by Kit Pearson
It hadn’t worked. Almost in tears, Patricia jumped up and paced the floor frantically. The space was too small to contain her frustration; she pushed open the door of the cabin and stumbled out.
Dusk greeted her: a hushed evening with a few stars dotting the sky. The old-fashioned car in the driveway loomed mysteriously in the dim light.
It had worked. Patricia tucked the watch inside her shirt, shivering with relief and excitement. She had come back, and she could stay here until the watch ran down again. She hurried to the front of the cottage to look for Ruth.
The Loon was gliding to shore. With a slight crunch it reached the beach, just as Pat Reid opened the door of the cottage.
“Ruth! Come in at once!”
“Coming,” answered a sullen voice below.
When Ruth appeared, her eyes were still glistening with tears. Patricia felt as if she had stopped a movie, then started it again two days later.
They went inside the cottage and Ruth was sent to bed. With dismay, Patricia realized that now she had the whole night to get through. She couldn’t make the watch skip time. It ticked out every long minute and she would have to endure each one until morning.
For a while she was occupied with watching Ruth’s parents. Peering over Pat Reid’s shoulder, she saw that the scrapbook she was working on was about the Royal Family. “HRH Princess Elizabeth plays with HRH Prince Charles,” read the caption under a photograph she snipped out of the newspaper. In it, a pretty young woman held up a solemn-looking baby with large ears.
Shortly after the grown-ups went to bed, Gordon and Rodney arrived home. Gordon was laughing, but Rodney sulked and seemed resentful of his brother’s good mood.
“Go to bed, you two,” called their father. They tramped up the kitchen stairs to the attic.
Patricia continued to look for ways to pass the time. First she crept around the cottage, peeking in at Ginnie, clutching a doll, and Ruth, twisted awkwardly in her sheets. Then she fitted together a few pieces in Ruth’s jigsaw puzzle. She sat on the verandah and stared at the moon’s path on the lake, while the cottage full of sleeping Reids breathed peacefully. If only she could shout and wake them all up.
Finally Patricia decided to try to sleep herself. She wasn’t at all tired, but she would be later, especially when she got back to the present. Stretching out on a cot on the verandah, she tried counting sheep.
She tossed for hours. Her mind kept reviewing all the things that had happened during this strange summer. For the first time in days, she remembered her parents’ separation. Why couldn’t morning come so she wouldn’t have to think? This night was so boring, she almost wished she were back in the present, but the watch ticked out its own time relentlessly. Patricia felt trapped, knowing she couldn’t return until it stopped. The watch pulsed on her chest chest like a second heart drowning out her own.
A LONG TIME LATER she sat up abruptly, shaking off a dream about her parents. What was she doing on the verandah? For a few seconds she forgot she was still in the past. Then she heard again the whisper that had awakened her.
“Hurry up, Ruth!” Rodney was in the living room. As Patricia stood up sleepily Ruth tiptoed out of her room, pulling on a sweater. They brushed past her—Patricia shuddered because she didn’t feel anything—and collected fishing equipment and oars from the verandah. It was surprising to see the two of them going somewhere together after their arguing yesterday.
The sun was barely up. Patricia checked the watch: five o’clock. She couldn’t remember ever being out this early in the morning. The air had a bite to it and the sun glinted off the poplar leaves. Birds competed in a deafening, joyful chorus. Patricia breathed in the crisp air thirstily and swung her arms to warm up, flicking aside the spider webs that stretched across the path. Everything was new; best of all was this new day with the family she was becoming so attached to.
Down at the beach, Rodney overturned a small grey rowboat shaped like a nutshell. Patricia got into it gingerly and scrambled up to the bow. The rowboat felt much more stable than the canoe, but it didn’t come alive in the water in the same way; and it didn’t have a name.
Ruth rowed energetically while Rodney fixed lures onto the fishing lines. Then they dropped the oars and began to cast.
The sun was getting warmer. Patricia stopped shivering and stretched out her bare legs. For the first time, she noticed there was no power plant spoiling the horizon.
