Maud

by Melanie Fishbane

“Toss it,” he whispered.

  Maud held the snowball in her hand and remembered all of the dreams she had lost since coming here. Maybe Will was right; it was the doing of one small action that helped a person move forward. She threw the snowball into the dark.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  After Christmas, the election was held. Father earned a seat on the town council, winning by fifty-two votes. He was also appointed to the Board of Works. That night, everyone celebrated at the Kinistino Lodge until the early hours of the morning. Maud had never seen her father so happy.

  But the following morning was the first day of school after Christmas Break and, tired from the previous evening’s festivities, Maud slept in. It was only when Annie had come around banging on the door that Maud realized with a horrible start that she had slept in. Why hadn’t anyone woken her up?

  Maud leaped out of bed and quickly got dressed, wrapping herself up in a wool petticoat. As she ran downstairs, she noticed that her Father’s coat was missing; most likely, he had already started at his new job. When she came into the kitchen, her stepmother was sitting at the kitchen table feeding Katie. “I wondered if you were going to join us today,” she said.

  Maud wondered if Mrs. Montgomery had purposely made her late for school.

  In retrospect, the girls should have turned around the moment they walked out the door and saw the swirling snow, which was so dangerous on the prairie. But they were determined, and made their way ever so slowly to the high school.

  Finally, the girls burst through the doors, hair wet from the snow and eyes bright from the wind.

  “You’re late, Miss Montgomery and Miss McTaggart,” Mr. Mustard said. “Is this the way you two wish to start off the new year?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Mustard,” Maud said. “We had such a time getting through the snow.”

  “Really?” he said. “Everyone else was able to make it here without trouble.”

  “We’ve never been late before,” Maud said, her hands clenched in frustration.

  “With the heavy snow, this morning was different,” Annie said. “I prevail upon your good judgment and ask you to allow us to take our seats.”

  Maud was pretty sure Mr. Mustard’s good judgment—if he’d had any to begin with—had left him long ago.

  “Please stand against the wall for the rest of the morning.”

  “Excuse me?” Annie said.

  “I said stand against the wall or leave.” Mr. Mustard stuck his index finger in his vest. “It is up to you.”

  “If I leave now,” Annie said, with a determination Maud had never heard from her before, “you will not be seeing me in your classroom again.”

  “What about your teaching certificate, Miss McTaggart?” he said.

  “I’ll make other arrangements.”

  Annie marched out. And if she wasn’t staying, neither was Maud. She gave Will a sympathetic glance and followed her friend.

  With their heads once again down, the girls fought their way home through the swirling snow. Maud urged Annie to reconsider, but her decision was final.

  “I will speak to my father,” she said. “I overheard him mention there was a new school in Lindsay that needed a teacher.”

  “I’m going to miss walking to school with you,” Maud said, surprised at her own words. Annie might put on airs, but she always stuck by Maud.

  “Oh, you won’t get rid of me that easily,” Annie said with a smile.

  “I’m not going to let Mr. Mustard get away with this,” Maud said. “I just need to figure out how to get back at him.”

  When Maud got home, no one was there, and she remembered hearing Mrs. Montgomery say something about visiting Mrs. McTaggart.

  What was she going to do? She certainly didn’t want her imprisonment to start so soon—and for something that was entirely her fault. She had been both late and impertinent. Father would almost certainly take Mr. Mustard’s side; after all, her teacher was Mrs. Montgomery’s old friend and an adult. Even if things hadn’t quite gone as she’d planned, she desperately needed to finish the school year.

  Maud paced in Southview the whole blustery morning, only coming downstairs to answer a knock at the door around lunchtime. The caller turned out to be a certain red-haired young man with a distracting smile. “I hope you’ll consider coming back to school, Maud,” Will said. “It will be no fun without you.”

  Feeling quite daring being alone with him, Maud invited Will inside. “Would you like some tea?” she asked.

