The Whole Truth Read online

  THE

  WHOLE

  TRUTH

  KIT PEARSON

  FOR KATHERINE

  What are heavy? Sea-sand and sorrow;

  What are brief? Today and tomorrow;

  What are frail? Spring blossoms and youth;

  What are deep? The ocean and truth.

  —Christina Rossetti

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  PART ONE AFTER IT HAPPENED

  CHAPTER ONE THE TRAIN

  CHAPTER TWO THE ISLAND

  CHAPTER THREE SUNDAY

  CHAPTER FOUR MAUD GOES TO SCHOOL

  CHAPTER FIVE A BREATHER

  CHAPTER SIX POLLY GOES TO SCHOOL

  CHAPTER SEVEN LETTERS AND A PUPPY

  CHAPTER EIGHT DAYS DRAWING IN

  CHAPTER NINE THE TURTLE TELLS

  PART TWO “DEAR DADDY”

  CHAPTER TEN VALENTINES AND LAMBS

  CHAPTER ELEVEN NEW SECRETS

  CHAPTER TWELVE VIVIEN

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN “I MISS YOU TERRIBLY”

  PART THREE NOW THAT SHE WAS TWELVE

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN A WISH COME TRUE

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN THE LONG WEEK

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN A FAMILY MEETING

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN VALEDICTORY

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN THE TRUTH

  CHAPTER NINETEEN THE WHOLE TRUTH

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  About the Author

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  PART ONE

  AFTER IT HAPPENED

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE TRAIN

  After it happened, they were sent away.

  In the train compartment they sat opposite Mrs. Tuttle, who was taking them as far as Vancouver. Maud called her the Turtle.

  Polly stared out the window at golden fields full of stooks and grain elevators. It looked as if the outside was moving and the train was standing still. A man on a tractor waved, but Polly didn’t wave back.

  “You aren’t listening to me, child,” complained the Turtle. “I asked if you needed to go to the bathroom.”

  Polly shook her head.

  “She hasn’t gone once since we left Winnipeg,” said Mrs. Tuttle to Maud, as if Polly were three, not nine.

  “Leave her alone!” snapped Maud. “Polly’s not a baby.”

  Mrs. Tuttle’s fat cheeks shook. “Don’t you speak to me in that tone of voice, Missy! I’ve never met such a rude child! If you’re going to be like this for the whole trip, you’ll make it very unpleasant for all of us. You should be grateful I agreed to look after you. If I wasn’t such a good friend of your grandmother’s—”

  Maud threw Mrs. Tuttle one of the fierce glares that usually quelled grown-ups. “Polly and I don’t need to be looked after. I’m fifteen! I could easily have taken care of Polly on my own.”

  “Don’t be absurd, Maud—you’re far too young to travel by yourselves.” Mrs. Tuttle pressed her lips into a smile. “Let’s try to get along, shall we? Would you like a game of cards?”

  “No, thank you,” said Maud icily. She bent her head over her brochure. Mrs. Tuttle sighed and got out her knitting.

  Polly studied her sister. Maud’s beaked nose and sharp chin stood out confidently from her long face, as if they could cut through any difficulties. Her brown eyes glittered with determination. Thick braids pulled her hair back so tightly that it looked like a warrior’s helmet. Maud would have been perfectly capable of taking Polly to the west coast by herself; after all, she’d looked after Polly almost on her own for the past two years.

  Most of Polly’s hair had escaped from its barrettes and hung in strands down her cheeks. She nibbled the end of one and wondered how she would ever manage without her protective older sister. After they arrived at their grandmother’s on Kingfisher Island, Polly was only going to see Maud on weekends.

  The feeling of her insides being scraped out with a sharp spoon came again, as it had several times a day ever since—ever since it had happened. The train whistled as it went around a curve, a thin, lonely sound. It was going to be a miserable journey.

  They ate lunch and dinner in the dining car, at a table set with a white cloth and heavy silver. The train’s motion made the water in the glasses slop from side to side.

  Mrs. Tuttle and Maud wolfed down the hearty food. “What generous helpings!” said the Turtle. “You’d never know there was a depression. Eat up, Polly—you’re much too skinny.”

