Maud

by Melanie Fishbane

  —

  As Mrs. Montgomery’s pregnancy progressed, she did less and less. Maud did more of the cleaning and meals, taking over for Edie, as well as attending school each day. She begged Father for some help, but he said that they couldn’t afford the expense. It was only a matter of time anyway, as the baby was due in February and she would be forced to give up school.

  What was the purpose of dreaming of a happy family home when it was mere fantasy? She should have listened to Grandma long ago. Maud knew now that life with Father would never have lived up to her expectations, especially with Mrs. Montgomery there. He worked so hard, but nothing pleased her. Some nights Maud could hear them arguing over money—it was always over money. She complained that he was never around, when he was out running his business—for his family!

  Every evening before dinner, Father and Mrs. Montgomery had the same conversation, and then would eat in a silence that rivaled the ones at Maud’s grandparents’ house. As Maud cleaned up, Mrs. Montgomery would complain that he was always leaving her alone with “his daughters.” Father would argue how imperative it was for him to canvass for votes at the lodge, since the other local candidates were doing what they could to buy votes. She would say she missed him, and he would kiss her cheek and leave them to clean up. “It’s only until January; it will be easier when the election is over,” he’d say.

  One night toward the end of October, Mrs. Montgomery was complaining about how much extra work she had to do now that Edie was gone and she had to entertain visitors on her own.

  “If by ‘visitors’ you mean John Mustard,” Father said, “you know he’s more your friend than mine, and you always end up talking about old school days.” Mr. Mustard was calling two or three times a week, and Maud and Mamma were the ones entertaining him. The few times he was home, Father looked so bored. Maud completely understood; the last thing she wanted to do was socialize with her teacher.

  Her stepmother sighed. “Aren’t you going to help us with the dinner plates, Maud?”

  “I was about to,” Maud said.

  “Good.” Mrs. Montgomery leaned against the chair. “I’m rather tired now.” She slowly stood up and held her lower back, trying to look poised as she went upstairs.

  “This too shall pass, Maud,” her father said when Mrs. Montgomery was gone.

  Maud doubted it, but she didn’t want to upset Father. She stopped stacking and smiled brightly. “I understand completely.” She put her hand on his arm. “Now, go to your meeting. I’ll handle things here.”

  “You are such a responsible girl,” he said, kissing her lightly on top of her head.

  As Maud washed the dishes, she allowed her mind to drift to Cavendish and what her friends and family would be doing. Grandma continued to write faithfully each week about the farm and grandfather’s health, and Lu had written Maud about a church social. Maud imagined she was there with Mollie and Lu and the boys, Nate smiling up at her while they sang “God Save the Queen.” It was all such a lovely, faraway dream that Maud lost herself there until a knock—and the near-breakage of her stepmother’s favorite serving dish—brought her back to reality.

  The knock came again, in full force. She sighed and put the platter down.

  “Mamma, someone is at the door,” she shouted.

  Silence.

  “Mamma!”

  Nothing.

  Maud dried her hands and went to the front door. Mr. Mustard had returned. Didn’t he have better things to do? She was almost embarrassed for him.

  “Is your stepmother home?” Mr. Mustard asked, clearing his throat. “I had hoped to call upon her.”

  “He does realize that my stepmother is married,” Maud mumbled to herself.

  “Pardon me?” he said.

  Maud told him to wait in the parlor while she got her stepmother. She was sure Mrs. Montgomery wasn’t up for company, but since she had left Maud with the dishes, Maud figured she would retaliate by making her spend a few hours with boring Mr. Mustard.

  Maud skipped upstairs and knocked noisily three times. No answer. Maud imagined her stepmother, upon hearing Mr. Mustard’s voice, huddling under the covers, clothes and all, pretending to sleep.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Mustard,” Maud said when she returned to the parlor. “My stepmother is not receiving visitors tonight.”

  Mr. Mustard clasped and unclasped his hands in front of him but continued to sit where he was—on her favorite spot on the couch.

