A Handful of Time (13 page)

She began berating her daughter at breakfast. Gordon looked worried. “Calm down, Ma,” he entreated. “You're working yourself up into one of your states.” But she angrily banished him and Rodney and Ginnie to the beach. Then she continued to rage.

“That a daughter of mine would do such a thing,” was her constant refrain.

Nan's brittle voice drilled away at Ruth until Patricia wanted to scream. “I can't believe a daughter of mine would be so unladylike!” she repeated. “I don't know what to do with you, Ruth. You're twelve years old and here you are gallivanting off at night and behaving like a hoodlum!”

“The others did it, too,” muttered Ruth.

Her mother had quickly found out who the others were.

“It's a disgrace that the Thorpe girls were there. They're exactly the kind of wild teenager you're turning into. As for Gordon and Rodney it's natural for boys to get up to mischief, but you had no business tagging along. I was mortified when that man appeared last night! The next thing we know, you'll be showing up with a policeman in tow. I won't have it, do you understand? I won't have my daughter behaving like this!”

Then she moved from last night to Ruth's whole character, bringing up incidents in her life from age two to the present. Nothing she described was really bad.

“Just because you're attractive, you've always thought you could get away with everything! Looks won't get you everything, you'll see. Sometimes I'd like to slap that pretty face of yours!”

Ruth looked as frightened as Patricia felt. Nan in the past was much, much worse than in the present. The furious woman paced wildly up and down the living room. It was as if she had come apart and didn't even know herself what she would say next.

At last, however, she took a deep breath as if trying to control herself. She stopped yelling and sent her daughter to her room. Ruth was to be confined to the cottage for the rest of the week.

That night Ruth cried for hours: dry, choked sobs that shook the bed. Patricia lay beside her helplessly, tears streaming down her own face.

When Andrew Reid arrived, his wife asked him to speak to his sons. He was mild with them. “Up to high jinks, eh? Just like your Uncle Wilfred. But you shouldn't have been there—you'd better write the camp a letter of apology.”

Then he took his daughter aside. “I'm very disappointed that
you
were involved, Ruth. You've got to start mending your ways. You're making your mother very unhappy, and you know how agitated she can get. No one else in the family upsets her as much as you do—it's got to stop, do you hear?”

“But, Father, I don't
do
anything!” cried Ruth. “Not any more than the boys.”

“But they're boys—you're not. You should know better. Now I won't put up with any more of it. The matter is closed.”

He lit his pipe and dismissed her.

13

T
he atmosphere in the Reids' cottage was now so oppressive that the next time the watch ran down Patricia almost decided to stay in her own time. But the present, with Nan still there and her cousins' exuberance making her own troubles seem worse, was just as bad.

And she couldn't abandon Ruth now. Ruth had no one—even Ginnie ignored her much of the time. She was alone, whereas Patricia—she squirmed guiltily at the realization—had Aunt Ginnie and Uncle Doug and, recently even Kelly all wanting to befriend her. But I don't need them, she thought stubbornly as much as Ruth needs
me
.

How could she comfort Ruth, though, when Ruth didn't know she was there? Maybe she could leave her a note. But what could it say? “Dear Ruth, I'm your daughter Patricia …” No, a note would only confuse or frighten Ruth. If only it were possible to act, to somehow express her sympathy towards the miserable girl. She felt useless. It was a familiar feeling, but she was weary of it.

No wonder ghosts were sad; they were removed from living. It occurred to Patricia that not only was she a ghost in the past, she was like one in the present as well. There was no longer anywhere to escape to.

“Your punishment is over, Ruth,” said her mother after a week. Her frightening anger had subsided and she was back to her usual impassive self.

She began to discuss the costume party that was taking place on the coming weekend. Patricia cheered up a little; maybe the past would become interesting again.

“We have to think of something to wear and I have an easy idea,” said Nan. “Why don't we dress up as each other? I'll be Father and he can be me. Gordon and Ginnie can trade clothes … and so can Ruth and Rodney.”

Ginnie exploded into laughter. “Gordie
me
? Will he wear one of my dresses? How will he get it on?”