  Maud frowned. “Don’t nag her! She’s always been a fussy eater.”

  Mrs. Tuttle glowered back, but then she gave up and concentrated on her mashed potatoes.

  After dinner the train stopped in Regina. Polly watched a girl her age emerge onto the platform out of a cloud of steam, run to a laughing man, and leap into his arms.

  The man must be her father. The pain hurt so much then that Polly bent over with it.

  An hour later the train arrived in Moose Jaw. Then a porter came and magically turned their seats into a single bed and two bunks.

  Mrs. Tuttle found their pyjamas and told them to change. She went into the toilet and emerged looking even more like a turtle, in a voluminous green flowered nightgown with a matching nightcap. Her face was smeared with mint-coloured cream.

  “Isn’t this a treat, girls?” she said, burrowing under the covers. “Your grandmother was so generous to pay for a drawing room. It’s much more comfortable than the sleeper car I usually go on.”

  “I want Maud to sleep with me,” whispered Polly from the lower bunk. It was the first time she had spoken all day.

  “Nonsense, Polly, there’s no room. Maud and I are right beside you. Go to sleep like a good girl.”

  Mrs. Tuttle blew them a kiss and turned out the lights. When they heard her snoring, Maud climbed down and joined Polly. The bunk was so narrow they were squished together, but Maud’s firm, warm body was so comforting, and the rocking train so soothing, that Polly finally slept.

  Polly woke up to find herself alone in the berth. She panicked for a second, but then Maud came out of the toilet. Mrs. Tuttle was already dressed.

  “Up you get, child!” she said to Polly. “We’re already in Calgary. Isn’t that amazing?”

  Maud had brushed out her hair, which reached below her waist. She stood in front of a tiny mirror and tried to rebraid it. “Poll, will you help me?” she asked.

  The Turtle got to her first and Polly was relieved. Several times since Daddy had gone, she’d tried to braid Maud’s hair, but it slipped in her fingers and the braids came out messy and uneven. Finally Maud had struggled with it herself.

  “You girls look so old-fashioned,” said the Turtle. “I’m sure all that hair cascading from Polly’s little face is sapping her strength. This is the Thirties! No one has long hair any more. Why don’t you get it bobbed?”

  “We like it long,” muttered Maud.

  Polly winced. Daddy had loved their long hair. Each time he’d brushed out Polly’s tangles he’d told her she was a princess with golden tresses.

  The Turtle was good at braiding. Maud examined the neat ropes in the mirror and thanked her stiffly.

  “That’s better, Maud,” said Mrs. Tuttle. “You see? You can be pleasant if you try.”

  When they returned from breakfast, their beds had been turned back into seats. The Turtle collected their things and led them to the observation car at the back of the train. As in the dining room, there weren’t many other passengers.

  “Before the crash, this car was packed!” the Turtle told them. “We’re lucky. Lots of people can’t afford to travel during these hard times.”

  Polly sat next to the window and gaped at the jagged grey sha
pes that loomed against the bright blue sky. Mrs. Tuttle said they were the Rockies. They passed a mountain that had a line of bighorn sheep perched along its pleated cliffs. How could they be so high up and not fall off?

  At Banff they got out of the train and breathed in crisp air that smelled like pine. Mrs. Tuttle bought some postcards. When they boarded again, she offered some to Maud and Polly, but Maud said haughtily, “No, thank you. We have no one we want to send postcards to.”

  “Poor little orphans,” clucked the Turtle. Polly’s stomach leapt and she fled into the toilet.

  The rest of the day was a dreamy bubble out of time. Polly tried not to think of her life before or after. She kept staring out the window as the majestic mountains, rushing rivers, and green valleys slipped by. When the train chugged around a curve, she could see the front of it, like a steaming snake. The scenery looked like pictures of Canada in Polly’s geography book, except it was in colour. Even so, it didn’t seem real. She spotted more sheep, several moose, and a bear scrambling up a bank, but they looked like something in a movie. Polly pinched her hand—she didn’t seem real either.

