The Whole Truth

by Kit Pearson

  There was a terrible accident this summer—it was so sad. Two men tried to row to Walker Island and got caught in the current and one of them drowned. They were summer guests and they didn’t know how to check the tides.

  I know all about the tides and I can run the gasboat on my own and I can swim really well! I’m not afraid of the sea any more.

  Have you heard of the Quintuplets? They are five little babies exactly alike who were born in Ontario in May. When Noni and Aunt Jean were talking about them, all I could think of was whether they were born near where you are.

  Daddy, I miss you so much. I wish I didn’t have to wait until I was grown up to see you again.

  Much love from your Polly Wolly Doodle

  PART THREE

  NOW THAT SHE WAS TWELVE

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A WISH COME TRUE

  Now that she was twelve, thought Polly, perhaps it was time to admit that she no longer enjoyed writing to Daddy. She wiped her new pen on a rag and replaced its cap. Then she sealed the letter in an envelope, wrote “Mr. Daniel Brown” on the front, and placed the letter with the others in the chest.

  Tarka was snoozing on her bed in the sunshine. He didn’t stir as Polly dragged his warm body into her lap. She leaned back against her pillow, stroking his wiry fur.

  Daddy didn’t seem real. She’d written that she still remembered him, but she could hardly conjure up his face or hear his voice. It was almost as if she’d stopped believing in him—just as she’d stopped believing in Santa Claus!

  At first the letters had helped soothe Polly’s terrible longing. But she was happy now. She had a loving family and friends—and the best dog in the world! The last sentence in the letter had been a lie. She didn’t miss Daddy any more. Her life with him seemed like something she had read in a story; living on the island was her real life.

  I miss missing him, thought Polly. Her eyes prickled and she wondered if she would cry, but her tears retreated.

  Polly looked around the attic room—all hers now. The last time Maud had been home, she’d been so disgusted by the clutter she had moved to the box room.

  The floor was strewn with clothes and dog toys, and a long table was piled with art projects. On the walls were tacked Polly’s paintings and pictures of art cut out of Noni’s magazines. Her neglected dolls sat in a dusty row on the windowsill.

  Polly sighed when she thought of Maud. Her sister was becoming more and more like a stranger. Maud’s entire life consisted of her school and her religion. This summer Maud kept saying that Polly was spoiled, that her life on the island was too soft. “The family treats you like a princess,” she told her. “It’s a good thing you’re coming to St. Winnie’s—it will toughen you up.”

  Polly didn’t think she was spoiled. She was just well loved—what was wrong with that? And she was already tough, much tougher than when she’d first come here. She could carry a whole sling of wood and a whole basket of apples, she could chop kindling, and she knew how to row and fish and swim and garden.

  I’m tough inside too, thought Polly. I’ve kept the secret about Daddy all this time.

  But when she thought about St. Winifred’s, Polly didn’t feel tough at all. If only she didn’t have to go there! If only everything could stay exactly as it was!

  Then Polly jumped up, startling Tarka awake. What was she doing brooding inside on such a sunny morning? It was Saturday and it was her birthday!

  “Dance, Tarka!” she said, pulling a dog biscuit out of her pocket. Tarka stood on his hind legs and hopped in a circle until she gave him the biscuit.

  Polly clattered downstairs. She grabbed an apple from the empty kitchen and stuffed it into her pocket. Noni was at Aunt Jean’s, helping her make sandwiches for the picnic, and Mrs. Hooper had the day off.

  Polly called Tarka and ran across the road and onto the beach. She was going to look for interesting pieces of driftwood to add to the display she’d started in the front garden.

  It was a dazzling day. The sun broke up the waves into shiny discs—Aunt Jean called them “sun pennies.” A light breeze scattered leaves and curls of arbutus bark. The air smelled briny. Polly crunched along the beach, hopping over logs and scolding Tarka when he nibbled at barnacles, trying to rip them off the rocks. She picked up possible branches of driftwood, then dropped some as she found better pieces. Tarka darted after the ones she dropped and brought them back to her.

