Maud

by Melanie Fishbane

  CHAPTER NINE

  Maud was thankful that St. Paul’s Presbyterian Church was only a few blocks away from the school—and right across the street from Eglintoune Villa—so she and Annie could quickly drop off their books at home and race over. They were still late, and as they burst into the room, Mrs. Stovel was already putting people in their positions for one of the tableaux, a drama technique where everyone stood still, as if they were standing for a photograph. Frank Robertson was in the back row with Will, who surprised Maud with a quick wink.

  Pretending to ignore Will, Maud waved at two young women she knew from church, Lottie Steward, a lovely girl from Québec, and Alexena MacGregor. Maud was fond of Alexena, who had a kind smile. Both girls were already frozen in position but discreetly smiled in her direction.

  “I’m so relieved you both could make it!” Mrs. Stovel said, throwing both hands up in the air. “Will mentioned you were detained, but he was able to make it on time.”

  Maud and Annie exchanged a look. “Getting us in trouble already, Will?” Maud called out to him. His green eyes were mischievous, but he didn’t move…most likely because Mrs. Stovel was standing in front of him and he didn’t want to incur her wrath.

  Maud and Annie allowed themselves to be guided, and Mrs. Stovel fluttered around, trying to make everything “absolutely perfect.”

  When Mrs. Stovel gave them a ten-minute break, Maud went over to the stained glass window of an angel protecting Christ, where Will was standing beside his sister, Laura. She had the same wise nose and mischievous green eyes as her brother, but her face was rounder than Will’s, and she had soft brown hair worn up in a bun.

  Since that first day in Prince Albert, Maud had seen Laura a few times at church and was overcome by the feeling that she was a long-lost friend, a kindred spirit. She wanted to get to know her better, but Laura lived out of town on her parents’ farm, only visiting her aunt next door occasionally—and since she went to the convent school up the hill, the only opportunity for Maud to talk with her was at church. Helping Mrs. Stovel with the Christmas concert was the perfect opportunity for Maud to become better acquainted with her—and to see Will away from Mr. Mustard’s infernal lessons.

  Over the next few nights, the dramatists practiced at the McTaggarts’ and the Kennedys’ as Mrs. Montgomery “wasn’t up to rowdy guests.” Maud was grateful to have an excuse to leave the house, and her stepmother seemed open to giving her time off from her housekeeping duties. Maud supposed this was because Mrs. Stovel was her niece, but it didn’t matter why. She was just glad to have time to spend with her new friends.

  Even though being in the play brought back bittersweet memories of her friends in Cavendish, it helped dull the heartache of homesickness. Laura made beautiful bunting from old dress scraps of green, red, and gold, and recruited Alexena, Lottie, and Maud to help her put it up in the church, making it look quite festive.

  Once, as they practiced “Silent Night,” Maud was certain she caught Will eyeing her in a way that reminded her of Nate. She truly liked Will and didn’t want to cloud their friendship with romance, nor did she want to unwittingly encourage him. She’d had enough of that with Mr. Mustard.

  Yet there was something about Will that made her forget Nate—or at least made her feel less guilty. It meant so much that he had stood up for her with Mr. Mustard; they had even started passing notes in class. It wasn’t the same as with Nate—Will certainly didn’t have Nate’s romantic notions or love of verse—but he did have the knack of making her laugh. And she so badly needed to laugh.

  But Mr. Mustard was persistent, coming by the house a few times a week. And no bad behavior deterred him. Maud never said anything to her father or Mrs. Montgomery, as it was clear that, unlike Miss Robinson, Mr. Mustard was not going to tell on her. Perhaps it was pride that kept him from doing it, not wanting to show his lack of control over the classroom.

  Clearly, she was going to have to try another maneuver.

  Her new friendship with Will offered an opportunity. Mr. Mustard certainly disliked how much fun she and Will—and Annie, who insisted on joining in—were having, and he constantly made them stay after school to “discuss their behavior.” She didn’t want to use Will, as he was the nicest boy in school, but she had to admit that she liked how flustered Mr. Mustard got when he caught them passing notes.

