The Whole Truth (3 page)

Why are they all arguing so much?
thought Polly. She leaned against her grandmother and was almost asleep when they arrived at the ferry terminal.

The car drove right into the belly of a huge boat. They trooped upstairs and had lunch in the dining room. All Polly could see out the windows was an expanse of green-grey waves merging into a blurry sky. She’d never seen the ocean before—it looked so vast and deep and cold. Her stomach moved up and down with the boat’s motion, and the air smelled fumy. She couldn’t eat her lunch, but no one commented. Uncle Rand hid behind his newspaper and the others continued to chatter.

“You’re going to adore Kingfisher Island, chickies,” Aunt Jean told them. “It’s a little paradise—so peaceful and safe. You’ll be much freer than you were in Winnipeg. When Gregor was a wee lad-die, he’d be gone from dawn to dusk and I never worried about him.”

“You
should
have worried, Ma,” said Gregor. “There’s no point in telling you now, though,” he added hastily.

“The island
is
a lovely place, hens,” said Grandmother, “but I hope you won’t find it dull after the city. We lead a very simple life. We grow our own vegetables and pick berries, and the men hunt.”

“They also fish,” said Aunt Jean. “And we have lots of clams and oysters … As they say, ‘When the tide goes out the table is set!'”

“Yes, we eat very well—we’re not going hungry, as so many are these days. But I’m afraid we have no electricity and no indoor plumbing,” said Grandmother. “We did at the hotel your grandfather and I used to run—we had a generator. How I miss that!”

“No indoor plumbing!” said Maud. “But what—” She stopped, her cheeks pink.

Gregor laughed. “What do we do when nature calls? Use the privy! Or you might call it an outhouse or a biffy or the throne room. It’s fine, if you hold your nose.”

“Gregor!” scolded Aunt Jean. “Don’t listen to him, chickies. Our privies are perfectly clean!”

“Stop teasing your mother, Gregor,” said Grandmother. “Let’s go outside.”

They stood on the high windy deck. Now the boat made its way through a choppy passage between several large and small wooded islands. The ferry drew up to a long wharf on one of them—Uncle Rand told them it was called Walker Island. They watched cars drive off below them.

Then the ferry backed up, turned around, and approached Kingfisher Island on the other side of the passage. The grown-ups pointed out a lighthouse that looked like a white candle. Mist rose from the steep sides of the island, revealing a blanket of dark firs. A few houses were perched here and there, some along the shore and some higher up. The ferry slowed down as it came towards another long, wide wharf. The sun flashed from behind the clouds and the waves turned from grey to silver.

“What a peach of a day!” said Aunt Jean. “Look, chickies! Those long buildings near the wharf are the store and the hotel. The white house farther along the road is your grandmother’s, and the brown one next door is the rectory, where Rand and I live. And there’s the church—isn’t it lovely?”

Polly only had eyes for the white house. She held on to her hat as she stared and stared at it. It stood out like a beacon, with its blue roof and wide verandah. It was much larger than her house in Winnipeg.

Several people were waving from the wharf. “Time to go downstairs,” said Uncle Rand.

They drove off the ferry and along a fern-lined dirt road past
the store. Now the sea glittered so brightly that Polly had to squint. In a few minutes they pulled up at the white house. In front of it three deer were nibbling the grass.

“Poll, look!” cried Maud. The deer flicked their black tails and bounced into the woods.

Aunt Jean laughed. “There are lots of deer on Kingfisher Island. More deer than people!”

“Welcome to your new home, hens,” said Grandmother as they got out of the car. “If you can manage your small suitcases, Gregor will take your large ones up to your room.”

Aunt Jean held open a screen door. Polly hesitated behind the others, the sharp spoon scraping her insides. Was this
really
their new home? Did that mean they would never go back to their old one?
Oh, Daddy!
she moaned inside.

“In you come, chickie,” said Aunt Jean. Polly entered a dark hall that smelled like damp wood. She followed Gregor and Maud up slippery stairs to a long, narrow room on the second floor.

Gregor set their bags on the floor. “Come down for tea when you’re ready,” he told them. “I’m starving, aren’t you?” His big feet thundered down the stairs.

