Looking at the Moon (12 page)

Andrew, however, was not supposed to be afraid—he was perfect! If he no longer fit into the neat category of a hero, she would have to alter her fantasies. Now there seemed to be parts of him she didn't know at all.

She still loved him. If only she had the courage to tell him, it would help him be brave, the way Flo's letters to her boy friends did.

Andrew Drummond, the youngest ever recipient of the Victoria Cross, said in a recent interview that he got over his initial fear of fighting through the inspiration of his beloved fiancée, Norah.

But today her fantasies couldn't console her. She curled up on the seat of the glider and listened to the rain increase its drumming. Janet and Clare were playing ping-pong on the table at the far end of the verandah. The monotonous click of the ball, and their giggles when one of them missed, made Norah scowl. How could Janet
forgive Clare so easily? But the two of them were cousins; that gave them a bond Norah would never have.

“And what is young Norah doing out here all by herself? I've just made a fire in the living room—wouldn't you be warmer in there?” Hanny's placid, plump husband stood beside her, his clothes covered with pieces of bark.

“I like it better here,” said Norah, sitting up again. “Thanks anyway.”

“You're a funny one,” smiled Mr. Hancock. “Suit yourself.” He ambled around the corner and Norah resumed her curled-up position. She could hear talking in the living room; Uncle Reg and Uncle Barclay were playing checkers.

Usually she liked lazy wet days at Gairloch. She could go in and work on the puzzle; she'd never managed to finish it in one summer. But she felt trapped in a sticky web of inertia. She stayed half-asleep in her chair for an hour, until her cramping stomach forced her inside to the bathroom.

F
IFTEEN MINUTES LATER,
Norah lay on a folded towel on her bed, shaking so much that her teeth clacked. She pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders.

Something was wrong with her! Somehow she had injured herself inside—or she was terribly sick.

She had to tell someone, and soon. But who? There were too many possible people: Aunt Mary, Aunt Florence, Aunt Catherine or Hanny. They would all be kind and concerned. But it would be so embarrassing to say
where
she was hurt. And how could she make it up to the cottage?

There was only one person she wanted.
“Mum …”
whispered Norah, sitting up and rocking back and forth. “Oh, Mum …”

“Norah!” Flo was shaking her shoulder. “Norah, what on earth is the matter? You look terrified!”

“I want my
m-mother,
” croaked Norah. “I
need
her, and she's so far away …”

Flo sat on the bed and hugged Norah. “You poor thing. But why are you so homesick all of a sudden? What's happened?”

“Oh, Flo …” Norah looked up at the older girl desperately. “Something's wrong with me! I'm
bleeding
…”

Slowly she choked out where. To her astonishment Flo began to smile.

“Norah, it's all right! It's perfectly natural, what's happened to you. Didn't you know? Hasn't Aunt Florence told you?”

“Told me what?” Relief flooded through Norah at Flo's matter-of-factness. At least she wasn't going to die. But what was she talking about?

“I guess I'll have to tell you then. Listen, Norah.” The older girl flushed. “You know that babies grow inside a woman's stomach, don't you?”

Norah nodded, a dim memory in her head of her mother, huge with Gavin, leaning over her in the tub and telling her she had a baby inside her.

“Well, when you start to grow up you make a kind of lining inside yourself for the baby to live in.”

“What baby?” This was getting more confusing every moment.

“No baby yet. But your body doesn't know it's not time for one. So the lining comes—well, it comes out—and it's made of tissues and stuff that looks like blood. It lasts a few days, then it stops. Oh dear. I don't think I'm explaining this very well. I wish I could remember what Mother said when she told me—it made sense then.”

Light dawned. “You mean—the visitor? The little man who sweeps you out?”

“What?”

Shyly Norah told Flo what Aunt Florence had said.

“No wonder you didn't understand! What a stupid way to tell you. That must be why some women call it their ‘little visitor.' I call it ‘the curse.'”

“The curse! That sounds horrible!”

Flo shrugged. “It does, I guess. I never really thought about it, it's just what my friends and I say. I guess because it's such a nuisance, putting up with it every month. But you get used to it.”

