’Tis not my home though almost ’tis as dear
And next to home the fairest spot on earth
That little cottage in a far-off land
In that blue-circled isle that gave me birth.
She gave Pensie a queenly presence, evoking images of Cupid’s bow like those in Tennyson’s poems. She had to show her how much she loved her. She sent the poem in the post the following day.
When Father brought in a stack of letters a week later from Mollie, Grandma, Jack, and Pensie (which included some gum), Maud leaped for joy. She would submerge herself in these stories under Aunt Annie’s quilt in Southview and forget everything. She didn’t know if Pensie’s letter was in response to her poem, since it was too soon for the poem to have reached the Island, but it did mean that her bosom friend had written to her! Pensie still loved her. She would save her letter for last.
Mollie’s letter was full of school news:
Dearest Pollie,
It is hard to imagine that once again when I enter school tomorrow you won’t be there. Nothing is the same here since you’ve moved halfway across the world. Even Miss Gordon is bored without us Four Musketeers causing all sorts of fun. I suspect she will miss your help with the Christmas Examination Concert this year as she has to rely on Clemmie and Nellie, and there is Annie’s claim to know everything.
Jack and I try where we can, of course, but with Nate gone, I’m not sure how effective we are. Jack is quiet at the best of times, so it falls to me and that is no fun. Speaking of Jack, did he tell you he was leaving? He is following in Nate’s footsteps and going off to college. Can you imagine Jack a teacher? I suppose someone should tell him he is actually going to have to speak to his students…
I miss you dreadfully, Pollie! Oh, I know it isn’t your fault everyone is leaving me behind. I am to be alone, forced to befriend Clemmie, Nellie, Mamie, and Annie. It helps to be among them, particularly when George Robertson comes to a literary or prayer meeting. It seems no amount of teasing from us will dissuade him from his intentions. If only Jack would make his move, then George might leave me alone! I might have to resort to some drastic measures to make my feelings known.
Besides, Mother and Father are talking about how my attentions should be on a suitable husband rather than college.
Have you heard from Nate? I haven’t, but Jack says he’s well.
Do tell me all of your news from out west. Have you seen a buffalo?
Love, Mollie
Jack confirmed Mollie’s news, his letter as brief as his speech:
Dear Polly,
So funny to call you that. We are not those four anymore, are we? Although Molly certainly tries. I suppose she’s told you I’ll be off to Prince of Wales College next term. I certainly cannot allow Lockhart to get ahead of me. It will make his head swell more than it already has.
Will you be back in the summer? I’ll be home before I head off to college. It would be nice to see you again.
Write soon and tell me about Prince Albert.
Sincerely,
Jack (a.k.a. Snap)
Maud took a deep breath and, chewing some of the gum Pensie had sent, finally read her letter. As she read, her stomach twisted more and more. It was deeply disappointing: a series of facts about the weather and nothing about her cats, or anything else Maud had asked Pensie about in her previous letter…and, what’s more, she asked about Nate in a way that appeared more than just mere curiosity: Have you heard from Nate? I am sure the two of you are now writing secret love letters.
Why would Pensie bring that up? Was she trying to upset her? Clearly, she was still angry. She knew about Maud’s feelings. And maybe that was the point. Was this her revenge? Maud needed to convince her otherwise—and show her loyalty.
Now see here Pen I am going to give you a little scolding, she wrote, her hand shaking. She took a deep breath, steeling herself against what she knew she must write. I think you are too awfully mean for anything to keep teasing me eternally about that detestable pig Nate Lockhart.
Detestable was a good word. But was it strong enough? She took another breath.
You know I hate him, and if you mention his name in your letters one more time, I’ll never write to you again.
—
A few week weeks later, Pensie finally wrote back and apologized for her comments, and while her letters continued to lack creativity, they at least came regularly.
Maud had been wrong when she’d believed she would be spending more time with Father. Between the Kinistino Lodge, his auctioneer business, and now running for counselor, he was frequently gone most of the day—and even when he was home, there were always people coming to see him.
