A Handful of Time

by Kit Pearson

  She stiffened at her aunt’s embrace. The baby was part of the hug and grinned toothlessly at her.

  “Patricia, we’re so glad you’re here! Let me take a look at you. You’re not like Ruth, are you?”

  Patricia was used to being told she didn’t look like her beautiful mother. Now she realized that she took after her aunt—short and plump.

  Aunt Ginnie gave her niece a searching, sympathetic look. Patricia averted her eyes and dropped her head as her cousins were introduced.

  Kelly was the oldest. She had the kind of assured good looks that the popular girls at school had—tall, fair and slender. Trevor was stocky, with a sunburnt nose. Skinny Maggie stuck her tongue out. The cheerful baby was Rosemary.

  “You’re just in time for lunch!” bubbled Aunt Ginnie. Slowly, Patricia began to feel a bit more cheerful.

  They ate on the sloping front lawn of the Grants’ cottage. It was high above the lake, which stretched out below as far as Patricia could see, the towering sky extending its blueness. The grass prickled her legs uncomfortably as she gulped down a chicken salad sandwich. Kelly and Trevor stared at her when she took two more.

  They think I’m greedy, she thought, but she was too hungry to care. At least the food was going to be good.

  Uncle Doug came over to her and pointed out landmarks.

  “That ugly tower far to the right is a power plant. We all hate it—it makes the water too weedy and spoils the view. And all that green to the left is an Indian Reserve.”

  Patricia nodded politely but didn’t reply. It was just as it had been on the plane—the more people tried to draw her out, the more she wanted to disappear.

  The only unthreatening person in the family was the baby, who lolled on a blanket beside her and crowed with joy. Patricia stuck a tentative finger in her fist and Rosemary gripped it with surprising strength.

  “She’s the easiest baby I’ve had,” said Aunt Ginnie. “Always in a good mood. I think she finds us all very amusing.”

  Then her aunt took Rosemary in for a nap and Uncle Doug followed them. Maggie had wandered off. Now Patricia had to face her older cousins alone. She clutched her knees to her chest and pretended to be looking at the view.

  “No one wears skirts at the lake,” Kelly said flatly, stretching out the long tanned legs that emerged from her ragged cut-off jeans.

  “I came here straight from the plane, that’s why I’m dressed up,” mumbled Patricia. “I have shorts in my suitcase.”

  “How old are you?” Kelly asked her.

  “Twelve.”

  “Twelve! Are you sure? Mum said you were my age.”

  “I turned twelve in May,” said Patricia, suddenly feeling as if she weren’t actually sure.

  “You don’t look older than me,” said Kelly doubtfully. She undid a knife she had strapped to her belt and began whittling on a twig.

  “How come you’re staying for the whole summer?” asked Trevor. He made it sound like an eternity.

  Patricia tugged some clover out of the lawn. “My parents both have a lot of work to do. They wanted me out of the way.” That, at least, was the truth.

  “We’ve seen your mother on TV and Mum showed us your dad’s column. What’s it like having such famous parents? Have you ever been to the TV studio? Did you like being in that article your mum sent?” Kelly seemed really curious and her voice was friendly for the first time.

  But Patricia stiffened. “I’d rather not talk about that stuff,” she said abruptly.

  “You don’t have to be snobby about it,” said Kelly. She turned to her brother and nodded.

  “I guess we’ll give you our present now, Patricia,” announced Trevor. His round freckled face grinned as he pulled a small blue box out of his pocket and handed it over.

  Patricia took it warily. She lifted the lid, then squealed as a tiny brown toad dropped into her lap.

  “It’s just a toad—are you afraid of it?” Trevor captured the toad and held it close to her face. “Here, take it.”

  This was a test Patricia knew she would fail. She just couldn’t touch the dry, throbbing skin. “N-no thanks,” she mumbled, getting up. “Where can I go and change?”

  Kelly shrugged, looking disappointed. “Mum’ll tell you,” she said, dismissing her.

  For the rest of that first day Patricia’s cousins ignored her and she tried to stay away from the advances of her well-meaning aunt and uncle. As she wolfed down the comforting dinner, she was tempted to tell Aunt Ginnie about her own recipe for carrot cake. But then she’d have to speak; it was safer to remain silent.

