Looking at the Moon (6 page)

I must tell you all about Muriel's wedding. Of course we couldn't do anything fancy, but we had a very good time all the same. Muriel and Barry were only able to get a few days' leave, but Barry's mother came all the way from Devon and Tibby managed to get down from Reading for the day to be bridesmaid. After the church ceremony we had a small celebration at the house for just the family. I saved my sugar rations for weeks and the hens have been laying well, so I was able to make a small cake. You never would have guessed I used marge instead of butter. Of course I couldn't ice it, but Tibby put a bunch of sweet peas on top and they looked lovely. Grandad somehow managed to get a bottle of wine and we all drank a toast to the two of you as well as to the bride and groom. Muriel looked beautiful in her pink suit. She cut it out of that old coat of mine. Barry was very handsome in his uniform. He's such a nice boy, I'm sure you'll like him. Muriel promises to send you a snap of him soon.

After our little party we all went off to the dance in the village hall. A lot of American GIs were there and they had everyone doing the jitterbug! Even Dad and I tried it but it wore us out. Grandad
wanted
to try but I wouldn't let him. As usual he forgets his age.

Yesterday, while I was waiting in the fish queue, I stood next to Mrs. Brown. She said she's having a hard time keeping Joey away from the Americans when they come into the village. He and all the other children run up to them asking “Any gum, chum?” Usually they get some! The village is divided in its feelings about the Americans. Some people, including Grandad, think they're too boastful, but Dad
and I find them pleasant and friendly. And after all, look what they're doing for us!

Our pig club has a new pig! So I'm saving scraps for it and Grandad takes them to the pig every evening. He stays and talks to it as if it's a person! It's getting nice and plump and I'm sure it will be as delicious as the last one.

I wrote to Mrs. Ogilvie to thank her for her last parcel, but I'd like to thank both of you as well. I'm sure you helped to pick out the things. You've no idea how grateful we are. The soap was especially appreciated—it's so hard to find. What kind people they are.

Norah, I also wrote to Mrs. Ogilvie and asked her to tell you about a very important matter. I hope she does so soon. It's too personal for a letter.

By the time you get this you will be back from your trip across Canada and enjoying Gairloch again. What lucky children you are! Dad says he hopes you each kept a journal. We are looking forward to hearing about it and so is everyone else in the village. Even after three years, someone asks about you every day.

I must stop this now and dig up some potatoes for dinner. Muriel has introduced me to slacks! They're so
comfortable around the house and do save on stockings.

We all send our very best wishes and hope as usual that it won't be too long before you come back to us.

Love from us all,

Mum

Norah thumped the letter so hard against the ground that she grazed her fist.

Their school marks were such old news; why did the mail have to take so long each way? What did Mum ask Aunt Florence to tell her? Surely not the crazy story she
had
told her. Why hadn't she thought of keeping a journal?

Why did Muriel have to
change
? Norah had completely forgotten that her oldest sister was getting married.

Poor Mum, scrimping so much just to make a cake. Norah could always sense the weariness behind her cheerful words.

What if something had happened to them that they weren't telling her about? Why should she and Gavin be safe in Canada when her family was always in danger?

If only she could
be
there, playing cricket with Dad and helping Mum with the chickens. If only she could tell them how much she loved them, but somehow she never could say that in her own letters.

Gradually Norah got control of her racing emotions. After all, she should be used to these letters by now.

She would read the letter to Gavin and answer it tonight; she always liked to get that done before Aunt
Florence reminded her, so that she could say smugly, “I've already written it.” But it was going to be especially hard to be cheerful in this one. She couldn't say, “Dear Mum, Dad and Grandad … At first it was wonderful to get back to Gairloch but a boy has come who has spoiled everything.”

Late that afternoon Andrew came up the verandah steps as Norah and Gavin were sitting on them and talking about the letter. “Is your family well?” he asked.

“Uh huh,” said Gavin. “My big sister got married!”

“You must miss them very much,” said Andrew quietly.

Mr. Hancock came out to the verandah and sounded the dinner gong. “Come on, Gavin,” Norah said, taking his hand. “Let's go in.”

