by Kit Pearson
“And I need a polishing cloth for my telescope—I’ll write down the brand,” added Gordon. The boys and their father strode confidently down the street, Ruth lingering behind.
Patricia paused with her when she stopped to stroke a horse that was tethered to a wagon in front of the store. The back of the wagon was full of Indian children, their dark eyes watching Ruth cautiously.
“You like horses?” the biggest boy asked.
Ruth nodded, her face buried in the horse’s neck. Patricia was careful not to get too near, even though the horse couldn’t hurt her when she was invisible.
“Ruth! Get away from there!” Andrew Reid’s deep voice broke the torpid silence of the street as he and the boys came out of the store loaded with groceries.
Ruth joined them reluctantly. Her father didn’t say anything to her until they were back at the grey car. Then he put down his bag and turned her around by the shoulders to face him.
“Listen to me, young lady. You are not to speak to the Indians! I’ve told you that before. We mind our business and they mind theirs. Your mother would be furious if she knew you’d been near those children—they didn’t look very clean.”
“I was just patting the horse …” Ruth began, but her father’s fierce expression quelled her.
All the way back to the cottage Patricia studied the back of Andrew Reid’s neck. It bristled with short white hairs and was as stiff and immobile as a tree trunk. She couldn’t help thinking about Wilfred. He may have been Andrew’s brother, but she was sure he must have been nicer.
AT THE DINNER TABLE that night Andrew Reid gave his children a General Knowledge quiz. Even Ginnie had a turn.
“All right, Ginnie. Who’s the most famous skater in Canada?”
“Barbara Ann Scott!” she crowed. “I want a Barbara Ann Scott doll for my birthday, Papa.”
“How many provinces are there?” her father asked the older children.
“Nine,” said Rodney.
Ruth looked smug. “You’re wrong, Rodney. Newfoundland just joined.”
“Good for you, Ruth,” her father said grudgingly. “You should have known that,” he told his sons.
When Ruth answered more questions correctly, he was even sterner. “Are you going to let a girl beat you, boys? You’d better start reading the paper.”
A few hours later the family went down to the beach for a bonfire. Ginnie lay wrapped in a blanket on her mother’s lap, her eyes closing and opening as she struggled to stay awake. Ruth roasted a marshmallow an even brown as her father and the boys adjusted Gordon’s telescope. Then they played word games until it got dark.
Patricia lay on her back on the pebbly beach and stared with wonder at the countless stars above her. She had never seen this many except in a planetarium.
Gordon peered through his telescope with his head cocked sideways. “I think I’ve got Jupiter. Look, Rodney, you can see its moons.” The telescope, which looked homemade, was a large black tube mounted on a wooden stand.
Everyone except Ruth’s mother took a turn gazing through it. “I can’t see anything through that contraption,” she complained. “I’d rather use my eyes. Tell us some of the constellations, Gordon.”
They all lay down, even Andrew Reid, who looked undignified spread full length on the beach. Gordon’s voice was eager as he pointed out stars. “There’s Scorpius—see that reddish star? That’s Antares, the largest star in the sky.”
Patricia tried to trace the scorpion’s tail. For a few seconds it stood out until she blinked. She found the patterns of Lyra and Sagittarius more easily.
They sat up and the boys peered through the telescope again. Ginnie had given in to sleep. Ruth’s back was towards her family her arms clasped around her knees as she gazed at the black lake. The water lapped softly and a loon warbled.
Andrew Reid pulled on his pipe and blew out a swirl of bitter-smelling smoke. “We’re a lucky family, Pat,” he said gruffly. “Four healthy children and a place like this to come to.”
His wife was staring into the fire. “Yes, Andrew,” she said distantly. Then she sighed and turned to him as if she had just heard his words. “Yes, we are lucky. Thank goodness the boys were too young for the war and you were too old.”
“It’s a wonderful time to be young,” her husband continued. “I envy you boys. The world’s at peace. Edmonton will boom with that oil discovery in Leduc. You should both be able to make successes of yourselves.”
Ruth turned around. “What about me?”
“Why, I want you and Ginnie to marry well and raise large families. I want lots of grandchildren!” her father smiled.