  Grandma would have been horrified to see someone not show such disregard for propriety. But it would be a mark on the Montgomery and Macneill names if Maud didn’t at least offer Mr. Mustard some refreshments and play the good hostess. Perhaps Mrs. Montgomery didn’t think that Maud could do it? Perhaps because she believed Maud had come from—what did her stepmother usually call Cavendish?—“a backwater small town”?

  Maud put on her best smile and said, “Do you want some refreshments, Mr. Mustard? Mrs.—Mamma—and I made some delicious mock cherry pie this afternoon. It is quite delicious.”

  “No, thank you.” He sniffed. “I don’t believe in eating after seven o’clock, as it doesn’t agree with one’s digestion.” Mr. Mustard spread his hands out so one sat on each leg.

  “It is your loss; some say that Mamma’s pie is the best in Prince Albert.”

  “High praise indeed,” Mr. Mustard said. Sniff. “Perhaps next time I will come earlier, and then we can share in the delight together.” Sniff. Sniff.

  Maud sat at the farthest end of the yellow couch and the two stared at the floor for what felt like hours. In those precious minutes, Maud’s mind spun for something to say, but the incessant sniffling coming from the man across the way was too distracting. She now agreed with her stepmother and wished Father had chosen to stay home. At least she would be free to go upstairs.

  “Where’s your father on this cold night?” Mr. Mustard finally asked.

  “He’s gone to the Kinistino Lodge to meet with the Sons of Scotland expatriates. I suspect there will be some revelry and possible card playing afterwards.”

  She admitted to herself she was egging the poor man on with that final sentence. Knowing Mr. Mustard’s abhorrence of all things fun, Maud was not at all surprised when he said, “I don’t approve of card playing; it is only one step removed from gambling, and gambling is a sin.” Sniff.

  “I also enjoy singing in choir,” Maud said, glancing quickly over at the grandfather clock—nine o’clock. He should be leaving soon. “We are to give a recitation in a few weeks.”

  Oh, why did she tell him that? He would think she actually wanted to talk with him.

  “I think I’m going to request that we move the classroom to the other side of the hallway,” he said, suddenly changing the subject. “It is inappropriate to expose young people to the kind of gallivanting in the hall that goes on in the evenings.” Maud was quite sure that Mr. Mustard would never be accused of gallivanting. “I can truthfully argue that it is a larger room with a better heater. It will be good for everyone.” He leaned over in the direction she was sitting. “Don’t you agree?” Sniff.

  Maud elbowed herself more deeply into the couch’s arm. Truth be told, she actually did agree; she didn’t enjoy discovering stray feathers in her notebook when she got home, but she certainly wasn’t going to tell him! So she said, “Oh, I don’t know; I’ve heard those girls have all sorts of laughs.”

  This made her teacher turn the shade of Mrs. Montgomery’s mock cherry pie.

  The grandfather clock continued to witness the excruciatingly slow evening, and finally showed mercy by bonging at ten o’clock. Maud couldn’t take it any longer and feigned a huge, indelicate yawn, which had the desired effect. Mr. Mustard stood up and announced that he should be going home.

  Slamming the door behind him, Maud wondered why her teacher had decided to stay when it was clearly Mrs. Montgomery he had come to see. And for two of the longest hours of her life. She had listened to sermons that were more interesting than po
or Mr. Mustard. And what could he possibly have to gain having a conversation with one of his students? Certainly he would prefer conversing with people his own age, wouldn’t he?

  Sitting down on the yellow couch, Maud gazed at the clock that had witnessed the evening’s events as if it would solve the mystery. But it had no opinion to offer.

  Then she recalled how he’d looked at her when he asked her opinion about the classroom, as though she might have all of the answers. A creepy-crawly feeling trickled down the back of her neck. No. It was ridiculous. Was it possible that the teacher had designs on her? She’d heard about such things, of course, and it wasn’t necessarily frowned upon, as teachers had a valued place in the community. If this was what he was doing, Maud was going to have to stop it. Immediately.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The following morning, Maud was careful to put her hair down the way Mrs. Montgomery liked it. While the family was finishing breakfast, she brought up Mr. Mustard’s odd visit.

