The Whole Truth (7 page)

Polly wondered if she should leave, but Noni told her to stay in bed. She tried not to stare as her grandmother peeled off her dressing gown and nightgown and began to put on many layers of underwear: drawers, a brassiere, a camisole, a corset that had garters
dangling from the bottom of it, and, over it all, a slip. She sat on a stool to pull on her stockings and fasten them to the garters. Finally she put on a brown cotton dress.

“Now, hair!” she said, turning to her mirror. Noni brushed her fluffy hair smooth and twisted it into a smooth roll. Then she fastened the roll along the back of her head with hairpins.

“There!” she said, turning around. “How do I look?”

Noni looked as if she had tied herself up tightly in a brown package, but it would have been rude to say that. “You look … tidy,” said Polly.

“Thank you, hen! I try to at least be neat in my appearance, since I seem to have so much trouble keeping anything else tidy! Jean thinks I should get a bob, but I’ve had long hair all my life. I don’t see any reason to change.”

“Mrs. Tuttle told us we should get
our
hair bobbed,” said Polly. “She said we looked old-fashioned.”

“Nonsense! Your long hair is lovely. Would you like me to braid it?”

Polly shook her head. She always wore her hair loose, with barrettes or a ribbon pulling it back from her face. Its weight was like a comforting shawl around her shoulders.

“You’re the image of Una as a child,” Noni told her. “However, Una cut her hair short when she was twelve without my permission. How we argued about that!” She sighed. “Do you remember your mother at all, Polly?”

Again, Polly shook her head. “Maud does. Sometimes she tells me about her. She taught Maud how to whistle with two fingers!”

Noni smiled, although her sad eyes looked sadder. “Una often used to startle us doing that. Maud is so much like her, even though she doesn’t resemble her mother at all.”

They both flushed, realizing whom Maud did resemble.

Aunt Jean burst through the door. “Are you dressed, Clara? It’s almost ten o’clock! Polly, I swear your grandmother is the laziest person on earth! I’ve been up since five! I’ve gathered the eggs, fed the chickens, and made your uncle’s breakfast.
Some
of us can’t afford help!”

“Help is cheap these hard times, Jean. You just prefer doing it all yourself.”

“Well, I do like things to be done properly. Clara, I’m about to go to the store—do you need anything? Would Polly like to come with me? The rain seems to be letting up.”

Noni smiled. “I’m sure she would—she can help carry things. I’ll make you a list.”

Aunt Jean chattered all the way to the store. “The Cunninghams live there,” she said as they passed a large brown house. “Mildred was my first friend on the island. She thinks because she married a doctor she’s a cut above me, but I think a rector’s wife is higher than a doctor’s wife, don’t you? Gregor is good friends with Alec Cunningham. Alec is in Montreal right now, attending McGill, and Mildred never stops boasting about him—it’s Alec this, Alec that, whenever we run into her. I can hardly get in a word about Gregor, and he’s doing just as well.”

Polly followed Aunt Jean up and down the aisles of the store as she filled her basket. Everything was here, from food to dishes to clothes to fishing gear.

“Clara has written ‘Boots for Polly.'” Aunt Jean smiled. “Come and try these on.”

She bought Polly a pair of green gumboots and some thick wool socks. “You can wear them home,” she said.

Mr. Wynne, the storekeeper, gave Polly a piece of licorice. “Why aren’t you in school, young lady?” he asked.

“She’s not starting until next week,” said Aunt Jean. Mr. Wynne waited for further explanation, but Aunt Jean went on to ask about his sick mother.

All the way back Polly stomped through puddles in her new boots. She helped put away the groceries in Noni’s and then in Aunt Jean’s kitchen. Uncle Rand came out of his study and joined them in the kitchen for a cup of coffee; Polly had milk and ate one of Aunt Jean’s brownies.

Aunt Jean never sat still for long. She jumped up to wash their dishes, then took Polly over to the church. Polly helped her dust the pews until it was time to go back to Noni’s for lunch.

The rest of the day was so filled with new things that Polly hardly had time to think about Maud. After lunch Noni went upstairs for a nap and Uncle Rand took Polly with him on a drive to visit an ill parishioner. She waited in the car while he went in, watching a sheepdog follow a man down the road. The dog paused and glanced at her; it had such an appealing face. Polly was about to get out and pat it, but then it hurried to catch up with its master.

