by Kit Pearson
She argued and argued, and finally her parents agreed. “I don’t know how I’ll last so long without you, Lizabel,” said her father, “but maybe you’ll get it out of your system if we let you go now. And at least you have Adrian and Susan to keep an eye on you.”
“If you’re the least bit unhappy you must let us know at once,” said her mother.
They had to apply right away. Eliza wrote the entrance exam in the principal’s office at her elementary school and was accepted two weeks later. Then the clothing list arrived. She pored over it for hours.
1 regulation grey pleated skirt
6 regulation blue blouses
1 navy-blue blazer
6 pairs of navy-blue knee socks
3 pairs of navy-blue bloomers
1 pair of black oxford shoes
1 navy-blue gabardine raincoat
1 regulation blue beret
1 grey V-neck sweater
2 pairs of navy-blue gloves
1 pair of white gloves
This certainly sounded like her books. The requirements continued for pages and included items she’d never owned before—a sewing basket, a shoe-shining kit and an umbrella.
Eliza’s mother laughed at the bloomers. “I haven’t heard of those for years!” They ordered the uniform from a store in Vancouver. When it arrived, Eliza tried everything on and examined herself in the hall mirror.
She looked like one of the girls in the illustrations in her English books—very neat, all grey and blue. Eliza liked things that matched, and blue was her favourite colour. The bloomers, which were like long serge shorts with gathered bottoms, were soft and cosy. The black lace-up shoes were ugly, but felt secure and substantial on her feet. “I’m going to Ashdown,” she said importantly to her reflection.
August flashed by in a blur of packing and goodbyes. The Chapmans had to be in Toronto by the beginning of September. Aunt Susan arrived with her new baby to help pack and to take Eliza back to Vancouver. Eliza’s parents had taken the train east the same day she and her aunt had taken it west.
NOW SHE HEARD two buses pull up below the window, and she instantly wished this time alone wasn’t about to end. She hid behind the curtains and watched as a chattering swarm of girls emerged from the buses and spread out onto the pavement. From above they looked like a sea of coats, light blue berets bobbing on navy-blue waves.
Half the crowd melted around the corner; Eliza assumed they were the seniors, whom she knew lived in a separate building. The rest advanced towards her, and she hid even farther back. At once the quiet old house was filled with high voices and thumping feet.
The din grew louder as it came up the stairs to the second floor. One set of footsteps pounded quickly down the hall, followed by slower ones, and a mild voice calling, “Walk, please, Helen.”
Eliza turned and faced the door.
2
The Yellow Dorm
T he clamour stopped. Four pairs of curious eyes and four motionless bodies surrounded her. The first thing she noticed, with relief, was that they all wore socks.
A small woman with wispy yellowy-white hair stepped around from behind them. “Now, girls, don’t stare at poor Eliza like that. Eliza, these are your dorm-mates—Carrie, Pam, Jean and Helen. I’m Miss Bixley. We’re so glad you finally got here. I’ll leave you all now to get acquainted.”
Then they crowded her even more. I’m the tallest, Eliza thought frantically. I’m not afraid.
“Nice to meet you,” said Pam, pulling her white gloves off one long finger at a time. Her hands were smooth and tanned, and each nail was filed into a perfect arc. She examined Eliza coolly. Eliza at once felt babyish in her short tartan dress.
Jean smiled timidly, revealing a mouth full of braces, but she looked as if she wanted to run away and hide.
Helen sent her beret skimming across the room. Eliza shrank as the other girl stepped closer and peered at her. She resembled an angry owl. Her round face was chalk-white, and her short hair stood straight up in rusty red tufts. The large circles of her glasses made Eliza feel as if Helen could see right inside her.
“Well, well, well … so you’re Eliza. Welcome to prison.”
Eliza didn’t know what to reply to this. She turned with gratitude to the beaming fourth girl, Carrie, who had a heavy blond braid hanging down her back. “Oh, Eliza, I’m so glad you’re here! Now we’re really complete. You’re from Edmonton, aren’t you? I’m from Seattle.”
“If there’s anything you want to know, just ask me,” said Pam. “I’m the dorm head.”
