standing in front of her.
“Here, you can have mine,” he said.
“Pardon me?”
“Go on.”
“I have my own thank you.”
“Not any more,” he said looking into the flames.
“NO!” she gasped, half amused at the sausage sizzling below. “I didn’t notice it had fallen off. I can cook another.”
“Oh, stop being a pain,” he said. “If someone offers you something, just take it and say thank you.” She felt her brow actually crocheting. “Come, I want to show you something.”
“Where to?”
“That’s a surprise.”
“I’d be mad to go off with you. You’re a stranger.”
Christian smiled and offered his hand, “Please. It’s just by the rocks here.”
Clambering over the rugged shoreline wasn’t easy with wide-legged trousers, but Gillian felt like a star in them anyhow. She adored the tingling of adventure and liked it even more knowing how her auntie and uncle, and Daddy for that matter, would disapprove. They reached a small cove with some sort of stream wriggling off the end—at least it looked that way. It was hard to tell in this dark. Only the tip of the bonfire was visible now, and the hum of the crowd had faded.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Shh…” Christian hushed, drawing his index finger to his lips. The dark was blinding, but there was a stream of moonlight cutting across the water and a few boathouse lights on the other side of Little Tub, which helped. Christian reached for her hand, “Here we are.” Trying to shuffle into a comfortable position on a very hard rock, she wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to be looking at. Christian leaned into her, their shoulders touching. A chorus of shivers tingled inside her, not sure whether it was a chill or him. “Do you see that tall tree over there?” he said, pointing.
“Yes,” she whispered back.
“Let your eyes follow down its trunk if you can.” She did as he said, coming to a jumble of sorts. “Do you see it?”
“I see something, but no idea what.”
“It’s a beaver dam.”
She felt her breath catch at the thought. “Really? I’ve never seen one before.”
“I know it’s dark, and with the bonfire over there I’m not sure they’ll come out tonight. They’re stubborn, but when they don’t feel threatened, they just get down to business.”
“How many are there?” she asked curiously.
“Five. Two adults and three kits.”
“Is a kit a baby?”
“Yeah, it’s a family. Beavers mate for life.” Christian caught her smile and offered one back. “They’re amazing animals. Their lodge is on the other side of the dam.”
“You mean they don’t live in their dam?”
“No, no,” he shook his head. “They build it to make a pond for their home. The dam protects them and makes it easy to get food.”
“I’d love to see one, but I daren’t say it’s possible in this dark.”
“If you keep an eye on that strip of light across the water, you might just see a head moving along the surface.”
“Just a head? I hope there’s a body attached to it,” she said, feeling flirty until she felt an elbow in her side.
Quiet filled the air, but she felt relaxed and safe. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. A few distant sounds crept into the background— crickets chirping, and she knew the sound of frogs when she heard them. Beaty thought they made a terrible racket, but Gillian thought their harmony was exquisite.
“About Romy today,” Christian said picking up a stick then trailing it in the dirt next to him.
“Thank you for what you said to her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, hardly anyone can get a word out of her, and you managed in a snap.” Gillian smiled. “It’s what you said.”
“But she’s a darling, and I adore her name. I can actually see it in lights, can’t you?”
Christian gazed at her softly. “She gets teased by some of the kids.”
“Why?”
“She can’t say her own name, has trouble with her R’s.”
“Nonsense. She said it perfectly fine.”
“No… she didn’t. But somehow you knew exactly what she was saying.” Christian drew in a breath. “If she could only get others to hear what you hear.”
“Oh, for goodness sake, it’s nothing. I bet I could help with that. The Irish have always been masters at R’s.”
Christian chuckled.
“Perhaps I can spend some time with her—no joking,” Gillian said. “It wouldn’t do any harm.”
“How long will you be here?”
“All summer,” she replied with hidden hopes. “I’m not leaving Canada until the end of September.”
“Well, we can see then. She doesn’t live far from me. Kit’s her older sister.” Gillian nodded then drew a breath while pretending to look elsewhere. “Are you cold?” he asked.
“Just a little.”
“Maybe we should get back then.”
“Oh, no,” she begged. “Just a minute longer.”
No beavers tonight. But Gillian wasn’t disappointed. She had all summer and fully intended to meet one face to face! All in good time. She and Christian strolled back the long way around toward a dwindling flame when Kit approached them with some friends. She finally introduced her to that boy she’d been friendly with earlier, a Matthew Dunsbury.
“Hey,” he said nodding. “This is my cousin, Angus Pugsley. Angus Stanley Spencer Pugsley.”
Janey, what a name! she thought. It threw her off kilter. A name like that would make anyone lean to one side. His face didn’t match it apart from that mole on his cheek. The cousin had elbowed this Matthew Dunsbury, clearly annoyed for taking the mickey out of him. Such a quiet thing standing behind his cousin’s shoulder like that. Yet he stared at her so. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. Her attention quickly ruffled back to Christian, wanting him all to herself.
They wandered back to the bonfire, just the two of them, then sat for ages talking. She could see Roderick through the flames chatting with some fellow. He seemed happy enough, but no wink. The cinders and white ash in front were drawing the night to a close. Smoke had sewn its way into their clothes and hair as a wonderful reminder of a most perfect day.
“Can I walk you home?” Christian offered.
“I’m afraid my cousin there will have a conniption if I leave with a boy I’ve just met.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, letting nothing faze him, “Yeah, of course. No problem.” Suddenly she felt self-conscious. She was never lost for words, but he just stood there gazing into the smoldering remains. “I’d have a conniption, too, if you walked off with me,” he said grinning easily.
“Why?”
“Because your cousin’s right; you shouldn’t trust someone you’ve just met.”
