The Daring Game (15 page)

It was Helen. She was the thief. All sorts of niggling suspicions that had prodded Eliza's mind during the term came together in this certainty. She remembered the licorice Helen had bought for the feast—and the radio. And the money she'd given Miss Bixley for the cake. But the most glaring evidence was the twenty-dollar bill
Helen had asked for from her grandmother—she must have felt really desperate. That's what she used to pay it back, and that's why she'd been so cheerful that day: she'd been relieved.

She also must have been scared, after Miss Tavistock's lecture in January. That explained why Helen was so full of nervous energy this term, and why she seemed to be harbouring a secret. Eliza couldn't imagine how she had managed the interview with Miss Tavistock, but Helen had always been a good actor.

It was wrong to steal, of course, although she
had
paid it back. What worried Eliza more was the amount of trouble her friend could have got into by risking so much. But what bothered her the most was that Helen hadn't told her. Eliza felt cheated, as if the person she had thought she knew all along had turned into someone else.

Now she even wondered if Helen had been stealing, after all, when she was younger. She felt guilty about not believing her. But what if Helen had told her she was innocent so Eliza would feel sorry for her and be her friend? I would have been friends with her anyway, she thought.

But would she? She hadn't known Helen very well then. It wouldn't have been much of a draw to friendship, to admit you were a thief.

Now she had to know. She had to talk to Helen about it. It all had to come out into the open, or they couldn't keep on being friends.

Although she was sorry to end her peaceful time there, she could hardly wait to get out of the sickroom. Beth and
Holly seemed like sisters, but Eliza knew that would end when they were all back in their dorms.

W
HEN ELIZA WALKED
into the Yellow Dorm after breakfast the next morning she was greeted with hoots of delight. She grinned at them all, but reddened at the sight of Helen.

“Helen lost
two
house points for fooling around in the play rehearsal,” said Pam. Helen shrugged proudly.

“I got my perm all cut off—see, Eliza?” said Jean, whirling around for approval.

Carrie pulled Eliza over to her bed. “I have something to ask you. Are you going to Toronto for Easter? If you aren't, would you like to come home with me? My parents would love to have you.”

Eliza felt a bubble of anticipation rise up inside her. It would be much more interesting to visit Carrie in Seattle than to stay in a hotel at Harrison Hot Springs and help look after the baby. She had never been to the United States before. “Oh, yes,” she said eagerly. “I'd like to, Carrie. I'll ask my parents.”

She didn't have to think of a way to talk to Helen; the latter did it for her. “Let's meet in the cape cupboard tomorrow after rest,” she whispered. “I have lots to tell you.”

13

Helen Confesses

F
or the rest of the weekend Eliza hoped that Helen was going to tell her everything herself. But the other girl had had nothing specific in mind. They sat in the cupboard on Sunday afternoon and Eliza listened to her chatter about the school play. She worked up the courage to speak, glad it was so dark in the cupboard and she didn't have to see Helen's face.

“You aren't even listening,” complained Helen, when Eliza failed to laugh at her latest remark.

“No, because I have to ask you something.” Eliza took a deep breath. “Did you take the Pound Money?”

There was total silence. Now Eliza wished that she
could
see Helen's face, and that she hadn't sounded so accusing. “I just have to know, Helen, that's all,” she added pleadingly.

“Yup … I took it. I'm the thief. Now I suppose you don't like me any more. Although I was only borrowing it, you know. I meant to pay it back all along, and I didn't think they'd find out so soon. They don't usually open up the box until the end of the year.”

“You could have been expelled or something. Weren't you scared when they found out?”

“Well, sort of.” This much of an admission of fear from Helen meant she'd been really frightened. “But I stopped taking it before Christmas. I decided I never would again, and I won't. Do you believe me?” Helen's voice was savage, but Eliza knew by now that she sounded angriest when she really cared about something.

“I
would
believe you,” Eliza began slowly, “except for one thing.” This was the hardest part. “Did you lie to me about stealing in Prince George? You didn't have to, you know.”

