by Kit Pearson
Dad held up his hand. “We’ve discussed my troubles enough, pickle. I’m sorry I burdened you with them, but thank you for listening.”
“Thank you for listening to me,” whispered Maisie.
“You are welcome.” He kissed her cheek. “Don’t forget to tell Una. Now, let’s go home to your mother.”
Chapter Fourteen
Telling Una
After listening to Dad, Maisie didn’t know if she had enough strength left to face Una. But she had to. She tried to believe Dad’s words: that Una would eventually forgive her. But what if Una didn’t?
“Let’s go to the Hut,” Maisie muttered after dinner.
They settled on the mattress, leaning against the wall. “Is anything the matter, George?” asked Una. “You look so strange!”
Maisie almost choked . . . how could she do this?
But she had to. “Una . . .” she whispered. “I’ve done something really wrong.”
“What? Maisie, why do you look like that?”
Maisie had decided to start with the good part. She took a deep breath. “David does love you.”
“David loves me?” Una cried. “How do you know?”
“I’ll tell you. Will you just listen to it all before you say anything else?”
Una nodded, her face radiant. Maisie’s heart lightened. No matter how much Una was going to hate her, at least Maisie had taken away her pain.
Maisie had rehearsed her confession so many times that her words came out like a swift volley of shots. “Before he left, David brought over a letter. He said not to give it to you until after he’d left. But I didn’t—no, please don’t say anything, Una! I read it, then I burned it in the stove. That’s it—that’s the terrible thing I did to you.”
Una gasped. “You burned my letter?” She whirled to face Maisie. But why?” she croaked.
“I don’t know. Something just came over me. I’m so, so sorry!”
Seldom had she seen Una look so fierce. She gripped Maisie’s arm and ordered, “Tell me what he wrote. Every word.”
Maisie took a paper out of her pocket. “I knew you’d ask me. I wrote down as much as I could remember.”
Una snatched the paper and read it rapidly. “Oh, my David,” she whispered. Then she looked up, and her rapture turned to anger.
“You hurt me, Maisie. You hurt me on purpose! I never want to speak to you again!”
“Una . . .”
But she had already fled.
* * *
Maisie was so empty of feeling she couldn’t even cry. Dad had been wrong: Una would never forgive her.
She tried to console herself with the thought that Una now knew that David was in love with her. She would write to him immediately, of course, and tell him what Maisie had done. Then David would hate her, too. But at least David would know Una returned his affection. Perhaps one day they might end up together. Maisie hoped they would.
She really did! No longer did she want to keep Una from David. She loved her too much.
That’s what puzzled her. That’s what always had, especially this summer. Why did she care for Una so much?
She was Maisie’s relative and her best friend, so of course she loved her! But Maisie knew in the deepest part of her that there was more to it than friendship. She felt . . . romantic about Una, the same way that Una felt about David.
But how could she feel this way about a girl? Anyway, what did it matter what Maisie felt about Una? Now she had lost her.
Maisie made herself return to the living room. Some of the family were sitting around the table, playing euchre.
Una, of course, wasn’t there.
Dad was in a corner with the newspaper. He glanced up, and she went over to him.
“Did you tell her?” he whispered.
Maisie nodded. “She was furious. She said she never wanted to speak to me again!”
“Poor pickle. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll come round. Just give her time.”
“Come and join us, chickie,” called Granny.
Maisie hated euchre. She shook her head, said goodnight, and escaped to bed.
* * *
The next morning Maisie woke up to an unfamiliar sound: a steady, pounding noise like—
“Maisie, get up!” called Granny. “It’s raining!”
Her voice was so urgent that Maisie dashed downstairs in her pyjamas. Granny took her hand and pulled her outside the kitchen door. They stood in the rain, their faces uplifted, and let the drops rinse them. The arbutus trunks gleamed with wetness, and the ground had turned to mud.
“Isn’t it marvellous?” cried Granny. She stomped in the puddles like a child. Then she grabbed Maisie’s hands and danced her in a circle.
“Granny, I’m getting soaked!” complained Maisie. Her pyjamas were stuck to her like a clammy second skin.
“It’s just the Lord’s blessed water! But oh, all right, go inside and get dry. Wash your feet in the kitchen first.”
Maisie did, then ran upstairs to change. She was glad it had finally rained, of course, but she felt the wetness far more than she felt Granny’s joy.
At breakfast everyone was ecstatic. “It’s the first time we’ve had a good soaking since May!” said Granny.
“It must have been the cloud seeding that did it,” said Grand.
Even Dad seemed affected. He kept looking out the window and saying, “Your barrels will soon be full, Ma.” The rest of the family smiled at him, rejoicing in his participation as much as in the rain.
All week Dad improved. He still spoke quietly and moved slowly, and he still spent much of his time sitting on the veranda. But he was coming back to them. He looked people in the eye, and he sometimes smiled.
Maisie was struggling to finish her bookcase. One afternoon Dad poked his head in and offered to help. His expert advice quickly solved all her problems with it; at last it was finished and ready to paint.
Dad even agreed to go fishing with Chester, and there was a gleam of pride in his eyes as he showed them the salmon he’d caught.
