by Kit Pearson
Of course not everyone in Canada had this plenty. Her friend Bernard wore patched clothes and lived in a cramped apartment. And she’d heard people on the train to Vancouver complain about not having homes at all.
It wasn’t right, that some people had too much and some not enough. The trouble was—and this always made Norah squirm—she enjoyed the luxuries she now had: the food, the books, her own room and above all, Gairloch.
Norah sighed and took another piece of toast. What was the point of feeling guilty for something that wasn’t her fault? She hadn’t wanted to come to Canada in the first place; but since she was here, she decided, she might as well appreciate all of this while she still had it.
“What time is Andrew coming?” Janet asked her mother.
“Late afternoon,” said Aunt Dorothy. “Some of you can go in the launch when Mr. Hancock picks him up at the train.”
“Is he going to sleep in the Boys’ Dorm?” asked Peter. “There’s lots of room.”
“No, Peter, Andrew’s too old to sleep with you. Florence said he could use the other cabin, since no one’s there this month. And you little boys are not to disturb him. We want him to have a good rest before he starts classes.”
Hanny brought Aunt Dorothy her tea. “I’ve made his favourite dessert for tonight. He was always fond of my snow pudding. It’ll be just like the old days to have Andrew here again.”
“Remember when he swam all the way around the island?” said Clare.
“He was the first person to do it since Hugh,” said Flo proudly.
Norah glanced at Gavin, who was eating quietly. Once again the two of them were being left out. Everyone talked about this Andrew as if he were some kind of hero.
Aunt Anne and Uncle Gerald came into the cottage with the two youngest cousins, George and Denny.
“Mummy,” said Sally immediately, as Aunt Anne tied on her brothers’ bibs. “Can I sleep in the Boys’ Dorm instead of the boathouse?”
Aunt Anne looked worried. “But why, Sally? You begged and begged to sleep with the girls instead of us, and you’ve only been out there for one night—don’t you like it?”
“No,” said Sally bluntly. “They’re too noisy—especially Clare. They keep me awake and all they talk about is love. Why can’t I sleep with Gavin and Peter and Ross?”
Gavin smiled at her; Sally was his best friend in the summers. “Please, can she, Aunt Anne?” he asked shyly. “We won’t keep her awake, I promise.”
“Well, perhaps it makes more sense to have all the younger ones together,” said Aunt Anne. “But it’s never been done before—the boys and girls have always slept separately. Why don’t you just come back to the cabin, Sally?”
“No!” protested Sally. “You said I was old enough to sleep on my own! But I’d rather be with my friends.”
“I suppose it would be all right,” said her mother. “I’ll have to ask Aunt Florence, then we’ll see.”
Norah sighed; all this fuss over a simple change in routine. Of course Sally should sleep with the younger cousins. It seemed so ridiculous to have to get Aunt Florence’s approval, but Aunt Anne, the youngest and most timid in-law, had always been frightened of her.
Norah turned to Aunt Anne’s husband, placidly eating his porridge. “Uncle Gerald, could you test me on the boat so I can use it by myself?”
“Glad to,” he murmured through a mouthful. “Why don’t you meet me on the dock in an hour?”
“Why, Norah, I’d forgotten you were thirteen!” Aunt Dorothy gazed at Norah, and at her daughters and Clare, with misty eyes. “You’re all growing up much too fast.”
More Elders began to fill the dining room. They all kissed their own children.
“How’s my princess?” asked Uncle Barclay, leaning over Janet. She pulled on his moustache and giggled. Norah bent her head to hide her envy. In Canada she had plenty of mothers—almost too many—but no one could match the close relationship she’d had with her father.
Then Aunt Mary came in and kissed her and Gavin. This is the kissiest family, Norah thought impatiently.
“Norah, could you take up Miss Ogilvie’s breakfast?” Hanny asked.
Glad to escape, she carefully ascended the stairs with the heavy tray. “Aunt Catherine,” she said softly when she reached her door.
“Come in, dear,” called a deep, hoarse voice. Aunt Catherine, the oldest person at Gairloch, was sitting up in bed with a book.
