by Kit Pearson
“Let me try,” said Clare. “Mother says I’m too young, but if I start she won’t be able to do anything about it.”
Norah and Janet watched closely while Clare soaped one leg and drew the razor along it, leaving a gleaming bare patch.
“Ouch!” A line of red welled up. “Now look what I’ve done!” Clare splashed water on her leg to stop the bleeding but she had to press a wet towel on the cut.
“I’m glad I don’t have to shave my legs yet,” Janet whispered to Norah. “Mum says I’m so blonde I may never have to.”
Norah looked down at her own smooth legs and gingerly touched the metal layer of bobby pins on her head. They were hot from the sun and they pinched. She let Janet paint the nails on her toes and fingers a shiny red and began to feel she was in disguise.
For the next hour they examined their clothes, trying on and trading until each person was satisfied. Flo passed around a jar of Odo-ro-no. “You don’t want to have BO—the dancing will make you perspire,” she warned. Then Flo and Clare covered their legs with some brown liquid called Velva Leg Film. Janet wanted some too, but there wasn’t enough.
“I wish it wasn’t so hard to get stockings,” she grumbled. “You’re lucky your legs are so brown, Norah. Mine are so white and freckled. And I look so fat …”
She did look fat—in her flowered print dress cinched at the waist, she resembled a sausage tied in the middle.
“You look … curvy,” said Norah desperately. “Sort of like Dorothy Lamour.”
“You look perfectly all right,” said Flo. “And the point is not to worry about your appearance—just to have a good time. Now it’s your turn, Norah.”
After Norah had her dress on—an old one of Clare’s that she had reluctantly lent her—Flo brushed out her hair and tied a blue bow on one side. Then she carefully applied some of her Tangee lipstick to Norah’s open mouth.
“Wow! Have a look!” Norah went over and stood in front of the cracked mirror on the back of the door. The others gathered behind her as she drew in her breath with surprise.
Her hair was its usual dull brown, but now the ends burst into a froth that tickled her cheeks. The ribbon drew attention away from her nose. Her red mouth made her teeth look very white. Her dress was tight to the waist, then fell in soft folds, with Janet’s silver pumps gleaming underneath.
“You’re beautiful!” smiled Flo. “It’s incredible—you could pass for sixteen at least.”
“Oh, Norah, I wish I could look like that!” cried Janet. Clare didn’t say anything but her pursed mouth looked grudgingly approving.
Norah crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you—do you think I need a bra? I’m getting one in the fall.”
“That tight dress is fine without one,” said Flo.
Norah let her arms hang free and continued to stare at the stranger in the mirror. Was that her? She smiled at her reflection and it grinned saucily back. What would Andrew think?
“NOW THERE ARE FIFTEEN!” panted Gavin. He collapsed beside Norah on the verandah swing, after racing full speed up the hill. He was almost hysterical with excitement; his eyes glittered and his cheeks were flushed a deep red. Aunt Florence would have called him overwrought and sent him to bed, but Norah didn’t want to spoil his obvious enjoyment of the party. “Ten launches, three rowboats and two canoes,” continued Gavin. “Peter and Ross are still helping tie them up.”
All evening the little boys had greeted the boats and pointed the guests towards the party. That was unnecessary: the steps were dotted with candles and above them Gairloch’s glowing windows beamed like a lighthouse into the darkness. Out of them drifted the strains of the Glenn Miller band, overladen with laughing chatter.
Teen-agers spilled out of the house onto the verandah, perching on the railing with cigarettes, bottles of pop or the beer that some of them had brought. Norah was studying a couple who were kissing close to her. The boy dived into the girl’s neck; he seemed to be nibbling on it. Norah continued to stare as the couple’s heads twisted and turned. “Necking” was a very accurate description, she decided. It didn’t look very comfortable.
“Whoops—here comes another one!” Gavin tumbled down to the dock again as the lights of a launch streamed across the lake. Norah went over to the railing and gazed at the flotilla of boats, some tied to the dock and some to each other.
