A Handful of Time (9 page)

“We don't,” Christie assured her, “but I'm still afraid of being here. It's their land, after all. We're trespassing.”

“But you heard Mr. Paul say it was all right,” said Kelly.

Patricia agreed with Christie about trespassing, but she didn't have the nerve to say so.

“Remember when
we
pretended we were Indians?” Trevor asked his sister. “You were Brave Eagle and I was Jumping Rabbit and Christie was Windrunner …”

Kelly frowned. “We were a lot younger then.”

“No, we weren't! Even last year …”

Kelly's look stopped him. She glanced at Patricia and flushed.

She's embarrassed because of
me
! thought Patricia in wonder.

They reached the point and flopped down on the same sandy beach where Patricia had enjoyed her fish. For the next few hours the six of them swam, fished, made a fire and gorged themselves on the huge picnic Aunt Ginnie had packed. At first Patricia hung back, but the lake looked so inviting she surprised herself by joining a game of water tag. When Bruce offered to teach her how to fish she accepted gingerly; after all, Ruth could fish. She even caught a perch and impressed Kelly by knowing how to clean and cook it.

After supper she dozed in the sand, listening to the noisy crows and chickadees in the bushes behind her. Living in two different times was exhausting. Dreamily she reviewed the details of her morning in the past. She was still anxious about whether or not she could get back, but she wasn't in as much of a hurry. This afternoon had been unexpectedly pleasant; for the first time, her cousins didn't seem so threatening.

“Has anyone got any money?” Kelly asked after a lazy interlude. “I'm not sure I have enough to rent the horses.”

“I do,” said Trevor, emptying his pockets.

“Maggie, will you lend us some? You're always loaded.” Kelly persuaded her sister to give up a dollar.

Patricia's calm mood vanished. Were they going to make her ride? Horses terrified her. Once her mother had persuaded her to take riding lessons, but Patricia couldn't get the old horse she was assigned to do anything and had begged not to go back. “I don't understand it,” her mother had sighed. “When I was your age I longed to ride.”

Kelly had finished counting the money. “There's enough for four of us to have a horse, as long as the rates are the same as last year.”

“I don't mind not going,” said Patricia quickly.

“It's all right,” Christie assured her. “Maggie's too young and Bruce is allergic to horses. He can stay with her and Peggy while we're gone. Unless you're afraid,” she added, a taunting edge returning to her voice.

“They're really gentle horses, Potty,” said Kelly. “I promise you.”

Was this a trick? Patricia didn't want to spoil the sense of belonging she was beginning to have. She decided to believe that the friendly tone of Kelly's voice was genuine. “Okay. As long as it's a slow one.”

“Good!” said Kelly with an approving grin. She began to organize the packing and made sure the fire was completely out.

They reached Mr. Paul's house and went into an adjoining field. Patricia shivered as she gazed at the huge animal an Indian boy brought over to her. After the boy helped her up, the horse turned its head and glared at her with one unblinking eye. A strong horsey smell rose up around her. Her legs stuck out sideways on the broad back. There was no saddle and just a rope to hang onto.

Kelly laughed at her from the top of a smaller horse. “That's the fattest mare I've ever seen! You'll be lucky if you can even get her to walk.”

Patricia hoped she was right. She was relieved when, despite banging her heels into the horse's sides, it lumbered far behind.

“Hurry up, Potty—get a switch!” they called.

But she couldn't reach a branch to use and she didn't want to hurt the horse. It seemed as reluctant as she was to go for a ride.

Christie trotted back and grabbed Patricia's horse's rope. “I'll have to lead you till we're out of sight of the field. She's just lazy. She'll go faster when she knows she can't go back.”

It felt safer to have Christie attached to her, even though there was now only the mane to hang onto. Patricia laced her fingers firmly into the long stiff hairs.

Kelly led them up the road to the border of the Reserve. “We have time to go to the store and back,” she suggested.

“But someone might see us!” said Christie.

“It's risky,” admitted Kelly, “but wouldn't it be great if the Other Enders saw us?
They've
never had the guts to rent horses. Look, it's six o'clock. Mum was going to eat at your place—they'll all be down at the beach with the barbecue.”