“It’s Norah this morning—how pleasant! Sit down and talk to me while I eat.”
Norah sat cross-legged on the bedspread, leaning against the white iron footboard. Tiny Aunt Catherine always looked so comical in bed. She wore round glasses and a pink nightcap, and her sharp eyes peered out from its flounces as if she were Red Riding Hood’s grandmother.
Aunt Catherine was Norah’s next favourite after Aunt Mary. She and Norah were both outsiders; the old woman was Aunt Florence’s late husband’s elder sister, so she wasn’t related to the rest of the family. She had never married and Norah thought she’d had a much more interesting life than any of the other aunts. She had grown up in Glasgow and taught for years in a Scottish girls’ school. After she’d retired she had travelled all over the world before she settled with her niece in Ottawa. She was the only grown-up Norah had ever met who confided in her as if there were no age difference between them.
Aunt Catherine still had traces of a British accent; that was another bond between them. Unlike Gavin, Norah had never completely lost her accent—she held onto it on purpose, determined not to lose that last link with home.
“Well, Norah, are you glad to be back?” the old woman asked.
“Oh, yes! I hated missing July!”
“I don’t blame you. But I think it was a good idea of Florence’s to show you and Gavin some of the rest of Canada. You don’t want to go back to England only knowing Ontario. Did you read any good books while you were away?”
Aunt Catherine always asked important questions, not “Did you have a good time?” like all the others. Norah chatted to her about The Three Musketeers. Immersing herself in it last month had been the only way she could escape from Aunt Florence.
“I have a book here you might like,” said Aunt Catherine. “I think you’re old enough for it now. I loved it when I was your age, perhaps because the heroine’s name is Catherine! It’s called Wuthering Heights. Look in my bookcase—that green volume on the right.”
Norah found Wuthering Heights and brought it back to the bed, examining it doubtfully. The print was small and the cover plain. She flipped through the pages and her eyes caught the words “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same …”
“This isn’t about love or anything like that, is it?” she asked suspiciously.
“Oh, Norah,” laughed Aunt Catherine. “You are a one. It’s all about love. Put it back and wait until next summer.”
“I have a new Angela Brazil book to read, anyhow,” said Norah. “Aunt Mary bought it for me. And there are lots of Agatha Christies in the living room.”
“Then you’ll be fine. Doesn’t it make you feel safe to know you have enough to read? If I didn’t always have a book waiting, I’d panic.”
She put down her teacup and looked out the window. “What a perfect day for Andrew to arrive. Have you ever met him?”
Norah shook her head impatiently. Even Aunt Catherine was going to spoil her first day back with talk about this intruder.
Gavin appeared at the door. “Norah, Aunt Florence would like to see you.” He must have already taken up her tray and had his usual morning visit with her.
Norah frowned. What could Aunt Florence want? It was almost time to meet Uncle Gerald at the dock. She left Gavin in her place, earnestly telling Aunt Catherine how Creature had nearly been left behind in Vancouver.
Aunt Florence’s room was at the end of the long hall that had seven bedrooms off it. Norah knocked at her door.
“Come in, Norah.” She was dressed perfectly and
elegantly as usual, even though she was still in bed; her pink satin nightgown and matching dressing gown added to her queenly air. Every silver curl of her hair was in place.
Norah went over and pecked her cheek. Then she glanced meaningfully at the blue and green brightness beyond the window.
“Yes, I know you want to get outside, but it won’t go away. Sit down, please, Norah. I promise I won’t keep you long, but there’s something I have to tell you.”
Norah tried to control her sigh. She pulled over a chair—you never sat on Aunt Florence’s bed—and waited. Then her heart lurched: had something happened at home?
“Is it—is it bad news?” she whispered.
“Oh no, Norah dear—I’m so sorry if I scared you!” Aunt Florence leaned over and patted her knee. “No bad news, nothing at all like that. This is something your mother wanted me to tell you and I’m afraid I’ve put it off. It’s a matter that really only your mother should talk to you about. But she didn’t want to do it in a letter, so she wrote and asked me to. I should have brought it up earlier but I keep forgetting how fast you’re growing …”
Norah scuffed her feet. Uncle Gerald was probably waiting for her by now. What was her guardian going on about in such a roundabout way?
