And Nothing But the Truth (14 page)

The Fords were like Biddy’s parents: a bit boring, but kind and comfortable and …
normal
. Imagine what they would think if they knew that Polly’s father had stolen some money, and that her sister was expecting a baby!

Mrs. Ford smiled at Polly. “We’ve been ignoring our guest. Eleanor has told us you live on Kingfisher Island. We went there years ago. You must love it it’s so beautiful.”

“I do,” said Polly.

“And you live with your grandmother?”

Polly could tell she wanted to know more. She explained that Daddy lived in Kelowna and was going to get married in August.

“He is?” asked Eleanor.

Polly realized she hadn’t told anyone at school; Maud’s news was so much more important that the wedding had faded in comparison.

Polly tried to keep her voice steady as she went on to tell them Maud was finishing her first year at U.B.C.

“That’s where
I
want to go,” said Eleanor.

“And that’s where you’re headed, Ellie, with marks like yours,” said her father proudly. “How about you, Polly? Do you want to go to university like our bright young lady?”

Polly shook her head. “I’m going to the Vancouver School of Art.”

“Good for you!” he said.

“Eleanor tells us you’re always drawing,” said Mrs. Ford, “and that you’re taking special classes on Saturdays.”

“So we have a future science teacher and a future artist at the table,” said Mr. Ford. “What special youngsters you are! You already know what you want to do.”

“Only until you’re married and have children, of course,” said Mrs. Ford firmly. “You won’t need a career after that, although I suppose it’s helpful to have something to fall back on in case you’re left high and dry.”

“Now, my dear, times are changing,” said her husband, patting her hand.

The waiter brought their bill. After Mr. Ford had paid
it, he said, “Eleanor, sweetheart, I’m afraid I have disappointing news for you. Your mother and I won’t be home on the long weekend.”

“But why?”

“We have to go to a wedding in Vancouver,” said Mrs. Ford. “It’s a colleague of your father’s, so it wouldn’t be suitable to take you children. Gerald and Ralph are going to look after you and Peggy.”

“Oh, no, Mother! I hate it when they take care of us. They just sit around and have their friends in, and Peggy and I have to do all the housework.”

“It can’t be as bad as all that,” said her father.

“It is,” said Eleanor.

“It’s only for three days,” said her mother. “I’m so sorry, darling, but you’ll still be at home. You can play with Breeze and see your friends.”

Eleanor pressed her lips together and wouldn’t answer.

Polly was embarrassed to be in the middle of a family quarrel. Then she had an idea. “I know! Why don’t you come home with
me
, El? My grandmother would love to have you, and I could show you the island. You could meet Tarka!”

“Now, Polly, I’m sure your grandmother doesn’t want the trouble of a guest,” said Mrs. Ford.

“She won’t mind one bit,” said Polly.
And then I won’t have to be alone with her
, she thought.

“The island is really fun on Empire Day,” she told Eleanor. “People visit from the other islands, and there are races and a parade and a dance.”

“I’d love to come,” said Eleanor. She turned to her parents. “Please, can’t I?”

They looked at each other. “Very well,” said Mr. Ford, “but only if Polly’s grandmother agrees.”

“I’ll write to her tonight,” said Polly.

Polly stood at the side of the dancing in the recreation hall, tapping her foot in time to the fiddle. She grinned as Uncle Rand clumsily led Eleanor in a waltz. As usual, Aunt Jean was a wild dancer, whirling in and out of the others. Polly glimpsed Noni on the other side of the room, chatting with Alice’s mother.

Alice herself was dancing with Chester! On the ferry he had chatted more to Alice than to her, and tonight he’d only given Polly a friendly “Hello.” Didn’t Chester like her anymore? Polly half wished he’d ask
her
to dance, but she’d never danced with a boy before; she’d probably step on his toes.

It had been an unusual Empire Day, split between mourning for the old king and celebrating the new one. “I don’t approve of that young man,” said Aunt Jean, as if King Edward VIII were her personal acquaintance. “He’s a
womanizer and a gadabout. Mark my words—he’ll come to no good.”

Polly had tried to enjoy the festivities. She and Eleanor had taken part in the egg-and-spoon race and the three-legged race, and had rooted loudly for Kingfisher in the softball game, even though the island team had lost. The weather was perfect for walking Tarka and going out in the boat. Everyone in the family had taken to Eleanor, and she seemed to be having a wonderful visit.