“It’s a miracle!” Granny kept whispering.
“I think it’s Maisie,” said Mum. “It’s all those walks you made him take, pickle. I couldn’t persuade him to go outside at home, but you did! And something changed in him while he was alone.”
“I just wish we knew what he’s been in such a fash about. If only he would talk to Rand, but he still won’t.”
He’s too ashamed, Maisie wanted to say, but of course she couldn’t. Everything Dad had shared with her was a secret.
“He’s agreed to talk to a psychiatrist, though,” said Mum. “It’s one Maud has found in Vancouver. We have an appointment for the middle of September.”
“One of those head doctors?” Granny frowned. “Oh, I don’t think Gregor needs that. He’ll get well on his own. All he needs is good food and the love of his family, and he’ll be fine.”
“Gregor needs more help than we can offer him,” said Mum gently.
Granny gave one of her disapproving sniffs, but she didn’t say any more.
* * *
For the first time in her life Maisie looked forward to leaving the island. She stuck close to her parents and tried to act normal as they crammed the last treats of the holidays into their final week. There were the usual family picnics, plagued by wasps. There were boat trips and hikes and meals. The heavy rain ended, but the air was cool and the island fragrant with moist earth, as if it were heaving a sigh of relief. The forest trails were slippery with arbutus bark, and some of the trees had started to change colour.
Una and Maud were present for all these occasions, of course. Sometimes Maisie tried to catch her cousin’s eye, but she looked away. Una carried The Day of the Locust, one of the books David had recommended, everywhere she went. She seemed bottled up with nervousness, always twitching her foot or scratching the back of her neck—she must be waiting for David’s reply.
Ashdown Academy started later than Maisie’s school, so
Una would still be on the island when David wrote back. The next time Maisie saw her would be at Christmas. Would she tell Maisie what David had written? Or would she still not be speaking to her?
Maisie tried to care more about this, but she was still numb. Maybe this was how Dad had felt these past months: as wooden and lifeless as Clary’s Pinocchio doll. If so, he was even braver than when he’d crawled through the battlefield to reach wounded soldiers. Now Maisie understood how hard he had found it even to get out of bed each morning.
No one noticed how detached and miserable she was, not even Mum or Granny. No one noticed that she and Una didn’t communicate. There were too many people at every meal and on every excursion. Now Maisie really was an actor. She looked after Clary, and steered the gasboat, and helped Granny, and pretended that she was as carefree as the rest of the family.
Only Maud saw through her, giving Maisie odd looks from time to time.
Una must have told her, Maisie decided.
Chapter Fifteen
Another Secret
When Maud invited her to go to Walker Island for a picnic, Maisie knew she was in for a scolding. She didn’t care: she deserved Maud’s disapproval.
The current was strong, and Maud had to concentrate on steering the gasboat carefully across the pass. They tied the boat to the wharf, then walked a little ways to a grassy bluff. Once they had settled into a hollow in the warm rocks, Maud opened the picnic basket.
Maisie hadn’t been here for years. How odd to see Kingfisher from another island! She gazed at the church and the rectory; she could even see Granny in the garden. It was as if she were observing her former happy life, one that seemed a very long time ago.
“Maisie . . .”
Maud’s face was so serious that Maisie grabbed another sandwich.
“Mmm?”
“I’m sorry about what happened between you and Una.”
“So she told you.”
“She told me everything. All about David’s kiss and him running away and about—well, about what you did.”
A gush of hot tears melted Maisie’s numbness. “Oh, Maud, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt Una so much!”
Maud hugged her. “Of course you didn’t! It was very wrong of you, but you know that.”
Maisie leaned against Maud’s sturdy body and sobbed and sobbed. Finally she wiped her face with her napkin. “D-did Una hear from David?”
“I let her phone him. It’s terribly expensive, of course, but I couldn’t bear to see her in such suspense. They only talked briefly, but now she knows how David feels, and of course Una is totally besotted with him.” Maud frowned. “I totally disapprove of this! Una is far too young to commit herself to anyone. I think David is latching on to her because he’s so full of grief. I’d like to nip it in the bud right now, but they won’t listen to me. So I’ve reiterated what David said. They are to stay apart until Una is eighteen, although they can write. Then they may see each other. I’ve tried to warn Una that they may not feel the same then. I told her that one or both of them may have met someone else. But of course she doesn’t believe me.” Maud sighed. “David is an awfully nice fellow, of course—if only Una wasn’t so much younger. So much drama . . . how much easier it was when all of you were little!”
“Do you think Una will ever forgive me?” croaked Maisie.
“Of course she will! Just give her time. Next summer you’ll be as good friends as ever.”
Maisie’s heart lightened. Maud was always right—surely she was about Una, as well.
Maybe now she could ask the question tormenting her. “Maud? Is there—is there something wrong with me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well . . .” Maisie stared at the lively waves. “I don’t know why I destroyed that letter! I don’t know why I feel so strongly about Una. It’s as if—as if I love her, the way she loves David! But that’s not possible, of course.”
