Perdita (5 page)

She is afraid that I will never find a husband, and what would I do without one up here? It's not a place for a woman to live alone, she says. But I will be alone if I wish it. I wonder sometimes about that Mrs. Edwards and her strong words about women and the dignity of female work. I saw her picture in the newspaper, and I must admit I liked her face, though it was not pretty. Yet it was strong and intelligent. Not ugly. I have heard some men talking and they say she is ugly, but I think it is her intelligence that they dislike. To be sure, she is quick and sharp, and she sees things before they do, and that is why men do not like her, because it is not they who have shown her what to
think.

Sometimes I think that I do not have such a high opinion of men as a general class, though it is important to make distinctions. There is, of course, Tad and Uncle Gilbert—and Dr. Latham was a distinguished scholar, respected by everyone. Even Miss Crabbage respected him—and we all feared her. She, in particular, puts me to thinking of snakes in grasses. Tad says that if you leave the snakes alone, they will not bother you—but sometimes the snakes do seek one
out.

I am so thankful for Tad and Uncle Gil. And of course Dr. McTavish and Mr. Samuels and—oh, I contradict myself. George, too, I think. But Tad most of all. I like to look at his face the same way I like to look at the Bay. The Bay is best in the evening, just as the sun is sinking and a sort of deep gray begins to spread across it, and somehow it is both reasonable and beautiful all at the same time. Tad seems wise and impenetrable to me, and yet somehow I am not disturbed by my ignorance of all that he must know about the
world.

Auntie Alis says that I am both pretty and smart, but it always sounds as a criticism coming from
her!

I sound like a child today, sniveling and complaining. It is that Light! Tad says it is still burning the fuel too quickly and that we will be in trouble if he has to ask for more than our allotment. There are times when I wish the Bay would take that Light in one mighty wave and remove it
forever.

Oh, I should not say
that!

I do not mean
it!

May 6

There are times when I wish that I did not write down my thoughts because then, when I read my scribblings over, I see how ridiculous I am. Yet Mr. Muir said I had a fine sensibility for the world around me. I am thrilled by the thought that his hands touched the pages of my letter and now I have touched the paper that his hands held as he wrote back to me. In this way our hands have touched, as have our thoughts. If I were ever to meet him, I think he would know that I understand his trees and would love them as much as he does. His trees must be beautiful, tall, graceful trees, all of them old and wise. My trees are much wilder, I think. They're a bit unruly sometimes—especially the cedars—more like sailors I
suppose.

May 7

Mother fell asleep while I combed her hair this afternoon, and then I dressed it—just as she used to wear it—that it might be a surprise. When Tad came to get her, I heard him catch his breath, though I was careful to be fussing with the brushes at the bureau and have my back to him. How beautiful she
looked!

Sometimes Tad is such a mystery to me. Mother's beauty is so exquisite, and yet I know him to prefer things that are a bit rough and unpolished. Except for the lens—that must be perfect and gleam like a diamond! I think it must be because he feels for the people so, out there on the water and if there should be
trouble.

Once Auntie Alis told me that Tad is this way because their father had been a seaman and that he had impressed upon them both a respect for the power of the sea. Her father died rescuing people from the sea—when she was a little girl and Tad was just a young
man.

How I hate it when Tad and Uncle Gil have to take the boat out in a storm. Auntie hugs him so fiercely when he comes back, and he must pet her until she quiets and releases him. It is the only time I ever see her affection for Uncle Gil. Tad says it is his duty as lightkeeper, but I am glad when the waves are so strong that they push the boats back to the shore. I
am!

For a man, Tad is very neat and tidy and orderly, but he does not like fancy things. He doesn't like the Stewarts very well. I don't think he'll ever go to tea, though they invite him every year. I don't think he likes any of the families that come here for the holidays. It
is
rather odd to see them with their servants and all the baskets. Mrs. Stewart brings her own maid and crates and crates of china. I love the cups and the silver tea set, though I am afraid to drink my tea. Imagine if I were to break a cup. I should be ashamed, and yet I still love them so; they are absurdly
fragile.

