A Handful of Time (15 page)

“My mother did a special series on disarmament,” Patricia told her.

“I saw it! I didn't tell you … before.”

Before we were friends, Patricia added to herself.

“I'm sorry we were so mean to you when you came,” Kelly told her sheepishly. “You were so snotty, we thought you didn't like us.”

“But I thought you didn't like
me
!”

“Well, I was upset because of not getting a sailboat. I guess we didn't give you a chance.” Kelly grinned at her. “But now we know each other. And we're cousins, so we always will.”

The two of them began talking long into the night. Kelly told Patricia what interesting lives her friends with divorced parents had. “Sometimes I think it's a drag, having such an ordinary family.” She didn't sound at all convincing, but Patricia appreciated her efforts to cheer her up.

They chatted so late that Aunt Ginnie threatened to separate them, but she looked indulgent as she said it. Her aunts and uncles beamed on Patricia now. “The lake has done her good,” she heard Aunt Karen say. “She's a changed child.”

Sometimes Patricia sneaked up to the attic and tried the watch again. But it was definitely broken. Once she visited the badminton court, straining her ears as if she could hear Ruth's voice cry again: “It's not fair!” The over-grown, neglected space was silent.

Each August day dawned with a clean, blue sky. By noon it was hot, but the evenings were crisp, with none of the stifling humidity Patricia was used to in Toronto. Swimming lessons were over and nothing in the day was organized but meals. The cousins spent every possible moment outside, either in the fort or on the beach. Patricia's hair grew into her eyes, her skin turned brown and the soles of her feet became as hard as Kelly's. She wasn't afraid of weeds or bloodsuckers anymore, she could paddle a canoe and she caught another perch. I'm getting as good as they are, she thought.

Her cousins continued to protect her, however. “You won't like this, Patricia,” Bruce warned when he showed the others his worm farm. “Patricia doesn't have to do it,” ordered Kelly, when they dared one another to dive off the high board on the Main Beach raft. Patricia was grateful for their concern; she still didn't have the nerve to do everything they did. But she wished she could win their respect as well as their sympathy.

After lunch one day Aunt Karen rushed through the back door of the Grants' cottage. “Bruce cut his foot with the axe! It's bleeding a lot. Ginnie, can you drive us to the hospital in Stony Plain? If only Rod was here!”

They all ran out to the driveway. Bruce was lying on the back seat of the car. Christie was beside him, holding a blood-soaked towel to his foot. He looked up weakly and tried to smile. “Gee, my blood's sure red.”

“Oh, B-Bruce …” wailed his sister.

“Christie, let your mother do that,” said Aunt Ginnie. Aunt Karen gathered her son in her arms.

Aunt Ginnie handed the baby to Kelly. “Maggie, run and get my purse. Now listen carefully, you older ones. We'll probably be gone until dinner-time. Rosemary's formula is in the cupboard by the sink. You shouldn't have any problems, but go to Mrs. Donaldson if you do. There's lots of food for snacks … I'm sure you'll manage.”

Maggie returned with the purse. “You do exactly what Kelly says,” her mother told her. She scrambled into the driver's seat and backed the car down the driveway, Peggy following it yelping and jumping.

Rosemary's eyes widened with astonishment at the sight of her retreating mother. Then she opened her mouth and took a deep breath.

“Oh-oh,” said Kelly, jiggling her desperately. The cry seemed to take forever to emerge. When it did, it pierced Patricia's ears. The baby's face turned crimson as her screams became regular.

“Let's take her inside.” The others followed Kelly into the living room and slouched around the baby as she continued to thrash and wail.

“
Do
something!” Trevor entreated his sister, his lingers plugging his ears. “You're in charge.”

Kelly bounced the baby higher. “I don't
know
what to do! She never carries on like this.”

Christie cried too, softly in a corner, while Maggie brought all of Rosemary's toys to her and waved them in her face.

Patricia watched until she couldn't bear it. She took a steadying breath and stood up. “Stop that, Maggie. You're just making her worse. Give her to me, Kelly.”

Kelly looked surprised, but handed the baby over with relief.

“Go and heat up some formula,” ordered Patricia, folding her arms around Rosemary and trying to still the small, shaking body.

