Perdita (6 page)

Effie gave me a beautiful shawl—it is a wonderful, mysterious green color and fringed. It is so soft and very warm. I dearly love it! Effie has ever been generous to me. She let me hold the baby—just for a minute—and Corrie (that is her nickname for Corine) patted my nose with her little hands. We all laughed, and Effie said that she liked me. She is such a darling, little, little
thing.

But Allan…oh dear, it was awful. He snatched her from me and began bouncing her about. Effie screamed and George had to be quite stern with him. I wondered—it's a silly idea really, but it did cross my mind—that Allan might be a little jealous of our attentions to the baby. He protested that he meant no harm, and I had to soothe him. I took him down to the old delivery dock to see if the beavers were there; I think he knew it was all a pretext to get him away as he was quite
grumpy.

Mrs. Stewart gave me a little gold necklace and tiny, black pearl earrings that she says come all the way from a market in Peking. She, too, is so kind to me. I put them in my ears, and she seemed pleased. Effie says they make my eyes look very blue. She also gave me some lace and a bolt of a very nice gray silk for Mother, and I could tell Auntie Alis was pleased to receive it, though she would not say so. Auntie is proud, I think. Tad wrote a note of thanks, and I am to take it to them tomorrow. Auntie A. says there is enough to make two dresses—one will be for me, and I think I can persuade her to add some lace to the throat and
cuffs.

I do wish Father would come for tea and see the inside of the Lodge. It is very beautiful! And Mrs. Stewart's carpets and all the wood make it seem very rich somehow. George always brings some of his pictures, and he has a kind of studio library off the front hallway. But I have only seen it from the doorway. It reminds me a little of the library at St. Edmund's, though there are paintbrushes and rags all over the desk and not half so many books. This year I caught a glimpse of the painting he put up over the fireplace—I think it is of a copse of trees at the Point, but I am too shy to ask if I might go closer to look. It is one of my favorite places; the cedars form a kind of archway, and it feels as if one were in a chapel, and if I look up, it seems as if all the trees are swaying as they sing hymns of praise to the
sky.

May 19

I almost forgot to tell Mother—but Effie brought her sister-in-law, Caroline, with her. I am to call her Miss Ferguson. She is quite beautiful in an aloof kind of way, and she is a few years older than Effie, and I find her quite haughty. I do not think that I will like her. She was very chilly when I met her and would not take my hand, and it felt quite awkward to have it left hanging in midair like that. But perhaps she is not used to shaking hands. It is our way—Tad says that in the old country you must always take a person's hand in greeting, and that women must always give a little press with their thumb to another woman's hand, as it is a sign of goodwill. How they teased me at St. E.'s for this habit of
mine!

I do not think that Effie is entirely at ease around her sister-in-law. For one thing, Miss Ferguson is constantly correcting her grammar. It is true that Effie is not well spoken—which is odd since her name comes from the Latin for “eloquence”! But it makes her flustered to be corrected all the time. Miss Ferguson seemed surprised I had taken two years at college and quizzed me on my studies. I gather she is well read, and we spoke in French for a few minutes. I am so glad Mother tutored me all those years before she became ill. I was not in the least intimidated by Miss Ferguson, and her French pronunciations are correct but lifeless. She aggravated me somehow—it was not as if she were truly interested in me, but wished to find out some weakness, some inadequacy in
me.

I was tempted to ask her a question in Latin or even Greek, but I did not. I am glad I did not—though I grew hot with indignation under her scrutiny. She turned to George and said that my French was really quite good. She expressed surprise, and he nodded. I was so angry! I left right afterward and am afraid I did not thank Mrs. Stewart properly for her gifts. I will have to make sure that I do
so.

May 23

Dr. McTavish arrived on Wednesday and will be in the smaller lodge. I think all of
his
crates but one are filled with books. I am always so glad to see him, though I wonder if the birds are quite so sanguine about his return, especially as the nets appear. But he does them no harm and is very conscientious about checking the nets. He has brought a young man with him, Mr. Thompson, who is to help him. I am relieved I will not have to do all the assisting this summer, as I found it quite taxing last year—though Allan and I always profit from Dr. McTavish's commentary on the birds. He says he will finish his book this year, but I have heard that for three summers at
least.

