Be My Love

by Kit Pearson

  Maisie frowned. “What do you mean, ‘go all the way’?” She’d never heard that expression before. How had Una? At school, probably—city kids were more knowing than small-town kids like her.

  “You know—have sex. Maybe David thinks I’ll be like Mum and want to have intercourse before I’m married. Maybe he thinks I’m cheap. But I’m not!”

  “Una, how can you talk that way! You’re not cheap, and neither is Maud! She just made a mistake. You told me that!”

  Una sighed. “You’re right. That was a dumb thing to say. But why did he run away then, when it was so magical? And why didn’t he say goodbye?”

  She began to cry again, and this time Maisie couldn’t touch her shaking body. Instead she hugged her own shoulders and despised herself. Her stomach churned, and she thought she might throw up.

  What had she done? At that moment she would have given anything to have the letter back.

  So why didn’t she simply confess?

  Because then Una would hate her. Maisie couldn’t risk her rejection, even though that meant Una was unaware that she was crying for nothing—that David was falling in love with her. That’s how despicable Maisie was being. She was putting herself before her best friend’s happiness.

  Una sat up, wiped her eyes, and tried to smile. “David must have a good reason for what happened. He’ll probably write and explain. I know he will! And if he doesn’t, I’ll write to him.”

  Oh, no! Maisie hadn’t thought of this. But she hadn’t thought of anything when she burned the letter—she had just acted on her basest instincts, as if possessed by a demon.

  If Una wrote to David, he’d ask why Maisie hadn’t given her his letter. Then she would have to confess. Una would hate her even more for not telling her earlier.

  Whatever happened now, Maisie was going to lose her.

  * * *

  Polly and Chester and Clary left for a two-week drive down the Oregon coast to visit Chester’s parents, who had moved off the island last summer. That meant that Maisie had a holiday, too.

  She tried to avoid Una by working on Granny’s bookcase. She had drawn a plan and sawed pieces for the sides, back, and shelves from leftover lumber. But now she was having a terrible time trying to cut dado joints for the shelves. She tried to remember how Dad did it. If only he were here to help!

  “How it’s going, George?” Una pushed through the door.

  Oh, no! Maisie didn’t answer. Maybe if she ignored her, Una would go away.

  But she leaned over the worktable. “What’s that?” she asked.

  “A router plane,” muttered Maisie.

  “What’s it for?”

  “It’s for cutting a dado joint, but I don’t think I’ve measured this one right.”

  “What’s a dado joint?”

  “A groove for the shelf to fit into.” Maisie looked up, wiping sweat from her eyes. “Una, it’s really hard to concentrate when you’re hanging over me!”

  “Then I’ll stop bothering you!”

  Una fled, and Maisie put down her tools. Now she wiped away tears. How could she hurt Una even more?

  To make up, she forced herself to ask Una to pick blackberries with her. Their hands turned purple as they dropped juicy berries into pails hung by string around their necks. Una kept agonizing to Maisie about David. Each word pricked as sharply as the vicious thorns.

  Una was first on the wharf on Boat Day, waiting for David’s letter. Maisie tried to reassure her that it was too soon to expect it.

  “I should just write to him,” Una said again.

  “I wouldn’t,” said Maisie. “You—you shouldn’t look too eager. Isn’t that what the advice columns say? Wait for him to write first.”

  How could she mouth such drivel? But she was desperate.

  Every morning she woke up with the same resolve: Today I’ll tell her. In a few words she could clear the misery from Una’s beautiful grey eyes. But Maisie was too much of a coward to utter the words.

  She was so miserable herself that she couldn’t get up in the mornings and appeared late at the breakfast table, bleary eyed and numb.

  “What’s wrong with you, chickie?” asked Granny.

  She made Maisie have a spoonful of her horrible homemade tonic made of onions, horseradish root, and cider vinegar.

  “Perhaps you’re worried about your parents arriving,” said Grand. “Are you, dear?”

  Maisie kept forgetting that Mum and Dad were coming on Monday. She tried to smile at Grand. “Of course not—I’m looking forward to seeing them.”