Norah was still digesting her earlier words—that this was normal and would only last a few days. Would she have to stay in bed all that time? she wondered.

Then she realized what Flo had just said. “What do you mean, once a month?” she asked suspiciously. “This isn't going to keep on happening, is it?”

Flo looked apologetic. “Uhhh, yes, I'm afraid so, Norah. Once every month until you're about fifty. Then you stop. And you don't do it if you're pregnant, of course.”

Norah looked at her with horror. “Once a month until I'm fifty! That's forever!” She sat up straighter, pushed back her hair and said haughtily, “I'm not going to have anything to do with this curse! I won't
do
it!”

Flo laughed so hard she wiped tears from her face. “Norah, you are so funny! You
have
to do it—you don't have a choice. It just—it just happens.”

Norah was filled with an enormous lassitude. Something inside her said that Flo was right; mysterious ads in magazines and whispered remarks at school suddenly made sense. She listened dully while the other girl, embarrassed again, started mumbling about sanitary belts and something called Kotex. In the middle of it Janet burst in.

“What's up?”

“Oh, nothing drastic …” said Flo. “Norah just got the curse and I'm telling her about it.”

“Lucky you!” said Janet passionately. She gazed at Norah with clear admiration. “I wish
I
would start. I'm so slow. Mother says she didn't get it until she was fifteen—she thinks you start younger in each generation. But now I'm
fourteen
…”

“Why would you ever want to?” asked Norah with astonishment.

“Because then I'll be a grown-up. Because getting the curse means you're a woman and can have babies—when you're older, of course, and when … well …” She blushed, and so did Norah.

“Did you two
know
about babies?” said Flo. “If there's something you don't understand, you can ask me.” She
looked important and they both realized that she knew things that they didn't.

“No thanks,” said Janet stiffly. “I'll ask
Mother
if I want to find out anything.”

Flo lost her secretive look. “That's probably the best. And Norah can ask her mother when she gets back to England.”

Norah thought she knew what Flo was hinting at, but she was quite willing to let the details wait until she was older.

It was bad enough having to deal with this … this
curse
. Although Janet's envy made her feel rather proud. She, a year younger, had begun first!

“Has Clare started?” she asked them.

“Clare started at twelve,” said Flo. “That's why it makes me mad that no one told you properly—you could have been even earlier!”

Norah sighed and looked at Flo helplessly. “Umm—I need to get some of that Kotex soon, Flo.”

“Of course you do—but I don't think I'm the one who should help you. I'll get one of the aunts. Who do you want?”

At first Norah started to say Aunt Mary, but she knew how embarrassed she would be. Aunt Florence would be calm and efficient, and besides, she was the one who'd brought it up in the first place.

“Aunt Florence, I guess.” Flo ran up to the cottage.

“Why didn't you
tell
me?” Norah asked Janet. “If you knew all along, you could have said something.”

Janet's fat cheeks turned pink. “I'm sorry … I guess I thought you knew. I thought everyone our age knew. Anyway, your mother tells you. Oh, Norah, I'm sorry! I mean, I thought Aunt Florence would have told you.”

“She tried,” said Norah wearily.

Aunt Florence marched up the boathouse stairs, a package under her arm. “Out you go, Janet. Now, Norah, I have exactly what you need. Aren't you glad I informed you just in time? There's nothing to worry about, it's all perfectly natural …” Her briskness put the whole traumatic morning into perspective. Norah sighed and submitted herself to this new feminine ritual.

“You won't tell anyone but Aunt Mary, will you?” Norah had a vision of Aunt Florence announcing it at dinner to the whole clan.

“Of course not—it's not something you talk about.” Her guardian gave her an odd, sad look. “Hmm … when we get back to Toronto, Norah, I'm going to take you shopping for a brassiere.” She kissed the top of Norah's head. “You're growing up, my dear. I don't know if I like that or not.”

