“Hello, Aunt Beatrix,” I blurted. At first she seemed startled and snorted at me in surprise. She was dressed in a green wool skirt that was tucked up under her well-endowed bosom and it gave the overall impression of her being some sort of human pear. At the end of her stubby arms were lots of silver bangles and her thin white hair was drawn up on the top of her head in a wispy bun.
“Oh, Peggy, you’re so thin and tall.” Was that supposed to be a compliment? “Now would that be the same hockey shirt you were wearing the last time we met?” I looked down at my slightly rumpled Canucks jersey with the ketchup stain.
“Yup, it’s my favourite shirt.” For some reason Mom’s face turned the same shade of pink as the freshly cut peonies in the vase.
“And your hair … is that the way young people are styling their hair these days?”
I smoothed my hands over my messy hair. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it seems some girls have taken to colouring their hair purple, others have feathers … I just wondered if your mass of tangles was another new style.”
“Naw, just didn’t bother brushing it, that’s all.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I’m glad you didn’t go to any trouble on my account.” I noticed that Aunt Margaret was nervously picking at the pills on her sweater.
“Oh, I went to plenty of trouble on your account. Aunt Margaret had me up at seven o’clock scrubbing —”
“Aunt Beatrix,” Aunt Margaret butted in. “I’m sure you must be ready for some refreshment after your long drive.” I wondered why Aunt Margaret seemed to be on pins and needles around Great Aunt Beatrix. No matter to me really, I was just waiting for the right moment to make my escape.
TB and I were going for a bike ride down to Blackie’s Spit. He’s my best friend and has the dorkiest name on Earth — Thorbert. His dad named him that after some old Viking guy. When we met I could never say it with a straight face so I started calling him TB. Now everyone except his parents calls him that — I’m pretty sure it’s a nickname that’s saved him countless hours of teasing at school.
“The water is boiled. Should I make the tea?” called Uncle Stewart from the kitchen.
“Oh, I didn’t get the teapot down yet,” said Mom. “I’ll do that right now.” There was a sudden rush of blood to my face, and I felt dizzy.
“That would be delightful, Elizabeth. I so enjoy it when we have an opportunity to use the family heirloom china.” Aunt Beatrix turned to me and scowled. “Peggy, dear, stop fidgeting with your fingernails. It isn’t ladylike.” I couldn’t help myself. If she knew what was going to happen next she’d be fidgeting too. Then it came, a startling wail from the kitchen that sounded like the cat’s tail had been banged in the cupboard door.
“Peggy, come in here — right now,” Mom demanded from the kitchen.
“Oh dear, it sounds like we have a problem. Is there anything I can do?” Aunt Beatrix called. I gulped back my nervousness and wondered if I should make a run for it. I had taken two steps towards the front door when Aunt Margaret came into the room with a tear-streaked face.
“Peggy, don’t you even think about it,” Aunt Margaret said in a trembling voice. “You’ll have to excuse us, Aunt Beatrix. We have a situation and need Peggy to clear it up.” The blood that had suddenly rushed in now drained just as quickly from my face and I weakly followed my aunt to the kitchen.
“Perhaps I should make the tea while you take care of whatever it is,” Great Aunt Beatrix offered. Aunt Margaret went even paler than me — if that was actually possible.
“No thank you, Aunt Beatrix. Your tea is on its way — won’t be more than a couple of minutes.” Aunt Margaret narrowed her eyes to two scary slits and pointed to the kitchen. When I walked in Mom was bent over the table peeling tape off of the teacups. When she glanced up I could see in her eyes that my life was in danger.
“Explain to me — and quickly — what happened to my china, Peggy? And don’t even think of lying.” I’d seen Aunt Margaret mad a lot of times, but never this bad.
“Well, one day after school Duff was all frisky, you see. He was tearing around the place like a crazy possessed maniacal —”
“Just get to the point,” my aunt snapped.
“Like I was about to say … he was tearing around when all of a sudden he latched onto the curtains and climbed up on the top of the shelf. That’s when he knocked the china down.” I decided for the time being it was best to leave off the part about me accidentally tossing his catnip up there. Since Duff was my aunt’s cat I was pretty sure he’d be safe. It was my safety that I was worried about.
“Why didn’t you say anything when it happened?” Aunt Margaret growled.
“Well, it was like five months ago.” She gasped. “I thought maybe once the glue was set it would be okay. Then I forgot all about it.” If there had been a club handy I sensed she would have used it. “It was an unfortunate accident, but let’s get some perspective … they’re only dishes, and it’s not like they ever get used.” Another gasp, but this time it was from my mom.
“We don’t use them because they’re very valuable and old — well over a hundred years, in fact. We only use them for special occasions … like this.” Aunt Margaret’s lips quivered. “They were given to me by Aunt Beatrix, who got them from her grandmother, and before that they came from some other distant relative. Do you realize how many generations these dishes go back?” I was in the process of doing the math, when Aunt Margaret fell onto the chair and started sobbing. “Aunt Beatrix expects us to serve tea in that teapot. Now what am I supposed to do?”
I started to offer some suggestions but Mom stopped me.
“Peggy, I don’t want to hear it. You’ve completely missed the point here. This china means a lot to Aunt Margaret. She treasures it. I know an accident is an accident but it was irresponsible of you to not tell us about what happened. Not only is it a shame these dishes were broken, but you have put us in an awkward situation. I think you should go to your room and think about what you’ve done. And while you’re there you’d better craft your apology speech and a have a plan for making amends.” I hung my head and headed for the stairs.
“Stop,” Aunt Margaret hissed. “You can’t go there — it’s Aunt Beatrix’s room for now. Just … just … go outside. I don’t want to see you right now.”
Outside? I did my best to look like I detested the idea and shuffled to the back door. Then as soon as I could I scooted down the stairs and snatched my bike and helmet as fast as I could and rode off with the wind whistling past my ears.
That night I had a hard time sleeping, and it wasn’t because of the lumpy sofa. First I’d been expelled from my room, and then I got reamed out over some crumby old broken teapot and cups, followed by Aunt Beatrix’s snide observations about my sloppy posture and lack of fashion sense. If that wasn’t bad enough, I got shrieked at again just before bed when Aunt Margaret found out the towels she gave Aunt Beatrix were the wet and dirty ones I’d used for cleaning the bathroom.
How was I going to survive two weeks of this? I needed to find a way to stay clear of Great Aunt Beatrix and Aunt Margaret. I was actually glad there was school the next day. Just then I remembered my class had a field trip in the morning to the Vancouver Maritime Museum. Maybe by the time I got home everyone would be calmed down.
“Welcome,” beckoned a pretty young woman as we stepped inside the museum. Usually on museum field trips we got retired grandmothers who led the tours, but this one wasn’t old at all, maybe mid-twenties. “I’m Amanda Marsh, your guide today here at the Vancouver Maritime Museum. If I can just get you to leave your bags here we’ll get started in the main gallery by viewing the museum’s