Looking at the Moon (5 page)

She waved goodbye from the dock and hurried away. Norah wondered why she didn't carry her usual shopping basket.

On the way back she went as fast as she dared, bouncing the launch on the waves and getting drenched. She slowed down sedately when she was within view of the island. Gavin, Sally, Peter and Ross were sitting in a row on the dock, each dangling a line in the water.

“Look at all the bass we've caught, Norah!” Gavin showed her a pail full of flopping silver fish.

Norah fetched a fishing pole from the boathouse and joined them. They caught four more bass, cleaned them in the lake and took them up to Hanny to put in the icehouse. Then they all went swimming. The water was so warm now that they stayed in until the tips of their fingers became wrinkled.

“This summer we're being detectives,” Gavin told Norah as they baked on their towels in the burning sun. “We have an agency called ‘The Fearless Four.'”

“We'll solve
anything,
” said Sally. “No case is too difficult.”

“Peter and I got a fingerprinting set for Christmas last year,” said Ross.

“And I borrowed Aunt Florence's magnifying glass,” said Gavin.

“So what case are you solving right now?” asked Norah lazily.

“We haven't actually
begun
yet,” Gavin told her. “We're getting prepared, though. Tonight we're going to take
everyone's fingerprints, so we'll have them on record.”

“Our headquarters are in the playhouse,” said Peter. “No one else seems to be using it this year,” he added defensively. Last summer the younger cousins had been banned from the playhouse by the Hornets.

Gavin looked worried. “Is that all right, Norah? We've already moved some stuff in there.”

“Go ahead and use it,” Norah told them.

“Thanks!” said Sally. “If you want anything solved, just come and see us there.”

Norah promised she would. She'd never thought of playing detective herself. Now it was too late.

A
T TWO-THIRTY
Mr. Hancock, Flo and Janet took off in the
Florence
to pick up Andrew in Port Clarkson. Two hours later most of the clan were on the dock waiting for them to come back. Norah hadn't intended to meet him with the others, but curiosity kept her there.

“He's here! Andrew! Andrew!” screamed Clare, waving both arms.

“For heaven's sake, Clare, control yourself!” Aunt Mar told her daughter. But Clare shrieked even louder when the launch drew up to the dock. A tall boy stepped out, laughing as he pushed away Clare's attacking arms.

“My dear boy, how wonderful to have you back with us.” Everyone let Aunt Florence greet him next, then they all descended upon him. Andrew didn't seem to mind. He shook hands with his uncles and kissed his aunts' cheeks, his deep laugh rising above the babble.

He acts like he's a prince or someone, Norah thought.

“You've never met our war guests, have you?” said Aunt Florence. Norah scanned Andrew's face warily as she and Gavin were introduced. He had slicked-back, wavy brown hair, a wide mouth and long grey eyes that curled up at the edges and made him look as if he were always smiling. Norah frowned. Anyone this good-looking was bound to be conceited.

Andrew focused his smile on her and said quietly, “How are you, Norah? I've heard a lot about you. Do you feel like a Canadian now that you've been here for so long?”

How dare he ask something so personal! He'd only just met her! And he acted so condescending, as if he felt sorry for her. Norah didn't answer. She moved away as Andrew, hemmed in by his relatives, was practically carried up to the cottage.

Norah stayed down at the dock with her book until it was time to pick up Aunt Mary, trying not to hear the whoops of laughter from above. Her first day back had turned sour. And the rest of the summer was going to be terrible if all this fuss over Andrew continued. But maybe he wouldn't stay long.

“Has he come?” asked Aunt Mary as soon as Norah landed at the Port Schofield dock. Norah nodded curtly.

“Isn't he nice? Do you like him? I think there's something really special about Andrew.”

Norah kept her face straight ahead, trying to conceal her scowl.

4

Andrew

A
fter the children's dinner Norah took out the canoe. The steady pull of the paddle soothed her jangled feelings and she pretended she was the only person on the lake. But just as she came back around the corner of Little Island she heard Gavin calling her. Every evening the whole family had to gather in the living room for games and reading aloud.