Kelly looked embarrassed. “How?”

Patricia led them into the kitchen and directed her. Kelly opened the tin of formula and heated it slowly in a pot. Trevor helped funnel it into a bottle. But Rosemary would have no part of it. She spat out the nipple and screamed even louder.

“She's not hungry,” said Patricia. “Your Mum just weaned her anyhow—she's not used to the bottle.”

“Get Mrs. Donaldson!” urged Trevor.

“She isn't there,” said Maggie. “I just went over.”

The others watched as Patricia tried everything. She checked Rosemary's diaper, took her outside, walked her up and down and sang to her. Nothing worked.

“Please, please stop,” she whispered helplessly into the baby's neck, close to tears herself. She tried to think clearly. What made Rosemary happy?

“I know! Run the bath, quick! Not too full and not very hot.” She pulled off the baby's clothes as Kelly turned on the taps. She tested the water. Then, holding the baby carefully under her neck and ankles as Aunt Ginnie did, she lowered her into it.

It was a miracle. As soon as she felt the warm water Rosemary's cries diminished into hiccups. Then there was a wonderful silence. She moved her arms and legs around and started to smile.

“You're a genius, Patricia!” marvelled Kelly. “How did you think of it?” She splashed her sister's fat stomach and Rosemary laughed.

“Well, I know she loves baths. I guess she just needed to be distracted.”

They kept her in the tub as long as possible, then dressed her apprehensively, terrified she'd begin again. But Rosemary was exhausted. As Patricia rocked her she closed her eyes.

Patricia laid her carefully in her crib and shut the door. “Whew!” She collapsed in the rocking chair. Her cousins were all gazing at her with respect and expectancy. All but Christie, who continued to sob.

“Oh, poor, poor Bruce. What if he loses his foot?”

Patricia made herself speak with confidence. “Listen, Christie—all of you. I have an idea. Let's make a special dinner for them. There's a chicken in the fridge, I saw it.'

“But we don't know how to cook a chicken,” said Kelly.

“I can. I do it all the time at home. And we'll have boiled potatoes and green beans and a salad and chocolate pudding. You can all help.”

Christie stopped sniffing as she and Trevor peeled potatoes. Patricia made a bread stuffing and got Kelly to trim the beans and Maggie to pick flowers for the table. She was amazed that they let her be the leader so easily.

After she'd put the stuffed chicken into the oven, Rosemary woke up. Patricia fed her while she told Kelly how to make the pudding. “… And now just stir until it thickens,” she finished.

“How do you
know
all this?” asked her cousin. “Why didn't you tell us you could cook?”

“My … father taught me. I did try to tell you once.” That time in the canoe seemed ages ago.

“He's a great teacher. You're as good as Mum!”

Patricia glowed. She lifted Rosemary to her shoulder and burped her, feeling as peaceful as the baby.

A
FEW HOURS LATER
the two aunts walked into the kitchen supporting Bruce between them. His foot was bandaged neatly and his T-shirt was smeared with ice cream.

Christie rushed at Aunt Karen. “Everything's fine,” she laughed.

“Bruce had to have a few stitches, but we think he'll live,” said Aunt Ginnie, taking the baby in her arms. “What's that fantastic smell? Karen, look what they've done!”

“Come and sit down, please,” said Maggie gravely. She led them to their places, each one marked with a place card she'd decorated. Bruce had the seat of honour, his chair covered in ribbons and flowers.

Kelly, Christie and Trevor carried in the vegetables that had been kept warm in the oven. Patricia set the chicken in front of her aunt, its skin crisp and glistening.

“You'll have to carve it,” she said shyly. “I don't know how.” She placed a pitcher of gravy beside it.

“You wonderful children!” cried Aunt Karen. “How did you manage to do all this?”

“
Patricia
did it,” they chorused. “And she got the Piglet to stop crying,” added Kelly. “
She's
wonderful.”

Patricia gazed at the circle of faces around the table as they drank her a toast with ginger ale.

This is my family, she thought. This is a place where I belong.

T
HAT WEEKEND
was Uncle Doug's birthday and both families had a barbecue on the beach to celebrate. The meal, planned by Aunt Ginnie and Patricia, was a huge success.

