by Kit Pearson
Daddy looked around at the chinks in the walls that they had stuffed with rags, the worn rug on the floor, and the chairs they had fashioned out of stumps. “It’s a grand cabin, Doodle, but what if you get caught bringing me things?”
“I won’t,” said Polly firmly. “Anyway, I’m always bringing stuff out here. No one cares. And maybe Noni will let me stay the night—sometimes I do. We’re going on a picnic for my birthday, but I’ll ask her if I can sleep out here after it.”
Daddy looked at his watch. “It’s two o’clock. What time is your picnic?”
“Three,” said Polly. “I’ll go and get you some food right away!”
She ran back to the house—still no Noni, thank goodness. Ransacking the pantry, she found a piece of chicken pie and part of a cake, some carrots and some apples. She added soap and toilet paper and a towel. Then she filled a bottle with water. She wrapped everything in Maud’s blankets and put Maud’s pillow under her arm.
Polly’s face was bright red and sweat was dripping into her eyes by the time she’d pushed through the trees. She paused at the door. Would Daddy still be there? Maybe this was all a dream and the cabin would be empty.
But there he was, sound asleep on the mattress. Polly draped another blanket over him and carefully set the food and water on the table. She studied her father’s sleeping face: it looked much more peaceful than when he was awake. All Polly wanted to do was curl up beside him, but she had to get ready for the picnic. Polly longed to telephone Maud and tell her what had happened, but there was no time to before they set out in the boats.
The next hours went by in a daze. Polly smiled and talked and waded as if someone else were doing these things. She wouldn’t swim, claiming the water was too cold; she was afraid that if she took off her shorts she would lose the necklace she had hidden in her pocket.
Luckily everyone was so noisy and busy that they didn’t notice how distracted she was. Vivien and Biddy kept tumbling off a huge log they were trying to ride. Aunt Jean stretched out on her back in the sun and shrieked when Gregor splashed her. Uncle Rand and Noni fashioned a table out of driftwood and stones.
Before the picnic, Gregor and Biddy had a swimming race around the tiny island. Tarka’s and Bramble’s barks joined the noisy cheering. Biddy was an excellent swimmer and she almost beat Gregor.
“Next year!” she told him as Aunt Jean wrapped her in a towel.
They sat around the low table and stuffed themselves with food. Every once in a while Polly fingered the necklace in her pocket. She couldn’t believe the others couldn’t see her enormous secret, as if she had turned purple.
“You’re awfully dreamy, chickie,” said Aunt Jean. “Something on your mind?”
“She’s thinking about being twelve!” said Gregor. “Pretty soon you’ll have boys chasing after you, Pollywog!”
Polly swatted him with the end of her napkin, while Aunt Jean scolded. “Don’t be silly, Gregor. Polly’s far too young to be interested in boys! You certainly are getting to be bonnie, though,” she added.
“She looks more and more like her mother,” said Noni sadly. “How proud she would be of you, Polly!” She tried to light the candles on Polly’s cake, but the breeze kept blowing them out. “Never mind,” said Noni. “Just make a wish anyway.”
For two years Polly’s birthday wish had been that Daddy would come back. Now her wish had come true! She smiled at her family and friends gazing at her with so much affection. If only she could tell them!
I wish that Daddy could stay here always, she thought.
After it was dark, Gregor built a small bonfire and they sat around it singing songs, and lying on their backs looking at the stars. Usually this was Polly’s favourite part of being on the Boot, but all she could think about was getting back to the cabin and Daddy.
Finally they lit the lanterns on the boats, loaded them, and made their way back. Uncle Rand drove Biddy and Vivien home.
“Noni, can I sleep in the cabin tonight?” Polly asked.
“All by yourself? But Polly, why would you want to do that?”
“It’s—it’s such a beautiful night. And I wouldn’t be alone—I’d have Tarka.”
“No, hen,” said Noni firmly. “The nights are too cold and dark and you have school tomorrow. No more sleeping in the cabin until the spring, and then only if your friends are with you.”