  The end of the day was the worst. She had to share a bed with Kelly. She had never slept in the same bed, or even in the same room, as anyone else. Patricia lay stiffly on the inside edge, as far away from Kelly as she could get. “I hope you don’t kick,” was all her cousin said.

  The wind in the trees sounded like rain. Patricia shivered and drew the flannelette sheets and heavy satin quilt closer around her neck. She didn’t get to sleep for a long time.

  3

  The second day, the one that ended so disastrously with the canoe, began with meeting even more cousins—Christie and Bruce Reid, whose cottage was four doors away. Both had narrow faces and wavy red hair, Christie’s falling down her back and caught at the sides with barrettes shaped like horses. She was ten and her brother was nine, like Trevor. The two of them eyed Patricia suspiciously, and then squatted with Kelly and Trevor in a corner of the screened verandah as if they were banding against her.

  Their parents, Uncle Rod and Aunt Karen, came over with them. They explained that their two older boys were travelling in Europe for the summer. Patricia looked down, away from the curious gaze of all these relatives. Because they were family they seemed to have a special claim on her.

  “So this is Ruth’s daughter!” said Uncle Rod heartily. He had an almost bald, gleaming head. “Come over here and show me your teeth.”

  Christie giggled and Patricia flushed a deep red. Why would he want to see her teeth?

  “Leave her alone, Rod,” objected his tiny wife, who looked much younger than her husband. “Your Uncle Rod’s a dentist,” she explained. “He can’t resist examining people, even when he’s supposed to be on holiday.”

  Patricia clamped her mouth shut and remained sitting on the floor. But Uncle Rod wouldn’t leave her alone.

  “Do you floss?” he demanded.

  Patricia nodded miserably.

  “Every day? Nothing like flossing to prevent cavities.”

  “Rod!” Aunt Ginnie gave her brother a warning look.

  It was a relief when Maggie provided a diversion. “I’ll show you my teeth, Uncle Rod.” She opened her mouth wide. “See? I lost two!”

  “Did the tooth fairy leave you some money?” asked her uncle.

  “Yup.” The little girl waited expectantly as Uncle Rod dug in his pockets.

  “Here’s a supplement.”

  Maggie examined the quarter he handed her. “The tooth fairy gave me a quarter for each tooth,” she said firmly.

  “Maggie!” Uncle Doug pulled her onto his lap.

  “Still trying to get rich, aren’t you, Magpie!” chuckled Uncle Rod. “How much money do you have saved up now?”

  “I have forty-nine dollars and twenty-one cents in the bank,” said Maggie proudly, “and every time I watch Rosemary I get a dime.”

  “And what will you do with all that money?” asked Aunt Karen.

  “I haven’t decided yet. But it’ll be something very important.” Maggie looked smug, perched on her father’s knee. Patricia was ashamed to be afraid of a six-year-old, but the little girl’s confidence scared her as much as her brother and sister’s aloofness.

  The older children stood up, and Trevor and Bruce left to go fishing. “Christie and I are going out in the canoe,” announced Kelly.

  “Take Patricia with you,” said her mother. “You do know how to swim, don’t you, Patricia?”

  When she was satisf
ied on that point—Patricia took swimming lessons every winter at an indoor pool in Toronto—the three cousins walked down the steep steps that were cut into the bank and led to the lake.

  The canoe was pulled onto the pebbly beach. Loon was painted on its green side in faded letters.

  “Have you ever been in a canoe?” demanded Kelly.

  Patricia shook her head. “You can leave me behind if you like. I’ll watch you from here.”

  “Mum said to take you, so you better come. Sit on the floor in the middle and lean against the thwart. And don’t move—canoes tip really easily.”

  Patricia did as she was told. Kelly and Christie pushed out the boat with her in it, then climbed in carefully and began to paddle.

  The bottom of the canoe was crossed with wooden ribs that dug into her. It was an odd feeling, sitting so low in the water without actually being in it. Patricia leaned back against the life jacket she was using as a cushion. The sun warmed the top of her head and the canoe bobbed gently. A clean smell, like newly washed clothes, rose from the lake. For the first time since she had come here, she felt calm.

  Kelly steered them expertly along the shore. She and Christie began a lively discussion that Patricia couldn’t follow. It was something about some kids who lived at the other end of the beach.

