Authors: Kit Pearson
“But Daddy—” Polly gulped down her words. She had almost given away the secret!
Noni kissed her. “Polly, I’m sorry I brought up the subject of boarding school, but you’re ten now—you’re old enough to know and be brave about what’s going to happen. But not for three more years! So cheer up. Shall I ask Mrs. Hooper to bring us some tea?”
Polly nodded, trying to recover. Three years was a long way off. Surely by then she could think of a way not to go.
When they were sipping their tea and Polly had eaten one of Mrs. Hooper’s delicious cookies, she looked at Noni.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Ask away, hen!”
“Did you like my father?”
Talking about Daddy was against the rules, but Maud would never know.
Noni flushed. “Of course I did!” she said, much too fast. “I only met him twice, but when I did I thought he was a—a charming man.”
“When did you meet him?”
“When he and your mother got married and at your mother’s funeral.”
“Why didn’t you come and see us any other times?”
Noni looked even more flustered. “Polly, the day before her wedding, your mother and I had a dreadful quarrel. She refused to have anything to do with me after that, although she let me write to you and send you presents.”
“What was the quarrel about?”
“I can’t tell you,” said Noni firmly. “Perhaps I will one day. But you’re not old enough yet.”
Polly put down her cup. She walked out of the room with her head held high. “I’m going over to visit Tarka,” she told Noni haughtily.
Another secret she was not old enough to hear! Polly consoled herself with the thought that
she
had a secret too. Imagine if Noni
knew Daddy was alive! That secret was so enormous that the world didn’t seem large enough to contain it.
Dear Daddy,
wrote Polly that evening.
Noni has a secret about our mother, but she won’t tell me. And Noni and Maud and Mrs. Tuttle know something about you that I don’t. It makes me so mad!
Daddy, why did you leave us? Don’t you love us any more? Maud said you wanted us to live with Noni because you couldn’t take care of us. But you never asked me if that was what
I
wanted! I would rather be poor and still live with you than live on the island. I don’t think you were fair to leave without telling us.
Polly stopped writing, her hand shaking. She couldn’t say things like that to Daddy! On the way to the privy she burned the letter in the stove.
Polly saw Tarka every day during the weeks before he came home. She and Biddy would stop at Noni’s for milk and cookies and tell Noni about their day at school, and Polly would change into her overalls.
“Your grandmother
is
nice,” Biddy told Polly. “I’m not afraid of her any more.”
After their snack they crunched through the arbutus bark and pine needles that littered the road to Biddy’s. Polly rushed straight to the barn and Biddy joined her as soon as she had changed.
Tarka knew his name and he knew Polly. When she called him, he pranced over and licked her hand. The puppies were eating some meat now and Polly held bits out to him. She and Biddy laughed as
the six pups tumbled over each other. When Bramble appeared they all attacked her, still trying to nurse, but she growled them away.
When the pups fell asleep in a heap, Polly and Biddy, and often Luke, would go to the beach. They worked on the fort until every piece of driftwood was firmly in place.
Luke was eight and as easygoing as Biddy; he was always nice to Polly. His best friend, Seiji, was also eight and sometimes joined them in the fort. Seiji was friendly, but when he was there, he and Luke only wanted to do boring boys things, like aiming at gulls with their slingshots. Polly was worried they would actually hit one.
“Luke, when we started the fort, you said that it was just for us!” Biddy told him one day when Seiji wasn’t there.
“You let Polly play in it—why can’t Seiji?” Luke retorted.
The problem couldn’t be resolved. Finally, on the days when Seiji came, Biddy and Polly did other things. If it was calm they took out the rowboat. Or they climbed the big tree in the meadow, or, if Biddy had to babysit the twins, they walked them to the store. On rainy days they played with their dolls.
Biddy often asked Polly about her life in Winnipeg. Polly told her about her school and her friends there, about making snow forts and travelling downtown on the streetcar.
“Did you have movies in Winnipeg?” Biddy asked.
“Of course!” said Polly. “Maud and I went every Saturday afternoon. If it was a western, all the boys would take out their cap guns and shoot when the cowboys did. The movie theatre got really smoky and stinky.”