At first the boys flatly refused to dress up as girls, but their mother finally persuaded them. Ruth shrugged an agreement to wearing Rodney's clothes. She had become sullen and silent since the awful scolding.

“It's settled, then. I'll call your father from the store phone and ask him to bring some of our city clothes out.”

On Saturday evening Patricia watched the family get ready for the party. Ginnie became so choked with hilarity they had to slap her on the back. Even Andrew Reid snorted at himself in the mirror. This must be one of the “happy times” Aunt Ginnie recalled. She didn't know that one person in the family hadn't been happy. An unsmiling Ruth quickly donned Rodney's knitted vest, wide tie and grey flannels, then retreated to her puzzle until the others were dressed.

“We must have a picture,” said Nan. “Where's your Brownie, Gordon?”

Gordon produced a box-like camera. They asked the next-door neighbour, a younger Mrs. Donaldson, to come over and snap them on the front steps. Patricia watched as intently as if she were taking the picture herself. With a shiver, she recalled the evening Aunt Ginnie had shown her the photograph. Then the black-and-white picture had seemed long ago. Now the family group was like a commercial: in “full, living colour.”

“I think you'll win first prize!” said Mrs. Donaldson. “You're quite a sight.”

They were. Rodney's fairness suited the pink dress of Ruth's he was wearing, even though his gangly wrists hung far below the sleeves. They'd concocted a little girl's outfit for Gordon out of one of Ginnie's pinafores, tied loosely around his chest and layered with several aprons. Wool pigtails dangled over his ears and he cradled her doll. Ginnie giggled in Gordon's rolled up pants and brandished his badminton racquet proudly. Ruth stood sullenly between her brothers, submerged in Rodney's baggy clothes.

“Perhaps I'll start wearing dresses, eh, Ginnie?” joked her father. “They're really quite comfortable.”

“Not as comfortable as trousers,” declared his wife. “Just a minute, Sally,” she said to Mrs. Donaldson. “I've forgotten something.”

She hurried into the cottage and returned smiling. “There! What do you think? It's a man's watch, after all.” Across her husband's vest hung a gold chain, one end pinned to the dark material. She drew out the watch to show them, then replaced it carefully in her vest pocket.

“The perfect touch,” agreed Mrs. Donaldson. “Now, are you all ready? Smile, Ruth!”

She didn't, but the picture was taken anyway.

T
HE RECREATION HALL
was new to Patricia; it was connected to the store and also built out of logs. Tonight it was crammed with noisy families, all in costume. The Thorpe children, draped in pink beach towels, came as The Three Little Pigs. Barbara and Winnie teased Ruth's brothers about their girls' clothes. The boys' cheeks burned, but Patricia could tell they enjoyed the attention.

At one end of the hall was a long table piled with cookies, pies and lemonade. In the corner two older men began a lively tune on an accordian and fiddle.

“If only we had electricity at the lake,” complained Gordon. “Father could have brought some of my jazz albums from the city.”

People began dancing. Andrew Reid polkaed with Ginnie in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist. Nan claimed Rodney and Gordon asked Barbara.

Patricia followed Ruth over to the refreshments. Ruth looked shy, the way she herself always felt at a party. This gathering, however, was the most relaxed one she had ever been to. Excited greetings and laughter competed with the music. Small children pushed past the adults and clustered around the food. Two dogs wearing hats hung around them hopefully.

A woman grinned at Ruth, baring false teeth cut out of an orange peel. “What a clever idea your costumes are, Ruth. It's hard to come up with something when you're not in the city.”

“My mother thought of it,” mumbled Ruth.

“Hey, Ruth!” Tom appeared at her side. “Who are you disguised as?”

“Rodney,” grimaced Ruth. “The person I'd least like to be. We all had to come as one another. You look funny,” she added hesitantly.

Tom was dressed as a baby. He hoisted up a drooping diaper made out of a sheet. “Our family's the Dionne Quintuplets. We have lots of bottles around because of my little sister. Here, have a sip.” He thrust a baby bottle towards her.

Ruth made a face, but Tom insisted. “Ugh!” she shuddered. “That's not milk!”

“It is, but I added some brandy.”

