A Handful of Time

by Kit Pearson

  “But she was nice,” protested Patricia softly. Hannah had looked after her all day until she went to kinder-garten, and after school later on. She’d told her stories and let her help make cookies.

  “Nice or not, I don’t agree with this modern notion of mothers working. I told your parents so and unfortunately we had such a great argument about it that I didn’t visit again. And every time I’ve asked Ruth to let you come to me, she’s put me off. Photographs are all very well, but they’re no substitute. But now I have you in person at last. I’d like the two of us to become friends, Patricia. Your mother and I have always clashed. But you and I can begin again.”

  If being friends meant her grandmother talking to her as if she were an adult, Patricia wanted no part of it. She didn’t want to hear about past arguments. But then her grandmother went much further.

  “Now, I want to hear your version of this sad business with your parents,” she pronounced, handing Patricia a mug of tea. “Ruth won’t tell me, of course. But you can. I’ve always approved of your father—he’s a sensible, decent man. What did she do to drive him away? Too headstrong as usual, I suspect.”

  Patricia was so stunned, she didn’t even notice the mug was burning her hand. Nan’s voice had an almost satisfied ring to it, as if she had known all along that Ruth’s marriage would fail. She began to grill Patricia, who barely whispered her replies.

  “Is there a specific reason they’re separating?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is your mother seeing another man?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What about your father? Is he seeing someone else?”

  Patricia revived a little; this was nobody’s business. “I don’t know,” she said more loudly.

  Nan sighed. “Oh, Patricia.” Her voice softened. “I’m not trying to pry—I have to ask you because Ruth will never tell me.”

  Patricia set her untasted tea on the table. She was freezing cold and there was a painful cramp in her stomach. “I have to leave,” she muttered. “I don’t feel well.”

  Nan became a charming grandmother again. “Of course, poor darling. Is it your tummy?”

  Patricia nodded and pushed out of La Petite. She ran to the cottage, dashed into the bathroom and sat on the toilet for a long time. Then she spent the rest of the afternoon shivering under the heavy quilt on Kelly’s bed.

  A KNOCK ON THE DOOR woke her from a jangled dream.

  “Patricia?” called Aunt Ginnie in a concerned voice. “Do you feel better? Do you want to get up and try eating something?”

  Patricia got out of bed groggily. She felt nothing at all, as if her body had disappeared—the way it did in the past.

  At least Nan was out for dinner at the Thorpes. Patricia went through the motions of eating, then played checkers with Maggie in a dazed stupor.

  “I won again!” crowed Maggie. “You’re not very good at this, are you, Potty. Want to play for money?”

  Patricia heard Nan coming up the back steps and hung her head over the checkerboard.

  “Hello, my darlings,” said the syrupy voice. “Having a nice, cosy evening? And Patricia, are you better?”

  Patricia nodded, but then wished she’d thought of saying no so she could go back to bed.

  Aunt Ginnie carried in cocoa as Kelly and Trevor burst through the door, out of breath and giggling.

  “What’s green, red and yellow and rides up and down?” Trevor asked his grandmother.

  “I have no idea, pet.”

  “A pickle, a tomato and a banana in an elevator.”

  The laughing group settled around the fire. Patricia stroked Peggy’s head for comfort. Once again, everyone was feeling cheerful except herself.

  “You remind me of Wilfred with your fooling, Trevor,” said Nan. “He loved practical jokes. Once he disguised his voice and telephoned our house to apply for a job as a maid. Mother was completely taken in, until he told her he had to be paid in cigars!”

  “Who’s Wilfred?” Maggie asked her. “Do I know him?”

  Once again, Patricia heard about Wilfred. Over the years, however, the story had become elaborated: Wilfred had died the very day of the wedding. Nan’s voice gloated over the details as if the memory were an aching tooth she kept prodding. Even through her misery, Patricia couldn’t help feeling a glimmer of pity for the sentimental, disappointed old woman.

  Kelly yawned obviously and Aunt Ginnie looked worried. “Now, Mama, that’s enough about Wilfred. What’s past is past …” She nodded knowingly towards the children.