Gavin waited while Norah lifted up the canoe. “Did you know Andrew once caught a lake trout that was as big as
Denny
?” he told her.

“That's impossible,” snapped Norah.

She lingered in the doorway of the living room, looking for Andrew so she could sit as far away from him as possible. He was on one side of the fireplace, Denny on his lap and the rest of the cousins as close to him as they could get. Gavin skipped over to join them.

Aunt Bea leaned towards Andrew, an eager look on her foolish face. “Now tell us about your mother. Is she over that dreadful flu?”

“It wasn't flu, it was a cold,” said Aunt Florence.

“It was flu!” cried Aunt Bea, her hair falling out of its pins. “She told us in her last letter!”

“It was a cold,” Aunt Florence repeated firmly. “You know you never read letters properly, Bea—you must make up things you
think
you've read.”

“I certainly do not!”

“Now, now, you two,” interrupted Uncle Reg. “Why don't you ask Andrew? Surely
he
knows.”

Andrew had been throwing amused glances at Flo. “I think it was … a kind of flu-y cold,” he said carefully. “And she's fine now.”

“Do you want to come sailing with Gerald and me tomorrow, Andrew?” Flo asked him.

“Sure! I wonder if I remember how. But you two are such experts, you can show me what to do.”

“Can I come?” Clare asked.

“And me?” said Janet and Peter at the same time.

“We'll let Andrew get used to the boat again, then you can each have a turn,” said Uncle Gerald.

Andrew glanced all the way across the room at Norah, who had been staring at him. She quickly lowered her eyes.

“Do you like sailing, Norah?”

“Not much,” she shrugged.

“But you
love
sailing!” Gavin gave his sister a puzzled look, then said to Andrew, “I like sailing and I don't take up very much room.”

Andrew laughed. “Then you can be our first passenger.”

“Tell us about university,” said Uncle Gerald. “You're taking COTC classes along with your regular engineering
course, right? How soon can you be an officer?”

“In a few years,” said Andrew.

“I certainly envy you. If it wasn't for these darned eyes …”

“It must have been frustrating for you, being turned down,” said Andrew quietly.

“Well I'm certainly kept busy. It was difficult to take this month off.”

“Did you know Gerald left his law firm to be an aircraft assembly inspector, Andrew?” said Aunt Bea proudly.

“But it's not the real thing,” said Uncle Gerald. He fingered the small button he always wore on his lapel. “And even if they gave me this, people don't realize that I was turned down. You should hear some of the comments I get, from complete strangers!”

Norah had never seen his placid face look so agitated. Aunt Anne took his arm. “Never mind about them.
We
know you would be fighting if you could.”

“If I was young, I wouldn't go on any officer training scheme,” said Uncle Barclay gruffly. “I'd join up now! After all, with the Russian victory and the Americans finally in on it, the tide's beginning to turn. You may not even get over there, Andrew.”

Aunt Dorothy gave her husband a horrified look. “Oh no, Barclay! Andrew's only nineteen—he's too young to go now.” She shuddered. “It will be a blessing if he doesn't have to at all—and I'm glad you couldn't, Gerald.”

“I was nineteen,” Uncle Barclay reminded her.

The colour had left Andrew's cheeks, and a muscle twitched in one of them. “Perhaps you're right, Uncle Barclay,” he said slowly. “But Mother is determined that I become an officer.”

“She's perfectly right,” said Aunt Florence briskly. “There's no reason you should join up as a common soldier. But let's have no more depressing talk about the war. Tell us what your family has been up to, Andrew.”

Norah had joined Janet in a game of cribbage. She tried to shut her ears to Andrew, but he was such a good storyteller she couldn't help listening. He was describing his mother's new volunteer work driving an ambulance. Every time Norah stole a glance at him she noticed how his long hands gesticulated every word: pointing, turning and slicing through the air as if he were conducting music.

“You're not paying attention, Norah!” complained Janet. “I said go!”