Polly sighed; she should have realized Noni would say no. She kissed her good-night and went to bed.
Noni came up a few minutes later. Polly lay there stiffly, wondering if she could sneak out. But the stairs were so creaky Noni would hear her for sure. Polly could call that she was going to the privy, but that wouldn’t give her enough time to get to the cabin. There was no hope of seeing Daddy tonight; she would just have to wait until the morning.
Polly tossed for hours. Was Daddy warm enough? She kept seeing his tense and troubled face. Maybe he would leave after all.
It was thrilling to have him here, but now everything was incredibly complicated. What if Daddy was seen? How was she going to keep Biddy and Vivien away from the cabin? How was she going to persuade Maud to come home?
Polly clutched Tarka, feeling six instead of twelve. She yearned for Maud, for advice and comfort.
Most of all she yearned for Daddy to be the way he used to be, for him to be cheerful and confident and to take care of her the way he always had. Now it was as if Daddy was the child and she was in charge. She should have made her wishes more specific; she should have wished for Daddy not to have changed.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE LONG WEEK
That was the longest and most difficult week of Polly’s life. It was even harder than after Daddy had left them. Then she’d been like a limp doll, passed from her house to the foster home to Mrs. Tuttle to Noni.
Now Polly had to think clearly every moment, to plan and connive and steal and lie. She sat in church on Sunday and recited with the rest of the congregation that she had “done those things that we ought not to have done.” Polly had no idea then how many of those things there would be.
She had stolen and lied even before church began. While Noni was getting dressed, Polly had taken the leftover bacon from breakfast and put it with some bread and plums in a bag. She’d made tea and filled a Thermos with it. Then she’d stuffed it all into her rucksack.
“I’m just taking Tarka for a walk,” she called up to Noni.
“A walk? He’s already been out, hasn’t he? I don’t think there’s enough time before church, hen.”
“He acts like he’s going to throw up,” said Polly.
“Then you’d better take him! If you’re not back, I’ll go ahead and you can meet me there.”
Polly called Tarka and dashed through the trees to the cabin. Daddy was sitting outside it, shaving. He’d filled the wash bowl with rainwater and was frowning at his face in a small mirror. He must have had the razor and mirror in his rucksack.
When he saw Polly, his frown changed to a wide smile. “It’s my Doodle!” Polly flew into his arms almost as quickly as she had the day before. “I can’t stay,” she puffed, handing him the food. “I have to go to church and then we have Sunday dinner, so I won’t be able to come back until this afternoon. There’s hot tea in here.”
“Hot tea! You’re an angel. Go back now, Doodle. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
Polly kissed him, ran back to the house to deposit Tarka and fetch her hat, and caught up with Noni at the church door.
Her next lie to Noni was when she asked her after dinner if she could phone Maud.
“But you know telephone calls are only for emergencies, hen,” said Noni. “Can’t you write to her?”
“I need to ask her to come home next weekend and a letter might not reach her in time,” said Polly.
“Come home? Maud won’t want to do that. You know how involved she is with school, especially now that she’s head girl.”
Polly made her voice sound weepy. “But I
really miss Maud! She couldn’t be here for my birthday and I was hoping she could come this weekend instead.”
Noni looked surprised. “Why Polly, I thought you were used to Maud being away! Is there anything bothering you?”
Polly shook her head.
“Are you sure?” Noni flushed. “You haven’t—you haven’t started to grow up, have you?”
Polly shook her head again, her cheeks as pink as Noni’s. Maud had already informed her in a very practical way about getting her monthlies, but Noni had never brought up the subject.
“No, it’s not … that.” Oh, help—what could she say? Perhaps part of the truth … “I just—I just need to talk to Maud about our father.” Her quivering voice disgusted her—she sounded eight, not twelve.
Noni pressed her lips together. “Your father? All right, then, hen—you may phone Maud. But don’t be too disappointed if she can’t come.”
“Thanks, Noni.” Polly walked away quickly so Noni wouldn’t see her guilty face.