“Thanks for coming out,” Rodney told his sister gruffly. “We can catch more with two of us.”
Ruth didn’t seem surprised, as Patricia was, at his friendly tone. So they weren’t always enemies. Patricia didn’t want to revise her opinion of Rodney, but he was different this morning. His face looked younger as he flung out his line again and again.
“Got one!” he said eagerly. He reeled in quickly as Ruth held out a net. She scooped up a wriggling striped fish about six inches long.
It was a perch. Patricia knew that, because Trevor had brought one in yesterday. He had insisted on Aunt Ginnie cooking it for breakfast, even though it made barely a mouthful. It had been his first fish of the summer.
But now Ruth got a strike, then another, then Rodney caught three in a row. Soon the bucket at the bottom of the boat was half full of flopping silver shapes. Patricia watched the fish with interest and reached out to touch one. It felt cold and slimy but not nearly as horrible as she had expected.
“How was the marshmallow roast?” Ruth asked her brother.
Rodney flushed as red as he had at the store. “It was boring. Those girls are stupid.”
“Did Gordon like it?”
“Oh, him … they all think he’s so wonderful, just because he’s old enough to drive.”
Patricia guessed what she knew Ruth was thinking— that Rodney had only been asked to the roast so that Gordon would come.
“Never mind,” said Ruth. “They are dumb.”
“I’ll play you a game of badminton after breakfast,” her brother offered.
Ruth’s face closed. “No thanks—I told you I wasn’t playing anymore and I’m not.”
She changed the subject as she pointed to shore. “Look! Indians on horses!” The three of them watched some distant figures gallop around the point and disappear.
Ruth sighed. “I wish Mother would let me rent a horse from them.”
“You know you shouldn’t associate with the Indians. They’re lazy and dirty.”
“They’re not!” said Ruth indignantly. “You’re just copying what Father says. He’s not always right, you know.”
Rodney shrugged. “I think we’ve got enough fish now.” Ruth rowed in, but not to the Reids’ beach, as Patricia expected. Instead she steered to a wooded area near the point.
“We shouldn’t land here,” said Rodney uneasily. “It’s part of the Reserve.”
“I don’t think the Indians would mind,” said Ruth. “And Mother and Father will never know.”
She jumped out and in a few minutes had a small fire started in the sand; soon a dozen perch were sizzling over it. The smell was overwhelmingly tantalizing and Patricia was faced with a dilemma. She had to taste one of those crisp brown morsels, but how? She pictured Ruth and Rodney seeing a fish rise on its own out of the pan.
Then she had an idea. Picking up a rock behind their backs, she threw it into the water. When they turned their heads she snatched up a perch.
“Ouch!” cried Patricia. Her burnt fingers dropped the fish into the sand. She brushed it off and crammed it into her mouth before the others turned around.
“What was that?”
“A fish jumped, I guess,” shrugged Rodney.
“No, it was a duck or something. I heard it call, didn’t you?”
Rodney shook his head as he divided up the fish. “You ate one!” he accused her.
“No, I didn’t!”
“You must have. There’s only eleven and we cleaned twelve.”
“You probably counted wrong,” said Ruth, gobbli
ng up her share of the fish as fast as they cooled.
THEY ARRIVED BACK at the cottage in time for breakfast. “Ruth Reid, just look at you!” scolded her mother.
Ruth’s hands and face were smeared with butter and soot; sand, blood and scales caked her clothes. “Rodney looks just as bad,” she muttered.
Patricia cringed, expecting the same outburst as yesterday. But today Pat Reid’s voice was simply irritated.
“Rodney is a boy. You’re a girl—too old to be acting like a hoyden. Now clean up quickly and help me with breakfast.”
Patricia had her own breakfast in the kitchen, after she found cookies and fruit in a large pantry—the room that was the bathroom in the present. She had found out what they did without a bathroom when she heard Pat Reid sending Ginnie to the outhouse.
After breakfast Patricia walked to the Main Beach with Ruth and Ginnie. She remembered Aunt Ginnie saying how much Ruth must have resented taking her there every day. Sure enough, a sulky expression was on Ruth’s face.