“You’re so lucky,” said Biddy. “I’ve only seen one movie in my whole life! That was last year in Victoria. It was Charlie Chaplin in
City Lights.
It was so funny!”
“I saw that,” said Polly.
She hadn’t told Biddy that Daddy usually went to the movies with them. Even when he was out of work, he would manage to find enough change to go. On the way home he would do such accurate imitations of the actors that everyone on the streetcar would laugh at him.
“Did you have a big house in Winnipeg?” Biddy asked her.
“Oh, no! Our house was small, and it wasn’t really ours—it was rented.”
“But why?”
“Because we didn’t have much money.”
Biddy looked astounded. “You didn’t? But you’re rich! Mrs. Whitfield’s the richest woman on the island—everyone knows that.”
“My grandmother may be rich, but we weren’t. Sometimes we were so poor we had to go on the dole.”
Polly began to tell Biddy how hard it was for Daddy to find jobs, how they sometimes went to bed hungry, and how they never had money for new clothes. Biddy listened with wide eyes. She wanted to hear more, but Polly had to stop. Talking about her former life was like peeling off a scab.
She kept expecting Biddy to ask about Daddy, but she didn’t for a long time; her parents must have told her not to. Finally one day she said, “You must
really
miss your dad, Polly.”
Polly was ready. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said quickly. Biddy flushed and changed the subject.
If only she could tell her that Daddy was alive! If only she could prick the secret inside her and let it burst! But she’d made Maud a solemn promise, sealed with blood.
October 9, 1932
Dear Daddy,
Tarka is home! I went to get him yesterday and carried him here in my arms. I had everything ready. He has a basket, a leash, and a collar, two bowls for water and food, and some knotted old socks to chew on. He gets four meals a day of bread and milk and a little meat.
He sleeps in my room. The first night I tried to keep him in his basket, but he cried and cried so I took him on my bed and he settled right down and went to sleep. So now he sleeps with me every night.
Sometimes he puddles on the floor, but I scold him and take him right outside. He chews on my shoes and dolls and he almost ate my toothbrush! He follows me everywhere and he licks people and wags his tail. He looks like an otter and that’s why his name is Tarka.
Tarka the Otter
is a book that Uncle Rand likes.
Oh, Daddy, I wish you could meet him!
Your Polly
Polly read over the letter, then sealed it in an envelope, dated it, and put it with her first letter in the chest. Then she sat on the floor and gazed at Tarka, peacefully sleeping in his basket.
He was beautiful, from his dear little black ears to the matching dark lines that extended from each eye. His brindled fur felt as wiry as Bramble’s. When he was asleep, he looked innocent, but as soon as he woke up he would race around and steal Polly’s underwear and bark at all the new things he didn’t understand, like Mrs. Hooper sweeping the floor or Noni’s umbrella.
Puppies
were
a lot of work! And they weren’t as perfect as Polly had imagined. She had to keep trying to wear Tarka out so he would
sleep and give the household some peace. Polly worried that Tarka was too much trouble for Noni when she was at school, but Noni kept him locked in the kitchen or tied up outside when she was busy, and she said he was fine.
“Tarka, my little Tarka-dog,” whispered Polly, bending down to him and breathing in his skunky smell. Sometimes she pretended he was her little brother, although a brother would probably be easier to take care of—and at least he would wear diapers!
“Out you go, now!” she said as Tarka opened his eyes and stumbled out of his basket, sniffing the floor. She was too late, and wiped up his puddle with the rags she now kept in her room. “Oh, Tarka, you bad boy. When will you learn?” She carried him downstairs and out to the yard, and when he squatted again, she praised him hugely. “That’s a
good
dog!”
October 23, 1932
Dear Daddy,
Tarka is now ten weeks old! He doesn’t have as many accidents as he used to, although sometimes he still doesn’t remember. Noni had some ladies for tea and Mrs. Cunningham said what is that awful smell and Tarka had done his business right under the chair where she was sitting! I’m trying to teach him how to sit, but he doesn’t understand yet.
Biddy and I are going to dress up as ghosts for Hallowe’en. They don’t do trick-or-treating here. They just have a big party in the hall.
Oh, Daddy, where are you?