  Will rubbed his hands. “I can’t stay very long. I need to be back at school.”

  “Of course,” she said. “But I’d feel as though I were betraying Annie if I went back.”

  “I can’t imagine you enjoying spending your day”—he stretched his arms out—“here.”

  “I was just thinking that,” she said, bringing him into the parlor. “The thought of being cooped up here all day. But how can I show my face after what happened? What shall I do about Mr. Mustard?”

  “I’ll stand by you.”

  Surprised, Maud sat down on the sofa. She didn’t say anything for a few minutes. How incredible that her own father couldn’t say these words, but this young man—this stranger, really—was willing to help her. He was like a knight in a novel.

  “I can’t let you do that!” Maud stood up abruptly. “It will get you in trouble.”

  He smiled, and she found herself smiling back. “What is life without a bit of trouble? Come back with me, Maud.”

  That afternoon, Maud and Will returned to school together. A smug-yet-frowning Mr. Mustard made them both stay after school because they were supposedly late.

  Maud didn’t say a word for the rest of the day, which aggravated her teacher even more. No matter what Mr. Mustard did, she would nod or shake her head, making sure she was extra friendly with everyone else—even Frank and Willie M.—and was extra, extra friendly with Will, who had no trouble returning her sentiments in kind.

  It had the desired effect. Mr. Mustard became angrier and angrier.

  The next day when the end of day bell rang, Mr. Mustard asked Maud to stay behind. Maud listened to her classmates gathering their things.

  “Miss Montgomery.” Mr. Mustard stood up from his desk and walked over to hers. She had the urge to stand up so he wouldn’t have the advantage of towering over her. “I don’t understand your behavior. I thought we had an understanding.” Maud clenched her lips together. She would not speak.

  She heard the door open and close as her classmates left, one by one.

  He inched closer, his nasal breath warm against her cheek. “Why won’t you speak?”

  She pushed herself as far back against the wooden chair as she could. She stared at a crack in a floorboard, urging it to break open and swallow him whole.

  “I’m as upset as you are that Miss McTaggart is no longer with us,” he went on. “I certainly don’t think she’s ready to teach, particularly when she acts as though she were still a child.”

  There was some shuffling in the hallway, and Maud wished that one of the officers were bringing someone to the jail to, as Annie once whispered, “sleep it off.”

  “You know the only reason that I keep you after school is out of my sincerest concern for your well-being.” He sat down at the adjoining desk—Annie’s desk—and leaned over to her. Maud pressed against the chair. She would not move.

  “You may go, but I hope to see your manners much improved tomorrow.”

  Maud couldn’t get out of the room fast enough, and when she entered the hallway, she found—to her surprise—Will leaning against the wall, arms crossed against his chest.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered.

  “Hello, Will,” Maud said, a little louder than was probably ladylike. It sounded even louder to her because she hadn’t spoken all afternoon.

  “Hello, Maud,” he said, much louder than his previous whisper. “Shall I accompany you home?”

  “That would be most kind,” she
said, and mouthed, “Thank you.”

  Mr. Mustard lurked in the doorway, scowling. Will approached Maud and took her books, laying them on the bench in front of their hooks. Maud’s attempt at getting her arm in her coat sleeve was in vain.

  “Here,” Will said, and helped her on with her coat, his hands pausing for a moment on her shoulders before he slowly slid them down her back and away. Maud didn’t dare steal a glimpse at Mr. Mustard’s face.

  A few minutes later, Will and Maud were safely away from the school, crunching through the snow.

  “That man needs a good whipping,” Will said, his gloved hand grazing Maud’s sleeve as he took her books.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Her boots made somber-looking impressions in the snow. “He is not a good teacher. He is moody and intolerant and doesn’t know what he’s doing. He whips those boys, keeps us after school for no reason”—Will lifted an eyebrow—“Well, all right; we aren’t helping matters, but he’s intolerable. No one will do anything because he’s the teacher and his rule is law. It is a wonder I’ve learned anything at all in his class.”

