No One Must Know (2 page)

“I do, I do, darling,” she said slowly, her accent heavy in my ears. “Your uniform is lovely. It’s just that it reminded me of something else. Back home, during the war…”

Once again her voice trailed off. My ears perked up, however, for she rarely talked about her life during the war. All I knew was that my parents had arrived in Canada shortly after its end, before I was born, and that they had named me after my grandmother.

Mom talked all the time about how difficult everything had been in the beginning. She was proud that Dad had learned English and had passed his Canadian medical exams with ease. “That’s because your father is a wonderful doctor,” she often said. But if I asked her to tell me why they left Europe, she clammed up. I had learned a long time ago that my parents’ experiences during and just after the war were a closed book, a book I was never allowed to read.

Once, when I was still a little girl and had just come home from a friend’s house where my playmate’s grandmother had baked us chocolate chip cookies, I asked Mom why I didn’t have a grandmother too. At first, she ignored my questions, but when I kept on badgering her, she finally told me that all of our relatives in Hungary had been killed by bombs during the war. Then a faraway look came into her eyes and she seemed to forget that I was there, standing right in front of her. When she broke down and began to sob, I became frightened. I had never seen my mother cry before. I tried to comfort her by patting her face and hands, but she wouldn’t stop weeping. In the end, she’d had to lie down in a darkened room with one of her headaches. Even as a six-year-old, I knew better than to disturb her when she was having a migraine. That night, Dad had come into my room, put
me on his knee, and told me not to ask any more questions about the past.

“Don’t bother your little head with things that happened such a long time ago, Alexandra. They’re not important,” he’d said. “Focus on the present, on what’s happening to you right now and on what you’ll be doing in the future. We’re very lucky to be living in a place where everything is possible.”

Dad was always more demanding of me than Mom. He pushed me hard to do well in everything, especially school. If I got 85 percent instead of 90 on a science test or a B instead of an A on an English essay, he’d insist I study harder the next time. “Remember, Alexandra,” he always told me, “knowledge is the only thing they can’t take away from you.”

As I got older, I realized that in his own way, Dad was as secretive as Mom, and I soon learned that any questions about their lives in the old country would get me one of his speeches and one of her headaches. So I just left closed the book that contained the story of my parents’ lives in that small country on the other side of the ocean. After a while, I began to believe that that story had nothing to do with me. I even forgot to be curious about it. Every now and again, however, their surprising reactions to unremarkable events reminded
me of the censored chapter in their lives. This was definitely one of those times. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out from Mom’s firm expression that she was not about to explain why my Girl Guide uniform had startled her.

“Hurry up!” she said, cutting me off before I could even start to ask her any questions. “Molly and her father will be here any minute. You must have something to eat before you go.”

I bolted down most of the food on my plate but didn’t touch the dark rye toast, so different from the white Wonder Bread my friends had for breakfast. I could hear honking outside.

“They’re here. I’d better go.”

“Take your toast with you,” Mom said.

“I don’t want it. I’m too fat.”

“Nonsense! You’re the right weight, just what you should be. Finish it in the car.”

The honking outside intensified. I grabbed for the toast and knocked it to the kitchen floor. Mom bent down, picked it up, and kissed it before putting it back on the table. As long as I could remember, she’d done this whenever a piece of bread fell to the ground. She said she was showing her gratitude that we had enough to eat.

Honking outside again.

“I’ve got to run!” I blew her a kiss.

“Call me as soon as you get there.”

“Mom, please. Nobody calls her parents!”

I kissed her goodbye properly and rushed through the door to the humongous brand-new 1960 Plymouth humming by the curb.

It took only a few minutes for us to arrive at the River Heights Community Center on tree-lined Corydon Road. After saying a quick goodbye to Molly’s father, we joined the groups of girls descending the stone steps to the meeting room in the basement of the building. The large hall was buzzing with the chatter of at least fifty girls of different shapes, sizes, and ages, all dressed in their Girl Guide uniforms. A large banner decorated the back wall of the room. “Welcome to Girl Guide Company No. 2!” it announced in bold black letters.