But Gavin called back, “Hey, Andrew—any gum, chum?”

5

On the Lake

N
orah sat reading her Agatha Christie mystery on the verandah, curled up in an ancient chair with a canopy over it—the family called it a “glider.” Besides her rock, the glider was her next favourite retreat at Gairloch. The verandah was like another room, a neutral zone between the cottage and outdoors. Swinging gently on the creaking chains, she could keep an ear open to whatever was going on inside, and watch all the comings and goings without being too suffocated by the clan. The lacy screen of trees beyond the verandah always made her feel secure, as if she were in an airy cave.

But this afternoon she couldn't concentrate on
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
. The verandah was dotted with other members of the family. From around one corner drifted the usual flow of gossip.

“But what was
her
name?” Aunt Dorothy was asking.

“Wasn't she a Ferguson? The Manitoba Fergusons, not the Ontario ones. Her mother would have been a Baxter,” pronounced Aunt Florence. The aunts seemed to know the last names of everyone in all of Canada.

The strains of one of Uncle Reg's Gilbert and Sullivan records floated from around the other corner: “… and his
sisters
and his
cousins
and his
sisters
and his
cousins
and his
aunts
!” Uncle Reg would be stretched out as usual on a chaise longue, close enough to his phonograph to reach over and wind it up.

Aunt Catherine was sitting in a rocking chair not far from Norah, her tiny foot bobbing to the music and her nose in a book. She'd given Norah a friendly wave when she first sat down, but
she
understood that people didn't want to be disturbed when they were reading.

Norah had watched Aunt Bea and Aunt Mar set out for the gazebo, carrying a basket, a kettle and a spirit-lamp. She knew Aunt Anne was at the babies' beach with George and Denny. Now she saw Aunt Mary, again dressed up, descend the steps to the dock. Flo came out of the Girls' Dorm and they both got into the
Putt-Putt
and drove away. Once again Aunt Mary had no shopping bag.

Norah watched the launch disappear, then looked for the sail. By now Andrew and Uncle Gerald, or he and Flo, had taken all the cousins out in the sailboat—everyone but Norah.

Gavin was right—she loved sailing. Two summers ago she and Janet rigged up the rowboat with an improvised sail made out of an old sheet and pretended it was the
Swallow,
from one of Norah's favourite books. But the rowboat was too heavy to move very fast without oars.

They were only allowed to go out in the sailboat when Uncle Gerald or Uncle Peter, Clare's father, was
here. But the two youngest uncles were never able to come to Gairloch for long and the other two didn't like sailing.

Now Norah watched Andrew and Uncle Gerald tack as they approached the dock. Gavin and Sally were crouched between them. Norah wanted to be in the boat so much she could feel the jibsheet between her hands.

But she wouldn't ask—not Andrew. She swung the glider violently until its creaking almost drowned out Uncle Reg's record.

“Norah!” Gavin had rushed up the hill to the verandah. He always knew where to find his sister. He climbed into the glider beside her, his cheeks flushed and his fair hair in a tangle. “Did you see me out there? It was swell! We went really fast and I leaned right over the water—that's called ‘hiking.' Sally almost forgot to duck when Uncle Gerald gybed. Do you know what gybing is?”

“Of course I do,” sighed Norah.

“Andrew sent me to find you,” continued Gavin. “He wants to know if you want a turn next. This will be their last sail today.”

Despite the reluctance in her mind, Norah's feet seemed to stroll down to the dock on their own. She tried not to let her face show how much she wanted to get into the boat.

“There you are, Norah!” Andrew was sitting in the stern. “You're certainly hard to find. Every time we tried to give you a turn you'd disappeared.”

“Want to come now?” Uncle Gerald asked her.

“Yes, please.” Norah looked only at Uncle Gerald as she answered. With him along, she could ignore Andrew. She put on a life-jacket and stepped into the
Christina
. The boat's canvas sails crackled in the breeze, as if it were impatient at having to stand still.