May 8

I think I will go to the Basin after supper to see if there are any boats. Yet if Allan is there, how shall I greet him? He kissed me on the lips when he left last fall, and I was so surprised. It was really only a peck, I suppose. He will be thirteen years old this year, and I think that I will not be able to tutor him for much longer. It was so sudden. What did he mean by it? I didn't expect him to do such a thing, and now I cannot tell whether I am displeased or not. There is a part of me that is a little sad to see him grow up. I am only six years older, but still I am a young woman and he has become…a youth. He will want a man now to teach
him.

Allan is a fine-looking lad. He is very fair, and his eyes are a curious and lively blue. But his feet are enormous and his boots sometimes so clumsy. He is a playful rascal at times, and sometimes I must be wary to be the prim teacher. Especially around George. But I think I must call him Mr. Stewart and not George any longer; he is very…reserved in some ways, even though I have known him since I was ten. I remember Allan, too, when he was a very little boy and Mrs. Stewart asked Mother if I would watch him. Allan has always been like a puppy, and sometimes I have a terrible time keeping him out of trouble. I am sure George thought I was party to the untying of his boat last year. It was terrible! Five of his canvases were lost—completely ruined!—but it was one of Allan's ill-advised pranks. I could not condemn him in front of their stepfather—he is so awful with his punishments! But I am sure that George thinks I am a foolish, irresponsible
person.

I do hope the Stewarts won't come until the storms are over. Mr. Samuels says we are due for a big one for certain. He says that whenever his legs start aching in a certain way, he can tell a storm is brewing. I think Tad half believes him. I certainly believe
him.

“Not like November '81, though,” he always says. “There'll never be a storm like that one again in my day.” And then that awful story about all the bodies from the
Fairweather
and the boy he found, drowned.

I can see the Bay from my window, and that dark blue color is unmistakably ominous. Besides, the leaves of the aspen are trembling and revealing their silvery underbellies—a sure sign of a
storm.

The trees always warn us, if only we would heed
them.

May 11

I wish that George's paintings had not been lost last summer. I am sure he must still think poorly of
me.

Sometimes my own insignificance oppresses me. I am like the trees in this, am I not? We pay so little attention to them. And yet, how beautiful they are. How unpredictable and moody and wonderful and
intelligent…

I think I will go down to the Basin when Uncle Gil goes this afternoon and perhaps walk over to the Lodge, just to see if the boats are in or if any are coming. I do hope that the Stewarts will wait, for it is far too dangerous to
sail.

May 15

The Stewarts came early this morning! The Bay was quite rough, and they had a few anxious moments navigating the channel into the Basin. Not Mrs. Stewart though, or Effie with her new baby—they will come in a few days. But George and Allan, and their stepfather, have all arrived safely. They brought a cow again this year and two horses. The poor beasts seemed quite glad to be on land once again and were all quite docile. There is a new man to take care of the horses, and it seems Susan has agreed to be the Lodge's housekeeper for the summer. She brought her daughter, Charlotte, to help with the housework. Charlotte is just a little thing, only eight, and quite
shy.

Allan is almost as tall as I am! I was quite astounded. He will tower over me by the end of the summer, I am sure of it. At first I was confused about how to behave with him. No doubt initially I was a little cool, but honestly I think he has quite forgotten his improper kiss. He whooped and whistled and pumped my hand up and down when he saw me; it was quite a display, and I was embarrassed in front of George. He shook hands with me quietly and asked after Tad and Mother, and then attended to the boats. Old Mr. Stewart was in a terrible mood, and he spoke quite roughly to Uncle G., as if he were a boat
hand.

There seem to be even more baskets and crates this year, if that is possible. There is quite a stack of furniture and many carpets all rolled up, and Susan had two of her heavy irons in her bag instead of crating them. She is such a funny one about pressing her precious
linens.