  “I think you’ll make an excellent teacher, though,” Will said, and cleared his throat.

  She turned to the frozen river. “I would be a better teacher if I’d had better instruction.”

  “I promise to do what I can to help you in school,” Will said as they approached her front door.

  “What about Mr. Mustard?”

  “We’ll carry on much like we did today.” He leaned a little closer. “As though we are good friends.”

  Were they good friends? She kept her gaze steady. “My friend Nate and I used to use a cipher code to send notes.”

  Will’s expression darkened. “I’m not about to repeat things you had with another boy.”

  Of course he wouldn’t. She breathed ice. “That isn’t what I meant.”

  Will rubbed his hands.

  “It is really something that would drive him—Mr. Mustard—mad,” she said. “And in the meantime, I’ll freeze him out. I’ll only speak to him when absolutely necessary.”

  At least their plan might keep him away.

  —

  Over the next couple of weeks, Maud stayed completely silent in school, speaking to Mr. Mustard only when necessary. Will and Maud started sending notes, keeping their activity expertly hidden from the teacher, who begged her to break her silence. Her silence was her answer.

  After that first day back at school, Mr. Mustard had not called on her, which was a blessing—and an incentive to continue. The silence was worth it if it meant he would stay away.

  But it was getting harder and harder to keep it up. One day toward the end of January, Mr. Mustard asked Maud about Tennyson, and she simply couldn’t stay quiet. It was a grave error, because that evening, Mr. Mustard was back at Eglintoune Villa.

  “Are you going to let me in, Miss Montgomery?” he asked, smiling as though nothing had transpired between them.

  Maud wished that Mrs. Montgomery would at least make an appearance, but she had gone upstairs right after dinner, refusing to come down.

  It was as though her father and stepmother wanted this tedious, pedantic man to court her. She wouldn’t put it past Mrs. Montgomery, but Father? No. Surely not. In the end, there was nothing Maud could do but let the man inside.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The prairie blizzards of January settled into the heart of winter and Maud no longer slept through the night; her mind spun with memories and lost dreams. Her headaches were back, more painful than before. Sometimes it was all she could do to get out of bed.

  One night in late January Maud woke from a nightmare that left her feeling cold and abandoned. And then it all came back to her: what had happened earlier that evening, after coming home from visiting Will and Laura.

  Father had called Maud as she was climbing the stairs and she sat down beside him on the burnt-yellow sofa in the parlor. He looked tired and old.

  Maud tucked her shawl under her chin. “What’s wrong?”

  He heaved an aching sigh. “I have something difficult to tell you.” He put his hands on hers. “I hate asking, but…in case…Katie…” He let go, cradling his head in his hands.

  Maud placed her hand on Father’s shoulder. “What happened?”

  Father rubbed his hair and gazed up at her. “I need you to tell Katie that Pussy ran away.”

  “Did he?” Maud had seen the rascal this morning; he had been batting a mouse in the kitchen. “It is so cold out, he won’t last the night.”

  His eyes reminded her of the frozen Saskatchewan River. Maud shivered. “What did you do?”

  “I had to, Maudie. She was worried he would hurt the baby.”

  What had Mrs. Montgomery made him do?

  “I drowned him.”

  Drowned him! Maud swallowed the tears coming up the back of her throat. Pussy had been a mean old thing but a good companion.

  “The cat was taking too many fits,” he said.

  Such things could be trained from a cat, if you knew how to deal with them. Clearly, Mrs. Montgomery wasn’t willing—and neither was Father.

  “You understand, don’t you?” he said.

  “Yes,” she mumbled and ran upstairs so quickly, she almost stepped on it.

  At the foot of the Southview door was a dead mouse.

  Her skin prickled and she held in a scream. Pussy must have left it for her sometime between this morning and…

  Her chin trembled.

