Looking at the Moon (14 page)

“Weddings! What a lot of fuss!” complained Aunt Catherine. Norah sat on the old woman's bed while she shook out an ancient beaded sweater and frowned at a moth hole in it. “They're bad enough in the winter but having to get all dressed up in the summer … I'm half-inclined to stay here with you young ones. I'm sure you'll have a better time than I will.” She tugged on the sweater and grimaced at her reflection in the mirror.

“Oh,” said Norah in a panic. But then Aunt Catherine added, “I have to go, though—the bride's parents are old friends. Weddings terrify me, you know.”

“Why?”

“Because all my life I've had a recurring nightmare of standing in front of the altar and suddenly changing my mind—but not daring to say so because everyone would be disappointed. Whenever I see the bride and groom standing there I feel trapped. Much better to be independent, not saddled with someone for the rest of your life.”

Norah was shocked. “But what about love?”

“Love!” Aunt Catherine chuckled. “Love's all very well, and none of us can do without it. We wouldn't want to, either. But it's like champagne—bubbly and sweet, but the effect doesn't last. Not the moonlight and roses kind of love, anyway. Look at our last king—Edward—where did love get him? It lost him the throne.”

A dim memory stirred in Norah of sitting in the kitchen with her family, listening to the king's words from the wireless, words she had often heard grownups quote since then: that he could not be king “without the help and support of the woman I love.”

“But why can't he marry her and still
be
king?” she had asked.

“Because she's divorced and they won't let him,” Muriel had replied. “So he's sacrificing his throne for her. Isn't that romantic? It's true love …”

“Love! Puh!” Grandad had sputtered. He had sounded very much like Aunt Catherine just now. “What's so important about love? It's
duty
that's important. The fellow is neglecting his duty.”

“You loved Granny,” Tibby had said gently.

“That's different—that's
marriage,
” Grandad had retorted.

“Don't you think
anyone
should get married?” Norah asked Aunt Catherine now, more bewildered each second.

“You poor child—what have I been telling you? Of course marriage can be splendid for some people. Look at Dorothy and Barclay—they've always seemed to me to have a good steady relationship. Marriage works when all the romance nonsense ends and you learn to give each other space and respect. But it's not for me. Everyone doesn't
have
to marry, you know. I could have, several times. But I'm just as happy—probably happier—alone. Not that anyone is going to propose to me now!” She struggled out of the sweater and shook herself like a
small, fierce terrier. “But don't listen to the ramblings of an old woman, Norah. You'll fall in love one day and you might get married too. Just make sure you do what you want to do.”

Norah walked slowly downstairs. She had always thought that Aunt Catherine wasn't married because no one had ever asked her. But to deliberately choose not to be … And she
was
happy, there was no denying that. Happier than some of the aunts, like Aunt Mar, who seemed only half-here with Uncle Peter away, or Aunt Anne, who fussed so much about being a perfect wife. But her own parents—now that she thought of it—had always seemed to be contented with each other. She wondered if Muriel and Barry would be.

Andrew waved to her as he walked by on the verandah. Norah's heart danced and she forgot her unsettling reflections. It seemed to her that love was much simpler than Aunt Catherine made out—and of course,
she
wanted to get married.

“G
OODBYE
! Have a good time!” All the cousins stood on the dock and waved cheerfully. Uncle Gerald and his family had already left with a neighbour and the eight remaining Elders were crammed into the
Florence,
with Uncle Barclay at the wheel.

“They look like people in the movies,” Gavin whispered to Norah. With their festive hats, bright floral-printed dresses, strings of pearls and crisp suits the aunts and uncles glittered with importance. A long time later, whenever
Norah thought of the Elders she remembered them like this: “dressed to the nines,” as Aunt Catherine said, looking as proud and excited as children going on an outing.

“Take good care of Bosley, Gavin,” said Uncle Reg.

“You are only to leave the island for an emergency,” said Aunt Florence.

“And remember, Flo—no visitors,” added Aunt Dorothy. In the noisy farewells, Flo managed not to answer.

“Behave yourselves!” were the last words they heard. They waved dutifully until the launch was out of sight; then they grinned at each other.

