feeling sad,” said Aunt Jean. “But do you know what, chickie? You’re talking!”
“So you are!” said Noni. “I’m glad of that, but I’m sorry you’re feeling sad.” She took Aunt Jean’s place on the bed and stroked Polly’s hair.
Then
she
began to sing:
Lula lula lula bye-bye.
Do you want the stars to play with?
Or the moon to run away with?
They’ll come if you don’t cry.
Polly fell asleep to Noni’s husky voice.
CHAPTER FIVE
A BREATHER
P olly sat at the kitchen table and forced herself to eat a few mouthfuls of porridge, wondering what to do with herself. The rain drummed on the roof like a waterfall. Being without Maud was like being without a limb.
“Isn’t it good to be home?” Aunt Jean had said the night before. But where
was
home? Polly wondered. It didn’t feel like here, but neither did Winnipeg without Daddy. Maud’s new home was her school, but Polly had nowhere.
“Why don’t you take another pot of tea up to your grandmother?” suggested Mrs. Hooper, who was rolling out dough. “I’ll set out a cup for you as well.”
“All right,” said Polly, since she didn’t seem to have a choice.
She had to put the heavy tray down to knock on Noni’s door.
“Come in,” called the gravelly voice.
Polly felt shy going into Noni’s bedroom. But Noni smiled at her, sitting up in bed in an embroidered dressing gown. Her loose hair made her face look softer. She put down her book.
“Ah, Polly, what a treat! And more tea! Come and sit beside me on the bed. Have you had breakfast?”
Polly nodded as she pushed off her shoes and scrambled onto the high bed.
“Why, look at your feet—they’re sopping! You’d better take off your socks and get under the covers. How did you get so wet?”
“Going to the privy,” Polly explained.
“We should have bought you gumboots in Victoria! Never mind, we’ll find you some at the store. Now, hen, how many spoonfuls of sugar would you like in your tea?”
“Two, please.” Polly was trying not to stare too obviously at Noni’s things. “What are you reading?” she asked shyly.
“It’s a book of poetry called
The Golden Treasury.
I read it every morning, and often during the night. I don’t sleep very well. My arthritic hips make it hard to get comfortable, and I can’t seem to turn off my mind. That’s why I find it hard to get up in the mornings. Would you like me to read some poems aloud to you?”
“Yes, please.”
Now Polly could stare freely. She slurped her sweet milky tea and listened to Noni read a short poem about daffodils, then a longer one about going down to the sea.
Like the rest of the house, Noni’s room was stuffed full of objects: photos, cushions, books, magazines, and clothing were piled and draped everywhere.
Noni put down the book and picked up her cup. “Just listen to that rain! Isn’t it cozy, being inside in a warm bed? Sometimes I think I could stay here all day! But the morning awaits us. I’d better get dressed before Jean arrives, or she’ll be disgusted with me.”
Polly wondered if she should leave, but Noni told her to stay in bed. She tried not to stare as her grandmother peeled off her dressing gown and nightgown and began to put on many layers of underwear: drawers, a brassiere, a camisole, a corset that had gartersdangling from the bottom of it, and, over it all, a slip. She sat on a stool to pull on her stockings and fasten them to the garters. Finally she put on a brown cotton dress.
“Now, hair!” she said, turning to her mirror. Noni brushed her fluffy hair smooth and twisted it into a smooth roll. Then she fastened the roll along the back of her head with hairpins.
“There!” she said, turning around. “How do I look?”
Noni looked as if she had tied herself up tightly in a brown package, but it would have been rude to say that. “You look … tidy,” said Polly.
“Thank you, hen! I try to at least be neat in my appearance, since I seem to have
“So you are!” said Noni. “I’m glad of that, but I’m sorry you’re feeling sad.” She took Aunt Jean’s place on the bed and stroked Polly’s hair.
Then
she
began to sing:
Lula lula lula bye-bye.
Do you want the stars to play with?
Or the moon to run away with?
They’ll come if you don’t cry.
Polly fell asleep to Noni’s husky voice.
CHAPTER FIVE
A BREATHER
P olly sat at the kitchen table and forced herself to eat a few mouthfuls of porridge, wondering what to do with herself. The rain drummed on the roof like a waterfall. Being without Maud was like being without a limb.
“Isn’t it good to be home?” Aunt Jean had said the night before. But where
was
home? Polly wondered. It didn’t feel like here, but neither did Winnipeg without Daddy. Maud’s new home was her school, but Polly had nowhere.
“Why don’t you take another pot of tea up to your grandmother?” suggested Mrs. Hooper, who was rolling out dough. “I’ll set out a cup for you as well.”
“All right,” said Polly, since she didn’t seem to have a choice.
She had to put the heavy tray down to knock on Noni’s door.
“Come in,” called the gravelly voice.
Polly felt shy going into Noni’s bedroom. But Noni smiled at her, sitting up in bed in an embroidered dressing gown. Her loose hair made her face look softer. She put down her book.
“Ah, Polly, what a treat! And more tea! Come and sit beside me on the bed. Have you had breakfast?”
Polly nodded as she pushed off her shoes and scrambled onto the high bed.
“Why, look at your feet—they’re sopping! You’d better take off your socks and get under the covers. How did you get so wet?”
“Going to the privy,” Polly explained.
“We should have bought you gumboots in Victoria! Never mind, we’ll find you some at the store. Now, hen, how many spoonfuls of sugar would you like in your tea?”
“Two, please.” Polly was trying not to stare too obviously at Noni’s things. “What are you reading?” she asked shyly.
“It’s a book of poetry called
The Golden Treasury.
I read it every morning, and often during the night. I don’t sleep very well. My arthritic hips make it hard to get comfortable, and I can’t seem to turn off my mind. That’s why I find it hard to get up in the mornings. Would you like me to read some poems aloud to you?”
“Yes, please.”
Now Polly could stare freely. She slurped her sweet milky tea and listened to Noni read a short poem about daffodils, then a longer one about going down to the sea.
Like the rest of the house, Noni’s room was stuffed full of objects: photos, cushions, books, magazines, and clothing were piled and draped everywhere.
Noni put down the book and picked up her cup. “Just listen to that rain! Isn’t it cozy, being inside in a warm bed? Sometimes I think I could stay here all day! But the morning awaits us. I’d better get dressed before Jean arrives, or she’ll be disgusted with me.”
Polly wondered if she should leave, but Noni told her to stay in bed. She tried not to stare as her grandmother peeled off her dressing gown and nightgown and began to put on many layers of underwear: drawers, a brassiere, a camisole, a corset that had gartersdangling from the bottom of it, and, over it all, a slip. She sat on a stool to pull on her stockings and fasten them to the garters. Finally she put on a brown cotton dress.
“Now, hair!” she said, turning to her mirror. Noni brushed her fluffy hair smooth and twisted it into a smooth roll. Then she fastened the roll along the back of her head with hairpins.
“There!” she said, turning around. “How do I look?”
Noni looked as if she had tied herself up tightly in a brown package, but it would have been rude to say that. “You look … tidy,” said Polly.
“Thank you, hen! I try to at least be neat in my appearance, since I seem to have
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