The Whole Truth

by Kit Pearson

  Polly looked at the remains of a driftwood structure. It was hard to imagine bald Uncle Rand as a little boy playing there.

  They turned back to the main road. “Don’t go too fast!” Polly cried as a deer jumped in front of them.

  “Don’t worry, Polly, I’m always careful of deer. They’re God’s creatures, after all.”

  “Then why do you eat them?” asked Polly.

  “Well, now that’s a conundrum.”

  “A what?”

  “A thorny question. I agree that it’s a shame to kill such a beautiful, harmless animal, and the Scriptures do say ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ But there are too many deer, and we only kill what we eat. After all, we eat cows and pigs and lambs and chickens, as well. We just don’t kill them ourselves, except for wild birds and chickens and geese.”

  Polly thought of the pretty chickens that scratched in the rectory yard. “You kill your chickens?”

  “Sometimes. Some are for eggs and some are for meat. It’s part of the cycle of life, Polly. But many people don’t believe in eating meat—they’re called vegetarians.”

  “From now on I’m going to be a vege—vegetarian too,” she said firmly.

  Uncle Rand didn’t laugh at her. “You’re free to eat whatever you want, my dear. Your grandmother and your aunt may object, but I’ll stick up for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  As they headed back towards the village, Uncle Rand pointed out the school: a low, brown building at the back of a field. Polly shuddered as a bell clanged and children began running out. Red-haired Alice led the pack.

  Polly counted on her fingers—still three and a half days before she had to encounter them.

  The next two days were the same as Thursday. In the mornings Polly brought up Noni’s tea and stayed to talk. Noni had many dressing gowns, all of them colourful and fancy. Polly tried them on and sashayed around the room while Noni got dressed. The long gowns trailed behind her and she pretended she was a princess.

  For the rest of the day she was everybody’s helper. She helped Aunt Jean polish church silver or pick vegetables or roll cigarettes. She helped Mrs. Hooper shell peas or make the beds. She drove around with Uncle Rand and he told her she was good company. This surprised Polly, because neither of them talked much. She supposed he liked their comfortable silence as much as she did.

  On Saturday Noni said, “You’re such a good helper, Polly, how would you like to have a regular task? You could replenish the woodbox every morning.”

  Polly filled a canvas sling with wood from the pile in the yard, carried it into the kitchen, and dumped it into a box beside the stove. The wood was heavy, and it took her several trips before the box was full, but she was proud of how much she could carry.

  Noni was passionate about her flower garden. It was a mass of bright colour behind a wire enclosure. “Remember to always close the gate,” she warned Polly as they watered and weeded. “The deer would gobble these up in a minute!”

  Every evening before dinner Noni played the piano. “I’ll teach you if you like,” Noni told Polly. She had already offered to show Polly how to paint with watercolours. Soft paintings of island scenes dotted the walls. Polly liked painting, but she had used up her paints long ago and Daddy couldn’t afford to get her new ones.

  Aunt Jean and Uncle Rand always came to Noni’s for dinner. Then the adults would play Bezique. Polly pretended to read, but she only stared at the page, wondering what Maud was doing.

  “Didn’t you like the toys I put in your room, chickie?” Aunt Jean asked her on Saturday evening. “They used to be Gregor’s. I’m sorry I couldn’t find more, but most of his toys were trucks and cap guns, not suitable for girls.”

  “I like the logs,” said Polly. “I made a house out of them.”

  “I wish I’d saved Una’s dolls, but I gave them all away after we left the hotel,” said Noni. “She never played with them much. We should have bought you a doll in Victoria, Polly—I’m sorry I didn’t think of it.”

  “I have dolls!” said Polly. She ran upstairs and pulled out the small suitcase she’d shoved under her bed.

  One after another she lifted out her five dolls. Someone—the social worker?—had packed them so carefully in newspaper that their faces were undamaged. Polly lined up the dolls on her bed and they gazed at her reproachfully. After it had happened she had completely forgotten them.

  “I’m sorry,” whispered Polly. She picked up a drawstring bag stuffed with dolls’ clothes, bundled up the dolls, and took them downstairs.

