by Kit Pearson
“Well, I believe in God,” said Maisie huffily. “I even . . .”
“What?” asked David.
“I even wish women could be ordained. I think it would be kind of interesting to be a rector.”
Una giggled. “If you were ever a rector, Maise, then I would go to church just to see you dressed up in those crazy robes!”
“Maybe you can be, Maisie,” said David. “Maybe one day the church will become more enlightened.”
Maisie was so embarrassed she couldn’t answer. She’d never told anyone this before. It was something she’d thought about for several years. As she’d sat and watched how woodenly Dad ran the Sunday services, she’d imagined how much better she herself could do it.
Could David be right? Could she become a rector? That seemed too impossible.
“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, Maise,” said Una. “I didn’t mean to. I was just saying what I thought.”
Maisie smiled at her. “You’re entitled to your own beliefs just as I am to mine. It was just a surprise, that’s all.”
“That’s all right, then,” said David, appearing relieved. “You two are such good friends I don’t want there to be any friction between you!”
They sat there a little longer in silent camaraderie. Maisie was sandwiched between the two of them, back to feeling safe and comfortable. They were pals.
* * *
Granny and Grand returned the next day. “How was Brigadoon?” Maisie asked.
Granny sniffed. “So-so. You could certainly tell that the writer had never been to Scotland—it was nothing like it! It was a fantasy of Scotland, all misty and dreamy and sweet.”
Grand winked at Maisie. “She loved every bit of it, and she hummed the songs all the way home.”
“Well, the music was grand. We bought the record.”
“Everyone in Vancouver is worried about the drought,” Grand said. “They might try seeding the clouds to make it rain.”
That evening Maisie had such bad cramps that she went to bed right after dinner. Granny had given her a shot of brandy. She lay cozily in the room off the kitchen—it was still too hot to sleep upstairs. Her grandparents were on the veranda, waiting for the sunset.
“Yoo-hoo!”
It was Polly at the back door. Granny came into the kitchen to greet her.
“I’ve come to borrow your big pot,” said Polly. “I’m going to try making pickles for the fair. Where’s Maisie? I wanted to tell her not to come tomorrow. I’m going to take Clary with me to Valencia Island.”
“The poor lassie has such bad cramps I’ve sent her to bed,” said Granny. “I dosed her with brandy, so I’m sure she’s already asleep. I’ll let her know. Would you like a cup of tea?”
They sat at the kitchen table, and their lazy chatter almost did send Maisie to sleep. But she woke up when she heard David’s name.
“He’s the bonniest lad I’ve ever laid eyes on!” raved Granny. “And a perfect young gentleman. This afternoon he saw me coming home from the store and insisted on carrying my groceries. Rachel and Ben have brought him up well, the way he calls Rand ‘sir’ and listens so respectfully to him. And he came to church! That’s so polite of him when he isn’t even Christian.”
“He is a nice boy,” agreed Polly. “Clary adores him, and he and Chester have become buddies, even though there’s such an age gap between them. Chester says he’s highly intelligent—he thinks he has a brilliant future.”
Granny’s voice became conspiratorial. “Of course it’s much too early to even think of this, Polly, but wouldn’t David make a wonderful match for one of the girls?”
“But they’re still children!”
“I know . . . but he seems to like them both. We’ll have to make sure they all keep in touch. Imagine my Maisie married to a distinguished astronomer! Or Una,” she added hastily.
Polly laughed. “Aunt Jean, you are incorrigible! Let’s just wait and see. The three of them certainly get along, anyway. And Una is always chattering about David. But it’s just a friendship, and I hope it stays that way for now.”
“Of course! Maisie and Una are as innocent as two lambs. And we certainly don’t want to foster the situation that poor Maud found herself in. I’ll never forget the morning she arrived on the island with that wee bairn in her arms!”
“Well, we got our precious Una out of it! And she’s had such a secure childhood. Una will never be as foolish as Maud.”
“That lass . . .” Granny sighed. “Look at her, with a man’s job, consorting with murderers! I wish she could find a nice man and stop working.”
Polly laughed. “Maud loves her work! Just like I do.”
“Oh, well, what do I know? I’m just an old lady who’s behind the times,” she said complacently. “But tell me, Polly, does Maud have a man in her life? You would think she’d snatch up one of the lawyers she works with.”
“She doesn’t seem to, but she wouldn’t tell me if she did. Maud has always been private.”
“She must have been so hurt by Robert that she’s afraid to risk another relationship. Imagine abandoning our Maud! What I would do to that man if I could get hold of him!”
“What are you two nattering about?” called Grand. “You’re missing the best of the sunset!”
Maisie chuckled sleepily at Granny’s projection for her future. She and David married—how absurd!
But it wasn’t so absurd to imagine him and Una together. Please, God, let Polly be right, she prayed. Please may Una and David just stay friends.
* * *
The next afternoon she and Una and David walked to the end of Ethel Point and back. They stopped halfway and ate their apples, gazing at a tiny island beyond the cliff. A group of seals always gathered there, balancing on the rocks like black commas. As the tide rose, they tumbled into the water at the last possible moment.