“Sorry to take so long, Polly.” Uncle Rand got into the car. “Mrs. Butler is a cross I have to bear.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s constantly sending for me because she thinks she’s dying. But there’s nothing wrong with her, apart from her need to be the centre of attention. She’s such a trial to her poor husband.” He started the car. “Now I’ll drive you all around the island.”

The map Uncle Rand had shown Polly and Maud came alive. There were two main settlements of houses, some around the
village where Noni’s was, and more at Fowler Bay on the other side of the island. Other houses were on the farms or sprinkled occasionally along the shore. Uncle Rand pointed out a house on a cliff. “The Hays live up there—they had a challenging time building so high, but Captain Hay is so stubborn he wouldn’t give up. They have an incredible view.”

Polly was amazed at how quiet and empty the road was. They passed one other car, a man on a horse, a tractor putting along, and some fields full of oxen. On the water side of the road were farms enclosed by criss-cross log fencing. The other side was a dark fir forest.

“Where are all the people?” Polly asked.

Uncle Rand chuckled. “There aren’t that many—only about one hundred and fifty.”

A hundred and fifty! That was fewer than in Polly’s old school! “Do you know them all?” she asked.

Uncle Rand nodded. “I’ve lived here all my life. And almost everyone is part of my congregation. I’ve baptized them and married them and conducted many of their funerals.”

He turned the car down a bumpy lane and stopped in front of the house where he’d grown up. It was on a cove with a tiny island. “I spent hours on that island,” he told her. “You can still see the fort I made.”

Polly looked at the remains of a driftwood structure. It was hard to imagine bald Uncle Rand as a little boy playing there.

They turned back to the main road. “Don’t go too fast!” Polly cried as a deer jumped in front of them.

“Don’t worry, Polly, I’m always careful of deer. They’re God’s creatures, after all.”

“Then why do you
eat
them?” asked Polly.

“Well, now that’s a conundrum.”

“A what?”

“A thorny question. I agree that it’s a shame to kill such a beautiful, harmless animal, and the Scriptures do say ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ But there are too many deer, and we only kill what we eat. After all, we eat cows and pigs and lambs and chickens, as well. We just don’t kill them ourselves, except for wild birds and chickens and geese.”

Polly thought of the pretty chickens that scratched in the rectory yard. “You kill your chickens?”

“Sometimes. Some are for eggs and some are for meat. It’s part of the cycle of life, Polly. But many people don’t believe in eating meat—they’re called vegetarians.”

“From now on I’m going to be a vege—vegetarian too,” she said firmly.

Uncle Rand didn’t laugh at her. “You’re free to eat whatever you want, my dear. Your grandmother and your aunt may object, but I’ll stick up for you.”

“Thank you.”

As they headed back towards the village, Uncle Rand pointed out the school: a low, brown building at the back of a field. Polly shuddered as a bell clanged and children began running out. Red-haired Alice led the pack.

Polly counted on her fingers—still three and a half days before she had to encounter them.

The next two days were the same as Thursday. In the mornings Polly brought up Noni’s tea and stayed to talk. Noni had many dressing gowns, all of them colourful and fancy. Polly tried them
on and sashayed around the room while Noni got dressed. The long gowns trailed behind her and she pretended she was a princess.

For the rest of the day she was everybody’s helper. She helped Aunt Jean polish church silver or pick vegetables or roll cigarettes. She helped Mrs. Hooper shell peas or make the beds. She drove around with Uncle Rand and he told her she was good company. This surprised Polly, because neither of them talked much. She supposed he liked their comfortable silence as much as she did.

On Saturday Noni said, “You’re such a good helper, Polly, how would you like to have a regular task? You could replenish the woodbox every morning.”

Polly filled a canvas sling with wood from the pile in the yard, carried it into the kitchen, and dumped it into a box beside the stove. The wood was heavy, and it took her several trips before the box was full, but she was proud of how much she could carry.

Noni was passionate about her flower garden. It was a mass of bright colour behind a wire enclosure. “Remember to always close the gate,” she warned Polly as they watered and weeded. “The deer would gobble these up in a minute!”