Maud gave her a strange, careful look. “You and Una have always loved each other . . . ever since you were babies. You’d roll around on a blanket and poke each other and giggle. You’re like sisters more than cousins.”
“I don’t think so. Una feels more than that to me. She feels like a—a boyfriend—except, she isn’t a boy!” Maisie’s cheeks burned. How could she utter such nonsense!
Maud was quiet for several long minutes. She must really think I’m strange, thought Maisie, trying not to cry again.
Then Maud sat up briskly. “Maisie, my love, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you, and in a moment I’ll tell you why. But first I’m going to share a secret with you. No one else knows this—not even Una, although I’ll tell her when she’s older. But I think it’s time for you to know. Do you swear never to share with anyone what I’m about to say?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” said Maisie solemnly.
Maud laughed. “I once made Polly promise something by stabbing her finger and mine and then mingling our blood. I won’t do that! Okay, here goes. What I’m going to say will shock you, but bear with me.”
Maisie would never forget that conversation—the one that changed her life. As she listened, she crumbled dry grass in her hands. In the years to come, whenever she inhaled that sweet grassy fragrance it brought back Maud’s words.
“Have you ever wondered why I don’t have a man in my life?” Maud asked.
“Not really. I heard Granny say it’s because you were too hurt by . . .” She covered her mouth. Oh, no! Una had asked her not to tell!
“It’s all right, Maisie. I know Una told you about Robert, and I don’t mind. Aunt Jean thinks I’m not married because I was too hurt by him, right?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not why. I do have a relationship, but it’s not with a man—it’s with a woman.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that sometimes women fall in love with other women—and men can be in love with other men—the way women and men love each other. Some people are what is called ‘homosexual’—they are attracted to people who are the same sex they are.”
Maisie’s heart thudded. “But how can they be?”
“They just are. It’s something you are born with, just as some people have red hair. But because that’s not considered normal in our society, no one ever talks about it, so many people never realize that they’re different. I thought I liked men—I was certainly attracted to Robert. But when I had sexual relations with a woman, I knew that my true desire was to be with one.”
Maisie gaped. How could a woman have sex with a woman?
“Sorry, Maisie, that was a bit too much information for you. Don’t think about the sex part. Most important is the love. Sylvia and I love each other. We want to be together always.”
Sylvia! That was the friend Una had talked about, the one in Toronto who was once Maud and her mother’s roommate.
Maud patted her arm. “All right so far? I know it’s a lot to digest.”
“I’m all right,” said Maisie. “But I’ve never heard of this before!”
“That’s because our society is so backward,” said Maud bitterly. “Homosexuality is considered unnatural—in fact, for men, it’s illegal! Sylvia and I have to keep our relationship a secret. If anyone knew, we’d be called ‘deviants’ or ‘mentally diseased.’ I would be disbarred from being a lawyer, and she would be fired from the university. I hate secrets—I always have. But this has to be one, just as I think Una has to keep it a secret at school that she’s illegitimate. Maybe one day attitudes will change, but at the moment that’s how things are.”
They were silent for a few minutes while Maisie tried to take this in. Maud was in love with a woman! That meant . . .
Maud seemed to sense the revelation that was filling Maisie like warm, bubbly water. “Maisie, do you know why I decided to tell you this?” she asked gently.
“Maybe . . .” whispered Maisie. “Maybe you’re telling me because . . . because I really am in love with Una. I
kept the letter from Una because I wanted her for myself.”
A kingfisher zoomed off the Walker Island wharf. “Oh, Maud . . .” It was as if all the pieces of one of Granny’s puzzles were sliding into place at the same time. “It kind of . . . it kind of makes sense.”
Maud smiled. “When Una told me what happened, it crossed my mind that you could be like me. In fact, I’ve wondered for several years if you are. But I wouldn’t have told you if you hadn’t brought it up yourself. You’re still very young. You may love Una right now, but in a year or two you may love a boy. It doesn’t matter! Someday you’ll know for sure whether you prefer being with a woman, but it’s far too early to decide that right now. Look how long it took me! I just don’t want you to think that there’s anything wrong with you. There isn’t! It’s perfectly normal for you to have feelings for my daughter. Can you believe that?”
Normal? She was allowed to love Una? Maisie felt rinsed, as when she had stood in the rain with Granny.
Then she remembered Una’s angry words. “But she doesn’t love me back.”
“Oh, my poor Maisie! No, she doesn’t love you in that way, although she certainly loves you dearly.”
“She isn’t even speaking to me!”
“She will. You shocked her by what you did, but just give her time.”
Once again Maisie tried to cling to that hope. She gazed at a raven drumming its wings across the sky. It turned a complete somersault in the air before it soared away.
“Wow!” said Maud.
“I’ve never seen that before!” said Maisie.
Then Maud stood up. “We should get back before the tide turns. Are you all right?” she asked again. “This is so new for you. It’s going to take a while for it to sink in.”
Maisie’s legs were quivering. But, for the first time all summer—perhaps for the first time in her whole life—she was all right.
“Remember this is our secret,” said Maud as they got into the boat. Maisie grinned at her. It felt so important to have a secret that even Una didn’t know.
Chapter Sixteen
The Kiss (2)