“Thank you all for a wonderful feast,” said Uncle Doug. He strummed softly on his guitar while the children lay on their backs, patting their full stomachs. They were watching for falling stars.

“This is the best time of year for them,” said Bruce. “The Perseid meteor shower, is that right, Dad?”

His father looked embarrassed. “I'm not sure, son. Your Uncle Gordon should be here—he's the one who knows about stars. We used to have a telescope, but he took it to Victoria with him.”

“There's Scorpius,” pointed out Patricia. “See its tail?”

Uncle Rod glanced at her with surprise. “You're a mysterious one. Where did you learn that?”

Patricia shrugged and dared to return his curious look.

Maggie lay with her head in her mother's lap, chanting:

Star light, star bright

First star I see tonight

Wish I may wish I might

Have the wish I wish tonight.

I wish that …

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Patricia decided to wish too. It took her a few minutes to decide on one. She could wish that her parents wouldn't separate; but she knew that they would, and even that they should. What she wanted the most would never come true, but it wouldn't hurt to try.

I wish I could see Ruth again, she thought.

“There's a moving one!” cried Bruce. Patricia opened her eyes and saw a speck of light slide across the darkness. Soon the night sky was alive with darting silver streaks.

“Star light, star bright, twelfth star I see tonight!” crowed Maggie. Everyone groaned.

“Can't you stop now, Maggie?” asked Uncle Doug. “It's only the first star that counts.”

“How do you know?” demanded Maggie. Her father had to admit he didn't.

“She's probably wishing for money,” said Trevor. Maggie glared at him, so they knew he was right.

Patricia stuck another marshmallow on her stick. Kelly and Christie were burning theirs, having a contest to see how many gooey layers they could get under each black skin. But Patricia liked trying to toast hers an even brown, the way she'd once watched Ruth do it.

“Thirtieth star I see tonight …” Maggie's voice murmured to a stop and her eyes stayed closed.

“What are all you young ones going to be when you grow up?” Uncle Rod asked them.

“A lawyer like Grandfather Reid,” Kelly said promptly.

“A horse trainer,” said Christie just as fast.

Bruce examined his foot and said maybe he'd be a doctor. Trevor yawned placidly. “Who knows?”

“Maggie will be rich, of course,” Uncle Rod chuckled.

“What about our little Easterner?”

Patricia tried not to mumble. “Maybe I could run a restaurant.”

“Yum!” said Kelly “You'd be good at it?”

“Or maybe …” Patricia stopped, flushing.

“Go on, dear,” encouraged Aunt Ginnie.

“Maybe I'll be a mother,” she said softly. She thought of being in on a baby like Rosemary right from the beginning.

Kelly hooted. “But you can be
more
than just a mother, silly. You can have a career, too. Look at your mum. She's really successful and she had you.”

“I guess so …” Patricia remembered one day when she and her mother had both been home with the flu. How they'd read aloud to each other and watched TV in the big bed … how relaxing it had been to have a whole day loosened from its usual tight schedule.

“We come on the sloop
John B
.,” crooned Uncle Doug. The family joined in. Patricia sang the chorus quietly as she leaned against Aunt Ginnie.

Let me go home

Let me go home

I feel so broke up

I want to go home.

But I don't want to go home, she thought. There were only two weeks left to the summer. She wanted to freeze it, to stay at the lake forever—on this beach where her mother, too, had once sat.

Trevor and Christie had fallen asleep now. Their fathers picked them up and everyone climbed the steps to the cottage.

“Patricia, dear, will you wait up a minute?” Aunt Ginnie asked her. She carried Maggie to her bed, then thanked Mrs. Donaldson, who had come over with her knitting to listen for Rosemary.

Patricia sat dreamily on the verandah, listening to the loon's lonely call. Everyone else went to bed, then Aunt Ginnie joined her.

“I had an exciting message this afternoon and I wanted to tell you first.” Her aunt's eyes sparkled. “Can you guess?”

Patricia shook her head, puzzled.

“It's your mother—she's coming for a visit! She says she has something important to discuss with you. She's flying to Edmonton on Sunday and you and Uncle Doug can go in and pick her up. What a treat it will be to have her here after all these years!”