Helen thumped the floor of the cupboard with her fist. “I didn't lie to you! I didn't steal then, I told you that! It just kind of gave me the idea for doing it last term, and for doing it …” She stopped.

And for doing it before that? Eliza almost said aloud, but she silenced herself just in time—it was too much like a question Pam would ask. And she didn't want to hear any more. What other secret was Helen going to reveal? She seemed more of a stranger every second.

Helen finally answered anyhow. “Listen, Eliza,” she said fiercely, leaning over and clutching Eliza's shoulders. This was unusual; Helen never touched people. “Listen very carefully, because I never want to talk about this again. When I first came to Ashdown I
felt
like a thief. My mother drilled it into me the whole time I was waiting to come here. So I took little things—mostly food from the kitchen or the tuck boxes, or people's china animals or
comics, which I returned later. I just wanted to see if I could do it—it relieved the boredom. I didn't take any money until this year. It was
borrowing,
not stealing,” she added, as if trying to convince herself.

“But why did you?” Eliza asked curiously. “You didn't need it. You get pocket money like the rest of us.”

“I
did
need it! I had no pocket money left the week we had the feast, and that was my idea, so I had to bring something. And then it was beginning to look like an awful term. Fidget was bugging me, and you guys were so busy being good. I had to have the radio, just to keep from cracking up. I was going to stop after that, but everyone gets their family to send them a birthday cake, or at least gets the money for one. But my stingy parents wouldn't give me any because my marks were so low.”

“Didn't you get
anything
for your birthday?”

“Underwear. What a lousy present. So I took some money one more time. I was surprised there was enough left, but the Pouncer makes a pile out of all of us. It was just those three times, though. I never will again. And I
never
stole with those kids. I had no idea what they were doing. Now do you believe me?”

Eliza knew their friendship hung on her answer. She wanted so badly to trust Helen that she did, even though she still felt shaken by this new revelation about her.

“I believe you,” she breathed. “I wish you'd told me about the Pound Money. I could have helped you pay it back. But I suppose it was none of my business. I do believe you, and I'm sorry I asked.”

“Do you promise you'll never tell?”

“Of course I won't!” cried Eliza. “You know that!”

Helen jumped up. “Let's go out and swing. It's not raining. Why are we wasting our time in here?”

M
ARCH SEEMED TO
speed by, and Eliza felt so much better she could hardly remember how miserable she'd been. Her homesickness had melted down to a small, manageable ache. She began to seek out Madeline again and the older girl seemed glad of her company, although she was as preoccupied as ever. Best of all, Eliza was still friends with Helen.

After the spell in the sickroom she felt whole again, as if she had recovered from a much longer illness than a pretend flu. The weeks of gloomy rain had ended. Every day the Yellow Dorm spent as much time as possible outside. Later, as they lay in bed and talked, they could still smell the sweet spring air through the open windows.

Sometimes their talks lasted long into the night, especially because they so often turned into a debate. This happened the evening they argued about God.

It started with Carrie asking what religion everyone was outside of school. Her family was Lutheran, and Jean's was Presbyterian. Helen didn't know. “I guess I was baptized,” she said, “although I don't remember, of course. My grandmother's Catholic and she's always saying I should be too, but you won't catch me joining a church. We get too much of it here.”

Eliza and Pam were the only ones who went to an Anglican church at home as well as at school. “I don't believe in God, though,” said Pam bluntly.

Jean looked shocked. “Don't believe in God!”

“Me neither,” said Helen. She and Pam exchanged a surprised glance; it was so rare that they agreed on anything.

“
I
do,” said Carrie calmly. “I don't see any reason not to.”

Eliza was stunned. Pam's flat statement had swept through her like a cold wind. And what a hypocrite she was, if she didn't believe—she always wrote flowery essays about God for scripture class.

“Put it this way,” continued Pam. “It's like saying to someone, ‘There's an orange behind that bush,' and they have to believe you without being allowed to look. It just doesn't make sense.”

