And Nothing But the Truth (16 page)

Polly had been trying to put into practice what she had learned from Miss Carr. Noni had taught Polly to paint exactly what she saw. But you didn’t have to do that. You could paint the
meaning
of what you saw: the truth behind the object or tree or landscape in front of you, the truth that reflected the truth inside you. When Polly thought
about this, she felt the way she sometimes did in church on the island or gazing at the stars: that there was something mysterious and wonderful in the universe that was just out of her grasp.

“Come and see me again in the fall,” Miss Carr had said. If Polly didn’t return to school, she would never meet Miss Carr again.

And she’d have to leave Eleanor and Daisy. She would miss them so much. Eleanor had told her that she’d invite Polly to stay with her in Nanaimo next Christmas, but they might feel like strangers by then. Next year her friends would have more escapades together, but Polly wouldn’t be part of them. “The Fearless Three” didn’t have the same ring as “the Fearless Four.”

Polly thought of what else she would miss. She had really enjoyed literature and botany and piano this term. And it was a treat to be taken to movies and plays and concerts; she could never attend those on the island.

But Polly would be
home
. She’d be with Noni and Aunt Jean and Uncle Rand; and with dear Tarka, whom she ached for just as much as on her first day here. She’d be able to wander on the beach for hours, with no bell ordering her to be somewhere. She could renew her friendship with poor lonely Biddy, who was so eager to have her back. She could once again revel in the sea and the forest and the vast starry sky.

Maud and Daddy would be disappointed in her. Noni would be even more so, since she believed so much in Polly getting a good education.

I don’t care!
Polly tried to tell herself.
I hate this place, and I don’t choose to go back! I’ll just have to do art on my own
.

What to decide, what to decide?
The question throbbed in her brain like a drum, as if she had a gigantic headache.

Then one morning she
was
sick. Her head pounded, her nose streamed, her throat ached, and she was hot all over.

“It could be a grippe,” said Mrs. Blake. “To the infirmary with you.”

For the rest of the week, Polly lay tucked up in the infirmary, a room at the top of the house. She was the only patient there and received all the attention from Mrs. Kent, the school nurse. Every few hours she put cool towels on Polly’s forehead and brought her glasses of water and fresh handkerchiefs. The rest of the time she left Polly alone.

Polly tried to read, but mostly she escaped into sleep: a deep, soothing sleep in which she forgot all the turmoil of this year—of
all
the years since she’d left Winnipeg. She would wake up refreshed for a while, then plunge back into sleep’s healing embrace.

On the fourth day, she sat up in bed feeling much better. Her temperature had gone down, her nose wasn’t as stuffy, and her throat was fine. Best of all, she was starving.

“Good for you,” said Mrs. Kent, after Polly had gobbled up three pieces of toast and jam. “I think you’re on the mend. I want you to stay in here for the day, then you can go back to your dormitory.”

The morning seemed very long. Mrs. Kent said Polly could get up, so she sat in her dressing gown by the window and watched the other girls go back and forth. This was fun for a while because they didn’t know she was observing them. She gasped as she saw two upper sixth girls, Lucy Tarrant and Julia O’Callaghan, sneak behind the school building and light cigarettes. They were
prefects
!

Then Polly tried to read, but her book didn’t interest her; nor did any of the magazines in the infirmary. She longed to draw, but she didn’t have her sketchbook with her.

The question of whether she would stay at St. Winifred’s rose in her mind again, as if it had been waiting for her to get better. Polly couldn’t focus on it; she wished someone would simply decide for her. She couldn’t worry about Maud, either; she was too sleepy. After lunch she went back to bed.

She woke up when she heard a familiar voice coming from the stairs: “Mrs. Kent? Are you there?”

Alice! Polly hadn’t seen as much of her at school as she thought she would. Each was so involved with her own age group that their paths didn’t often cross.

Alice came into the room. “Polly! What are you doing here? Are you sick?”

“I was,” said Polly, sitting up in bed, “but now I’m better.”

“Have you seen the nurse? I was running down the path and I fell and scraped my knee.” Beneath her dress, Alice’s knee was raw and bloody.

“Poor you!” said Polly. “I don’t know where Mrs. Kent has gone. Why don’t you wash it and I’ll look for a bandage.”