Before the younger children were sent to bed, Aunt Florence took out her book. This week it was
The Wind in the Willows
. Norah had to admit that Aunt Florence was the best reader she'd ever heard. She sank into the story with relief. Andrew was also listening intently, a delighted smile on his face.

“Bravo for Toad!” he cried at the end of the chapter. “I remember you reading that when I was about six, Aunt Florence.”

Andrew got down on the floor, held up his arms as if clutching a steering wheel, and stuck his legs straight out
in front of him. “Poop-poop!” he muttered faintly. “Poop-poop!” The younger cousins collapsed with giggles.

“My dear boy,” said Aunt Florence. “I'd forgotten what a good actor you are.”

“Are you doing many plays?” Aunt Catherine asked.

“As many as I can!” said Andrew. “I was Prince Henry in our college production of
Henry IV
this year.”

He stood up and looked at them silently for a second, his graceful body suddenly regal. His cheek twitched again and, when he spoke, his words were both disdainful and wistful:

Yet herein will I imitate the sun,

Who doth permit the base contagious clouds

To smother up his beauty from the world,

That, when he please again to be himself,

Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at …

He stopped abruptly, his face flushed. All the family applauded at how easily he had changed from being a conceited toad to a courtly prince.

All except Norah.
Show-off,
she muttered under her breath.

“H
AVEN
'
T THEY COME
back from sailing yet?” Janet asked the next morning. She and Clare and Norah were doing their laundry together at the back of the cottage.

Norah didn't answer. She concentrated on scrubbing her blouse against the ripply metal of the scrub-board.
This was the only part of being at Gairloch that she disliked. Each of the older girls had to do her own laundry, which meant heating up water, rubbing until your hands ached, and wringing out each piece of clothing to hang up in the sun.

“It's my turn to go in the boat next,” said Clare. She shaded her eyes as she gazed out over the lake, then turned to Janet. “Wasn't it awful when your dad said Andrew should be a soldier right now?”

“He couldn't help it,” retorted Janet. “That's just the way Dad is. All he ever talks about is the First World War and this one.”

“I think Uncle Barclay was right,” said Norah. The other two stopped washing and looked at her with astonishment.

“What do you mean?” said Clare coldly.

“I mean, I think Andrew
should
join up now. He's probably just trying to avoid it by going to university. I think he's a coward.”

“He's not!” Clare flicked some of her soapy water at Norah. “You have no right to say that about one of our relatives!”

Resisting the urge to dump her whole pail of dirty water over Clare, Norah bent her head down and resumed scrubbing. “I can say what I want,” she muttered. “He's not
my
relative. You all treat Andrew as if he was royalty or something.”

“Why—you—” But then Clare spotted the sail and ran down the steps.

“You haven't finished your laundry!” Janet called after her. “Now I'll have to do it for her,” she grumbled.

Norah could have cried with frustration at being forced into a stupid confrontation with Clare. But she prided herself on
never
crying; she had done too much of it in her first few months in Canada.

Why had she said that about Andrew? The words had rushed out before she'd known if she meant them.

“You're wrong about Andrew,” mumbled Janet through a mouthful of clothes-pins. “Why did you say such a mean thing? He hasn't done anything to you. And he's so nice!”

“I don't know,” said Norah miserably. “I just—don't—
like
him!” Then she ran away too, leaving Janet to hang up all the clothes by herself.

N
ORAH HEADED TOWARDS HER ROCK,
but on the way she almost collided with Flo.

“I was just looking for you, Norah,” said the older girl. “Andrew and I picked up the mail. Here's a letter from England for you!”

Norah clutched the letter as she ran up to her lookout. As always, she took a steadying breath before daring to open it. Bad news usually comes in a telegram, not in a letter, she reminded herself. The envelope was a mess; it had been ripped open and resealed by the censor, and the layers of labels showed how many times it had been used. She squinted in the glaring sun and read.

Dear Norah and Gavin,

Congratulations to both of you on your excellent marks in school! Dad and I are so proud of you. We can't believe you are old enough to be going into “grade four” and “grade eight” this fall. When you are back in England you'll find it strange to say “form” instead of grade.