  He was so kind. Could she tell him the truth?

  Every Sunday for most of her life Maisie had chanted “‘We have erred, and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep. We have followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts . . . we have done those things which we ought not to have done.’”

  That was confessing to God. Maisie had never paid much attention to those words before, but on the Sunday after she had burned the letter she said them fervently. And every night she prayed, “Help me, God. Help me have the courage to tell Una.”

  But God didn’t seem to be helping at all. Could Grand? Could she confess to him? Tell him what she had done and ask him what to do?

  Grand thought she was perfect, however. Maisie couldn’t bear to disappoint him.

  “If you don’t stop being so sleepy you’ll have to go to see Dr. Cunningham,” Granny told her.

  The next morning Maisie stumbled out of bed at her usual time.

  * * *

  Then Maud decided to take Una to Vancouver. She asked Maisie to come along. “Una and I will stay until Friday, but you could come back in a few days to spend time with your parents. You’re both looking so peaky you need a change. We can go to the PNE and Theatre Under the Stars. While I’m at work, you two can explore downtown, and you can see as many movies as you like.”

  How Maisie would have adored this any other summer! “Thanks for asking,” she mumbled, “but I should be here when Mum and Dad arrive.”

  “I’m so sorry you can’t come, but at least you can watch out for David’s letter,” Una told her. “Phone me the minute it arrives and you can read it to me.”

  Maisie hugged her and waved to them from the wharf. What a relief it was not to have to keep looking at Una’s stricken face!

  * * *

  That night she moved back to her attic room and helped Granny change the sheets for her parents. Maisie could hardly take it in that they were arriving the next day.

  “I’m glad so many members of the family will be away this week,” said Granny. “That will be quieter for Gregor. But everyone will be back for their anniversary dinner on Friday. Do you think your father will mind a big crowd?”

  Maisie had no idea what Dad would mind. “Maybe it will cheer him up,” she said dully.

  That’s what Granny wanted to hear.

  “I agree! Once my dear boy is in the midst of us all he’s going to feel much better.”

  She took Maisie into the backyard and cut her hair. “You’ll want to look tidy for your parents,” she said.

  When she was done, she fluffed up Maisie’s curls and said fondly, “There! You’re my bonny wee lassie again!”

  If only she was! If only she was still the innocent, good child whom Granny doted upon! Instead of this lump, who had betrayed her best friend.

  “Why, chickie—you’re crying!” said Granny.

  Maisie tried to smile. “No, I’m not. It’s just the sun in my eyes.”

  Chapter Twelve

  At the Lighthouse

  Maisie’s parents had arranged to come to the island on a friend’s private boat—“because your dad wouldn’t be able to bear the crowded steamer,” Mum had said on the phone.

  Now Mum stood on the wharf and hugged Maisie, tears in her eyes. “Oh, pickle, how I’ve missed you!”

  Dad kissed her forehead mechanically. He looked sad and bewildered and distant, as if he didn’t know where he was.

 
Granny clung to his arm fiercely. “Now, Gregor, I want you to just rest while you’re here. You don’t have to do a thing!”

  “Lucky you,” joked Grand. “You’ll be the first male in history your mother has allowed to sit still!”

  His son didn’t respond; he didn’t even look at him.

  He’s only trying to cheer you up! thought Maisie. She felt so numb herself, however, that she couldn’t even feel angry.

  As the day wore on, Maisie observed how shocked her grandparents were at their son’s condition. He established himself on a chair on the veranda and barely moved from it. Granny kept offering him books or tea or her chattering company; Grand suggested a walk and a boat ride. Dad just grunted refusals.

  I could have told you how hopeless he is, thought Maisie. But Granny and Grand were such optimists they wouldn’t have believed her. It broke her heart to watch their offers being repulsed.

  Mum clung to Maisie thirstily, asking her countless questions about her summer. What could she say? That she had destroyed Una’s happiness? That she didn’t understand why she had done what she had, that she felt like a monster? What would Mum think about her then? She answered as shortly as possible and felt as detached as Dad.

