by Kit Pearson
“Maud would be very disappointed in you,” finished the Guppy, as she always did.
Polly thought of Maud and Robert kissing. What would Miss Guppy think of perfect Maud if she knew about that?
At evening prayers on Tuesday, Miss Guppy was pale. To everyone’s astonishment, she was wiping tears from her face. “I’m very sorry to have to tell you, girls, that our beloved king has died. Even though we have expected this news, it is a sad loss.”
The next day, all the teachers talked about King George V. Most of them, like Miss Guppy, spoke of England as “home”; they were all as upset as she was.
Polly tried to feel sad. All her life she had seen pictures of the king, on stamps and coins and photographs on school walls. Last year, Noni had bought a special mug for the silver jubilee, with the king’s moustached face and the queen’s regal head of silver curls painted on its side. It felt important to hear about such an esteemed person’s death, but she couldn’t really feel sad about someone she had never met.
“It’s so weird that someone who lived in England also ruled Canada,” said Rhoda. “Who will be king now?”
“Edward, the Prince of Wales,” Daisy told her. “He’s so handsome!”
“My grandfather saw the king once,” Eleanor told them. “He reviewed Grampa’s troop in England during the Great War.”
“Why is it called ‘the Great War’?” asked Rhoda.
“Because there will never be another one,” said Daisy.
Eleanor looked sombre. “There might be. That’s what my dad says. I sure hope not—maybe my older brothers would have to fight in it.”
Panic fluttered in Polly. Another war? Would Chester have to fight? Would Gregor? Maybe Daddy would! She tried to calm herself. Surely Chester would be too young and Daddy too old. And surely Eleanor’s father was wrong. She decided to ask Uncle Rand the next time she was home; he knew everything.
In composition, they were asked to write something about the king. Eleanor wrote about her grandfather. Rhoda wrote about not having a king in her country, and Polly wrote dutifully about what a great king he was. She didn’t say that she wasn’t sure why.
Daisy’s essay was so good that she was asked to read it aloud. She described how miserable the king’s dog must be feeling; then Polly felt sad for the first time.
The following Tuesday was a school holiday for the king’s funeral. The lucky day girls could stay home, but all the boarders had to go downtown in the morning and attend a service at the cathedral. They arrived at eight-thirty to get a seat. Two hours later, when the service began, over a thousand people filled the vast space. Polly was so hot she thought she would faint, but they weren’t allowed to take off their blazers, hats, or gloves. As usual on their outings, she looked for Chester in the crowd, but he wasn’t there. Finally, the congregation sang “Abide with Me” and “O Canada,” and they could escape into the cool air.
“You will always remember this day, girls,” Miss Guppy told them on the streetcar going back. After lunch the boarders were invited to gather in the sitting room and listen to the funeral in London on the radio. The Fearless Four chose to go over to the gym and shoot baskets, instead.
Polly was trying to stay out of Rhoda’s way this term, and usually she succeeded. Rhoda had decided she was going to earn the most points of any girl in her house. After school she was busy playing a sport or rehearsing for a play. In the dorm she chattered to the other three instead of Polly. If she made a mean remark, Polly ignored her.
One rainy afternoon, however, they were stuck in the dorm together. One of the prefects had taken Daisy to the dentist, and Eleanor was in the library.
Polly bent her head over her book. Rhoda was knitting a square that would be part of a blanket for the Red Cross; she gained a house point for each square she completed.
“Would you like to borrow some wool and needles, Polly?” she asked in a simpering voice. “If you began knitting squares, you could make up for some of the order marks you’ve received.”
Polly didn’t answer. For a few minutes Rhoda was quiet, as well. Then she said, “Polly, stop reading. There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you.”
Polly looked up suspiciously. “What?”
“Why don’t you ever talk about your father? We know you live with your grandmother, and that your mother is dead and your father lives in Kelowna. But I heard you telling Eleanor you saw him over the holidays. Does he live on the island now?”
Polly stiffened. “My father still lives in Kelowna. He was just visiting me.”