“The Other Enders could be eating, too,” Trevor pointed out.

“Maybe … but they might have finished and be hanging around the store.”

“I don't want to,” said Christie. “It's taking too much of a chance. You know how angry Dad can get. He'd have a fit if he saw us on the Indians' horses.”

But, as usual, Kelly had her way. They reached the road and formed a procession with Patricia between Christie and Trevor. Then her horse plodded reluctantly without being led.

Patricia began to relax a little but she still wished the ordeal was over. It didn't help to think of how Ruth would envy her. She just didn't like riding, that was all.

It seemed to take forever to reach the store. Kelly lingered hopefully in front of it but no one came out to admire them.

“Come on, Kelly, we should go back or we'll have to pay for another hour,” said her brother.

Kelly turned her horse's head around and changed direction. Then all the horses began to trot.

“S-stop going so fast!” gasped Patricia. Her teeth clicked together at each jerky movement.

Christie looked back. “Don't worry. They just know they're going home, that's all. Sit as low as you can and grip the sides. That's the Western way of trotting— I learned it at riding lessons.”

Patricia tried, but she was still being bounced high off the horse's back. It hurt. Then she tried posting, the way she remembered from her riding lessons, but that was impossible without any stirrups to rise up on. She pulled on the rope reins, but the horse was like a machine that she couldn't turn off.

“If we canter it'll be more comfortable,” called Kelly. “Hi-
ya
!” She kicked her horse into a slow run. Patricia's horse eagerly copied the others. It was now easier to stay on, but Patricia was still terrified. The horse rocked rhythmically and grunted each time its hooves pounded the ground.

“Slow down!” she pleaded, pulling back on the rope as hard as she could. At least, at this pace, they would soon be there, but she'd much rather be walking. She gave another desperate jerk backwards.

The horse responded by lurching its head forward impatiently. Then it broke from the line and began to gallop.

Patricia screamed and threw herself forward onto the horse's neck. It charged full speed down the road. Bits of tar and grit flew into her eyes and mouth. With each pace she was flung inches into the air and slammed down hard.

I'll be killed, she thought dully as the trees rose and fell around her. She couldn't scream anymore and she knew that soon her arms would be too weak to clutch the animal's sweating neck.

A tall figure stepped into her path. “Whoa! Okay, I've got it!” The man grabbed the rope and pulled. The horse swung out to the side as it was jerked to a stop. Patricia slid off its back into the ditch.

Her mouth was full of dirt. She turned her head and wiped it out, staring up at a concerned face.

“Are you all right?” It was Mrs. Donaldson from next door. Her husband held the horse and tried to calm it down. The woman brushed off Patricia and stood her up.

Patricia cried uncontrollably. Sobs rose up from her belly and she started hiccuping. Mrs. Donaldson patted her on the back. “There, there, you're all right now. That must have been a nasty experience.”

Her cousins cantered up and halted. Kelly scrambled off, handed her reins to Trevor and rushed over.

“Potty, are you all right? I've never known a horse to bolt so fast! You should have seen how high you bounced! Are you really all right?”

Patricia faced her cousin. “You s-said the horse was gentle!” she choked. “You p-promised!”

“They usually are! Honestly, Potty, I didn't know. There must be something wrong with it.”

Patricia didn't believe her. Kelly had probably known all along that the horse was crazy—it was just another trick. She turned her back and let Mrs. Donaldson lead her to the cottage.

“A
ND YOU
'
RE NOT
to use the canoe for a week. And no allowance for two weeks. And for the rest of today you're not to leave our property.”

Patricia had never seen Aunt Ginnie like this. Her usually mild eyes blazed as she paced up and down in front of Kelly, Trevor, Maggie and Patricia, who were sitting in a row on the couch.

After Patricia had been brought in the night before, her aunt had hurried back from Uncle Rod's and fussed over her as if she were a baby. She gave Patricia a hot bath and put her to bed with an aspirin, trying to calm her shuddering sobs. Patricia had barely heard Kelly creep in beside her an hour later.

