by Kit Pearson
What a relief to be here! The curtains were drawn against the sun, so the house was dim and cool. Maisie knew this living room as well as Granny’s, but it couldn’t be more different from the rectory’s tidy space. Dominated by a huge blackened fireplace, it overflowed with worn fat armchairs, stuffed bookshelves, and many photos in tarnished silver frames. Clary’s toys and clothes were scattered on the floor and chairs, and a small glass stood on a plate, encrusted with milk and surrounded by crumbs.
Maisie went upstairs. Una’s room was in the attic like hers, but it was much larger. Two white iron beds were in it, each with a fluffy sheepskin mat beside it. Maisie had spent countless nights sleeping in the far bed.
She walked around with a mixture of guilt and ownership. Of course she shouldn’t be snooping, but this felt like her room as much as Una’s. Surely Una wouldn’t mind if Maisie came up here—would she?
What Maisie saw made her frown. The top of Una’s chest of drawers had always displayed her collection of china horses, but they had disappeared. Now it was covered with bobby pins, a compact, eye makeup . . . even a tube of lipstick! On the walls were pinned some of the glossy photographs of movie stars and singers that the girls in Maisie’s class were always sending away for.
Quivering with guilt, Maisie opened Una’s closet. Una’s school uniform was hanging there, along with other clothes she knew. But what was this? Two cotton dresses, one pink and one green, in the new full-skirted style. More full skirts . . . even a crinoline! And, on the floor of the closet beside Una’s saddle shoes, a pair of pumps with little heels!
Now a kind of desperate recklessness overcame Maisie’s guilt. She opened a drawer. There lay nylons and garter belts, a pink gingham two-piece bathing suit—and a padded brassiere!
Maisie was so shocked that she had to sit down on one of the beds. Leaning against the wall and cramming jujubes into her mouth, she tried to absorb this new information.
Until last year Una had lived in the hotel with her grandparents during the week and attended the tiny school on the island. On some weekends she would go to Vancouver to be with her mother, Maud. On other weekends, and every holiday, Una and Maud would live in this house, which they had inherited from Aunt Clara. It belonged to Polly, as well, but she only came here in the summers with her husband and child.
But since the island school only went up to grade eight, last fall Una had gone to live with her mother in Vancouver. There she had started attending Ashdown Academy, a private girls’ school. Her letters had told Maisie every detail about her new friends there. They sounded hoity-toity to Maisie: one had her own horse, and another went to Hawaii every winter holiday.
Una liked most of her teachers, and she had discovered she was an excellent tennis player. Her music teacher encouraged her talent at the piano. “There’s so much to do in the city compared with the island!” she had written to Maisie. “Movie theatres and concerts and a swimming pool and lots of stores.”
All this had made Maisie nervous, especially hearing about the new friends. But when she had seen her cousin at Christmas, Una was the same as she had always been. Her room was the same, as well. They’d spent much of Christmas week up here, escaping the adults and playing Monopoly.
But what about now? Maisie glanced around. The handsome faces of Mario Lanza and Perry Como seemed to mock her. Was Una turning into a frivolous teenager like Maisie’s friends in Duncan? If so, would she still like Maisie?
Even though she was stuffed with jujubes, Maisie unwrapped the chocolate bar. But after a few bites she put it down, feeling sick. She had invaded her best friend’s privacy and found out things about her she didn’t want to know.
It serves you right for prying, Maisie thought savagely. Now, instead of being impatient for Una’s arrival, she dreaded it.
Chapter Three
Nancy and George
As usual on boat days, there was a small crowd on the wharf waiting for their mail. “You’re a quiet lass this morning,” said Granny. “Are you excited about having Una back?”
Maisie nodded, even though she was terrified. Please, God, let Una be the same, she prayed, as the Queen Mary drew up.
Suddenly the family was upon her. “Maisie! How lovely to see you after so long!” Many pairs of arms hugged her at the same time. It was like being in the embrace of a friendly octopus.