“Come on!” Molly said, tugging on my arm. “I want to introduce you to our captain and our patrol leader.” She led me to a smiling middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair. The woman was dressed in a dark blue uniform, just like us. Beside her stood a pretty girl with a long ponytail. Her name, I knew, was Christie Sutherland, and she was the most popular girl in our school. She usually ignored me, but today she gave a frosty little smile.

“Mrs. Cowan, Christie, I’d like you to meet Alexandra Gal. She wants to join our company,” Molly said. “Alex wants to be in the Canaries with us, Christie.”

“Welcome aboard!” Mrs. Cowan said.

“Why didn’t you join us when your friends did?” was Christie’s greeting.

“Alex had piano lessons on Saturday mornings,” Molly said, answering before I got the chance. “It took her this long to talk her mother into letting her quit them.”

A shiver of guilt ran down my spine when I thought of all the nagging I’d had to do before Mom gave in. She played the piano beautifully, and my musical education was important to her. Only when both Dad and my teacher had convinced her that I’d never become a concert pianist did she agree to my giving up music. I found it hard to believe, but I was finally free of the piano I hated.

“I’m sure that Molly will be happy to show you around, my dear. I’ll catch up with you later,” Mrs. Cowan said before turning to another girl who had just come into the meeting room.

Molly led me to a kitchen in the corner of the hall. Christie followed us. A large white refrigerator, a stove, and a small countertop were lined up along the wall, with painted white cabinets directly above. The two other members of the Canary patrol were sitting cross-legged on
the linoleum floor. The three of us sat down beside them.

“Look who I’ve brought with me,” Molly said to them.

One of the girls was Jean McCormick, my other best friend. She let out a whoop of delight. “You didn’t tell me that you were joining Guides!” she shrieked.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“I guess you know everybody here,” Molly said.

“She doesn’t know me,” said a tiny girl with a halo of red hair and a friendly smile. “My name’s Isabel.”

“I’m Alex Gal. Nice to meet you.” I noticed she held a pad of paper and a pencil in her hand. “What are you doing?”

“The Canaries will be hosting the annual tea this year, as part of our work for our hostess badges,” she said. “That means that we’re responsible for organizing the tea. Our mothers and all of the girls in our company will be invited to it. We’ll be baking cookies and cakes and making punch. The younger girls in our troop can also do some baking if they want to, but we’re in charge. Our mothers are allowed to advise us, of course, but we have to do everything ourselves. We already began planning the party at our last meeting,” she added.

“We’ll even be drawing our own party invitations,” Jean said. “And –”

The tinkling of a bell and the clapping of hands cut her off mid-sentence. The gaggle of Guides fell silent.

“Attention, girls!” Mrs. Cowan cried. For such a small lady, she had a mighty voice. “Line up, please.”

With practiced ease, even the youngest members formed themselves into a straight line and marched into an open horseshoe formation. I tagged along behind Molly, trying not to stumble over my own feet.

“Color party, fall out!” called Mrs. Cowan.

Two girls stepped forward – Christie Sutherland, our patrol leader, was on the left and Jean, her second, was on the right. Mrs. Cowan took the red-and-blue Union Jack out of a stand and handed it to Christie. She and Jean then turned smartly and marched to one end of the horseshoe, where they turned again and faced the rest of the company. Next, we all recited the Girl Guide motto. I was lost after the phrase “A guide is always prepared” but promised myself to memorize the rest as soon as possible. Then we sat down on the carpet and took attendance. A piggy bank was passed around and each girl dropped a dime into it with a hard ping.

“I’d like to welcome a new member to our company–Alexandra Gal,” Mrs. Cowan announced. “She has joined the Canary patrol. Let’s give Alexandra a proper Girl Guide welcome!”

All of the girls clapped enthusiastically, and the ones nearest me patted me on the back.

“I have some more wonderful news to share with you,” added Mrs. Cowan in a pleased tone. “As you already know, I announced last week that we’d be holding our annual tea on Saturday, November 21. The Canaries will be in charge, and they are already hard at work planning the menu,” she said, smiling at us. “In the past, our annual teas have taken place in this hall.” She waved her hands in all directions. “But this year, I decided to investigate the possibility of using a more glamorous location.”