Polly, however, couldn’t stop feeling anxious about Maud. Being home made Maud’s predicament more real. Everyone kept asking about her, and Polly had to keep explaining that Maud had too much work to come home.

“How I miss her!” Aunt Jean kept saying. “The family doesn’t seem complete without Maud and Gregor and Sadie here.”

What if they knew?
Polly kept thinking. Would they reject her? Would Noni really disown her, as Maud had said she would?

“I’m so worried about your sister,” Noni had told Polly this morning. “She started out at university by having such a good time, but now all she writes about is her studies. Is she still upset about Robert?”

“I don’t know,” said Polly. She had hoped not to be alone with Noni, but her grandmother still expected her to bring her breakfast to her room every morning.

“Ann’s mother has written me a very pleasant letter saying how they’re looking forward to having Maud in Portland,” said Noni. “But the course she and Ann are taking is so long, and we won’t see Maud until August. That doesn’t seem right. Do you have any idea why Maud wants to do this? It’s as if she’s avoiding us.”

Polly just repeated “I don’t know.” She wondered how they had managed the letter; Ann must have written it. Noni was so worried that Polly yearned to tell her everything.

“Polly …” Noni seemed embarrassed. “Your father has written to tell me that he’s getting married. How do you feel about that?”

“I feel glad!” said Polly. “He and Esther seem really happy, and I like her a lot.”

“That’s reassuring. But I wonder … could she be Jewish? Her last name sounds as if she might be.”

“Yes, she’s Jewish,” said Polly. She waited for Noni’s reaction, hoping that Daddy was wrong.

“What a shame,” said Noni quietly.

Polly bristled. Why was Noni like this?

“
I
don’t think it matters if Esther is Jewish or not,” Polly said firmly. “She’s just Esther.”

“I suppose you’re right, hen. Anyway, it’s none of my business whom your father marries. I just hope—”

“What?”

“Well, I hope you will always regard the island as your home, Polly.”

“Of course I will!” Polly forgot her anger as she gave Noni a hug.

Now the music changed to a waltz. “
There
you are, Polly!” Biddy came up and frowned, as if Polly had been trying to avoid her. Polly flushed. All weekend she had felt pulled between her two friends. Eleanor was friendly to Biddy, but Biddy regarded her suspiciously. She had shocked Polly by telling her that Vivien and her parents had suddenly moved off the island. Her father thought he could find better work in Sidney.

Polly smiled, trying to reassure Biddy that they were still friends. “It’s too bad about Vivien,” she said. “You’ll really miss her.”

“It’s terrible! I have no one to be with except Dorothy, and she’s so boring. But at least you’ll be back next year, Polly. It will be just you and me again, the way it was before Vivien … and before you knew
her
.”

Polly was silent.

“You
are
coming back, aren’t you?” demanded Biddy.

“Yes, of course I am,” said Polly quickly.

Eleanor approached them with two glasses of lemonade. “I brought you a drink, Poll. Your uncle is some dancer! Oh, hi, Biddy. Do you want me to get you a drink, too?”

Biddy just glared at her and walked away.

“Instead of painting this week, we’re going to visit someone very special,” Miss Falconer announced the next Saturday. They all piled into Miss Falconer’s old car. Jane sat in the front and the other four squished into the back; Polly had to perch on Dottie’s knee. They asked whom they were going to see, but Miss Falconer said she wanted it to be a surprise.

She drove downtown, and past the Empress Hotel into James Bay. Then she told them to look for Beckley Avenue. Margaret spotted it first. The car turned onto an unpaved road lined with shabby bungalows. It stopped in front of a rundown cottage. “This is it—number 316,” said Miss Falconer.

Theirs was the only car on the road. They stumbled out; a group of children and dogs playing nearby turned to stare at them.

“Who lives here?” asked Katherine.

“Miss Emily Carr,” said Miss Falconer. “I’ve wanted you to see her work for a long time. She just moved to this house, and I haven’t visited her new studio yet. Now, girls …” She hesitated by the front door. “Miss Carr can be crotchety, so don’t be upset if she seems rude. That’s just her way.”

Miss Falconer knocked and a chorus of yaps answered. A stout old woman in a shapeless dress opened the door. Four small dogs with grizzly hair swarmed at her feet. Polly
bent to pat one. It resembled Tarka, but was much more whiskery.

