Looking at the Moon by Kit Pearson Read Free Book Online Page B

keep an ear open to whatever was going on inside, and watch all the comings and goings without being too suffocated by the clan. The lacy screen of trees beyond the verandah always made her feel secure, as if she were in an airy cave.
    But this afternoon she couldn’t concentrate on The Murder of Roger Ackroyd . The verandah was dotted with other members of the family. From around one corner drifted the usual flow of gossip.
    â€œBut what was her name?” Aunt Dorothy was asking.
    â€œWasn’t she a Ferguson? The Manitoba Fergusons, not the Ontario ones. Her mother would have been a Baxter,” pronounced Aunt Florence. The aunts seemed to know the last names of everyone in all of Canada.
    The strains of one of Uncle Reg’s Gilbert and Sullivan records floated from around the other corner: “… and his sisters and his cousins and his sisters and his cousins and his aunts !” Uncle Reg would be stretched out as usual on a chaise longue, close enough to his phonograph to reach over and wind it up.
    Aunt Catherine was sitting in a rocking chair not far from Norah, her tiny foot bobbing to the music and her nose in a book. She’d given Norah a friendly wave when she first sat down, but she understood that people didn’t want to be disturbed when they were reading.
    Norah had watched Aunt Bea and Aunt Mar set out for the gazebo, carrying a basket, a kettle and a spirit-lamp. She knew Aunt Anne was at the babies’ beach with George and Denny. Now she saw Aunt Mary, again dressed up, descend the steps to the dock. Flo came out of the Girls’ Dorm and they both got into the Putt-Putt and drove away. Once again Aunt Mary had no shopping bag.
    Norah watched the launch disappear, then looked for the sail. By now Andrew and Uncle Gerald, or he and Flo, had taken all the cousins out in the sailboat—everyone but Norah.
    Gavin was right—she loved sailing. Two summers ago she and Janet rigged up the rowboat with an improvised sail made out of an old sheet and pretended it was the Swallow, from one of Norah’s favourite books. But the rowboat was too heavy to move very fast without oars.
    They were only allowed to go out in the sailboat when Uncle Gerald or Uncle Peter, Clare’s father, washere. But the two youngest uncles were never able to come to Gairloch for long and the other two didn’t like sailing.
    Now Norah watched Andrew and Uncle Gerald tack as they approached the dock. Gavin and Sally were crouched between them. Norah wanted to be in the boat so much she could feel the jibsheet between her hands.
    But she wouldn’t ask—not Andrew. She swung the glider violently until its creaking almost drowned out Uncle Reg’s record.
    â€œNorah!” Gavin had rushed up the hill to the verandah. He always knew where to find his sister. He climbed into the glider beside her, his cheeks flushed and his fair hair in a tangle. “Did you see me out there? It was swell! We went really fast and I leaned right over the water—that’s called ‘hiking.’ Sally almost forgot to duck when Uncle Gerald gybed. Do you know what gybing is?”
    â€œOf course I do,” sighed Norah.
    â€œAndrew sent me to find you,” continued Gavin. “He wants to know if you want a turn next. This will be their last sail today.”
    Despite the reluctance in her mind, Norah’s feet seemed to stroll down to the dock on their own. She tried not to let her face show how much she wanted to get into the boat.
    â€œThere you are, Norah!” Andrew was sitting in the stern. “You’re certainly hard to find. Every time we tried to give you a turn you’d disappeared.”
    â€œWant to come now?” Uncle Gerald asked her.
    â€œYes, please.” Norah looked only at Uncle Gerald as she answered. With him along, she could ignore Andrew. She put on a life-jacket and stepped into the Christina . The boat’s canvas sails crackled in the