Looking at the Moon

by Kit Pearson

  Her story wasn’t going to be so boring. And she couldn’t believe that she’d ever love anyone but Andrew.

  17

  The Last Evening

  T hey arrived back in time to say goodbye to Aunt Catherine. The whole family congregated on the dock to see her off, while the Nugents, who were going to take her to Ottawa, waited in their launch.

  When it was Norah’s turn to kiss her she wished she could tell Aunt Catherine what Andrew was going to announce when he came back tomorrow. She would be the only member of the family who would be pleased with him. But it was Andrew’s secret.

  “Goodbye,” she said, suddenly shy.

  Aunt Catherine kissed her firmly on each cheek. “There! You have a good year, Norah, and I’ll see you next summer. In the meantime, don’t grow up too fast! There’s no hurry, you know—one day you’ll be like me and wishing you were young again.”

  But her spirit seemed as young as ever as she waved vigorously from the departing boat. Norah watched it until it disappeared around the point. She usually forgot about the old woman until she was here again, but somehow, this year, she missed her already.

  THE FAMILY was in a flurry as they got ready to leave. Anything that could be nibbled by mice was put into the “tin room” above the stairs. Hanny packed boxes of jam for each family. Neighbours came by in their boats to say goodbye. Everyone was leaving together on Sunday morning, and the precious moments rushed by. Too soon they were all sitting in the dining room for their last Big Dinner.

  “Hanny, you’ve surpassed yourself.” Uncle Reg leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “That was the best meal we’ve had all summer.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Hanny. She removed his dessert plate, stained purple from blueberry pie. The adults lingered at the table, smoking and chatting.

  “The last time we’ll all be together,” sighed Aunt Bea.

  “All except Andrew,” sniffed Aunt Florence. “Why couldn’t he have gone to Huntsville earlier in the month? And he really should have tried to be back in time for our last dinner. How is he getting here from Brockhurst?”

  “He asked Mr. Hancock to leave the Putt-Putt there for him,” said Uncle Gerald. “He towed it over this afternoon.”

  “He did promise he’d be back as soon as he could, Aunt Florence,” said Aunt Dorothy. She tried to change the subject. “I hope our tires will hold out long enough to come up next year. But I suppose we could take the train.”

  “It’s the gas coupons I’m worried about,” said Uncle Barclay. “We may have to run just one boat next summer.”

  “Why don’t you do what we’re going to?” said Aunt Florence. “Store the car all year and take streetcars. Then we can save our gas coupons for the trip north and use the rest for the boats.”

  “Do you want to have another contest, Florence?” asked Uncle Reg. “The first person to make two cushion covers by Christmas contributes fewer coupons.” He smiled smugly; he’d beaten Aunt Florence by six rows.

  “Oh, you … you’re just like an old woman,” chuckled Aunt Florence. “All right, you’re on.”

  Uncle Barclay began explaining to them once more all the details of the Allied invasion of Italy. Ever since they’d heard the news yesterday he’d talked of nothing else. Finally Gavin got up and whispered to Aunt Florence.

  She stood. “All right, everyone, into the living room! I believe we’re about to be entertained.”

  A few minutes later Norah stood behind a sheet pinned over a rope that was stretched across the alcove in the living room. Behind her the Fearless Four whispered last-minute instructions to each other. Norah remembered the unbearable excitement before the curtain rose. Janet, Bob, Alec and she also used to put on plays for the family. But last summer, suddenly feeling self conscious, they’d stopped.

  “Now, Norah!” hissed Sally. Norah drew back the sheet in jerky movements, careful to keep herself concealed behind it. Then she slipped out at the side to watch the play.

  Gavin stood in front of the audience dressed in Uncle Reg’s tweed hat, Flo’s trench coat pulled up over its belt and Uncle Barclay’s pipe in his mouth. “The Fearless Four Detective Agency presents … The Case of the Stolen Elephant!”

