Lizabeth's Story (3 page)

“I
agree with you, Lizabeth,” Reverend Morgan was saying. “The Aborigines' walkabout in the desert does remind me somewhat of Moses and Jesus.”

The worn leather armchair across the desk from Reverend Morgan was too big for Lizabeth, but she settled into it comfortably. His study, Lizabeth thought, was the one part of the house that didn't cry for a woman's touch. With crowded bookshelves on two walls, it looked exactly like what is was—the minister's place to work. The rest of Amanda's house seemed rather sad and lonely.

The minister's dark eyes radiated kindness, but he, too, had a sad and lonely air. “Moses wandered in the wilderness for forty days and forty nights to purify himself in preparation for receiving the Ten Commandments. And Jesus wandered alone in the wilderness, in much the same way, to prepare himself before he gave the Sermon on the Mount.”

“But why do the Aborigines have to go without any food or possessions?” Lizabeth asked. “Their desert sounds terribly harsh.”

“Yes, it does.” Reverend Morgan's smile warmed his long, thin face. “Perhaps when you're hungry and tired and left to struggle on your own, all your defenses come down and you become open to recognizing some truths about yourself. Perhaps it's about stripping yourself bare, down to the basics, without the comfort of things you're used to, and depending only on yourself, without friends to help you. It forces you to come face-to-face with who you truly are.”

“Coming face-to-face with who you truly are….” Lizabeth was thoughtful. “Meeting yourself.”

“Yes, that's what I think it means. Though as outsiders, we don't know all of the Aborigines' beliefs.”

“Moses and Jesus wandered in the desert, too,” Lizabeth said.

“It's not exactly the same, but I would say that all cultures reach out for the spiritual. That seems to be a human need. The Aborigines and our little congregation here in Cape Light aren't that different under the surface. In all the important ways, people are very much the same the world over.”

“Then the whole world should be friendly,” Lizabeth said. “You know, I think you've just given me an idea for next Sunday's sermon!”

Lizabeth beamed with pleasure.

“The book I got from the Pelican Book Shop also shows pictures of Aboriginal art,” she said. “They pass on their history through paintings instead of words. It's interesting, isn't it, Reverend Morgan?”

“Very interesting. I think you'll put together an excellent report, Lizabeth. Sounds like an A to me.”

“Oh, I'm not using all of this in my report. I have enough already. I didn't mean to take up your time for no good reason. I just wanted to know for myself. But if I gave you an idea for a sermon, well, that makes me feel lots better!”

“Wanting to know for yourself is the most important thing,” Reverend Morgan said. “Come back to talk anytime.”

 

At school the next day, Miss Cotter announced, “Time for the native culture reports. Let's see…today we have Vernon, Mark, Katherine, Lizabeth, and Mabel. Well, no. Mabel is still out.”

Mabel had been out last week, too. Lizabeth wondered if she was truly sick or helping out at her family's bait-and-tackle shop. Maybe she had a cold. Hannah had come to school with one. Her nose kept running and Amanda followed her around all day with a handkerchief.

“I have hardly anything,” Kat whispered to Lizabeth. “And this morning Todd reminded me that he wrote about Eskimos for his book report last year. He turned in six pages! I just know Miss Cotter will compare us.”

Kat's brother Todd was only ten, but he was one of the best students. Kat is never the least bit jealous, Lizabeth thought, and she always encourages him. It's nice for a brother and sister to be so close. It made Lizabeth feel a little sad.

“Kindergarten, grade one, and grade two in the back of the room, please, with Miss Harding,” Miss Cotter said. The younger children grouped together for a reading lesson with Miss Harding, the assistant teacher. Grades three through nine sat in rows facing Miss Cotter.

“I hope I'm not in trouble,” Kat whispered.

“Hurry and settle down,” Miss Cotter said. “We'll start with Vernon.”

Vernon shuffled to the front of the room. Poor
Vernon always had a bad time when he had to recite in front of the class.

“The Hottentots of…um…Africa,” he mumbled.

“Speak up, Vernon,” Miss Cotter said. “Everyone wants to hear you.”

Vernon turned red and swiveled his body from side to side.