For a moment Maisie could hardly distinguish between them. Polly, Chester, Clary, Uncle Daniel . . . but not Maud, who had to work and wouldn’t be here until the weekend. And not Aunt Esther, who had stayed in Vancouver with her brother’s family. But where was Una? Surely not this glamorous-looking teenager.
“Hi, George!” she whispered, kissing Maisie’s cheek.
It was Una! Maisie managed to croak, “Hi, Nancy.” At least they were still using their secret names for each other.
But Una looked like she was in disguise. Her formerly straight hair curled softly around her cheeks, and she wore a chic swirly dress, silver sandals, and red lipstick. The seams on her nylons were as straight as pencils, and there were small butterfly designs on the heels.
Maisie couldn’t bear to look at her and turned to the others. Everyone was talking at once; they were the noisiest group on the wharf.
“How was the funeral?” Granny asked.
“It was beautiful,” said Polly.
“Who’s that?” demanded Clary, pointing at Maisie.
Polly laughed. “Oh, Clary, what a silly! This is your cousin Maisie! Don’t you remember her from Christmas? She’s going to babysit you this summer while Daddy and I work.”
Maisie couldn’t help smiling. How Clary had changed! At Christmas you couldn’t understand her, but now she chatted clearly. It was as if she had finally become a real person.
“I don’t want a babysitter,” said Clary.
Chester laughed. “Don’t listen to her, Maisie. She’s become very contrary now that she’s two and a half, haven’t you, Clary?”
“I’m not contrary!”
This made all of them laugh. Clary looked indignant and marched away. Chester went after her, and the rest of them followed to the road.
“Have you had a good year at school, Maisie?” Uncle Daniel asked, as they paused at the hotel. He was such a silent, awkward man, but always kind.
Maisie shrugged. “I guess so.” School belonged to another time.
He smiled. “We’re so glad to have you back on the island. You and Una are going to have a fine summer.”
No, we aren’t—Una has already ruined it! thought Maisie . . . but of course she couldn’t tell him that.
“Dinner’s at six!” Granny called, as Uncle Daniel headed to the hotel.
Now there was no choice but to walk with Una. They lingered behind the others. Maisie had to say something. “How—how was the funeral?”
“It was really interesting—I’ve never been to a Jewish funeral before. The family wore torn black ribbons to show their grief. And there weren’t any flowers. Afterwards we went to the house where they’re staying to sit shiva—that involves bringing food and being with the mourners. Shiva means ‘seven’—people will come over to visit David and his mother and Bubby for seven days. He explained it all to me. I feel so sorry for him, losing his dad.”
As usual, Una twitched with nervous energy. She kept putting her fingers to her mouth, as if still chewing on the end of one of the braids she used to have.
“Why wasn’t the funeral in Boston?” asked Maisie.
“Uncle Ben wanted to be buried in Vancouver with his parents. David was really close to him—I can’t imagine how awful he must feel.”
Maisie hadn’t thought about David Meyer for years. He and his parents used to come often to the hotel that Uncle Daniel and Aunt Esther owned. All day he’d be off with some boys his age, and Maisie and Una would only see him at family gatherings in the evenings. Even at those he practically ignored them.
Then he and his parents moved to Boston. Sometimes his parents came back to v
isit, but David never accompanied them.
“Is David still snooty?” Maisie asked.
“No! He was really friendly, even though he’s so sad. He and I took our food out to the back porch and talked for ages. He goes to Harvard now—he wants to be an astronomer! Isn’t that interesting?”
“Mmm . . .” Maisie didn’t give a hoot about David. She finally blurted out her question: “Nancy, what have you done to your hair?”
Una laughed. “I got a Toni! Mum finally let me. Now it’s as curly as yours is!” She leaned over so their heads were touching. “‘Which twin has the Toni?’” she asked in a singsongy voice like the one in the commercial.
Granny stopped walking and turned around. “It’s obvious that you have the Toni, Una. Maisie’s curls are natural. You shouldn’t tamper with the hair the good Lord gave you.”
“Yes, Aunt Jean.” When Granny moved on, Una rolled her eyes.