“But why doesn’t he live with you all the time?”
Polly stood up. “He just doesn’t. That’s all you need to know, Rhoda. The rest is none of your business!”
“The rest of what?” asked Rhoda.
But Polly was already on her way out of the dorm.
Once again, Polly was standing in Miss Guppy’s study with the door closed. The headmistress was holding a large white envelope. It had been slit open.
“This is addressed to you, Polly,” she said. “As you know, you are allowed to receive mail only from the approved people on your list, so I had to open it.” She handed the envelope to Polly, grimacing as if it contained something alive. “Look what I found!”
Polly pulled out a decorated cardboard heart outlined with white lace. Inside, it said “Happy Valentine’s Day, Polly.”
“Who is this from?” Miss Guppy asked sternly.
Polly stared at the card. At the bottom was a tiny drawing of a whale.
She could say she didn’t know. But the Guppy had a remarkable ability for ferreting out the truth. “It’s from Chester Simmons,” whispered Polly.
Miss Guppy exploded. Polly shivered as the harsh words soaked her like a cloudburst. St. Winifred’s students were never to receive letters from boys! Girls Polly’s age were much too young to correspond with boys at all. Miss Guppy was going to inform the headmaster of St. Cuthbert’s what Chester had done.
On and on she ranted, while Polly fingered the valentine for comfort. It was so beautiful, with its lace and bright flowers, even nicer than the one Chester had given her three years ago. And he remembered the whales!
“I’m sorry, Miss Guppy,” said Polly when the storm of words had ceased, “but I didn’t know he was going to send it.”
“You must have encouraged him in some way,” said Miss Guppy, “just as you did at the concert. You are far too young to be making eyes at boys, young lady! I’m going to write to your grandmother and inform her of your behaviour.”
Noni won’t care, thought Polly. It cheered her up to think of how she and Aunt Jean and Uncle Rand would laugh about it at the dinner table.
Miss Guppy’s voice was winding down now; the lecture seemed almost over. Polly waited to be dismissed, pressing the valentine to her chest. In a few minutes, she could run up to the dorm and savour it.
The headmistress finished with her usual words: how ashamed Maud would be. She paused.
“Now, give me back the valentine.”
“But can’t I keep it?”
“Certainly not!” Miss Guppy snatched the valentine and tried to rip it.
“No! Please, don’t!” cried Polly.
The lace wouldn’t tear. Miss Guppy picked up some scissors from her desk and sliced the red heart into many pieces. “There!” she said, dropping them into the waste-paper basket.
Polly was so horrified that for a few seconds she couldn’t move. Then she raced out of the study and up to her dorm.
The others were already in their nightgowns. They stood around Polly’s bed while she sobbed into her pillow. “I hate her—I hate her!” she kept saying. Finally, she choked out the whole story.
“You poor thing!” said Daisy.
“You got a valentine from a boy?” said Rhoda.
“She had no right to open your private mail,” said Eleanor.
“What did it say?” said Rhoda.
Mrs. Blake came in to tell them to get r
eady for bed. She stroked Polly’s back, while the others told her what had happened.
“I hate her!” said Polly again.
“I shouldn’t say this, love, but I have to agree that Miss Guppy was much too strict,” said Mrs. Blake. “All you can do is try to stay out of her way.”
“I do, but I keep getting into trouble!” said Polly.
After lights out, Polly tried to reconstruct the valentine in her mind. She pretended it was under her pillow as she sobbed herself to sleep.
All Maud’s letters were about Robert, and all Daddy’s were about Esther. Esther had made new curtains for the boarding house. It was a marvel, said Daddy, how she managed to cook such thrifty, tasty meals for everyone. She and Daddy had painted the dining room green, and Esther had got paint in her hair. Now Daddy called her “the Green Giantess.”
In his last letter, he’d sent a snap of the two of them in front of the house. Esther was as tall as Daddy. She had a long bony face and a wide smile. And she did look kind. “She can hardly wait to meet the two of you,” Daddy kept writing.
