Looking at the Moon by Kit Pearson Page B

your knitting?” complained Aunt Dorothy, holding up a long grey sock to measure it. “I thought you were each going to make a scarf for a soldier this summer. Don’t forget, not everyone leads the comfortable life you do. There’s a war on, you know.”
    â€œThere’s a war on, moron,” whispered Clare.
    â€œDon’t you be rude to my mother!” Janet hissed back.
    Aunt Catherine suggested a game of rummy and four of the Elders gathered around a table. For a while the only sound was the ripple and snap of cards being shuffled.
    â€œA run of five!” gloated Uncle Reg. “Your turn, Florence.”
    â€œFor sigh thia,” said Aunt Florence quietly.
    â€œFor sith ia!” retorted her sister.
    â€œIt was named after a Mr. Forsythe—therefore it is pronounced the same way as his name,” sniffed Aunt Florence.
    Aunt Bea didn’t even look up from her cards as she muttered, “Madge Allwood, who was the best gardener in Montreal, always said ‘Forsithia.’”
    â€œReally, Bea.” Aunt Florence threw down her cards in disgust. “If you won’t see reason I refuse to go on playing.”
    â€œNow what on earth does how a flower’s name is pronounced have to do with a game of cards?” Uncle Reg asked.
    Aunt Florence bridled. “It’s not a flower, it’s a shrub. And what do you know about gardening, Reg? It’s not your quarrel—kindly stay out of it.”
    â€œI don’t see why there has to be a quarrel at all,” said Andrew quietly, looking up from his book.
    Norah, hiding behind her book, was surprised to see the aunts look ashamed.
    â€œYou’re perfectly right, Andrew,” said Aunt Florence briskly. “Let’s talk about you .” She gazed at him fondly.“It’s going to be such a treat to have you in Toronto this year. I do wish you’d live with us, but I know you boys need your freedom. What are you taking in first term?”
    As Andrew recited the names of his engineering courses Norah wriggled with excitement. She had forgotten that Andrew would be living in the same city. Surely he’d come over for meals.
    â€œHugh would have liked to take engineering,” sighed Aunt Florence. “You are so much like him, my dear. My poor Hugh …”
    Aunt Bea cut in abruptly. “How’s your friend Jack doing, Andrew? What mischief you two boys both got up to! You used to spend the whole summer pretending you were savages and smearing yourselves with paint—without any clothes on, if I remember!” She giggled. “Do you hear from him much?”
    â€œI’ve had a few letters,” said Andrew guardedly. “And of course the Mitchells hear from him. He’s all right—he hasn’t seen much action yet.”
    â€œIt must make you want to be in on it, when your best friend is,” said Uncle Barclay. “Too bad he’s older than you—you could have joined up together.”
    â€œBut Andrew is going to join the army, not the air force,” said Aunt Florence proudly. “All the Drummonds and Ogilvies have been army men. You’re going to try to get into Hugh’s old regiment, aren’t you, dear? He would have been so proud of you.”
    â€œFlorence!” Everyone froze at the hysterical edge in Aunt Bea’s voice. “I’ve always wanted to say this and nowI’m going to. You dwell too much on that sainted son of yours. He’s gone—why can’t you accept it? No one ever talks about my son, and he’s alive and prospering. I am tired of always hearing about perfect Hugh, and I’m sure Andrew is as well.”
    In the shocked silence the thunder rolled more ominously. Gerald ducked his head at his mother’s words. Aunt Florence drew herself upright, took a deep breath and began to explode just as the storm did.
    â€œHow dare you …” she began.
    CRA-AAA-CK!