  At dinner Granny prattled desperately to Mum about the fair, while the men sat silently, both hardly eating. Maisie gazed at her miserable family. Couldn’t anyone do anything?

  She went to bed early just to escape from them all. Why aren’t you listening to me, God? she prayed. Dad is a mess, and everyone else is unhappy. I hate myself for what I did. So help me, God! If you don’t, I’m going to stop believing in you.

  Her bitter words shocked her. Could she truly do that? Was she going to lose God along with Una? Now she felt even more like a lost sheep.

  * * *

  The next morning Maisie sprawled in the living room, wishing Clary were back so she’d have something to do. Granny and Mum were cleaning the church silver. Maisie should go over and help, but her misery froze her. Dad and Grand had claimed the veranda, so she couldn’t go out there to read. She didn’t want to be with anyone, but she didn’t want to be alone—then her guilt would consume her.

  She fetched her hat and decided to go to the store for candy. On the way out she glanced back. Grand was deep in his paper and Dad was gazing at the sea with his usual blank expression.

  All at once Maisie was so angry at him that she actually shook. She ran back up the stairs. “Dad!” she shouted.

  Grand looked up with surprise, and Dad was so startled that he flinched.

  “Oh! Good morning, Maisie.”

  Maisie tried to steady her voice. “Come for a walk,” she told him firmly. The doctor had said that Dad was supposed to walk every day, but he hadn’t once since he’d quit the church. Well, it was about time he did!

  “No, thank you.”

  “Yes! I haven’t seen you all summer! We can go to the lighthouse.”

  Dad seemed to shake himself awake. “Well, that would be nice, I suppose.”

  Maisie held the door open. Grand beamed with approval while Dad stumbled down the stairs and blinked in the glaring sun.

  “It’s so hot,” he said with surprise, as they trudged along the road.

  “Of course it’s hot!” snapped Maisie. “Wasn’t it in Duncan?” When Dad didn’t answer, she forced her voice to be less angry. “The island is having a terrible drought. Granny is almost out of water for the garden, and she’s worried that she’ll lose all her vegetables.”

  When Dad still didn’t answer, Maisie gave up talking to him. It was just a waste of words. They reached the lighthouse and sat silently on a bench in the shade. A few summer people carrying a picnic basket smiled as they passed by. They thought Dad and Maisie were a normal father and daughter sharing time together. No one knew that one of them was crazy and the other a thief.

  * * *

  Dad seemed exhausted when they got home. He went into his room and shut the door. Mum and Granny were in the kitchen.

  “Oh, pickle!” Mum hugged her. “Do you know how many times I’ve tried to get your father to take a walk? You are a miracle!”

  Maisie felt a tiny glow of satisfaction. She was a liar, a destroyer of private property, and a terrible friend, but at least she could do something right.

  For the rest of the week she had a mission: to walk her father every day, as if he were a dog. He only wanted to go to the lighthouse, even though Maisie suggested other routes. It took over an hour, since they sat for so long.

  Maisie had another goal: to force her father to talk. She began to ask him questions, mostly about his boyhood on the island. She was so direct that he had no choice but to answer. At first it was in clipped words, but the more Maisie asked, the longer his sentences became.

  “Tell me what you did in the summers,” she said.

  “Oh, nothing much.”

  “But what? Did you have a boat?”

  “Yup.”

  “What kind of boat?”

  “We had two—the gasboat and the rowboat.”

  “Where did you go in them?”

  Dad shrugged.

  “No, tell me,” insisted Maisie—as if Dad were Clary. “Tell me one place where you went in the rowboat.”

  Dad’s face became less vacant. “Well, one time I tried to row all the way around St. Mark Point. But the sea became too rough to carry on, and when I turned back, the tide was against me, and I couldn’t make any progress. So I had to row ashore and tie the boat to a tree.”

  Maisie chuckled. “Una and I did the same thing last summer. Granny was mad at us because she wanted the boat for a picnic.”

  Dad actually smiled. “She was mad at me, as well.”