She wiped her sweaty palms on the skirt of her dress, took a deep breath, and plunged into the party again. She had only lasted a few minutes on her last attempt. Three times the noise and the grown-upness had over-whelmed her and she’d escaped to breathe more easily on the verandah.
Norah found Janet hugging Bosley on the windowseat, a dreamy look on her face. “Someone asked me to dance!” she whispered with awe.
Norah squished in beside her. “Who? Did you?”
Janet nodded solemnly and pointed. “With that boy over there—the one with glasses. He’s Louise’s cousin. But I stepped on his foot, so we stopped. I don’t mind though—at least I was asked! I never have been before.”
“What’s his name?” The boy was sitting on the far side of the room, guzzling a Coke. He caught their eyes and scuttled out of the room.
“Now we’ve scared him away,” sighed Janet. “Oh well. His name is Mark and he’s only staying in Muskoka for another two days. I asked him lots of questions to draw him out, the way it says in Ladies’ Home Journal, but he didn’t seem to want to answer them.”
“You were so brave to say yes,” said Norah. “I hope no one asks me to dance. It would be so embarrassing.”
“Have some peanuts.” Janet had a bowl of them beside her. The two of them ate them all, throwing an occasional tidbit to Bosley, while they watched the party. Couples—some mixed and many consisting of two girls—jitterbugged before them, waggling their hands and almost leaping off the ground with energy. Some of the girls were dancing so hard that their leg make-up ran down in streaks; occasionally one would be lifted high above the crowd or swooped between her partner’s legs. The cat collection shook precariously on the mantelpiece as the whole room seemed to jump and sway. The hot space was filled with a smell of cigarette smoke and sweat.
“Shall we?” suggested Janet.
“I’m not very good,” said Norah.
“Well, you know I’m not. We should practise and maybe then I’ll stop stepping on people’s feet.”
They slid off the seat and began to jitterbug. They had often practised dancing in the boathouse, but here it was different. Norah was sure everyone in the room was eyeing them scornfully. Her arms felt wooden and her feet kept stepping out of Janet’s shoes. “That’s enough,” she said finally. “I’d rather watch.” Janet seemed quite willing to stop and they went back to their post.
Norah had lost track of Andrew; the last time she’d seen him he’d been helping Flo uncap more bottles. Now she spotted him again and frowned. He was dancing with Lois; she hadn’t even noticed the Mitchells arrive. Lois was teasing him about something, poking his chest while they danced. Andrew’s deep answering laugh made Norah’s insides lurch with jealousy. He had said hello to her in passing but he hadn’t said anything about how she looked.
Someone put on “Stardust.” The mixed couples came together like magnets and the single girls retreated to the sides of the room. Some of the couples kissed while they danced, barely moving to the hypnotic melody.
“Slow ones are such a bore,” said Janet. “Look at Clare! Who’s she with?”
Clare was snuggled into the shoulder of a tall blond boy.
“Aunt Mar wouldn’t like that,” said Janet. “He’s too old for her.” Then Flo steered a giggling Peter past them and they all laughed.
“Why are most of the girls older than the boys?” asked Norah suddenly. Some of the girls were as sophisticated-looking as movie stars, but many of the boys had skin pocked with acne and gangly arms and legs.
“Because the older boys are all in the war, silly.”
Of course; now she reme
mbered Flo saying how many of her friends were also writing letters to the front. Andrew and Clare’s partner were the oldest. Norah let herself look at Andrew again; Lois was holding him so close Norah couldn’t stand it.
“I need some air,” she whispered, and slipped out into the night.
Gavin was on the glider, fast asleep. She half-carried him, half-led him to bed. Then she spent the next few hours swinging in her chair in time to the music, falling into a light sleep, then jerking awake again. She could go to bed herself, but she liked taking advantage of the fact that there was no one to tell her to. And she couldn’t seem to leave the party; it was as if it were going to go on forever and she was stuck in it like a trance.