  But Nan couldn’t seem to stop. She began to tell Maggie, the only one who was really listening, about the watch Wilfred had given her. Patricia had been dozing, curled up against the warm dog. Now her stomach lurched again.

  “It was a Half Hunter,” said Nan dreamily. “It had a glass window so you could read the hands without opening it and it was fourteen carat gold. But it was lost years ago.”

  “How did it get lost?” asked Maggie.

  “Through my own carelessness …” Her voice drifted to a stop.

  Trevor put a new log on the fire and it spat and popped as it flared up. Outside on the lake a loon cried faintly. Patricia shuddered. She could change that sad look on Nan’s face—if she gave her back the watch.

  “If you had married that guy, Nan,” said Trevor brightly, “none of us would be here! You wouldn’t have had Uncle Rod and Aunt Ruth and Mum—we wouldn’t even exist!”

  “And what a shame that would have been,” said Nan. “No Trevor to tell me jokes, just imagine. But I married your grandfather.”

  “You would rather have married Wilfred, though.” Kelly’s honest blue eyes looked calmly at her grandmother.

  “Kelly!” admonished her mother.

  Patricia steeled herself for Nan’s reaction. But Nan’s answer was mild. “Wilfred was my first love, Kelly, but your grandfather and I had a good life together. Despite the difference in our ages, we made our marriage work. Which is more than I can say for Ruth,” she sniffed.

  Patricia flinched and sat upright.

  “Mama …” warned Aunt Ginnie, but at the same time Kelly asked, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean Patricia’s mother. Marriage is a lifelong commitment and—”

  “Mama!” Aunt Ginnie leaned forward and shook her mother’s shoulder. “That is a topic we will not discuss!”

  It was too late. Kelly and Trevor turned to Patricia with surprised, fascinated faces.

  Patricia jumped up and faced her grandmother. Anger flooded her like water from an unplugged dam. She choked with its force and struggled to turn it into words.

  “I—I hate you!” she burst out finally. She ran into Kelly’s bedroom and slammed the door.

  WHEN KELLY JOINED her an hour later she lay beside Patricia quietly for a few minutes. Then she whispered, “Don’t worry, Potty, we’ll keep it a secret. Mum made us promise not to talk about it.”

  Her voice was kind, but Patricia was tired of promises. Her anger had released a kind of cold power inside; it was easy to direct it upon Kelly and she refused to answer.

  After her cousin fell asleep she began to plan. She had to get back to the past as soon as possible, where no one knew about her or her parents, where she could be invisible. But she couldn’t go until after Nan left on Wednesday.

  Then she almost laughed out loud. She’d thought she didn’t have enough time to be by herself this week, but she’d forgotten that, while she was in the past, no time passed in the present. She could go now! All she needed were the few seconds it took to wind the watch.

  But today had been so harrowing. She was too drained to creep up to the attic and get the watch. Tomorrow morning would do. Then she would go back for a long time. Maybe she would just keep winding up the watch and stay forever.

  12

  The next morning Aunt Ginnie called Patricia into her bedroom when she was dressed. “Your Nan didn’t realize what she was saying last night. Lately she’s
been rambling more and more and I worry about her.” She sighed. “It’s hard to accept it when people grow old.”

  At breakfast the other children passed her the cereal before she asked for it and let her have the prize inside. Then Nan took her aside and apologized. “I got carried away, darling. Your mother has always had that effect on me. And I wasn’t aware Ginnie hadn’t told the others. Will you forgive your old Nan?”

  I will never forgive you, thought Patricia. She ducked to avoid Nan’s kiss but it caught her on the side of her head.

  “I don’t feel like going swimming,” Patricia told Aunt Ginnie in a tight voice. “Is it all right if I stay here?”

  “Of course, dear.” Aunt Ginnie gave her a look of such loving concern that Patricia almost shouted, “Leave me alone!”

  A little later, when she was alone, she savoured her solitude for a few minutes. She had never been in the cottage by herself, either in the past or in the present. The small house, layered with the accumulations of generations, fitted comfortably into either time. Patricia rocked in the creaking wicker chair, staring at Maggie’s colouring book lying on the rug, its pages held open by Ginnie’s wooden crayon box. It wouldn’t have surprised her if both Ruth and Kelly had come into the room together.