  The long play—Gavin had told Norah they couldn’t agree on whose ideas to use, so they’d kept in everyone’s—was complicated and far-reaching, with many costume changes and allusions to Johnny Canuck, Mussolini, Toad and Sherlock Holmes. They made up a lot of it as they went along, hauling up members of the audience to give evidence. Creature, of course, was the stolen elephant. He was finally given back in the end, returned by Roy Rogers—Peter, resplendent in a cowboy hat and holsters. Then the cast burst into song. “Off he goes, into the wild blue yonder …” they shouted, hurling Creature up to the ceiling again and again. He lost his remaining ear on his final landing.

  By the time they took their final bows the audience was almost on the floor with laughter. They applauded wildly, wiping tears from their eyes.

  “That was superb!” said Aunt Florence. “I haven’t seen anything like it since Andrew and Flo performed Dracula for us. Come and give me a kiss, Gavin.”

  “Where is Andrew?” asked Clare. “Shouldn’t he be back by now?”

  “I can’t think what’s keeping him,” said Aunt Bea, looking worried.

  “Oh, he’s probably having too good a time,” said Uncle Reg. “You women coddle him too much. Now for some songs!” He pulled out the piano bench and they all gathered round.

  For an hour they sang the family favourites: “You Are My Sunshine,” “Waltzing Matilda” and “The Quarter-master’s Store.” All the Drummonds had strong voices. Norah let hers blend in with theirs, glad to forget herself and just sing. Squeezed in between Janet and Aunt Mary, she felt for a while as mindlessly content as she’d been in other summers.

  “Here’s one for you and Gavin, Norah,” said Uncle Reg. He picked out a slow, sentimental melody as they all crooned “There’ll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover.” Tears gleamed in Aunt Mary’s eyes at the words “And Jimmy will go to sleep / In his own little room again.” When Uncle Reg stopped playing everyone was looking at Norah and Gavin in the soppy way they sometimes did, when they remembered how far away from home the two of them were.

  “I don’t think there are bluebirds in England,” said Norah, trying to change their mood.

  “Maybe next summer the war will be over and you won’t be here any more!” said Janet suddenly.

  “Next summer?” whispered Gavin.

  Aunt Florence frowned at Janet and pressed Gavin to her side. “Let’s just take things one day at a time. Play something rousing, Reg. How about ‘Roll Out the Barrel’?”

  “… and the GANG’S—ALL—HERE!” they finished raucously. Everyone collapsed into chairs, while Aunt Mar and Aunt Dorothy handed around coffee.

  Uncle Reg was staring intently at Gavin and Bosley. The dog’s silky head rested on Gavin’s knee; he stroked it sadly.

  “I have a proposition for you, Gavin.”

  “What, Uncle Reg?”

  “How would you like to take care of Bosley for me until the end of the war? I’ll lend him to you! After all, he’s much more attached to you than to me—aren’t you, you fickle beast?” Bosley thumped his tail politely, then pressed his head harder against Gavin.

  “Give Bosley to me?” the little boy breathed.

  “Lend him. You’ll have to give him back when you leave Canada.”

  “But won’t you miss him?”

  “Of course I will, but I think Bosley has shown whom he likes the best. I can see him in the holidays.”

  “Reg Drummond!” Aunt Florence glared at her brother. “Don’t you see how cruel your suggestion is? I’ve sometimes thought of getting Gavin a pet, but then he’d have to go through the misery of giving it up. It’s out of the question.”

  “Oh, please, Aunt Florence,” begged Gavin. “I understand. I know it’s just borrowing, really I do.”


  Aunt Florence looked at his pleading face and sighed. “Oh all right, sweetness. Reg hasn’t left me any choice, announcing it this way. But you’ll have to walk and feed him every day.”

  “I will!” promised Gavin. “Thank you, Aunt Florence and Uncle Reg! Did you hear that, Norah? Bosley’s coming to live with us! Aren’t you, Boz …” He buried his head in the dog’s neck.

  Norah agreed with Aunt Florence. Uncle Reg had set up a situation that was going to be wrenching sometime in the future. But Gavin’s pleasure right now was too acute to deny. And it would be fun to have a dog in the house, especially a dog as agreeable as Bosley.

  Janet and Clare had just started picking teams for Charades when a boat engine sounded faintly.

  “Andrew, at last!” said Aunt Florence.

