That same tyrant was the Austrian with the ear infection three years later. I would never forget her face. It was then that I felt sorry for her. Not because of the pain but because she’d been fooled like the rest of them. Brainwashed! That’s why I felt sorry for her. I really did do my best not to judge. I’d read the camp’s journal, Rushen Outlook, whenever I could get my hands on a copy. And there I came to realize how even a minority of National Socialists could cause such distress among a group of women who should instead be enjoying life and caring for their families. Oh, what a mess it all was! That’s why I was so happy to see Port St. Mary become a married, family camp. At least then these women could have a semblance of a normal life.”
Christian sat silently taking in her words, realizing that open wounds came in all shapes and sizes. That the innocent, maybe even spoiled, girl he’d met fourteen years earlier had seen more than she should have.
“If you weren’t a nurse, why were you working in the infirmary?”
“I was in training; Dr. Pilkington had eyed me on occasion when he’d visited Ballaqueeney during his internship.”
“Eyed-you?” Christian said raising his eyebrows.
“For purely professional reasons, thank you very much,” Gillian said as flatly as she could, not wanting him to suspect that she’d imagined kissing the doctor, let alone considered a relationship with him.
“Right! Professional.”
“You still like to take the mickey out of me, don’t you?”
“I never quite knew what that meant.”
“Oh, I think you do now, Mr. Hunter,” she said with a sliver of a grin.
“I guess this Dr. Pilkington got the job after all, since the motorcycle is sitting in your driveway?”
“How clever of you.”
“Now who’s taking the mickey?”
They both smiled, letting go of any leftover tension between them.
“Dr. Pilkington is now my employer.”
“I know.”
Gillian looked curiously at Christian.
“I went looking for you at his office.”
“The surgery?”
“Yeah. But it was closed.”
“How did you know to find me there?” she asked with a bewildering gaze.
“It’s a small town, Gilly.”
“But how did you know where I was at all?”
A sudden ring of the telephone snapped the conversation in two. He could see she tried to ignore it and was irritated at the timing.
“Excuse me while I answer this. Probably Beaty ringing back.”
“Of course,” he said.
Gilly rose from her chair and reached for the telephone on the wall. “Hello, Gillian speaking. Who’s calling, please?”
“It’s Reggie. No false alarm this time. I’m already at the Hemsworth farm and it doesn’t look good.”
“I’ll be there straight away!”
Christian could hear a definite urgency in her voice and was already up collecting the teacups and saucers.
“I’m sorry. Do you mind?”
“Of course not. Is everything okay?” Christian asked.
“I hope so. But I really must dash.” She grabbed her helmet and propped it on her head with a guilty expression.
“Don’t wait for me. Just go,” he said.
“Right. Okay.” She hastened down the gravel driveway as Christian closed the door behind him. As she approached the pick-up truck, she stopped… staring at what he’d propped up against it earlier, then threw a glance his way. He stood still watching, wondering. Gilly picked it up, running her hand along it as though she was getting acquainted with it then brought it to him slowly. If ever time had stood still, it was then. He couldn’t know what she was thinking, but in that moment he needed to know more than anything. Holding it in both her hands, she handed him his walking stick. Not a word left her lips; what he saw in her eyes said it all. There wasn’t a drop of sympathy. And if there really were a god up there then he’d thank him for that. It was a different look, one that he hoped she’d define one day soon.
“Your pocket watch,” she said with a sudden jolt as she turned toward the cottage.
“No. It’s a bookmark. Thank you for showing it to me, but it’s yours.” Gilly nodded with a soft smile, understanding that somehow it was theirs together.
She sprinted down the driveway then threw her leg over the motorcycle. He noticed she was wearing a skirt as she pulled it high up on her thighs. He felt dazed by her beauty. When Gilly revved the engine, it spluttered excitedly.
“Tomorrow?” she shouted over the noise. “Shall we meet again?”
“Where?”
“By the lighthouse. You can’t miss it!”
“Which one? There are two!”
“The bullet, of course!”
“When?”
“No idea,” she shouted, laughing. “This house call may take a while!”
“I’m staying at an inn beside the Manx’s Tail. Do you know it?”
“Everyone knows that pub! Manx cats don’t have tails!” she cheered with a thumb’s up and the prettiest smile he’d ever seen. Gilly rounded her motorcycle on the driveway, crunching the stones as she rolled off, her hand throwing a jaunty salute.
Christian’s eyes followed her to the end of the gravel, and as Gilly traveled in the opposite direction, he noticed the herd of sheep was back.
Chapter 13 - 1932
Yesterday my heart was breaking;
We quarreled bitterly and long.
Today the angry mood is over;
I wonder how to say I was wrong.
I pray he will forgive me,
When I tell of tears I shed.
Which wiped away all bitterness,
Leaving with me instead.
A longing to be near him,
His dear hand clasping mine.
While we kiss in silent gratitude,
A lesson we have learned in time.
To err is very human,
But to forgive divine!
Chapter 13
1932
A letter from Bombay, India.