The bedroom had a slanting ceiling and faded pink wallpaper. Two white iron beds were covered with puffy blue satin eiderdowns. Sheepskin rugs dotted the floor. A tree with strange orange bark pressed against the window, its leaves like green curtains. Beyond the tree was a glimpse of sparkling waves.

On a round table were some boxes of jigsaw puzzles, a few worn-out stuffed animals, and a set of Lincoln Logs. A jug and a basin stood in one corner. “Come and wash,” said Maud. She helped Polly pour the water into the basin and they tried to get rid of the train grit on their hands and faces.

“You can have the bed by the window,” offered Maud, “since I’ll only be here on the weekends.”

“Oh, Maud, please don’t say that!” said Polly.

“I’m sorry, but it’s true … so you may as well have the best bed. Don’t cry!” Maud warned as Polly’s eyes filled. “At least you’re talking to
me!
Why are you being so silent with everyone else? You have to talk to them or they’ll think you’re rude!”

“I can’t,” whispered Polly.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know—I just can’t!”

“All right, then,” sighed Maud. “But you’ll have to after I’m at school. They’re your family now, Poll. You should be friendly.”

Daddy is my family!
Polly wanted to say. Instead she swallowed hard and asked, “What do you think of them?”

“They seem fine. I’m not worried at all about leaving you here.”

“But Grandmother said they hunt. That means they shoot animals!”

“They live in the country, Poll—that’s a natural thing to do.”

Polly shuddered. “I don’t like it! And why do they call us those chicken names?”

Maud shrugged. “Maybe that’s how they talk to children in Scotland. Grandmother and Aunt Jean are from there—that’s why they still have Scottish accents. Come on, Doodle. We’re supposed to go down for tea.”

Polly followed Maud downstairs into a large, sunny living room at the front of the house. Off the living room was a verandah and beyond
that was the road and the sea. The gentle swoosh of waves mingled with the tick of a grandfather clock.

Polly examined every corner—there was no sign of a dog. The room was dominated by a huge fireplace, its stones blackened with soot. Framed photographs crowded its mantel. The furniture was worn and comfortable-looking. Books stuffed a tall shelf and more books and many magazines were piled on the floor and tables.

The grown-ups were gathered around a low table. A tall, strong-looking woman with a thatch of white hair burst into the room and crashed down a tray full of cups and saucers and a teapot. Then she gazed at Maud and Polly hungrily.

“This is my housekeeper, Mrs. Hooper,” Grandmother told them. “She’s been with me ever since I got married.”

Mrs. Hooper rushed up to Maud and Polly and gripped their hands. “Una’s girls!” she cried. “You’re here at last!” She was wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron as she left the room.

The table was already covered with plates of food. Polly had barely eaten all day; for the first time since she had left home she felt hungry. The plates were full of small sandwiches and many kinds of cookies. A bowl of whipped cream stood beside a dark cake coated with yellow icing.

Polly climbed into a slippery, overstuffed chair. Her feet couldn’t reach the floor. Normally she would have drawn her legs under her, but that seemed rude, so she stuck them out awkwardly. A milky cup of tea was handed to her.

“Which would you like first, Polly?” asked Grandmother. “A sandwich, a cookie, or a piece of cake?”

Polly couldn’t answer.

“Try the cake,” said Aunt Jean. “I made it myself. It’s an old family recipe—whiskey cake with lemon frosting.”

“Is that good for Polly?” asked Maud.

“It won’t hurt her one bit—there’s scarcely any whiskey in it,” said Grandmother, topping a piece of the cake with a dollop of cream.

Polly didn’t know where to put her cup and saucer while she ate the cake. Grandmother took them from her and put them on a small table beside the chair. “Pull your feet up, hen,” she told her. “We’re not fussy here.”

Maud gulped down three cookies and a huge piece of cake. Polly knelt on the chair and nibbled at the moist, chewy cake, in between reaching over for sips of sweet tea.

“Now, girls, we have a few things to talk about,” said Grandmother. “First of all, we must agree on what you will call me. You’re my only grandchildren, so you can choose.”

“'Grandmother,'” said Maud. “That’s what we called you when we wrote to you.”

“I know, hen, but ‘Grandmother’ sounds rather formal. What did you call your other grandmother?”

“'Grannie,'” said Maud.

Polly was beginning to forget about Grannie. So much had happened since she had died two years ago.