Auntie A. thinks that Mrs. Stewart pines for her first husband—George and Allan's real father. He died of influenza many years ago, when Allan was still a little baby. But she must be very rich to come on holiday here year after year. I do not care at all for their stepfather. He is harsh and very stern-looking, and terribly grim in his demeanor. I was truly reassured to discover that there is no shared blood between George and old Mr. Stewart, though he is cousin to Mrs. Stewart's first husband and that is why he shares the same last name. I am so glad he isn't their blood father. Am I uncharitable? George is almost twenty years older than Allan, and I think he tries to be a good brother. Allan is really quite wild—not in a bad sort of way but…in an animal sort of way. His stepfather is very severe, and so I cannot in good conscience betray Allan, in any of his pranks, to such a rigid and exacting
disciplinarian.

May 16

Mrs. Stewart and Effie—I must remember to call her Mrs. Ferguson the first time I see her—will come in two days with her little girl. Allan says that George is going to do a great deal of painting and that he, Allan, is going to catch the largest fish that ever was seen on Georgian Bay. George laughed and said that if a reputable source confirmed the catch, he would give him a dollar. Allan jumped about as if he already had his dollar, and of course he upset one of the boats, and then suddenly he was in the water. The Basin is not so deep near the shore, but Allan is not a strong swimmer, and I rushed to help him. I did not realize it, but George was close behind me, and he pulled me back a little roughly. Then he stepped into the water to rescue Allan, who was bellowing that he was drowning and thoroughly enjoying all the
commotion.

I must have been nursing my arm, though I don't recall that it was really hurting me—but Uncle Gil saw me and asked me about it. I so wished he hadn't, but I think Uncle Gil was vexed at George's rough manner. George was very sorry for pulling me back so hard, and he apologized twice. And then he inquired if I were wet and seemed anxious that I should be dry, for there was a wind stirring, and it is true that the air is still a little chill. I am sure that I was brusque in my response and awkward. I do not like to be fussed
over.

When I started to walk back, he escorted me to the gate and seemed so anxious that I truly regretted revealing my discomfort. I suppose that my arm did hurt a little, but it was an inconsequential thing, and I was sorry for Uncle G.'s remark. George peered anxiously into my face—it was very peculiar—and he said, “You are not really injured, are you?” I was strangely pleased but also embarrassed by these inquiries. And then I could not look at him and said I had to get back home. I ran all the way back to our cottage like a
fool!

May 17

Uncle Gil says the Stewarts always bring trouble with them. He says the Peninsula is no place for the cottagers and the holiday boaters, and that they should take their amusements to safer waters and not endanger the lives of the men who have to fish them out of the Bay when their boats
capsize.

But I don't care what he says. I am glad the holiday families are here. It means the summer is
coming.

Uncle Gil can be quite severe about the boaters, but I think it is because of his time at French River. Auntie Alis told me that he was a river man there, and that in the spring he used to herd the logs into booms as the ice was melting. She said that was how he injured his back so badly one year—that he fell one time and the logs crushed him. But he is still very strong—Tad says that he is stronger than Flore even, and it is true, I think. I have seen him unhitch her and pull our sled through the snow by
himself.

Tad says the blackflies will be bad this year—he feels it in
his
bones. Honestly, between Father and Mr. Samuels's bones, we shall have a forecast for the entire
summer!

May 18

Mrs. Stewart arrived today with Effie and her newborn girl. Oh, she is an adorable little baby, and Effie has become so fat and pleased with herself. I cannot believe she is just two years older than I am and now she has a baby! She is like a ripe, red berry and looked quite funny in her tight clothes. Effie is Mrs. Stewart's cousin—or her cousin's daughter rather, but she calls her Aunt. Her husband owns several ships, and his business is mostly in Owen Sound. Auntie Alis says Effie married well and that they are quite
wealthy.

I suppose that we are poor. I haven't thought about it very much, but it is true that Effie has many more dresses than I do, and I have only one really fancy dress. It was Mother's, and she said it is from Paris—I adore it. It is so mysterious—a dark blue velvet, almost black. Auntie Alis told me Mother comes from money. It was my grandfather who paid for my schooling. But why doesn't he come to us, then? Auntie A. won't tell me, but I think he and Tad do not care for each other. Perhaps he blames Tad for Mother's
illness.