“The…um…Hottentots…are a tribe in…uh…Africa.” Lizabeth could see the pages shaking in his hand. He mumbled and stumbled his way through a lengthy report. It might be excellent, Lizabeth thought, but it was too hard to listen to him.

Then came Mark. “The Bedouins of Arabia. They wear blue robes and they're nomads and live in tents in the desert. They eat sheep's eyes.”

All the girls said, “Eeeww,” and got a stern look from Miss Cotter.

When he came to the camels, Mark became passionate. “Camels are perfect for the desert because they can store water for a long time. People say they smell bad, and they spit when they're mad, but I think they should be appreciated. The Bedouins would be nowhere without their camels. They do everything our horses do and even more. There are camels and dromedaries, one
hump and two, and—” He went on and on, telling more about camels than anyone would ever want to know, Lizabeth thought. She chuckled to herself. Mark was the blacksmith's son. Maybe he hoped to shoe all those camels!

A loud, high voice came from the back of the room. “See Jane run!” Then a “shhh-shhh” from Miss Harding and the younger children's reading lesson settled into a background murmur again.

Kat was next. “The Eskimos. The Eskimos don't go out to sea the way Cape Light fishermen do. The sea is frozen where they live, and they make holes in the ice and catch seals and things like that. They live in igloos made of blocks of ice, and they eat blubber—that's animal fat—and that helps keep them warm in their cold climate.” Kat stopped speaking.

Miss Cotter raised her eyebrows. “Go on.”

“The end,” Kat whispered.

Lizabeth had an awful feeling that Miss Cotter was about to reprimand Kat. At least Miss Cotter was fair, not like Miss Harding, who liked to rap knuckles with her ruler for any little thing.

“Now really, Katherine,” Miss Cotter said. “I'd think you, of all people, could tell us about Eskimo art and the
ivory carvings they make.”

“Oh,” Kat said. “I didn't know about that.”

“You certainly made no effort,” Miss Cotter said. “Your report was…” She shook her head. “I can hardly give you any grade at all.”

“Miss Cotter, I have something else.” Kat unfurled a spectacular watercolor painting. It showed an Eskimo man and a little boy fishing through a hole in a vast expanse of ice. It was white upon white upon white, ice and snow and white clouds in a gray-white winter sky. The ice gleamed and you could become chilled just from looking at it!

“Oh, my.” Miss Cotter's frown disappeared. “We'll hang that in front of the classroom!”

Kat's talent always made Lizabeth proud that they were related.

“Now, Lizabeth. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Miss Cotter.” Lizabeth walked to the front of the room and cleared her throat. “The Aborigines. The Aborigines live in Australia in the part called the outback. It's mostly desert and very harsh. It's hot as a furnace in the dry season and there are terrible rains in the wet season.” Lizabeth read a few more paragraphs about Australia, the Aborigines, and the animals in the out
back. Her report was just long enough to avoid criticism from Miss Cotter.

 

“I was looking forward to your report,” Rose said. The girls had gathered in the tower of the lighthouse after school. “I was surprised it was so short. I thought you'd say much more.”

“Me, too,” Kat said. “You left out the walkabout.”

“My father was impressed,” Amanda added. “He said you were so interested and had done loads of reading.”

“Well…yes,” Lizabeth said. “But it wasn't for the report. I was curious. I just wanted to know.”

“I don't get it,” Kat said. “If you already did the reading, why didn't you…you're not suddenly getting as shy as poor Vernon, are you?”

Amanda laughed. “Our Lizabeth? Never!”

“Well, then why?” Kat asked again.

“It's simple, really.” Lizabeth leaned back against the wide windowsill. It held a kerosene lantern, lengths of rope, tools, and some of Kat's seascapes. “It's very useful for a girl to be smart, but not to
show
it.”

“Oh, Lizabeth.” Rose looked dismayed. “My mother says women should be working extra-hard to prove we're as smart as anybody. We could be doctors or
lawyers or anything.”

“Your mother is nice as can be, but she
is
a suffragette.” Mrs. Forbes was beautiful and charming, but she was one of those bloomer girls, always arguing for the vote for women. Rose seemed to be picking up some of her odd beliefs. Lizabeth shook her head. “Honestly, a woman doctor!”

“That would be peculiar,” Amanda admitted.

