The Whole Truth (10 page)

“I would do
everything!”
breathed Polly.

“It would be pleasant to have a dog again,” mused Noni. “Gilbert and I had one for years—a Scottie called Angus. He was a terror! I’ll think about it, hen.”

That sounded like yes! “Thank you!” said Polly. She was so thrilled that at dinner she again forgot she was a vegetarian and ate some of her chicken.

Oh, Daddy, Daddy, I might get a dog!
she whispered into her pillow that night. She longed so desperately to tell him in person that her joy turned to tears. Then she stopped crying as a wonderful idea came into her head.

P
olly had to wait until the weekend before she could carry out her plan. Noni had started to give her a small allowance every Saturday. Late that afternoon she emptied the previous week’s money out of the flowered china pig on her chest of drawers. She took it, and this week’s allowance, to the store and bought a thick pad of paper and some envelopes.

On Sunday evening after supper Polly finally had some time to be alone. She told the grown-ups she was going to read in her room. Then she found a pencil, went upstairs, and leaned against her pillow.

She examined the tip of the finger that Maud had pricked with a needle. They had made a pact never to tell anyone their secret. Polly’s finger was long healed, but the secret festered inside her like a much bigger sore. She could never reveal it, but no one would hear her if she just said it to herself.

“Daddy is alive. Daddy is alive. Daddy is
alive!”
she whispered. The truth seemed to whizz around the room, as though she’d suddenly let go of a balloon that she’d blown up but not tied. How good it felt to release those words into the air!

She blinked back tears, picked up her pencil, and began to write.

There! Polly had never written such a long letter. What a relief to be able to acknowledge that Daddy was alive, and to tell him things!

She put the letter into an envelope, dated it, and looked around the room. Where could she hide it?

A small wooden chest stood against the far wall. Polly lifted the lid; it smelled of cedar and contained woollen hats and scarves. At the bottom was a pile of old magazines. Polly hid the envelope under them and closed the lid.

Polly woke up on Monday with a dull ache inside her. She remembered why: she was not going to see Maud again until they went to the play in November. The ache disappeared, however, when she also remembered she was now ten—and she was going to get a puppy.

Biddy called for her as usual and they set off for school. Polly’s new bike was so efficient that she scarcely puffed as they went up the hills. She whizzed down them much faster than Biddy, the wind blowing back her hair.

At school Polly and Biddy were inseparable. Since they were so well-behaved, Miss Hunter was happy to let them do much of their work on their own as she tried to cope with the others. She gave Polly
and Biddy lists of sums or spelling words or poems to memorize, or something to read in a history book to quiz each other on.

They found the work easy and finished it quickly. Then they whispered and drew and giggled over secret games. They pretended they were princesses doing their schoolwork in the royal nursery; or they made lists of fairies and elves and drew clothes for them.

Alice and her subordinates tried to boss them at recess and lunch, but Polly and Biddy found hiding places they would run to as soon as the bell rang: behind the woodpile, a clearing in the woods, or inside the tool shed.

Today Alice strolled over to them as they were leaning their bikes against a tree. “Where’d you get the nifty bike, Miss Richyboots?”

“From my grandmother,” whispered Polly.

“Let’s take a look at it.”

Polly flinched as Alice examined every inch of the bike. Would she damage it?

“Very fancy,” said Alice. She brushed one of her red curls out of her eyes. “It looks too big for a little girl. I tell you what, Polly, I’ll trade you. My bike is too small for me, but this one would be perfect if I raised the seat. How about it?”

“No, thank you.”

Alice pinched Polly’s arm hard. “Did I hear you refuse such a kind offer?”

“Yes, you did!” cried Biddy. “Leave her alone, Alice! She doesn’t
want
to trade!”

Polly thought of Maud.
Be brave …

“If you make me trade, I’ll tell my grandmother,” she said, trying to keep her voice from wobbling. “Then she’ll tell your mother.”

A flicker of fear passed over Alice’s face. “I didn’t say I was going to
make
you trade, stupid. I just said it would be a good idea. But if you don’t want to, that’s fine.” She stalked away.

“Good for you, Polly!” whispered Biddy. “You were so brave!”

“So were you!” They walked into school with their heads high.

That day after school Polly picked out her dog. She and Biddy carried all the pups out into the sunshine and watched them play. Now they were five weeks old. They stood in their dishes of mushy food, chased and pounced on one another, and made tiny growls and barks.

“How can I ever choose?” Polly asked Biddy. “They’re all so sweet!”

“Well, first of all, do you want a boy or a girl?”

“A boy.”

“Then you only have four to choose from.” Biddy picked up each of the male pups one by one and passed it to Polly. The first wriggled impatiently. The second nibbled her hand with his sharp teeth. The third trembled with fright until she put him down. But the fourth snuggled into her neck and licked her chin.

