Afterwards, Pensie walked home with Quill, and Maud and Mollie waited outside near the entrance of the hall for the villagers to go so they wouldn’t accidentally get run over by a buggy, as Grandma had instructed. On their way out, Mrs. Simpson and Mrs. Clark greeted them.
“How’s your father, dear?” Mrs. Simpson said to Maud.
Maud stood up straight. She didn’t appreciate Mrs. Simpson’s tone. “He is getting himself settled out west,” Maud said, hoping that she sounded proud of him. And she was, even if he hadn’t written since the summer. But her fifteenth birthday would be in a few weeks, she was bound to hear from him then.
“I hear he’s remarried,” Mrs. Clark said to Mrs. Simpson.
“Yes, another young girl he’s pulled the wool over,” Mrs. Simpson said as they walked on.
How dare these women pass judgment on Father! Maud took a step forward, but Mollie held her back. “Don’t listen to those old crones,” she said. “They are like crows cawing in the wind. It will be lost soon enough.”
Mollie was right, but it didn’t stop Maud from wanting to yank their hats off and throw them into the Gulf.
Mollie put her arm around Maud. “Don’t let them spoil this beautiful night.”
Maud pushed the thoughts of Father—and what those women had said—out of her mind and looked up. The bright moon would guide their way home.
“Shall we try counting stars while we wait?” Mollie said.
Standing a little to the side, across from Nate’s house, they started counting, but after getting to just two or three, Mollie started to giggle, which got Maud going, and then they would have to start all over again.
“We must focus if we’re going to do this,” Maud said.
“Sorry,” her best friend said.
“Maybe if we focus on something, we won’t get distracted.”
“Such as who we want our nine stars to find?” Mollie said, which got them both laughing again.
When they finally regained control, Maud asked, “Is it Jack?”
Mollie blushed and they both turned back to counting. Upon reaching the ninth star, Maud couldn’t help but feel like she was on the precipice of something wonderful.
“We did it!” Mollie said, clutching Maud’s hand and jumping up and down. “I thought we never would.”
“Some of us don’t need to count stars to find husbands,” Clemmie said, as she and Nellie passed by.
“That’s not what I understand,” Mollie said.
Nellie laughed and Clemmie pulled her along the road.
After a few more minutes, Maud and Mollie decided it was safe enough to go down the hill. But as they passed Nate’s gate, which was across the street from the hall, the boys leaped out in front of them. Mollie and Maud shrieked.
“Good evening, ladies,” Nate said, bowing gallantly. “We didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Jack bowed his head slightly and grinned.
Mollie laughed. “You fools!” She pretended to be upset with them, but then smiled.
“Didn’t you miss your house, Snip?” Maud asked, pointing behind her.
“Did I?” Nate shrugged. “It’s such a dark night, we decided it wouldn’t be safe for you two to be walking alone.”
“These roads are in our blood,” Mollie said. “I think we can manage.” Although Maud agreed with her best friend, she remembered Grandma’s stern warning about walking home with boys—and then promptly dismissed it. This was one of Grandma’s old-fashioned notions that had nothing to do with what Maud and Mollie were doing. Nate and Jack weren’t courting; they were all good friends.
“I don’t need saving, but I am happy for the companionship,” Maud said, amazed at her own boldness.
There was something ghostly and gothic about being out at night. They continued to walk down the hill, and Mollie and Jack moved ahead of them. Part of Maud wanted to be with them, while the other part was thrilled by the rebellion of walking alone with Nate.
They were quiet for a moment; Maud searched for something to say. Why was it that at school it seemed so simple, but here, alone in the dark with him, she couldn’t think of one interesting thing?
“Are you enjoying Miss Gordon’s writing assignments?” Nate asked.
Maud was relieved to be talking about school and writing. “Yes! I’ve just given her my mystery, ‘The Queen’s Betrayal.’ I’m excited to see what she will say. So far she’s given me some interesting notes on how to make my rhymes work. I so love writing verse. It is my true calling.”
Nate cleared his throat. “I have a calling too.”
For a fleeting second, Maud wondered if that calling had to do with what Clemmie had said. “Sounds like a delicious secret,” she said, hoping her tone hid her discomfort.
“I don’t know if it is a delicious secret, but not many people know.”
“Really? Then you must tell me immediately,” she said.
“Good.” He paused, knowing she hated to be kept in suspense. “I’ve been accepted to Acadia and will be leaving for college next year.”
“How incredible!” Maud’s exuberance hid her overwhelming relief. College she could handle, but she didn’t enjoy the prospect of Nate marrying Clemmie. “I’m thrilled for you.”
“If I’m going to be a lawyer, it’s the next step.”
“So you won’t be going into the ministry, then?”
Nate gave her a curious look. “Who put that idea into your head?”
She shrugged and realized how worried she had been. She should have known better than to believe Clemmie could make Nate do anything.
“I’ll be studying for the teaching certificate and then saving up enough for law school,” he said.
“A perfect plan.” One she wished she could have.
“You’ll write to me, I hope,” he said.
“Of course,” she said. “I will make you so homesick for Cavendish you’ll want to race back at the end of each term.”
