Maud hid a smile. Annie did enjoy putting on airs.
“Do you want to walk over to school together?” Annie asked.
“Edie and I were planning on it,” Maud said. Normally this might be considered improper, walking to school with the hired help. But given Maud’s newfound friendship with Edie, she didn’t see the harm. “I know where I’m going. Father showed it to me on our drive around town.”
“That’s perfect then!” Annie said. “I’ll stop by early and we can all walk over together. I’m not sure how many girls are actually going to be there; some of them go to the convent school up the way, and others are home.”
“Father told me the girl next door goes to the convent school.”
“You mean Mrs. Kennedy’s niece Laura? Yes, she goes to the convent school, although she’s Presbyterian. Can you imagine? My parents would never allow that.” So some things in Prince Albert were the same as in Cavendish. “Her brother, Will, has been helping on his father’s ranch most of the summer, so I’m not sure he’ll be in school.”
He must be the redhead Maud had seen on the day she arrived.
“So, tomorrow?” Annie said, standing up. “I’ll pick you and Edie up.”
Maud wasn’t sure about being friends with Annie, but if Mrs. Montgomery had asked her stepsister to spy, it might be best to keep her close. Besides, while Annie did put on airs, she knew a lot about the people in town.
“All right,” Maud said. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
—
That evening, after dinner, Father said he had some auctioneering business at Agnew’s store. While Katie slept, he left Maud and her stepmother alone for the first time. Maud had hoped to hide up in Southview with her letters and journal. She also had to write some new material for the fake one she was leaving for Mrs. Montgomery.
But clearly, Mrs. Montgomery had decided this would be a good opportunity to impart some of that “guidance” she had mentioned to Father. Perhaps this was part of how her stepmother planned to “handle her”?
“We haven’t had an opportunity to get to know one another, and I have something particular I would love to discuss with you, woman to woman,” she said, patting the spot beside her.
Mrs. Montgomery’s change in attitude surprised Maud, and she stopped in the doorway. Perhaps she was going to tell her that she was pregnant? So she sat down beside her stepmother on the burnt-yellow couch in the parlor.
“As your new mamma, I think it is important that we are able to discuss certain”—she paused—“delicate things.”
That would be lovely,” Maud said. Perhaps she had been wrong about her stepmother. Grandma was always saying one must never assume what is going on in a person’s head.
Mrs. Montgomery put her hand on Maud’s arm and stroked it briefly, but then—as if sparked by fire—pulled it away.
“Has anyone ever discussed your hair? Perhaps your grandmother?”
“My hair?” Maud’s hand instinctively came up to the bun sitting on top of her head. What did her hair have to do with her stepmother’s pregnancy?
“Yes, your hair.” Mrs. Montgomery twisted her hands together, as though she were tying a knot. “You do know you’re a little young to be wearing your hair up.”
She was almost sixteen! But she didn’t want to make an enemy of her stepmother, so she said, “Aunt Annie suggested I wear it up for traveling, and I got used to it being off my neck.”
“Just as I suspected,” Mrs. Montgomery said. “It isn’t appropriate for a girl of not-yet-sixteen to be wearing her hair up. Even my stepsister Annie—who is your age—wears her hair down with a bow.”
Maud wanted to say something to counter the argument, but it was true. Even in Cavendish, girls didn’t wear their hair up until they were sixteen.
Mrs. Montgomery fiddled with her thumb and forefinger. “It is rather embarrassing, but the truth is…you are going to laugh at me, I’m sure. It is so silly. I know there are only a few years between us—”
“I will be sixteen in November,” Maud said.
“Yes, but you see, I worry if people see you with your hair up, they’ll think me older than I am. You understand.”
Maud understood all too well. Mrs. Montgomery was a married woman in her twenties. And, even though she was hiding it right now, expecting! It would be hard to dismiss that statement of fact. The plain truth was that her stepmother didn’t want Maud to wear her hair down, not because of fashion or morality, but because of her own vanity. Maud clasped her hands tightly in her lap. But, if it would resolve the friction between them, she would acquiesce. She unclasped them and stood up.
