Perdita (7 page)

I felt my body freeze.
Allan, you mustn't
, I whispered to myself. But it was too late. There was a strange recklessness in
him.

“Of course I do,” he
said.

“Do someone for us,” purred Miss
Ferguson.

“Who would you like?” demanded Allan
boldly.

I think she knew that Dr. McTavish and Mr. Stewart were close by. But Allan couldn't see them because they were still in conference and were standing back in the
hallway.

“Your best one,” said Miss Ferguson, shrugging her shoulders. Somehow she must have
known!

I sat filled with an awful foreboding—paralyzed with dread. Oh, that I might have stopped him! Why did I not think of some interruption? Allan, of course, did Dr. McTavish. It was an extravagant performance—terrible! In Allan's strange mood, it came out as cruel and mocking, a gross insult to the great
man.

The rest of us could see Mr. Stewart and Dr. McTavish pause in the doorway and watch his performance. Old Mr. Stewart's face was a vivid red, and I don't think I have ever seen him look so angry
before.

“Wherever did you learn to roll your r's like that?” Miss Ferguson gushed, pretending not to see Dr. McTavish, nor Mr. Stewart glaring at Allan from the
doorway.

“Margie taught me!” Allan said ingenuously. “You should see
her
do Dr. McTavish!”

And then Caroline turned to me and said quite sweetly, “It seems that Allan's studies encompass much more than Latin, do they not, Miss
Brice?”

It was then that Allan saw Dr. McTavish with his stepfather in the doorway, and his face
fell.

I did not answer
her.

Auntie A. and I got up immediately. I thanked Mrs. Stewart for a lovely afternoon, but I am sure I did it abruptly. I blurted out something to Dr. McTavish, but I could not look at George. As I was leaving, I took Allan's hand briefly. I could not help but feel sorry for him. He looked utterly crushed, and my mortification seemed to pale in comparison to
his.

“I am still going to test you on your Latin,” I whispered, pressing his hand firmly. “And for heaven's sake—behave
yourself!”

Shrike indeed! Mr. Thompson has since told me that it is the only truly carnivorous
songbird.

June 4

It has been two days since Mrs. Stewart's tea, and I am still filled with mortification. I know that I must apologize to Dr. McTavish, but I have lacked the courage, and I know that I cannot avoid this for many days longer, else the wound will fester and the insult grow
worse.

Allan's words keep ringing in my ears. “Margie taught me!” And my face still burns with
shame.

All this has had a strange effect on me. It is as if there is some deeper, sterner voice within me that will not let me hide away and wait out the storm. Auntie A. has said that I have taken it too seriously, that it sits too heavily with me—though I know she is not
pleased.

But I felt strongly that I must seek out serious reflection, and so yesterday morning I decided to saddle Flore and ride over to Clootie's Point, taking the trail that the foresters have cut. I had to use the Mill Road, and my heart is still so broken to think what they have done! It is not as bad here at the light station as in other places, but along the Mill Road, the stumps are scattered everywhere. It is the beautiful white pines—they have killed all the tall, straight pines and left only their unwanted remains! Tad says they have cut down and gathered every stick of serviceable wood from the Peninsula—that the men who did this were mad for
lumber.

Yet even though I am loathe to traverse the Mill Road, I felt that I must go—and to Clootie's especially. I felt that I might find my courage there; not just the courage to make the apology that I know is required of me, but something truer and stronger. Something that might instruct me on the lesson I must take from these strange
events.

And Clootie's is such a stark place, perfectly suited to my meditations: there is no turf, but just great sheets of rock that stretch for miles in either direction. It is a lonely, rough spot, and I think one feels the company of the soul there. I do not think it is a place that abides deception, and it is certainly no place to seek easy comfort for a guilty
conscience.

Tad once told me that Clootie means “devil,” and that this is one of the most treacherous stretches of the Bay because of the shoals that hide beneath the water and give no warning to a ship. Without a doubt, it is a grim and bleak spot, but I have always thought perhaps the devil brings the worst of temptations here, and that in seeing them, one might discern the truth and be made strong and whole
again.

