Maud

by Melanie Fishbane

  “Yes,” Grandpa Montgomery said, “who knows.”

  Father ignored his remark. “Things are about to move in our favor, Maudie. You’ll see.” Maud was quiet. Father appeared to be all set up in Prince Albert with a new family and new opportunities. Perhaps this “New Eden” would favor her as well.

  The three men continued to talk about the expansion and the railroad while Maud took in her new surroundings. A warm sun guided them through rolling prairie hills blanketed in wild flowers and bluebells. Mr. McTaggart told Maud and Grandpa he had moved to Prince Albert with his second wife and children four years ago. Maud couldn’t decide if she liked him or not—he certainly enjoyed hearing himself talk—but she was so tired she was happy to let him.

  In the mid-afternoon, they arrived in Prince Albert. Mr. McTaggart pointed out his white-painted two-storey home on the top of the hill, just on the edge of the town. It appeared to be a friendly sort of place. “We call our home Riverview,” Mr. McTaggart said, “because it has a lovely view of the Saskatchewan River from our front window. You can see all the way down the hill.”

  As they drove slowly down the hill on Central Avenue, she gasped in delight. Prince Albert was built on several natural terraces along the riverbank, with hills sloping back over the rolling prairies, peppered with groves of willow and poplar trees and tiny blue lakelets. It certainly didn’t have Cavendish’s traveled roads and ancient trees, but it did have a quaint, medieval quality.

  As they traveled down Main Street, Father said, “And there it is, Eglintoune Villa.” The house had two storeys, with a porch on the left-hand side, a white picket fence around it, and a tin dog perched upon the front gate. It was much newer than her grandparents’ home, or most of the homes on the north shore. It faced the manse and Prince Albert’s St. Paul’s Presbyterian Church. According to Mr. McTaggart, the Presbyterian Church owned much of the property in Prince Albert, with the Hudson’s Bay Company still trading on the land east toward Goschen. A number of people were congregating in front of Eglintoune Villa waiting to greet them.

  “Welcome,” her father said. As he helped Maud out of the cart, she made note of the small yellow house next door with a porch, which, much like everything else in town, faced the river. Two young people and a woman around Aunt Annie’s age sat looking out at their arrival.

  “Next door is the Kennedy residence; they’re related to the Pritchards,” Father said, noticing where she was looking. “That’s Laura Pritchard on the stoop with her brother, Will. They’re about your age, Maudie. Their father, Richard Pritchard, was the one who drove me to Regina. He owns a homestead and ranch outside of town near Maiden Lake.”

  Following her father and grandpa to the house, Maud glanced over at the Pritchards, who stopped talking and raised their hands to greet her. Maud wasn’t used to people living so close to one another, and her hands were full with her bag, so she gave them what she hoped was a friendly nod. In Cavendish, although it seemed so small, there were a few acres between farms. It seemed strange to see other people on their porches, so close together. She felt rather exposed.

  As Maud followed her father through the gate, both siblings stared at her. Maud looked away and then, after a few moments, heard the girl laugh. She hoped that they weren’t laughing at her. Maybe they had somehow heard what she had done in Cavendish and were judging her. Would Father have told his new wife all about it, who, in turn, told the neighbors? Father hadn’t even mentioned Nate, or the real reason she was here. Who knew what he thought of her?

  Father pushed the gate open and guided Maud toward the house. She turned away from the Pritchards and recognized her stepmother from the wedding picture. The little girl, who Maud assumed was her sister, Katie, hid in her mother’s light green skirt. Maud’s new stepmother was a few inches taller than Maud and stood so erect that it seemed as though she was waiting for judgment day. Father had written that her stepmother preferred to be called “Mamma.” Maud felt a little old to be doing so, but she didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot. Mamma didn’t appear to be much older than Miss Gordon, about twenty-five or twenty-six, and wore a plain black chemise, which stretched slightly over her stomach, with pretty embroidery along the sleeves.

  “You must be tired after your long trip, Maud,” Mamma said, after giving her a light hug. “I remember being so exhausted when I arrived here, and that was just from Ontario. You have traveled so much farther.”