One after another the velvety melodies floated out to her: “Blue Moon,” “Moonlight Serenade,” and the whirling crescendo of “In the Mood.” Again and again someone put on “You’ll Never Know.” That’s our song, Norah decided. Most of the songs were about moons and dreams and partings and they all had a wistful edge to them. Being grown-up seemed to be one endless love scene where someone was in love and the other had left or didn’t return the love.
Andrew’s voice very close to her startled her awake. A strident female one answered it. “Come on, Andrew, just a short ride. Why can’t you?”
Andrew and Lois were standing at the top of the verandah steps. Norah kept very still, rubbing her eyes. She must have slept for a long time. Now the party seemed to be ending; down by the water voices were calling out goodbyes.
“I told you,” said Andrew, sounding as if he were controlling his impatience. “I’m supposed to be in charge and I don’t want to leave my cousins alone.”
“For Pete’s sake, they’re not babies! Can’t we just nip over to Little Island? We’d have it all to ourselves. I’m beginning to think you’re afraid of me.”
They moved down the steps and into the shadows right below her. There was a long silence during which Norah, embarrassed and furious, hunched farther into the glider. She could see by their outline that they were locked in an embrace.
“There! Now will you take me?” wheedled Lois.
“Lois …” said Andrew, as if he were entreating her not to keep asking. Then a voice below called her name as well. “Lois! Are you coming or not?”
“There!” said Andrew eagerly. “Jamie and Dick are leaving—you’d better go with them.”
“Oh, all right,” grumbled Lois. “Sometimes you’re a spoilsport, Andrew.”
Norah leaned over the railing as the two of them went hand in hand down the steps. She listened to Andrew call goodbye, and sighed with relief as the boat carrying Lois chugged away.
13
A Promise
N orah expected Andrew to return to the party—there were still a few lingering dancers—but he strode around the side of the cottage. She slipped off the verandah and set out along the path by the lake to trail him.
After her sleep she was rested and alert. She had left behind her uncomfortable shoes and undone the pinching ribbon from her hair. The night air was warm and soft. A whippoorwill trilled its endless refrain, a startled raccoon lumbered out of her way and a few bats swooped in front of her. Crickets chirped in a reedy chorus. Norah slid through the lively darkness like a fish through water, her head up to admire the glittering sky. This was as magical and romantic a night as in the songs.
Finally she spotted Andrew, a dark, seated figure high up on her lookout. Norah stole through the trees and paused at the base of the rock. She could slip away again without him hearing her, but that would be cowardly.
“Andrew,” Norah called.
He jerked around. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me—Norah.”
“Norah! I thought you’d be in bed by now. Come and share the view—it’s such a beautiful night.”
Carefully Norah’s toes found the footholds that were so familiar to her in daylight. She trembled with pleasure as Andrew reached out and took her hand.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, flopping down beside him. Her cheeks were burning so much, she was glad it was dark. The rock still gave off a faint glow of heat from the day.
“This used to be my favourite place when I was younger,” said Andrew.
“Did it? It’s my favourite place!” Norah was so pleased, she forgot to feel awkward.
“I know—I’ve seen you up here.”
Had he seen her spying on him? But Andrew was smiling. His eyes, dim by moonlight, were concentrating only on her.
“I meant to tell you how pretty you look tonight, Norah. Have you done something different with your hair?”
“Flo curled it,” mumbled Norah.
“Hmmm … maybe you should do it like that all the time.”
“It’s too much trouble! I might later—when I’m sixteen or so.”
“You’ll probably be back in England when you’re sixteen,” said Andrew. “Surely the war will be over by then. Now that Sicily has been taken, it looks a lot more hopeful.”
He didn’t sound hopeful. He sounded, Norah realized, absolutely miserable. She remembered the night she’d seen him crying.
“Are you upset that the war might be over before you can be in it?” she asked carefully.
Andrew gave a dry, mocking laugh. “It’s kind of the opposite. I’m afraid the war might not be over and I’ll have to fight in it.”
Norah swallowed hard. “Don’t you want to, then?”