  Sadly, this also meant that Mr. Mustard would find any excuse to keep Maud, Annie, and Will in detention. One afternoon, a few days after the “thin mustache” incident, Mr. Mustard announced that he was keeping Maud and Annie after school for “undignified conduct and slang.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” Annie said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Just because we come up with something on the fly doesn’t mean anything.”

  “That is precisely what I’m talking about,” Mr. Mustard said.

  “I think you’re being mad as hops,” Maud protested, slapping her hand—with much gusto—against her desk. Beside her, Willie M. and Frank snickered.

  Will coughed to stifle a laugh, pretending to read—although Maud knew he could not be studying; the class hadn’t cracked a book open all day.

  “You and Annie will remain after class,” Mr. Mustard said.

  Will raised his hand.

  “Yes, Mr. Pritchard.”

  “Sir, don’t you think this is kind of daft?”

  Mr. Mustard breathed heavily through his nose. “You will also stay after school.”

  But when Will went to shut the door after the rest of the class had left, Frank burst through, panting. “Pritchard, you need to come with me now. There’s an emergency,” he said, leaning over to catch his breath. Will didn’t even ask for permission; he just grabbed his things and left.

  Mr. Mustard marched over to the door and called after them, “Yes, for emergencies you can leave, Mr. Pritchard.”

  Maud wondered what the possible emergency could be and hoped that it wasn’t anything serious, or to do with Laura. But then Annie wrote on her slate that it was all a trick to get Will out of the classroom. She had overheard him ask Frank at recess to come and get him because he had to get to the ranch to help his father, and everyone knew that Mr. Pritchard was a man who hated for anyone to be late—even if that person was his son.

  Mr. Mustard began to look haggard. “If you are silent for the next five minutes, I will let you go.”

  “Did you hear that, Maud?” Annie said. “He says if we stay quiet for five minutes we can go home. Isn’t that kind of him?”

  “Oh, so terribly kind, Annie,” Maud replied. “He is certainly an upstanding pillar of our education system.”

  “You know he came from Ontario.”

  “Really? I hadn’t heard.”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Miss Montgomery! Miss McTaggart! If you don’t desist, I shall insist on keeping you here,” he said.

  Maud and Annie continued to talk, and when they couldn’t think of anything else to say, they whispered poetry. Maud was particularly fond of Tennyson.

  Finally, when Maud was sure it was almost suppertime, she groaned, “Leave hope behind, all ye who enter here.”

  “Misquoting Dante shows me you are more intelligent than your behavior would suggest, Miss Montgomery,” Mr. Mustard said. “I hope we shall see a better performance from you in the future. And from you too, Miss McTaggart.”

  As they ran to the church to practice their dialogue, the girls felt that they definitely—although painfully—had won another round.

  CHAPTER TEN

  By the end of November, Maud wasn’t sure how she was going to manage her responsibilities at home, church, and school. She tried to look forward to her sixteenth birthday on the thirtieth, but she started getting headaches: a low, dull, persistent ache on the back of her head, as though she was being choked from behind. She refused to give in to them, but the struggle drained her energy away.

  Mrs. Montgomery was now seven months along and
spent much of her time in bed, which meant that Maud had to do even more work around the house. Father was often out working or at the club. This left Maud alone with Katie, who clung to her from the moment she got home, following her all over the house and “helping” where she could. Maud found herself telling Katie the stories her grandparents had once told her, hoping to pass on to her sister the spirit of the stories she herself had loved.

  She had also finally submitted “On Cape LeForce” to the Charlottetown Patriot, and was sure that when she opened the next edition she would see it. But as the weeks passed, she began to dread the arrival of the paper; it marked rejection. One more dream unrealized.

  But that didn’t stop her. Writing saved her when she woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep. It saved her when Mrs. Montgomery was particularly cruel. It saved her from those moments when homesickness completely overwhelmed her.