The accordian player announced that the judging had begun. One at a time, individuals and groups presented themselves at the front of the room. “And here are the Reids … dressed as the Reids!” someone cried as the family posed. They won third prize, outshone by a bandaged mummy and five children, swamped in their fathers' uniforms, who carried a sign saying What We Fought For—The Future Generation.

Then square dancing began. Patricia enjoyed watching the intricate patterns each group formed. She clapped her hands in time. “Now do-si-do and promenade …” The caller's orders were so intriguing, she almost didn't notice Tom whispering to Ruth beside her.

“Listen, Ruth. This party's a bore. Some of us are sneaking out and going to the beach—want to come?”

Ruth looked for her parents, part of a set at the other end of the hall. Ginnie was sprawled on a mattress amidst some other small children, stuffing cookies into her mouth.

“I suppose so,” said Ruth nervously. “I'd have to get back before the party's over, though—my parents are really strict.”

“Don't worry, we won't stay long,” Tom assured her. Patricia followed them out a side door. Three other couples were waiting in the darkness. One pair was Rodney and Winnie. The others were strangers, all in their mid-teens.

They trooped after the beam of Tom's flashlight down the path to the Main Beach. Two of the boys gathered branches and made a fire and soon everyone was huddled around it.

Tom passed around his baby bottle and someone else produced beer. “Don't you dare drink anything,” Rodney warned his sister. “You shouldn't have come. She's only twelve, you know,” he told Tom.

“I don't like beer,” retorted Ruth. “But you shouldn't be drinking either. So shut up, or I'll tell on you.”

Surprisingly, Rodney did.

“Where's Gordon?” Ruth asked him after a while.

“He and Barbara left to go to a dance across the lake. Father lent him the car. Gordon arranged it yesterday and didn't even tell me,” he added bitterly.

The group sat self-consciously around the fire, hardly speaking. One of the boys slung his arm around the girl beside him. Everyone pretended not to notice. They coughed over a shared cigarette and made a few remarks about the childishness of the costume party but the voices sounded wistful. Patricia was surprised at their awkwardness; she had always thought that everyone but herself was confident in situations like this.

A loon laughed on the lake. “It's getting cold,” said Winnie, wrapping her towel around her. “Let's go back.”

Everyone looked relieved. “At least the grub's great,” said one of the boys on the way up the steps. “Have you tried my aunt's sausage rolls?”

Ahead of them the hall's windows flickered with candlelight. Voices boomed out into the night: “Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag / And smile, smile, smile …” When she got back into the noisy warmth, Patricia sang along.

“No one will even guess we left,” said Tom with satisfaction. He wolfed down some pie.

But Ruth looked worried. “I can't see my parents anywhere. Can you?”

Patricia's eyes searched with her. There was no sign of any of the Reids.

“Rodney!” Ruth cornered her brother. “Where are Mother and Father?”

Rodney became anxious as well. He approached a woman dressed as a gypsy. “Excuse me, Mrs. Duffy, have you seen our parents?”

“Oh, there you are, you two!” The woman pretended to be stern. “Your mother and father just left. Ginnie was sick to her stomach—too much cake, I expect. They were looking for you. Your father's coming back after he walks Pat and Ginnie home. You'd better get going,” she admonished.

“Oh, no,” groaned Rodney. Then he looked resigned. “Listen, Ruth. If I'm going to get into trouble anyway, I may as well stay. There's a party at Winnie's cousins' afterwards. It's you they'll be worried about. Go back and tell them I promise to be home by midnight.”

Ruth bristled. “You always do this!” she hissed. “I get blamed for everything and you get away with murder. It's not fair! Besides, I don't want to walk back alone in the dark. You have to come too, Rodney.”

Winnie and Tom had joined them and Winnie took Rodney's arm, frowning at Ruth as if she were a tiresome little girl.

“I'll take you home, Ruth,” offered Tom. “I don't mind.”

“Gee, thanks, Turner.” Rodney bolted with Winnie before his friend could change his mind.

Patricia hurried to keep up with Ruth as she stomped ahead of Tom on the road. “I despise Rodney!” she growled. “He treats me like a child. They all do. It's just like the raid.”