  Mrs. Montgomery was helping Katie feed herself. “You are being overly dramatic, as usual,” she said, wiping Katie’s chin. “He’s lonely.”

  Maud played with her porridge. “But he’s your friend. Not mine.”

  “I’m sure it is harmless.” Father gulped down the last of his tea. “Besides, he appears to be a nice fellow, if a little awkward.”

  An image of Mr. Mustard staring out the window in melancholy all day flashed into Maud’s mind, followed by the memory of him with whip in hand. The violent contrast made her drop her spoon. Its clang against the china plate rattled everyone.

  “Please be careful with our dishes, Maud,” her stepmother said. “Or do I have to help feed you as though you were Katie?”

  Maud delicately picked up the spoon and mumbled an apology. Father poured himself some more tea and opened the paper. There was an article about the election, reporting on the upcoming debate. Father had been preparing for it all week. Maud couldn’t help but be proud.

  “And you could do worse than Mr. Mustard,” her stepmother went on. “A girl your age needs to be considering suitors.”

  She was tired of boys—men—all of it. “I have plans to do more than be someone’s wife,” Maud retorted.

  Her stepmother stood up, scooped up Katie (who screamed that she was still hungry), and swept upstairs.

  “That was uncalled for, Maud,” Father said over his paper.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Father sighed.

  Maud started clearing the plates; Mrs. Montgomery’s departure had left her alone with the chores.

  “Did you do anything to encourage him?” Father asked, after a while.

  Maud almost dropped the plates she was carrying, but saved them by carefully—shakily—placing them back on the table. She sat down before her legs could collapse under her. “I am his student,” she said, as evenly as she could, although inside she was crying like Katie. Why was she under attack? First Pensie, and now Father: Why was she to blame for a man’s actions? “I treat him the same as any other teacher.”

  Father stood up and put his coat on, his beard twitching into a slight smile. “You must have done something. A man doesn’t usually go after a girl unless she’s done something to attract his attention.” He kissed Maud on top of her head.

  “But why would he want to spend time after school with a girl of almost-sixteen?” Maud asked.

  “You might be almost-sixteen”—Father fixed his collar—“but you are also intelligent, and I suspect an educated man such as Mr. Mustard might be attracted to someone with your interests.”

  As Maud cleared breakfast away, she wondered if perhaps Father was right. She needed to be more careful. Maud wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but she had to turn Mr. Mustard off her. She had worked so hard to be a proper lady—the kind Grandma would be proud of—but perhaps that was why Mr. Mustard thought her older than her years. She was going to have to remind him that she was younger than him, practically still a child.

  If she showed him her immaturity, by acting out, it would certainly turn his attentions elsewhere. But did she dare? It had certainly been a while since she had done anything of the sort, and she usually had Mollie to help her put any plan into action. This had to be all on her.

  Her opportunity came that afternoon when Mr. Mustard was helping Willie MacBeath with his sums—all they ever did was sums—and Annie and Will Pritchard were quietly working beside her. Will had missed a few days helping his father on the family ranch in Laurel Hill, and Maud admitted to herself that she was glad Will was back where she could feel his quiet presence behind her. He was so different from the other boys in school: older and more responsible, not concerning himself with the mischief the others were always getting up to.

  Maud didn’t want to tell Annie or Will about her plan. Mr. Mustard might not whip a girl, but he would definitely whip a boy, and the last thing she wanted was to get Will into trouble. Besides, this was her fight and she was going to have to win it—as with most things in her life—on her own.

  On a piece of paper, Maud penned a little Island folk song, imagining a lilting fiddle, and began to sing. Annie’s eyes widened in surprise, and Maud tried to hide her smile. The song was about a teacher who had no control over his students and would do silly things to get their attention. It was entirely possible the “thin lad with a thin mustache” was Mr. Mustard, but she would neither confirm nor deny it.