  “There’s the Cresswells’ Laser,” said Kelly. “What a beauty! They’re going in the Sunday race. I hope they lose.”

  She laid her paddle across the gunwales and gazed at a group of white sails billowing in the distance. Closer to shore, brightly patterned windsurfers fluttered and fell. Kelly sighed. “I wish we had a sailboat … or at least a windsurfer.”

  “I thought Uncle Doug was going to buy you a second-hand boat this summer,” said Christie.

  “He was.” Kelly tossed her cap of hair angrily. “Then a whole bunch of things happened. Rosemary was born— we didn’t predict her last summer. Mum was going to go back to teaching so we’d have more money, but now she doesn’t want to. And Dad can’t take any holidays until August, so there wouldn’t be enough time to teach me.”

  “Never mind, Kelly,” said Christie. “At least between us we have two canoes and a rowboat.”

  There was a long pause. Motorboats droned in the distance and voices shouted instructions to water skiers. The canoe glided almost noiselessly, a small rush of water breaking against its bow. Patricia was grateful that her cousins were paying no attention to her. But then, as if they had secretly agreed to it, they began an interrogation.

  “Why haven’t you ever been in a canoe, Patricia?” asked Christie.

  “I’ve never been to a lake before,” Patricia confessed. “My parents take their holidays in the spring and we go to Bermuda.”

  “What do you do in the summers, then?” came from Kelly behind her.

  “I go to the day-camp that my school runs. They take us to museums and plays and things.”

  “Museums!” scoffed Kelly. “What a dumb thing to do in the summer!”

  “What can you do?” asked Christie in her cool little voice. “Can you ride? I win prizes for riding in Edmonton.”

  “I took riding lessons once, but I didn’t like it,” said Patricia, shivering at the memory.

  “Can you fish? Or make a fire?”

  “No.” Even though she couldn’t see their faces, Patricia felt their disapproval. She forced her voice to be louder. “I can cook, though. My father taught me.”

  “Cooking!” laughed Christie. “Anyone can cook. I make great rice crispie squares.”

  Patricia wanted to tell them she could make bread, almost perfect pie crusts and better omelettes than her father. But maybe they’d tease her for having such an old-fashioned interest, the way her mother sometimes did. “Your meals are delicious, darling,” she once said, “but I don’t want you learning to be a little housewife. Women can do a lot more than cook nowadays.”

  At lunch Maggie discovered the nickname Patricia had always dreaded. Even after six grades of school she couldn’t get used to it.

  “Patricia Potter …” said the little girl slowly. “I know all my letters and both your names start with a P.” Then her face lit up. “Pee pee! Pee pee in the potty! Hi, Potty!”

  “Maggie, that’s enough!” said Aunt Ginnie. “Don’t be so rude to Patricia.”

  But Maggie hissed “Potty” at her several times when her mother wasn’t listening.

  It was after lunch that her cousins had run away from her on their way to Uncle Rod’s. Patricia had wandered down to the beach and found the canoe. It had looked so easy in the morning. Maybe she could teach herself how to paddle and show the others she could do something they could …

  4

  Uncle Doug left early on Monday to go back to the city for the week. At breakfast, Aunt Ginnie told Patricia that every weekday morning in July the children would be taking swimming lessons at the Main Beach.

  “I don’t see why,” complained Kelly. “It wastes so much time and we all know how to swim.”

  “You know we’d like you to try for the Red Cross badges,” said her mother. “For the rest of the day you can do what you like. If you want to be fed, turn up for meals when I ring the cowbell. Otherwise, you can pack a lunch.”

  Patricia panicked at the thought of so much free time. In Toronto each moment of her life was carefully arranged so she would be fully occupied until her parents finished work. Every day after school she went to a different activity: swimming, French, piano, gymnastics and debating. Her mother had picked them to encourage Patricia’s “physical, creative and social skills.” The school she attended, The Learning Place, was also supposed to develop the “whole child.”

  Patricia didn’t care about being “whole.” What she liked thinking about, in school and after it, was the menu for the dinner she cooked every night with her father; or, lately, alone, since her father was hardly ever at home anymore.