Allan is quite awful—he can do such an imitation of Dr. McTavish and will pull at a beard just in his manner and drop all his h's and roll his r's and wave an imaginary grrreebe about in his hand. I shouldn't laugh, but I cannot help it; it is so like Dr. McTavish, and Allan looks at me with such triumph when he gets me to laugh in spite of myself. In a way I am responsible, since I was the one to imitate Dr. McT. first one afternoon last summer—indeed, what was I thinking, knowing how impressionable Allan is and his penchant for mischief? Now it is a kind of secret joke between us. Allan still teases me about it. He says I am a bad influence and that I have not set the proper tone of behavior appropriate to the teaching and guidance of a young boy's mind, and that I encourage all his bad ways, and that as a result he is not responsible for his actions. And then I am laughing again. Honestly, he is becoming quite a
handful.

Mr. Thompson is a most peculiar-looking person. He is quite bald (Allan says that he shaves his head; he has seen him do it) and is very tall and very thin. He is an ornithologist and is extremely polite and a little taciturn. He seems to seek out George's company. I saw him standing near George's easel, and George was explaining something about his painting to him. I think he is doing a picture of the two buoys that mark the entrance to the Basin. Allan says he is calling it
Good
and
Evil,
and I am curious to see it, though I dare not
ask.

May 30

We have had a most tumultuous week. Mr. Thompson was lost on the escarpment for three days and two nights, and the men had to search and search for him. It turned out he was only a mile or so away, but the forest is so thick that I can easily understand how he might get lost. He is covered in terrible bites from being in the bush, and Dr. McTavish is furious with him. I am sorry for him. I took him one of Auntie Alis's ointments and told him about the time that Dr. McTavish was lost for a week and how we had given him up for dead. He seemed a little comforted. But oh, his poor bald head with all those
bites!

And then the government inspectors came! We had to feed them for three whole days, and all at Tad's expense. I do not see why they had to stay with us and did not remain aboard their ship. I have had to sleep in Mother's room, and she has been terribly agitated by all the commotion. And they looked at everything—everything! Tad had to wind and unwind the cranks, and Uncle Gilbert stood to attention like a soldier while they checked the stores, and then in their sly way implied that he had secretly been selling the supplies. I was so afraid that Uncle G. would strike the man—and he would have deserved it! And then one of them pored over the log for ever so long that I thought he must have found something amiss. They were not at all like the previous inspectors—those men were quite jolly and not the least interested in the
lighthouse.

But I think we are finally returning to
calm.

We have been invited to tea tomorrow with Mrs. Stewart, and Auntie Alis and I will go. She has almost completed my dress, and I have promised to do all the housework if she will only finish it. I think it suits me. Auntie A. says it sets off my hair and eyes, and she has made it so cleverly, just like the picture I gave her. She did not even object to the
lace!

June 2

I was so angry that I could not write yesterday. I was afraid of what words I might put down. She is truly nasty and spiteful. Poor Allan! Innocent fool, he had no idea of what he was getting himself into. And I am utterly
wretched.

Auntie A. and I went to tea. Mr. Thompson was there, too, though Dr. McTavish and old Mr. Stewart were not in attendance. Auntie A. was nervous but pleased to be there, and I felt splendid in my new dress. Though I was slightly ashamed that I had made sure to peruse Mother's books of French poetry for ammunition against Miss Ferguson should the need arise. I could tell I looked becoming by the way that Mr. Thompson bowed to me, and even George seemed to approve as he took my
hand.

Mrs. Stewart is rather formal about her tea, so we waited while her housekeeper supervised the dishware and the setting out of the scones and cakes. Susan and Auntie Alis do not get along at all. I am sure that Susan looks down upon us and thinks that we have no business at all coming to
tea.