“What if I don’t have children?”
“Don’t be silly, Ruth—of course you will,” her mother said. Patricia reminded herself that Ruth would grow up to be her mother. She shivered, feeling more like a ghost than ever.
“I HAVE A TREAT FOR US,” said Pat Reid the next morning. “Kay Weber’s brother is an Anglican clergyman, and he’s here for the weekend. He’s going to conduct a service at their cottage tomorrow morning. You know how much I miss church at the lake.”
“Church in the summer, Ma! That’s too much,” groaned Gordon.
“I’ll pass, thank you,” said Rodney.
“Me, too,” added Ruth.
Ginnie pouted. “I hate going to church, Mama, it’s so boring.”
Even her husband looked resentful, although he didn’t say anything.
Pat Reid stared at them, the anger rising in her face like water filling a glass. She clapped her palms on the table. “You will all go, with no rude remarks or complaints. All of you! If we can’t go to church together …” Her voice grew shriller with each word.
Andrew Reid shot a warning glance at his children, then spoke calmly. “All right, Pat. Of course we’ll go. Apologize to your mother at once, children.”
There was a mumbled chorus of “sorrys.” Everyone’s breath was stilled while they waited to see if Pat Reid’s outburst would subside. Her voice became steadier.
“Very well. Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”
RIGHT AFTER they got back from the church service the next morning, the watch ran out. Ruth was again sitting on the Main Beach with Ginnie, reading to her from a book called Just Mary. Patricia found herself back in the present right in the middle of a sentence. Then she lay on the bed in La Petite for a long time.
She was worn out. It was too much, darting back and forth in time. This trip had been such a long one, she didn’t know if she could go through another extended period yet, even though she much preferred being there than here.
She hid the watch and strolled out into the rain, blinking as she tried to become accustomed to being back. For the rest of the day she joined Kelly and the others, still grounded, on the verandah. They didn’t seem to mind her being with them; Kelly even looked relieved that she’d returned. But Patricia wouldn’t give in to her friendly overtures. For the first time, she felt superior to Kelly. Her cousin knew how to do a lot of things Patricia didn’t, but she didn’t know Patricia’s secret.
Uncle Doug arrived for the weekend and they had to listen to another lecture about the horses. At least it didn’t last long; he wasn’t as good at scolding as his wife.
He’d brought Patricia a letter from her mother. It was her usual short account of current events, written with forced cheerfulness. All about her work and nothing about the separation. Patricia shuddered at the strangeness of reading a letter from Ruth at age forty-seven when she’d just been sitting beside her on the beach at age twelve. The two Ruths were so different. What had happened to turn the girl she liked so much into her mother?
That evening Patricia had disturbing news. “Your Nan’s coming, dear,” beamed Aunt Ginnie. “She phoned this afternoon. She’s very excited—she hasn’t seen you since you were eight!”
For a few seconds Patricia was indifferent. She wrote to her grandmother in Calgary twice a year, thanking her for birthday and Christmas che
ques. She could hardly remember what she looked like.
Then she put down the piece of watermelon she was eating as she realized with shock what Aunt Ginnie had said. Nan was Pat Reid. The woman Patricia had been watching in the past was coming here.
And Patricia had her watch. Surely Nan didn’t know it had been under the floor in the cabin. She must have lost it long ago. Patricia didn’t want to give it back; it felt like her watch now.
She asked shakily, “When is Nan coming?”
“Around noon on Tuesday. Uncle Doug’s taking the day off to drive her out. She’ll stay in La Petite. You and Kelly can help me tidy it up.”
“Don’t forget I’m doing the floor tomorrow,” Uncle Doug reminded her.
Now Patricia was frantic. What if they found the watch under the mattress? She would have to look for a new hiding place.
She finished her dessert with difficulty. She didn’t want to meet her grandmother as she was now; the past and the present would get all mixed up.
11
When Nan arrived, Patricia hid behind the others so she could observe her privately, the way she did when she was invisible.