“I’ll go and take care of it now.”
Mrs. Montgomery stood up as well and—almost too energetically—hugged her.
Up in Southview, Maud slowly pulled out the hairpins, her heavy hair falling down her back one strand at a time. Then she took a pair of scissors, parted her hair, and, after some very deep, defiant breathing, cut her hair into fringe bangs.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Where is that blasted ribbon?” she muttered the following morning. The last thing she needed was to be late for her first day of school.
Katie’s cat, Pussy, must have knocked it down or taken it with him on one of his many nightly prowls. He was an aggressive little thing, but a good mouser who would often cuddle with Maud when she was writing. Pussy didn’t have much use for humans, the only exceptions being Maud and Katie, even if the latter loved to pull on his long black tail.
Wherever it was, Maud’s ribbon was not on her bureau, and she was running late. Edie had gone downstairs to help with breakfast, Annie was going to be there any minute, and it had already taken Maud too long to fix her corset.
What was she going to do? Given her recent conversation with Mrs. Montgomery, she had to wonder what would be worse: going back on her word to wear her hair down or being late for school? She suspected that not being able to find a ribbon for one’s hair would be a sorry excuse for tardiness. Hopefully Mrs. Montgomery would understand.
Maud tied her hair in a bun, liking the effect. With her corset accentuating her waist, her ring against her shirt, and her new fringe bangs, she could almost pass for one of those drawings she admired in the Young Ladies’ Journal.
When Maud came down to the kitchen, she noted how much more active it was compared to the reserve of her grandparents’ home. Annie was talking with Mrs. Stovel, Mamma’s niece, who had come by to discuss the forthcoming church dialogue. Maud had done them in Cavendish—it was like a play, only with a religious moral—and she thought it might be a good way to get to know people, and to get out from under what was quickly becoming Mrs. Montgomery’s suffocating supervision. Mrs. Stovel was just recently married and very enthusiastic about the church and being involved. She had encouraged Maud to take part in the church’s concert “as there was never enough young people.”
Edie was serving breakfast while Maud’s stepmother was doing her best to listen to Mrs. Stovel and help Katie, who was more interested in putting porridge in her hair than in her mouth. Father was absorbed with the paper, completely oblivious to the noise around him.
If Maud had hoped that all the activity would distract Mrs. Montgomery from the hair situation, she was deeply mistaken. Mrs. Montgomery did notice, and glared at Maud as though she had broken one of the Ten Commandments.
“I see you added your own flare to my advice,” Mrs. Montgomery said.
“Nice fringe bangs, Maud,” Annie said, linking arms with her. “You are now perfect.”
Maud smiled in gratitude and said, “I was looking for my ribbon, but I think that it fell behind the bureau, or Pussy has taken it.”
“That’s her excuse? The cat ate it?” Mrs. Montgomery murmured. She picked up a dirty Katie and left the kitchen. While her stepmother’s reaction came as no surprise, it bothered Maud that something so trivial upset her.
Saying goodbye to Father, the three girls headed out.
Onl
y a year before, she had been nervous about what her old classmates (and a certain boy) were going to think about her. Now Maud was worried about what kind of first impression she was going to make on a new teacher in a new school in a new town with new schoolmates.
As the three girls walked down the street, they passed a few men huddled, shuffling, in Hudson’s Bay blankets. One of them looked directly at Maud, his brown eyes seeing right through her. She looked away, but Edie didn’t.
Maud turned back to see the Hudson’s Bay blanket disappear around the corner and remembered something that Prime Minister Macdonald had said on the train, and had even appeared proud of: that he was keeping the Indians on the verge of starvation as a way to teach them a lesson. At the time, she hadn’t quite understood what he meant, but, now, seeing these men, it troubled her.
“The high school was once a hotel,” Annie said, quickly forgetting about the starving men. The girls stood in front of the building that currently housed the high school while the new one was being built. It was two storeys tall, brown, and bleak. “They haven’t even considered taking down the sign,” she went on, referring to the big rectangular wooden board that read “Royal Hotel.”
