by Kit Pearson
Two summers ago, however, Una had declared that they were far too old to play such a childish game. She was right, of course; but Maisie mourned the game’s intensity and closeness. At least they had kept their secret names.
After that they spent most of their time in the Hut playing cards and Monopoly or sprawled on the mattress with their books. Maisie was addicted to Agatha Christie mysteries. Una liked trashy romances, which she kept on reading despite Maisie’s scorn.
This summer Una had dragged out an old wind-up gramophone. She played “Be My Love” again and again.
“Can’t we listen to something else?” Maisie complained.
“But didn’t you see The Great Caruso? I loved it!”
“Nope. Remember, we only have one movie theatre in Duncan.”
“I saw it three times! Mario Lanza is my absolute favourite movie star. Who’s yours?”
“Katharine Hepburn. Did you see her in Adam’s Rib? She was a lawyer—like your mum!”
“But who’s your favourite male actor?”
Maisie shrugged. “I don’t have one.”
“Well, you can share Mario Lanza with me. I wish you could see all the movies I do, George.”
Una went to a different matinee every Saturday with her new classmates. She talked about these friends incessantly: Elin, Penny, Karen, and especially a girl called Bev.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, George,” said Una on Thursday evening. Her face looked especially twitchy.
“What?” Was Una about to divulge another secret?
“I’ve—well, I’ve asked Bev to stay for a week. She’s arriving on Sunday evening.”
“This Sunday? But why didn’t you say anything?”
“Well . . . I just heard from her.”
Una paused, and Maisie realized she was seeking approval. She took a deep breath to calm her panic.
“Why not?” she made herself answer. “I’d like to meet her.”
She didn’t, of course—she didn’t want to share Una with anyone! She had never asked a friend from school to stay, so why would Una? This was the first summer Una had friends off the island . . . but couldn’t she just see them in the city?
Una looked relieved. “Great! Bev is so much fun. She knows a lot about fashion. She told me that my clothes were too young, so last month Mum gave me some money and Bev took me shopping for new ones.”
Maisie already disliked Bev. And she was arriving in only three days! Now Maisie felt desperate to fit as much of Una as possible into that time. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?” she asked.
“Sure! I’ll get my stuff.”
Granny and Grand were sitting on the veranda, watching the sunset. “We’re going to sleep in the Hut tonight,” Maisie told them.
“It’s a beautiful, warm night for it,” said Grand. “Look at that colour, Maisie! The Old Man is really at his paintbox tonight.” That was Grand’s nickname for God.
“Don’t forget to brush your teeth,” said Granny. “I’ll wake you up so you’re in time for Clary.”
They looked so peaceful, side by side in the swinging chair. Granny was knitting, of course—she never had what she called “idle fingers.” Grand had the newspaper, but it was lying across his knees as he gazed at the sky.
Before, Mum and Dad used to sit in front of the fire like this, quietly chatting about the day’s events. Maisie would snuggle into Dad’s lap while he told her a fairy tale. Mum would laugh as he changed the words to “Little Red Walking Hood” or “Snow White and the Seven Rats.”
Don’t think of that! Maisie kissed her grandparents goodnight, got her things, and went back to the Hut.
“Mum will be here tomorrow,” said Una, as they lay in bed. Remember not to say that I told you about my father.”
“Of course I won’t! Your secret is safe with me,” Maisie assured her. They chatted lazily, then fell asleep to the sound of the waves.
* * *
The next evening they met Maud at the wharf.
“Maisie!” she cried, after she’d kissed Una. Her hug was so strong that Maisie gasped.
Maud let her go and gazed at her fondly. Maisie grinned back. She had always felt more comfortable with Maud than with any of the other adults, even Polly.
Grand had once said that Maud was like a ship in full sail. She strode proudly with long steps, her generous bosom leading the way. Except for her hair, Una didn’t look at all like her. Maud’s long face had a beaked nose like an eagle’s, and her brown eyes were sharp and curious. She wore her thick hair very short, and permed it so it fell back from her broad forehead in waves. As usual, she was dressed stylishly, in a navy-blue linen suit, red beads, and red sandals.