Unless she was too tired, Mrs. Montgomery often insisted on accompanying her husband, which meant that most days after school, it was up to Maud to feed, play with, and put Katie to bed. Maud didn’t mind so much, but as more of the household chores fell to her and Edie, there was less time to write.
Maud was also wrong when she had believed taking care of Katie would alleviate the tension with Mrs. Montgomery. While her stepmother was happy to see Maud “pulling her weight,” she was never gracious, nor grateful. In fact, it was as though she had expected Maud to play nanny to her half-sister all along.
Spending so much time with Katie reminded Maud of something her Aunt Emily had said to her two years before, after the Izzie Robinson incident. When Maud arrived at the gray house in Malpeque, Aunt Emily had frowned and said, “Once again, you’ve been thrown at my door. Wasn’t giving up eight years of my life enough for my mother?”
Before Aunt Emily had met Uncle John Malcolm, she had been like an attentive older sister. Maud had fond memories of Saturday picnics at the shore and lectures at Cavendish Hall. But as Maud grew older, Aunt Emily had grown cruel, often fighting with Grandma and Grandfather about wanting to go out with her friends. Maud blamed herself. Clearly, she had asked too many questions and had become, as Aunt Emily accused her, “entirely too childish and dreamy.”
One Sunday at church, Aunt Emily abandoned Maud to be with her friends—that was when her aunt had met John Malcolm Montgomery. Later, when Aunt Emily returned home, Grandma and Grandfather chastised her for shirking her duty, but she fought back, and that was when John Malcolm properly started courting.
Sometimes Maud was told to accompany them, which only angered her aunt even more. And when Maud begged her aunt to take her when she got married, the answer was a resounding no. “You aren’t my duty anymore,” Aunt Emily had said on the morning of the wedding. “I’ve honored Clara’s memory enough, and it’s someone else’s turn.”
That was when Maud had turned to her favorite authors, finding solace in books and words. She kept her diary close and wrote about her loneliness, wondering what made her aunt hate her so much. Those few months at her aunt’s two years ago had been no different. She still felt like a burden.
Now, as the prairie’s stillness echoed the hollowness of Maud’s heart, and the constant rain pounded into the center of her soul, she felt some compassion for her aunt. She loved Katie, but she also wanted to write and spend time with her new friends.
It was also increasingly clear that her stepmother had no respect for the things Maud cared about. When Maud had asked Father if she could have a copy of Longfellow’s Evangeline for school, as there were not enough copies, her stepmother insisted they couldn’t spend money on something as wasteful as a book. Maud was sure Father would defend her—the book was for school, after all—but he sighed and said that her stepmother was right, money needed to be specifically for essentials right now.
To Maud, books were essential; without them, she would have crumbled into despair. The fact that her father couldn’t see this broke her heart. Perhaps it was because he didn’t see her reading very much. Normally, Maud could lose herself in a story, but with all of her chores and schoolwork—what there was—much of her extra time was stolen for writing. Sometimes she would go back to old favorites, Lit
tle Women and Jane Eyre, and a few times she tried Cooper’s The Last of the Mohicans, but her mind would wander. She couldn’t focus.
School continued to be another disappointment. Maud had been right about Mr. Mustard. He did not have a calling for teaching, even making those subjects Maud would have enjoyed—such as studying Longfellow’s Evangeline—tedious.
And it seemed that she couldn’t even escape him after school; he had started calling in the evenings to visit Mrs. Montgomery, since they were old friends.
Sometimes Father was around, sometimes he wasn’t. If it was Miss Gordon paying a call, Maud would have enjoyed having quality time with her teacher, but Mr. Mustard was as dreadfully dull outside of the classroom as he was inside.
Maud could think of only one way to make things better: the convent school. She resolved to ask her father about it, and at dinner one night, Maud waited for a lull in the conversation. “Father, things at school are horrible.”