“It’s…quite something,” Maud said.
“Don’t be surprised if it appears the classrooms are being used for other things.” Edie giggled.
“Other things?” Maud said.
“It’s better if we show you.” Annie smirked, pulling her toward the building.
It was certainly grander than the Cavendish school, or even the Cavendish Hall. There were a few boys playing outside, about twelve or thirteen—maybe fourteen—years old, roughly kicking a ball around. Normally, Maud wouldn’t mind playing with the boys, but these ones were different. It was the way they played: deadly serious, as though the game wasn’t just for sport.
“Are we the only girls?” Maud asked.
Edie and Annie exchanged a look.
“Some girls come and go,” Annie said.
As they climbed up the wooden steps, Maud was impressed by the size of the building. On one side of the hall, they passed a room that was so dusty and full of cobwebs Maud wondered if anyone cleaned it at all.
“The Town Council room is upstairs.” Annie pointed up and put her hand over her mouth so Maud and Edie had to lean in. “The back of the building contains patrol quarters where two or three Mounties guard jail cells.”
“Jail cells!” If Grandma knew this, Maud was sure she would come out here and drag her home by her hair, or send her to the convent school—Papist institution or not.
“I’ve seen them drag drunken men through the town and lock them up until they’re sober,” Edie said.
“Will they be doing that during school?” Maud said.
“If they have to,” Annie said.
“Unbelievable.”
“Not what you expected, is it?” Edie asked.
Maud shook her head. Not what she had expected at all.
Maud was even more disappointed when she saw the state of the classroom. Unlike her old school—which always smelled of lemon water and fresh cedar—this one smelled of dust and sod.
“No one thought to dust,” Maud said, taking a handkerchief to a chair near the window.
“Oh, aren’t we a pretty little thing,” one of the boys who had been playing outside said as he sat down. His face was filthy.
“Didn’t anyone tell you that you should wipe your face for school, Tom Clark?” Annie said.
Tom Clark wiped more dirt across his face and grinned. If Miss Gordon were here, she would have sent him home.
Then another boy, about twelve years old, with blond hair and freckles, who Annie called Willie MacBeath, winked at them. At least he was a little cleaner.
“He prides himself on getting ladies with his charm.” Edie giggled.
Maud didn’t see any charm in him.
A few more rowdy boys burst in. There was Frank Robertson, Maud learned from Annie, a tall dark-haired boy of about sixteen, whose expression suggested that he was always looking for trouble, and two boys who were the reverend’s sons, Bertie and Arthur Jardine. According to Annie, the “younger and stupider brother, Bertie,” definitely meant to make mischief—but something about his older brother, Arthur, told Maud that she might have liked him if he hadn’t been chumming around with those other boys. Thank goodness Edie and Annie were there.
“That’s Joe MacDonald.” Annie pointed to another boy. “And over there is Douglas Maveety. Mr. Mustard is going to have to keep those boys under control.”
“Many of those boys are Métis,” Edie whispered to Maud. “If they keep behaving that way, Mr. Mustard won’t give them a chance.”
“Now, how am I going to study with such beautiful brown hair in front of me?”
Maud froze, then Annie giggled. Maud slowly turned around to see the red-haired boy from the Kennedy place—the one she had seen on her first day. He had, she admitted, the most charming green eyes and the most agreeable smile. Still, after the ridiculous behavior these boys were exhibiting, she wasn’t about to allow him to get away with teasing her. It was dangerous to let boys get away with things. She was probably blushing.
“I guess you’ll have to manage,” Maud said, turning around. Now she was definitely blushing.
“I didn’t think your father would let you come to school so early, Will,” Annie said.
“I’ll certainly let my father know, Annie,” he said.
Edie passed Maud a note on her slate: That’s Will Pritchard. His aunt lives next door.
I’ve seen him before, Maud wrote back.