He grinned. “With you writing to me, I suspect I’ll be missing more than just Cavendish.”
Maud gazed up at those same stars she had counted earlier that night. She didn’t dare look him in the eye, as she was a little afraid of what he might see there. She would miss him, but it wasn’t fair. He got to go away to school, and she was stuck here in Cavendish with no one to talk with about books. She would become sour like Grandma, or petty like Mrs. Simpson, or obsessed with finding a boy to marry like Clemmie.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
Mollie laughed at something Jack said. Maud wished she could let go and not think about the future or what she would do, or wanted to do. Couldn’t she just enjoy this moment, walking with a boy she liked—liked more than any other. The realization gave Maud pause and she stopped walking. She did like him more than anyone else. Did he feel the same way? Clemmie and Pensie said so, but that didn’t mean it was true. Nate frowned. “Is everything all right, Polly?”
“I was just admiring this night air,” she said.
He extended his hand. “Come.”
She took his hand and couldn’t think. She had never held a boy’s hand before. And after she had just counted her nine stars. The idea was both thrilling and terrifying. They walked along in silence, and Maud desperately tried to think of something to say, but all she could think about was the warmth of Nate’s hand in hers. Finally, uncomfortable with the long silence, she dropped her hand and, ignoring how he tried to reach out for it again, said, “Let’s catch up to the others.”
Nate didn’t try to take her hand again, but Jack and Mollie had happily linked arms with each other, and Maud found herself feeling sorry she had let go. She knew Mollie liked Jack, and would want him to take her arm, but Maud wasn’t ready for such public displays of affection, where anyone could see them.
When they got to the bottom of the hill near Mollie’s place, the two boys pretended to toss an imaginary ball, while Mollie and Maud cheered them on. Jack ran backwards, pretending to catch a
long throw from Nate, and bumped right into Clemmie and Nellie, who were standing at the edge of the road in the shadows. Maud moved closer to Mollie.
What were they doing there? Maybe Clemmie was staying true to her threat and was spying on them. Or were they taking their time getting home?
Whatever the reason, the damage was done.
“Good evening, ladies.” Nate tipped his cap. “A fine night for it, yes?”
Clemmie completely ignored Maud and Mollie.
“It was a fine night, Nate,” Clemmie said. “So many stars it is practically impossible to count them.”
Nellie giggled.
“I’m surprised she can count to nine,” Mollie murmured.
“What do you say, gentlemen?” Clemmie said, ignoring her. “Will you see us home?”
“The nerve,” Mollie said in Maud’s ear. “Everyone knows a girl should wait to be asked.” Maud agreed, but wished she wasn’t so impressed by Clemmie’s bravery. She would never have the gumption to ask a young man to walk her home.
“I’m sorry, Clemmie,” Nate said smoothly. “It would be rude, as Jack and I have already promised ourselves to these ladies.”
Clemmie shot a quick look over at Maud before strutting off, taking Nellie with her. When they were out of earshot, Maud whispered to Nate, “What if those two gossips say something?”
“They’ll be talking about something anyway.” Nate shrugged.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Jack said.
“You don’t understand,” Maud said, taking hold of Mollie’s hand and feeling safer.
Mollie squeezed it. “That girl can make things quite difficult for Maud. For us.”
“But I don’t care what those girls say,” Nate said.
“Neither do I,” Jack said.
“And if they cause you trouble, we’ll defend you like the gallant knights we are!” Nate said, and he and Jack pretended to ride horses and galloped them the rest of the way home. Maud and Mollie laughed, but a new tension hung over the evening, and Maud was relieved when they said goodbye and walked down Hammie’s Lane toward Mollie’s house.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The following Monday, Miss Gordon returned the weekly writing assignments. When Maud saw all the red marks crossing out much of her beloved story, “The Queen’s Betrayal,” she did everything she could to push down the tears. Didn’t her teacher like it at all? On the bottom of the page, Miss Gordon had written, “Write what you know.”
Hadn’t she done that? She had based the queen’s description on her dead mother. No, Maud had never been poisoned, but she had seen what happens when an animal is poisoned; the poor cat she had found one day in the barn had taught her that. Is that what Miss Gordon had meant?
It was hard to concentrate. Maud felt as if she had disappointed her teacher and let herself down. How could she even think about writing like Alcott if she couldn’t even manage to write an epic piece of verse? She couldn’t look at Miss Gordon for the rest of the day.
Mollie tried to make Maud feel better by writing funny things on her slate, which she appreciated, but it didn’t help. It also didn’t help that Nate wasn’t there, and she didn’t know why. He had seemed fine on Saturday night at the lecture. But she wasn’t sure if she wanted to tell him about Miss Gordon’s remarks, so maybe it was just as well.
—
The next day, Nate returned. While walking down the aisle to give his assignment to Miss Gordon, he dropped his French text on Maud’s desk—with a slip of paper sticking out. Maud pulled it out, tucking it underneath her reader, and then carefully opened her reader, placing the folded note inside.
Dear Polly,
Please forgive my ungentlemanly behavior. Being ill forced me to delay the delivery of this message.