“Mustard needs to get control of those boys,” Mrs. Montgomery said, cutting a piece of pork roast. “He’s always been a little soft.”
“Mustard comes highly recommended from Ontario,” Father said.
“You should be paying attention to how I run this house,” Mrs. Montgomery said to Maud, ignoring Father’s comment. “You’ll need to know more than whatever you are doing up in your room all of the time.”
“Father, you know how much I love school.” Maud gazed at her father, desperately hoping he’d understand and make the suggestion she wanted to hear. Mrs. Montgomery folded her arms across her stomach. They still hadn’t told Maud about her pregnancy.
Father looked back at Maud and smiled. “Well, there is the convent school up the hill. Pritchard sends his oldest daughter, Laura, there; he was saying she is learning all sorts of things, such as art and music.”
Maud clasped her hands together over her chest. It was amazing how Father could read her mind. “Father, that would be simply divine! I would adore learning art, and you know I already play the organ because I took lessons with Mrs. Spurr.” She resolutely pushed aside the memory of Nate and continued. “I promise I will study hard and make you proud.”
“You cannot be serious, Hugh!” Mrs. Montgomery exclaimed. “No self-respecting Presbyterian family would send their daughter to that school. I’ve seen Laura Pritchard at church, and she acts as though she’s better than us. I think she’s picked up some of those Papist notions. They aren’t only teaching the three r’s there, but the big R—religion—and not the right one, either.”
“But, Mamma,” Maud said, struggling to swallow the word. “That high school has so many boys; there are days when you make Edie stay home, and if Annie is sick, I’m the only girl.”
“You can stay home with me and not study at all,” she said.
Maud started to protest, but something in her stepmother’s expression reminded Maud too much of Miss Robinson.
“I see your point, Mary Ann,” Father said, and then turned to Maud. “Let me think about it.”
Maud didn’t say anything else, but she had a bad feeling about what her father’s decision would be. This settled it. It was time to go home.
After helping Edie with the dishes, she wrote Pensie a long letter, telling her how much she hated it in Prince Albert and begging for news about Cavendish and her family: anything that would take Maud away from here and that woman. It had the desired effect. Writing to Pensie helped her believe that at least, maybe, someone was listening.
Later, Father knocked on the Southview door to tell Maud he had received a telegram from Grandpa, saying he would be coming through Prince Albert by week’s end on his way back to the Island. Perhaps this was her chance. Grandpa had offered to take her with him to British Columbia; maybe he could take her home. But first she had to make sure she had a place to go.
After Father left, Maud put Pensie’s letter aside and composed a new one to Grandma, begging her permission to come home. She wrote that she’d learned her lesson and promised to be obedient from now on.
She put Katie to bed and went downstairs with her speech all prepared. It would upset Father, but she suspected Mrs. Montgomery would cry with jubilation. They were sitting against the plush burnt-yellow couch in the living room, the evening light cascading over the family pictures on the wall.
“I’m glad you’ve come downstairs,” Father said. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said.”
For a second she wondered if he had changed his mind. She sat down on a chair adjacent to the couch, holding onto its wooden arms.
“I know it isn’t proper to be speaking of such matters, but you are a young woman, sixteen in a few months, and we—Mary Ann and I—want to talk with you about the baby we’re expecting in February.”
“That’s wonderful!” Maud said, hoping she sounded as if this was the first time she’d heard about this. “I’m thrilled about having a new brother or sister.” She stood up and hugged her father and then went to embrace her stepmother, but something in Mrs. Montgomery’s expression stopped her. “I’m pleased to hear this,” Mrs. Montgomery said, “given that your priorities are apparently elsewhere.”
Maud slowly sat back down and turned her gaze to the portraits. There was Katie as a baby, Father and Mrs. Montgomery’s wedding picture, a few images of the McTaggarts—but none of her.
“My family is my priority, of course,” she said. This was the truth. She wanted school more than anything. But if Father needed her, she would help him.