  But she knew she had to wind up the watch to really get back to the past. She shook herself alert and climbed the stairs to the attic.

  A cloud of stale air engulfed her. Her nose tickled with dust as she picked up the shoebox and took out the watch. With much difficulty she pushed up a stiff window and squatted on the floor beside it, gulping in the fresh breeze.

  For a few seconds she gazed reverently at the watch. It was miraculous that a portion of the past was contained in a golden disk she could hold in her hand. A handful of time. A time that somehow claimed her more than her own. How lucky she was to have found the watch exactly when she needed it. But how had it become lost? She wished she could solve its mystery.

  She twisted the knob, listened to the reassuring metallic tick, then hung the watch around her neck. She turned her head. Now there were two unmade beds in the attic. Boys’ shirts and socks littered the floor. She wondered how Gordon and Rodney could bear to sleep in such a stuffy room.

  At first Patricia couldn’t remember where the watch had left her last time. Then she recalled sitting on the beach while Ruth read to Ginnie. They would still be there, about to return to lunch. Footsteps moved around the kitchen below. She crept down the stairs and found Ruth’s mother making sandwiches.

  She was slicing bread efficiently. Patricia watched her with distaste, amazed at her own stupidity. She had tried to escape Nan by leaving her in the present. But she had forgotten—how could she?—that Nan was also part of the past. Usually she was able to cast off her own time and worries as soon as she wound the watch. Now her much younger grandmother’s piercing eyes reminded her painfully of them.

  But at least, in this time, Nan wasn’t aware of Patricia. Here she couldn’t question or embarrass her. She didn’t even know her granddaughter existed.

  Patricia stuck her tongue out at her. Then she went out to the front steps to wait for Ruth.

  TO MAKE SURE that she would stay in the past for as long a time as possible, Patricia wound the watch so that it would last for two days, and then rewound it as quickly as possible whenever it ran down and took her back to the attic. She soon became used to these brief flashes to the present—like turning over in her sleep and opening her eyes for an instant.

  One evening after dinner she was surprised to hear Rodney mention that the family had been at the lake for only a week. “It’s great that we still have almost two months until school starts,” he said to Gordon. They were cleaning the telescope on the verandah. Ruth was bent over her puzzle.

  Patricia did a rapid calculation and realized he was right. Only a week had passed here since she had first seen them playing badminton and arguing. It had been longer than that in her own time because of all the days during Nan’s visit when she hadn’t come.

  “Is everything ready for tonight?” Rodney whispered to Gordon.

  Ruth looked up suspiciously. “What’s happening? What are you doing tonight?”

  “Nothing’s happening, infant,” said Gordon. “Run away and leave us alone. Shouldn’t you be helping Ma with the dishes?”

  “They’re done. I have as much right to be here as you have.” Ruth’s brothers just grinned, sharing a secret.

  That night Ruth slept in her clothes. She kept the curtains open and seemed to be listening for something.

  Patricia yawned. She wished they could go to sleep. In the morning she had swum a lot; she was beginning to relish the biting water that was colder and cleaner than it was in the present.

  But Ruth continued to bob restlessly, looking out the window. Then she listened especially hard, pushed the window up high, lowered it again onto the top notch of the piece of wood that held it open, and squirmed out.

  Patricia followed her reluctantly. She was not much of a climber and it was tricky to copy the way Ruth swung herself into a tree and slithered down. But she didn’t want to miss anything and, soon, hurrying to keep up with Ruth’s rapid trot, she was wide awake with curiosity.

  The stars blazed overhead and Patricia kept her head up in wonder as she ran along the road. They were going in the direction of the Indian Reserve.

  Soon they heard muffled laughter. Ahead of them was a group of teenagers: Gordon and Rodney, two other boys and two girls.

  “I caught you!” Ruth called triumphantly.

  Patricia watched Rodney’s startled face with satisfaction. “What are you doing here?” he said angrily. Gordon glowered at his sister.

