The Whole Truth

A
fter it happened, they were sent away.

In the train compartment they sat opposite Mrs. Tuttle, who was taking them as far as Vancouver. Maud called her the Turtle.

Polly stared out the window at golden fields full of stooks and grain elevators. It looked as if the outside was moving and the train was standing still. A man on a tractor waved, but Polly didn’t wave back.

“You aren’t listening to me, child,” complained the Turtle. “I asked if you needed to go to the bathroom.”

Polly shook her head.

“She hasn’t gone once since we left Winnipeg,” said Mrs. Tuttle to Maud, as if Polly were three, not nine.

“Leave her alone!” snapped Maud. “Polly’s not a baby.”

Mrs. Tuttle’s fat cheeks shook. “Don’t you speak to me in that tone of voice, Missy! I’ve never met such a rude child! If you’re going to be like this for the whole trip, you’ll make it very unpleasant for all of us. You should be grateful I agreed to look after you. If I wasn’t such a good friend of your grandmother’s—”

Maud threw Mrs. Tuttle one of the fierce glares that usually quelled grown-ups. “Polly and I don’t
need
to be looked after. I’m fifteen! I could easily have taken care of Polly on my own.”

“Don’t be absurd, Maud—you’re far too young to travel by yourselves.” Mrs. Tuttle pressed her lips into a smile. “Let’s try to get along, shall we? Would you like a game of cards?”

“No, thank you,” said Maud icily. She bent her head over her brochure. Mrs. Tuttle sighed and got out her knitting.

Polly studied her sister. Maud’s beaked nose and sharp chin stood out confidently from her long face, as if they could cut through any difficulties. Her brown eyes glittered with determination. Thick braids pulled her hair back so tightly that it looked like a warrior’s helmet. Maud would have been perfectly capable of taking Polly to the west coast by herself; after all, she’d looked after Polly almost on her own for the past two years.

Most of Polly’s hair had escaped from its barrettes and hung in strands down her cheeks. She nibbled the end of one and wondered how she would ever manage without her protective older sister. After they arrived at their grandmother’s on Kingfisher Island, Polly was only going to see Maud on weekends.

The feeling of her insides being scraped out with a sharp spoon came again, as it had several times a day ever since—ever since it had happened. The train whistled as it went around a curve, a thin, lonely sound. It was going to be a miserable journey.

They ate lunch and dinner in the dining car, at a table set with a white cloth and heavy silver. The train’s motion made the water in the glasses slop from side to side.

Mrs. Tuttle and Maud wolfed down the hearty food. “What generous helpings!” said the Turtle. “You’d never know there was a depression. Eat up, Polly—you’re much too skinny.”

Maud frowned. “Don’t nag her! She’s always been a fussy eater.”

Mrs. Tuttle glowered back, but then she gave up and concentrated on her mashed potatoes.

After dinner the train stopped in Regina. Polly watched a girl her age emerge onto the platform out of a cloud of steam, run to a laughing man, and leap into his arms.

The man must be her father.
The pain hurt so much then that Polly bent over with it.

An hour later the train arrived in Moose Jaw. Then a porter came and magically turned their seats into a single bed and two bunks.

Mrs. Tuttle found their pyjamas and told them to change. She went into the toilet and emerged looking even more like a turtle, in a voluminous green flowered nightgown with a matching nightcap. Her face was smeared with mint-coloured cream.

“Isn’t this a treat, girls?” she said, burrowing under the covers. “Your grandmother was so generous to pay for a drawing room. It’s much more comfortable than the sleeper car I usually go on.”

“I want Maud to sleep with me,” whispered Polly from the lower bunk. It was the first time she had spoken all day.

“Nonsense, Polly, there’s no room. Maud and I are right beside you. Go to sleep like a good girl.”

Mrs. Tuttle blew them a kiss and turned out the lights. When they heard her snoring, Maud climbed down and joined Polly. The bunk was so narrow they were squished together, but Maud’s firm, warm body was so comforting, and the rocking train so soothing, that Polly finally slept.

Polly woke up to find herself alone in the berth. She panicked for a second, but then Maud came out of the toilet. Mrs. Tuttle was already dressed.

“Up you get, child!” she said to Polly. “We’re already in Calgary. Isn’t that amazing?”

Maud had brushed out her hair, which reached below her waist. She stood in front of a tiny mirror and tried to rebraid it. “Poll, will you help me?” she asked.

The Turtle got to her first and Polly was relieved. Several times since Daddy had gone, she’d tried to braid Maud’s hair, but it slipped in her fingers and the braids came out messy and uneven. Finally Maud had struggled with it herself.