“Only because you and I are the only two old girls, and I didn’t want to do it,” retorted Helen.
Pam ignored this. “I was a day-girl last year, but my father was transferred to Geneva for a year. That’s in Switzerland, you know.”
“If you don’t want the top bunk I’ll trade with you,” offered Carrie.
Eliza knew she should respond to the volley of comments that were being hurled at her, but her tongue seemed glued to the roof of her mouth, and words wouldn’t come out of her parched throat. All she could manage was to stand there foolishly and try to smile.
Miss Bixley bustled back in. “Helen, you have time before lunch to sew on some more nametapes. Come on, I’ll help you.”
“Miss Bixley,” said Pam, “shouldn’t Eliza put on her Sunday uniform?”
“Oh, that’s not necessary, not when she’d just be changing out of it again after lunch.”
Eliza found her voice: “Please, couldn’t I?” It would be terrible to be the only one at lunch not in uniform.
“Very well, if you really want to. On Sundays you wear your white blouse, navy-blue pleated skirt and blazer. The black pumps you have on will be fine.”
Too late, Eliza realized that now she’d have to change in front of all these eyes. But each girl became occupied with something in her own corner of the room, although they still kept throwing her information.
“We aren’t allowed to wear nylons until eighth grade,” said Carrie, knotting a white ribbon carefully on the end of her braid.
“We can on Saturdays, though,” said Pam. “On Saturdays and in the evenings we can wear whatever we want—as long as it’s a skirt. And on Sunday afternoons we can wear slacks.”
Helen glowered from the midst of her nametapes. “Clothes, clothes, that’s all you ever think about, P.J.” She jabbed her needle into her blouse, then thrust her thumb into her mouth with a curse. Jean looked up from her book fearfully.
Pam turned pink. “Don’t call me P.J.—I don’t like it!”
“Now, you two, stop your bickering,” said Miss Bixley calmly. “Here, Helen, give me that—you’re getting blood all over it.”
CLANG A CLANG A CLANG A CLANG A CLANG! Eliza jumped as someone downstairs rang a handbell vigorously. Its harsh metal voice vibrated painfully in her ears.
“Sunday dinner! The best meal of the week!” Helen pushed past her and ran out of the dorm.
“Come on, Eliza!” Eliza quickly turned her blouse collar over her blazer collar, so she looked like the others, and followed Carrie down the corridor.
AT LUNCH she was relieved to find herself assigned to the same table as Carrie. Trying to make herself invisible, she watched an older girl at the head of the table carve the roast efficiently. Then the senior introduced Eliza to everyone. Eliza didn’t say a word, just gulped down her meat and vegetables hungrily when they were allowed to begin. Five long tables of boarders around her kept up such a roar of conversation that it was easy to remain silent.
After lunch they all trooped up and down the stairs many times, carrying the contents of their trunks from the veranda to the dorms. When they had finished putting everything away, Eliza and Carrie went outside to explore. It had finally stopped raining, but their feet got soaked as they trekked through the wet grass.
It was hard to believe Ashdown was in the middle of a large city. Its spacious grounds, almost entirely bordered by a stone wall blanketed in ivy, made
it a hidden retreat from the busy streets outside.
“Look at all the trees!” Eliza ran across the lawn away from the Old Residence. They had made a circular tour of the low school building, the white gym with its four pillars and the sleek New Residence. The latter they had tiptoed by, their ears wide open to the buzz of the seniors drifting through its open windows.
Eliza scrambled easily up the broad red branches of an arbutus, wondering if Carrie would think she was too old to climb trees. But the other girl just watched her calmly. “Let’s go down to the field,” she said at last. They slithered along a muddy path through the woods to a level expanse of grass which was too soggy to walk on.
“This must be where they play games,” said Carrie. “It said in the brochure there’s a lot of emphasis on sports. I’m not very athletic—are you?”
Eliza shook her head as she stared at the field. She was too tall and awkward to be good at games; she always tripped over her own feet. It was hard to imagine this broad, quiet space milling with students. There already seemed to be an enormous number of boarders, but tomorrow they would encounter all the day-girls as well. She glanced at Carrie. At least one of the many faces was becoming familiar. And a good thing about her cheerful companion was that she talked so much; all Eliza had to do was reply.