“We're free!” laughed Flo. “Let's get going. Andrew, you have the list of food to get. The rest of you come up and start moving furniture.”

B
Y NOON,
when Andrew had returned from Ford's Bay with cartons of Orange Crush and Coke and packages of crackers and peanuts, the cottage was ready. All the living-room furniture had been pushed to the sides or put out onto the verandah. The rugs had been rolled up, leaving a bare expanse of painted floorboards. A stack of records lay ready by the new phonograph.

The little boys had listened solemnly while Flo told them about the party. “If you say anything, Peter and Ross, I'll tell Mother you were the ones who broke her sewing machine,” said Clare.

“Don't worry—we'll never tell!” said Gavin earnestly. The three of them beamed with the honour of being included.

They all helped spread the crackers with cheese and a dab of jelly and arrange them on plates. Then Flo cooked them a huge batch of corn-on-the-cob for lunch. They devoured it in minutes, their faces gleaming with butter.

“Hanny will notice we've used all the butter ration,” said Janet.

“We'll just do without it for the rest of the weekend,” Flo told her.

“Come on, you three—I'll take you fishing in the rowboat while the women make themselves beautiful,” said Andrew. Gavin, Peter and Ross ran after him.

As soon as the boys had left, the girls went skinny-dipping off the dock, playing catch with the floating bar of soap. Then they washed their hair in the lake. Norah watched the other three put their hair up in pincurls.

“Shall I do yours too?” Flo asked her.

Norah wasn't sure how different she wanted to look, but she decided to risk it. Flo carefully twisted squiggly shapes all over her head. The four of them sat in a row to dry their hair and Flo began to shave her legs.

“Let me try,” said Clare. “Mother says I'm too young, but if I start she won't be able to do anything about it.”

Norah and Janet watched closely while Clare soaped one leg and drew the razor along it, leaving a gleaming bare patch.

“Ouch!” A line of red welled up. “Now look what I've done!” Clare splashed water on her leg to stop the bleeding but she had to press a wet towel on the cut.

“I'm glad I don't have to shave my legs yet,” Janet whispered to Norah. “Mum says I'm so blonde I may never have to.”

Norah looked down at her own smooth legs and gingerly touched the metal layer of bobby pins on her head. They were hot from the sun and they pinched. She let Janet paint the nails on her toes and fingers a shiny red and began to feel she was in disguise.

For the next hour they examined their clothes, trying on and trading until each person was satisfied. Flo passed around a jar of Odo-ro-no. “You don't want to have BO—the dancing will make you perspire,” she warned. Then Flo and Clare covered their legs with some brown liquid called Velva Leg Film. Janet wanted some too, but there wasn't enough.

“I wish it wasn't so hard to get stockings,” she grumbled. “You're lucky your legs are so brown, Norah. Mine are so white and freckled. And I look so
fat
…”

She did look fat—in her flowered print dress cinched at the waist, she resembled a sausage tied in the middle.

“You look …
curvy,
” said Norah desperately. “Sort of like Dorothy Lamour.”

“You look perfectly all right,” said Flo. “And the point is not to worry about your appearance—just to have a good time. Now it's your turn, Norah.”

After Norah had her dress on—an old one of Clare's that she had reluctantly lent her—Flo brushed out her hair and tied a blue bow on one side. Then she carefully applied some of her Tangee lipstick to Norah's open mouth.

“Wow! Have a look!” Norah went over and stood in front of the cracked mirror on the back of the door. The others gathered behind her as she drew in her breath with surprise.

Her hair was its usual dull brown, but now the ends burst into a froth that tickled her cheeks. The ribbon drew attention away from her nose. Her red mouth made her teeth look very white. Her dress was tight to the waist, then fell in soft folds, with Janet's silver pumps gleaming underneath.

“You're beautiful!” smiled Flo. “It's incredible—you could pass for sixteen at least.”

“Oh, Norah, I wish I could look like that!” cried Janet. Clare didn't say anything but her pursed mouth looked grudgingly approving.

Norah crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you—do you think I need a bra? I'm getting one in the fall.”

