by Kit Pearson
“Best friend” . . . those words were so welcome that Maisie didn’t care what the secret was. She wrapped her towel around her so she wouldn’t burn. “Okay, fire away.”
“My dad is alive!”
“What? What on earth do you mean, Una? Mum told me he died in a car accident before you were born.”
Una nibbled on her finger. “He didn’t—he’s alive. My father’s name is Robert, and he probably lives in Vancouver. He and Mum went out together in first year at U.B.C., and she got into trouble.” Una grimaced. “He refused to get married, and he didn’t want me. So she decided to have nothing to do with him and to have me out of wedlock. Before I was born, she planned to give me up for adoption, but as soon as she saw me, she loved me so much that she couldn’t.”
Una heaved a stone into the water, then turned to face Maisie. Her voice quivered. “So, I’m illegitimate. What do you think about that, George? Your friend Nancy is a bastard! Do you mind?”
Maisie hugged her. “Of course not!”
But she felt stunned. Got into trouble, illegitimate, out of wedlock . . . what did those words mean? Bastard was something bad that boys called to each other on the playground, but she didn’t know what it meant, either.
How ignorant she was compared with Una! “Can you explain a bit more?” she asked.
Una told her the whole story. Maud had brought Una back to the island soon after she was born. They lived with Aunt Clara—Una’s great-grandmother—until Una was three, then Una lived alone with her while Maud went first back to university and then to work as a lawyer. The whole island knew that Maud was an “unmarried mother,” but Aunt Clara had quickly quelled anyone who brought it up. “I don’t think Aunt Jean ever really approved, but of course she always gave in to Nonie.”
So that’s why Granny sometimes seemed disapproving of Una! Maisie had always thought it was just because Aunt Clara and Granny had been so competitive about the two girls. Granny had always been quick to point out to her sister how Maisie learned to swim first or what a picky eater Una was. Now Maisie knew it was more than that.
“They all lied to me!” said Maisie angrily. “I’m the only one in the family who didn’t know!”
Una looked apologetic. “They thought you were too young. I was supposed to wait until you were eighteen to tell you, but I don’t care—I hate having secrets from you!”
Maisie listened, spellbound, as Una continued her story.
“One day when I was nine, Glen whispered to me that I was a bastard. I asked Mum what it meant. She was furious! She told Nonie, and Nonie talked to Glen’s parents, and he had to apologize to me.”
“But what does it mean?”
“It’s a swear word for being illegitimate, which means your parents weren’t married when you were born. Mum explained it all to me.” Una giggled. “But first she had to explain sex! So I knew a lot when I was nine, more than the other kids.”
“You knew about sex when you were nine? You never told me!”
Una blushed. “Mum said not to, that you weren’t ready yet. But at least you know about it now.”
Sometimes on sleepovers they had whispery conversations about intercourse. Una was much more curious about it than Maisie was. Mum had told her the facts of life two years ago. The whole idea was so icky that Maisie hoped she would never have to have anything to do with it.
Una continued. “People on the island have been pretty good about not talking about me. Nonie trained them well! Sometimes Glen mouths that word to me, but I just ignore him.”
Maisie was furious—how dare he hurt Una! “I despise Glen! If he ever does it again, tell me, and I’ll punch him!”
“Don’t be ridiculous—Glen is far bigger than you are. And girls can’t beat up boys.”
“I could!”
“Calm down, George. I haven’t finished yet—don’t you want to hear the rest?”
Maisie made herself listen.
“Last year, when I went to school in Vancouver, Mum decided we had to make up a story. She hates lies, but she said it was necessary. So if any of the girls ask, I tell them what your mother told you—that my father died before I was born. That’s what Mum always says at work, as well. She just says she ‘lost her husband.’ She calls herself ‘Mrs. Brown’ and jokes that they both had the same last name. She wouldn’t have been able to get into such a good law firm if they’d known I was illegitimate.”
“But I don’t understand—why is it wrong? It’s not your fault you were born!”
