Maud

by Melanie Fishbane

  Even her mother’s tombstone showed how much Grandfather and Grandma had disapproved of Father. The hymn was about a dearly departed sister, not a beloved wife and mother. Mother died when she was twenty-three years old, almost eight years older than Maud was now. Father loved Mother, but no one ever talked about how her parents met. No one ever talked about why they married so quickly. No one ever talked about Mother at all. One day, Maud would be reunited with Father and he would tell her about her mother, about their courtship and her life with them before Mother died. One day, she would have a family and a place to call home.

  When her mother died, there had been no one else to take care of Maud. Her mother’s brother, Uncle John Franklin Macneill (Lu’s father), had his family; and Clara’s sister, Maud’s Aunt Annie Campbell, had hers; so the responsibility fell to Maud’s sixteen-year-old aunt, Emily. Maud wondered if that was why Emily now had such a sour disposition; she certainly had picked up her talent for insults from Grandfather. But when Maud was younger, Emily had been kind to her, willing to answer questions about heaven and if Mother was happy where she was.

  Standing there with the wind and the low moan of the sea, Maud allowed herself to dwell in memory. No one believed Maud when she told them that she remembered Mother’s funeral. It was all Maud had of her mother.

  Maud had been just twenty-one months old when it happened, but she could remember every detail. Father crying beside the casket, his dark hair combed neatly, beard trim, his eyes sad and dull. Her mother looked beautiful, pale, like a queen sleeping. Maud had used that exact description in her piece of verse about a queen who had been poisoned by an evil villain. She was calling it “The Queen’s Betrayal.” It was very dramatic.

  The warm wind whistled, and she looked up to see it wasn’t the wind at all. Nate Spurr strode toward her from the Haunted Woods—appearing almost as if by magic. Maud felt that flutter again and turned her face to the shore so he couldn’t tell she was excited to see him. Being the Baptist minister’s stepson, he would have attended the Baptist Church, on the other side of the woods. It must have let out a few minutes ago.

  They hadn’t spoken since she left last winter, and Maud had wondered if he was still angry with her because she’d refused to tell him why she had to leave. She had given him a message through Mollie in a letter when she was away, telling him where she was, and she’d hoped he would write. They were friends, after all. She never did get a letter back, but the note he’d sent through Mollie showed he had forgiven her. Hands shaking, Maud quickly opened her Bible to read the note before he reached her:

  Dear Polly,

  A quick message to welcome you back to school. Things were certainly not as interesting with you gone. Now we can get into all sorts of trouble.

  Snip

  Maud didn’t quite know what he meant by “trouble,” but the last thing she needed was her grandparents finding another reason to send her away again.

  “Polly.”

  Nate was the smartest boy in school. He’d grown since Maud had last seen him. His ears still stuck out a bit, but his short brown hair curled around them in an appealing way. He had intense gray eyes and a square jaw with a dimple in his chin. He was thin but strong, and looked at you as if he knew your whole story. This always made her nervous.

  Maud dropped her gaze and, trying to keep things light, reverted back to an old joke of theirs. “Hello, Snip. Is that Pollie with a y or ie?” Part of the nickname game Maud, Mollie, Jack, and Nate had played involved Nate insisting that her nickname be spelled with a y instead of an ie, as Maud preferred.

  “Why, a y, of course!” Nate grinned. “It is the only dignified way of spelling it.”

  “It is not,” she responded on cue. “You know that ie is the only way.”

  Nate cleared his throat. “I see you got my note,” he said.

  “Yes, but only just.” She slipped the letter back into the Bible. “I haven’t had time to respond.” Maud noticed how Nate hugged a book under his arm. He was dressed in his Sunday best—a fine dark waistcoat—but his brown cap, worn backwards the way she liked it, made him appear more like himself.

  “Will I receive an answer tomorrow?” he said.

  “Perhaps,” Maud said. “If you tell me what you’re holding in your hand…”

  He pulled out the hardcover book he had been carrying and showed it to her. “I must confess, Mollie told Jack you might be here, so I thought I would give it a chance.”