  “What bonnie dolls!” said Aunt Jean, coming over to look while Noni added up the Bezique scores. “What are their names?”

  Polly shyly introduced them: Betsey, Bobsy, Arabella, Peaches, and Elizabeth, her favourite, who had real hair and eyes that opened and shut.

  “Clara and I had lovely dolls in Scotland—Mother made all their clothes. But we gave them to our cousins when we moved to Canada,” Aunt Jean told her.

  “How old were you?” asked Polly as she fastened a tiny dress onto Peaches, the baby.

  “I was thirteen and Clara was fifteen—too old for dolls.”

  Polly wondered when she would be too old. Maud had never shown any interest in dolls, but Polly had always enjoyed them. Their faces of bisque or rubber or cloth seemed to come alive now that they were being paid attention to again.

  “I could knit some more clothes for them, chickie,” said Aunt Jean. “In fact, I could teach you how to knit—would you like that?”

  “Yes, please!”

  Maud could knit. Grannie had taught her, and she had always said she would teach Polly one day, but she had died before Polly was old enough.

  Polly played with her dolls all evening, murmuring to them as the adults resumed their card game. At bedtime she dressed them all in their nightgowns and tucked them into the foot of her bed; except for Elizabeth, who snuggled up beside her. Now the room didn’t seem nearly as empty.

  As usual, however, memories of Daddy flooded her mind as soon as she laid her head on her pillow. She could hear his proud voice praising her for winning the school spelling bee. She could feel his warm hands rubbing her back or carefully bandaging her knees when she fell off her bike. She could smell his hair cream.

  Polly said a little prayer for him and cried herself to sleep.

  Church was exactly the same as the week before, except that Gregor wasn’t there to carry the cross; he’d stayed in Vancouver this weekend. Uncle Rand’s sermon was even more obscure.

  At coffee hour the same children stared at Polly, and Alice gave her the same disdaining glance. Polly shuddered; tomorrow she’d have to face all of them!

  At Sunday dinner her stomach hurt so much she couldn’t eat. Noni sent her to her room for a nap. Polly woke up to find her grandmother sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking her hair.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead! It’s almost time for supper. Do you think you can eat anything?”

  Polly sat up and shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

  Noni’s grey eyes studied her. “I’ve been wondering, hen, if you need another week before you’re ready for school. What do you think?”

  “Oh, yes, please!” Polly was so relieved she felt dizzy. Then she looked worried. “But Noni, Maud won’t like that! She’ll think I’ll get too far behind.”

  “I am in charge of you now, not Maud. And it won’t be hard for you to catch up. We’ll read to each other every morning.” Noni smiled. “Now are you hungry?”

  “A little,” said Polly. “What’s for supper?”

  On Friday Polly awoke with dread. The week had gone by far too fast, and she didn’t feel any more ready for school. Then she remembered: Maud was coming today! She would arrive on the steamer after dinner. Polly skipped downstairs and ate her entire bowl of porridge for the first time.

  Every morning she and Noni had taken turns reading aloud a very hard book called Waverley. Polly didn’t understand much of it, but Noni said she was an excellent
reader. This morning, to Polly’s relief, they talked instead.

  “Where did you and Aunt Jean live in Scotland?” she asked as she and Noni sipped their tea.

  “A place called Stirling. It’s a beautiful town between Edinburgh and Glasgow. I really missed it at first. But on the only occasion I went back to visit, after Gilbert and I were married, I realized I belonged here.”

  “Gilbert is my grandfather, right?” asked Polly, remembering what Gregor had told them. She curled up on the pillow next to Noni. Listening to her was like reading a story.

  “Yes, he was. How I wish he could have met you and Maud! He was a dear man, gentle and witty. But he died when your mother was fifteen. Una became uncontrollable after that. She adored her father. She never listened to me, but when Gilbert asked her to do something, she usually obeyed him.”

  Noni was speaking to her as if she were a grown-up! “Was my grandfather from the island, like Uncle Rand?” Polly asked.