Dinner was at Granny and Grand’s. Maud regaled them with a story about her latest court case. Her firm was defending a woman who was accused of poisoning her husband.
“I can’t reveal the details, of course, but I know we’re going to win. I’ve discovered something that’s going to destroy their whole case.”
“You tell ’em, Boss,” said her father proudly.
“Oh, Maud, I just can’t believe you’re involved in such sordid things!” said Granny.
“You didn’t think I would ever be a lawyer—but I am!” crowed Maud.
After dinner they sat in the living room and devoured most of the huge box of cherries Maud had brought over.
“Don’t eat too many—I want to preserve them,” protested Granny.
But the sweet cherries were addictive; Maisie couldn’t stop grabbing more handfuls. Clary’s mouth was rimmed with red, and juice dribbled down her front. When Maisie and Una showed her how to make cherry earrings, Clary insisted that they all wear some. Even Grand draped a pair around his ears.
* * *
On Saturday Maud, Una, and Maisie rowed to the Boot for a picnic. For the first time, Maisie beat Maud in a race around the island.
“I hereby bequeath to you the title of Best Swimmer in the Family,” said Maud, pulling herself up and gasping. They collapsed on the warm sandstone and gobbled their lunch.
“Can you bear to tell me about your father?” Maud asked. Her voice was unusually gentle.
Not again! “He’s just the same,” muttered Maisie.
“Poor Gregor.” Maud sighed. “Even after all these years I can’t believe that my teasing cousin has become so sad. And now he sounds desperate. Is he getting any help?”
“He’s going to a doctor.”
“What kind of doctor?”
Maisie shrugged. “Just our family one—Dr. McCallum.”
Maud looked firm. “It sounds like he needs a psychiatrist. I’ll telephone Sadie about it—maybe Gregor could come and stay at my place and see someone in Vancouver.”
“A psychiatrist! But that’s for crazy people! Dad isn’t c-crazy!”
“Crazy isn’t a very helpful word, Maisie. Your dad is obviously deeply troubled. There’s nothing shameful about it. Lots of men were affected badly by the war. He should have seen someone long ago, before he broke down. A good psychiatrist could help him.”
“Maybe. But I know he won’t see one. He won’t do anything!” Maisie added angrily.
“We’ll see.” Maud smoothed out the wax paper from her sandwich. “Now, I don’t want you to worry about this. Your dad is having a very difficult time, but all of us are going to help him get through it. Leave it to the adults, though—none of this is your concern. Your job is to have as good a time as you can this summer—okay?”
Maisie couldn’t help returning her grin. Maud always made her feel as if she could fix anything. A small flame of hope ignited in her—maybe Maud could fix Dad, as well.
The sea glittered around them as they stretched out in the sun. Maisie closed her eyes and listened to the squawk of a heron.
Please, God, may Dad get better, she prayed.
Chapter Six
Bev
Una waved to a skinny girl in high heels who was tottering down the gangplan
k behind Aunt Esther. “There she is! Bev, Bev!”
Bev wore a flouncy green dress, sunglasses with glitter on them, and a green print kerchief tied under her chin.
“Does the lass think she’s Princess Elizabeth?” whispered Granny.
Una introduced Maisie to her friend. Bev dismissed her with one glance. “My God, Una, the boat rolled so much I thought I’d be sick! And I sat on something and stained my new dress—do you think it will come out?”
Granny poked Maisie, who went up to Aunt Esther and hugged her. Then she murmured, “I’m so sorry about your brother.”
“So am I, Esther, dear,” said Granny. “And we’re sorry we couldn’t get to the funeral, but I needed to be here for Maisie.”
“Thank you,” said Aunt Esther. “Ben was much too young to leave us.”
She looked older and greyer, and her eyes were stricken. Uncle Daniel put his arm around her and led her away.
“Una! You have to help me with my bags!”
Bev’s suitcase was so heavy that Una and Maisie had to lift it together. What did she have in here?