There were no swimming lessons going on, but the raft and pier were the same and the sand was even more crowded with families. The women were dressed in bunchy cotton bathing suits and they all wore caps in the water.
Patricia dozed in the sun and listened to the ring of metal upon metal that came from a group of men throwing horseshoes at a pole. A cairn terrier approached her and sniffed suspiciously. It cocked its head, puzzled that there was no body to match the smell.
Patricia shivered as it ran away. What an odd sensation it was both to be and not to be here. She wondered how much time she had left.
Maybe she didn’t have to wait for the watch to run down; maybe she could rewind it now and stay longer. Her fingers twisted the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. Alarmed that she’d broken it, Patricia held the gold disk to her ear, but it ticked on reassuringly. The knob must be stuck, or maybe it only moved after the ticking stopped. She would have to wait until then and try again.
Now she began to dread the shock of being whisked back. Then a boy who was talking to Ruth distracted her.
“Where are your brothers?” he asked. He looked about Rodney’s age.
“Playing badminton,” said Ruth. “They’re always playing badminton. If you want a game, Tom, they’ll be on the court until lunch.”
“That’s okay—I’d rather talk to you.” He sat down beside her and began boasting about his father’s motor-boat. He had curly black hair and a wide grin and he was showing off.
Showing off to get Ruth’s attention; flirting with her. Ruth looked older than her age and she was easily the prettiest girl on the beach. Patricia watched, fascinated.
Ruth seemed surprised and bewildered at Tom’s attention; then she put on the aloof expression she used with her brothers.
“Have you heard about the costume party there’s going to be at the rec hall?” Tom asked her. “The second-last Saturday in July. Do you think you’ll be going?”
Ruth shrugged.
“Everyone will be there,” Tom continued. “Would you like to go with me?”
“I don’t go out on dates. Come on, Ginnie, it’s time for lunch.”
“Well, let me know if you change your mind. See you.” The boy whistled as he walked away.
Patricia was impressed. A few of the girls in her class already went out with boys, but nobody had ever asked her. She writhed with shyness at the possibility.
But Ruth was different—she was beautiful. How strange it must be just to be sitting on a towel and have a boy come up and flirt. Strange and uncomfortable; she didn’t blame Ruth for refusing his offer. It must feel powerful, though, to have a choice.
“Hurry up, Ginnie!” Ruth sighed as her small sister stopped on the path to examine her foot.
“I stubbed my toe-oe, Ruthie,” the child wailed. “You have to carry me …”
The rest of her complaint was cut off as Patricia found herself back in La Petite.
9
Quickly she pulled out the watch. Oh. please don’t still be stuck, she prayed. But before her fingers had a chance to try the knob, a voice called outside.
“Pawwwty …” Patricia just had time to slip the watch under her shirt before her five cousins burst into the cabin.
“Here you are!” Kelly looked at Patricia curiously. “I wondered where you spent your time. Listen, Potty, you have to come with us.”
Patricia stared at them blearily. The only place she wanted to go was right back to Ruth; and she didn’t even know if the watch was broken.
“We’re going on a picnic,” Kelly continued. “Mum’s packing it now. You have to come or she’ll suspect something. Potty, are you listening? Have you been asleep?”
“I’m going, too,” said Maggie proudly. “Mum said they had to take me.”
“So come on,” urged Christie. “The food must be ready.”
Patricia gathered herself together. “I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes,” she said slowly. After they had left she hid the watch under the mattress again. It would just have to wait for her until tomorrow; or maybe she could sneak away tonight.
Back at the cottage Aunt Ginnie handed them two bulging knapsacks. “Your sweaters and bathing suits are in one. I put in extras for you and Bruce, Christie. You must all be back before dark. Maggie, you do exactly what Kelly tells you.” She looked hard at her older daughter. “Where did you say you were going?”
“To the provincial park,” Kelly answered quickly.