“But that's the whole point!” Jean's voice was trembling but determined. “Believing there
is
, without knowing, means you have to have faith!” She looked to Eliza for support. “What about
you
, Eliza? You believe in God, don't you?”

“I guess so.” Eliza shifted in her bunk guiltily. She had always thought she did, so why couldn't she answer more confidently? This was probably going to be one of those questions it was going to take years to figure out—like so many other things this term.

“Why don't
you
, Helen?” persisted Jean, after giving Eliza a puzzled look.

Helen yawned. “I've never seen any use for it. Though if you want to, Scotty, carry on,” she added, unusually gentle, as she always was with Jean. Then she became fierce. “But I sure know there's no Santa Claus up in the sky to grant you wishes.”

Eliza wondered, as she often had lately, how much Helen had suffered in her life. At the moment she seemed like the oldest, not the youngest, in the Yellow Dorm.

Then Jean started arguing with Pam, becoming more and more agitated. Pam seemed just as bothered that Jean was disagreeing with her for once as she was by what Jean was saying. Carrie defended Jean staunchly, and Helen occasionally added an argument on Pam's side. Eliza just listened, her mind in a whirl.

When Jean came close to tears, however, they knew it was time to stop. “I don't see why we have to talk about it so much,” concluded Carrie firmly. “You either believe in God or you don't, and I do.” She got up and closed the curtains, giving Jean a reassuring smile.

How different we all are, thought Eliza in the dark silence that still rang with words. But the others, unlike her, were at least
certain
about their differences. She felt so wishy-washy. If she really believed in God, for instance, she should probably condemn Helen's stealing. If she didn't, then maybe it shouldn't bother her. But she always found herself wavering, and then, because she didn't want to think any less of her friend, she just told herself it was Helen's problem, not hers.

She lifted the curtain and looked out at the clear cold stars. Where did they come from? Nobody knew. For some reason that was a comforting thought. If nobody knew, then she didn't have to.

A
WEEK LATER,
Helen's parents arrived in Vancouver.

“The brat needs glasses and they want to get a second opinion,” Helen explained to Eliza, scowling. “My mother can't stand the idea of another daughter in specs.”

They were only coming for one day, and Helen was to join them for dinner. The only time you could go out on a weekday was when your parents were in town.

“Why don't you ask me too?” said Eliza. The thought of meeting Helen's parents was scary, but curiosity over-came her fear. You learned a lot about people when you met their parents, and Eliza had met everyone's except Pam's and Helen's. It wasn't hard to picture Pam's—they sounded a lot like her. But Helen's mother and step-father were a mystery. It would be a pleasant surprise if they weren't as bad as Helen made them out to be.

Helen looked puzzled at her suggestion. “Do you really want to? And meet my bratty sister too? You won't have a good time.”

Eliza assured her that she did. Neither Helen's parents nor Miss Tavistock objected, so at seven on Wednesday evening she found herself sitting in a Chinese restaurant with Helen and her family.

Already she wished she hadn't come. Four-year-old Tracy kept kicking her under the table. She banged her
chopsticks on her plate, refused to eat anything but rice and whined about her new glasses.

“I hate them!” she pouted, pulling them off her face and slamming them on the table. “They're ugly!”

Helen pushed up her own glasses and stared haughtily through them at her sister.

“I know they're ugly, sweetie,” said Helen's mother. She put the glasses into her purse. “You can take them off for a while.”

“Now, Peg,” objected Helen's step-father. “Dr. Andrews agreed with the doctor in Prince George—she should wear them all the time. Give them back to her.”

“Don't tell me what to do!” snapped his wife. They began to exchange angry, sarcastic remarks, Tracy interrupting the sharp voices with demands for ice cream.

Eliza and Helen shovelled down almond chicken in silence. Helen's face was bent so close to her plate Eliza could see only the top of her head. Never before had Eliza heard two adults attack each other so viciously. She sat stiffly, trying to pretend she was invisible.