The Whole Truth (15 page)

The rest of those two weeks was a terrible time of adults hovering over them and making whispered plans. Grandmother telephoned, but she only talked to Maud.

“She’s very glad to have us come and live with her,” said Maud. “Her friend Mrs. Tuttle is going to take us west on the train, but we have to wait until she’s finished her visit here. And guess what, Doodle. I’m going to a boarding school in Victoria! It’s called St. Winifred’s. They’ve agreed to accept me without writing the entrance exam, and Grandmother’s asked them to send me their brochure.”

Polly couldn’t bear how much more cheerful Maud was after that. The brochure arrived and she spent every minute poring over it.

The social worker came to visit and told them that Daddy’s jacket had been found washed up a few miles downstream. Even though his body had not shown up, there would be a memorial service for him before the girls left Winnipeg. They had to wear the cheap black
dresses Mrs. Marchant made. After the service, Polly stood stiffly beside Maud. Mrs. Tuttle came up and introduced herself. Daddy’s friends told them how sorry they were. All the adults looked sad, but they also looked embarrassed. That was because they thought Daddy was a thief, Polly realized now.

“Poll?” Maud was sitting on her bed and Tarka was licking her face. “Are you awake? It’s almost six o’clock.”

Polly sat up. She hadn’t been asleep, but she’d been so far away that for a few seconds she wondered where she was. Then all of the horrible day rushed back. “Oh, Maud … what’s going to happen now?”

“Nothing’s going to happen. We’re going to carry on exactly as we have been. The same rules apply, Poll. We won’t talk about Daddy, even between ourselves, and we won’t think about him. He’s still dead.”

“But he isn’t
really
dead, and he didn’t steal anything,” said Polly firmly.

“Right.”

“Maud … can we talk just a
little
more? I’m still confused.”

Maud sighed. “What are you confused about?”

“You said that Daddy was locked in a room and then he escaped. But the policeman told us that he got mad at his boss and left!”

“The policeman made up that stupid story to protect us—so we wouldn’t know about the stealing.”

“But how did
you
find out?”

“I went out early the next morning—I pretended we needed milk. I found a newspaper and read all about it. So I confronted Miss
Reilly before you got up. Then they all knew I knew. I had to promise not to tell you. And then, of course, Daddy told me later.”

“Did Daddy really leave a note on a tree?”

“No—he left it in the room where they locked him up. But he knew the police dogs would track him to the river. He left a lot of footprints in the mud and threw his jacket into the water. He knew they’d
want
to believe he’d drowned.”

“It’s like a movie!” said Polly.

“Yes, it is. But you know Daddy, Doodle—he always did like acting.” They sat in silence, while Tarka rolled on the bed, whining because no one was rubbing his tummy.

“Come to dinner now,” said Maud finally. “Noni sent me up to get you.”

Polly laced up her shoes. Then her heart lifted a little. Daddy
hadn’t
neglected to say a proper goodbye that morning! He hadn’t known he’d be accused of stealing, so of course he hadn’t known it was the last time he’d see Polly.

“Has Mrs. Tuttle gone?” asked Polly on the way downstairs.

“Yes. I hid behind the bushes and watched Aunt Jean and Uncle Rand walk her to the wharf.”

None of the grown-ups would meet Polly’s eyes at the dinner table. “Thank you for coping with Lydia, Jean,” said Noni. She took a sip of water. “The girls and I have talked about Daniel. I had to explain to Polly what happened, of course. Now we will simply carry on. No one is to ever know what Daniel did—do you understand, girls? But of course you wouldn’t want to tell anyone.”

The three adults looked so ashamed—ashamed of
Daddy,
her good father who would never do anything wrong! Polly wanted to shout,
He didn’t do it! And he’s still alive!

But she couldn’t. She had to “carry on,” as Noni said. Her secret was so heavy she didn’t know how she could carry it at all.

The next day Maud left for Duncan to spend the rest of the holidays with Sadie. She would go back to school from there.