A thin figure stepped carefully out of the car. She was very different from the woman Patricia knew from thirty-five years ago. Shorter, with her back and shoulders curving into a stoop. Instead of a cotton dress, she wore green pants and a loose top that looked out of place with the double strand of pearls knotted around her wiry neck. Her hair was permed into even, irongrey curls. Although her ugly mouth still twisted when it smiled, her expression had become aggressive instead of vague.
The biggest difference was that she gushed. “My darling children … give your old Nan a kiss!” she cried in a sugary voice. “Here’s the baby, what a sweetheart— hand her to me. Hello, Ginnie, dear, how lovely to be here! And Maggie … and my own Trevor.”
Patricia listened in wonder. Maybe her grandmother had grown more affectionate after her husband died. But there was something forced and smothering about her cooing. As everyone was embraced again and again, Patricia hid behind the car.
“But where’s Patricia?” the strident voice cried. “Where’s my poor little Patricia?”
Aunt Ginnie put an encouraging arm around her niece. “Don’t be shy, dear. Come and say hello to your grandmother.”
Nan gave Rosemary back to Aunt Ginnie and took Patricia’s face in her hands. Patricia jerked her head with embarrassment, but the cool palms held it firmly.
“So this is Patricia … finally!” Nan kissed her quickly and released her hold. “You don’t look at all like your mother. Well, perhaps that’s just as well. Do you know I haven’t seen you for four years? We’ll have to have a good long talk.”
Patricia escaped by helping to carry suitcases into La Petite. Her stomach churned with guilt as she glanced at the bed and the newly tiled floor. Early Sunday morning she had crept into the cabin and rescued the watch. She’d hidden it up in the attic of the cottage, concealed in an empty shoebox she’d found in a corner. No one ever went up there; it was far too hot.
“A good long talk”: the ominous words rang in her ears all day. She began to relax, though, when she saw that there were too many people around for Nan to get her alone. Uncle Rod’s family arrived and Patricia was protected from her grandmother by a thicket of chatter.
Everyone waited on the old woman. Aunt Ginnie and Aunt Karen hovered around her, keeping her supplied with cigarettes, tea and cushions. Nan was much bossier and more opinionated than in the past. Before dinner she shooed the women into the kitchen and sat on the verandah with Uncle Rod, having a lively argument with him about the prime minister. Trevor, Christie and Bruce crouched at her feet. Kelly had disappeared somewhere.
Patricia sat on the front steps, holding the baby. She watched Uncle Doug tend the barbecue and Maggie practise handstands on the lawn.
Rosemary babbled and snatched at Patricia’s nose and hair. Patricia bounced her, whispering a rhyme she’d heard her aunt use:
This is the way
The ladies ride
Nim, nim, nim …
Uncle Doug and Maggie came up the steps. “Do you want me to take the baby?” offered her uncle.
“It’s okay,” said Patricia. It calmed her to hold the plump little body. Besides, it gave her an excuse not to join the noisy group inside. Rosemary was heavy however, and after a while Patricia placed her carefully on the grass.
Kelly appeared and joined her on the steps. Patricia wriggled nervously. “Do you think the ground is too damp for her?” she asked, pointing to the baby to draw attention away from herself.
“Oh, no—babies are tough. Come here, Piglet. Now, watch this …” Kelly lugged her sister to her lap, then gently lifted her by the ankles until she hung upside-down.
“Don’t!” cried Patricia. “You’ll hurt her!”
Kelly laughed. “No, I won’t. She loves it.”
And, sure enough, Rosemary arched her back and smiled at this new view of the world. All the same Patricia was relieved when Kelly put her back on the grass.
A chipmunk scuttled across the lawn. Behind them, the buzz of talk rose and fell.
“So what do you think of Nan?” Kelly asked.
“Oh. She’s … fine, I guess. I haven’t really talked to her.”
“Maybe you’ll get to be one of her pets, like Trevor. He’s her favourite. She doesn’t care for me much.” Kelly’s voice was matter-of-fact.
“Why not?” Patricia couldn’t help asking.
“Because I’m ‘wild’ and ‘a tomboy’ and ‘don’t dress properly.’” Her cousin imitated her grandmother’s tone so perfectly that Patricia smiled in spite of herself.