“Come home? That’s impossible. I’ve already told you, I can’t come until Thanksgiving. I have too many responsibilities.”
“It’s really important, Maud. It’s the most important thing that’s ever happened!”
“But what is it?”
“I can’t tell you on the phone. You just have to come!”
“It can’t be that important. Can’t you write me about it?”
“No! Oh, Maud, just come!” Polly’s voice broke. “Please … believe me that you have to.”
“Settle down, Poll. Are you in trouble?”
That wasn’t exactly the right word, but it would do. “Yes, I’m in real trouble and so are you if you don’t come!”
“Is it something to do with—?”
“Yes!”
There was a short silence, then Maud sighed. “All right, Doodle, I’ll come. I really wish you could say more, though. Have you heard from—?”
“Maud, just come and you’ll find out everything. Come on Friday night. The longer you can stay, the better.”
“Okay. See you on Friday, then.”
Whew! Polly had to sit down to recover. At least Maud suspected it had something to do with Daddy. How amazed she would be that he was here!
Polly had the rest of the afternoon to spend with Daddy. First she found some leftover pork and a few of the bottles of beer that Noni kept in the house for Uncle Rand. Thinking a moment about what Daddy liked, she added some books and the chess set from the living room.
“I’m going to our cabin, Noni,” she called. At least she didn’t have to lie about that! Polly rushed out before Noni noticed her rucksack full of stolen goods.
Daddy was still sitting outside in the sunshine, rolling a cigarette. After he hugged Polly and thanked her for the food, he looked serious.
“Doodle, I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me, but it’s not right for me to be here. I think I should just go to Victoria and try to see Maud. I could telephone her and maybe we could meet somewhere.”
“But Daddy, Maud’s coming on Friday! It would be much easier for you to see her here, and you’d have more time.”
“Friday is a long way off. It’s too much for you. I hate the thought of you having to keep me a secret. And I’m sure you’re having to steal all this food, aren’t you? That’s not right, Doodle.”
“It’s not really stealing,” said Polly. “We have lots of food, and they would feed you if they knew you were here. And I spend a lot of time at Oz anyway. Please, Daddy, you have to stay!”
As he had yesterday, Daddy looked too exhausted to object. “All right, Polly … I feel very uncomfortable about this, but I’ll stay until a week tomorrow. But if it’s too difficult to hide me, we’ll think of something else.”
She showed Daddy the books she had brought and he examined them greedily. “These look perfect! And chess! Shall we have a game?”
Daddy had taught Polly how to play chess when she was six. They pulled the table and another stump chair out into the sun. Tarka dozed beside them, keeping an eye out for squirrels.
“Thank you so much for the beautiful bookmark, Doodle,” said Daddy. “I’ll treasure it always. And I’ve read all your letters. I’m so touched that you wrote so many.”
“I tried to, but sometimes I’d forget for a long time,” said Polly.
“That’s entirely understandable. What touches me the most, Polly, is how happy you are here. You seem to be thriving on the island. You have a loving family and friends, you’ve become strong and capable, and you have opportunities I would never have been able to give you, like art lessons and piano lessons and the chance to go away to a good school.”
“I’d rather have been with you, though,” Polly whispered.
“I know, Doodle. And I know how much anguish I caused you. Things turned out for the best, though, didn’t they?”
Polly wanted to scream No! She couldn’t deny anything Daddy had said, however: she was thriving here.
“What moves can the bishop make?” she asked, trying to still the confusion inside her.
The next days settled into a routine. For the past year Mrs. Hooper had not been arriving until after Polly had gone to school. Polly would make toast and tea, take them up to Noni in bed, and eat breakfast with her. Then she’d walk Tarka.
There was lots of time, therefore, to pack the rucksack with Daddy’s food for the day and take it to him. She would talk to him for a few minutes, then give him a hug and kiss, run back to the house, go upstairs as usual to say goodbye to Noni, and wait with her bike in front until Biddy stopped for her.
Polly sat in school plotting and worrying. “You’re daydreaming this week!” Mrs. Oliver told her, when Polly didn’t answer a question. Polly was usually such an attentive pupil, however, that Mrs. Oliver didn’t scold her.
