The Whole Truth Read online

  She wiped her eyes and whispered, “Okay. I’ll try to forget. Are there any more rules?”

  “Yes. Number three: Don’t trust anyone but me.”

  “That’s easy,” said Polly. “I already follow that rule.”

  “Good. Number four: Be brave. I’m really sorry I’m going to boarding school and leaving you alone, but it’s important for me to get a good education. This is all horrible, but at least it gives me a chance at that. You’re going to miss me at first. I’ll miss you, too, Doodle. But we both have to be as brave as lions!”

  “I could never be as brave as you are,” said Polly.

  “You have to be,” said Maud. “You have no choice. Rule number five: Be polite and helpful and well-behaved. It’s important that Grandmother likes us. We want her to keep us, because we have nowhere else to go.”

  “But what if we don’t like her? What if she’s mean?”

  “Then it’s even more important that we make a good impression. But I don’t think she’ll be mean. She offered to take us, after all. And she’s always sounded nice in her letters.”

  Grandmother had written to them several times a year. They had sent short notes back, to thank her for birthday and Christmas presents. She had seemed so far away, in another life. But now they were going to be part of that life!

  “Maud, why haven’t we ever met our grandmother?”

  “We have met her. She came to Mother’s funeral—I can just barely remember her. I don’t know why she hasn’t come to see us since then. I asked Daddy once, but all he said was that she and our mother had a terrible argument and stopped speaking to each other.”

  Polly leaned against Maud. She started to weep again. “I don’t want to go to the island and live with Grandmother! I just want to stay on the train with you forever! I’m scared!”

  Maud squeezed Polly’s shoulder. Her own eyes were moist, but she sniffed and said firmly, “You’re already forgetting rule number four: Be brave. I should add one more: No crying!” She gave Polly a forced smile. “Let’s try to look on the bright side, Doodle. I bet our relatives will be fine. Maybe they’ll even have a dog!”

  Polly swallowed her tears. They gathered inside and filled her until she felt like choking. “That would be nice,” she whispered.

  Maud took her hand. “It must be almost time for dinner. Let’s go back to our room before the Turtle comes to find us.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE ISLAND

  Early the next morning the train pulled into Vancouver. Polly followed Mrs. Tuttle into the crowded station, clutching her small suitcase in one hand and Maud’s hand in the other. Behind them, a porter wheeled the rest of their luggage.

  “Maud! Polly!” Four adults rushed up to them. Everyone was talking and hugging and kissing and the Turtle was fussing about their bags and Maud kept saying, “I’m so happy to meet you!” in a high, false voice.

  But Polly couldn’t speak. If she did, the tempest inside her would erupt. All she could do was stare. Sorting out four new people was hard work.

  The tall young man was Gregor. “I’m your first cousin once removed!” he informed her. Polly didn’t know what that meant, but her frozen tongue wouldn’t let her ask. Gregor lifted her right off the ground and gave her forehead a smacking kiss. He had woolly curls and a round, grinning face.

  His parents were Great-Aunt Jean and Great-Uncle Rand. Uncle Rand was as moon-faced as his son, but he had hardly any hair. He pecked Polly’s cheek. “Welcome, young lady,” he said quietly. “We’re blessed to have you with us at last.”

  The next kiss was from Aunt Jean, a spry little woman, holding a cigarette, with short springy hair that curled around her purple hat. “Oh, chickie, you’re the image of your dear mother! She was my niece, you know.”

  Polly couldn’t take this in. Maud had told her about all of these relatives, but the only one Polly had thought about was Grandmother.

  And here she was. A stooped woman in a tweed suit, her hair pinned up neatly. She took Polly’s hands and stood in front of her for a long moment.

  Grandmother’s face was angular and her mouth was set in a straight line. Her sad grey eyes behind her glasses were full of such fierce compassion that Polly almost let her tears loose—but then she would drown in them.

  “Oh, hen, it’s been so, so long since I’ve seen you—not since your mother’s funeral. You were only two … and look at you now!” Her voice was gruff and bubbly, as if her words were water flowing over pebbles. Aunt Jean had the same strange accent, but hers was milder.