Maud put her hand on Maisie’s shoulder. “Have a great week,” she said dryly. She was leaving on the same boat.
“Goodbye, Mrs. Brown,” called Bev.
Why did she call Maud “Mrs.”? Then Maisie remembered.
Maisie and Una had to carry the heavy suitcase all the way to Una’s house.
Bev stumbled beside them with her purse and shoulder bag. “I’m going to lose a heel on this rough road!” she complained.
“Take your shoes off, then,” said Maisie.
“Are you kidding? And walk in my stocking feet? I hope all your roads aren’t like this.”
“I’m afraid they are,” said Una anxiously. “Didn’t you bring any other shoes?”
“Sandals. I’ll just have to wear them all the time I’m here, even though they don’t go with everything.”
* * *
As the week wore on, Maisie almost took pleasure in hating Bev. It was like rolling in mud and getting so dirty she didn’t care.
How could Una possibly like this mewling creature? Bev changed into a new stylish outfit every day. She was so puny she couldn’t even lift a pail of water. She couldn’t believe they didn’t have electricity and was insulted that she had to use a privy instead of an indoor toilet.
Bev acted afraid of everything—a mouse in a trap, the bats at night—but Maisie didn’t think she was truly afraid of a thing. She seemed too hard and calculating.
Una’s grandmother had given Una a week off hotel work. She and Bev slept in every morning and then just hung around on the veranda, reading movie magazines and giggling. Maisie tried to keep Clary away from them. The mornings with Granny or on the beach or walking to the store were soothing breaks from Bev’s shrill, whiny voice.
When Maisie returned Clary, however, she had to encounter Bev again.
Clary disliked her, as well. “Your knees are bony,” she complained the first morning, as Bev tried to read her a story. “I want to get down.”
Bev just clutched her tighter.
“Don’t!” Clary pinched Bev’s arm and stomped off to her father in the kitchen.
“Oh, Bev, I’m so sorry,” said Una.
“I’m going to have a bruise!” said Bev, rubbing her arm. “What a brat!”
“She’s not!” said Maisie. “She’s just being two, that’s all. You should have let her down when she asked.”
“She should be punished!” said Bev.
Maisie opened her mouth to retort but stopped when she saw her cousin’s worried face. Una acted so afraid of her friend, so eager to get her approval. That made Maisie hate Bev even more.
Chester appeared with a plate of sandwiches. “Want to stay for lunch, Maisie?”
She shook her head and fled home.
But Maisie couldn’t think of an excuse not to join in the excursions they went on every afternoon. Una seemed desperate to find an activity that Bev liked. On the first few days they took her hiking, rode their bikes to Shell Bay, and canoed to the Boot. Bev said she hated boats, and she wobbled on her bike. The hike made her too sweaty, and the shelly sand scratched her legs.
Finally they just did what Bev wanted: they sat on the veranda sipping lemonade, sat in the Hut and talked, or sat on the beach and tanned.
Bev tried the water on her first day, stuffing her hair into a white rubber bathing cap. “It’s freezing!” she shrieked. She never went in again but lolled on her towel, unclipping the straps of her bathing suit and encouraging Una to do the same. Maisie watched Una struggle to keep her top from falling down, but she didn’t feel sorry for her. Why did she have to copy everything Bev did?
Una and Bev talked incessantly about school, about every girl in their class and every teacher. The worst was when Bev would whisper something to Una that made her giggle. They had a secret! A secret that excluded Maisie. She had never felt so invisible or alone.
“What are those papers on the wall?” asked Bev the first time they went to the Hut.
Una flushed. “Oh, just a silly game that Maisie and I played when we were kids. We should take them down.” Una got up and unpinned all the papers and maps about Nancy and George.
“It wasn’t silly!” Maisie snatched the papers from her and smoothed them out. “It was really fun. We used to get up early and spy on people through their windows. Then we’d make notes about any suspicious activities we saw.”
“You peeked through people’s windows? That’s so nosy!” Bev paused, then asked, “Did you ever see anything . . . you know . . . private?”
Una glanced at Maisie. “No! And you’re right, Bev—it was nosy. But we were very young then.”