“Potty? Are you awake? Do you know why your horse ran away? It was pregnant! Mr. Paul was really mad at his grandsons for renting it to us. So it wasn't my fault, Potty. And I'm in trouble, too. Mum's so upset she won't speak to us, but I'll bet we'll get an earful tomorrow.”

Patricia didn't answer. She kept her eyes tightly closed and tried to stop the bed from bouncing up and down like the horse.

This morning she was surprised to be included in Aunt Ginnie's scolding. “It's mostly Kelly and Trevor's fault, of course,” her aunt said to her more gently, “but you knew you weren't supposed to go on the Reserve, Patricia, so I think it's fair that you be penalized as well.”

“It's
not
fair, Mum!” protested Kelly. “She got the worst of it, bolting on that horse!”

Patricia frowned at her cousin. She didn't want her sympathy. “It's all right. I was wrong, too,” she said quietly.

She couldn't remember ever being punished in her life; it was a novelty. Her parents didn't believe in punishment. A tiny part of her was even glad that she now belonged to the family enough to be treated equally.

Finally Aunt Ginnie's anger evaporated. She sighed, as if she were surprised it had surfaced at all. “All right, that's all I have to say. But I don't know what your father will think when he arrives. Now all of you go and do something quiet.”

It was a cool, rainy Saturday morning with no swimming lessons to attend. The others sat on the verandah glumly, shuffling a pack of cards. Patricia edged away from them.

“Do you want to play poker with us?” Kelly asked her.

“No thanks—I want to be alone,” Patricia walked through the rain to La Petite and lay stiffly on the bed for a few minutes, warming the watch in her hands.

She was sore all over from the terrible ride. And she ached inside, too. The trust she had begun to feel at the picnic was shattered. Kelly knew everything. She should have known there was something wrong with the horse. Whether or not it was a deliberate trick, it was Kelly's fault that it had happened.

Never had she wanted to escape to the past so much. She decided to wind the watch as far as it would go and stay longer.

But would the knob still be stuck? Patricia sat up and tried it with sweating hands.

It moved easily. She worked it between her thumb and forefinger until she felt a resistance. Then she closed her eyes.

10

P
atricia was prepared to begin her time in the past in the same place where she had wound the watch, so she was not surprised to open her eyes in La Petite. Now she noticed how new the cabin was: the floorboards had the tart smell of freshly cut lumber.

She remembered that she'd left Ruth and Ginnie walking up the path from the Main Beach and ran out to meet them. Ruth was red with exertion from lugging Ginnie on her back. “I'm sure your toe's better by now,” she said crossly.

The little girl looked tragic. “No, it's not, Ruthie! I think it's broken!”

Patricia followed them into the cottage with delight. She was safe again. Now she could forget about runaway horses and broken promises. It was too painful to trust people. Here, no one could hurt her.

The watch, fully wound, lasted for two days. Once Patricia tried the knob, but it wouldn't move. For some reason the watch could only be wound in the present, as if it weren't real in the past. On the afternoon of the first day, Patricia discovered something that confirmed this.

She was perched on a stool in Ruth's parents' bedroom, watching Pat Reid put her older daughter's hair up in pincurls. Ginnie squatted on the floor and made a long chain of bobby pins. Ruth sat in a low chair while her mother worked around her head, coiling wet ropes of hair and securing each fat circle with two crossed pins. It seemed like a lot of work.

Ruth twisted her head impatiently. “I wish I could get my hair cut. This takes so long.”

“Long hair is more suitable for a girl your age,” mumbled her mother through the bobby pins that she held between her lips. “I don't enjoy this any more than you do, Ruth. It's about time you learned to do it yourself.”

“I've tried,” complained Ruth, “but the hair keeps unwinding before I can get it fastened.” She was beginning to look as if she were wearing a metal cap. “Mother,” she continued, “am I old enough to go out with a boy?”

Her mother removed the pins from her mouth and stared sternly at her daughter. “Definitely not. You're only twelve.”

“I didn't say I was going to. I just wanted to know if I was old enough.”