  The Turtle’s relentless chatter was like a shower of sharp little stones raining down on them. Yet again she went over details she’d already told them several times.

  “I don’t suppose you remember your mother much. You were only two when she died, Polly, and Maud was seven. I knew her well, of course. Una was good friends with my daughter, Blanche, and she sometimes came to stay with us when we lived in Winnipeg. Your grandmother and I go way back. My parents knew her parents in Scotland, and they all came to Canada about the same time. You girls are going to enjoy Kingfisher Island. I’ve been there often. When my husband was alive, we’d stay at your grandparents’ hotel for two weeks each summer. The island is a pretty place, although much too quiet for my liking. Are you excited about living there?”

  When they failed to respond, the Turtle looked offended. “You girls haven’t heard a word I’ve said! You could at least answer my question. I don’t see why I should be expected to spend this whole journey talking to myself.”

  Maud eyed her coldly. “No, we are not excited about living on the island. How could we be?”

  Mrs. Tuttle flushed. “I’m sorry, Maud. I shouldn’t have asked that. But I would appreciate it if you paid at least a little attention to me. Do you want me to tell your grandmother how rude you’re being?”

  Maud sighed. “I didn’t know our grandparents ran a hotel. What happened to it?”

  “It’s still there, but after your grandfather died, your grandmother sold it. By then she didn’t need to work, of course, since she’d inherited a trust fund from her husband. Everyone was so surprised at that—no one knew that Gilbert had a private income of his own.”

  Polly didn’t pay much attention to any of this, but she began to listen more closely when the Turtle told them a story about Una and Blanche when they were children. They had found a gold watch on the beach. “I was so proud of them—they put up posters all over the island and a summer visitor claimed it.”

  The Turtle paused. “I hope you will always be that honest, girls, not like—”

  “Mrs. Tuttle!” Maud glanced at Polly.

  The Turtle covered her mouth. “Sorry, Maud. I forgot.” She looked as if she longed to say more, but she bent her head over her knitting.

  Polly clenched her fists. Mrs. Tuttle and Maud knew something she didn’t! She leaned her head against the cool glass of the window and let the steady puffing of the train calm her down.

  “Why don’t you play with something, Polly?” Mrs. Tuttle asked her. She poked in Polly’s bag. “Here are your dolls! And some crayons and paper! Shall I take them out?”

  “No, thank you,” mumbled Polly. Dolls and crayons were part of another life. Now her only life was being on the train.

  After lunch they returned to the observation car. For the trillionth time Maud opened the brochure that was labelled “St. Winifred’s School for Girls, Fall 1932.” It had been fingered so much that its pages were coming loose. She read Polly items from the clothing list: “'Two pairs of black sateen bloomers to wear under tunics'—what do you think bloomers are, Poll?”

  Polly wouldn’t answer. She hated talking about this school that was taking Maud away from her.

  “Bloomers!” Mrs. Tuttle laughed. “Blanche wore those at her girls school. They’re loose drawers that you wear over your regular drawers.”

  Polly couldn’t imagine wearing a school uniform at all—it looked so ugly in the pictures. But Maud kept going over every item with relish.

  “I need to get black and white running shoes for sports. Look at this, Polly—they have grass hockey and basketball and lacrosse. I bet I’ll be good at all of those.”

  Polly glanced at the photos of hearty girls in tunics prancing around with various balls. They all looked like Maud, confident and competent. Her sister would fit in perfectly. Maybe she would like St. Winifred’s so much that she wouldn’t think of Polly at all.

  “Where will you buy your uniform?” asked Mrs. Tuttle. “At the school?”

  “No, at a special store in Victoria.” Maud looked worried. “School starts on Wednesday—that’s only five days away! What if the store has run out of uniforms? I don’t want to be different from everyone else.”

  “If they’ve run out, they can order what you’re missing,” said Mrs. Tuttle. “And I’m sure no one will mind if you don’t have everything, especially since—”

  “Look!” cried Polly. She pointed out the window. “A—a moose!”

  “Where?” the other two asked.

  “It ran into the trees. I think it was a moose … maybe not,” finished Polly lamely. At least it had made the Turtle change the subject.