Her Highness Maharani Sonali Raje Shrimant Sethi
A secret voice inside Gillian twittered like little waves of shock as she held the envelope in her palm. She couldn’t believe the maharani had written to her. Wary of its contents, she tore the wax seal gingerly then slid out the sheet of veined papyrus. The maharani’s handwriting was exquisite, like a moving sonata for the eyes.
1st of August 1932
Gillian,
I hope this letter finds you well. I am sending it to your sister’s address but expect that it will work its way into your hands.
I have been pestered, as the English would say, by my daughter each and every day since we returned to India to write to her favorite nanny. Of course, I have explained to her that playing favorites is a dangerous game as someone is bound to get hurt eventually, and in this case I fear that may be her. We are all very fond of you and were disappointed that you were unable to follow us back to India. If I had been your father, I would have done exactly the same, so I quite understand his position.
It is Shashi who wanted to write of her adventure back to our homeland, so I shall leave you here and pass my fountain pen to this little girl sitting next to me. She feels quite grown-up with a real fountain pen and insists that I give her privacy. A slight warning—I have promised not to check her spellings.
Do take good care of yourself in these troubling times, and please know that we are all well.
My best to your family,
Sonali
Hello Gillian,
I hope you are having a nis time. I went on a big bot. I playd with my bruther but he made me cry. One nite I was very, very fritend. There was a angry monster in the sky and the bot was tippy and I cryd so I runned to you but you were not there. I went to the bech with my frend and she made me laf. Just like you. I meat her many times. It is funny to be in India agen but I miss you
very mush.
Wen will you come to see me?
I love you Gillian.
Shashi
23rd of August 1932
My sweet Shashi,
Oh, how your letter brought tears to my eyes. I cannot tell you how happy you made me. What a big girl you have become to write your own letters and to do all of your own spellings, which I might add, were excellent. I do like the way you sound out your words. It’s the best way, you know. English is a funny language. I’m still working on it myself! I especially liked the way you described the sky. The next time there is an angry monster in it, I want you to show him that you can grumble even louder than he. Be sure to have some pots and pans at the ready. You and Samir can dance around in circles banging and clanging. You mark my word—you’ll scare those monsters away in no time. Good thing you have such a large home in India, otherwise you might scare off the neighbors, too.
I am so glad that you are happy to be home again. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of you and your brother. My life is a better one having had you in it. I learned all of my sillies from you, and I can’t thank you enough!
Though I am not living in England at the moment, I am happy. I am staying in a far-off land called Canada, at least for the summer. It is a very big country. I think you would like it. There are mazy lakes and forests of pine trees by the bushel-full and windswept fields of wheat and corn as far as the eye can see. It is a marvel, I promise.
Do you remember when you asked me how I would know Mr. Right when I saw him? Well, I saw him at Canada’s birthday party, and I was right—he has a very good pair of hands. Between you and me, I have a feeling that one day he’ll build me that mushroom to live in.
Shall we make a pact, just as we did with our stories? If you send me one letter, then I shall send you two in return. That’s double the pleasure for me. So if I find myself on the other side of the world and you happen to be back in England, then you shall send me two letters and I one. A letter can take any form, even a photograph so it needn’t be work to write to your dear ol’ nanny or shall I say friend?
My love to you and Samir,
Always,
Gillian
Post Script – Do thank your mommy for me, won’t you, darling? It was so kind of her to write to me personally.
Gillian had to be sure to thank Beaty for forwarding Shashi’s letter, and Uncle Herbert of course for bringing it safely from the postbox in Rosedale. She missed the little muffet. Imagine the maharani writing to her personally. That really was something for the books! But she refused to let the joy of this letter spoil her disdain for one Christian Hunter. Their quarrel yesterday was quite justified, the way he ogled that wretched Janine Southerby next door. Nearly ten years his senior and wearing a come-hither blouse like that. Gillian should have pulled those droopy eyes right out of their sockets! But he wanted to make it up to Gillian tomorrow, a special place in store for her he said. Well… she thought everyone deserved a second chance.
Auntie Joyce and Uncle Herbert were sound asleep already—must have been the country air. She felt sorry for her uncle having to go back to the city for the workweek, but how lovely he was able to come back here each weekend.
As Gillian sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair and wearing a long cotton nightgown, she couldn’t help but think she was unfair with Christian. How could anyone have avoided those beasts in that blouse? Even her eyes were glued to them if she was dead honest. She glanced down her nightgown at her smallish breasts feeling slightly inadequate. Then she peeked again. On second thought, they were really quite an ideal size, a no-nonsense size. Just as she tied the ribbon at the neckline, a tap at her window startled Gillian.
Roderick!
She drew up the window wondering what he was up to. “What are you doing out there? It’s nearly midnight?” she said with a disapproving glare.
“Midnight is two hours away.”
“Yes… well… it will be midnight soon and you’re up to no good. I can smell it.”
“I’ve been out. Come,” he said flicking his dark fringe to the side. “I want to talk to you.”
“What’s so urgent that it can’t wait until morning?” she asked, curious as a bee in a wildflower meadow.