Biddy and Vivien were not as tolerant of Polly’s vagueness. “Polly, it’s your turn!” said Vivien when they were playing hopscotch in the squares they had scratched in the schoolyard.
“Sorry,” muttered Polly.
Biddy looked puzzled and hurt when Polly didn’t laugh at her description of how the twins had cut each other’s hair.
At least the weather was sunny and dry, so Daddy was warm enough at night. He and Polly sat outside the cabin and talked and talked, catching up on two years.
Polly wanted to hear about all his adventures. “Tell me about escaping and finding the boat!”
But Daddy didn’t want to talk about that—he said it was too painful. Instead he told her how he had hopped onto a train heading east. He’d had to run along the side of a freight car and jump for the ladder, then lie flat on the top. “At first it was a thrill, lying there with the breeze in my hair and the blue sky above, but then it rained and I was miserable,” he said. As he talked, his voice regained some of the spark it used to have when he told her stories.
In Toronto, Daddy ate from soup kitchens and slept with a group of other men who lived outside—he called it a “jungle.” They cooked stew over a fire and someone always had a harmonica. “I liked those fellows,” said Daddy. “We had a real camaraderie. Sometimes I’d recite for them—they called me the Thespian.”
Polly grinned. Daddy knew all of Robert Service’s poetry by heart and he could make the rhythmic words come alive.
“When I decided to return west, I was lucky enough to find an empty boxcar,” he told Polly. “I climbed into a gunny sack and I was snug as a bug!”
Polly was sad to see Daddy’s tattered clothes. Even when he’d been unemployed he had always worn a clean shirt and creased pants. “Daddy, do you have enough money?” she asked.
He flushed. “I have some. Enough for the boat rides. When I get back to Vancouver, I’ll hitch a ride to Kelowna—that’s what I did on the way here.”
“I bet Gregor has some old clothes that would fit you,” Polly said. “Uncle Rand’s would be too short. I could sneak up to Gregor’s room in the rectory and get them.”
&n
bsp; Daddy laughed ruefully. “Oh, Polly Wolly Doodle, I’m turning you into a thief! No, don’t you try to steal me clothes. It’s bad enough that you’re stealing food. I’m fine the way I am—I have one change of underwear and I’ve washed out some in the rainwater.”
Polly had noticed his underwear hanging on a branch. “It wouldn’t be stealing—it would be borrowing!” she said. “I’m sure Gregor wouldn’t mind if he knew.”
“He’d mind, believe me! They all would, especially your grandmother. I can just imagine how furious she’d be to find me here.”
“Daddy, I still don’t understand … why was Noni so mad at my mother and you?”
“She didn’t like me,” said Daddy. “None of them did.” He looked embarrassed. “I can’t tell you all the reasons yet, Doodle. But I’ll tell you some of them. I didn’t have much education and my job as a clerk was leading nowhere. They thought I was far too young to be marrying their daughter—I was only eighteen. And they didn’t approve of my parents. My father had been dead for years, but when they questioned me about him—it was more like grilling—they found out he’d been a bricklayer. When I told them my mother—your grannie—was Ukrainian, that really clinched their disapproval. I was glad that Mother was ill and couldn’t come to the wedding—who knows how they would have treated her?”
“But I don’t understand,” said Polly. “What’s wrong with being a bricklayer or a Ukrainian?”
“Nothing, of course,” said Daddy. “But sometimes people decide that one group is not as good as another. That’s called prejudice. I don’t mean to put down your grandmother and aunt and uncle, Polly. They’re basically good folks, but they can also be narrow-minded and snobbish.”
Polly flinched, remembering how Noni had behaved towards Mrs. Osaka.
“I bet my mother didn’t care who your parents were,” she told him. “Of course she didn’t,” said Daddy softly. “Your mother loved me for myself.”
He looked so sad that Polly changed the subject. She began to tell Daddy how much she dreaded going to St. Winifred’s next year.