  Like when her journal had been discovered by her grandparents, it was as if she were watching herself from above. Slowly, she pulled at the handkerchief tucked in her sleeve, and, swallowing bile, placed the dead mouse in the cloth, tying it tightly. In silence, she walked through to the back porch and buried it in the snow.

  Now, an overwhelming sense of being lost crawled into her heart and stayed so long that she couldn’t breathe. She opened the window a tiny crack, allowing the frigid air to cut through her. She went to her bureau and took out her journal, pen, and ink.

  Maud hadn’t been writing very much. The burst of energy she had months before had faded, and in its place was fatigue and a desire to sleep. There was the poem she’d written for Pensie, her journal, and letters to home, but Maud hadn’t allowed herself to revel in imagination.

  Maud went over to the frosty window. In the dark morning she wrote about the frozen river, and how the ghostly poplar trees hugged it. She wrote out her spinning thoughts about Pussy and Mr. Mustard’s unwanted visits, about how everything felt so out of control.

  Then she wrote about some of the good things. She remembered her first Bible Study earlier that week and wrote about that. Maud had been skeptical at first, worried that it would be much like Sunday School, that it would be more like being told what to believe than a time for discussion and reflection. Growing up in her grandparents’ home, she’d been discouraged from questioning. But she soon realized it was actually an opportunity for theological and intellectual discussion.

  The new minister, Reverend Rochester, explored a different chapter or psalm each week, but he also encouraged his students to lead discussions. Maud’s turn was in two weeks. The idea both thrilled and terrified her. Grandma would say a girl of sixteen discussing theology was blasphemy.

  Listening to the reverend, Maud had imagined the hand of God weaving and writing the world. When she wrote, she felt as though she was doing something similar, although she would never dream of falling prey to the hubris of comparing herself to Him. But creating a world of characters who spoke to her, sharing the stories she knew and loved, this was her calling. Most of the time, she didn’t feel she had control over anything but her words.

  The Bible Study had closed with a hymn: “Lead, Kindly Light.” She had sung it before, of course, but that night it was as though she was hearing it for the first time. As so often happened when she reread her favorite books and poems, she discovered something new. “The night is dark, and I am far
from home.” She was so far away from all she loved…and she’d had such plans before she came here: to be with Father and go to school, to perhaps have an education, to go to college. None of it was how she’d believed it would be. She could almost hear Grandma say, “It is all in the hands of Providence.”

  Maud had stood between Will and Laura as they sang. Mrs. Rochester played the small pipe organ, her voice ringing above everyone else’s. There were moments in Maud’s life when she could feel the power of prayer, where word and song enveloped her soul. This had been one of them. When they all sang, “And with the morn those angel faces smile,” both Will and Laura turned to Maud and grinned. She returned the smile, and it was as if they were sharing a hidden truth. A knowing.

  Now, here in the dark, Maud wished for some moment of clarity—something to reassure her that she wouldn’t be forever in the dark, forever caught between what she wished and what was expected of her.

  Tracing the hymn in her mind, she felt that shiver of knowing: “With the morn those angel faces smile / Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.”

  She’d experienced that moment when she first saw Laura at church, the feeling that they were twin souls reunited.

  Perhaps it wasn’t what she’d originally believed would happen, but she would never have dreamed of Laura and Will’s friendship. And, yet, here they were.

  “Lead on,” she said to the dark night and the moon and the stars. “Lead on.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  One morning toward the end of January, they had an unexpected visitor. The leader of the federal Liberal party came to visit and the men spent a number of hours in Father’s study. When they emerged, Father’s eyes had that look of adventure in them, and he pronounced that he was entering federal politics, running on the Liberal ticket.

  “Are you sure this is wise, Hugh?” Mrs. Montgomery said. “You’ve always been a staunch Conservative supporter, even helping with Mr. MacDowall’s campaign. Now he’s going to be your opponent. People are going to think you are being opportunistic.”

  “Trust me, Mary Ann,” Hugh said. “They’ll vote the man, not the party.”