Be My Love

by Kit Pearson

  “There’s only the mattress, but Una and Bev can have it,” muttered Maisie. “I’ll stay in Mum and Dad’s room.” She had slept there last night—it was much cooler than the attic.

  “But you’ll want to be with your friends,” said Granny.

  When Maisie didn’t answer, Granny patted her arm. “You’ve never had to share Una before, have you, chickie? Never mind, Bev’s leaving on Sunday. I must say, I’ve never met such a stroppy lass.”

  “Now, Jean . . .”

  Granny kissed Grand’s forehead. “I know—I should be more charitable. But you have to agree, Rand, that Bev is much too fancy for the island.” She turned to Maisie. “All the same, she’s Una’s guest, so you have to be polite. I think you should join them in the Hut. Polly and Chester have an extra cot.”

  Maisie had no choice but to agree. Bev, of course, pretended to be nervous about sleeping outside. Chester hauled out a cot, and Bev had to have extra blankets because “I get cold so easily.”

  Finally they were snuggled in bed. At least Bev was in the cot. Maisie felt soothed, curled up beside her cousin as usual. They had shared this lumpy old mattress since they were six, the first time they’d been allowed to sleep here. When they were children, they’d clung together like spoons. Maisie wished she could still burrow against Una’s back; she’d always had a faintly tangy smell, like lemon or ginger. But they were teenagers now, too old to snuggle together like little kids.

  There was a scuttling noise outside. “What’s that?” asked Bev.

  “Probably just a raccoon,” Maisie told her.

  “Can it get in?”

  “It could climb in the window,” she said.

  “Don’t be silly, Maisie,” said Una. “It won’t climb in, Bev—don’t worry.”

  “Why don’t we tell ghost stories,” suggested Maisie. “I know a great one called ‘Bloody Fingers.’”

  Bev gave her little fake scream. “No! You’ll give me nightmares!”

  She and Una began to talk about a girl at school named Hilda. “She’s too fat, and she laughs too much,” pronounced Bev.

  “But I like Hilda,” said Una.

  “You’d better not,” warned Bev. “Nobody else does.”

  If that’s what Bev thought about poor Hilda, what did she think about her? wondered Maisie. But she already knew that their hatred was mutual.

  She lay very still and pretended to sleep, straining to hear their whispers. At first they talked about a prefect named Pippa, how lenient she was.

  Then Bev said urgently, “I’m sure she’s asleep. Tell me again what he said.”

  Una answered, her voice so whispery that Maisie could barely make out her words. She heard “coming soon” and “his mother” and, louder, “He said he’s really looking forward to seeing me again!”

  “Oh, Una, how romantic!” said Bev.

  Maisie sat bolt upright. “Who are you talking about? Who’s coming?”

  Now they were all sitting up. Bev looked at Maisie with such smug pity that Maisie wanted to slap her.

  She turned to Una. “Who’s coming?” she repeated.

  “Oh, Maisie,” said Una. “It’s just . . . David.”

  “David! You mean David Meyer?”

  “Yes—Bubby’s nephew. Remember I told you how I met him at the funeral? Bubby has asked his mother to visit, and David’s coming, too.”

  “When?”

  “At the end of the month, for two weeks.”

  “He wrote Una and told her. He’s coming to see her!” said Bev triumphantly.

  “Well, he didn’t exactly say that,” muttered Una.

  “You’ve been writing to David?” Maisie asked.

  “Yes!” said Bev. “And he’s written twice! Una has a huge crush on him!”

  “Please, Bev . . . that’s just between you and me.”

  Maisie was so hurt she could hardly get out her words. “W-Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been writing to David?”

  “I’m so sorry, Maise.” Una’s voice was stricken. “Let’s talk about this another time, okay?”

  She plunked down, turned her back, and was silent. Maisie and Bev had no choice but to do the same.

  Maisie listened to the two of them breathe softly. But she tossed in agony, trying to get her mind around what Bev had said.