  After a few minutes, Annie began drumming a rhythm against her desk with her pencil and picked up the tune, humming in harmony to compliment Maud, and then—to Maud’s utter surprise—Will hit the edge of his desk with his hand, joining in on the lower notes, their volume growing louder and louder, eventually adding in hand gestures and clapping.

  Mr. Mustard lost his temper. “Why are you three singing? Stop this immediately!” he bellowed.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Maud said, as Will and Annie kept singing. Will reached over and passed the paper to Douglas, Frank, and Willie M. so they could join in.

  “Oh, a thin man with a thin mustache, had a hard time holding his cash,” they screeched.

  “Silence, this instant!” As his ears grew redder, Mr. Mustard’s thin mustache seemed to grow even thinner.

  The younger boys stopped, as they had seen that expression before and didn’t want to go another round with Mr. Mustard’s whip.

  Maud was surprised they had gone on as they had. Annie and Will should stop, as this had nothing to do with them, but she had underestimated their complete lack of respect for the man—and possibly their friendship for her.

  “If you don’t stop right now, you three will have to stay after school,” Mr. Mustard shouted above the singing.

  “A thin man, oh, he’s a thin man,” the three rebels sang.

  “Enough! You three will stay after school and do one hundred sums each before you can go,” Mr. Mustard said.

  Maud, we need to stop. Remember practice, Annie chalked on her slate. Maud had forgotten their promise to Mrs. Stovel about helping out with the Christmas dialogue.

  Okay, one more round, she wrote back.

  The three gave the song one more resounding cry, which was met with grand applause by everyone but the tall, thin man standing at the front of the classroom.

  After school, Mr. Mustard forced Maud, Annie, and Will to complete the one hundred sums. Annie and Will did them, but Maud was determined to not pick up her pencil.

  “Miss Montgomery, you do realize I’ll keep you here until you have completed your task,” her teacher said.

  “I do realize that, yes,” Maud said, lighting a candle she had in her desk and taking out her book of Tennyson’s poems.

  “Please put that away,” he said. “You can either do math problems or nothing at all.”

  Maud blew out the candle. “Then I’ll do nothing at all.” He could have kept her there until midnight and she wouldn’t have budged.

  “I’m done, Mr. Mustard,” Will said, tossing the probl
ems on the teacher’s desk. “I’m expected at the church to help with the Christmas concert.”

  “I’m surprised he’s going,” Annie whispered. “I didn’t think his father would let him out for a dialogue. He’s always working his son so hard.”

  “It is a church function.”

  “Aren’t you coming?” Will asked at the door.

  “We are expected at the church,” Maud said, facing her teacher. “You cannot keep us here against our will, Mr. Mustard. Especially when we are expected at the church to do His work.”

  “We are playing an important role in the church dialogue,” Annie said.

  Mr. Mustard pretended to be interested in a student’s paper.

  “I’ll be sure to tell Mrs. Stovel that you’ll be a bit late,” Will said as he left the classroom.

  “You are the oldest students in school and should be setting an example.” Mr. Mustard said after Will had gone. “I expected more from you.”

  “If you don’t treat us as if we are children,” Annie said, “you might see something better from us.”

  “Watch your tone, Miss McTaggart. I tend not to whip girls, but if this wildly inappropriate behavior continues, you might see it.”

  Annie breathed hard through her nose. “I would hate for you to see what happens when I tell my parents how you spoke to me.”

  Mr. Mustard frowned. Maud couldn’t believe it. Annie had stood up for her—which people rarely did. She was certainly walking a dangerous line. Maud had already seen firsthand how Father and Mrs. Montgomery would take her teacher’s side, but for a new teacher, disciplining certain students could be a gamble. Annie’s father, Mr. McTaggart, was an important man in town, and it wouldn’t do for Mr. Mustard to get on the wrong side of him.

  “Fine,” Mr. Mustard said, waving his arm, defeated. “Go. But don’t think we’re done here.”

  As Maud scurried out, she hoped at least her performance would mean he was done with her.