  “I could ask you that,” said Ruth. She tucked her hands into her pockets and looked up calmly at the six figures surrounding her. “You’re going to raid the camp, aren’t you?”

  “You get home right now, Ruth,” ordered Gordon.

  “You can’t make me. I want to come, too. If you don’t let me, I’ll tell.”

  “Looks like you don’t have a choice, Reid,” said one of the boys. His red hair matched the girls’—he must be their brother. Patricia recognized them from the store: they were the Thorpes, the ones who’d asked Rodney to the marshmallow roast.

  “Let her come,” said the other boy. It was Tom Turner. “She’s pretty gutsy following us.”

  Her brothers refused to speak to her, but the girls were friendly as they continued along the shadowy road. “This is spooky!” one of them shivered. “Are you scared, Ruth?”

  Ruth shook her head. They reached a sign that Patricia had seen before: St. Stephen’s Church Retreat. But now it was freshly painted and the long cabins beyond it looked new.

  “What do we do now?” giggled the girl they called Barbara.

  “We’ll just give the kids a scare,” said Gordon. “You and Winnie and Ruth come with me. Paul and Tom and Rodney can take care of the cabin on the other side. When I hoot twice like an owl, Paul, that will be the signal. Rodney has everything you need. Then run! We’ll meet back at the Owens’ pier.”

  “But what if they catch us?” asked Winnie.

  “They never have. Everything’s so dark, even the councillors must be asleep. By the time they wake up properly we’ll be gone.”

  Even though no one could catch her, Patricia was glad she was with Gordon as their group crept through the trees to the nearest cabin. She felt as excited as Ruth looked.

  Gordon halted the three girls and instructed them in an authoritative voice. He likes bossing people, thought Patricia, but he’s good at it. Rodney likes it, too, but he’s not.

  “After I hoot,” whispered Gordon, “start making spooky noises and throw these through the window. Then follow me as fast as you can.”

  He handed out knotted plastic bags filled with water. Then the four figures sneaked up to the glassless windows. Patricia peered in and saw a dozen sleeping bodies rolled in blankets. She waited tensely for Gordon’
s signal.

  “Hoo-hoo-hoooooo …” and then the same call again.

  The girls began to moan. “Whoooooooo …” Four assorted ghostly voices floated on the night air and four arms flung water bombs into the cabin. A fifth voice made the spookiest noises, but no one heard. Patricia was enjoying herself. After all, she was more like a ghost than any of them.

  Shrieks and thumps came from inside. An older male voice shouted, “Who’s there? Stop!”

  But now Patricia was flying down the road with the others. Her hair whipped backwards and she laughed with exhilaration. Never before had she done something mischievous on purpose. It felt deliciously wicked.

  The shouting voice followed them, but it faded as they cut through the bushes and stumbled along the stony beach to the Owens’ cottage. It wasn’t until they collapsed on the pier that Patricia noticed one person was missing.

  “Ruth’s gone!” she cried, but of course they couldn’t hear her. Rodney, Tom and Paul arrived seconds later. Everyone whispered at once; no one commented on Ruth’s absence.

  It’s as if she doesn’t exist! thought Patricia angrily. As if she were invisible, like me.

  Finally Tom said, “Hey, Reid, where’s your sister?”

  They all looked around. “Oh, no!” groaned Rodney. “I knew we shouldn’t have let her come.”

  “She’s a pest,” agreed Gordon. “I guess we’ll have to go back and look for her.”

  His voice was exasperated. They don’t even care, thought Patricia. She wished she could tell Gordon and Rodney exactly what she thought of them.

  “We have to get home,” Paul apologized. “My mother’s a light sleeper and she might get up and find out we’re gone. There’s no point in all of us staying, anyhow.”

  He and his sisters slipped away into the darkness. “Let us know what happens,” whispered Barbara as they left. At least she sounded concerned.

  Gordon, Rodney Tom and Patricia trudged back towards the camp. Rodney looked apprehensive. “It’s dangerous to go too close to it. Maybe she’s hiding in the bushes and she’ll come out when she sees us.”