  * * *

  For the next two days Maisie avoided the other two girls. She slept in the rectory on Saturday night and spent her time in the backyard workshop, measuring and cutting wood for a bookcase she was going to make for Granny. Grand had never been good at carpentry, but this was where Dad kept the tools he’d had since he was a boy. Every summer he and Maisie would work on a project. One year they’d constructed ten purple martin houses and given some away to the neighbours. Last summer they made a new table for the parish hall. Dad had been as silent and irritable as usual, but at least he’d done something.

  Would he this summer? Probably not, thought Maisie bitterly. He would just sit around, the way he did at home.

  Finally Bev left on the Sunday evening boat. Maisie avoided talking to Una at the family dinner that night, but after they did the dishes Una suggested going for a walk.

  “I—I guess I should tell you about David,” gulped Una, as they trudged towards the wharf. The doe with the twins bounded ahead of them. Already the fawns were bigger and bolder. One turned around and stared before it joined the others.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” said Maisie. “Let’s just forget it.”

  “No . . . I want to tell you.”

  They sat on the coronation seat, facing each other. Una’s tan made the green in her eyes more vivid. In the summer she turned as “brown as a berry,” as Granny said. Maisie only got more freckled.

  “I’m sorry Bev was a pain,” said Una. “She’s much easier to get along with in the city.”

  “I just don’t understand how you can like her! Are all your new friends like that?”

  “No. But Bev . . . well, she’s one of the most popular girls in our class. I guess I was just flattered that she wanted to visit. I’m sorry you had to put up with her.”

  Maisie shrugged. “She’s gone now. Let’s just forget about her.”

  “I’ll explain about David now.”

  Una began talking, and Maisie stared at the sea, hating every word. How friendly David had been at the funeral, how he’d written to thank her for spending so much time with him. “He said I was the only person there he could really talk to,” said Una solemnly. She had written back and David had responded, saying he was coming to visit the island.

  “Aunt Esther invited him along with his mother,” said Maisie. “He’s not coming to see you,” she added meanly.

  “I think he is!” said Una fervently. “In his letters David asked me all sorts of questions—he seems really interested in me.”

  Maisie could barely form her words. “But Una, David is twenty!”

  “So what? I’ll be fifteen at the end of the month. That’s only five years younger. And of course we’re just friends, so far . . . but oh, Maisie, I like him so much! He’s the kindest and handsomest and most intelligent boy I’ve ever met. It’s such a relief to be able to tell you.”

  “But why didn’t you before?”

  “Well . . . because when I arrived, you were so upset at how I looked. It seems to bother you that I’m acting like a teenager. You’re such a tomboy, George,” she said fondly. “You’re just not interested in boys yet. Bubby says you will be one day, that we’re growing up at different rates. So I didn’t want to upset you again. But now you know, and I’m so glad you do. Wait till you see David again, Maisie. He’s completely different from the way he used to be, not at all standoffish. You’ll like him just as much as I do.”

  No, I won’t! thought Maisie. Una continued to babble obsessively. No wonder she was so distracted this summer. David was all she could think of.

  Neither of them said the words, but they hung in the air as truthfully as the deep sea a
round them. Una didn’t just like David. She was falling in love with him.

  Chapter Seven

  Waiting for David

  Granny was excited about the coming visitors. “They both need a good rest,” she said. “That dear boy, losing his father at such a young age. And poor Rachel—how will she cope?”

  “Daniel says that Ben provided well for her,” said Grand. “She’ll have the house and a good income.”

  Granny looked stricken. “I couldn’t bear to live my life without you, Rand!”

  Grand got up and kissed her forehead. “Now, now, that’s a very long time in the future.”

  Maisie was reading a letter from Mum.

  “Any news?” asked Granny brightly.

  She meant, was there any news about Dad.

  Maisie handed her the short letter: a bland account of Mrs. Hanna’s terrible cat, the opening of the new hardware store, and how hot it was—as if the weather were different from here! “Dad sends his love” was her usual ending. That meant nothing had changed. As Granny read the letter, Maisie could see how disappointed she was.

  “Well, it won’t be long before we’ll have them here,” she said.

  Maisie didn’t want to think of that. And it was long, over a month.