  Grandmother didn’t kiss her, but she kept one hand in Polly’s. Her firm grip felt safe, as Aunt Jean and Gregor threw eager questions at Polly and Maud: “Did you enjoy the train?”

  “Was the food good?”

  “Were the Rockies splendid?”

  Maud answered politely, but Polly couldn’t speak. She pressed into her grandmother’s side.

  “Stop pestering them, you two. We’ll hear about their journey soon enough,” said Grandmother.

  Uncle Rand looked worried. “We should get a move on,” he told them.

  They manoeuvred their way through the noisy crowd. In the parking lot they said goodbye to Mrs. Tuttle, who lived in Vancouver. “Thank you so much for taking care of Maud and Polly, Lydia,” said Grandmother. “Come and visit us sometime!”

  The Turtle kissed each of the girls. “We ended up having a good time, didn’t we?” she said, smiling at Maud. But Maud had turned away to help Gregor tie their suitcases on top of the car.

  “Where are we going now?” Maud asked, as they left the station.

  “Straight to Steveston to catch the car ferry,” said Aunt Jean. “We should be able to make it if you drive fast, Rand.”

  “I won’t drive any faster than I should, my dear,” said Uncle Rand calmly.

  “How did I end up with such a cautious man?” asked Aunt Jean merrily, turning around to them from the front seat. “He thinks because he’s a rector he has to obey every rule!”

  “A rector?” repeated Maud.

  “Yes, Rand is the rector at our little church on the island. Didn’t you know that, chickie?”

  Maud nodded. “I remember now. Grandmother told us in her letters.”

  It took a long time to reach the ferry terminal. First they were in the city, then they passed fields of cows and horses. Uncle Rand was quiet, but the other adults talked all the way.

  “Clara, I can’t believe you asked Lydia to come and visit!” said Aunt Jean. “I can’t bear that woman!”

  Who was Clara? wondered Polly. Then she realized that Clara was Grandmother.

  “Don’t worry about Lydia, Jean,” said Grandmother. “She’ll never visit. She only came to the island because her husband liked it—she always said it was much too quiet for her taste.”

  “Well, I certainly hope you’re right. Gregor, I want you to remove a wasps’ nest from the church porch roof before the service tomorrow. And we need more wood, and the lawn needs cutting.”

  “Yes, Ma.” Gregor grinned at Polly and Maud. “Isn’t my mother a taskmaster? You’d better be careful, or she’ll have you working as well!”

  “Maud and Polly are not to do anything strenuous this weekend,” said Grandmother. “They’ve had a long journey and I want them to have a good rest.”

  “But don’t forget I have to be at the school by Tuesday evening!” said Maud.

  “Don’t worry, Maud. We’ll get you to school. We have lots of arrangements to discuss, but let’s leave that until we reach the island.”

  “What arrangements?” Maud asked, but Grandmother just said, “Wait and see, hen.”

  Her quiet words had so much force that Maud turned to Gregor. “What do you do?” she asked, in the chirpy, being-polite-to-grownups voice she’d been using ever since they’d arrived.

  “I’m studying theology in Vancouver,” Gregor told her. “I’m going to be a preacher, just like me old dad!”

  “I can’t see you in hol
y vestments—you were such a holy terror of a child,” said Aunt Jean. Her face, however, beamed with pride.

  “That will make him all the more understanding of other holy terrors,” said Grandmother.

  “Thanks, Aunt Clara!” Gregor winked at Polly. “Don’t you believe a word of what my mother says! I was an angelic child! I had blond curls and I sang in the choir!”

  “And stuck chewing gum under the pews!” said his mother.

  Why are they all arguing so much? thought Polly. She leaned against her grandmother and was almost asleep when they arrived at the ferry terminal.

  The car drove right into the belly of a huge boat. They trooped upstairs and had lunch in the dining room. All Polly could see out the windows was an expanse of green-grey waves merging into a blurry sky. She’d never seen the ocean before—it looked so vast and deep and cold. Her stomach moved up and down with the boat’s motion, and the air smelled fumy. She couldn’t eat her lunch, but no one commented. Uncle Rand hid behind his newspaper and the others continued to chatter.