“What do you think of Helen?” Carrie asked her.
“Uhhh … I don’t know yet.” Helen was one of the many people Eliza was saving up to contemplate in bed.
“I think she’s weird. I hate the way she stares. And last night she strung up my hippo from the light with her shoe-lace. Pam’s stuck-up, and Jean’s really shy. She goes into the bathroom to get undressed. I’m so glad you’re here, Eliza,” said Carrie for the second time that day. “I just know we’re going to be good friends.”
This was embarrassing. Eliza had always heard, however, that Americans were very friendly, and she glowed inside at Carrie’s words. Still, she didn’t know what to say in answer. She tapped the other girl on the shoulder. “Race you back!” she called.
BY EIGHT O’CLOCK on Sunday evening Eliza felt that she’d always been at Ashdown, and that nothing in her former world existed. She sat with Carrie and Jean on Carrie’s bed, as they stitched the school crest onto their berets and blazers. Helen and Pam were watching TV downstairs. Eliza studied the crest as she sewed—a single bluebell against a pale blue background, with the school motto curling around it.
She felt more confident with just the other two new girls in the dorm, even though she had barely spoken a word to Jean. Pam had enlisted the quiet girl all afternoon to help sort out her many clothes because Miss Bixley was letting her keep only a small number of them upstairs.
“Do you like that book?” Eliza asked, pointing to the one on Jean’s bed.
Jean’s narrow face grew animated. “Oh, yes—I love animal stories.”
“I like the bull terrier in it the best,” said Eliza.
“Have you—I mean—is that a picture of your dog on your dresser?”
“She belongs to my whole family.” Eliza told Jean how Jessie had travelled from Edmonton to Toronto in a crate. Then she was silent while she wondered if Jessie had recovered from the experience. Carrie told them about her family’s four cats.
“I’m not allowed to have an animal,” said Jean in a small voice. “My mother thinks they’re dirty.”
“Well, none of us can have pets here,” said Carrie kindly. “So we’re all the same as you.”
They heard Helen and Pam stomping down the hall, and glanced at one another reassuringly. Then it was Lights Out. “And not a sound,” said Miss Bixley. “Sleep tight, girls.”
Eliza squirmed in her bed, trying to find a place to fit between the lumps. It was a relief to lie in the dark with her own thoughts again. Exhaustion seeped from her body into the mattress.
Then something dug into her back from below, and she was lifted high into the air and slowly lowered. She yelped with alarm until she realized it was Helen underneath her, pushing up with her feet.
“Scared you, didn’t I?” chuckled Helen.
“N-not really,” said Eliza, trying to sound calm. “Just surprised me.”
“Shhh! We’ll get into trouble if we talk,” whispered Pam.
“Not with Bix on duty,” said Helen. “She doesn’t come upstairs until late. The one to watch is the Pouncer—that’s Mrs. Renfrew, and she’s a terror. She has us on Bix’s nights off. And sometimes Charlie comes around, but not too often.”
Charlie? That must be Miss Tavistock. Eliza knew her first name was Charlotte, but Charlie seemed an odd nickname for such a dignified person.
Helen finished describing the matrons. “I had Waltzing Matilda last year in the Nursery. She was always checking on us. They treat you like babies up there. But this year we should be able to get something started—especially since this dorm is so out of the way.”
“Like what?” asked Eliza, her curiosity overcoming the unsettling feeling Helen gave her.
“Wait and see, Eliza Doolittle—it’s not time yet.”
“Be quiet,” hissed Pam. “Carrie and Jean are already asleep.”
ELIZA WAS AWAKENED by something in the middle of the night. It was the sound of muffled sobs, and it came from Jean’s bed. Should she say something? She knew that if she were the one crying, she’d rather do it privately.
Finally Jean was quiet, but now Eliza felt close to tears. She groped for John, but he had fallen on the floor and she didn’t want to disturb anyone by getting down to pick him up.