  “Listen, Rand!” Granny waved part of the paper at him. “It says that Brigadoon is coming to Vancouver! I’ve always longed to see that.”

  “Mmm,” said Grand behind his section.

  “Did you know, chickie, that on August 7 your grandfather and I will have been married for forty-two years?”

  Grand winked at Maisie. “My dear Jean . . . would you like me to take you to see Brigadoon for our anniversary?”

  Granny beamed. “Oh, Rand, what a good idea!”

  * * *

  For the next blissful two weeks Maisie had Una completely to herself. Each day dawned clear and cloudless. The adults began to count the number of days since the drought had begun—forty-seven, fifty . . . Every Sunday they prayed for rain, and the girls were reminded constantly not to use too much water.

  Maisie stopped taking her outdoor shower under the cistern. She plunged into the sea before breakfast and cooled off in it many more times during the day. Her hair and skin became frosted with salt. So did her clothes, which she rinsed out in the sea instead of giving to Granny to wash. Her underwear scratched, and her shorts and T-shirts became stiff and grey. She didn’t care. Instead she relished the feeling of having sea salt next to her skin, as if she were still in the water.

  She asked Una not to talk about David to her.

  “Sure, if that’s what you want,” said Una.

  She seemed relieved—as if she were just as afraid of his coming as Maisie was. They relaxed into being Nancy and George again.

  Maisie neglected her garden chores and forgot to work on her bookcase. Every afternoon they took off somewhere on their bikes, sometimes with one of the island girls but more often alone. Someone had built a raft at Fowler Bay, and they often ended up there, changing into their bathing suits in the bushes and swimming out to it. They would ride home in their wet suits, so much dust glued to their damp skin that they’d need to have another swim when they got home.

  Every night they slept in the Hut. The heavy topics—David, their fathers—stayed under the surface, and their chatter was lazy and easy. They lay awake and compared teachers or laughed about Clary’s funny comments.

  “One of Polly’s patrons asked her how old she was,” said Una. “Clary said ‘Two! I’m quite new.’”

  “Granny worries that Clary is spoiled,” said Maisie.

  “She is! She has Polly and Chester completely under her thumb. She refuses to eat anything but cheese and bread, and they let her! Otherwise she just screams.”

  “You were like that,” said Maisie. “For years you only liked chicken and potatoes, remember? And they couldn’t touch each other on the plate! Your mum wouldn’t let you have dessert until you’d had at least three mouthfuls of vegetables.”

  “At least she made me. And I do eat vegetables now—some of them, anyway. This year Mum and I went to a restaurant in Seattle where they only served vegetables. They cooked them with so many sauces they were delicious!”

  Maud sometimes went to Seattle for conferences, and now that Una was living with her full-time she took her along. When Una talked about visiting there or going to the symphony or a play, Maisie realized how much her cousin’s world had expanded since she’d gone to live in the city.

  “We’re going to Toronto for Thanksgiving,” she told Maisie. “Mum’s taking a week off. We’re staying at Aunt Sylvia’s, and I get to miss school. We’re flying on an airplane!”

  “You’re so lucky!” Maisie told her. “I’ve never been anywhere.” But there was no point in feeling sorry for herself. “Who’s Aunt Sylvia?” she asked.

  “You know . . . she went to school with our mothers. She’s a professor at the University of Toronto. Sometimes she has meetings at U.B.C., and then she stays with us.”

  Maisie remembered now—her mother and Maud and Sylvia and three other girls had shared a dorm at boarding school in Victoria. Maud had often told Maisie what a clown her mother was then. But now Dad’s sadness had sucked all the fun out of her.

  * * *

  One afternoon while Clary was napping the girls visited Polly’s studio. The walls were hung with her newest paintings—bright fuzzy stripes of brown, orange, yellow, and green. When Maisie squinted, she realized they were arbutus trees.

  “What do you think?” asked Polly.

  “They’re wonderful! I like how there are other colours under the top colours, like . . .” She couldn’t think of the word.