  “Maudie was a good traveler,” Grandpa said, shaking Mamma’s hand.

  “I’m sure,” Mamma said in a tone that indicated she wasn’t convinced of any of Maud’s talents. Maybe it was just nerves. It isn’t every day one meets a stepdaughter. Katie extended her arms and called for Father. “This is Katie,” Father said, lifting her up.

  “Hello, Katie,” Maud said. Katie had angel curls of the palest gold and the same cobalt-blue eyes as Father. The little girl hid her face in her father’s chest, and then she threw back her head and laughed in sheer delight as he swung her around. Maud gazed at the river, ignoring a prickling feeling in her throat. Father used to twirl her around when she was small.

  She focused on the wind and the river. She had never been anyone’s older sister; she had never been anyone’s sibling. In Cavendish, Maud had felt like she was always a visitor, some sort of distant relative. Even with the Campbells, who adored her, Maud felt like she was a guest: not really a member of the close-knit group of cousins.

  “We’ll be the best of friends.” She tickled Katie’s ankle and the little girl giggled.

  Except for Mamma, who seemed a bit subdued, Maud’s stepmother’s family, the McTaggarts, were all cut from the same cloth, loud and opinionated, each talking over the other. It was all so removed from the quiet reserve of the Macneill clan; even the jovial Montgomerys weren’t as overbearing. But she liked Mrs. Mary McTaggart—Mamma’s mother—who made sure Maud had a place to sit and a nice piece of pie. “I remember how I felt when I first arrived here. Plain worn out.”

  The hired girl, whom Maud heard Mamma call Edith, helped with the serving, but as the room filled with conversation and references to people and places Maud didn’t know, her head clouded over and it all became a maze of noise. It was clear the town had its own version of the clans: the McTaggarts and Pritchards, as well as one of the founding families, the Agnews, who ran a hardware store in town. Maud wasn’t sure where she would fit in to this new community.

  Finally, one by one, they all said good night and Father instructed Edith to take Maud upstairs.

  “My name is Edith but you can call me Edie,” she said. Edie had dark hair, almost black, tied up in a low bun, brown eyes, and an inviting smile. It was a little strange to Maud, as she wasn’t used to living in a house with a hired girl. Grandfather and Grandma Macneill didn’t have one; Grandpa Montgomery did, but the maids lived in a separate part of the house near the kitchen, so Maud didn’t know them very well.

  The upstairs had four bedrooms: there was the master bedroom facing the front of the house, a nursery beside it, and a “spare” one where Maud was sure she was staying. She stopped in front of it, and was surprised when Edie kept going to the end of the hallway. When they arrived at the south bedroom, Maud was immediately confused. There were two beds. Did Mamma expect her to push them together, or pick one?

  “Which bed do you want?” Edie asked, leaning against the doorframe. “I have been sleeping on the one next to the door in case Mrs. Montgomery needs me.”

  Coolness swept over Maud, and she dropped the carpetbag she was holding. Father hadn’t said anything about her sharing a room. And with a complete stranger who was—no offense to Edie, who seemed nice enough—a hired girl!

  Maud almost turned around and marched back downstairs to have a word with Father and Mamma, but she remembered how Grandma had told her to be respectful of her stepmother’s rules. This was Mamma’s house, and there must have been a valid reason why she wanted Maud to stay in this exact room. It did have a lovely view of the
sloping prairies, covered with newly planted trees.

  “How about I take the other one?” Maud said, sitting down on the bed. “I enjoy sleeping near an open window anyway.”

  “There is a lovely view from that window. Facing south.”

  Now, as she came to the end of the long entry, she wrote, Southview. A place I can name.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was strange for Maud to be in a place where she didn’t know every corner, where she wasn’t part of its history. In Prince Albert she wasn’t sure where she belonged, and she began to wonder if Mamma thought that it was in the kitchen with Edie.