“What it is …” Aunt Florence looked hopeful. “Perhaps Flo and the others have already mentioned it, or you’ve read about it in one of the magazines you girls read.”
Mentioned what? Norah never read the boring magazines that Clare always had around. She shook her head.
“Well, then, I’ll have to explain. It’s something that happens to you when you’re around thirteen—although Mary didn’t get it until she was fifteen. It happens to everyone every woman, that is—and we just have to put up with it.” Aunt Florence took a deep breath and then her rich voice took on a storytelling quality. “Every girl and every woman has a little room inside of her. As the month goes by the little room gets untidy, and then a little visitor comes and sweeps it out clean. Then it becomes untidy again until the visitor comes again the next month. Now when your little visitor comes—and it might not even be this summer, but it will probably be this year—you will come and tell me so I can get you equipped, all right? I’ve brought all you need with me, just in case.”
Norah just gaped at her. Then, because Aunt Florence seemed to expect an answer, she nodded.
“That’s all right, then. I’ll write to your mother and tell her I’ve prepared you. Run along now—you can take my tray with you.”
Norah carried the tray down to the kitchen, then escaped outside. Aunt Florence was nuts! What on earth had she been talking about? Perhaps this was some weird Ogilvie or Drummond or Canadian fairy tale. Really, this family was very odd sometimes.
SHE FORGOT Aunt Florence’s strange talk in her glee at being pronounced an expert boat-handler by Uncle Gerald. He went out with Norah in the Putt-Putt and made sure she knew how to start and stop the engine and how to fill it with gas. Then he reviewed the safety rules and watched as she drove the boat around Little Island all by herself.
“Well done!” he smiled. Norah asked permission to go out alone again and she spent a blissful half-hour driving to Ford’s Bay and back. Whenever she passed another boat, she carefully took one hand off the steering wheel and waved.
Then she went out again with Janet and Bosley. The spaniel’s ears streamed backwards as he perched happily on the bow. They landed on Little Island and explored every inch of it. Then they flopped down on the narrow shore, their heads resting on a mossy log and their feet in the water. Bosley leapt around them, chasing dragonflies.
“We should have brought a picnic,” complained Janet. “I can’t last much longer without something to eat. Norah … do you think I’m fat?”
Norah turned her head and examined her friend. She couldn’t say Janet wasn’t fat—she was fatter than ever. But she didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
“Well …” she began.
“I’m fat,” sighed Janet. “You’re so lucky, Norah. You eat as much as I do and you never gain weight.”
“But I’m too thin,” said Norah. She squinted at a gull soaring against the dazzling blue sky. Fat or thin—what did it matter on such a glorious day? The sun seeped into every pore on her body. Apart from feeling hungry herself, there was nothing she wanted to do except lie here in perfect peace. This was what she’d been waiting for all July.
“In a few hours Andrew will be here!” said Janet. “You’ll really like him, Norah.”
Andrew again! Norah scowled. “How do you know I will?”
“Everybody likes Andrew.”
When Norah didn’t reply, Janet changed the subject. “Don’t you have a crush on anyone? Like a movie star or someone? You can share Frankie if you want,” she added generously.
“No, I don’t!” said Norah crossly. “I don’t have to have a crush, you know. It’s not a rule.”
“Well, you don’t have to get so mad.” Janet sat up and splashed water over her sunburnt legs. “Sometimes I really feel the gap in our ages, Norah. Fourteen is a lot different from thirteen.”
Norah jumped up and tramped into the trees. She and Janet often quarrelled and it never lasted long, but she wished they hadn’t on their first day. She found the tree fort that they had made with Bob and Alec last summer and climbed up to the platform.
I am a lonely shipwrecked sailor, she told herself. My throat is parched and all I have to eat is a few berries …
But she couldn’t make it real. That comforting imaginary world of pilots and cowboys and shipwrecked sailors, which she had been able to step into easily for years, suddenly seemed closed to her.