  “Really,” Maud said, getting the courage to look him in the eye.

  “Yes. I read this book over the summer and thought you would enjoy it.”

  “How would you know what I enjoy?”

  Nate chuckled. “I know you, Lucy Maud Montgomery.” He paused. “More than you know.”

  Maud’s whole body ached to take it, but she only read the title: Undine by Fouqué. The title was familiar. It took her a moment to place it. “This is the book Jo is reading at the beginning of Little Women!”

  He grinned. “I remember last spring you had mentioned being curious about it, so I bought a copy when I went with my stepfather to Charlottetown in early summer. While Little Women is a silly girl’s book—”

  “It is not a silly girl book—” Maud said, ready to defend her favorite novel, but then stopped when she realized he was teasing her—as usual.

  He held it out to her. The book was made of rich navy blue cloth. On the cover was an elegantly robed mermaid with flowing hair, cradled in seaweed.

  Nate Spurr had thought of her.

  “Take it,” he said, stretching the book out to her. “I look forward to hearing your opinion.”

  She fiddled with her ring. “I don’t know.”

  “I left you some of my thoughts inside.” He flipped open the front cover to show his notations. Maud did the same thing to her books, as though she was having a personal conversation with the author.

  “You’ve read it,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said. She twisted her ring.

  “I don’t think it is proper for me to receive a gift from you.”

  Nate stepped forward. “Would it help if it was only a loan?” The book lay innocently on the palms of his hands.

  A loan. No one—not even Grandma—could say anything about someone lending her a book. Even if it was from the Baptist minister’s stepson.

  “All right,” she said, taking it from him, their fingers lightly brushing over the spine’s curved edges. “If it is only a loan.”

  “Of course,” he said. “There’s really nothing like starting a new story, is there, Maud?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Maud read over the letter she had just finished writing to Nate and gazed out at her grandfather’s apple orchard. It was the morning of the first day of school and she wanted everything to be perfect.

  After she and Nate had parted, Maud returned home just in time for Sunday dinner and didn’t pay much attention to her cousins, irritating Lu, who finally said in a burst of impatience, “Your head’s in the clouds again, Maud.” To which her Uncle John Franklin responded, “That’s what comes from all of that reading.”

  But Maud was thinking about what her response would be. She did a lot of thinking about writing before she actually put pencil to paper. Paper was scarce, and Grandma thought it wasteful if Maud wrote something only to throw it away. So, Maud would walk or think, imagining what she might write, and then take some of the letter bills left in the post office to write on. But the letter to Nate was going to be on stationery or writing paper, so she couldn’t make any mistakes.

  Maud did lose herself in Grandfather’s retelling of “Cape LeForce,” which he often did during family gatherings. He might be a bit gruff, but Grandfather could spin a story so well that he transported everyone to the old shores of the Island a century ago, when the murderous French pirates brawled over their prized gold. She planned to try her own version of the old Island tale one day.

  Maud had written about all of this in her journal
during her morning writing ritual, before she started her letter to Nate. Similar to Jo March in Little Women, Maud imagined herself writing sweeping epics and articles for newspapers, or traveling to the great cities of the world, and making something of herself. She would be independent, no longer relying upon her family—people such as her Uncle John Franklin—and having to worry about what they thought of her.

  Sometimes Maud would write about the weather, practicing the various ways one could describe the wind. Other times she confided certain feelings, feelings she dared not share with anyone. Feelings about being sent away, or how angry she got sometimes at her grandparents.

  They didn’t understand that she needed to become independent, and that that meant getting a good education. Unless you wanted to be in service, the only respectable option for young women was to teach. While Maud’s grandparents believed in education, the only person in the family who was sent to college was her mother’s oldest brother, Uncle Leander George, now a minister in New Brunswick. It was clear in her family; higher education was for boys only. Maud was sure there was no expectation she would go to college. Her “scribbling” was barely tolerated.