11

A Trip to Town

F
or the next day or so, Norah spent so much time reading in her glider that she felt as if she were planted there. To her relief no one seemed to notice she was any different, and when Aunt Florence and Flo and Janet gave her special smiles she was comforted.

“You don't need to rest all the time,” Aunt Florence told her. “You're not ill.”

But although Norah felt perfectly all right, the shock of what had happened to her made her want to pretend to be an invalid. And, anyway, she couldn't go swimming—that was the worst part.

“What are you up to, Norah?” Andrew's voice startled her from her book. She'd finally borrowed
Wuthering Heights
and was immersed in the turbulent saga of Catherine and Heathcliff.

She shrugged and smiled shyly. “Did you have a good time?” She knew he'd been on a canoe trip with the Mitchells.

“Wonderful! We almost dumped all our food over-board, though.” He was so cheerful that his wretched
sobbing seemed like something she had dreamt.

“I need to go to Brockburst,” Andrew continued. “Hanny asked me to pick up her cooking pot—it's having a hole mended. Mr. Hancock has taken all the aunts to see the gardens at Beaumaris and everyone else seems to have disappeared this afternoon. Do you want to come?”

“Oh, yes please!” Trying to control the excitement in her voice, Norah added, “Do you think I need to tell someone?”

“You can tell Hanny. Why don't you meet me on the dock in ten minutes?”

Norah forgot about being an invalid. She ran into the kitchen to tell Hanny, then raced down to the Girls' Dorm with all the energy of her former self. The others had rowed over to Little Island for a picnic. Thank goodness none of them was here to see her leave alone with Andrew—especially Clare.

A few minutes later Norah sat in the
Putt-Putt
opposite Andrew, gloating over her good fortune. Not only did she have him to herself for the rest of the afternoon, she hadn't been to Brockhurst yet this year. She had changed into a skirt and borrowed, without asking, Clare's straw hat. In her lap she held a purse Flo had given her. Since she was now officially a teen-ager, she might as well act the part.

To her surprise, Andrew headed towards Ford's Bay and moored the boat there.

“Aren't we going by water?” asked Norah.

“Aunt Florence told me this morning that I could take her car.”

“Do you know how to
drive
?” blurted out Norah, then flushed when Andrew laughed.

“Don't worry—I'm an expert. Climb in, Miss Stoakes, and I'll show you.”

Norah started to rush into the car, then restrained herself and drew up each leg gracefully after she sat down. Just last week Clare had read aloud an article about how to get in and out of a car in a ladylike manner.

She leaned back and let the breeze ruffle her hair as Andrew sped up the dusty road. Tongue-tied with the bliss of sitting next to him, Norah gazed out the window as they passed through Glen Orchard and Bala, catching glimpses of the blue water through the firs. Andrew, as silent as her, concentrated on driving.

At last they arrived in Brockhurst. Andrew parked carefully at the edge of town and they headed towards the hardware store where the pot was being soldered. The man looked surprised to see them.

“Haven't had a chance to do it yet,” he muttered. “You'd be best to come back tomorrow.”

“I'm afraid we can't,” said Andrew politely. “We don't mind waiting—could you have it done by four?” Grudgingly, the man agreed.

“Let's look around,” suggested Andrew. “Then I'll buy you a milkshake.”

Norah hung her purse over her arm and adjusted her hat, trying to look as if she were Andrew's girl friend. Brockhurst was crowded with tourists who had come up by train from Toronto. Norah and Andrew joined them,
meandering in and out of stores and admiring the stately Opera House. They wandered down to the wharf and watched all the boats arriving and departing in the bay.

“Ready for a cold drink?” Andrew asked finally. “It's getting awfully hot.”

“Yes, please,” said Norah. She wanted to impress him with her brilliant conversation, but she could hardly manage those two words.

As they turned up Beach Road they saw a group of soldiers marching towards them, and stood on the side to let them pass: a long column of men with closely cropped hair, wearing uniforms that looked like pyjamas. Some of them carried shovels or rakes and one had a football under his arm.

“Who are they?” whispered Norah.

Andrew was staring at the men intently. “They're German prisoners of war,” he whispered back.