  Polly sat down on a log to sort out the best pieces and to eat her apple. Tarka flopped beside her. He liked to bake in the sunshine until he was gasping, as if he were a brown bun in an oven.

  A row of dusky cormorants perched on a floating log, drying their spread wings. Gulls and crows argued, and a lone boat putted around the point. The neighbouring islands were soft rounded outlines against the sky. A kingfisher perched on a nearby tree.

  Polly studied the kingfisher as it swooped towards the water, its rusty warble announcing that it had spotted a fish. How could she capture how it shot like a blue arrow into the sea? Perhaps she could paint it on wet paper, so its outline was blurred …

  Then Polly heard a faint whistle, like a bird song. She tossed Tarka her apple core, listening hard.

  It wasn’t a bird. It was someone whistling the same notes again and again: two long high notes and a short one. Her heart turned over as the whistle turned into a song.

  “'Oh, I went down south for to see my Sal, singing Polly Wolly Doodle all the day,'” sang a man’s voice softly.

  Polly stood up and looked around frantically.

  “'My Sal she is a spunky gal, singing Polly Wolly Doodle all the day,'” the voice sang louder.

  Someone stepped out from behind the trees between the beach and the road: a tall man in a suit and hat with a small rucksack on his back. Tarka trotted up to him, wagging his tail.

  Polly flew. She crashed into the man’s chest, and cried over and over, “Oh, Daddy—oh, Daddy—oh, my Daddy!”

  She couldn’t stop crying. Daddy took her hand and pulled her back into the trees. Then he sat on a log and held her, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead. “Happy Birthday, Polly Wolly Doodle! Happy Birthday, my dear little girl!” he whispered, his voice breaking. His hat fell off and Tarka ran off with it.

  Polly sobbed into his shirt front. She tried to wipe her eyes on her blouse, but Daddy handed her a grubby handkerchief. Then he took it back to wipe his own eyes. He held her away from him, studied her, and said, “But you’re not a little girl any more, Doodle! You’re a young lady!”

  Daddy had changed too. He was still handsome, with his long, dignified nose, jutting chin, and deep blue eyes, but his thick brown hair had receded, making his forehead look bigger. Fine lines extended from the corners of his eyes and purplish circles were under them, as if he hadn’t slept for days. Black stubble, which had scratched Polly when he kissed her, covered his chin and upper lip. His face, which used to shine with exuberance, looked tense and sad and exhausted, as if … as if he were broken. His suit was grimy and his shirt sleeves were frayed. Most unsettling of all, he had dirt under his fingernails—Daddy, who used to be so meticulous!

  Tears coated Polly’s cheeks and she hiccuped out the end of her sobs. How could she have forgotten Daddy or thought she didn’t miss him? “How did you get here?” she managed to ask as she cuddled in his lap.

  “I came on yesterday’s steamer from Vancouver. I slept on the beach, and this morning I’ve been waiting for you to come out of the house. Finally you did! I wanted to surprise you on your birthday.” He reached into his pocket. “Here, I’ve brought you a present.”

  “You are my present!” laughed Polly. The first shock of seeing Daddy was wearing off. How could she ever have thought he wasn’t real? He was here, as real as he ever was!

  She opened up the twisted wad of tissue paper he handed her. Inside was a necklace: a small silver heart on a chain. Polly bounced sunlight off its surface. “It’s beautiful!” she breathed.

  He helped
her fasten the necklace. “Not as beautiful as my girl! You look so much like your mother. And you’re so tall! I know I should have expected that, but all this time I’ve imagined you and Maud as you were when I left. She must have changed too.”

  “She has! She bobbed her hair! Oh, Daddy, Maud will be so glad to see you!”

  “And I can’t wait to see her! Could you run up and get her?”

  “But, Daddy, Maud’s not here! She goes to boarding school in Victoria!” Polly felt dizzy when she realized he didn’t know that.

  “She does? I’m so glad for her—she always wanted to go to boarding school and she’ll be getting a good education. You’ll have to tell me how to get to her school. I could try to get to Victoria tonight and see her tomorrow.”

  “Tonight? But you would come right back here again, wouldn’t you?”