Pulling open the curtain beside her bed, she gazed out at the thin new moon shining down on the tennis courts. She knew it was new, not old, because her father had once told her the old moon was in the shape of a “C,” which meant “contracting.” She wondered if her parents could see the moon in Toronto. Then she almost did cry.
The moon looked lonely. You wanted to come here, Eliza reminded herself again, and at last she drifted again into an uneasy sleep.
3
Helen
Sunday, September 13
Dear Mum and Dad,
It was wonderful to talk to you last night, but too short! Now I’ll tell you all about Ashdown.
I’m in the Yellow Dorm and I have four dormmates. I like Carrie the best. She’s from Seattle and she has five older brothers and sisters. Jean’s from Chilliwack, and she goes home every Saturday. Pam’s from Vancouver, and she’s our dorm head. She’s very bossy. Helen’s from Prince George. She’s always getting into trouble.
Our matron is Miss Bixley. We’re lucky because she’s the nicest one.
We get up every day at 7. There is a very loud bell. We have breakfast at 8, and school starts at 9 and ends at 3. Then we have games or go for a walk with the matron. We have to walk two by two in a long line! At 4:30 we change for dinner, and then we have prep for an hour (that’s what the time when we do our homework is called). After dinner there’s prayers, then more prep, then we go to bed at 9 o’clock.
On Saturdays, we have prep in the morning, and then we can go out until 8 and don’t have to go to bed until 9:30. Carrie came out with me this Saturday and Uncle Adrian took us to Stanley Park.
The food isn’t bad, except for Tuesdays. It is going to be the same every week.
Monday—Shepherd’s Pie
Tuesday—Liver and Onions (yuck!) Wednesday—Chicken
Thursday—Stew
Friday—Fish
Sunday—a roast at noon (but it’s called Sunday dinner) and eggs at night
My homeroom teacher is Miss Clark, and she also teaches us English. She’s very pretty. I am in 7A and so is Pam. Carrie, Helen and Jean are in 7B. It’s not too hard, except for French. They start it earlier here.
My piano teacher, Mrs. Fraser, is really good—she makes me work harder than the one in Edmonton, though. I get to miss part of prep to practise, and I also practise before breakfast every day.
Miss Tavistock is strict, but I like her. She calls me Elizabe
th. So do all the teachers, but the matrons call me Eliza.
Next Saturday all the boarders are going on a picnic to Saltspring Island.
Please make sure Jessie gets brushed every day. I’m so glad she’s not trying to run away. Give the Demons a kiss for me. Please send me some of those cookies with the nuts and raisins in them. Would a cake crumble in the mail? We’re allowed to keep our own food downstairs.
I miss you very much, but I’m happy here. It’s just like I thought it would be.
With heaps of love,
Eliza
XOXOXOXOXO
P.S. Please send me a flashlight.
There! Eliza shook out her aching hand and stretched full length on her bed. It felt good to write everything down in a letter. And her parents had sounded so worried on the phone, she had to assure them she was all right.
She was, although she felt more bewildered by everything than she would have admitted to them. So much had been crowded into this long first week—so many new faces and new voices and new subjects and new rules—that it was difficult to sort it out. But she liked the way the days ran so smoothly, with a slot for each activity. There were fascinating people to watch, and most of them were friendly. Already she knew the names of all the junior and intermediate boarders in the Old Residence. She did like it here—almost as much as she’d written.
She wrote another letter to one of her friends in Edmonton, telling her the same things. Maggie, however, would probably not be interested; she had just sent a long epistle filled with dull details about a boy she liked. Already Eliza felt so immersed in her new life that her friend seemed like a stranger.
She glanced around the Yellow Dorm. It was Sunday rest time, and no one dared say a word: the Pouncer was on duty. Carrie and Jean were reading. Pam was winding white tape around her grass hockey stick. Eliza had played hockey twice herself this week. All she’d done was to chug up and down the field, purposely avoiding coming near the ball. A lot of the other players appeared to be doing the same, but no one noticed.
She wondered what Helen, unusually still, was up to underneath her. The only really uncomfortable part of school so far was Helen. The volatile girl both alarmed and intrigued her. She was prickly and funny at the same time, and the liveliest person in the Old Residence.