  Laura and Will saved Maud too. They were living next door for the winter, since it was easier to stay in town than to drive the hour back and forth to Laurel Hill in inclement weather. Maud loved their Aunt Kennedy, who reminded her of Aunt Annie, as she was so kind and patient. She insisted that Maud call her Aunt Kennedy as well. Aunt Kennedy didn’t have any children of her own and so doted on Laura and Will—and Maud too.

  As demanding as Mrs. Montgomery was, she didn’t keep Maud locked up at home. She allowed her to go next door, or somewhere close by, “in case she needed her.”

  Returning home one evening after shortbread and dark tea at Aunt Kennedy’s, Maud found a number of letters from Cavendish on her bed. Pussy had followed Maud to her room, pouncing upon the pile of letters Father had left and hissing when Maud shooed him off. Maud spread the letters across the bed, touching each one, wondering which to read first.

  Pussy jumped back on the bed and made himself comfortable on the edge, his deep purrs singing. She absently scratched behind his ear as she leaned back against the headboard.

  There was the weekly letter from Grandma, of course. Maud could read between the lines, though; what Grandma really wanted to know was if her granddaughter had failed to live up to her expectations here. Maud refused to let her know how difficult things were. She would probably blame it on Maud anyway.

  Lu’s letter was light and full of fun, giving Maud all of the school and church gossip. Now that Jack Laird was planning on leaving for college, Mollie was rather moody, Lu reported, and Maud felt a stab of sadness for her friend, who would be there on her own.

  There was a lovely long letter from Miss Gordon, giving Maud an inspiring list of books and a bit of much-needed encouragement:

  I would not be the educator I am without first asking how your studies are going. I only know Mr. Mustard by reputation, and I hear he is quite knowledgeable, so I hope you’ll take advantage of this opportunity. Not a lot of girls have been able to get to high school, myself included…although I am proud of my accomplishments as one of the first women to enter the teaching certificate class at Prince of Wales College.

  If Miss Gordon knew the truth about Mr. Mustard, Maud wondered if she would have the same opinion.

  Among the pile was an envelope marked with postage from Nova Scotia. She froze. She knew that handwriting all too well. Maud placed the other letters in her chest, leaving the one marked from Acadia College on her bed.

  They hadn’t written to each other all fall. She picked up Nate’s letter and, in a rush of sentimentality, gave it a sniff—thinking it might hold a trace of his soap; it smelled only of dust and paper—and then promptly giggled. She had spent so much time sealing thoughts of him away; she simply mustn’t give in to these romantic notions.

  Pussy raised his head. “Don’t judge me,” she told him.

  Pussy simply laid his head across an outstretched paw, leaving one eye open.

  She carefully chiseled at the letter with the opener. For months she had been wondering what he had been thinking about her. When he hadn’t written, it was easy to imagine he hated her. Now, here was news.

  Dear Polly,

  It is hard to imagine that a few months ago you and I were picking berries and now I am sitting in my cold dorm room at college and you are halfway across the country. I know I should have written sooner—as I had promised—but I haven’t heard from you, either, and wonder if you really meant it when you asked me to write. But I couldn’t wait any longer; there is so much I want to tell you about the college and my life here.

  You would enjoy my history class. The professor’s specialty is British history, and I think he and Miss Gordon would have quite a lot to talk about. While there are many good teachers, she would definitely teach circles around some of the professors here. I think I’m taking the lead in all my courses, naturally. There is a fellow who is vying for the top of the class, but you know I’ll surpass him. And there are some girls, too, but it isn’t as much fun as competing with you.

  There was certainly no one vying for the top of the class in Mr. Mustard’s classroom. She would give anything for one of Nate’s notes slipped into her French book. She envied those girls who had been allowed to go to college, who somehow found the financial support they needed to go. How was it that these girls could go to college, but Maud couldn’t even get her father to buy a copy of Evangeline!

  Nate went on to discuss the many athletic pursuits and classical studies he had undertaken, including theology. He didn’t want to be a minister, but since Acadia was a Baptist college, all students were required to take it.