Roderick didn’t say another word. Instead he stretched his left eye wide open then shut it in a tight squeeze. Then repeated it. Gillian wasn’t quite sure whether he’d developed an awkward tick or he was winking. But a gasp darted to her chest as she bit her bottom lip in sheer glee, nearly drawing blood! If I dare say so myself, I do believe it’s a wink, she thought.
“Oh, Roderick!” She flew out the window and over the sill as though she had sprouted wings.
“Here let me help you,” he said.
“Don’t be silly, it’s the first floor.”
Gillian braided her arm through his, squeezing him around his waist as they walked toward the gazebo, frogs in full harmony—undoubtedly singing their praises for Roderick.
“Now tell me all about it—every detail.”
“If I asked you to tell me everything you’ve been up to with Christian over these past two months, would you?”
“Well, not everything.”
“Exactly,” Roderick responded with a tilt of his head.
Gillian felt her spine start to stand on end like an angry cat.
“Well, why did you ask me here at this late hour if you hadn’t intended on spilling the beans?”
He returned her glare, a seething one at that. Yet she wasn’t sure whether Roderick would foam at the mouth before she had time to apologize. Regardless, he really was callow in his ways, dangling the proverbial carrot that way then casting it aside, causing a deplorable overuse of similes, metaphors, clichés and those delightful idioms that Gillian wished she had invented herself. Even she was out of breath with her long sentences!
She twisted her own mouth conceding that he had a point.
“Can’t you give me just a crumb?” she asked pleadingly.
The cousins strolled to the end of the dock but decided not to go into the gazebo. The mosquitos weren’t too bad tonight so they sat down on the wooden planks, letting their legs dangle above the water, the black sky hovering on top of them.
“All I can say for sure is that it’s not love, but I know it’s right.”
“Is it that shy-looking fellow you were chatting with at the bonfire the night we arrived in Tobermory?”
“He’s the one,” Roderick replied, turning the mischievous lines around his mouth into a grin. “But he’s not all that shy. Not when you get to know him.”
“I’m so pleased, Roderick.” The crickets making a terrible racket in the forest squealed with delight, too. Gillian wondered if he noticed. “I hope you’re beginning to see that you can have the life you want if you simply choose it.”
“You’re still as naïve as ever Gillian, but I like your optimism.”
“I may well be naïve, but there’s one thing I will not compromise and that’s my dignity. If I believe in something, if I know without a shadow of a doubt that something is right for me, I will stand by it at all costs.”
“Is that how you feel about Christian?”
Gillian threw back her head breathing in the misty, cool air, knowing how she felt but not wanting to admit it… to herself at least. “Time will tell,” she said soberly.
Roderick put his arm around her. “Does this mean you’re talking to me again?”
Gillian laid her head on his shoulder and coiled her arm in his. “I never really stopped.”
24th of August 1932
Dear Maharani Sonali,
I hope this letter also finds you well. I would like to thank you ever so much for sending me Shashi’s letter. If it is appropriate, I would like to maintain contact with her through letters as she always manages to bring a smile to my day, and I do feel that I have much to learn from such an open-minded child as yours. Before I begin, I have a request. Since I am about to dribbl
e on and write words that may be challenging for a six year old’s sensibility, perhaps you can do me the favor of reading my letters to Shashi before she goes to sleep at night or in a hammock on a sunny day if you have one in India—a hammock that is, not a sunny day as I am quite sure you have plenty of those. Shashi loves hammocks. Perhaps you can do this until she is old enough to read them on her own? Do forgive me if I am being forward in asking such a favor, but it would mean very much to me.
Most sincerely,
Gillian
Dearest Shashi,
My little buttercup, the moon has gone to sleep and the sun is smiling today. I promised you two letters as per our agreement—be it one-sided at this point since I only wrote to you last evening. But I shan’t waste any time. A good, meaty letter you shall have.
Today, I have a surprise awaiting me. I don’t know what, otherwise I would tell you. What I do know is that I will be taken somewhere very special. Don’t you just love surprises? It is with Mr. Right, and when he says something is special, it is completely out of the ordinary. Never a jewel or fancy cloth in sight. No, it will be something adventurous. One time he took me to see a pirate ship under the water. Yes, you can let out that breath! It’s true, a real pirate ship! If you drained all the water from the bay, you’d have a village of pirate boats, I’m quite sure about that.
We rowed a small boat to just the right spot and both had a mask so we could see properly under the water. I had never worn such a thing before. How thrilling it was to see life as a fish would do. I am very good at holding my breath. I had plenty of practice growing up with seven siblings and all those nappies to change. I quite surprised myself, in fact, but Christian—that’s Mr. Right’s Christian name, Christian—isn’t that funny? Well, he was very protective and stayed by my side. The water is as clear as a bell here in the bay. (Yes a bell! It doesn’t always have to refer to sound now does it?) Back to the clear water. You wouldn’t expect so in such a mystifying country as Canada, but it’s true. The question I keep asking myself is why so many boats would sink in such water? If you ask me, I don’t think it has anything to do with the rough tides but everything to do with those pirates!
The Particular Appeal of Gillian Pugsley Page 17