“Come in, come in,” said Miss Carr. Her voice was gruff. “How are you, Frieda?” She led them into a tiny studio. “Now, whom do we have here?”

Polly tried not to stare as Miss Falconer introduced them. Miss Carr’s round face was sunburned. Tufts of white hair poked from the wide black band around her forehead. Her eyes were direct and bright as she examined them.

“So these are your fancy pupils!” she said in a mocking voice. Polly avoided her gaze and gave her attention to the studio. Every inch was covered with paintings: some hung on the walls and many more leaned against them.

“Oh!” gasped Polly, advancing towards a painting as if it were calling her.

“Look as much as you like,” said Miss Carr, her voice warmer. “Frieda and I will get you some tea—if I can find the teapot, that is.”

The two women left the room, and the girls walked around gingerly.

“What are
those
?” giggled Dottie, pointing to a cage on the table.

“Chipmunks!” said Katherine.

Polly rushed to the cage. Three chipmunks were nibbling on a bowl of nuts. She watched them for a moment, but the glorious paintings beckoned her back. Miss Carr
painted forests and skies in swooping strokes, using the deep-green and bold-blue colours of the west coast. The paintings shimmered with light and energy.

“I’ve never seen anything like these!” said Dottie.

“That’s because they’re Modern Art,” said Katherine solemnly.

“I don’t like them,” said Jane. “Trees don’t look like this.”

But they do
, Polly thought, gazing at a painting in which a tree soared to the sky and became part of it. This was the
essence
of a tree, its freedom and wildness and power. Some of the paintings made Polly feel like flying; some invited her to walk right into their dark, wooded depths.

Miss Falconer came into the studio with a tray full of mismatched cups and a teapot. Miss Carr followed her with a crumbling cake on a plate. She set it down on the floor and shut the door to keep out the dogs.

“Help yourselves, young ladies,” she said. “The cake is a bit stale and I’ve run out of milk, so you’ll have to make do.”

“Do you have any questions for Miss Carr, girls?” said Miss Falconer.

Everyone was silent until Dottie asked, “How do you decide what to paint?”

“How do
you
decide?” said Miss Carr.

Dottie laughed nervously. “Well, I paint something that I think is pretty—or something Miss Falconer asks us to.”

“That’s all very well, but you should try to paint what calls you. Trees and totems and skies—they all beg me to capture their reality, so I try to do that.”

Since the other girls were still tongue-tied, Miss Falconer asked Miss Carr several more questions. Polly listened avidly, wishing she could write down the answers.

Finally, as she was sipping a cup of cold, bitter tea, Polly murmured, “Miss Carr, how do you make your paintings
move
like that?”

“I beg your pardon? You’ll have to speak up, child—I’m a bit deaf.”

Polly repeated her question in a louder voice.

Miss Carr smiled at her. “Movement is vital. If you really look at God’s creation, you will see how it’s always in motion. I try to let that movement get into my brush.”

“That’s why your paintings are so alive.” Polly said the words softly, but this time Miss Carr heard her.

“Thank you—what is your name?”

“Polly.”

“Thank you, Polly. Do you want to be an artist?”

Polly nodded.

“Well, here’s some advice for you—for all of you. Be careful that you don’t paint anything that isn’t completely yours—that isn’t in your own soul. You have to learn the mechanics, of course, but use them in your way, not someone else’s.”

They were all digesting this when the door burst open and a little girl in a yellow dress rushed screeching into the room. She grabbed Jane’s leg, and Jane screeched even louder.

“Get it off—get it off me!”

It wasn’t a little girl at all—it was a monkey!

“Oh, Woo, you bad thing.” Miss Carr pulled the monkey away by its collar and fastened it by a chain to the table leg.

“This is Woo,” said Miss Carr fondly. “She didn’t mean to frighten you. She just gets excited when visitors arrive.”

Woo chittered and scolded as they stared at her. She was about the size of one of Miss Carr’s dogs, with large ears and thick brown fur that stuck out over the back of her dress. Her beady eyes were close-set beneath her wide jutting brow. Jane retreated to the far corner of the studio, but Polly edged closer and closer.

“Can I pet her?” she said.

“I wouldn’t advise it,” said Miss Carr. “She bites!”