Maisie didn’t laugh. “What’s the matter?” said Una. “Don’t you like my hair, either?”
The two of them had always been totally honest with each other. “No, I don’t!” said Maisie. “And Granny’s right. You shouldn’t change your hair, because it was fine before—it was beautiful! Now you look too different. And why are you wearing such fancy clothes? And lipstick!”
Una looked huffy. “Well, I have just come from the city. And Mum lets me wear lipstick for special occasions. Bubby doesn’t approve, but I don’t care. I’m almost fifteen, after all. Sometimes, when I go to a matinee with my friends, I even wear eyeshadow!”
Maisie cringed, as she remembered the makeup on the chest of drawers. What would Una think of her if she knew Maisie had snooped in her room?
Una examined Maisie. “I could lend you some, if you like.”
“Lend me what?”
“Lipstick! It would look good on you.”
“Yuck! I’ll never wear that stuff!”
Una laughed. “Oh, George, you never change.”
Her tone was affectionate, but Maisie felt as if she were being treated like a younger sister.
* * *
Maisie was invited for lunch. Polly made delicious salmon sandwiches, but Clary wouldn’t eat hers and demanded cheese. Her needs and chatter dominated the meal, and Maisie sat silently, observing Una.
Except for her ridiculous hairstyle, Una was just as beautiful as ever. Her grey eyes were flecked with bits of green and framed with fine dark eyebrows. She had high cheekbones and full lips. Her muscular but slim body was as perfect as her face. Unlike Maisie, she was quite flat chested—but not today: she must be wearing one of her padded bras.
Granny thought Maisie was the beautiful one: “You’re my bonny lass,” she was always saying. In her childhood photos Maisie looked like Shirley Temple, with blond curls and a round face. The girls at school envied her hair; at least she would never need to have a perm. But now her face was too round, along with her bottom and thighs. And her feet were huge! Granny and Mum kept saying that Maisie would slim down as she got older. That didn’t seem to be happening.
But I’m strong! thought Maisie. I can lift a whole basket of wood. And carry two pails of water at once.
“Would it be all right if you start babysitting tomorrow?” asked Polly, after Chester had taken a protesting Clary away for her nap.
Maisie shrugged. “Sure.” This was the second summer she’d looked after Clary in the mornings while her parents worked. They paid well, and she earned enough for her spending money all year. She was proud to be able to tell Dad that he didn’t need to give her an allowance anymore. His salary wasn’t large, and now that he wasn’t working his money must be running out.
Then what would happen? But Maisie refused to think of Dad. Polly was telling her what she’d been painting.
“You’ll have to come and look, Maisie, and tell me what you think. I’m doing only trees, especially arbutus. I love their vivid colours.”
“They don’t really look like trees,” said Una. “They’re called abstracts.”
Polly was an artist. After she and Maud inherited the house, she had a studio built behind it. She was getting to be well known, and sometimes people came over to the island to buy one of her paintings.
Polly was just as beautiful as Una, but in a more ethereal way. Her blond hair was so long she could sit on it, although she usually kept it in a braid. No other woman on the island had hair below her shoulders, but Polly didn’t care about style. She refused to wear makeup, and she dressed in brightly embroidered smocks and sturdy sandals—Granny called her a bohemian. Clara never wore pastel colours, the way other toddlers did. She was either in tiny red or purple smocks like her mother’s, or she ran around in just her underpants or often wore nothing at all.
Polly poured them some tea. “I’m reading an amazing novel, called From Here to Eternity. It’s all about Pearl Harbor. How strange that such recent events are now considered history! It seems like yesterday that it happened. And then of course so many Japanese families had to leave Kingfisher—that was such a tragedy.” Polly sighed. “I still hate the war! It’s changed so many people, including Chester. Everyone thinks he’s the same, but sometimes he wakes up weeping. He’s so serious now.”
Maisie was surprised: to her, Chester seemed unchanged. But at least he still acted normal; at least he made an effort—unlike Dad.