“But you won’t be here for your birthday!” said Polly.

“I know, Poll. I wish I could, but Sadie’s having a New Year’s party and she wants me to be there.”

Polly sighed. “When will you come home again?”

“I’ll be here for Easter in April.”

“April!”

Maud looked guilty. “I’ll write to you every week, Doodle. Will you promise to write back?”

Polly nodded. She was so drained from the day before that she had no energy left to argue.

Polly and Biddy were making valentines in Biddy’s room. They had bought red paper and gold paper and doilies at the store.

“Would you draw me another heart, Polly?” asked Biddy. “You’re so good at them.”

Polly drew many hearts. She and Biddy cut and glued industriously until they had a pile of eighteen valentines, one from each of them for every girl in the class—except for Alice, of course. Polly’s were neat and intricate. Biddy’s were sloppy, with smears of glue in the wrong places. On the back of each one they had written “Be My Valentine” with a large question mark.

“Polly …”

“What? Why are you laughing?”

“Well … I’m going to make one more valentine—for a boy!”

“Who?” asked Polly, because she knew Biddy wanted her to.

“George.”

“
George?”
George was so dull. He rarely spoke, and everything about him was slow, from his plodding gait to his earnest way of cleaning the blackboard.

“I’ve always liked him,” said Biddy. “He has such long eyelashes! Draw me a really big heart, Polly. Make two—you could give a valentine to a boy too!”

“I don’t want to,” said Polly. She didn’t like it when Biddy was silly like this.

“Why not? They’ll never know who they’re from.”

“I just don’t, that’s all.”

She helped Biddy decorate an especially large heart. If she
did
want to, Polly thought, she’d make a valentine for Chester. He was the kindest boy she had ever met. Last week, when Polly had been late for school on her day to sweep the classroom floor, Chester had already done it for her so she wouldn’t get scolded.

After they finished the valentines, Biddy took Polly to her meadow to see the new lambs. It was so warm for February that they didn’t need to wear jackets. They leaned on the fence as the tiny lambs chased each other as if they were playing tag. They had long tails like puppies.

Polly had never seen lambs before. “Oh, Biddy! Look at that one!” she kept saying as the lambs leapt straight up into the air.

As Polly walked home, she decided that she’d once again try to be a vegetarian.

Polly and Biddy sat on the grass after school and compared their valentines. Polly had got ten. She smiled when she recognized Biddy’s messy heart. Biddy had received only nine. Who could Polly’s tenth one be from?

It couldn’t be from Alice. Like the boys, she scoffed at valentines.

“Counting your stupid valentines, Goldilocks?” she said, coming out of the school. Alice often called Polly that, since she was the only girl in the school who didn’t have a bob.

As usual, Polly ignored Alice’s question. If you answered, she’d say something worse. To her relief, Alice walked away.

“Did you see George’s face when he saw his valentine?” giggled Biddy. “All the other boys teased him!”

Polly was still wondering about her tenth valentine. It stood out from the rest because it was bought from a store: a stiff, shiny heart with fancy lace all around it. On the back it said, “From a secret admirerer.”

“Whoever sent this isn’t a very good speller!” said Polly.

“I know who sent it,” Biddy told her. “Chester!”

“Chester? How do you know?”

“Because that’s how he makes his s’s! You watch, the next time he writes on the board.”

“It couldn’t be Chester. Why would he send
me
a valentine?”

“Because he’s sweet on you, of course! Polly has a sweetheart, Polly has a sweetheart!”

“Biddy, stop! I’m only ten! I’m much too young to have a sweetheart. Let’s not talk about it.”

Biddy shrugged, but she kept chuckling as they gathered up their valentines and walked over to their bikes.

Polly watched Chester carefully the next day in school. He was as friendly as ever, but he didn’t act embarrassed. Had he really sent it? Maybe he had! Maybe he felt so safe in his anonymity that he didn’t act any differently.

After a few weeks Polly burned all her valentines in the stove—except the one that was maybe from Chester. She hid that one with her letters to Daddy.