Maisie smirked. She was glad Una hadn’t said anything about the time they had crept up to Mr. and Mrs. Lewis’s bedroom window and saw them entwined and giggling. The girls had been so shocked that they’d scurried away.
The next time they were at the Hut, Bev put down her magazine and yawned. “I’m bored. There’s nothing to do on this island.”
“Una and I are never bored here,” said Maisie coldly. She paused. “We used to play buried treasure—do you remember, Una? We’d bury something like a painted shell or some costume jewellery and then make a map of where to find it. Then we’d leave the map around the store or the wharf and wait for someone to pick it up. But only one person ever did, that summer visitor who—”
“Maisie, don’t be ridiculous—we haven’t played that stupid game for years!”
We did it last summer, thought Maisie. But Una’s scoffing tone was so hurtful she turned silent.
“I have a great idea,” said Bev. She took out a piece of newspaper from her pocket. “I tore this out on the boat. It’s a want ad—from a sailor!”
“What do you mean?” asked Una.
Bev read aloud: “‘Lonely sailor stationed in Vancouver would like to correspond with attractive woman aged 20–25. Tell me all about yourself and maybe we can get together.’”
Maisie snatched the ad from Bev and read it herself in case Bev was lying. But sure enough, those were the exact words. How strange and pathetic, to advertise for someone in a newspaper!
Bev glared at Maisie. “Give that back, please.”
Maisie handed the ad over. “So what’s your great idea?” she said scornfully.
“So I thought we could write him back!” said Bev. “We could pretend to be a woman he’d want to meet.”
“Let’s!” said Una, but her voice quivered.
Maisie watched the two of them bend over a piece of paper and compose the silliest letter she’d ever heard. It was full of phrases like “I have beautiful brunette hair and alluring green eyes. I like to dance until dawn, and my lips are as sweet as strawberries.” They signed it “Violet Crosby.”
Yuck! Maisie retreated to a corner and hid behind her comic. There was a long discussion about which return address to use.
“It can’t be mine,” said Bev. “My
mother is really strict. She’d have a fit if I got a letter from a stranger. We can use your address on the island, Una.”
“That’s not fair!” said Maisie. “What if Una’s mother asks her about it? Why should she get into trouble and not you?”
“Oh, don’t be so paranoid. She can just say it’s a letter from me. Shall I write down your address, Una?”
“I suppose so,” said Una. “He won’t answer anyway.”
“How can he resist?” Bev giggled. “It’s such an alluring letter he won’t be able to help it!”
Una found an envelope. “I’m not going to put my address on the outside—the postmistress looks at everything.” She addressed it and said she’d sneak it into the mail later.
“Let’s do it now, before you forget,” said Bev. The two of them walked away, their heads together as they giggled over the envelope.
Maisie wanted to scream like Clary. She was losing her best friend! Losing her to this . . . cretin, this stupid idiot who had roped Una into her ridiculous scheme. What if the sailor answered? Una would be in terrible trouble, and Bev would get away scot-free.
It was as if Bev had cast a spell over Una . . . and there was nothing Maisie could do to save her.
* * *
The weather became hotter and hotter. “It was eighty-six at the Vancouver airport yesterday,” said Grand on Friday, looking up from the newspaper.
“It’s going to be just as hot today,” said Granny. “And we’ve been a month without rain! What will we do if we run out of garden water?” Granny collected rainwater in barrels.
“Don’t worry, my dear,” said Grand. “This drought can’t last much longer.”
“Oh, look, Maisie!” Granny passed over her section of the paper. “It’s a photograph of Charles and Anne! The ‘royal toddlers,’ they call them. Aren’t they the sweetest children you’ve ever seen? I must cut this out for my scrapbook.”
“They don’t look any different than other kids,” growled Maisie. “Clary is just as cute.”
Granny examined her. “Well, someone got out of bed on the wrong side this morning! It must be the heat that’s making you so cranky. You three girls had better sleep in your cabin tonight—it will be much cooler. Do you have enough beds out there?”