Every evening before dinner Noni played the piano. “I’ll teach you if you like,” Noni told Polly. She had already offered to show Polly how to paint with watercolours. Soft paintings of island scenes dotted the walls. Polly liked painting, but she had used up her paints long ago and Daddy couldn’t afford to get her new ones.

Aunt Jean and Uncle Rand always came to Noni’s for dinner. Then the adults would play Bezique. Polly pretended to read, but she only stared at the page, wondering what Maud was doing.

“Didn’t you like the toys I put in your room, chickie?” Aunt Jean asked her on Saturday evening. “They used to be Gregor’s. I’m sorry
I couldn’t find more, but most of his toys were trucks and cap guns, not suitable for girls.”

“I like the logs,” said Polly. “I made a house out of them.”

“I wish I’d saved Una’s dolls, but I gave them all away after we left the hotel,” said Noni. “She never played with them much. We should have bought you a doll in Victoria, Polly—I’m sorry I didn’t think of it.”

“I
have
dolls!” said Polly. She ran upstairs and pulled out the small suitcase she’d shoved under her bed.

One after another she lifted out her five dolls. Someone—the social worker?—had packed them so carefully in newspaper that their faces were undamaged. Polly lined up the dolls on her bed and they gazed at her reproachfully. After it had happened she had completely forgotten them.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Polly. She picked up a drawstring bag stuffed with dolls’ clothes, bundled up the dolls, and took them downstairs.

“What bonnie dolls!” said Aunt Jean, coming over to look while Noni added up the Bezique scores. “What are their names?”

Polly shyly introduced them: Betsey, Bobsy, Arabella, Peaches, and Elizabeth, her favourite, who had real hair and eyes that opened and shut.

“Clara and I had lovely dolls in Scotland—Mother made all their clothes. But we gave them to our cousins when we moved to Canada,” Aunt Jean told her.

“How old were you?” asked Polly as she fastened a tiny dress onto Peaches, the baby.

“I was thirteen and Clara was fifteen—too old for dolls.”

Polly wondered when she would be too old. Maud had never shown any interest in dolls, but Polly had always enjoyed them.
Their faces of bisque or rubber or cloth seemed to come alive now that they were being paid attention to again.

“I could knit some more clothes for them, chickie,” said Aunt Jean. “In fact, I could teach
you
how to knit—would you like that?”

“Yes, please!”

Maud could knit. Grannie had taught her, and she had always said she would teach Polly one day, but she had died before Polly was old enough.

Polly played with her dolls all evening, murmuring to them as the adults resumed their card game. At bedtime she dressed them all in their nightgowns and tucked them into the foot of her bed; except for Elizabeth, who snuggled up beside her. Now the room didn’t seem nearly as empty.

As usual, however, memories of Daddy flooded her mind as soon as she laid her head on her pillow. She could hear his proud voice praising her for winning the school spelling bee. She could feel his warm hands rubbing her back or carefully bandaging her knees when she fell off her bike. She could smell his hair cream.

Polly said a little prayer for him and cried herself to sleep.

Church was exactly the same as the week before, except that Gregor wasn’t there to carry the cross; he’d stayed in Vancouver this weekend. Uncle Rand’s sermon was even more obscure.

At coffee hour the same children stared at Polly, and Alice gave her the same disdaining glance. Polly shuddered; tomorrow she’d have to face all of them!

At Sunday dinner her stomach hurt so much she couldn’t eat.
Noni sent her to her room for a nap. Polly woke up to find her grandmother sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking her hair.

“Wake up, sleepyhead! It’s almost time for supper. Do you think you can eat anything?”

Polly sat up and shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

Noni’s grey eyes studied her. “I’ve been wondering, hen, if you need another week before you’re ready for school. What do you think?”

“Oh, yes, please!” Polly was so relieved she felt dizzy. Then she looked worried. “But Noni, Maud won’t like that! She’ll think I’ll get too far behind.”

“I am in charge of you now, not Maud. And it won’t be hard for you to catch up. We’ll read to each other every morning.” Noni smiled. “Now are you hungry?”

“A little,” said Polly. “What’s for supper?”

On Friday Polly awoke with dread. The week had gone by far too fast, and she didn’t feel any more ready for school. Then she remembered: Maud was coming today! She would arrive on the steamer after dinner. Polly skipped downstairs and ate her entire bowl of porridge for the first time.