“Are you saying I can’t trust you?”
“I’m saying you shouldn’t—yet.”
“And once you have earned my trust? What then?”
His eyes were suddenly penetrating. Christian slid his hand around her waist, drawing her close—his hand pressed against the small of her back, his fingers against her skin. She felt her chest rocket and wasn’t sure whether he was as nervous as she was. Their eyes surrendered to a long moment before he slowly brought his cheek to hers.
“You’re extraordinary. Do you know that?” he whispered into her ear, then pulled away, leaving her numb. “Goodnight, Gilly.”
As she watched him saunter towards the dirt road away from the last of the idlers, Roderick was by her side in a flash wondering what “that” was all about. He didn’t press her though, instead leaving Gillian to her thoughts as they walked back to her auntie and uncle’s house, her arm coiled in his. She glanced up at her cousin, stiff hair like the others, and smiled. She liked Roderick. He’d make some fellow happy one day. She was sure of it.
Gillian sat by the moonlight in her auntie and uncle’s conservatory with a small kerosene lamp next to her. She had written loads of short stories before. But for some reason she couldn’t explain, her fountain pen tonight whirled into words in a way she’d never known them before… into her very first poem.
They met one sunny morning
They both played a game
Pretending they cared
Then one day it rained…
She gazed up at the white marble in the sky and for a moment, she was quite sure it smiled down at her. It was you, wasn’t it, Christian Hunter? You were the one looking at the same moon, the same stars that night at the maharaja’s. You were here in this small town on a big lake somewhere in God’s country, and you were looking for me. The marble rolled closer now, nearly filling the sky as she folded her arms to keep warm in the cooling night air, her thoughts not leaving him for a moment. She couldn’t escape this feeling that she would love him for the rest of her days.
Gillian’s eyes were drawn to the water speaking softly in ripples and echoing the eeriest, most romantic birdsong she’d ever heard. “The Great Lakes,” she muttered, feeling lucky to be here. Now she finally understood what was so great about them. Gillian pulled her auntie’s afghan over her shoulders as she lay back on the settee. Yes, quite sleepy indeed. A smile sneaked into her cheeks, and she could smell the smoke on her fingertips as she ran them down her lips. “So, I’m extraordinary am I, Mr. Christian Hunter?”
Chapter 10 - 1946
When I was young
I had a gift bestowed
Of such great happiness,
But was it really mine?
Or could there be a day
It would no longer shine?
When that day came
I was bereaved, bereft
With empty hands.
This gift was never mine,
Just lent to me
For a short spell of time.
I found heaven on Earth
Then swift as lightning strikes a tree
The joy was dashed from me.
And like the tree, my life was blighted,
For evermore, for evermore.
Chapter 10
1946
“Hello Gilly,” Christian said, remembering to tread carefully. Gilly stood there at a loss for words. He thought he had prepared himself for this look, one he’d expected. But it came crashing in on him, making him feel as though he’d done something terribly wrong. “Listen… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stopped by like this, unannounced.” He was already feeling intrusive, but her silence made it worse.
When she took off her helmet, her hair fell in waves to her shoulder, her green eyes standing out against its nutty brown color. There she was as beautiful as the day they’d first met.
“Christian.” That’s all she said for a long moment. He lowered his eyes to his lap then hastily decided to put the pick-up into gear. “Wait!” she chirped. “Please don’t go. I’ll be back in two shakes.”
Of a lambs tail, his lips finished her sentence without a sound, remembering the funny phrase she’d used time and time again. Old-fashioned. Yes, that’s how it sounded. He liked that she didn’t seem to care. She spoke the way she spoke with an air of grit about her. He found that sultry. Even now from this rundown old truck, all he wanted to do was take her in his arms as though no time had passed.
Gilly ran into the house, leaving him there to wonder what was so urgent, more urgent than meeting her long lost love after fourteen years, including a Depression and a World War. He opened the car door, sliding away awkwardly from the seat, then stepped out of the truck.
Gillian skittered through
the cottage, flipping over books and leaving papers strewn across the dining table she’d used for churning out stories and articles and poems whilst picking at her meals on coolish, drippy evenings year after year. It was only in her off time that she was able to write, otherwise her days were filled with community work. But she couldn’t find it anywhere—something she’d treasured, something she had to show him.
As she was digging about, paying no mind to a man who could easily dash off in a fit of ill-patience, the telephone decided—yes, decided on its own—to muffle up her immediate quest. She tried to ignore it, but the darned thing wouldn’t stop ringing.
“Yes, hello. Gillian speaking,” she said drawing the receiver to her ear while peeking through the kitchen window at the lorry sitting in the drive. She couldn’t make out Christian. Was he hiding in there?
“Thank God you’re alive, but you sound agitated, my dear. Have I caught you in a twist?”
“Oh, Beaty! I can’t talk now, I’m afraid.”
“Just tell me if you’ve received my letter. I’ve been trying to reach you by telephone but it’s been impossible.”
“Yes, I got your letter. But I really must dash.”
“No further explanation needed. Do ring me when you have a moment to spare, won’t you, dear?”
“Yes, of course. I’ve just returned from a false alarm, that’s all.”
“You mean Mrs. Hemsworth? The way she churns out the little dumplings, one would think she had a conveyor belt on that trough of hers!”
“Beaty!”
“Well perhaps she should engage in a little restraint. Lock her up in that loft of hers a few nights a week! Right. No worries, but do ring me back. Love love.”
The telephone clicked on the other end. “The loft! That’s it.” Gillian muttered to herself, grateful to her sister.
The Particular Appeal of Gillian Pugsley Page 13