“Well . . . it’s my parents’ fault. You know you’re not supposed to have intercourse before you’re married. Mum has drilled that into me. She said she made a mistake . . . but she also says that it was the best mistake she ever made!”
But wasn’t it God who made the mistake? Wasn’t He the one who decided when children would be born? This sounded so childish, however, that Maisie didn’t say it out loud.
She tried to think of something in reply. “Do your friends at school believe you when you tell them your father is dead?” she finally asked.
“Sure! Some of them say how sorry they are, but I just shrug and tell them I can’t miss him because I can’t remember him. That’s true!”
“But you know his name.”
“Just his first name, Robert. Mum says that when I’m twenty-one, she’ll tell me his whole name, and then I can try to find him if I want. She knows where his parents used to live, and maybe they’re still there. But I don’t want to—I never want to find him! He didn’t want me, and he abandoned Mum when she needed him the most!”
Now Una’s beautiful eyes were welling. Maisie was glad to have another excuse to hug her. Then they sat in silence for a while before they gathered up their things and left the beach.
It was going to take a while to digest this news. Una’s revelations made Maisie feel embarrassed about being so innocent. But she was also overjoyed that Una chose her, her best friend, to confide in.
* * *
All through the large family dinner Maisie thought of Una’s secret. Perhaps that explained why Una was always so jumpy and always trying to please everyone—as if she had a fault. But she didn’t! Maisie watched how fondly they all looked at Una tonight, how affectionately they responded to her laughing chatter. Even Granny couldn’t resist her.
“Aunt Jean, you’ve outdone yourself!” Una said, after she’d tasted the cod casserole. “Can you give my mum the recipe?”
Granny beamed. “Of course! I can’t believe you’re finally liking fish, chickie!”
Una was treasured. Treasured and protected, in the hope that she wouldn’t suffer from any stigma.
If only she wouldn’t! Maisie wanted to protect her. She still felt like beating up horrible Glen. But most of all, she wanted to beat up Robert. Imagine not wanting to marry Maud and not wanting the baby he had started with her! He was the one who was a bastard!
Maisie was so shocked at her thoughts that she was relieved when Chester came and sat beside her after dinner. “How is your father, Maisie?” he asked gently.
Chester was Dad’s best friend—or he was before Dad stopped relating to any friends at all. He was younger than Dad, but they’d both grown up on the island. Maisie remembered the night a few summers ago when Mum asked Chester what had happened to Dad to make him so distant. Everyone else had gone to bed, but Mum didn’t know Maisie was reading in the chair in the corner—the same chair she was sitting in now. They had been on the veranda, but she could hear every word.
“What happened over there, Chester?” Mum had asked.
There was so much pain in her voice. “Gregor is a completely different person! He goes through all the motions, but underneath he’s so angry. But he won’t tell me why.”
“I don’t see what would have happened that didn’t happen to any of us,” Chester replied. “We had a job to do, and often it was a dirty one, but we just got on with it. Of course, we were in different regiments, so I don’t know what Gregor experienced. I’
m sorry, Sadie, but that’s all I can tell you.”
Now Maisie grimaced at Chester’s kind, concerned face. Once again, she explained that Dad didn’t want to be a rector anymore and that the doctor said he was depressed.
“That’s what your grandmother told us. I’m so sorry, Maisie. This is very difficult for you and your mother. But she and your dad will be here in August as usual, right?”
Maisie nodded.
“Coming home will do him good. And I’ll have a talk with old Gregor while he’s here. I bet I can shake him out of this.”
That was Chester in a nutshell. He was a nice man, but he was too nice. Everything had an easy solution.
Poor Dad . . . first Grand was going to talk him out of his depression and now Chester. Maisie knew that was impossible, but she smiled at Chester and thanked him.
“Come and help me do the puzzle,” called Una.
She gave Maisie’s hand a quick squeeze, and they exchanged a secret look. Una was wearing one of her silly dresses again, but now Maisie knew that underneath she was still her best friend.
Around them the family buzzed happily. Uncle Daniel was telling Clary “The Three Billy Goats Gruff.” He was such a good storyteller; Clary’s eyes were round with thrilled terror as he roared, “‘Who’s that walking over my bridge?’”