I am quite in earnest when I say that I seek to conduct myself differently toward Allan. I realize now that I regard him very much as a brother, as both my ward and companion, and that he does look up to me. It is true that I am only one person in a larger constellation—which includes the good influences of George, but sadly also Allan's weak mother and his exacting, cruel stepfather. I know that to be a truly good influence, I must behave differently. I have felt such a great shame, and I wince when I think of his recent performance—the fruit of a seed that I cannot deny is of my sowing. I seem such a silly and frivolous creature in my own eyes. And no doubt in those of
others.

But perhaps I should not have gone to Clootie's. For now I feel more wretched than
ever!

I tied Flore to a branch, making sure she had a patch of shade, and then walked down toward the water. I did not intend to stay for so long, but the day was clear and still—all grays. Even the sky looked at me as a dour Puritan might. I felt no disapproval from the rocks, but more a somber seriousness—as if the lessons of the soul were no light matter here. I looked around me and saw the stunted trees, the stern outcroppings, and the stubborn brush pushing up between the cracks. I listened to the waves and the wind, and I shivered, for I could not help but think that perhaps I had wandered into Tartaros and that I might never return should I stray too far. And yet I knew my way along the rocks. I knew them all to be part of the wildness, and yet strangely they are dutiful—true to a course and to a place. They did not coddle or soothe
me.

Perhaps Clootie's is a hard, dour place, but it, too, is part of this Bay and is truly one of my teachers. I think I must have just sat there for an hour, perhaps more—crouched on a large, flat rock, hugging my knees to my chest, watching the water and letting my thoughts spread out across the ledges and settle in amongst all the cracks and crevices. I cannot remember what I thought about, but I felt my resolve returning and—it is so hard to explain!—but I know I emerged with a sense of purpose, and I was no longer afraid to speak to Dr. McTavish.

I should have gone back then, but instead I wandered out onto the beach for a while, and I took off my boots to feel the water, as I always do. At length I grew hungry, and I went to Flore to get the food that I had packed in her saddlebag. I ate it, and as I felt my hunger easing, my mind became so clear and flat that it seemed to stretch out with the sheets of rock and go on endlessly. Just as I was finishing, I heard a voice behind me saying, “This is a strange place to find a young lady taking her
lunch.”

I started and whirled around to find George standing behind me, a sketchbook under his arm and a canvas bag over his shoulder. I had no warning of his approach, and he had caught me unawares. I hid my bare feet beneath me and moved closer to Flore, not in the least prepared to meet anyone—least of all George. I felt flustered, and before I could catch the words, they were out of my
mouth.

“What are
you
doing here, Mr. Stewart!”

I regretted my tone almost immediately, for I did not mean the words to sound the way they did; I said it like an accusation, as if he were an intruder trespassing on
my
land. Nor did I know why I addressed him so
formally—

“I could ask the same of you,” he replied
mildly.

He paused and we looked at each other awkwardly. Somehow I managed to get my boots on as he stood there watching me. I grew quite furious with him, but he seemed impervious to my discomfort, even
amused.

“What brings you to Clootie's?” he asked. “Such a forlorn spot.” Then he hesitated. “Allan has called you a dark-eyed junco, but even so, this is a rather isolated place, don't you
think?”

I don't know why—perhaps it was the bidding of the rocks—but I simply told him the
truth.

“I wanted the courage to apologize to Dr. McTavish, and so I came out here to find
it.”

“Well, did you? Did you find
it?”

“Yes,” I said. And that was all. I turned away from
him.

I shortened the stirrup, thinking to sit sidesaddle until I was out of view—but still, I was not at my ease with him. I took Flore's reins and swung myself up onto the
saddle.

He watched me with some uneasiness, and before I could pull away, he took Flore's bridle and held her.

He tried to smile and said, “Now, Marged.” He used my Christian name, as he has always done, though I had called him Mr. Stewart. “Don't take this too hard. It is not quite so bad as you think, is
it?”