Alice grimaced as she picked out tiny pebbles from her wound, then soaped it. Polly found some gauze and tape, and together they managed to wrap it around Alice’s knee.

“It really stings!” said Alice. “I’ll wait for Mrs. Kent to come back—maybe she can put something on it so it won’t get infected.”

She hobbled over to a chair and sat down. Polly went back to her bed.

“Only a week left of school,” sighed Alice. “Did you know I’m singing a solo at the graduation ceremony?”

“Good for you!” said Polly.

“Will you spend the summer with your father?” Alice asked her.

“Not the whole summer. I’m visiting him for a week straight from school. Then I’ll be home until the end of August, then I’m going back to Kelowna. My father’s getting married then.” Imagine if Alice knew what was
really
happening this summer!

“He’s getting married? That’s swell! Do you like his fiancée?”

Polly realized she’d been so busy worrying about Maud that she’d hardly thought about Esther all term. “Yes, I do,” she said. “They suit each other.”

“Now that they’re getting married, will you live with them?”

“No!” Why did Alice keep bringing this up? “I’ll keep living on the island with my grandmother, of course.”

“But your dad and your stepmother might want you to be with
them
! Who’s your legal guardian?”

“My grandmother,” said Polly. “At least, she
was
, and I suppose she still is, even though—”

“Even though your father’s alive after all! I think that means
he’d
be your legal guardian. Maybe he’ll
insist
you live with them.”

“He hasn’t said anything about it. And he and Esther haven’t got much money—they probably couldn’t afford to feed another person. Anyway, I want to stay on the island. Daddy would want what
I
want.”

“I think you’re crazy,” said Alice. “How can you not want to live with your own father? I’d give anything to be with mine.” She looked dreamy. “One day, Polly, I’m going to find him. I’m going to be the star in an opera, and he’ll see my name on the marquee and come in. After the performance, he’ll knock on my dressing-room door, and we’ll be together again. Then I’ll live with him, and take care of him when he’s old.”

Alice had told this to Polly before. It was such an unlikely fantasy that Polly ached for her.

Alice gazed out the window. Polly knew it was because she was wiping her eyes. Then she turned back to Polly and said, “So, Goldilocks …”

“I wish you’d stop calling me that,” said Polly. “I have a bob now.”

“I’ll call you whatever I choose,” said Alice. “So, how did you end up liking St. Winnie’s?”

“I hate it,” said Polly.

“But don’t you like art?”

“I love art.”

“Then that makes it all worthwhile, right?”

All of Polly’s indecision rushed back. “Oh, Alice … I don’t know what to do!” She blurted out the whole story—how Miss Guppy had promised her that if she didn’t like boarding school, she would help her persuade Noni not to make her come back. She repeated to Alice all the pros and cons she had gone over so many times.

Alice listened in silence. Then she leaned forward and gripped Polly’s arm as tightly as in the days when she had bullied her. “You listen to me, Polly Brown. You would be absolutely nuts not to come back! You’d be sacrificing your whole career. You have to get your priorities straight. Not liking school and missing the island
aren’t important
!”

“Could you let go of my arm?” gasped Polly. “You’re hurting me!”

Alice let go, but her voice was just as forceful as her grip. “Do you want to be an artist? More than anything in the world?”

Polly nodded.

“I don’t believe you,” Alice said coldly.

“What do you mean?”

“If that was true, you wouldn’t even
consider
leaving. You’d know that you have to put up with things you don’t like about the present because of what you hope for in the future. But you don’t seem to know that, so I guess you don’t want to be an artist.” She shrugged. “Too bad. You would have been a good one. All that wasted talent for nothing.”

“Shut up, Alice! I
will
be an artist!” snapped Polly.

“Well, then?”

Polly was stunned. Then she almost felt sick again as relief flooded over her. Her wish had come true. Someone had told her what to do. It was what Polly, deep down, wanted to do, as well.

She grinned. “Oh, Alice, you’re right! It’s so simple. I want to be an artist, so my only choice is to come back. Thanks so much for helping me decide.”

“Whew! I was beginning to think I’d have to pinch you.” Alice laughed. “Wait and see, Goldilocks—one day, you and I are going to be famous!”