“We know you came here”—Father scratched his beard—“under certain circumstances. But we had hoped you might help us when the baby comes.”
Maud didn’t quite understand. “Of course.”
“See, Mary Ann,” Father said. “I told you she would help you.”
“I don’t think she understands,” Mrs. Montgomery said.
“I would help you after school and on weekends, as I do with Katie,” Maud said.
Mrs. Montgomery frowned.
Maud focused on the wedding photo.
“What about Edie?” Maud said.
“Edie won’t be with us much longer,” Mrs. Montgomery said. “As soon as we can arrange it, she’ll be leaving.”
Edie was right, Mrs. Montgomery had had a plan for Maud. And even though she suspected the answer, she asked, “But why?” Poor Edie! All she had wanted was to go to school. With no place for her to stay or employment, she would have to go back to Battleford. What about her plans to become a teacher? It wasn’t fair!
Mrs. Montgomery and Father exchanged a look. “I’m surprised at your outburst,” Mrs. Montgomery said. “Edie’s services are no longer needed. That’s all you need to concern yourself with.”
Maud struggled to hold back her tears. She wouldn’t give that woman the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Maud stood up, turning away from the family photos.
“You can continue with school until the baby is born,” Father said. “But then you’ll need to stay here.” Although he appeared confident, his blue eyes pleaded for Maud to understand.
“Of course. Whatever you”—she focused on her father—“need.”
Maud excused herself, slowly making her way to Southview. She was truly stuck here. Forever. No better than a hired maid.
This was why Father had agreed to have her come. The answer was clear now: she had been sent here to be a nanny. Even imagining herself as Jo in Little Women was no use. Unlike Jo March, who had taken the job willingly, Maud had had the job forced upon her.
Did Maud ever have a choice over anything?
Edie was getting ready for bed when Maud came upstairs. “So, you know,” she said.
“I’m so sorry, Edie,” Maud said, sitting down on her bed. “It seems we are both at her mercy.”
“It’s not your fault,” Edie said, tucking her covers up to her chin. But Maud wondered if she could have somehow prevented all of this. Been better somehow. On the bed was her letter to Grandma. Maud ripped it up, letting each piece f
all to the floor.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Over the following weeks, Maud said goodbye first to Grandpa, who had arrived and stayed for about a week, and then, a few days later, to Edie. Their final day together, Grandpa and Maud took a walk down Main Street toward the river, and he expressed concern over leaving her with her stepmother, but Maud assured him that everything would be fine. She must not have convinced him, because that evening over dinner he suggested that maybe Maud could come and visit the Island next summer. And while the idea felt like sunshine to her soul, she doubted she was going anywhere, at least judging from Mrs. Montgomery’s expression. Still, she was grateful to her grandpa for trying.
It was worse when Edie left. Maud had known she would be sad, but she hadn’t expected the hollow ache in her heart. The night before Edie left, they sat up late in Southview talking, and Maud cursed her stepmother for making her friend go.
“What will you do about school now?” Maud said.
“I’ll figure out something. After a few months in Battleford, I’ll head south to Regina, or go east. My family has a long history of being uprooted, leaving everything we love behind.” She frowned, but then shook it off and smiled. “Besides, Father Emmanuel wrote a letter on my behalf to the convent. Perhaps this, and my work in Prince Albert, will work in my favor.”
“It is nice to have people looking out for you,” Maud said. Why wasn’t anyone doing that for her now?
“I’m a survivor, Maud. I’ll find a way.”
“You’ll write and let me know how you’re doing?” Maud said.
“I promise,” Edie said.
The next evening, with Edie’s bed now empty beside her and with Pussy at her feet, Maud wrote until her hand ached and ink was etched into her fingers. There was a certain satisfaction in this, as though through her pain she’d been cleansed. Maud placed her pen in the ink, her hands upon the written pages, and her chin on top of her hands. The sun was coming out over the horizon, showering the prairie in light.
Maud Page 17