“Do you really mean that?” I demanded. It was Clootie's talking again, daring him to speak untruths in its
presence.

He looked grave all of a sudden, as if discerning my real mood for the first time. “Don't you think it was…just a bit of…Allan's
foolishness?”

“No, it was not,” I answered
quickly.

I bent forward and tried to lift his hand from Flore's bridle, but he would not let
me.

“What is it that troubles Miss Brice?” he asked. I thought I heard derision in his
tone.

I don't know why I said it, but it came out of me as if in a torrent. It angered me to think of him treating me like a child, as if he thought I was to be
mollified.

“You think I am a silly young girl, don't you?” I told him. “Perhaps my life is small and unimportant in your eyes. But I have had more experience of the world than you might think. I have seen little compromises that poison people a drop at a time, each day, as they rise and go about their work and share the day together. And I have seen something more foul—something that destroys innocence and goodness by violating a sacred
trust.”

I think I was crying as I said this and furious with myself, but still I did not
stop.

“I will not encourage Allan's—thoughtlessness—because I am weak and afraid that—that I will be lonely without his company. If he must grow up and be a man, then I must help him to it through my own
conduct.”

Suddenly I understood Tad and the Light, and before me I saw his tired, haggard face and his eyes, always oriented toward that
beacon.

I knew it was Clootie's speaking through me and out into my words. George stepped back, a little astonished, but still he did not release his hand from
Flore.

I did not like to be held there that way, and I think I must have scowled fiercely. I am sure that the frown that soon appeared on his brow only mirrored my own. There was a pause, and I pulled my hat down to evade his eyes. He spoke his next words abruptly, almost
harshly.

“Why did you leave the College? Why did you not finish your
degree?”

I gasped. I was not prepared for such a question! He seemed to ask it in such an unfriendly way, as if to wound me. What gossip had he heard? Was he mocking me? I blushed with shame thinking of Miss Crabbage—and her evil insinuations. George could not think that I was guilty of them! I could not bear that George should think it
true!

I drew Flore back sharply, finally forcing him to let go of her bridle. I wished to defend myself against the false imputations I read in his question! But my pride prevented
me.

I rode away from him at a gallop. Once I turned back to see if he was still standing there, but I saw no one. I shivered and wondered if it had really been George—or if an apparition had been sent to tempt me with something I could not
fathom.

June 6

Dr. McTavish and I are friends again. I am so
relieved!

I could not go to him yesterday because Auntie Alis wanted me to accompany her to church and that took up all of the day, but I went right after breakfast this
morning.

Mr. Thompson answered my knock and then removed to the back room, listening to everything, I am sure. But Dr. McTavish wouldn't let me speak first. When I came in, he just took my two hands in his own and said in his gruff but tender way, “Now, now. We're to be friends, aren't we? Haven't we always been so?” He wouldn't let me apologize. I think he knew how full my heart was. He gave me a linen to wipe my eyes, and then he showed me his exquisite drawing of a Bohemian waxwing (
Bombycilla
garrulus
) and whispered to me that Mr. Thompson was quite jealous of its plumage (it does have a rather full head of feathers) and that he's had to keep it hidden from
him.

I didn't stay long, and Mr. Thompson escorted me to the gate. He kept muttering, “Splendid! Just
splendid.”

I am so grateful. Dr. McTavish is a dear, dear
man!

June 8

I have been true to my word. Yesterday Allan and I began our studies of the classics, and I had all my old books and worksheets down, with Dr. Latham's funny notations all over them. Allan, of course, did not pass his Latin examination, though he did better than I expected. But forgetting how to conjugate
poner
was really quite
inexcusable.

I have also wanted to study some of the Greek classic texts with him, and so yesterday we began to read parts of
The
Iliad
down in front of the old boathouse, but before I knew it, we were discussing Homer, and then he wished to hear more about mythology and then we were on to the labors of Hercules. I am quite content to introduce him to the Greek works—perhaps it might be best to set our Latin grammar aside for
now.