“Not so wowd, Grandad—Mickey might get afraid,” she told him. Mickey was her imaginary friend, named after the famous mouse.
What a hodgepodge of grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins! When Maisie was little, she had trouble sorting them all out. Then Grand had drawn her a family tree, and now Maisie was proud that she knew all its complications:
Aunt Clara had had one daughter, Una, who was Maud and Polly’s mother and had been Maisie’s father’s first cousin.
Una had married Uncle Daniel very young and had died when Polly was two. Aunt Esther was Uncle Daniel’s second wife.
Maud and Polly were Maisie’s second cousins, and Una and Clary were first cousins to each other.
Una was Maisie’s “second cousin once removed,” as was Clary.
All Maisie cared about was that she and Una were related, however distantly. That meant they would always know each other.
Now she knew more about the family than a diagram: a secret that no one ever talked about. Someone should have told me! she thought.
But would she have wanted to know before now? She had been too young, Maisie realized—just as Clary was.
Anyhow, Una’s secret didn’t make any difference. Despite some undercurrents of tension, they were a happy family—except for Mum and Dad, but they weren’t here.
Here, Maisie was as safe and cherished as Una. And they had the whole summer to look forward to!
Chapter Five
The First Week
When Maisie walked over the next morning, she could hear Una practising: scales that rippled up and down, each concluded by a resounding chord. How skilled she was!
“Good morning, Maisie—you’re right on time!” Polly was waiting on the veranda. Her painting smock was covered with so many dabs of colour that it looked like a painting itself.
Clary, wearing nothing at all, was colouring, although it was more like jabbing the crayons into the paper. Polly addressed her nervously. “Now, sweetheart, remember what I said? Maisie is going to look after you while Mummy and Daddy work.”
“No, she isn’t,” said Clary calmly.
“Of course she is! You two are going to have so much fun!” Polly turned to Maisie. “She may fuss at first, but I’m going to stay in my studio. Chester is writing in the spare bedroom—I’ve told him to ignore her, as well. Be sure she wears a hat if you go to the beach. I’ll see you at lunchtime, pumpkin.”
“NO!” Clary ran over to Polly and clutched her legs. “I don’t want Maisie to wook after me! I only want you!”
“Now, Clary, we’ve already talked about this. You and Maisie are going to have a wonderful time.” Polly kissed her, then dashed out to the studio.
Clary emitted such a loud shriek that Maisie was sure the whole island could hear. Una rushed out of the living room. “I can’t practise with this racket! Stop it, Clary!”
Clary just screamed louder. She picked up her crayons and heaved them into the bushes.
“That’s naughty!” Una looked at her small cousin hopelessly, then at Maisie. “Can’t you do something?”
“I want Mummy!” cried Clara. She headed to the door.
“WAIT!” shouted Maisie. In the breath between one scream and the next she nattered, “Do you like cake? I’m going over to the rectory to help my grandmother bake a cake. You can come if you want.”
“Cake? What kind?”
“Chocolate. And Granny may let you lick the beaters. She doesn’t let screaming girls lick them, though.”
Clary frowned. “I’m not a screaming gurr.”
Maisie dashed into Clary’s room, grabbed some clothes, and thrust them on Clary. Then she led the little girl down the veranda stairs.
“Bye-bye, Una,” called Clary, now completely cheerful.
The scales stopped. “Bye! Maisie, you are a wonder! I’ll see you after lunch.” Una had a job, as well. Every morning after she practised she went to the hotel to help clean rooms.
Luckily Granny really was making a cake that morning. “Well, look who’s here—my wee chickie!”
“I’m not a chicken. I’m a gurr,” said Clary indignantly. She climbed up onto a stool and poured the whole bag of sugar into a bowl.
Maisie poured most of it back. Between the three of them they somehow got the cake into the oven. Clary licked the beaters, and Maisie washed the icing from her face. Then they went over to the church to dust the pews. Clary was more thorough than Maisie, intently polishing every inch.