  “You’re going to adore Kingfisher Island, chickies,” Aunt Jean told them. “It’s a little paradise—so peaceful and safe. You’ll be much freer than you were in Winnipeg. When Gregor was a wee lad-die, he’d be gone from dawn to dusk and I never worried about him.”

  “You should have worried, Ma,” said Gregor. “There’s no point in telling you now, though,” he added hastily.

  “The island is a lovely place, hens,” said Grandmother, “but I hope you won’t find it dull after the city. We lead a very simple life. We grow our own vegetables and pick berries, and the men hunt.”

  “They also fish,” said Aunt Jean. “And we have lots of clams and oysters … As they say, ‘When the tide goes out the table is set!'”

  “Yes, we eat very well—we’re not going hungry, as so many are these days. But I’m afraid we have no electricity and no indoor plumbing,” said Grandmother. “We did at the hotel your grandfather and I used to run—we had a generator. How I miss that!”

  “No indoor plumbing!” said Maud. “But what—” She stopped, her cheeks pink.

  Gregor laughed. “What do we do when nature calls? Use the privy! Or you might call it an outhouse or a biffy or the throne room. It’s fine, if you hold your nose.”

  “Gregor!” scolded Aunt Jean. “Don’t listen to him, chickies. Our privies are perfectly clean!”

  “Stop teasing your mother, Gregor,” said Grandmother. “Let’s go outside.”

  They stood on the high windy deck. Now the boat made its way through a choppy passage between several large and small wooded islands. The ferry drew up to a long wharf on one of them—Uncle Rand told them it was called Walker Island. They watched cars drive off below them.

  Then the ferry backed up, turned around, and approached Kingfisher Island on the other side of the passage. The grown-ups pointed out a lighthouse that looked like a white candle. Mist rose from the steep sides of the island, revealing a blanket of dark firs. A few houses were perched here and there, some along the shore and some higher up. The ferry slowed down as it came towards another long, wide wharf. The sun flashed from behind the clouds and the waves turned from grey to silver.

  “What a peach of a day!” said Aunt Jean. “Look, chickies! Those long buildings near the wharf are the store and the hotel. The white house farther along the road is your grandmother’s, and the brown one next door is the rectory, where Rand and I live. And there’s the church—isn’t it lovely?”

  Polly only had eyes for the white house. She held on to her hat as she stared and stared at it. It stood out like a beacon, with its blue roof and wide verandah. It was much larger than her house in Winnipeg.

  Several people were waving from the wharf. “Time to go downstairs,” said Uncle Rand.

  They drove off the ferry and along a fern-lined dirt road past the store. Now the sea glittered so brightly that Polly had to squint. In a few minutes they pulled up at the white house. In front of it three deer were nibbling the grass.

  “Poll, look!” cried Maud. The deer flicked their black tails and bounced into the woods.

  Aunt Jean laughed. “There are lots of deer on Kingfisher Island. More deer than people!”

  “Welcome to your new home, hens,” said Grandmother as they got out of the car. “If you can manage your small suitcases, Gregor will take your large ones up to your room.”

  Aunt Jean held open a screen door. Polly hesitated behind the others, the sharp spoon scraping her insides. Was this really their new home? Did that mean they would never go back to their old one? Oh, Daddy! she moaned inside.

  “In you come, chickie,” said Aunt Jean. Polly entered a dark hall that smelled like damp wood. She followed Gregor and Maud up slippery stairs to a long, narrow room on the second floor.

  Gregor set their bags on the floor. “Come down for tea when you’re ready,” he told them. “I’m starving, aren’t you?” His big feet thundered down the stairs.

  The bedroom had a slanting ceiling and faded pink wallpaper. Two white iron beds were covered with puffy blue satin eiderdowns. Sheepskin rugs dotted the floor. A tree with strange orange bark pressed against the window, its leaves like green curtains. Beyond the tree was a glimpse of sparkling waves.

  On a round table were some boxes of jigsaw puzzles, a few worn-out stuffed animals, and a set of Lincoln Logs. A jug and a basin stood in one corner. “Come and wash,” said Maud. She helped Polly pour the water into the basin and they tried to get rid of the train grit on their hands and faces.