As soon as Polly was released from the infirmary, she went straight to Miss Guppy’s study. She hated to give the Guppy the satisfaction of knowing that she had decided to stay, but she might as well get it over with.

“Yes?” barked the familiar voice when Polly knocked. “Oh, it’s you, Polly. What do you want? I can only spare you a few moments.”

“I’ve come to talk about our bargain,” said Polly.

“What bargain?”

Polly’s voice shook. “The bargain we made last summer, before I came here. I promised to try St. Winifred’s for a year, and
you
promised that if I didn’t like it, you would help me persuade my grandmother to let me stay home. Don’t you remember?”

Miss Guppy swung around from her desk. “Sit down, you silly child, and kindly do not speak to me in that tone of voice. Yes, I remember us discussing something like that. Did you actually think I meant it? I only said it to get you to St. Winifred’s. Now that you’re here, I’m certainly not going to let you leave. You’ve been a real disappointment this year, young lady, but perhaps next year you will improve. As for persuading your grandmother to let you stay home, I would never do such a thing.”

“But you
promised
! We shook hands on it!”

“We may have done, but I certainly don’t remember making any promises.”

Polly stared at the Guppy’s horsey face, trying to remember if she had actually used the word “promise.” Maybe she hadn’t; maybe Polly had just imagined it.

She dug her fingers into her palms so she wouldn’t scream. “But you said
I
could decide!”

“Polly, I’ve just told you—I said that so you would try the school. I didn’t mean it.”

“Then you lied,” said Polly.

“How dare you!” The Guppy looked as though she wanted to slap Polly. Then she took a deep breath and seemed to force herself to smile. “Let’s both calm down. There’s nothing more to discuss. You are coming back to St. Winifred’s, as your grandmother and father would both want. We know what’s best for you. I am aware that you dislike it here, but Miss Falconer says you’re thriving at art. How could you miss that? You’re only thirteen, Polly. You’re much too young to think you can make such an important decision on your own.”

Polly forced her trembling legs to stand. She had intended to tell Miss Guppy she would stay. Everything had appeared so simple when she’d talked to Alice, but Polly had forgotten how this dreadful woman infuriated her. But how could she endure her for another four years?

“I’m not too young,” she said firmly. “I’m almost
fourteen
. And I’m not coming back. You can’t make me!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, child. Perhaps
I
can’t make you, but your grandmother certainly can.”

“She won’t! I’ll tell her how unfair you and some of the teachers are, how awful the food is. She loves me! She won’t make me go to a school where I’m so unhappy.”

For the first time Miss Guppy looked uncertain. Then she peered down her long nose and said proudly, “Your grandmother believes what I do—that girls should have a good education. That’s why she sent you here, and that’s why I am certain she won’t let you leave. And I don’t believe you’re
that
unhappy here, Polly. You like your art classes, don’t you? How can you consider giving those up?”

How could she?
… Polly almost relented then. But Miss Guppy had lied to her! Her anger flared even more.

“I don’t care!” she said. “I’m not coming back!”

Miss Guppy sounded tired. “Of course you are, Polly. I don’t want to hear any more about it. You’re acting like a foolish little girl, and I think you should leave.” She turned back to her desk and Polly stumbled out.

When she entered her dorm, the others greeted her with joy. “Oh, Poll, you’re better! We missed you!”

Polly blinked at their friendly faces. These were her
friends
. Three of them were, anyway. How could she choose never to see them again?

She pushed down her doubts and forced herself to speak. “I have something to tell you. I’ve decided I’m not coming back to St. Winifred’s.”

“You’re
not
?”

For the rest of the evening, and long after lights out, they tried to persuade her to stay. But something hard had set in Polly. Miss Guppy had deceived her. Polly could not continue to be under the thumb of someone who lied to her, someone who dismissed what she said as if she were a naughty child. She had made her decision; she was not returning.

That Saturday was her last art class for the year. Miss Falconer had made a cake for Dottie and Katherine, who were graduating. She suggested that those girls who were returning keep a sketchbook of their summer. “Try to draw and paint in it every day. We’ll spend the first class in September looking at one another’s.”