4giveness

Margaret Godsman

Description

After their family splinters, Beth, twelve, and her fourteen-year-old brother, Richard, remain to care for themselves in the family's five-bedroom house--abandoned by their folks, relatives and nearby neighbours for their choice to stay in the family home. Beth must use her own moral compass to navigate her encounters with boarders, draft dodgers, communes and a growing group of suitors. Set against the backdrop of Victoria, British Columbia, in the early 60s, 4giveness is the emotional journey of a young woman's growing awareness of the world past her front step.

Sujets

• Lettres et linguistique
• Columbia Británica
• British Columbia
• Colombie-Britannique

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 28 février 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528966214
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

4giveness
Margaret Godsman
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-02-28
4giveness About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Epilogue Bibliography of References
About the Author
Margaret is a licensed practical nurse, who has enjoyed writing short, real-life stories. This is her first published full-length story and book. Mother of three grown children, she was born in an RAF hospital in Bridgnorth, Shropshire. As a young girl, she moved and lived with her family in Copenhagen, Denmark, before briefly living in Twickenham, England, and then becoming a landed immigrant to Canada with her arrival in Victoria, British Columbia, at the age of four. She now resides in Calgary, Alberta.
Dedication
For my siblings.
Copyright Information ©
Margaret Godsman (2020)
The right of Margaret Godsman to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528930260 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528966214 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgement
I would like to acknowledge Taylor for her enduring patience with this project. Taylor’s editing brought both light and perspective to my deepest memories.
Rose, for her support from the very early days of this story’s unfolding. Deb, for her on-going support to have this book published. As well as many individuals who decided to support or oppose this story being told.
Author photograph by Nimmi Godsman.
Cover idea by Jessie Godsman.

