Dear Betsey (wrote Judith)
I have been away from you for only a day—and yet, I feel every one of those minutes between us. Each one of them lays heavily against my heart. I didn't enjoy our plane ride a bit—I only kept thinking that every second was taking me farther away from you. I'm not exaggerating and I'm not giving myself over to hyperbole, either. If mother and father knew, really knew, how hard it was for twins to be separated, they never would have come up with such a cockamamie scheme.
The drive to the airport was rather cold, and that hurt me, as well. There has never been any coldness before between me and father. Mother hugged me so nicely and cried a little when she said goodbye to me at home; but Dad only asked if I had packed a sweater, for the Island could be cold o'nights, even in the summer. We didn't talk again until he had dropped me off at the gate. Then he told me very sternly that I must behave myself, and try to make a good impression on the 'Silver Bushites.' A good impression! What hope have I of making one of those if everyone already knows that I have been sent away in disgrace?
I would have liked to enjoy the plane ride more. I can barely remember that time we flew to Vancouver to see Aunt Rae and Uncle Brook and the boys, except that the sky all around us was gray, gray, gray. Today it was a lovely view, and clear, so that I could see all the way down to the little towns below. It gave me such an odd feeling to think that inside every one of those hundreds of houses was a family, with its own joys and triumphs—and disgraces—just like our own. I felt immediately kin to every other one of those girls who are as misunderstood as me. For certainly they must be out there. Oh, Betsey, I didn't think it possible for mother and Dad to be as misunderstanding as they are!
I slept a little, but woke up in time for the descent. Oh, that was a little nervewracking. I have never had any problems flying before but today there was a little wind, and as we bumped and shivered along I was reminded of Great-aunt Barbara, and how she always said that if God had intended us to fly, He would have given us wings. I clutched and clutched at my armrest in terror—until I happened to look out my window again and see the Island, the whole of it, floating in the gulf like an emerald on blue velvet. I remembered how mother used to tell us that the Indians called Prince Edward Island 'Abegweit'—cradle on the waves—and that is just how it looks from up high.
Uncle Sid met me at the air-port in Charlottetown and I almost didn't recognize him with his thick black beard. Do you know he looks almost exactly like the pictures of old Great-uncle Tom? Uncle Sid didn't recognize me either, at first—he was still craning his neck to see behind me—but when I started over he did at once, and when I reached him he said, "Pat—Pat in the flesh—except for those eyes."
Auntie May—dear Auntie May, do you read my sarcasm?—was waiting with him and I would have recognized her at once. She has still that lean, hungry look about her. I know instinctually that she is one of those women who is always on a diet whether she needs it or not, because she has no imagination to dream up another way to spend her time. Her flashy dress seemed out of place in everyday, and her hair is still blond, very blond—but not without some help, I imagine. When I looked at her face I understood what mother means when she tells me to lay off the rouge and kohl—May looked hard, and old—years older than mother though they are really about the same age.
We drove along and Uncle Sid talked to me, to try and get me reacquainted with the family. I have tried to remember everything he said (plus May's catty asides) and set it down as faithfully as I can for you.
"Winnie and Frank and their brood are living at the Bay Shore still," Uncle Sid said. "That's where you'll be staying. Of course it's quiet there during the year, with Young Win and Rachel away at Redmond—and Frank and Tommy away at Queens. (Here May rolls her eyes for time the first, as though the very thought of higher education is enough to sicken her). But they're all home for the summer now," Uncle Sid went on.
"More's the pity," said May, under her breath.
Uncle Sid either didn't hear her or pretended not to. "Little Mary is home from Montreal—she's come to plan her wedding, you know. It should go off in August. I'm to be best man." He flushed crimson with pride under his black beard. (Aunt May interjected, "Best man—hah!" and turned her face to the window haughtily).
"Mary is marrying a foreigner," Uncle Sid continued. "They met studying botany at McGill. We call him Kenny, though his real name is Kenichi Sato. Isn't that some name? He's Japanese."
"Though why Mary would want to marry one of them is beyond me," May said carelessly. "You remember how awful they acted during the war."
Uncle Sid sighed. "The war's been over for sixteen years, May."
This put a damper on conversation for a while. We drove on, and I tried to recall the last visit we'd made to the Island. It's more than ten years ago, now; I think the last time was for Grandmother Gardiner's funeral. I recognized the red roads and I got a pleasant remebery sort of feeling when we went by certain old farmhouses. But all in all, the place is much changed from the picture I hold in my head.
Uncle Sid seemed to know what I was thinking for he turned to look over his shoulder at me.
"Not much further to Bay Shore," he said. "That's where Winnie and her brood lives, if you recall. Oh, and Frank," he added, by way of afterthought. I rather got the impression from that that Aunt Winnie runs the household.
"You'll be staying there, mostly," Uncle Sid went on, turning back to the road. "But I hope you shall visit us at Swallowfield from time to time."
Aunt May made a snorting sound through her nose at that.
"Swallowfield?" I asked, a little confusedly. The last time we were here, I distinctly recall Uncle Sid and Aunt May living at the old Silver Bush. Of course it was never called Silver Bush after it burnt down—Mother always said Aunt May wasn't romantic enough to live at a house that had a name.