All our eyes were fixed on her. She took a deep breath and announced dramatically: “I spoke to the catering manager of the Sports Club, and he has agreed to allow us to hold our tea in the banquet hall, free of charge, if we provide our own refreshments.”

A ripple of excitement passed through the room.

“Dad plays tennis there every week,” I whispered to Molly, “but I’ve never been. He doesn’t take Mom or me with him.”

“The club is a very elegant facility,” Mrs. Cowan continued. “Very elegant indeed! I think you’ll all agree that we’re lucky to have the opportunity to use the hall. So all those in favor of having our tea at the Sports Club, put your hands up.”

Arms shot up into the air. An excited mumur filled the room.

“Excellent. I’ll call the manager first thing Monday morning and firm up the date. Now, I’m sure you all want to get back to work on your badges,” she said, “especially the Canaries. So … color party, fall out!”

A few minutes later, all the Canaries, including the two flag-bearers, were once again huddled in the corner of the room, by the kitchen.

“We’re lucky,” Jean said. “We’ll be the hostesses for the most elegant tea our company has ever had. If we run into any problems, Mrs. Cowan will help us. She’s really nice.”

“Let’s explain our plans to Alex,” Christie said. “Each of us is expected to bake a cake or something. Then we all have other jobs on top of that. I’m responsible for the invitations.”

“Isabel and I will be making party sandwiches,” Jean offered, nodding in her friend’s direction.

“I’m in charge of decorations,” Molly said. “Do you want to help me?”

“I’d love to. I have two rolls of crepe-paper streamers left over from our last birthday party,” I said, looking at Jean. We were both born at the end of November and always celebrated our birthdays with a joint party. “I can bring the decorations with me to next week’s meeting,” I offered.

“For sure! Most of the work is done the day before the tea, but we have to organize our supplies,” Molly said. “You should also decide what you want to bake.”

“I’ll talk to my mother. She has a lot of good recipes.”

Just then, Christie glanced at her watch and jumped up. “It’s almost noon,” she said. She walked to the center of the hall and called out, “Campfire time!”

With the familiarity of custom, the entire company gathered in a circle and launched into “God Save the Queen.” Then we sat on the floor and linked hands. In the center of the circle, joined to a plug in the wall by a long cord, was a single lightbulb encircled by orange crepe-paper flames. Piles of twigs surrounded it on all four sides, making a splendid indoor campfire. My mind was full of silvery lakes, canoes, and sizzling marshmallows toasted over real campfires, but I came back to earth when the rest of the company started singing the closing song:

A sense of warmth and fellowship and peace entered my heart. The feeling dissipated only when Mrs. Cowan
had dismissed the company and we’d all spilled out into the bright afternoon sunshine.

“It’s so mild that I can’t believe school will be starting in a couple of days,” Christie said, groaning.

“I could use another month of holidays,” Jean said.

“You mean
two
months!” Molly cried.

We all laughed, breaking into smaller groups to head for home.

“I’m glad you finally joined Guides, Alex,” said Molly as we waved goodbye to Christie and Jean. “I hope you’ll come to camp at Caddy Lake with us next summer. It’s so much fun!”

“If Mom and Dad will let me.” Though I didn’t say so, I thought that was unlikely. I wasn’t even allowed to sleep over at friends’.

We soon reached my house, and I was already on the flagstone walk leading to the front door when Molly called after me: “We’ll pick you up for Sunday school at the usual time.”

Like me, she attended Sunday school and Mass at St. Stephen’s Roman Catholic Church. Religion wasn’t a big deal in our family, so I usually went to church with Molly and her parents, instead of my own.

As I opened the front door and entered the foyer, I came face to face with my father and his friend Dr. Wolfe.
They were leaving for their weekly tennis game at the Sports Club.

On his way out, Dad paused and gave me a hug.

“How was your meeting, Alexandra?”

“A lot of fun, Dad.”

“Better than piano lessons?” he asked, winking at me.