“She lives in a fancy condominium in Calgary,” Kelly continued, “and whenever we go there, I have to wear a dress and pass tea to old ladies or help arrange flowers in the church. It’s incredibly old-fashioned. Christie likes it, but she’s strange sometimes. Everyone thinks Nan is so sweet—but she isn’t always. Once I accidentally broke an old dish and she really blew her top. It was weird, as if she’d turned into another person. I thought she was going to hit me. She said something queer then … she said I reminded her of Ruth.”
Patricia started. “Of wh-who?”
“Ruth. Your mother, silly. Mum says I look a bit like she did at my age. Bet I won’t be as gorgeous, though. But who would want to be? Does she like getting all made up and looking so glamorous all the time?”
Patricia stiffened. “How would I know?”
“Well, she is your mother. Honestly, Potty, sometimes you get so touchy.” Offended, Kelly turned from Patricia to the baby.
Rosemary had hoisted herself to her side and was lying there like a beached seal. Then, with a flop, she landed on her stomach. She grinned with surprise.
“You turned over, Piglet—good for you!” Picking up the baby, Kelly rushed inside to tell her mother.
FOR THE NEXT two days, Patricia managed to avoid being alone with Nan. Her grandmother gave her an appraising, quizzical glance from time to time, but there were no more suggestions of a talk. Patricia hoped she had forgotten about it.
She longed for the watch and wished she could slip up to the attic and escape to the past. But it was impossible to be alone this week. Nan came to the beach with them every morning and sat under an umbrella while they had their swimming lessons. The two fathers had returned to the city, and every afternoon the mothers took Nan and the cousins on a different excursion. They drove to the Pembina river valley to pick wild strawberries, formed a fishing fleet of two canoes and a rowboat and visited friends on the other side of the lake. Every night they all ate together, Nan presiding like a queen.
Sometimes she and Aunt Ginnie told stories of past summers at the lake. Patricia shivered with the strangeness of it when they mentioned something she knew, such as how Aunt Ginnie was so frightened of going to the outhouse at night that one of her parents had to go with her and talk reassuringly outside the door.
&nbs
p; “You were a spoiled one,” laughed Nan fondly. She never mentioned Ruth in her stories.
Once she showed her grandchildren her scrapbook of the Royal Family. “I have twenty-two of them,” she said proudly. “One day they’ll be valuable. Look, Maggie, here’s little Prince William with his parents.”
“His dad sure has huge ears,” commented Maggie.
Uncle Doug and Uncle Rod arrived and departed with the weekend. By Monday, Aunt Ginnie had run out of ideas for outings and Kelly especially was itching to be on her own.
“Let’s see …” mused her mother after lunch. “What would you like to do, Mama? We could walk down to the other end and visit old Mrs. Thorpe.”
“Mum,” interrupted Kelly, “can we go and finish our fort? We haven’t been near it for a week.”
“I’d like you to come with us to the Thorpes, Kelly. You never see their children—you shouldn’t stick to yourselves so much.”
Kelly made a rude face.
“Oh, let them go off and play, Ginnie,” said Nan. “I’ve monopolized them so far. I can visit Muriel Thorpe this evening. Right now I’d like to have some time with Patricia. Shall we go out to La Petite and have a nice chat? I’m sure you’d like to be left alone as well, Ginnie.”
Everyone but Patricia looked grateful. She lingered in the driveway as her grandmother walked towards La Petite with quick steps, but finally she had to follow her into the cabin.
Nan plugged in the electric kettle and set out tea supplies on a small table. “I’m beginning to have enough of roughing it,” she frowned, examining a chipped mug. “Soon you’ll have to come and visit me in Calgary and I’ll show you the Coalport china your great-grandmother left me.”
Patricia didn’t answer. She sat tensely on the edge of one of the beds worrying about the watch. She was sure that, somehow, Nan was going to mention it.
But it wasn’t the watch Nan wanted to talk about. Afterwards Patricia thought how foolish she’d been to imagine that it would be. Nan had no reason to connect the watch with her granddaughter.
She began by recalling the last time she’d seen Patricia. “You were so plump,” she laughed. “Just like Ginnie at that age. I don’t know how your mother could leave you with a babysitter.”