  On the next walk Dad told Maisie about sneaking into the church with his friends and drinking the Communion wine. “We replaced it with grape juice,” he said. “Either my father didn’t notice, or he decided not to say anything.”

  “He probably knew,” said Maisie. “Grand notices everything.”

  When Dad opened up like this, their conversation seemed almost normal.

  It wasn’t like Before, of course. Maisie remembered sitting on this same bench with Dad when she was six. All the women in the family had gone over to Valencia Island to a baby shower, and Dad had been in charge of her. First they went swimming; Dad began to teach Maisie the crawl. Then they dug for clams, shrieking each time they squirted. Afterwards Dad made her a wonderful lunch that consisted solely of Granny’s leftover raisin scones, toasted and spread with blackberry jam. After lunch he’d read her some of Stuart Little and they’d both fallen asleep on the sofa. Then they walked to the lighthouse and were lucky enough to see a pod of leaping orcas. They played hide-and-seek all over the lighthouse grounds. Then they rested on this bench, Maisie collapsing in giggles as Dad told her “The Three Little Pigs,” huffing and puffing with vigour and encouraging her to do the same. Finally they had gone home. Maisie sat the whole way on Dad’s shoulders—she was light enough then—clutching his thatch of curls and feeling as tall as a giant.

  She shooed the memory from her head. Dad was nowhere near the jolly, lively father from Before—would he ever be? But he was improving. He still clammed up on some of their walks, but he began to talk a bit at the dinner table, and once again everyone praised Maisie.

  * * *

  Maisie’s father’s fragile progress was halted when everyone arrived back on Friday. Granny had planned the huge celebration meal all week.

  “Remember those disgusting wartime cakes?” she asked Mum, as they made icing for the anniversary cake.

  Mum grimaced. “How could I forget? Eggless, milkless, butterless, and no white sugar!”

  Maisie was licking the beater. “What was in them then?”

  “Hot water, brown sugar, lard, raisins, flour, baking soda, cinnamon, and cloves,” recited Granny. “It looked like a cake, but it certainly wasn’t!”

  “Don’t you remember rationing, pickle?” asked Mum. “Sugar, tea and c
offee, butter and meat . . . and chocolate bars!”

  “I remember not being able to buy them,” said Maisie. It was soothing to help in the kitchen. But tonight Una would be back, and Maisie’s guilt would suffocate her once again.

  * * *

  Una had had her perm cut off in Vancouver. Now she looked like her old self, her cap of smooth hair framing her face.

  “Still no letter!” she whispered to Maisie, after Grand had said grace.

  All Maisie could do was try to smile, while she stuffed herself with as much of the fabulous food as possible.

  At the end of the feast Granny marched in proudly with the cake. She had iced “Happy Anniversary, Sadie and Gregor” on it. There was even champagne. Maisie and Una were allowed to have one glass. Its fizzy sweetness tickled Maisie’s nose.

  “I had my first champagne at your wedding, Sadie,” said Polly. “What a wonderful day that was!”

  They all drank a toast. Everyone pretended not to notice Mum’s frozen smile and the fact that Dad had not spoken a word during the whole meal. Clary seemed to sense his reserve and didn’t go near him. Just as Granny had feared, the impact of the whole family at once was too overwhelming. Were all those walks for nothing? thought Maisie.

  “I want some of that drink!” said Clary.

  Her father took her on his knee and gave her a tiny sip. They all laughed as she wrinkled her nose. Chester began to croon “A, you’re adorable,” and everyone sang along—everyone but Dad.

  “The men are doing the dishes!” announced Chester. “Come on, Gregor. Let’s lead the way.” He and Dad and Grand and Uncle Daniel left the room.

  “I hope they don’t break anything,” said Granny. “And they won’t know where anything goes.”

  “It’s good for them,” said Polly. “Chester always helps me do the dishes.”

  “So does Daniel,” said Aunt Esther. “Times have changed, Jean. We’ve been spoiling our men for too long.”

  Maud’s arm embraced Mum’s shoulders. “I’ve taken the whole week off so I can spend time with you. Let’s go for a long walk tomorrow. We have so much to talk about!”