  Pussy sat up and arched his back, and she absently stroked his fur.

  “I am going to write him a long letter and tell him about all of the things I am learning,” she said to Pussy, who hopped off the bed and left her to her correspondence. “I will not be left behind.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  With a renewed sense of ambition, Maud returned to her daily reading and writing schedule, even though it meant less sleep, as she had to get up early in the morning with Katie. She focused on that far-off goal, that alpine path. Her headaches subsided.

  If Mrs. Montgomery’s sniping or Mr. Mustard’s attention got too much, Maud would open the old notebook where she had copied the poem in the front and read it. It reminded her that she had come here with expectations, and while she had been disappointed, the only way she was going to succeed was relying on herself. But focusing on education meant getting more serious in the classroom again, and she didn’t want to give Mr. Mustard the wrong idea by suddenly applying herself to her studies. Her sights were definitely not set upon him!

  Maud was a little cheered by the fact that she had finally turned sixteen and was able to wear her hair up again. Father had tried to make Maud’s birthday a grand event, inviting the McTaggarts and some people from the church to the house to celebrate, but at the last minute, Mrs. Montgomery decided not to appear, pleading a bad headache. This turned out to be the perfect gift for Maud: celebrating without having to worry about her stepmother’s negativity.

  Laura and Will came and gave her a card and some candies from Andrew Agnew’s father’s store. Andrew was a tall man in his twenties with glossy black hair, dark eyes, and serious intelligence—and he was completely smitten with Laura. He had also served during the Riel Rebellion, helping the women and children to the safe house. And he smoked, which Maud thought was completely scandalous, but Laura found intriguing. There were also gifts from Cavendish: lace and gum from Pensie, and a luscious long letter from Mollie. Afterwards, Maud went to Southview and dug out Mother’s Commonplace Book, reading over the pages she had written the night before she left Cavendish.

  A week after her birthday, Maud went downstairs for breakfast before church, though she would have preferred to stay in bed, given the damp drafts of December. Mr. Mustard had shown up the previous evening for another visit and she had been forced to entertain him on her own, since Father and Mrs. Montgomery were out.

  Maud was exhausted, but it was Sunday, and woe betide the girl who didn
’t go to Sunday School.

  Mrs. Montgomery was preparing breakfast while Katie was on the floor chasing Pussy. Father came in with the previous night’s mail, carrying a few copies of the Charlottetown Patriot. Over the past few weeks, she had continued to check for her poem, getting more and more disappointed, but with her newfound resolve, Maud had to take the chance. She seized the paper and, with a beating heart and trembling fingers, opened it.

  “My goodness, aren’t we anxious?” Mrs. Montgomery said. But Maud ignored her, scanning and crumpling each page.

  “Are you all right?” Father asked.

  The letters danced dizzily. There it was, in one of the columns. Her poem!

  On Cape Le Force.

  [A legend of the early days of Prince Edward Island]

  Lucy Maud Montgomery

  The whole room pulsed with light. After a grueling month of endless rain, perhaps the sun was finally coming out.

  Her name in print. She’d never seen such a lovely sight.

  “Maud, what is in the paper? You look like Pussy when he’s caught a mouse,” Father said.

  Still shaking, Maud handed him the paper. Would he be proud of her? Maud didn’t know what Father thought of women writers. Maybe he would think her too daring.

  Father frowned, reading quickly. Slowly he began to smile, and then let out a wild “Hurrah!” He grabbed Maud and swung her around, kissing both cheeks. “Well done, Maudie!” Mrs. Montgomery cleared her throat, looking quite appalled at her husband’s exuberant behavior, but he waved her off. “How incredible! My Maudie—Maud—in the paper.”

  Maud laughed, holding back the tears she was sure would come. Her Father was proud of her. “I didn’t want anyone to know in case it wasn’t published,” she managed to say.

  “I would say this is a cause for celebration. Don’t you think so, Mary Ann?”

  “It is certainly…something,” Mrs. Montgomery said. “But you don’t want to be late for Sunday School, Maud.”