I chatted with Mr. Thompson about his nets and the birds he and Dr. McT. had caught and examined when George asked me if I was going to tutor Allan again this summer. Truly I still feel sorry for him. Miss Ferguson seemed engrossed in a conversation with George, and I don't know why, but for some reason I felt my spirits growing a bit depressed. Eventually George joined us. Mr. Thompson had just finished instructing me on how to tell the difference between the pileated woodpecker (
Dryocopus
pileatus
) and the yellow-bellied sapsucker (
Sphyrapicus
varius
). I already knew the difference quite well, but I allowed this instruction since he meant it so
kindly.

I didn't quite know how to answer George's question, as there was a part of me that had assumed I would continue with his studies, and yet I wasn't sure the Stewarts would wish it. So there was an awkward silence. Allan finally broke it by saying somewhat sheepishly that he was getting too old to be tutored, and besides, these were his summer holidays. I smiled and said that I would give him one examination and that if he remembered his Latin declensions and recited them correctly, then he could have the rest of the summer off. Allan brightened, and he came over to
me.

“Truly,” he said. “Do you mean it
truly?”

“Yes,” I said, still smiling. He is such a scamp! And I knew quite well how unlikely his success would be. I must admit that I had already planned to introduce him to more of the classics this summer and had begun to do some reading in
preparation.

“All right. I'll do it!” he exclaimed. “Latin is of no use to anyone anyway! I don't see why I must study
it.”

It was then that Mr. Thompson broke in and discoursed quite earnestly and at length on the importance of learning Latin for the sciences, and so forth. He was so serious that I had to smile just a little—he pronounces his words with ever so tiny a lisp that at times I have to work hard to keep the corners of my mouth from curling
upward.

Then Allan began to clown and started to name everything and everyone in the room in the most absurd
Latin.

He called Corrie an
infans
adoranda
.

George was an
artistus
robustus
and I, his
magistra
formidalae
. Indeed I had to bite my tongue to prevent myself from correcting his vocabulary and egregious disagreements in gender, number, and
case!

Then he expounded upon our habits as if we were all birds and gave us all sorts of ridiculous characteristics. He made Effie smile when he said that she was either a mourning dove (a cooing and gentle creature) or the sora, I think referencing her surprisingly large feet for someone of so short a stature—though I was more than a little scandalized by his boldness. Fortunately, Effie has the best of temperaments, and she laughed quite heartily at
him.

But still, there was something in Allan, the edge of something that I could not quite place, and it troubled
me.

He said that his mother—bowing to her—was the tundra swan, beautiful and noble. His stepfather was an eastern kingbird—“known in the scientific world as the
Tyrannus
tyrannus
.” Mr. Thompson coughed slightly at this, but did not contradict him. Effie giggled a bit nervously, and so Allan took this as encouragement to
continue.

Auntie Alis was the ruffed grouse, respectable, dignified, and to be heard thumping her carpets in the spring. Mr. Thompson was the Wilson's snipe, whose erratic takeoff made it difficult for hunters to follow him through the woods—rather heartlessly referencing, I thought, the poor man's recent
mishap!

I pretended to glower at him when he said that I was the dark-eyed junco, preferring solitude to the company of other
birds.

But then—oh my! He said Miss Ferguson was a shrike, possessed of extraordinary eyesight and known to impale its prey upon thorns and barbs, and then leave them there for future consumption. She truly did glower at him for
that!

“And George,” Allan said quietly, turning to him last, and looking first to him and then to me. “George is the great horned owl of the Lodge. Silent, mysterious, searching for his mate as he passes above us in soundless flight, under a moonlit
sky.”

It was quite a poetic statement coming from Allan! And almost against my will I turned to look at George. It was then I noticed that his eyes are indeed an amber-gray, flecked with tiny spots of gold—just like an owl's.

There was a
pause.

“
Bubo
virginianus
,” quipped Mr. Thompson, breaking the silence. Then Allan laughed harshly and turned away from us
sharply.

“Allan, you are quite a skilled dramatist,” said Miss Ferguson quietly, and immediately I sensed danger. She smiled and moved closer to him. “Do you perform—impersonations?”