  And, after the Izzie Robinson catastrophe six months ago, it was easier to dream than to convince Grandfather it was worthwhile educating girls. Maybe if she was good in school and showed him what she could do he would change his mind.

  “Maud.” Grandma opened the old wooden door, wearing her starched, drab-gray dress and crisp white apron. Maud put her pencil down. “You were scribbling again, weren’t you?” She sighed. “You’re going to be late.”

  “I was just finishing,” Maud said. Grandma shut the door. Closing her journal, Maud stood up and straightened her new green dress, trying to ignore how small the bustle was. When Maud had returned from her Campbell cousins’ home last week, Grandma inspected Maud’s old calico dress—which had almost reached her knees—and declared there was no way a granddaughter of hers would be wearing a dress that looked like something you wore on dusting day. They had spent the last few days making clothes “practical,” meaning only a slight bustle no one could even detect.

  Hugging her journal to her chest, Maud walked over to the oak bedside table and safely tucked it underneath a pile of linens in the drawer, locking it shut. Her parents’ photos sat on top. Mother was wearing a beautiful lace bodice, her light brown hair piled high in a luscious braid. Maud wondered what her Mother had been thinking then. She would have understood Maud’s desire for a dress with a grand bustle.

  She read over the note she had written that morning:

  Dear Snip,

  I can only imagine the sort of trouble you mean, but I shall endeavor to stay out of it.

  Sincerely,

  Pollie

  As Maud placed it inside her copy of Little Women and put the book in her school satchel, she had a daring idea. Maybe she would inspire Nate to read her favorite novel with her note!

  Surveying herself in the mirror one last time, she finished by putting on the gold ring Aunt Annie had given to her on her twelfth birthday and went to join her grandmother in the kitchen.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Maud and Lu met Mollie at the bottom of the lane, which was across the road from Maud’s grandparents’ farm. Maud was sorry Lu was there because she really wanted to tell Mollie about her conversation with Nate at the cemetery, the contents of his letter—and her rather daring response.

  “I’m so glad you’re home.” Mollie wrapped her arms around Maud and gave her a hug so tight she had to keep her hat from falling. “It was like this summer had no sun with you gone.”

  “There were so many nights where I wished you were with me.” Maud sighed.

  “I had to sit with Mamie,” Mollie said. “And that meant having to contend with Clemmie Macneill. And she and Mamie are tight as ever.”

  Clemmie and Maud had been friends once. While Maud was cautious of the girl’s friendship at first, Clemmie seemed interested in Maud’s poems and stories, and Maud appreciated anyone who showed interest in her writing. But after Nate and Maud discovered their mutual love of literature, and Jack and Mollie joined in to make a foursome, Clemmie stopped talking to her. And when she did talk to Maud, she was cruel. Maud refused to admit the betrayal still smarted.

  “How dreadful,” Maud said. “I wonder if she is speaking to Annie or if they are having one of their fights.” Annie was Clemmie’s best friend and—depending upon the weather—her rival.

  “They were speaking when I last saw them, but with those two you never know. They’re as fickle as my brother, Hammie, when choosing fishing bait.” Sometimes Mollie’s metaphors made sense, sometimes they didn’t.

  “It would be easier if you were all friendly,” Lu said, stumbling over some red stones while trying to catch up with them.

  “Why do you care?” Mollie asked.

  Lu sniffed. “I don’t want any more trouble. For you, I mean, Maud.”

  Maud didn’t either, but she also didn’t need her cousin reminding her of what had happened.

  “If we’re any later, we’re going to miss all of the news,” Mollie said.

  “And we can’t have that.” Maud laughed. Mollie prided herself on always knowing the latest gossip. When Maud was away, Mollie had sent her fat letters detailing “all the news” so Maud wouldn’t miss a thing.

  The new one-room schoolhouse—built within the last five years—stood on the edge of the road, arched by trees. The sun shone through the leaves, giving the school a halo glow and warming Maud’s itchy nerves.

  “Yes,” Mollie said, pointing to three schoolmates all made up with frills and curls. “Those three are as tight as Mother’s quilting stitches.”