  “You can have the bed by the window,” offered Maud, “since I’ll only be here on the weekends.”

  “Oh, Maud, please don’t say that!” said Polly.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s true … so you may as well have the best bed. Don’t cry!” Maud warned as Polly’s eyes filled. “At least you’re talking to me! Why are you being so silent with everyone else? You have to talk to them or they’ll think you’re rude!”

  “I can’t,” whispered Polly.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know—I just can’t!”

  “All right, then,” sighed Maud. “But you’ll have to after I’m at school. They’re your family now, Poll. You should be friendly.”

  Daddy is my family! Polly wanted to say. Instead she swallowed hard and asked, “What do you think of them?”

  “They seem fine. I’m not worried at all about leaving you here.”

  “But Grandmother said they hunt. That means they shoot animals!”

  “They live in the country, Poll—that’s a natural thing to do.”

  Polly shuddered. “I don’t like it! And why do they call us those chicken names?”

  Maud shrugged. “Maybe that’s how they talk to children in Scotland. Grandmother and Aunt Jean are from there—that’s why they still have Scottish accents. Come on, Doodle. We’re supposed to go down for tea.”

  Polly followed Maud downstairs into a large, sunny living room at the front of the house. Off the living room was a verandah and beyond that was the road and the sea. The gentle swoosh of waves mingled with the tick of a grandfather clock.

  Polly examined every corner—there was no sign of a dog. The room was dominated by a huge fireplace, its stones blackened with soot. Framed photographs crowded its mantel. The furniture was worn and comfortable-looking. Books stuffed a tall shelf and more books and many magazines were piled on the floor and tables.

  The grown-ups were gathered around a low table. A tall, strong-looking woman with a thatch of white hair burst into the room and crashed down a tray full of cups and saucers and a teapot. Then she gazed at Maud and Polly hungrily.

  “This is my housekeeper, Mrs. Hooper,” Grandmother told them. “She’s been with me ever since I got married.”

  Mrs. Hooper rushed up to Maud and Polly and gripped their hands. “Una’s girls!” she cried. “You’re here at last!” She was wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron as she left the room.

  The ta
ble was already covered with plates of food. Polly had barely eaten all day; for the first time since she had left home she felt hungry. The plates were full of small sandwiches and many kinds of cookies. A bowl of whipped cream stood beside a dark cake coated with yellow icing.

  Polly climbed into a slippery, overstuffed chair. Her feet couldn’t reach the floor. Normally she would have drawn her legs under her, but that seemed rude, so she stuck them out awkwardly. A milky cup of tea was handed to her.

  “Which would you like first, Polly?” asked Grandmother. “A sandwich, a cookie, or a piece of cake?”

  Polly couldn’t answer.

  “Try the cake,” said Aunt Jean. “I made it myself. It’s an old family recipe—whiskey cake with lemon frosting.”

  “Is that good for Polly?” asked Maud.

  “It won’t hurt her one bit—there’s scarcely any whiskey in it,” said Grandmother, topping a piece of the cake with a dollop of cream.

  Polly didn’t know where to put her cup and saucer while she ate the cake. Grandmother took them from her and put them on a small table beside the chair. “Pull your feet up, hen,” she told her. “We’re not fussy here.”

  Maud gulped down three cookies and a huge piece of cake. Polly knelt on the chair and nibbled at the moist, chewy cake, in between reaching over for sips of sweet tea.

  “Now, girls, we have a few things to talk about,” said Grandmother. “First of all, we must agree on what you will call me. You’re my only grandchildren, so you can choose.”

  “'Grandmother,'” said Maud. “That’s what we called you when we wrote to you.”

  “I know, hen, but ‘Grandmother’ sounds rather formal. What did you call your other grandmother?”

  “'Grannie,'” said Maud.

  Polly was beginning to forget about Grannie. So much had happened since she had died two years ago.

  But how terrible to forget her! Grannie had looked after them since Polly was a toddler. She had been small and timid, so different from this flinty grandmother who was asking them to name her.