Polly had such mixed feelings. She still wasn’t used to this new person in Daddy’s life, but she was glad he was so happy.
In February, Maud wrote Polly a short note saying she had stopped seeing Robert. “He’s not the person I thought he was,” she said. “He’s turned out to be intolerant and judgmental, and I don’t want to have anything more to do with him.”
Polly was relieved that Robert was out of Maud’s life. Together they had been a soppy couple who had excluded her. Still, she couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for Maud. She had enjoyed having a beau to show off.
“Poor Maud,” said Noni the next week when Polly was home for half-term break.
“There are lots of other fish in the sea!” said Aunt Jean. “Our Maud is so bonny she won’t have any trouble finding another young man.”
“I’m worried about her, though,” said Noni. “I don’t understand why she didn’t want us to come to Vancouver.”
The family had planned to spend Polly’s holiday there, but Maud had told them she had so much work to do that she couldn’t take time off for a visit.
Polly was both hurt and disappointed. Maud always wanted to be with her! And the only part of Vancouver Polly had ever seen was the train station. She’d been excited about exploring such a big city.
Chester came up to Polly after church. “I’m sorry I got you into trouble.” He grimaced. “I got into trouble, too. What a stupid fuss they all made! It was just a valentine.”
“I’m glad you sent it, though,” said Polly shyly. “It was beautiful. But Miss Guppy cut it up!”
“Never mind.” Chester hesitated. Then he said in a rush, “You look pretty today, Polly.” He hurried away before she could respond.
In special art, they continued drawing, with pencils, charcoal, and ink. Polly began looking at everything more carefully, from faces to trees to the sky. “‘Try to be one of those on whom nothing is lost,’” Miss Falconer told them. “A writer named Henry James said that. Mr. de Jonge has his words posted over his desk. It’s excellent advice for artists, as well as for writers.”
She encouraged them to carry small sketchbooks and a pencil wherever they went. Polly kept hers in the pocket of her blazer. She didn’t dare take it out during class, but in her free time she drew her roommates or the school buildings or a teacup or a flower. To capture the school on paper helped distance its grimness.
One Saturday at tea, Miss Falconer asked the older girls if any of them wanted to choose art as a career. “If you’re going to the Vancouver School of Art, we’d better start sending in applications for those of you who are graduating.”
They all shook their heads. Jane wanted to become a nurse. The others didn’t plan to have careers, although two of them were hoping to go to university.
“I’m sure I’ll still do art, but only as a hobby,” said Dottie. “I’ll be too busy having babies! After I meet the right man, of course,” she added with a blush.
“What a waste,” said Miss Falconer quietly.
Then she looked at Polly. “How about you, little one? It’s probably too soon for you to know, but do you think you might want to become an artist?”
Polly nodded so vigorously she spilled her tea.
“Would that be all right with your family?”
“Yes. They already know I want to go to art school instead of university.”
“I’m so glad, Polly. I’ll give you the best training I can for the next four years, and then I’ll help you put together a portfolio. With your talent, I’m sure you won’t have any problem being accepted.”
“Oh, but …”
“What?”
“Nothing,” mumbled Polly. She couldn’t say that she was leaving at the end of this year. Miss Falconer would be so disappointed.
Spring in Victoria was more colourful than spring on the island. The cherry trees on the edge of the playing field burst into pink froth, then the gardens blazed with tulips. The weather grew so warm that they switched to their summer uniforms: checked maroon cotton dresses, and sandals and short socks instead of scratchy wool stockings and heavy oxfords.
Polly was enjoying botany. Every week they were allowed to gather bluebells and other wildflowers from the woods, bring them into the classroom, and draw them. One afternoon Miss Linton, usually a calm young woman, looked agitated.
“Put your pencils down, girls, and pay attention. Today I’m going to teach you about pollination.”
She turned to the board and drew a large flower. “This is called the ‘pistil’ and these are called the ‘stamens,’” she said tightly. “The stamens produce pollen, which is transferred to the top of the pistil, which is called the ‘stigma.’ Then seeds are made at the base of the pistil, in the ‘ovule.’”