  Aunt Ginnie unbuttoned her blouse and lifted the baby to her breast. Patricia watched, fascinated, as Rosemary sucked noisily with contented whimpers.

  “You’re a greedy-guts,” laughed Aunt Ginnie. “Kelly, why don’t you all start down to the Main Beach? I’ll follow you as soon as I can.”

  “We have to stop at Christie and Bruce’s first,” said Kelly.

  “Me too!” cried Maggie.

  “No, Mum,” Kelly groaned. “Does she always have to tag along?”

  “Maggie, you stay and come with me—I’ll need your help. Wait for Patricia to finish her cereal, Kelly.”

  Patricia glanced at Kelly and Trevor. They must think she was as much of a nuisance as Maggie. Taking a deep breath, she asked, “Couldn’t I go with you, Aunt Ginnie? I could help with the baby.”

  “Do you really want to?”

  Patricia nodded, trying not to notice the glee in her cousin’s face. Kelly and Trevor were out of the door like a shot.

  A little later, Patricia, feeling self-conscious in just her bathing suit, followed Aunt Ginnie down the narrow path towards the Main Beach. They were loaded down like a caravan. Aunt Ginnie pushed a rattling old baby carriage containing Rosemary, towels, hats, pails, diapers, toys and an umbrella. Patricia carried a picnic basket. Maggie and Peggy led the way, the dog dashing in and out of the bushes with excitement.

  It was the first time Patricia had been beyond the Grants’ end of the beach. A single line of cottages was set far back from the hilly path. “Cohens, Hills, Rainiers, Cherniaks …” chanted Maggie. “I know everyone’s cottage at the lake.”

  When they reached a wider part Patricia walked beside her aunt. “How often I’ve gone along this path!” said Aunt Ginnie contentedly. “Your mother used to have to take me to the Main Beach every day. She must have hated being saddled with her little sister all the time.”

  Patricia tried to imagine her mother here but all she could think of was how annoyed she would be at getting her shoes dusty on the dirt path.

  Aunt Ginnie smiled at her niece. “It’s nice of you to he
lp me this morning, Patricia. But you don’t have to come with me every day, you know—though I don’t blame you for feeling shy with your cousins. They’re an unruly group—especially Kelly. And it’s hard to make new friends when you’re feeling sad. But do you know what the best cure is for being miserable?”

  Patricia shook her lowered head, her cheeks burning. She wished Maggie weren’t so far ahead; then she could divert Aunt Ginnie from this embarrassing conversation.

  “The best thing to do is to stop thinking about yourself and your troubles so much. Try to give your cousins a chance—I’m sure they can help you feel better.”

  They reached the Main Beach before Patricia had to answer. The carriage was left at the top of the steps while they carried down its contents. Several mothers and a few fathers had already spread themselves and their children over the sand. A huge wet dog jumped up on Patricia while she was being introduced to the group. Just as Uncle Rod had, several people exclaimed, “So this is Ruth’s daughter!”

  Aunt Ginnie arranged the sleeping baby under the umbrella. Then they watched Maggie and some other young children taking their swimming lesson.

  The sun blazed down, making Patricia squint. The water and sky were both the same silvery grey. A wide white pier jutted out into the water. Beyond it was a white raft with a diving board on one end.

  Aunt Ginnie rubbed Patricia’s back with suntan lotion and Patricia squeezed more onto her arms and legs. She lay on her back, closed her eyes and let the hot sun soothe her. If she could spend all her time with Aunt Ginnie and Rosemary, things would be a lot easier.

  But the peace was destroyed by the breathless arrival of Kelly, Trevor, Christie, Bruce and Aunt Karen. Aunt Karen settled down beside Aunt Ginnie and began a nonstop conversation. The others kicked up the sand, ransacked the basket for lemonade and argued about towels. Patricia wondered if they had been talking about her.

  When it was time for her swimming lessons she was put in the Grey group, along with the boys and Christie. They had to swim five lengths back and forth to the raft. Patricia was a fairly good swimmer, but she had never been in a lake before. When she opened her eyes under the warm water it looked green, with bars of sunlight slanting through it. Tiny seeds floated in it and darting minnows tickled her body. She remembered a book that had frightened her when she was small: The Tale of Jeremy Fisher. She couldn’t help imagining a huge fish rising up and pulling her under.