I truly enjoyed our walk last Saturday evening, particularly that moment when we stopped and looked up at the stars and I held your hand.
Shall we try it again? May Jack and I walk you and Molly home after the literary next week?
Your pal,
Snip
Miss Gordon had asked Maud and Mollie if they would perform in November’s Literary Society gathering on Saturday. Maud had been very honored, since only a few girls were asked. The literary promised to be a wonderful night of entertainment that included short dialogues (or sketches), dramatic readings, and music. Miss Gordon had suggested that Maud perform “The Child Martyr,” one of the poems in her Royal Reader, because it was quite dramatic and a favorite with audiences. Maud had spent most of the month practicing, but after getting back Miss Gordon’s comments on her writing, she wasn’t sure if she could bring herself to do it.
Maud stared at Nate’s note. It would be a fun way to end the evening, and if she was a little honest with herself, she wanted to “try it again.” And if she had that to look forward to, then she could surely perform in the literary.
On his way back to his seat, Nate casually picked up his book and sat down to read.
Maud showed the note to Mollie, who eagerly agreed. Maud glanced to where the boys were sitting. Nate gave her a big smile, exaggerating his dimples. Maud found herself smiling back, then turned to her desk to write a response.
After thinking about it for some time, she wrote:
Mollie and I have conferred and agree to try it again.
As Maud finished her note, she heard Miss Gordon clear her throat. Maud pretended to read, while discreetly tucking her response inside.
The perfect moment came when Miss Gordon paired them into groups to work on their English assignment. Maud slipped him the note. In front of them, Clemmie, Nellie, and Annie were huddled together. “They must be friends again,” Mollie muttered.
“I can hardly wait,” Nate said after reading Maud’s letter.
“Writing love notes,” Clemmie said. Nellie and Annie laughed.
“I think you’re jealous, Clemmie, because Maud and Nate actually find interesting things to talk about,” Mollie said.
“Upper levels, you should be setting an example,” Miss Gordon said.
The students quickly went back to work.
Later that day, Miss Gordon, sensing Maud wasn’t her normal attentive self, asked her to read a poem, “The Fringed Gentian.” Maud stood up and started reading:
Then whisper, blossom, in thy sleep
How I may upward climb
The Alpine path, so hard, so steep,
That leads to heights sublime;
How I may reach that far-off goal
Of true and honoured fame,
And write upon its shining scroll
A woman’s humble name.
As she read the poem, it felt as though she was standing on the Gulf’s shore, staring past the Hole in the Wall. There were no mountains on the Island, but she could see it in the distance. Her name upon a shining scroll. That could be her.
“You read very well, Maud,” Miss Gordon said as Maud sat down. “I look forward to seeing how you do at the literary next weekend.”
“Thank you,” Maud said. She thought about Miss Gordon’s suggestion to “write what she knew.” Maud knew of the Island and the stories her grandfather told. Perhaps she would start there? She would try harder and show Miss Gordon—and herself—that she could climb to great heights and achieve her dream. To be a published author.
Her flirtations with Nate were fun, but this poem—the image of that shining scroll with her name, Lucy Maud Montgomery, scribbled upon it in gold leaf—that was her true calling.
It would have to be a secret for now. She would study and work hard, proving to her family that she could do it.
It wasn’t as though her grandparents or anyone in her family could truly know anything about it. Grandfather often boasted that his cousin Hector Macneill was in Lord Byron’s English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers. Maud knew that if she ever expressed such a desire to Grandfather, he would most probably tell her to concentrate on finding a husband.
After school, Maud stayed behind to talk with Miss
Gordon about the assignment. If she was going to be a writer, she needed to courageously take criticism.
“Excuse me, Miss Gordon.”
Her teacher lifted her head from the papers she was marking and smiled. “How can I help you, Maud?”
“Can we talk about ‘The Queen’s Betrayal’?”
Miss Gordon put down her pencil and motioned her over. “I thought you might be upset by it.”
“I was,” Maud said, sitting down. “You see, a teacher had complimented me on my writing. And I thought”—she took a breath—“I had thought you admired my writing.”
“My comments don’t preclude that, Maud,” her teacher said. “You certainly do have a talent. But the story should have been connected to you, come from you.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
Miss Gordon took the paper and pointed to a place she had starred. “See this description of the queen, all pale and beautiful. This seemed to reflect you, how you see the world.”
The back of Maud’s neck prickled. “It did! It is from the memory of Mother’s funeral.”
Miss Gordon smiled softly. “Exactly.” She handed the paper back. “Is there another piece you have been working on?”
Maud thought for a moment. “I have been experimenting with one of my grandfather’s stories about Cape LeForce. It’s about some pirates who landed on our shores about a hundred years ago. The pirates conspired to take all of the gold from the crew, but in the final moment one betrays the other.” Something stirred within her heart when she thought about writing this story.
Miss Gordon must have recognized this because she said, “Coming from your grandfather, this certainly feels more personal.”
Maud began to understand what Miss Gordon was saying. It was more personal because she had heard Grandfather tell it so many times. “Is it similar to Louisa May Alcott?”
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