She turned around from the board, her face pink. “Any questions?”
Eleanor put up her hand. “Does the pollen always go to the same plant’s stigma?”
“A very good question, Eleanor. No, the pollen is often transferred to a different plant, by bees or the wind. That is called cross-pollination.”
Rhoda thrust up her hand. “Miss Linton, it seems to me that flowers are like people! The stamens are—”
Miss Linton cut her off, but several girls started giggling. “Rhoda Spiegel, that’s enough! I’m giving you an order mark for rudeness. If anyone else finds this amusing, she will get one, also. Now, please copy this drawing into your notebooks.”
Polly was confused. Why was Miss Linton so upset, and why did some of the girls have smirks on their faces?
That evening after lights out, the Fearless Four were sitting on the top of the fire escape, as they had done several times since the spring weather arrived.
“Miss Linton was really unfair today,” said Eleanor to Rhoda. “Your question was perfectly justified. It’s remarkable, really, how similar different species are. Flowers are like people!”
“They are?” said Daisy.
“How?” said Polly.
Eleanor smiled. “Don’t you know? Rho, you must, or you wouldn’t have asked that question.”
Rhoda nodded. “I’ve known since last year. My mother told me.”
“Know what?” said Polly. It was irritating how smug Rhoda was acting. Eleanor was almost as bad.
“I found out just before I came here,” said Eleanor. “My brother Ralph and I discovered a book called Married Love in Mother and Dad’s bedroom.” She looked solemn. “Do you want me to tell you, or would you rather ask your parents?”
“Tell us before we push you off the fire escape!” laughed Daisy.
In her usual precise way, Eleanor told Polly and Daisy exactly why flowers were like people.
“Oh!” gulped Daisy, when she’d finished. “Well, I sort of knew that.”
Polly realized that so did she. When she thought of the animals on Biddy’s farm, it all made sense.
“Do we have to do it, too?” asked Da
isy.
“Not unless you want to, and not until you’re married, of course,” said Eleanor.
“My mother says it’s a beautiful way of celebrating the love you feel for your husband,” said Rhoda.
Despite Rhoda’s loftiness, Polly relaxed at her words. And Polly wouldn’t be married for years and years, so there was no point in worrying about it now.
She looked longingly at the smooth lawn below. The air was so soft and warm. “Let’s go down!” she suggested.
“Good idea!” said Eleanor. They had often thought of this, but no one had ever dared.
“What if we get caught?” asked Daisy.
“We won’t,” said Polly. “The Crab is off, and Mrs. Blake is reading in her room, the way she always does. And the Guppy is out—her car isn’t there.”
“Shall we?” giggled Rhoda.
“Yes!” said Daisy. “Come on, troops!”
They slipped down the stairs in their bare feet. Then they danced around on the lawn and played a silent game of tag, covering their mouths to keep from laughing.
How wonderful to feel cool grass again, thought Polly. The full moon was so bright it was almost like daylight. For the first time, she felt as free at school as she did on the island.
Then a car drew up into the parking lot. They were frozen in its headlights like frightened deer.
“What do you think you are doing?” barked the Guppy.
Five minutes later, they were standing in her study. An hour of extra prep on Saturday morning … eating silently at a separate table for a week … no tuck boxes for a month … the list of penalties went on and on.
At least Polly wasn’t the only one in trouble this time. Their shared resentment made them more of a group than ever. They even had a good time doing their extra prep. Eleanor did it quickly for all of them, then they played hangman for the rest of the hour. Millicent Price, the prefect who was supposed to be supervising, ignored them. She was too busy writing a letter to her beau.
In early April, Maud wrote and said she was not coming to the island for Easter. Instead, she was going to spend it with Daddy and Esther, then stay on for Polly’s week there.
“My classes will be over then and I’ll be very busy studying for exams,” she wrote. “I’m longing to see you, Doodle,” she ended, adding many X’s and O’s.