Polly seemed to read her mind. “Of course, your poor father was far more affected. Your mum told us what happened at Easter. How is Gregor, Maisie?”
Maisie clenched her hands. “Just the same,” she murmured.
Polly smiled at her. “You don’t want to talk about him, and I don’t blame you. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you and Sadie to live with such sadness! It must be a relief for you to have a break.”
Polly was only fourteen years older than Maisie and Una, and the only grown-up who spoke to them like equals. Maisie smiled back and took another cookie.
Chester returned to the living room. “I think Clara is down for the count. She insisted on six stories. If we’re lucky, we’ll get two hours. I’m going to work a bit on my book.” Chester taught biology at the University of British Columbia. For the past few summers he’d been writing a book about algae.
“What about you, my precious love? Are you going to paint?” he asked.
He gazed at Polly with such affection, the way Maisie’s father used to gaze at her mother . . . Before. Maisie winced. Would he ever do so again?
Polly yawned. “We got up so early this morning I think I’ll have a nap, too. What are you girls going to do?”
“Let’s go swimming,” said Una.
“Not until an hour after lunch,” warned Chester.
“We’ll sit on the beach, then. All right, Maise? I’ll get changed and meet you at your house.”
Maisie cheered up. Once Una was back in her normal clothes, surely her real self would be back, as well.
Chapter Four
A Secret
Maisie had forgotten about the pink two-piecer: a small halter top and a skirt that was so short it only reached the top of Una’s legs. At least it didn’t have a padded bra, and at least Una had washed off her lipstick.
As for herself, she was wearing the ugliest bathing suit in the world. It was the only one she and Mum had been able to find that fit: an orange-and-black plaid affair with pleats across the tummy. The straps had metal fasteners that dug into her skin. Maisie had wanted to keep on wearing her old black bathing suit, but Mum threw it out because it bagged too much and was dotted with holes.
Never mind . . . today she could finally swim! As soon as they reached their secret spot, Maisie rushed into the sea, gasping as she went deeper—the water was always freezing in July. But she struck out vigorously, her arms doing a steady crawl. In the water Maisie no longer felt lumpish and awkward. She was as strong and streamlined as a seal, her obedient muscles carving through the waves. Out, out she went, not tiring. Then she lay on her back, spread out her arms, and drifted,
closing her eyes and letting the sun dry her wet face. She swam in slowly doing the breaststroke.
Una had only dipped. “We forgot to wait an hour—do you think we’ll get cramps?”
“That’s such a stupid rule,” scoffed Maisie. “I’ve often swum right after a meal, and nothing has ever happened.”
They sat in the sun to warm up, eating the cookies Maisie had brought. Her icy skin tingled deliciously. Now her real island self was back.
“Okay, George, tell me everything that’s happened since Christmas,” demanded Una.
“I already have told you,” said Maisie. “Didn’t you get my letters? You only answered twice!”
Una looked ashamed. “Sorry. School was so busy this term and we got so much homework that I didn’t have time to write.”
How could she not have time to write a letter? But Maisie let it pass. The sea was a glorious blue, and no one else was on the beach. At last she had Una to herself.
“I loved getting your letters,” Una continued, “but you never told me about your dad. Mum says he’s stopped being a rector.”
“Oh, Nancy . . .” Maisie sat up straighter and faced her. “It’s just . . . horrible!”
Then she told her everything, all about Easter Day and the long, silent, agonizing time since then. Una had always been a good listener. She let her talk it all out without interrupting.
“Do you think he’ll ever get better?” asked Maisie. Her voice shook. Una moved next to her and rubbed her shoulder. Maisie leaned against her warm body, her misery shot with relief. They were pals again!
Una gave her a strange look. “I wonder what my dad is like now? He’d be thirty-four, like Mum.”
Maisie sat up abruptly. “What are you talking about? Your dad is dead!”
Una looked so intense. What was the matter?
“Maisie . . .”
Her voice was so serious!
“I’m going to tell you a huge secret. I’m not supposed to, but I don’t care. You’re my best friend, and it’s about time you knew.”