  “No, Gilbert was English. He came to British Columbia as a young man and taught in one of the boys schools in Victoria. Jean and I were spending the weekend there with our parents and I met Gilbert at a dance at the Empress Hotel. After we married he helped my parents with the hotel, and after they died we both ran it. He also tutored young people who were applying for university. When Gilbert’s parents died and he came into his inheritance, he wanted us to move to Devon and live in the family home, but I couldn’t bear leaving here. Sometimes I wonder if I was wrong. Gilbert really missed the theatre and concerts and the cultured life we would have had in England. He was a very intelligent man. He’s the one who got me interested in poetry—he knew a lot by heart, and he wrote some poetry himself.” Noni’s voice was animated. “Pass me those albums on the table, Polly—I’ll show you some photos of Gilbert and Una.”

  Polly gazed at long-ago images of her grandparents and her mother. They had all been taken on the island—standing outside the hotel, or picnicking, or waving from the steamer. Gilbert and Noni made a handsome couple. He was tall and distinguished with a curling moustache. Noni looked much more relaxed, with her long hair around her shoulders, always smiling or laughing at the camera.

  Seeing Una through the years was like gazing into a mirror. She looked almost exactly like Polly, except that Una’s expression was often sullen and rebellious. The last photograph was of Una dressed in a coat and hat and carrying a suitcase.

  “That’s when she was leaving to visit Blanche Tuttle in Winnipeg,” said Noni. “She was just seventeen,” she added tightly.

  Polly closed up the album. “Are there any more?” she asked.

  “That’s all,” said Noni.

  “But what about my parents’ wedding?” asked Polly.

  Noni looked away. “I’m sorry, hen, but we didn’t get around to taking any photographs at the wedding.”

  If only there had been a photo of Daddy! Polly didn’t have any of him. There were a few albums in their house in Winnipeg, but no one had thought of packing them.

  Noni’s voice trembled. “Every night I lie awake and think about Una and Gilbert. You never stop missing people, Polly—but you know about that. And now I have you and Maud to love.”

  She took Polly’s hand. “Let’s think of something more cheerful than missing people. Do you know what I do when I get too sad? I think about all there is to learn in this world—poetry and flower names and songs, all the things I want to paint. But enough about me! Tell me, hen, is there anything special you’d like for your birthday?”

  Her birthday! Polly had completely forgotten that next Thursday she would turn ten. She shook her head. The only present she wanted was Daddy—and that was impossible for anyone to get.

  “Well, you let me know. Now, I must get up. You can help me pick some flowers to welcome Maud.”

  The day went by far too slowly. Polly helped Noni pick flowers. She swept out her and Maud’s bedroom, and helped Mrs. Hooper make a chocolate cake. After dinner she sat on the verandah, willing Maud’s boat to appear.

  Finally she and Noni walked to the wharf. The sky was streaked with pink as the steamer glided around the point. As it grew nearer, Polly spotted Maud standing on the deck. She was in her uniform, waving madly.

  “Maud, Maud!” called Polly, jumping up and down.

  A few minutes later Maud’s strong arms were around her.

  In ten days Maud had become as jolly a schoolgirl as a character in one of her books. All she talked about was St. Winifred’s.

  She told Polly every detail about the five other girls in her dorm: Mary, Sylvia, Edith, Sadie, and Ann. “Sadie’s such a brick—we’re already best friends. She’s really good at games and she thinks I can get on the hockey team—isn’t that nifty? Her parents live in Duncan and she has a horse! She’s going to ask me there for part of the Christmas holidays—do you think Noni would let me go?”

  They were walking along the beach. Polly picked up a stone and hurled it into the water. All week she had hoped that Maud would dislike St. Winifred’s so much she’d decide not to go back. But now Maud seemed to belong to her school more than to Polly.

  “Some of the matrons are really grumpy, but our dorm has the nicest. Her name is Miss Jacob and she’s in love with a man who works in a store—she sees him every Sunday. Miss Jacob braids my hair for me. Oh, and Poll, the Guppy had me for tea in her study on Wednesday afternoon! Four other girls came too. Edith says that if you’re asked for tea, it means you’re one of her favourites! Imagine me being asked so soon, and I was the youngest! Two of the others are prefects! And I’m going to have special Latin classes with the Guppy because I’ve never taken it before. She’s really pleased with how I’m doing in my other courses, though.”