The grass was as crisp and tawny as shredded-wheat biscuits. David picked up a cigarette butt and flung it into the sea. “What imbecile left this here? One spark and the whole island could catch fire!”
“Grand says we’ve reached a record now,” Maisie told him. “Over sixty days without rain!”
“I know!” said Una eagerly. “Let’s make No Smoking signs and put them on the trails!”
“That’s a terrific idea,” said David.
They hurried home and borrowed Clary’s crayons to do up some signs. Then they dashed around on their bikes, posting them on every trail they could think of. When they’d finished, they collapsed on the rectory veranda with some lemonade.
The steamer whistle blew, and Granny appeared. “Maisie, there’s the mail. Would you go and fetch it for me? I’m too busy plucking these chickens.”
“We’ll all go,” said David.
They meandered to the end of the wharf with the rest of the small crowd. David started talking to Captain Hay about his new tractor. Una spotted Doris and went over to ask her something.
Maisie watched the mailbag being lowered. The crowd dwindled, as some of them left with passengers from the boat and others followed the mail to the store, where it would be sorted.
She noticed a man lingering by himself, looking uncertain. As she and Una and David turned to leave, the man approached them. He was about David’s age, with a ruddy face and rough clothes.
“Hey, there—I need some help!” he said brusquely.
“What can we do for you?” asked David.
“I’m looking for a gal named Violet—Violet Crosby. Do you know where she lives? All I have is a box number.”
Una gasped and put her hand to her mouth. Maisie just stared in horror.
“Do you know anyone of that name?” David asked them.
“No!” said Maisie tightly. “Nobody with that name lives here!”
“But she said Kingfisher Island!” said the man. “I have her letter in my pocket.” He winked at David. “It’s a real sweet one, I’ll tell you.”
“Get him to leave!” Una whispered to David.
“Maybe they just haven’t met her,” said the man stubbornly. “She must be here.”
“She isn’t!” said Maisie.
“Ah, come on . . . I bet you know her and you’re just protecting her. But don’t you worry. I’m a good guy. I just want to lay my eyes on her, and then we’ll see what happens . . .” He leered at David. “You know what I mean? Just ask your pretty girlfriends to tell me where she lives and I’ll stop bothering you.”
Now David was angry. “Listen here, chum. They’ve told you there’s no one here with that name. I want you to get on that steamer before it leaves and go back where you came from. Otherwise I’ll call the police!”
“Hey, you can’t talk to me like that!”
David went closer and grabbed his shirt. “Sure I can. Are you going to get on the boat? Or am I going to send for the policeman?”
For a few seconds Maisie was terrified that the man was going to hit David. Then he looked sheepish.
“Ah, heck . . . I can’t argue with you anymore. But what a bloody waste of cash, coming all the way over here for nothing.” He turned away and trudged up the gangplank just in time.
The three of them watched in stunned silence as the steamer blew its whistle and thrummed away.
“What a chump! Why would he think that woman lived here? Una . . . what’s wrong?”
Una was sobbing wildly. “Oh, David . . . it’s all my fault! I did such a stupid, stupid thing!”
David led them to the coronation seat, and the whole story came out. This is all Bev’s fault, thought Maisie, trying to stop her knees from shaking. How dare she get her and Una into such a scary situation?
At the end of the story David looked very serious. “That was a stupid thing to do. Don’t you realize the danger you risked?”
Una wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “We didn’t think it was dangerous. There was no way he could trace us, and we didn’t expect him to actually come to the island!”
“But he did, didn’t he? And of course it’s dangerous, to write to a complete stranger. He could have gone to the postmistress and made up some story and traced you and come to your house! And it was mean to entice him to come all this way, no matter how unsavoury he was.”
David was sounding way too much like an adult. Maisie squirmed. “It wasn’t Una’s fault! Her idiotic friend made her do it.”
“Una didn’t have to listen to her. And, Maisie, you could have stopped it. No one can make anyone do something if they don’t want to. You both should have stood up to her.”
Now Maisie was ashamed. She glanced at Una’s pink cheeks and knew she was feeling the same. David was right: they could easily have squashed Bev’s idea.
Finally David’s stern look relaxed into a grim smile. “It was a stupid thing to do, but what a dumb guy to fall for it!”
“You were so brave!” said Una.
“You were,” Maisie agreed. “I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t been there.”
David chuckled. “We’re lucky he didn’t know there are no policemen on Kingfisher!”
“And we’re lucky that no one in the family was there,” said Una. “Promise you’ll never tell?”
David paused for a few suspenseful seconds. “I should . . . but okay, I promise I won’t.”
* * *
Everyone was busy preparing entries for the fall fair. Granny’s kitchen was a flurry of canning and baking. Polly succeeded in making her pickles. Even Clary was participating—she was entering one of her drawings in the children’s art category.
Maisie was desperately trying to finish the baby’s sweater she had started in July. Granny was proud of her knitting. She had taught Maisie at age seven, and every year she came in first. Usually she enjoyed the rhythm of loading stitch upon stitch, but this year she was so tired of clicking the pink wool back and forth that she wanted to scream. It was tempting to give up the sweater altogether, but Granny would be hurt if she did.