Babysitting was going to be just as easy as last summer. Maisie could get her usual morning chores done, and Clary was easy to be with—so long as she got her own way. She seemed to like Maisie now, as she solemnly told her about Mickey. He was helping Clary dust.
“You missed a spot, Mickey,” she scolded. She looked up. “He’s so smaw he can’t hardwy hode the duster. Can you make him a smawer piece?”
Maisie bit the rag and tore off a corner. Clary grinned with approval as she handed it to Mickey.
When they had finished dusting, they went back to the kitchen and had tea and warm cake with Granny. Clary drank out of a tiny cup that used to be Maisie’s. Granny poured a drop of tea into it, filled up the rest with milk, and added lots of honey: she called it “cambric tea.”
“Sing ‘ever seen a wassie’!” Clary ordered Granny.
“Not until you say the magic word,” Maisie reminded her.
“Pwease.”
“‘Did you ever see a lassie / Go this way and that way?’” sang Granny, waving one arm, then another.
Clary copied her. By the end of the song Maisie and Granny were dancing her around the kitchen, swinging her out to each side. “‘Go this way and that way / Go this way and that way!’” they shouted, as Clary shrieked with joy. They collapsed in giggles and had some water.
Maisie took Clary to the privy and walked her back to her house. She enjoyed these small, satisfying tasks of looking after a child: washing her hands, putting on her hat, helping her down the stairs. It was so much easier than the huge responsibility of looking after her parents.
* * *
For the next few days Maisie sank gratefully into the familiar rhythms of summer. Every morning she and Clary helped Granny bake or clean or weed or make cigarettes out of tobacco and paper. Clary was entranced with Granny’s new machine, which rolled out five cigarettes at once.
When Clary got bored, they went down to the beach and dug in the sand and paddled. Maisie constructed a tiny sailboat for Mickey out of driftwood and a leaf. Precisely at noon she would deliver Clary to her parents and walk back to the rectory.
Right after lunch Una arrived. Then they went to one of their usual haunts. Maisie
relished revisiting each one: walking to the lighthouse, rowing out to the little island they called “the Boot,” and hiking up Vulture Ridge. They whizzed along the dusty road on their bikes, passing fields of cows and sheep. Each afternoon ended with a swim.
In other summers Susan or Doris or Wendy would sometimes join them on their excursions, but so far Maisie had Una all to herself. To her relief her cousin wore her usual shorts and T-shirt instead of her fancy outfits. The lipstick didn’t appear again. If it wasn’t for her hair, she would look the same.
The only problem was that Una was so dreamy and distracted she seemed half-asleep. “I’ve asked you twice what you want to do today, and you haven’t answered!” complained Maisie. “What are you thinking about all the time?”
Una flushed. “Sorry, George. Let’s go to the lighthouse and watch for whales.”
She hadn’t answered the question, but Maisie let it go. She didn’t want to disturb the equilibrium that was between them these days.
Except for the weekends, their families ate separately. But after dinner each night Maisie and Una would meet in their special place: an old shack that Polly and her childhood friends had fixed up years before, in the woods behind the church.
Maisie and Una called it “the Hut.” They often slept on the old mattress, talking long into the night. Every day they tidied, sweeping the wood floor and carefully pinning back the canvas curtains. They brought flowers in a vase to place on the table made of boxes, and old cushions to soften the stump chairs.
The Hut was a museum of their childhood. Their old dolls and stuffed animals had been banished to a corner. A cowboy hat and a mask were hung on top of Maisie’s holster and pistol, from the summer they pretended they were the Lone Ranger and Tonto.
On the walls were pinned descriptions of the cases the girls had solved when they were Nancy Drew and her best chum, George. They had played this game from ages nine to twelve. Maisie had insisted that Una be Nancy, despite Una’s protests that Maisie was better at solving mysteries. But in the books Nancy was perfect: brave and clever, as she dashed around in her blue roadster and helped everyone. Maisie wanted all that for Una. She was perfectly content being the awkward, boyish friend.