  The family waited quietly while they listened to his footsteps on the verandah. Norah wondered why they thudded so heavily—almost like marching. The screen door clacked behind him and then Andrew made his entrance.

  Aunt Bea shrieked. Then there was a stunned silence until everyone began to cry out at the same time. “Andrew! Oh, Andrew, my dear boy!”

  Norah’s arms and legs turned to mush. She shivered violently as she stared at him, her mouth twitching and tears escaping as she realized what he’d done.

  Andrew was in uniform—encased from head to feet in thick wool khaki, his trousers billowing over heavy black boots. Worst of all, his beautiful wavy hair had been cropped close to his head, making him look tough and raw, as if all his former grace had been chopped away.

  “I’m sorry to give you such a fright,” he said quietly, sitting down beside Aunt Florence. “It was the only way I could think of to tell you. I’ve joined up. Tomorrow afternoon I report to training camp.”

  “But why?” cried Flo. “I thought you were going to wait until you could go over as an officer!”

  “I know why—you’re afraid of missing it, aren’t you?” said Uncle Barclay. He clapped Andrew on the shoulder. “Good for you, boy. I don’t blame you—I was hoping you’d do this.”

  Aunt Florence was finally able to speak. “You’ve given us all a dreadful shock, Andrew,” she said sternly. “You could have at least consulted with us. Or your parents. Do they know?”

  “Not yet,” admitted Andrew. “I’ll phone them tomorrow. Mother will be upset, but she’ll come around.”

  Aunt Florence sniffed. “I should think she would be upset! Her only son, going off to war as a private!” Then she sighed. “I have to admit, I can’t blame you either, Andrew. I was hoping—we all were—that you’d be an officer before you went. But Barclay is right—there might not be time for that. I think you’ve made a very courageous decision.”

  Then they all swarmed around him. The women were tearful and the men asked questions about training camp. Sally climbed on his lap and played with the tabs on his belt. Ross put on his cap and the other little boys gazed at him with awe.

  Norah managed to slip out of the room before anyone noticed how hard she was crying. She ran up to her rock and threw herself down on it, her scalding tears running into the lichen.

  How could he? He had broken his promise! He had betrayed her, but worse than that, he had betrayed himself—for she couldn’t believe he had changed his beliefs so suddenly.

  Lois must have talked him into it. She must have wanted him to be a hero—as Norah once had—and persuaded him to join the war like her brother Jack. That was the only explanation that made any sense.

  She couldn’t get out of her head the shock of seeing him standing there like a stranger. An anonymous soldier, who would crouch in a ditch and shoot people, like the scenes in newsreels.

  Another picture flashed into Norah’s mind, one she had also seen at the movies again and again. Soldiers lying inert on the ground. Dead.

  “Doesn’t it seem intolerable and absurd to you that whenever human beings disagree they go out and kill each other?” Andrew’s words, spoken with so much conviction on this rock a short time ago, seemed to ring out again.

  Norah thought of the picture of Hugh—Hugh in a uniform as well, gazing at the camera so cheerfully. He had never come back to Gairloch.

  Andrew could be killed. His honest eyes, that had looked so enormous in his shorn head, could lose their sparkle forever. Norah had never seen a dead person, but she thought of the glazed eyes of lifeless birds.

  War was wrong! She didn’t care what the cause was. Aunt Catherine was right. It was wrong and wicked that the lives of boys like Andrew and Hugh could be extinguished as easily as snuffing out a candle. When she imagined Andrew lying dead in a muddy ditch somewhere, she knew that she had never really loved him until now.

  Norah sat, shivering, drained and bitter, staring at the lake. All she wore was a cotton dress and her bare arms and legs were freezing; but she couldn’t move.

  “Norah?”

  Andrew’s voice was hesitant. “I knew I’d find you here.” He climbed up beside her. She swivelled to keep her back to him.

  “Look, let me explain! I tried to before, but you wouldn’t let me.”

  “I don’t want to hear,” spat Norah. “Go away!”

  “I’m sorry, but you have to hear. I know I broke my promise. But I think I have good reason to. And I thought you’d be pleased! After all, now I’m going to fight Hitler—and everything he represents. That’s what you wanted me to do, isn’t it?”