“This one,” said Polly. He had chosen
her!

“He’s my favourite too.”

Polly studied him closely. He had a dark saddle on his back, but so did many of the others. This puppy, however, was the only one with a black V between his eyes.

“Will you remember that he’s mine?” she asked Biddy anxiously.

Biddy nodded. “And my dad’s going to put different-coloured ribbons around their necks, because some people are coming to choose this weekend.” She took the puppy from Polly.

Polly was sure that it looked back at her pleadingly. “Oh, I wish I could take him home this minute!”

“Mum and Dad said they won’t be ready to go for another three weeks. What will you call him?” Biddy asked.

“I don’t know. Let’s make a list!”

They ran to Biddy’s room and started to write down dog names.

“'Bingo,’ ‘Badger,’ ‘Lucky,’ or ‘Pickles,'” Polly told the adults a few days later. “Biddy likes ‘Rex’ as well, but I think that’s too ordinary.”

“I like the name ‘Badger,'” said Aunt Jean. She and Noni had gone over to inspect the new pup. “Bramble is a bit like a badger, with her scruffy fur.”

“She looks more like an otter,” said Noni.

Polly thought of the otters she watched play on the beach, with their whiskery faces and supple bodies. “How about ‘Otter'?”

“One of my favourite books is called
Tarka the Otter,
“ said Uncle Rand. “What about ‘Tarka'?”

“Tarka … I like that!” said Polly. “Is Tarka a boy or a girl?”

“A boy. You’d enjoy the book, Polly. I’ll lend it to you when you’re a bit older.”

Polly thanked him, and thought about the name a little longer.
Here, Tarka!
she imagined calling. Her dog would come to her instantly and sit at her feet. He would never bark too loudly and he would never nip. He’d walk quietly at her side without a leash. Every night he would sleep in a basket beside her bed, and he would go everywhere with her, except to school. He would be perfect.

Then Polly had an awful thought. “Noni,” she said, “I know I said I would take care of my dog all by myself. But what about when
I’m in school? When I get him, he’ll still need to be fed four times a day! Who will do that?”

“Don’t you worry, hen. I’ll be happy to feed him and walk him when you’re not here.”

“It will get her up in the mornings!” said Aunt Jean.

Noni ignored her and continued to smile at Polly. “Are you going to call him ‘Tarka'?”

“Yes!”

“We look forward very much to welcoming Tarka into the family,” said Aunt Jean. Her voice had the tone grown-ups used when they were laughing behind their words, but Polly didn’t care. She started to plan everything she needed to have before Tarka’s arrival.

When Polly arrived home from school on Friday afternoon, a letter from Maud had arrived. Polly sat beside Noni as she read it aloud.

“'I knew you would be wanting to hear from me, so I’m writing early.'” Maud’s clear handwriting described in detail every hockey game and play rehearsal. “'Pamela, a girl in the upper sixth, told me I was a natural born actress!'” she wrote. The letter filled four pages, but there was not one word about missing them, just “Much love from Maud” at the end.

“What does ‘upper sixth’ mean?” asked Polly, taking the letter from Noni and studying it.

“The second part of the sixth form—it’s the same as grade twelve. St. Winifred’s models itself on an English school, where they use forms instead of grades.”

“That’s stupid!” said Polly. “It’s not an English school—it’s in Canada! I’m glad I don’t go there.”

“You will one day, though,” said Noni quietly.

Polly stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You know your school only goes up to grade seven. Many children on the island attend a public high school in Sidney or Victoria or Vancouver and board with relatives or friends during the term. But we don’t know anyone you could live with, and I think you’d get a better education at St. Winifred’s than at a public school.”

“I have to go away?” She had just
gone
away, to come here! “But Noni, why couldn’t I have a governess? Or
you
could teach me!”

Noni laughed. “I’ve actually thought of that myself, hen. I could teach you literature and music and art, but I could never cope with mathematics or history or geography or any of the other subjects you need to know.”

“Uncle Rand could! He knows everything!”

“Not quite everything, although he’d be very flattered to know that you think that. And yes, we could easily find you a governess—many young women would be glad to get a job. Jean and I never learned much from our governess, however. And I don’t like the idea of you being isolated at home. You’ll be shy at boarding school, but you’ll soon get to like it and you’ll make good friends. Let’s stop worrying about this now—it’s still three years away.”

Polly hung her head. “Maybe I won’t be here in three years,” she mumbled.

Noni lifted her chin and looked at her sharply. “Polly, of course you’ll be here. Your father has
died.
I know that’s difficult for you to believe, but you’re always going to live with me. I’m your guardian now.”