Andrew whirled around so fast that Norah gasped. “No, I do not! I’ve never wanted to do anything less in my entire life!” He leaned over and grabbed Norah’s shoulders. “I don’t want to kill anyone! I don’t think it’s right! But do you think my parents or anyone else in this damned family understands that?”
Andrew dropped his hands and Norah controlled the impulse to rub the painful places where he’d gripped her.
Andrew sighed. “I’m sorry, Norah. I didn’t mean to scare you. Now you know. You’re the only person I’ve ever told. I guess you’re the only one I can tell, since you’re not really part of the family. But I shouldn’t bother you with my problems. I’m sorry,” he said again. He sounded as if he were going to cry.
“It’s okay,” whispered Norah. “I don’t mind.” They were quiet for what seemed like an eternity, Andrew’s fierce words echoing in the darkness.
“Aunt Catherine said that too,” said Norah slowly. “She said that you weren’t cut out to be a soldier and that you were born at the wrong time.”
“Aunt Catherine is the only one who understands,” said Andrew. “You know how kids play Cowboys and Indians and pretend to shoot each other? I never did—I used to pretend that my gun was a camera! It really upset my father—he was always buying me new, bigger guns to entice me. And I hated Cadets—all that stupid drilling. Do you know how many men were killed at Dieppe?”
“How many?” whispered Norah. She remembered the horror all the grown-ups had felt last August when so many Canadians had been lost. But she and the other cousins had been so busy playing games they hadn’t paid much attention.
“Almost nine hundred! Think of that! Nine hundred men slaughtered like cattle—for what? Doesn’t it seem intolerable and absurd to you that whenever human beings disagree they go out and kill each other?” His arms thrust wildly as his words rushed out.
Norah’s head was whirling, but she tried to keep it above Andrew’s rising passion.
“But what about Hitler? Don’t we have to beat him?”
Beating Hitler had been ingrained in Norah’s consciousness since she was nine. She remembered her own efforts to help. “I used to watch for his planes in England,” she said softly. “All my friends did. We thought the war was fun then. I don’t any more, but I still think we have to fight him. What would happen if he won?” Her voice rose in panic. “What would happen to England? And to my family?”
Andrew patted her knee. “You’re perfectly right, Norah—don’t worry. I know we have to beat him so people like your family can be safe. And we
probably will. It’s just too bad that war seems to be the only way.” He sighed. “I feel like such a freak. Every one of my friends seems to take it for granted we’ll all join up. Even fellows as bright as my friend Jack seem to be able to stomach it. We had a terrible argument the night before he left—he thinks I should fight. I don’t know anyone who feels the way I do.”
Norah was trying very hard not to think of Andrew as a freak herself. She’d never heard anyone express any doubts about the war—except for Aunt Catherine. But Andrew was a man, not an old woman. “Are you afraid?” Norah asked, almost angrily.
“I’ve thought about that a lot,” said Andrew slowly. “I guess everyone must be afraid—you wouldn’t be human if you weren’t. But I think you could make yourself do it when the crunch comes—‘screw your courage to the sticking place’ and all that. I could do that, I think—but it doesn’t seem morally right to me. So I feel like such a phoney, with everyone thinking I’m going off to learn how to be an officer and then maybe join the war.”
“But it’s only maybe,” Norah reminded him. “You might not even have to.”
“Yes, I could avoid it—but don’t you see how that makes me even more of a phoney? I’m not taking any sort of stand—everyone thinks I’m eager to get in on it, as Uncle Barclay keeps saying. If I’m lucky I won’t have to fight, but then I’ll spend the rest of my life pretending to be sorry I didn’t. I just can’t live that sort of lie!”
Norah listened to the pain in his voice. There was no way she could argue with his conviction.
She took a deep breath. All right, then. No matter how much she disagreed with him, she would accept his beliefs, if that was what loving him demanded.
“What do you want to do?” she asked.
“I want to be an actor, of course,” said Andrew at once. “I want to do it now, not wait until after the war—to quit university and try to get on with some company.”