But how terrible to forget her! Grannie had looked after them since Polly was a toddler. She had been small and timid, so different from this flinty grandmother who was asking them to name her.

“How about ‘Nanny'?” suggested Aunt Jean.

Gregor laughed. “That sounds like a goat!”

“'Noni,’ then,” said Uncle Rand. “That’s what I called
my
grandmother.”

“I like that,” said their grandmother gravely. “What do you think, Maud and Polly? Would you like to call me ‘Noni'?”

Maud shrugged. “All right.”

“What about you, Polly? Do you like that name?”

Polly nodded.

“'Noni’ it is, then,” said Noni. She put down her cup. “I want to tell you how very sorry I am about your father’s death. I know you’ll feel sad about it for a long time, but I hope that being a part of this family will help you recover from your grief. I’m also sorry we couldn’t make it to the funeral. We would have come and then brought you back here with us, but then we heard Lydia Tuttle was in Winnipeg visiting friends. It made more sense for her to do it.”

Noni didn’t sound sorry. Her words sounded forced and she seemed relieved to have them over and done with.

Then she looked embarrassed. “You’re living in a small community now, girls, where people are far too interested in one another’s business. I’m afraid someone might ask you how Daniel died. You won’t want to tell them the truth, of course. I suggest that you simply say your father drowned. Don’t you think that’s best?”

“That’s what we already say,” said Maud. She looked straight at Polly as her voice rang out. “We tell people that our father drowned by accident, not that he drowned himself.”

Aunt Jean gave a little gasp and Uncle Rand and Gregor looked down at their plates.

Polly’s head whirled. That wasn’t the truth either!

“Very good, Maud,” said Noni. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

“I liked your dad,” said Gregor. He smiled at Polly and Maud. “I only met him once, but I remember him. It was at your parents’ wedding on the island. I climbed up his legs and he flipped me over. He was a nice guy.”

Polly’s eyes stung. Daddy used to do that with her too! At least Gregor looked sad. The other adults didn’t at all. She wanted to ask if
they
liked Daddy, but the words wouldn’t form.

Noni was giving Maud a strange look—a warning look.

Polly wanted to explode. Before they’d left Winnipeg, Grandmother had telephoned Maud at the foster home, and Maud had ordered Polly to wait in the other room. Whatever secret Maud was keeping from Polly, whatever Maud and Mrs. Tuttle knew, Noni knew also. Perhaps the others did as well.

They were all treating her like a baby! It was so unfair, and there was nothing Polly could do about it. Her stomach twinged and she wished she hadn’t had any cake.

Noni’s thin mouth smiled at both of them. “All these years we’ve missed out on you, but now we can get to know you at last. I’m sorry you have to go away to school, Maud, but the island school only goes up to grade seven.”

“I’m really looking forward to it,” said Maud. “St. Winifred’s sounds swell—I’ve been reading about it ever since you sent me the brochure.”

“I’m glad you’re so eager, Maud. It
is
an excellent school, and I firmly believe in girls receiving a good education. Your mother refused to go away to school. She had a governess, as Jean and I did when we moved here from Scotland. We scarcely learned a thing!”

“That’s because we spent all our time playing tricks on her!” giggled Jean, exactly as if she were still a schoolgirl.

“We’ll have you home every weekend, Maud,” continued Noni, “but would you mind waiting another week before you start? I’d like you to get used to us and the island first before you have another huge change.”

“Another week! Please, Grandmother—I mean, Noni—I really want to start on time. I don’t want to miss anything!”

“Are you sure? You want to go away again so soon?”

“Yes!”

“Very well. Jean and I—and Polly, of course—will take you to Victoria on Tuesday. We’ll get your uniform in the afternoon and you’ll be at St. Winifred’s by the evening.”

“Oh, thank you!” Maud looked ecstatic, but Polly gulped.
Tuesday?
That was two days after tomorrow! And how could Maud be so enthusiastic, when she’d be leaving Polly behind?

“Polly will attend school on the island, of course, but I think
she
could wait another week, right, hen?”

Polly nodded with relief.

“I don’t think she should,” said Maud. “She’ll get behind if she starts school late.”

“A week off won’t hurt Polly. She’s only in grade five, after all. And she’s been through so much she needs a breather.” Noni met Maud’s fierce stare just as fiercely, until Maud lowered her eyes. Polly was awed—Maud had met her match!