  “Let’s not talk about that yet. I shouldn’t have come at all, but I missed you both so much.” Daddy sounded as if he were going to cry again.

  Polly was bursting with so many questions she didn’t know where to begin. “How—where do you live?” she asked.

  “In the Okanagan.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “About two hundred miles from Vancouver.”

  “But I thought you went to Ontario!”

  “I did at first. But jobs weren’t any easier to get there than they were in Winnipeg. I heard you could earn money picking fruit in B.C., so last summer I rode the rails west and ended up in a place outside of Kelowna. I picked cherries and apples for a farmer and he let me and three other fellows live in his cabin for free all winter. We helped him build a fence.”

  Polly was stunned. All this time Daddy had been living in the same province she did!

  “Maud said you changed your name,” she whispered.

  “I didn’t really change it,” said Daddy, “I just call myself by Michael, my middle name. Now I’m ‘Mike Brown.’ That’s such a common name no one is going to recognize it.”

  “I know why you have to do that,” Polly told him. “You were accused of stealing some money, and that’s why you had to go away and pretend that you drowned! That’s so unfair! You’re innocent!”

  Daddy wiped his hand over his face. “Oh, Doodle, I was hoping you wouldn’t find out about all that until you were much older!” He looked away. “I’m glad you believe I’m innocent, but if you don’t mind I’d rather not talk about it—it’s all water under the bridge now.”

  “Okay.” Polly shivered. “Let’s move into the sun,” she suggested.

  Daddy shook his head. “It’s too risky. Someone might spot us and wonder why you’re talking to a stranger.” He took off his jacket and wrapped it around Polly. “Let me just hold you close for a moment. I can’t stay much longer, Doodle.”

  Polly jumped up. “You can’t go, Daddy—you just came!”

  “I have to, Polly. No one here will recognize me, but I can’t be seen hanging around a young girl—it wouldn’t be proper. I’ll try to find a boat ride to Victoria this evening. I’ll visit Maud and then I’ll go back to the Okanagan. Apple picking has already begun—I don’t want to miss it. All I wanted was to see you both and make sure you’re all right.”

  “Couldn’t you get a job in Vancouver or Victoria? Then at least you could come and see us again!”

  “There’s no work in the cities, Doodle. At least where I’m living I have guaranteed work every summer and a few odd jobs in the winter. And surely this depression will end one day and I can get a proper job. After you and Maud are grown up we can see each other freely.”

  “But that’s such a long time away! I want to be with you now!”

  Daddy hugged her. “I know you do, Doodle. Enough about me, now. I want to hear all about you! Are you happy living with your grandmother? And who’s this crazy pooch?” Tarka was trying to bury Daddy’s hat in the sand.

  “He’s Tarka!” It finally sank in that Daddy didn’t know anything about her life or Maud’s during the last two years. She began to explain about Tarka.

  They sat on the beach for an hour. In a rush of giddy words Polly told Daddy everything she could think of about her life on the island and Maud’s life at school. Every once in a while Daddy would ask a question or make a comment, but mostly he just listened, gazing at her as hungrily as she gazed at him.

  “I haven’t seen any of your mother’s family since her funeral,” he said, “and only your grandmother and aunt came to that. I met Rand and Gregor at the wedding. Gregor was just a little guy and a scamp—he ran his finger through the icing of the wedding cake, I remember.”

  “What wedding?”

  “Your mother’s and mine, of course. Rand married us in the church here.”

  “But then you had a fight with Noni,” remembered Polly.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Noni told me.”

  “Yes, we had a terrible argument,” said Daddy sadly. “At least, your mother did.”

  “What was it about?”

  “You’re too young to know yet, Doodle. I’ll tell you one day. But after that, Una refused to have anything to do with her family. Before she died she made me promise not to either. That wasn’t a hard promise to keep, because I knew they didn’t approve of me. But I’m grateful that your grandmother didn’t lose touch with you girls and that she took you in. I don’t know what would have happened to you if she hadn’t.”

  “We didn’t want to come!” said Polly.

  “I don’t imagine you did, and it must have been very hard at first, Doodle. But from what you’ve told me, it sounds as if you and Maud are very happy here.” He looked wistful.