  She whirled around. “Not any more! Now I think it’s terrible that you’re going to fight! I can’t believe you’ve changed so much. How could you? Was it Lois? Did she make you?”

  “It has nothing to do with Lois. She knows—I told her before I went to Huntsville—but she didn’t affect my decision. It was Jack. I had an incredible letter from him. He hates the war—you’re too young to hear some of the terrible things he described. Now he hates it as much as I do. But the point is, Norah—he’s still fighting. He’s still over there, doing all the dirty work—he and all the other poor guys—while I sit here smugly saying I won’t go. It’s not fair that they’re all suffering—and believe me, they are—while I’m not. I don’t want to do it one bit more than I did before but it has to be done. So I may as well do it now.”

  “But you’ll have to kill people!” cried Norah. “How are you going to do that, after all you said before?”

  The muscle in Andrew’s cheek jumped violently. “I can’t answer that, Norah. All I can say is that—maybe—the end result will be worth it. Don’t you see?”

  “No, I don’t see! What if everyone in the world just refused to fight? Then there wouldn’t be any war! Then no one would get killed! Then y-you wouldn’t …” she choked, starting to sob again.

  Andrew pulled her close to him. “You’re right. But we don’t live in a world like that—not yet, anyway. But maybe if we win this war we’ll never have to have another one.”

  “Aunt Catherine said people felt like that about the first world war!”

  Andrew gave a weary sigh. “I guess they did … Norah, I’ve run out of arguments. All I know is, I’ve made up my mind. I don’t want to do it. It’s kind of like acting. I’ll pretend to do it.”

  “But—” Then she looked up at his face and saw how determined it was. He wore a new firmness, as unyielding as his uniform. That was why he hadn’t been able to tell them until he was wearing it, she realized; the uniform was part of the acting, like a costume. Surely the real Andrew was still underneath.

  There was nothing more she could say. She continued to cry quietly, enclosed in the sheltering circle of Andrew’s arm. At last she wiped her eyes with the rough wool of his sleeve.

  “I’ll never, ever agree with you,” she muttered.

  “I don’t expect you to,” said Andrew. “You’re certainly unpredictable, though!” he added.

  “So are you!” They exchanged wary smiles.

  “Can I write to you?” whispered Norah.

  “Of course you can! And you’ll still be seeing me every now and then. I
’ll get leaves until we go over and I’ll come and visit you all in Toronto.”

  Norah stood up and rubbed her goose-pimpled arms. Andrew stood too and they gazed out at the full moon streaming across the peaceful lake. “Whenever I see the moon I’ll think of Gairloch,” he said softly.

  Whenever I see it, I’ll think of you, thought Norah.

  She took a deep breath. Say it. Quickly, while she still had him alone.

  “Andrew, I—I …”

  He bent over, put his hands on her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “I know, Norah. I know. And I feel very flattered—I don’t think I deserve it. But you’re only—I hate to hurt your feelings but—”

  Norah sighed. “I’m only thirteen.”

  “Well … yes! But the nicest thirteen-year-old I know.” He looked apologetic. “I’m really beat, Norah. Are you okay now? Do you mind if I go to bed?”

  “I’m okay.”

  He squeezed her hand, then slipped down the rock towards his cabin.

  Norah watched him go, pressing the hand he had touched to her mouth. She stayed on the rock for a long time, the moon a watery blur through her tears.

  18

  “ You’ll Never Know”

  E verything was packed. The piano had been pushed into its mouse-proof case and the water had been turned off. Already the launches had made several trips to Ford’s Bay with suitcases and boxes. Now all the boats had been hoisted to the rafters of the boathouse. Most of the family was gathered on the dock and the verandah, waiting for Mr. McGuigan from the store to appear with his boat and start taking them in batches over to the mainland.

  Uncle Gerald and Andrew were fastening the heavy shutters back on the windows. Norah always hated this part about leaving. It was as if the cottage were having its eyes covered.

  “School the day after tomorrow!” gloated Clare. “I can hardly wait to see John.”

  “Oh, Norah, I’ll miss you!” wailed Janet. “Christmas seems so far away.”