“That tight dress is fine without one,” said Flo.

Norah let her arms hang free and continued to stare at the stranger in the mirror. Was that
her
? She smiled at her reflection and it grinned saucily back. What would Andrew think?

“N
OW THERE ARE FIFTEEN
!” panted Gavin. He collapsed beside Norah on the verandah swing, after racing full speed up the hill. He was almost hysterical with excitement; his eyes glittered and his cheeks were flushed a deep red. Aunt Florence would have called him overwrought and sent him to bed, but Norah didn't want
to spoil his obvious enjoyment of the party. “Ten launches, three rowboats and two canoes,” continued Gavin. “Peter and Ross are still helping tie them up.”

All evening the little boys had greeted the boats and pointed the guests towards the party. That was unnecessary: the steps were dotted with candles and above them Gairloch's glowing windows beamed like a lighthouse into the darkness. Out of them drifted the strains of the Glenn Miller band, overladen with laughing chatter.

Teen-agers spilled out of the house onto the verandah, perching on the railing with cigarettes, bottles of pop or the beer that some of them had brought. Norah was studying a couple who were kissing close to her. The boy dived into the girl's neck; he seemed to be nibbling on it. Norah continued to stare as the couple's heads twisted and turned. “Necking” was a very accurate description, she decided. It didn't look very comfortable.

“Whoops—here comes another one!” Gavin tumbled down to the dock again as the lights of a launch streamed across the lake. Norah went over to the railing and gazed at the flotilla of boats, some tied to the dock and some to each other.

She wiped her sweaty palms on the skirt of her dress, took a deep breath, and plunged into the party again. She had only lasted a few minutes on her last attempt. Three times the noise and the grown-upness had over-whelmed her and she'd escaped to breathe more easily on the verandah.

Norah found Janet hugging Bosley on the windowseat, a dreamy look on her face. “Someone asked me to dance!” she whispered with awe.

Norah squished in beside her. “
Who?
Did you?”

Janet nodded solemnly and pointed. “With that boy over there—the one with glasses. He's Louise's cousin. But I stepped on his foot, so we stopped. I don't mind though—at least I was asked! I never have been before.”

“What's his name?” The boy was sitting on the far side of the room, guzzling a Coke. He caught their eyes and scuttled out of the room.

“Now we've scared him away,” sighed Janet. “Oh well. His name is Mark and he's only staying in Muskoka for another two days. I asked him lots of questions to draw him out, the way it says in
Ladies' Home Journal,
but he didn't seem to want to answer them.”

“You were so brave to say yes,” said Norah. “I hope no one asks
me
to dance. It would be so embarrassing.”

“Have some peanuts.” Janet had a bowl of them beside her. The two of them ate them all, throwing an occasional tidbit to Bosley, while they watched the party. Couples—some mixed and many consisting of two girls—jitterbugged before them, waggling their hands and almost leaping off the ground with energy. Some of the girls were dancing so hard that their leg make-up ran down in streaks; occasionally one would be lifted high above the crowd or swooped between her partner's legs. The cat collection shook precariously on the mantelpiece as the whole room seemed to jump and
sway. The hot space was filled with a smell of cigarette smoke and sweat.

“Shall we?” suggested Janet.

“I'm not very good,” said Norah.

“Well, you know I'm not. We should practise and maybe then I'll stop stepping on people's feet.”

They slid off the seat and began to jitterbug. They had often practised dancing in the boathouse, but here it was different. Norah was sure everyone in the room was eyeing them scornfully. Her arms felt wooden and her feet kept stepping out of Janet's shoes. “That's enough,” she said finally. “I'd rather watch.” Janet seemed quite willing to stop and they went back to their post.

Norah had lost track of Andrew; the last time she'd seen him he'd been helping Flo uncap more bottles. Now she spotted him again and frowned. He was dancing with Lois; she hadn't even noticed the Mitchells arrive. Lois was teasing him about something, poking his chest while they danced. Andrew's deep answering laugh made Norah's insides lurch with jealousy. He had said hello to her in passing but he hadn't said anything about how she looked.