  “Shall I read to you?” Mrs. Tuttle picked up Jalna.

  Maud shrugged. “If you want to.”

  Polly closed her eyes and leaned her head against Maud, pretending to listen.

  Polly woke up when the Turtle stood and yawned. “I’m going back to our room to have a little nap, girls,” she told them. “Will you be all right by yourselves?”

  “Of course we will,” said Maud.

  “Don’t talk to strangers,” warned Mrs. Tuttle, “and don’t go out on the open deck—you might get a cinder in your eye.”

  “We won’t,” promised Maud.

  After the Turtle had disappeared, Maud said, “Come on!”

  “Where?”

  “Outside, of course.”

  They pushed through a heavy door and stepped onto the open platform at the end of the train. Their hair whipped back in the wind and they could smell smoke from the engine. Mrs. Tuttle was right about the cinders—Polly had to brush one away from her face.

  CHUchuchuchuCHUchuchuchu roared the engine. “Isn’t this swell?” shouted Maud.

  But then the whistle sounded and Polly screamed as the train approached a tunnel. Maud grabbed her hand and they dashed inside just in time.

  “I don’t want to go out there again!” said Polly, brushing bits of grit out of her hair. She wiped her grimy hands on her dress—luckily it was black.

  “Okay, but at least we did it, and the Turtle will never know!” Maud patted the seat beside her. “Come and sit down. This may be our only chance to talk and we have lots to discuss.”

  Polly quaked. Ever since it had happened, all of Maud’s discussions were scary.

  “Listen to me, Doodle,” said Maud. She opened up her notebook. “I’ve written down some rules for us.”

  “Rules?”

  “Yes, rules. Once we arrive in Vancouver we’ll be surrounded by relatives. They may be really snoopy. The rules are to help us remember how to act. Especially you. I don’t want you to give in while I’m gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Polly, stop repeating everything I say! Yes, gone! You know that next week I’ll go away to school. I’ll come home on the weekends and of course for the holidays, but during the week you’ll
be on your own. I’ve told you that a thousand times!”

  “Sorry, Maud. What are the rules?”

  “Number one: Don’t tell anyone what happened.”

  “Of course I won’t!”

  “It won’t be as easy as you think,” said Maud. “All sorts of people are going to ask about Daddy. Relatives, teachers, kids at your new school … Can I absolutely trust you?”

  “Of course you can! I already promised you I wouldn’t tell and I won’t.” Polly looked at the finger that her sister had pricked with a needle two weeks before. Maud had pierced her own finger as well and they had rubbed the blood together in a pact.

  “Maybe no one will want to talk about Daddy,” said Polly.

  “They might. Lots of people are going to tell you how sorry they are and expect you to answer. Just keep saying, ‘I don’t want to talk about it.'”

  She looked at her notebook. “Rule number two: Don’t think about it. Don’t think about what happened and don’t even think about Daddy. I want you to forget about our life with him in Winnipeg. We’re starting a new life now.”

  “I can’t help thinking about it! It’s always there in my mind. And I can’t not think about Daddy!”

  Maud looked afraid, something she very seldom did. “I know … it’s always in my mind too. But we have to forget.” She took Polly’s hands in hers and stared into her eyes as if she were hypnotizing her. “Daddy is dead. You have to believe that. I know it’s hard, but he’s gone, and we have to get on with our lives.”

  “But Maud, I can’t forget Daddy! I miss him so much! And I don’t understand why—”

  Maud squeezed Polly’s hands so tightly that Polly winced. “Doodle, that’s enough! You have to forget! Do you understand?”

  Polly started to cry. “No, I don’t! And let go, Maud. You’re hurting me! I don’t understand, and I think you’re hiding something!”

  Maud released Polly’s hands and handed her a handkerchief. “I’m sorry, Poll, but there’s nothing more to say. I’m not hiding anything. Really, I’m not!”

  Polly knew that Maud was lying. She was lying to protect Polly. Her secret was locked up inside her as tightly as her hair was braided. Pleading wouldn’t unlock it; when Maud was this determined, there was nothing Polly could do.