‘A life that is worth writing at all is worth writing minutely and truthfully.’
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Chapter 1
Victoria, B.C. Oak Bay
Spring 1963
I was hurrying across the Oak Bay High School grounds. The surface at first glance looked both lush and green. Sports played out daily within the lines marked. The field I had come to name ‘Sea of Divots’. I had found it was impossible for me to both lengthen my strides and look up at the blue cloudless sky.
Now, as I listened to the first bell, lunch break was over. Any potential last moments for daydreaming in the sun abruptly came to a halt. Not able to run. I took a deep breath and determined a steadfast path toward my school, Oak Bay Junior High.
Thank goodness it was Friday afternoon. It would be more enjoyable for me once the May long weekend began. We celebrated Great Britain’s Queen Victoria’s birthday, May 24th.
Queen Victoria had reigned over Great Britain as the longest female monarch in history. I felt I had reason to celebrate. I had been born in England and I still felt proud of my ties to my English heritage.
The May holiday Monday came about in Canada long before confederation. In 1845, the first legislation in Canada regarding this event was passed by the Canadian parliament. We saw it as the first weekend to celebrate the beginnings of summer.
The school’s end of the day announcements brought closure to my classes. I unfolded myself out of my desk. I am tall for my age, and like many of us, I have to squeeze into those tiny desks provided in grade seven. My agitation retreated as I walked the length of the unlit hallway, swiftly, I stroked the bar that opened the door outside and onto the tarmac. My eyes watered immediately from the bright sun. I turned away from the brightness only to feel the immediate scorching heat burning into the back of my cardigan. I am taking the longer route home in spite of the heat. I want to head to the corner store to buy a popsicle. I normally had to be home right after school, but this particular Friday, I didn’t have to rush. I heard my audible sigh as I reminded myself. Cleaning out my desk for the weekend, I had found a dime. My usual intended driving force to get me home subsided.
As I walked away from the school entrance, I saw parked on the main road a distinctly shaped car. I could see the driver stationed in his vehicle. My older brother was into cars. I was reminded of a conversation where my brother was telling Dad what he thought was the difference between American and foreign-built cars. From my memory of their conversation, it was more likely this car was foreign. Moments later, the driver stepped out of his oddly shaped green car. When he turned and faced me, he was smiling. He was headed toward my path. Although we would cross paths, my thoughts had returned to the variety of flavored popsicles. Unexpectedly, I heard what I thought had been the driver calling out, “Hi!” As I turned my head to answer his remark, I instinctively placed a hand on my left eye to block the sun. Not quick enough, I still had to squint. I felt my eye watering and at the same time, I thought to myself that he must want instructions on how to get into the school. I chose to speak to him.
I replied nonchalantly, “Hello.” At the same time as I stopped walking, I glanced down at the pavement. I am shy. He quickened his pace toward me. He introduced himself as Dennis Bolton. I barely caught his first name as his appearance suggested he was even older than my brother. Why would I need to know his name? He asked me, “Are you just getting out of school?”
I replied, “Yes, I am.”
Somehow this question from him was so obvious to me that it made me smile. He said, “I am here to pick up my brother Rick.” He then asked me, “Do you know him? He plays in the school band.”
“No,” I replied, trying not to laugh. I had no idea who his brother was. I felt myself noticing that Dennis, on the other hand, was cute. Barbara, my girlfriend, was always going out with ‘cute guys’.
Dennis asked me, “Do you have any plans for the long weekend?” Now, with much unexpected surprise to his question, I was stumped as to how to reply. I stumbled around to answer, and immediately felt embarrassed. I looked down at my shoes silently, because who cared if you were always expected to be available to babysit your siblings. Had I even stopped tearing up in my left eye? He hadn’t seemingly been waiting for my answer. He went on to ask me, “Could you come out to a party Saturday night?”
Still feeling my discomfort over my watering eye, I wasn’t answering and Dennis continued to talk. Now he was describing how he had seen me crossing over the high school grounds earlier in the day. “Nobody at the high school,” he remarked, “seems to know you by my description.” He started to laugh at himself. I thought, I guess not, since I don’t attend high school.
I didn’t find the words to mention this and believed he was in high school. How old could he be? I didn’t speak. But took the moment to take in what I was being asked.
My mom at that time had been pushing me to date. I still had my dolls stored in a small closet that was part of my upstairs bedroom. I would pass the time sitting on a small trunk inside the closet and remember a time when I had played with them. My mom would interrupt by leaning over the small closet entrance. Her statue blocked any natural light coming in. Then placing her hands on her hips, and with her tone of disapproval, Mom would say, “Beth, if you are to be married by the age of fifteen, you can’t play with dolls anymore. Now put them aside.” I wasn’t even thinking of a real date. Dennis asking me out was okay somehow. I found myself answering with a smile and then spoke, “Yes.” I told him I probably could go out. I then went on to tell Dennis if he could phone me after 6 p.m. I would have had time to ask my mom.
Just then, Dennis’s brother turned up. He was carrying a case that obviously held a band instrument, not looking cute at all. Wow, how different can two brothers be? Dennis’s brother’s hair was all in his face and his glasses were looking smudged, dirty in fact. His shirttail was half in and half out of his trousers. Dennis introduced his brother, Rick. It gave me an opportunity to introduce myself as well and share my telephone number. Rick’s face didn’t reveal any emotion. He didn’t seem to even notice I was there. He appeared to be studying his brother.
Dennis looked smart and fresh, in stark contrast with his brother. I no longer wanted a popsicle. I was now in a hurry to get back home to call Barbara. I had a date for Saturday night.
When I had barely arrived home, I told my mom I had been invited out for Saturday night and she looked pleased. Later that evening after Dennis called, we went upstairs and looked over my clothes in the closet to see what I could wear. My mother always liked taking pride in purchasing my clothes. Mom loved to see me dress up for an occasion. She brought out from my closet a sky-blue light wool dress lined with no sleeves. I didn’t remember this particular dress. Seeing it, I instantly disliked the color. Mom sometimes went ahead and bought clothes without input from me. But as she so often had, she wo