“That’s all right. As long as you don’t go onto the Indian Reserve. They don’t want to be disturbed by summer people. And no lighting fires, do you understand?”
“But, Mum, I know how to do it properly—we learned at Guides,” protested Kelly.
“This is a very dry summer. I don’t want to take any chances. Give me your matches, Kelly.” Aunt Ginnie held out her hand and Kelly dropped a book of matches into it.
Maggie was the first out the door. “Bye, Mummy! Bye, Rosemary!” she called jubilantly. Peggy jumped around her in circles, barking wildly.
Kelly paused when they reached the road. “Okay, let’s go,” she beckoned, leading them to the right.
“This isn’t the way to the park!” objected Maggie. “Don’t you even know where it is?”
Trevor groaned. “Shut up, Maggie, and don’t ask questions.”
“We’re not going to the park,” Kelly explained. “We’re going to the Indian Reserve.”
“But Mummy said—”
“I knew we shouldn’t have brought her,” said Christie impatiently.
Patricia listened to them reason with the little girl. It was handy having Maggie along to ask the questions she wasn’t brave enough to ask herself.
“I know what Mum said,” Kelly told her, “but she doesn’t understand about the Indians. Last summer they said we could go on their land as long as we didn’t litter. If you want to come with us you have to promise not to tell, okay?”
“Sure!” declared Maggie, proud to be included in a secret. “I won’t tell. I bet Potty will, though.”
“Will you?” asked Christie.
Patricia shook her head. She felt a twinge of superiority; she’d already been on the Indian Reserve today.
They trudged along the road. The heat had softened the tar and it stuck to Patricia’s bare feet. She lifted them gingerly, trying not to mind; Ruth never wore shoes.
Past the last cottage was a group of dilapidated buildings labelled St. Stephen’s Church Retreat.
“What’s that?” asked Patricia. The shock of returning so abruptly from the past was wearing off; she felt here again.
“It used to be a camp,” explained Kelly, “but it hasn’t been used for years. We play in the cabins sometimes.”
“Remember when Bruce found a kangaroo mouse in one?” said Christie.
Patricia shivered. It was too bad her cousins were so fond of toads and snakes and mice. She wondered if they had a test for her to pass today.
“I just w
ish we had some matches,” grumbled Kelly.
“I have matches,” said Bruce calmly.
Kelly’s face lit up. “Great! Good for you, Bruce.”
They reached a faded sign. Spruce Band Reserve it said. Speed Limit 30 MPH. Watch for Pedestrians, Livestock and Horse-Drawn Vehicles.
“That’s really old,” Bruce told Patricia. “The Indians don’t use wagons anymore.”
Kelly led them off the road onto a dirt path. Across it stretched a piece of barbed wire. Patricia’s heart thudded as she scrambled under after the others.
Now they walked quietly. Maggie moved closer to Kelly and took her hand. Trevor tied a rope to Peggy’s collar.
“Hi, Mr. Paul,” called Kelly. She waved to an old man sitting on the steps of a bungalow.
“Hi, kids,” the man said gravely. “You’re back again.”
“We’re going to Sandy Point for a picnic. Is that all right?”
The man’s brown face crinkled into a smile. “That’s all right. Come back later. My grandsons will be home and you can have a ride.”
“Thanks, we will!” said Kelly.
They continued past other small houses. Women eyed them curiously and small black-haired children stared. One teenaged boy with a long braid and fringed leather vest glared at them until they passed the houses.
“You’re so brave, Kelly,” whispered Christie. “I’m afraid to talk to them. Daddy would be furious if he knew we were here. He doesn’t like the Indians, he says they’re lazy.”
Kelly stopped and faced her cousin. “I hope you don’t think that, Christie Reid! They’re people like you and me and white men have been horrible to them. Mr. Paul is my friend. You know we always rent horses from him. My parents say your father is prejudiced.”
“He’s not!” cried Christie and Bruce, but without much conviction.
“You know he is,” said Kelly angrily. She continued walking, then added more kindly, “Never mind. You can’t help what Uncle Rod’s like, as long as you don’t think the same way.”