As Edie dutifully erased the messages, a tall, thin man with short brown hair ran in, out of breath. Some of the boys laughed, but he rapped his ruler and they stopped.
That must be Mr. Mustard. Maud scribbled on her slate, then erased it and sat up straight. She wanted to make a good first impression.
Mr. Mustard stood as though he had been told to always stand at attention in case Queen Victoria herself came for tea. His welcoming address was certainly not as inspiring as Miss Gordon’s had been, and was as dull as he appeared to be. Worse, the textbook was new, from Ontario, and didn’t resemble Maud’s Royal Reader. She was used to finding the same poems she had read throughout her school life, and this textbook also contained mathematics—something she always despised. Bewildered, she had a hard time keeping up when Mr. Mustard put them to work right away, drilling them tediously through each math equation but never giving proper instructions.
When Maud raised her hand to ask for clarification, he sniffed, stuck one of his hands in his vest pocket and said, “Everything you require is in the textbook.”
At lunch hour there was really nothing to do. The boys played ball outside, and Will joined them. Although he wasn’t as rough as they were, he could hold his own. Maud, Annie, and Edie walked around the school and then stood on the balcony of the old hotel, watching people go by.
There were more men and women shuffling past, all of them very skinny. Maud wondered if she should help them in some way. Wasn’t she supposed to help? Isn’t that what they were always doing at church, sending money to the missions? Even last week at church, Reverend Jardine had asked everyone to put a little extra in the collection plate for the missionaries. She sighed. There was so much to understand in this New Eden.
—
As the week progressed, Maud completely lost faith in Mr. Mustard—and any hope of learning in such a forsaken place. One morning she even found a pink feather floating by her foot; Edie informed her that the upstairs was used as a ballroom, so the ladies used the classroom as a dressing room.
At the end of the second week, Douglas came in late from lunch break with dirt smudged across his cheeks, staring down at his scuffed shoes, and smelling like a rotting pig. Maud took her handkerchief, placed it over her mouth and coughed.
“Why is he even here?” Edie asked. “He smells as if he’s been hit in the face with a skunk.”
<
br /> “I suspect he didn’t want to be marked truant and face the whip,” Annie said.
“Girls, quiet,” Mr. Mustard said.
The boys were shifting in their seats, and there was a lot of coughing and a few chuckles. Mr. Mustard put the textbook down and stuck his index fingers in his vest pocket. “Douglas, what is that foul odor?”
Douglas’s dirt-smudged cheeks went red. “I was helping the public school kids with a pesky skunk, sir.”
“That skunk got the best of you,” Bertie said, which brought the class into hysterics. Even Maud had trouble keeping a straight face.
Mr. Mustard cleared his throat and pointed at Douglas. “Go to the corner.”
“I’m not sure that’s going to help, sir,” Willie MacBeath said. “He smells like my outhouse.”
This sparked another round of laughter.
Douglas slowly went to the far corner of the room, while everyone else tried to focus on their lessons. Within the hour, the smell had sullied the whole room, and there was so much fidgeting and coughing that—finally—Mr. Mustard relented and sent Douglas home.
By the end of the week, it was clear to Maud that teaching was not Mr. Mustard’s calling. During lessons, Maud often caught him gazing out the window with the grimmest expression.
This was no place to get a quality education. She had to come up with a new plan. But she had no idea what that plan might be.
CHAPTER SIX
Homesickness clouded everything. Maud hadn’t heard from Pensie or Nate, two people whom she loved but who were clearly irritated with her now. And there was nothing she could do. Maybe she needed to write and show them both how much they meant to her. With Nate, though, it was too dangerous; he would get the wrong idea. But she could show Pensie with words.
One day at school, while Mr. Mustard was again gazing somberly out the window, Maud, instead of doing another dreaded math equation, wrote a long poem to Pensie, illustrating all of the beautiful things she loved about her house in Cavendish. She called it “My Friend’s Home,” trying to portray in verse what she was feeling, emulating what she had observed in Tennyson and Browning.
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