  “Layers . . . that’s what’s so great about watercolours—they’re so transparent. I was trying to layer the brown bark and the peeling red bark and the green under that.”

  Maisie couldn’t stop staring at the paintings. Somehow Polly had captured the essence of the island in them, its freshness and light. How talented she was!

  “I think these are your best work,” said Una.

  “Thank you! I’m really excited about them. By the end of the summer I should have enough for a show. It’s going to be in Edmonton this time. That’s where Biddy lives.”

  “Who’s Biddy?” asked Maisie.

  “She used to be my best friend on the island. But her family moved to the prairies when we were teenagers. Over the years we’ve stopped writing, but I’m hoping to see her at the opening.” Polly sighed. “When you have a family and a career, it’s hard to keep in touch. I had another close friend, Eleanor, but she moved to England. We only write at Christmas.”

  “Maisie and I will always be friends,” said Una. She grabbed Maisie’s hand and kissed it.

  Maisie felt the warmth of the kiss on the back of her hand for the rest of the day.

  * * *

  One evening Maisie couldn’t sleep. “Nance? Are you awake?” she whispered.

  “I am now,” grumbled Una.

  “Let’s go skinny-dipping!” It took a few minutes for Maisie to persuade Una to leave the cozy bed, but finally she agreed. They gathered up towels and flashlights and headed down to the beach.

  A half moon hung in the sky. Maisie bounced her light from the road to the rectory to the treetops. She felt eleven again, sneaking out in the magical night with her partner in crime.

  When they reached the shore, Maisie cried, “Look—luminescence!” Radiant waves lapped on the sand, breaking into flashes of light.

  After stripping off their pyjamas, they ventured into the icy sea. They splashed it into fiery explosions, drawing sparkling circles and dribbling shining water over their bodies.

  Maisie was the first to duck. She gasped at the coldness, but there was nothing in the world so satisfying as feeling the silky sea against her skin. She swam and rolled and dived, feeling as much a part of the water as did a fish or an otter or a seal.

  Una bobbed beside her as they lay on their backs and lo
oked at the stars. Then they swam to shore, blazing a trail behind them.

  They stood on the sand, rubbing down their shivering bodies. “I wish I wasn’t so fat,” moaned Maisie, looking down at her blobby tummy.

  “You’re not fat—you’re just right!” said Una.

  Maisie knew she was lying to make her feel better—but it worked. She watched Una as she towelled her hair. Her body was perfect, so smooth and firm, with small apple breasts. Maisie could have stared at her forever; but Una put on her pyjamas, and they hurried back to bed to get warm.

  * * *

  On July 29 Uncle Daniel and Aunt Esther asked the whole family to a party for Una’s fifteenth birthday. The hotel chef made her a huge cake, decorated with piped yellow roses and fifteen candles. Clary helped Una blow them out. Maisie wondered what she had wished for. Probably something about David, she decided.

  Una passed around pieces of cake, her face shining with content. Tonight she was all dressed up in one of her fancy dresses. Maud had let her wear lipstick. Her perm was growing out, and it looked more natural, curling only at the ends.

  Maisie had made Una a small cedar box; it had taken her two whole days to construct. She had glowed at Una’s effusive thanks, even though she said she’d keep her makeup in it.

  It was far too hot to wear a wool kilt. Instead Granny had found a dress for Maisie in the church donation box. It wasn’t too bad: a simple green cotton shift that felt loose and cool. Granny had also made Maisie have a shower and wash her hair. It fluffed around her face and felt light and airy.

  “How pretty you look tonight, Maisie!” Uncle Daniel smiled at her. “You and Una are growing up so fast, the way my girls did. It seems just yesterday that I carried Polly around like this little one.” Clary was on his shoulders, eating cake and dropping crumbs into his hair.

  “Who’s Pawy?” demanded Clary.

  He chuckled. “Polly is your mother!”

  “No, she isn’t. My mother is Mummy!”

  “I’ve made up the best rooms, the two facing the water,” Aunt Esther was telling Maud. “A family from Victoria wanted them, but I said I was saving them for my relatives. So we’ve lost some customers, but I don’t care.”