  After the first few days, Katie’s shyness faded, and she quickly became Maud’s little shadow, following her wherever she went. It reminded Maud a little bit of her Campbell cousin, Frede. When Frede was little, she would get upset when her parents sent her up for her nap because she wanted to “play with Maudie.” But something told Maud she couldn’t quite let her guard down around her new stepmother. Mamma was nice enough: polite and cordial, making sure Maud was comfortable in her new surroundings by having Edie place fresh-cut flowers in their room, and providing whatever else she needed. Mamma was also often exhausted, complaining that the late August heat wasn’t good for her. Since Maud wanted to make a good impression, she often helped Edie with the dishes and meals. Mamma rewarded Maud for this good behavior by tasking her with the weekly dusting.

  Maud missed her daily rituals: walking along the shore with Pensie, helping Grandma with supper, and her adventures with Mollie and the other Musketeers—including Nate. She tried not to think of him, but she often found herself wondering what he was doing. He must have left for Nova Scotia by now. Was he enjoying Acadia? Did he miss her too?

  Thinking about all of this made Maud homesick. She wished there had been letters waiting for her when she arrived, despite the fact that it was too soon for any mail.

  During Maud’s first week, Grandpa rested and prepared for his journey farther west. She had kept an eye out for the Pritchards, the ones she had seen her first day, but she overheard the neighbor, Mrs. Kennedy, tell Mamma that they had gone back to the ranch a few miles outside of town. A place called Laurel Hill.

  One morning when she had been there for about a week, Maud asked Father if he might take her and Katie on a drive around Prince Albert so she could get better acquainted with the town. Mamma was tired and Grandpa was sending telegrams, so she finally had Father (mostly) to herself. She hoped she could show him Mother’s book, and perhaps, if she could get the nerve, ask him what had happened all those years ago.

  That afternoon, Father borrowed Mr. McTaggart’s horse and buggy and drove Katie and Maud north toward the river, past the church, and then down the main street, which paralleled the North Saskatchewan River, where merchants were loading furs onto riverboats heading west. They also passed a cluster of Indian women in bright colors. Although they appeared tired and thin, they were industriously embroidering what appeared to be mittens, and one woman was working on a beautiful jacket. The way they were working reminded Maud of evenings in Cavendish with her grandmother. Father drove up the hill, past the McTaggarts’ house and the almost completed courthouse, and out of town. Poplars stood tall against the baby-blue sky, and as they drove along the countryside. Father pointed to some farms down the way. “That’s where many people, such as the Pritchards, are making their claims. You’ll meet them at church.”

  Maud was more interested in Father’s life than in people she didn’t know. “You’ve been a lot of places, haven’t you, Father?” she asked, holding Katie, who was sleeping soundly against her chest.

  “That’s right. As you know, I was a young sea captain and traveled to England, the West Indies, and South America—”

  “So thrilling,” Maud said. “I wish I could do that.”

  “A merchant ship is no place for a woman,” he said. “But it is a good way for a man to see the world…then I returned to the Island where I met your mother.”

  For a while, the only sound was the horse’s hooves swishing in the grass and then Maud dared to ask, “And then what happened?”

  Father cleared his throat and said, “I met your mother, and then you were coming along…so I had to make sure I had something closer to home.”

  One answer spiralled into more questions. How had he met her? Why did he stay home? What wasn’t he telling her? But she was too slow to speak, and Father continued, “Afterwards, your uncle Duncan McIntyre, a drunk and a thief, I might add, ruined our general store and we parted ways. Then…after your mother died…it was time for me to make it better for you—for us—so I went back on the ship to Boston and worked in various trades there, which included my time as a clerk, and that has helped me run for office in Battleford. You never know where experience will create opportunity, Maud. Remember that.”

  Being here had certainly given her opportunities to travel and see parts of Canada. And her family.

  “Father…” Maud looked down at sleeping Katie. It was so peaceful listening to the clicking of the wheels, the wind talking with the trees. Dare she destroy this peaceful moment with more questions?

  “Yes?” Father put his arm around her and she leaned her head against his shoulder.

  “Nothing.”