“Who'd ever marry a woman who examines people's bodies? I'll bet women doctors—if there even are any—are all old maids,” Lizabeth said. “It's really important to make a good match. Well, you know that's my main goal.”

Rose frowned. “What does that have to do with your Aborigine report?”

“Everything! Men don't like girls who are too smart,” Lizabeth explained. “That's quite off-putting to them. All the magazines say so.”

“Don't tell me you want to make a match with one of the boys in our class!” Kat said.

“No, of course not!” Lizabeth laughed. “I do think Mark is rather handsome, but I'm not at all interested in blacksmiths!”

“If a boy is handsome and nice, it doesn't matter if
he's a blacksmith or—or a deckhand,” Amanda said.

“You're thinking of that boy who stares at you in church, aren't you? Jed Langford?” Lizabeth asked.

“I try not to. My father says I can't have gentlemen callers until I'm at least fifteen. That's two whole years away!” Amanda looked so unhappy. “Jed won't keep liking me for two whole years, not if we can't even go walking together. We had only that one wonderful evening at the barn dance. And that was last October! He'll find someone else.”

“A deckhand isn't suitable anyway,” Lizabeth said.

“You're not as terrible a snob as you make yourself sound,” Kat said.

“Nothing against Jed or Mark, but I'm being honest,” Lizabeth said. “A girl has that one chance for a good life. Well, I'm thirteen now, so I'm
practicing
for later on, when it counts. And if I get to be Strawberry Queen, that should bring me a load of worthwhile suitors. Don't you think?”

Since the subject had come up already, Lizabeth was tempted to give Rose some advice. It was hard not to when a good friend didn't know how to act with boys. But she decided she'd better wait until they were alone. And she'd have to find a tactful way, without letting her
know she had talked to Chris.

“Lizabeth, tell the truth now….” Kat said.

“I always tell the truth, especially here in the tower.”

“Last month, when you were two words away from winning the spelling bee—” Kat stopped. “Well, I was sure I remembered you practicing ‘malevolence' ahead of time.”

Lizabeth grinned and rattled off, “M-A-L-E-V-O-L-EN-C-E.”

Rose looked shocked. “Did you miss it on
purpose
?”

“Yes, I did. Being third runner-up is good enough,” Lizabeth said. “The winner of the spelling bee—especially over two boys—that's the wrong kind of attention for a girl. But Strawberry Queen—now that's
positive
attention.”

“We'll all be there cheering for you,” Amanda said.

Suddenly there was loud barking from outside. It drowned out Amanda's soft voice.

“Is that Sunshine?” Rose asked. Sunshine was Kat's big white dog. He used to curl up next to them in the lighthouse tower, but he'd become too old to manage the two steep flights of stairs. Now he'd wait at the light
house door.

“Someone must be coming,” Kat said.

The girls went to the windows. All they could see was miles of ocean and the treacherous rocks down below.

“Lizabeth! Come down, please!”

Lizabeth recognized her mother's voice. “I didn't know Mother would be visiting with Aunt Jean today,” she said.

“It's still early for you to go home, isn't it?” Kat said.

“Well, as long as she's here with the carriage…” Lizabeth said. Odd that Mother hadn't said a thing this morning about stopping by.

“I should go, too,” Amanda said. “I have to pick up Hannah from Mary Margaret's.”

“We'll give you a ride,” Lizabeth said. “You, too, Rose.” Rose lived directly across Lighthouse Lane from Amanda, half a mile from the lighthouse on Durham Point.

Lizabeth, Kat, Rose, and Amanda hurried down the two flights from the tower. Their shoes clattered on the narrow stone steps.

Lizabeth's mother stood at the entrance to the lighthouse with Aunt Jean. She wore a hat and gloves—she'd
never leave the house without them—and a perfectly nice afternoon suit, but she looked disheveled. Lizabeth stared at her. The jacket was buttoned wrong and twisted around her waist. Strands of hair were coming out of her pompadour and her hat looked as if it had been hastily slapped on. She was unusually pale and her eyes were full of anxiety. Aunt Jean, next to her, looked distressed, too.

Suddenly the sunny spring afternoon felt chilly and a bolt of fear rushed through Lizabeth.