Love from Polly
November 4, 1932
Dear Daddy,
Tarka has grown so much! I’m trying to teach him how to walk on a leash, but he chews the leash and he chewed the rope when Noni tied him up in the yard. He got away in the road, but Mr. Lewis found him and brought him home. So Gregor is making him a leash out of a chain. Tarka hardly ever has an accident in the house now and he loves to chase balls, so I bought him four little ones with my allowance. He tosses them in the air and tries to catch them. I wish you could see him!
The Hallowe’en party was swell. There were just as many grown-ups there as children and they all dressed up too. Noni and Aunt Jean were twin babies—they wore bonnets and tablecloths as diapers! Someone played a fiddle and everyone danced. I fell asleep on the pile of coats and Uncle Rand carried me all the way home—I don’t even remember!
Noni and I are painting pictures of fall leaves. She lets me use her watercolour paints. My leaves don’t look as real as Noni’s, but she likes them.
Noni is also teaching me how to play the piano. I can do “Twinkle Twinkle” with one hand.
There’s a really mean girl at my school called Alice Mackenzie. She sassed Miss Hunter so much that Miss Hunter told Alice’s mother. Hana told us that Alice’s mother whipped her! Now Alice is horrible to everyone. She pulls Biddy’s hair and she pinches me whenever she can.
If you were here, Daddy, you could tell me what to do about Alice.
Love from Polly
Alice’s campaign against Miss Hunter was too awful to write about. She put tacks on Miss Hunter’s chair or worms in her tea. She asked her sweetly if she had heard from her beau lately, when the whole island knew that he had jilted her.
Miss Hunter’s cheeks would redden and her eyes would fill with tears. She knew now what had happened when she’d told on Alice, and all she could do was try to ignore her.
The rest of the class was so shocked at Alice’s behaviour that they became much quieter themselves. This infuriated Alice. “All right, everyone, at my signal rock your desks,” she ordered them before Miss Hunter came in.
No one would. Alice retaliated with sharp comments or vicious pinches, but the class continued to support Miss Hunter. Polly brought her asters from Noni’s garden, and the younger ones began to escape from Alice and eat their lunch in the schoolroom while Miss Hunter read to them.
November 15, 1932
Dear Daddy,
Tarka is behaving better on the leash now that he can’t chew it. Biddy and I go for long walks with him and Bramble. We let Tarka run loose on the beach or in the meadow, but he eats barnacles and cow pies and throws up, and he rolls in otter doo and then I have to give him a bath.
Noni and Aunt Jean and I going to Victoria to see Maud’s play! We’re leaving Friday evening and we’ll go to the school on
Saturday morning. Uncle Rand won’t be there because he can’t miss church. I can hardly wait to see Maud! We’re bringing her a cake.
Much love from your Polly Wolly Doodle
M
aud had expanded. Her face was broader and her bosom and tummy pushed out her tunic. She crushed Polly in a fierce hug. Then she grinned at all of them, so welcoming that her tight braids seemed to wave like extra arms.
“All the other boarders have gone for a walk, but Miss Guppy said I could stay and wait for you. Is this a
cake?”
Maud led them to the dining room and reverently placed Mrs. Hooper’s cake in her tuck box. “Now I’ll show you my dorm!” she called over her shoulder, almost running ahead of them.
They followed her upstairs. Polly grimaced at the six narrow white beds, at the bare floor and the uncurtained windows. The room looked stingy.
“And this is where I keep my clothes,” said Maud, pointing to a small chest of drawers.
“But Maud, you have hardly any room!” said Noni.
Aunt Jean frowned. “This floor looks as if it has splinters—can’t you ask for a carpet?”
Maud laughed. “It’s fine. None of us cares if it’s comfortable—we just have larks! Look, here’s a snap of Sadie with her horse. His name is Midnight. When I visit her after Christmas, she’ll let me ride him!”
“Are you really going there after Christmas?” Polly asked.
“I hope so. Can I, Noni? Sadie’s parents have invited me. They’ll be here for the play, so you can meet them.”
“We’ll see,” said Noni.
Feet thundered on the stairs and five girls burst into the dorm. “These are my roommates!” said Maud proudly.