“You girls look so old-fashioned,” said the Turtle. “I’m sure all that hair cascading from Polly’s little face is sapping her strength. This is the Thirties! No one has long hair any more. Why don’t you get it bobbed?”

“We
like
it long,” muttered Maud.

Polly winced. Daddy had loved their long hair. Each time he’d brushed out Polly’s tangles he’d told her she was a princess with golden tresses.

The Turtle was good at braiding. Maud examined the neat ropes in the mirror and thanked her stiffly.

“That’s better, Maud,” said Mrs. Tuttle. “You see? You can be pleasant if you try.”

When they returned from breakfast, their beds had been turned back into seats. The Turtle collected their things and led them to the observation car at the back of the train. As in the dining room, there weren’t many other passengers.

“Before the crash, this car was packed!” the Turtle told them. “We’re lucky. Lots of people can’t afford to travel during these hard times.”

Polly sat next to the window and gaped at the jagged grey shapes that loomed against the bright blue sky. Mrs. Tuttle said they were the Rockies. They passed a mountain that had a line of bighorn sheep perched along its pleated cliffs. How could they be so high up and not fall off?

At Banff they got out of the train and breathed in crisp air that smelled like pine. Mrs. Tuttle bought some postcards. When they boarded again, she offered some to Maud and Polly, but Maud said haughtily, “No, thank you. We have no one we want to send postcards to.”

“Poor little orphans,” clucked the Turtle. Polly’s stomach leapt and she fled into the toilet.

The rest of the day was a dreamy bubble out of time. Polly tried not to think of her life before or after. She kept staring out the window as the majestic mountains, rushing rivers, and green valleys slipped by. When the train chugged around a curve, she could see the front of it, like a steaming snake. The scenery looked like pictures of Canada in Polly’s geography book, except it was in colour. Even so, it didn’t seem real. She spotted more sheep, several moose, and a bear scrambling up a bank, but they looked like something in a movie. Polly pinched her hand—
she
didn’t seem real either.

The Turtle’s relentless chatter was like a shower of sharp little stones raining down on them. Yet again she went over details she’d already told them several times.

“I don’t suppose you remember your mother much. You were only two when she died, Polly, and Maud was seven. I knew her well, of course. Una was good friends with my daughter, Blanche, and she
sometimes came to stay with us when we lived in Winnipeg. Your grandmother and I go way back. My parents knew her parents in Scotland, and they all came to Canada about the same time. You girls are going to enjoy Kingfisher Island. I’ve been there often. When my husband was alive, we’d stay at your grandparents’ hotel for two weeks each summer. The island is a pretty place, although much too quiet for my liking. Are you excited about living there?”

When they failed to respond, the Turtle looked offended. “You girls haven’t heard a word I’ve said! You could at least answer my question. I don’t see why I should be expected to spend this whole journey talking to myself.”

Maud eyed her coldly. “No, we are
not
excited about living on the island. How could we be?”

Mrs. Tuttle flushed. “I’m sorry, Maud. I shouldn’t have asked that. But I would appreciate it if you paid at least a
little
attention to me. Do you want me to tell your grandmother how rude you’re being?”

Maud sighed. “I didn’t know our grandparents ran a hotel. What happened to it?”

“It’s still there, but after your grandfather died, your grandmother sold it. By then she didn’t need to work, of course, since she’d inherited a trust fund from her husband. Everyone was so surprised at that—no one knew that Gilbert had a private income of his own.”

Polly didn’t pay much attention to any of this, but she began to listen more closely when the Turtle told them a story about Una and Blanche when they were children. They had found a gold watch on the beach. “I was so proud of them—they put up posters all over the island and a summer visitor claimed it.”

The Turtle paused. “I hope
you
will always be that honest, girls, not like—”

“Mrs. Tuttle!” Maud glanced at Polly.

The Turtle covered her mouth. “Sorry, Maud. I forgot.” She looked as if she longed to say more, but she bent her head over her knitting.

Polly clenched her fists. Mrs. Tuttle and Maud knew something she didn’t! She leaned her head against the cool glass of the window and let the steady puffing of the train calm her down.

“Why don’t you play with something, Polly?” Mrs. Tuttle asked her. She poked in Polly’s bag. “Here are your dolls! And some crayons and paper! Shall I take them out?”

“No, thank you,” mumbled Polly. Dolls and crayons were part of another life. Now her only life was being on the train.

After lunch they returned to the observation car. For the trillionth time Maud opened the brochure that was labelled “St. Winifred’s School for Girls, Fall 1932.” It had been fingered so much that its pages were coming loose. She read Polly items from the clothing list: “'Two pairs of black sateen bloomers to wear under tunics'—what do you think bloomers are, Poll?”

Polly wouldn’t answer. She hated talking about this school that was taking Maud away from her.