"Yes, Swallowfield," Uncle Sid said. "We've moved there since Tom died. May likes to be a little closer to her family. We're renting Silver Bush this summer—to Yankee tenants. I do hope they'll be good to the place. They seemed nice enough, but you never can tell, with Yankees."
His brow was wrinkled in concern. Aunt May only said, "Um," in a tone that indicated that she could really care less about the fate of what had been her home for many years.
By this time we had reached Bay Shore and pulled up in front of Aunt Winnie's—and Uncle Frank's—house. A short, stoutish woman with ash-colored curls was waiting on the porch, and I realized with some surprise that it was Aunt Winnie herself. She is only five years older than Mother, you know—but it seems more, when you look at her. I supposed it must be all those children—and just as I thought it the door opened and a horde of young people poured out and down the steps.
I recognized Little Mary at once—Little Mary! She must be close to father's height, Bets! I never met anyone with a more incongruous nickname—and when I looked at her I could see what Aunt Winnie must have looked like in her youth. Mary has long, yellow blond curls that she wears loose and free and tumbling down about her shoulders (I haven't yet seen anyone on the island but Aunt May who wears bouffant). Mary is tall and willowy and 'Selby' to the core—though there is a whiff of mother about her wrists and ankles. She smiled brilliantly when she saw me and seemed so happy that for a moment I forgot the reason for my visit.
Young Winnie and Rachel, the twins, couldn't possibly look more untwinly if they tried. Win's nose is long and aquiline while Rachel's is a snub. Rachel is pepper with freckles while Winnie's skin is smooth and white. They both have riots of curls—though Winnie's are dark and Rachel's are a very pale blonde. But for all their differences, they were dressed exactly alike, in pleated skirts and back-to-front cardigans. (I immediately felt like my own skirt was too short). But imagine, Bets! We gave up on all that twinly rigmarole years ago!
"It's because we don't look alike," explained Win to me later. "Nobody knows that we're twins from looking at us—"
"And we do so like being twins," Rachel explained earnestly,
"So we have to dress alike," they finished together.
For all that they really are very different in personality—quite like you and I, Bets darling. Win is getting her diploma in literature and is quoting Shakespeare always, while Rachel is a natural scientist. She went out after supper to collect specimens by the lake and came back muddy to the knees.
Frankie and Tommy, the boys, look rather like Uncle Frank, with wholesome pink faces that always look fresh-scrubbed, and blue-grey eyes, and not a hint of anything romantic about them. Capital R or little r—not romantic a bit. Over supper, Uncle Frank (who is almost completely bald and fatter than ever—but just as nice as he always was) told us that Tommy has been 'courting' (Uncle Frank's word) Jenna Madison for over a year, and gave her an electric iron for her last birthday. We all howled except for Tommy, and Frankie.
"Why shouldn't I have given her an iron?" Tom asked blankly. "She said she wanted one, and so I got it. It came from the Eaton's catalog, too."
"And now her shirts will always be nicely pressed," said Frankie in defence of his brother, and we all laughed harder.
It has been a lovely day, all in all. No one has made me feel peculiar because I've been 'sent away' from home. In fact, Little Mary and I sat up quite late talking and she confessed she was ever so glad to have me here. She's always felt so badly that we don't get to see each other more. We listened to the new Roy Orbison on Mary's record player and danced and I thought that perhaps I shouldn't be having so much fun under the circumstances! I kept seeing mother's face and her serious brows as she told me that I should either give up Everett or go.
I feel certain that mother wouldn't quite like the idea of me dancing and singing and having fun, when I told her quite plainly that not even a summer could ever make me forget dear Ev. Of course I'm not wearing my ring—Mother made me promise not to—but I have put it on a chain around my neck so it will be near to me always.
Besides you, Betsey, I miss Everett the most of all. Oh, it is too cruel that we should be separated all summer long! We had so many plans and I hate that they should never happen now. And I know it sounds terribly disloyal but I can't help thinking that Everett—might—find some other girl, that I am gone. Oh, but I'm being foolish! Of course he loves me—just as much as I love him.
It's well past midnight—I heard the clock strike. Such an old-fashioned grandfatherly clock—but then everything at the Bay Shore is a trifle old-fashioned. I don't entirely mind, except that my flash-light keeps dying and Little Mary keeps turning about in her sleep. I think the light is keeping her up—and so I must go—we're getting up awfully early tomorrow to go on a 'driving tour' of the town. Goodnight, twin o'mine—I miss you awfully.
Love from JUDY
PS: I'm enclosing a letter for you to give to Everett, if you don't mind. I would tell you to give him a kiss from me, but the very thought's sent me into peals of laughter! I must stop laughing or I'll wake Mary. The idea of you—dear, innocent, Bets—kissing boys! (Although you must start sometime, darling, or people will think you're terribly anti-social.)
PPS: Since we're speaking of Ev—the thought just crossed my mind—well, I was wondering if you would mind terribly keeping an eye on him for me? It isn't that I don't trust him, it's…well. I'd just feel better that way. Of course you shouldn't let on that you are spying—I don't want him to think me paranoid.
PPPS: Oh, Betsey, I do wish you were here!