“Gerald!” Aunt Anne came hurrying down the steps, Denny in her arms. “Will you come and cope with George? I've left him screaming in the cabin. He says you promised to take him fishing right after lunch and he
won't
mind me. You have to come.”

Uncle Gerald frowned. “But we were just about to take Norah for a sail. Can't he wait an hour?”

“You know how worked up he gets. Please, Gerald—I can't do a thing with him!”

“Georgie's screamin' real loud,” said Denny with satisfaction. They could all hear the faint, enraged cry:
“Daddy …”

“All right …” Uncle Gerald stepped out of the boat. “Norah's used to sailing, Andrew, and you're doing fine. I think the two of you will be all right on your own.” He hurried up to the cabin.

“Let's get going!” said Andrew. He handed Norah the jibsheet and took hold of the mainsheet and the tiller. “Cast us off, Gavin.”

Norah thought of leaping from the boat but it was too late. Gavin untied the painter and she had to catch it. Then he pushed away the bow and in an instant she was out on the lake, trapped with Andrew.

Frantically Norah tried to remember her duties as
crew: pulling in the fluttering jibsail and setting it to the same angle as the mainsail. She clutched the rope so tightly, her bones showed through her knuckles. If she had to be in the boat with Andrew, at least she would show him she knew how to sail.

They were going to be too busy to have a conversation. Andrew's only words came every few minutes: “Ready about … tacking.” At first the two of them moved awkwardly, stumbling over each other's legs; but soon they synchronized their movements and shifted from one side of the boat to the other as one person. The
Christina
skimmed the water like a gull, the wake curling behind. No motor noise jarred the ride, just the vibration of the wind against the taut sails. Norah gazed up the mast, which seemed to pierce the bright sky. Then they hiked out to flatten the boat and she leaned far over the water, her hair whipping backwards and spray flying into her mouth. She let her mind fill with the joy of sailing, and pretended there was no one in the boat but her.

Finally Andrew, shaking the water out of his hair, grinned at her. “I hate to end this, but I think we'll have to go back. I missed lunch and I'm ravenous! Get ready to gybe.” He reversed the tiller and hauled in the mainsheet. “Boom over …”

Norah ducked her head as the boom swung across. Now the two sails billowed out on either side and the
Christina
became a sedate swan swimming for shore.

Andrew pulled up the centreboard and told Norah to move back. She perched on one side so she'd be as far
away from him as possible. She tried to keep watching the jib, but there wasn't much need to concentrate on it now that they were moving more slowly.

Andrew stretched out his long legs and leaned against the stern. “You're a good sailor, Norah. Did you learn in England?”

Why did he always have to look right into her face when he talked to her? Norah's words came out in hard, painful chunks. “Oh, no.
My
family doesn't own any boats. I learned here. Uncle Gerald taught me. And Uncle Peter.”

“I learned at Gairloch, too. My dad taught me—my first dad, that is. But my stepfather doesn't like sailing. He gets seasick!”

Norah wondered if he liked his stepfather and how he had felt when his mother married again. But if she asked him that he might ask
her
more questions.

It was so difficult to remain aloof when they were sharing something so enjoyable. Norah trailed one hand in the warm water. Perhaps—just for this trip—she would let herself forget about how much he bothered her.

“Your little brother is a real character,” chuckled Andrew. “He told us that his elephant—what does he call it—Creature?—should have a life-jacket too, in case he fell in. He must have been very young when he left England.”

“He was five,” said Norah. “That's the youngest age you could come over on the overseas evacuation plan.” For a surprised second she wondered if her parents would have sent her alone if Gavin had been only four.

“At least you had each other,” said Andrew, as if he were reading her thoughts. “And did you really not know who you'd be living with? Aunt Florence said you were
assigned
to her!”

“No, we didn't know. We waited for a week at the university before we found out.”

“I'm not sure
I'd
like to have Aunt Florence as my guardian,” said Andrew. “Aunt Mary is a peach, but Aunt Florence has always reminded me of the Queen of Hearts in
Alice
—‘Off with her head!' She read
Alice
to us the last summer I was here with my parents. That book sometimes reminds me of this whole family. A bit mad, don't you think?”