  Later that afternoon, when Edie was downstairs, Maud was alone in Southview rereading the love poem in Mother’s Commonplace Book. She was suddenly overcome with the desire to know the truth about her parents’ relationship. After her pleasant afternoon with Father, she knew he would be open to sharing this with her. He had to be.

  She had made her way to the top of the steps when she heard Mamma say, “I think it is inappropriate for you to call a girl of almost sixteen ‘Maudie.’ ”

  “It is only a term of endearment, Mary Ann,” Father said, keeping his voice low. “I don’t know why this matters to you.”

  “I’m concerned for you—for us,” she said. “People are paying attention to you, to see how you conduct yourself with your family, how your family behaves. It is important that we put forth a good impression.”

  Maud slid onto the top step, the book falling against her chest.

  “I think Maudie behaves quite well for a girl her age,” he said.

  At least Father was defending her.

  “Most girls her age don’t put on airs like she does,” Mamma said.

  What did she mean, “airs”? Who was Mamma but a small-town Ontario girl?

  “What were her grandparents teaching her out there on that island?” her stepmother went on. “Given why she’s come to us, I think this is our opportunity to show her what is appropriate.”

  Opportunity. This time it felt as though the word was working against her. Here was yet another woman who wanted to tell her what to do.

  Maud heard her Father kiss Mamma. “Please don’t worry, particularly in your condition.” He paused. “We don’t want any complications.”

  Maud cradled the Commonplace Book in her lap, tears falling against the pages.

  “Then allow me the latitude I need to handle her properly,” Mamma said. “This is woman’s work.”

  Handle her? Was she some horse Father had asked her new mother to break in?

  Father sighed. “Very well, I will stop calling her ‘Maudie.’ ”

  Her heart felt stretched to the point of breaking. She had felt this way only once before, when her grandparents had found her journal. Mamma wanted to mold her, train her—into what Maud wasn’t sure. Would she go through her things? Should she go west with Grandpa and then back to Cavendish? Would anyone take her in?

  Maud held the book tight against her chest. Hearing Mamma—and Father’s response—it was clear that Mother’s Commonplace Book wasn’t safe. Maud had to keep it hidden.

  Outside the Southview window, thick gray clouds hung low, almost reaching the green fields. There was a crash of thunder, and a sudden pounding of rain splattered on the roof. It felt as if she was being battered, as if the rain was
a punishment for her crimes against Nate, against her grandparents, and against her mother’s memory.

  Despite the fact that it was so many miles from the Island, Prince Albert was turning out to be much like Cavendish: no one was going to stand up for her here, not even her father could defend her against her stepmother. And in some ways, Prince Albert was worse. Maud was now in a place where she had no history, where no one cared if she was a Macneill or a Montgomery—although her Mamma obviously cared what others thought. Maud was dependent upon the whims of anyone who decided it was their duty to take her in.

  Opening up her trunk, she buried her mother’s book underneath her clothes, books, and pieces of the crazy quilt she had yet to sew. Only when it was safe would she finally ask Father her long-cherished questions.

  In the meantime, Maud would make things right for Father—and for herself. She wouldn’t complain; she’d be the dutiful daughter and show that woman she was wrong about her, that she didn’t “put on airs.” And she would do so well in school that Father would pay for her to go to college. She would never be dependent upon the likes of Mamma.

  No, she was not Maud’s Mamma; her behavior certainly didn’t deserve that title. Maud would be respectful and cordial to her stepmother in public—even call her Mamma—but she would be Mrs. Montgomery in Maud’s private journal, as if she were a stranger who had no power over her. And she would keep a separate, more public journal. One that would only contain musings about the weather and silly anecdotes about school, when she started. Because the truth was more dreadful. Mary Ann McRae Montgomery was the supreme monarch of this little castle in the west, and Maud her subject. Maud had no more power here than she’d had in Cavendish.

  CHAPTER THREE

  During those first two weeks in Prince Albert, Maud had such an attack of homesickness that she almost wrote her grandparents begging them to take her back. Every night she would check the table in the hall where Father left the mail, but there was nothing. It didn’t help that they were having a particularly bad rainy season. It seemed to add to her despair.