“What are you entering, Una?” asked David.
“An apple pie. Bubby showed me how to make pastry. I hope it works, though. Every crust I’ve tried so far has been really tough.”
David was examining the list of categories. “I’m going to enter!” he told them.
They gaped at him. “You are?”
“Yes! There’s something in the art section called ‘undressed driftwood.’”
Una giggled. “That sounds rude!”
“It’s very, very serious,” said David solemnly. “You find a piece of driftwood and say what you think it looks like. I’ve never been good at art, but this will be easy!”
They went to the beach and picked up driftwood. “This one is a mermaid!” said David.
“And here’s Daisy Duck! And this one is a man with a top hat.”
The more ridiculous they became the more they laughed. David and his mother were leaving this Saturday. Maisie realized how much she would miss him.
Chapter Nine
The Kiss (1)
“If this is what you’re entering for the fair tomorrow, Aunt Jean, you’ll win for sure,” said Chester, pouring cream over his second piece of blueberry pie.
“I’ve entered all four categories,” Granny told him. “Blueberry, raisin, lemon meringue, and apple.”
“Your apple pie is sure to beat mine,” said Una sadly. “The crust sort of fell apart—I had to put it on in patches.”
“Never mind, pet, you’re just learning,” said her grandmother. “Anyway, yours is in the children’s category. You won’t be in the adult section until you’re sixteen.”
Maisie had spent all day finishing her sweater. She hadn’t had time to wash it before she took it over to the hall. It was so grubby from being carried everywhere that she knew it wouldn’t win anything, but she didn’t care—at least it was done.
“Why is it called a ‘fall fair,’ when it’s in August?” David asked.
“It’s been that as long as I can remember,” Grand told him.
“The old Gaelic calendar has August as the beginning of fall, not September,” said Granny. “Winter begins in November, spring in February, and summer in May.”
“I’ve never heard of that!” said David. “I’ll tell my prof there’s another way of naming the seasons besides astronomical and meteorological.”
“Now, what on earth would those be?” asked Granny. David began a long explanation. Chester and Grand chimed in with their opinions, and David listened to them respectfully.
He was the star tonight. Everyone vied for his attention, as if he were royalty. Maisie watched the quiet pride on his mother’s face and the adoration on Granny’s. Then she glanced at Una. Good . . . she wasn’t looking at David at all. Instead she was playing “Where is Thumbkin?” with Clary.
No one lingered long after dinner. Clary had fallen asleep on the sofa, and her parents took her home. Aunt Rachel said she had to finish packing; she left with Aunt Esther and Uncle Daniel.
“I’d better go and pack, as well,” said David. “I’ll see you all at the fair!”
Maud hadn’t come home that weekend—she’d gone to visit some friends in Seattle. Granny and Grand went to sit on the veranda, and Maisie and Una volunteered to do the dishes. Then the two of them worked on the puzzle.
Maisie felt perfectly content. Her tedious knitting was done, her tummy was full of delicious food, and she was alone with her best friend. After David left, it would be just the two of them again. The only thing she dreaded was her parents’ visit. That was still over a week away, however. And they would be so involved with the other adults that Maisie could easily escape them.
She gloated: her goal was achieved! Una and David had never been left alone, and Una’s silly crush seemed to be over. She must have realized that David was much too old for her.
Una kept grabbing random puzzle pieces
and trying them in impossible places. Her foot twitched, and her face was tense. Then she jumped up. “I’m going home now.”
“But I thought we were going to sleep in the Hut!”
“Sorry, George, but I don’t feel well. I think I’m getting my monthlies.”
“Poor you.” Maisie grinned. “Want a nip of Granny’s brandy? She’d be happy to give you some, and it works like a charm!”
Una smiled. “No, thanks. See you tomorrow!” She hurried away.
* * *
For a while Maisie sat with her grandparents, but she, too, was restless. Walker Island had turned dark purple, and a few pink streaks were left in the sky. The enticing night seemed to be calling her to join it.
“I’m going for a walk,” she announced.
“Wear a sweater,” said Granny automatically. She had worked so hard that she was almost asleep in her chair.
“Don’t forget your flashlight,” said Grand.
Maisie kissed them goodnight, grabbed her sweater, thrust a small flashlight into her pocket, and set out along the road.
Which way should she go? If she went right, she would be more alone in the darkness, but something seemed to lead her left, towards the store and the hotel.
She glanced at Una’s room as she passed her house. The light was already out—Una must have gone to bed. Through the window Maisie could see the silhouettes of Polly and Chester sitting with glasses of wine.
A bunch of island kids surrounded the bench outside the store. “Hey, Maisie, come and have a smoke!” called Doris.
Maisie knew she wouldn’t really be welcome; anyway, she wanted to be alone. “No, thanks,” she called back.
She walked out onto the wharf and stood there for a while, listening to the yip of otters on the rocks. The sea was a smooth navy blue, and the sky was thick with stars. There was the Big Dipper, and the Pleiades. Maisie tried to find Saturn, as David had instructed them, but she couldn’t pick it out. She gave up and just gazed at the Milky Way. When she was little, she had really believed it was a glass of milk that God had spilled across the sky.