  Maud ignored the small pang when she saw Clemmie—whose mother certainly didn’t subscribe to Grandma’s philosophy of a discreet bustle—Mamie, and a spoiled, puffed, frilly-sleeved thing named Annie.

  “Oh, look, there’s Snip and Snap!” Mollie said, pointing to Nate and Jack. Finally, the Four Musketeers were reunited.

  “I’ll see you later, Maud,” Lu said, walking on ahead to some girls her own age playing in the clearing.

  “What do you think, Pollie?” Mollie whispered. “Do you think Nate will be your nine stars?”

  A popular game around school was that if you counted nine stars for nine nights in a row, the first boy who shook your hand would be the one you married. After a number of attempts, the only thing Maud and Mollie had succeeded in was laughing. It was all just as well; if they had succeeded, Maud was sure she would inevitably shake Nate’s hand, and that was the last thing she needed: as Grandma had warned her long ago, a good Presbyterian didn’t associate with Baptists, and Nate was most certainly a Baptist.

  “Good day, Mollie.” Nate paused and winked at Maud, who blushed. “Polly.”

  “How are things, Polly—with a y?” Jack said. Maud smiled at him. He was generally a quiet boy, but he had a solid nature, and lovely light brown hair and green eyes.

  “It’s ie,” she said. “Happy to be back.”

  “That’s our tree,” Mollie said, pointing to the birch tree the Four Musketeers always sat under. “Clemmie, Mamie, Nellie, and Annie are standing there on purpose.”

  “We can go sit somewhere else,” Jack said.

  “No,” Mollie said. “It’s the principle. We need to fight for our territory, just like when my brother thinks he can take the last piece of pie.”

  Maud couldn’t quite see how pie represented one’s territory, but she understood the sentiment. “Come along, boys, we’ve got a tree to save.”

  The boys casually saluted and followed a few steps behind.

  “I believe you are lost,” Mollie said, approaching the girls lounging on the tree’s trunk.

  “We wanted to give Maud a nice warm welcome,” Clemmie said, in a not-so-welcoming tone. “Welcome back, Maud. Did you have fun? Get some well-deserved rest and relaxation while we toiled away with Miss Robinson?”

  The na
me of last year’s teacher made Maud want to pull the curl right out of Clemmie’s hair, but instead she took a deep breath. This called for a technique that her Aunt Annie was always recommending: you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

  “Clemmie!” Maud marched right over and hugged the girl, a little too tightly. Clemmie’s whole body went rigid. “I didn’t know how much you cared!” Maud pulled away and put on her best smile.

  Clemmie flushed and looked from Maud to Nate. “Will we be seeing you at choir practice tonight, Nate?”

  “It’s my stepfather’s choir, Clemmie. Of course I’ll be there,” he said.

  Clemmie harrumphed and marched inside with Annie, Mamie, and Nellie in tow.

  “Good going, Pollie,” Mollie said.

  Maud grinned. It felt good to be here, with her friends, showing Clemmie Macneill that what she said couldn’t touch her.

  Mollie extended her arm. “Come. Let’s get our seats by the window.”

  Taking her friend’s arm, Maud started to walk inside, but Nate moved to stop her. “Polly,” he whispered. “Do you have something for me?”

  “We’re going to be late,” she said. She was having second thoughts about giving him the note. She had promised Pensie that she would be careful so she wouldn’t be sent away again. Still, she and Nate were only friends.

  Oblivious, Jack had already entered school. Mollie dropped Maud’s arm and whispered, “I’ll meet you inside.”

  “Have you read Undine yet?” Nate said, dangling his books loosely in front of him.

  “You just gave it to me yesterday,” she said, giggling. “As the son—”

  “Stepson.”

  “Stepson, then, of a minister. You know one only reads the Bible or sermons on the Lord’s Day.”

  Nate cleared his throat.

  Was it possible for someone to have such perfect freckles?

  “So.”

  “So.”

  “We’d better go inside.” She turned to go in, but then paused and spun back around. “I do have something for you.”