Her stomach rumbled and she started to descend, but the foothold they had nailed to the tree trunk crumbled under her foot. “Oh, swell,” groaned Norah, pulling herself up to the platform again.
“Help!” she called in mock anguish. “Help me, fair sir! I’m stuck in this tree and a dragon is coming!”
Janet rushed through the woods and they couldn’t stop laughing as she helped Norah down, Bosley barking and jumping around them. All the way back to Gairloch they made each other start up again, as they kept on pretending to pretend.
AFTER LUNCH Norah read for a while on her rock, until she got too hot. Then she wandered down to feel the water, wondering whether an hour had passed since she had eaten and it would be safe to swim without getting cramps.
Aunt Mary was standing on the dock, all dressed up in a print dress and a yellow straw hat. Her hair, usually rolled into a tight knot, was in loose waves around her face. “Oh, Norah, I was looking for you. Gerald told me you passed your test with flying colours. Would you take me over to the mainland? Mr. Hancock has to pick up Andrew later and I need to go to Port Schofield.”
“Sure!” They settled themselves in the Putt-Putt and Norah, flushed with importance, backed it carefully out of its slip. Flo and Janet and Clare were always driving the Elders somewhere; now she could too.
Aunt Mary sat in the bow beside her, clutching her hat. Her cheeks were pink and she looked unusually animated.
“Why are you going to Port Schofield?” Norah asked. “Should I wait for you? Then I could take you back.”
“Um … I think it would be best if I went alone, Norah. I have an appointment that might take a long time, and you’ll want to be there when Andrew arrives. I’ll be finished before dinner—could you come and pick me up at five-thirty?”
She waved goodbye from the dock and hurried away. Norah wondered why she didn’t carry her usual shopping basket.
On the way back she went as fast as she dared, bouncing the launch on the waves and getting drenched. She slowed down sedately when she was within view of the island. Gavin, Sally, Peter and Ross were sitting in a row on the dock, each dangling a line in the water.
“Look at all the bass we’ve caught, Norah!” Gavin showed her a pail full of flopping silver fish.
Norah fetched a fishing pole from the boathouse and joine
d them. They caught four more bass, cleaned them in the lake and took them up to Hanny to put in the icehouse. Then they all went swimming. The water was so warm now that they stayed in until the tips of their fingers became wrinkled.
“This summer we’re being detectives,” Gavin told Norah as they baked on their towels in the burning sun. “We have an agency called ‘The Fearless Four.’”
“We’ll solve anything,” said Sally. “No case is too difficult.”
“Peter and I got a fingerprinting set for Christmas last year,” said Ross.
“And I borrowed Aunt Florence’s magnifying glass,” said Gavin.
“So what case are you solving right now?” asked Norah lazily.
“We haven’t actually begun yet,” Gavin told her. “We’re getting prepared, though. Tonight we’re going to take everyone’s fingerprints, so we’ll have them on record.”
“Our headquarters are in the playhouse,” said Peter. “No one else seems to be using it this year,” he added defensively. Last summer the younger cousins had been banned from the playhouse by the Hornets.
Gavin looked worried. “Is that all right, Norah? We’ve already moved some stuff in there.”
“Go ahead and use it,” Norah told them.
“Thanks!” said Sally. “If you want anything solved, just come and see us there.”
Norah promised she would. She’d never thought of playing detective herself. Now it was too late.
AT TWO-THIRTY Mr. Hancock, Flo and Janet took off in the Florence to pick up Andrew in Port Clarkson. Two hours later most of the clan were on the dock waiting for them to come back. Norah hadn’t intended to meet him with the others, but curiosity kept her there.
“He’s here! Andrew! Andrew!” screamed Clare, waving both arms.
“For heaven’s sake, Clare, control yourself!” Aunt Mar told her daughter. But Clare shrieked even louder when the launch drew up to the dock. A tall boy stepped out, laughing as he pushed away Clare’s attacking arms.