  Polly decided she hated the Guppy. “Don’t you think she’s kind of bossy?” she asked.

  “Not at all! She’s strict, but that’s because she’s helping us live up to St. Winnie’s ideals. Some of the day girls are afraid of her, but all the boarders know how kind she really is. At tea she told us stories about her boarding school in England. She had to go when she was only five, because her mother was ill. Isn’t that sad? She loved the school, though, and she became games captain and head girl.”

  Polly thought of a way to change the subject. “Guess what, Maud. I’m a vegetarian now!”

  “What?” Maud frowned. “That’s not good for you, Doodle. You’re skinny enough as it is. You need meat.”

  “I won’t eat it!” said Polly proudly.

  “What does Noni think?”

  “She hasn’t said anything—maybe she hasn’t noticed yet.”

  Maud shrugged. “Well, she’ll probably stop you when she does. Poll, next week I get my house pin! I’m so glad I’m in Sussex. Sylvia is too, and she says it’s the best house. Agnes Cooper is my house captain, and she’s swell.”

  Polly finally got Maud’s attention by telling her how afraid she was to start school on Monday.

  “But haven’t you gone yet?” Maud asked. Polly explained how Noni had let her stay home another week.

  Maud frowned. “That’s not right—you’re going to be really far behind! You knew I didn’t want you to stay home, Poll. You should have remembered that, not listened to Noni.”

  “Noni says she’s in charge of me now, not you,” said Polly haughtily. “Anyway, you’re not here.”

  Maud looked guilty. Then she began telling Polly how she was going to try out for the house play.

  Listening to Maud talk about St. Winifred’s was like learning about a foreign country she didn’t want to visit. Polly was almost relieved when Gregor arrived on Saturday morning.

  Gregor had to work hard on the weekends he came home from Vancouver—he cut wood and shot grouse and did whatever other jobs his mother had waiting for him. After he’d finished his work he announced that he was going to teach Maud and Polly how to row.

  Maybe this was just another task on Aunt Jean’s list, but Polly was glad to have an excuse not to listen to Maud’s m
onologue. And she was beginning to enjoy Gregor. He was easy to be with, and she liked how he called her “Pollywog.”

  Maud was good at rowing, but Polly kept splashing the heavy oars. Gregor had brought along fishing rods. He showed them how to bait their hooks with cut-up herring. Maud was explaining St. Winifred’s house point system to Gregor. “If you get five order marks—that’s for doing something against the rules—you get a conduct mark. Then you have to—oh! I got a bite!”

  Order marks were forgotten as Maud eagerly reeled in her first cod. Then she got three more. “You’re a born fisherwoman!” Gregor told her.

  Then Polly caught a fish. It was exciting to feel its sharp tug and to shorten the line until Gregor scooped it into the net. But when Gregor banged its head on the side of the boat, its bright eye turned dull.

  I promise I won’t eat you, vowed Polly.

  “It’s so hot!” said Gregor, wiping his brow after they landed the rowboat. “What do you say to a swim? The sea can be quite warm in September. Do you have bathing costumes?”

  Maud nodded.

  “Meet me here in ten minutes,” said Gregor as they helped him pull the boat to the shore.

  Polly pulled her towel around herself and shivered, despite the hot afternoon sun. The sea looked so cold and wavy and deep—what lurked under it?

  “Come on, Pollywog!”

  “I don’t know how to swim,” said Polly.

  “Then I’ll teach you!” Gregor held out his hand and Polly had no choice but to drop her towel and wade in beside him. Maud held her other hand. The water was icy but bearable, and she got used to it as they waded deeper.

  Maud dropped Polly’s hand and lunged into the water, kicking vigorously as she swam away.

  “Lie out flat on the water,” Gregor told Polly. “I’ll hold my hand under your tummy.”

  “I don’t want to,” said Polly.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Pollywog. I’ll hold you up and I won’t let you go unless you tell me to.”

  “No, thank you,” said Polly.