  “We are,” said Polly slowly. “But I’d rather be with you! Oh, Daddy, why can’t you just take us with you? We could all be together again, the way we used to be!”

  “Nothing will ever be the way it used to be, Doodle. I’m so sorry. I wish we could be together again too—I wish it with all my heart. But it’s just not possible, don’t you see? I can’t provide you with what your grandmother is giving you. In fact, I’m almost glad this all happened, since it got you here. When I lost that job, I was on the verge of breaking my promise to Una and sending you here anyway.”

  “You were?”

  Daddy nodded. “That’s why I couldn’t sleep that last night. I had decided it wasn’t fair to subject you both to poverty when your grandmother was so well off. The next morning, however, I knew I couldn’t bear to let you go. But when … well, anyway, after all that happened that day I didn’t have a choice. Perhaps it was meant to be.”

  Polly flinched at the anguish in his eyes. “It wasn’t meant to be!” she cried. “We’re your daughters! We’re supposed to live with you!”

  Daddy passed his hand over his face again, as if he were trying to erase it. “Dearest Polly … I’m going to say goodbye to you now. Give me the directions to Maud’s school and go off to your grandmother. I’ll see if I can find someone with a boat to take me off the island.”

  Polly started to cry. Daddy held her for a long time. She mumbled the address of Maud’s school and he said he could ask how to get there when he reached Victoria.

  “Oh, my dear, dear little girl,” said Daddy. “How could I have been out of touch with you for so long? I wish we could write to each other.”

  “But Daddy, I’ve written to you!” Polly jumped up. “I’ve been writing letters to you for two years! I’ll give you all of them. Can you wait here a little longer?”

  Daddy nodded. Polly ordered Tarka to stay with him and pelted up to the house, relieved that Noni was still out. She emptied the letters into a paper bag. She added the Christmas present she’d made for him her first year on the island—a painted cardboard bookmark. Then she dashed back, running so fast that she tripped on a root and almost fell. What if Daddy wasn’t there?

  But he was, holding Tarka on his lap and tickling his tummy.

  “Here!” she puffed, handing him the bag. “There’s something I made for you in he
re too.”

  “I’ll be honoured to read your letters and delighted to see your present,” said Daddy. “Now, Doodle, I’m afraid I really have to go.”

  Nothing about Daddy indicated that he wanted to. He looked as if he yearned to curl up on the ground and go to sleep.

  Running so hard had cleared Polly’s mind. “Daddy, you can’t go! You’ll never be able to see Maud—that school’s like a jail! But if you stay here I’ll ask her to come home next weekend and you can see her then!”

  Daddy sighed. He looked like a lost little boy. “You’re right, Polly. I can’t skulk around a girls school—I’m sure to be caught. But how can I stay here? I can’t afford the hotel and it was terribly cold sleeping on the beach.”

  “You can hide out in our cabin!” said Polly.

  “Your cabin?”

  “Yes! Biddy and Vivien and I have an old log cabin in the woods! We’ve fixed it up and it’s really comfortable. It isn’t heated, but I can give you lots of blankets.”

  Daddy looked doubtful, but finally, as if he were too exhausted to object, he let Polly take him by the hand.

  They went along the beach and through the trees to the edge of the road. Polly picked up Tarka and looked up and down. Noni and Aunt Jean would still be in the rectory kitchen—luckily its windows faced the other way. She couldn’t spot any people or horses or cars. She signalled to Daddy and he followed her up the hill and into the thick woods behind the church.

  “Here it is!” Polly said proudly, pushing through the branches. “We call it Oz. Didn’t we do a good job of fixing it up? Here’s a mattress for your bed,” she said, after Daddy had ducked his head to enter the low doorway. “I’ll bring you some more blankets and a pillow. And food and drinking water. You can wash in water from the rain barrel—look, here’s a bowl you can use. I’ll bring you some soap and a towel …” Frantically Polly tried to keep track of a growing list in her head.

  Why wasn’t Daddy saying anything? “Do you think it’s all right?” Polly asked anxiously. “I’m sorry it’s so dark, but we haven’t got any glass.”