He sighed. “I don’t have a choice, Maud. But I know you’ll be careful and responsible.” She couldn’t believe it. It was scandalous.
But as with so often the case, she didn’t have a choice.
He then smiled that winning smile, the one Maud realized she had also learned to feign. “We thought you could try the other route and travel through Northern Ontario by Lake Superior this time around. It’s supposed to be quite breathtaking, and that way you’ll see another view of our great country. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”
Although it broke her heart, she responded with her own winning smile. “Yes, Father. Yes, it does.”
“Things will be better for you in Cavendish,” he said. “You belong there among the beauty. This is rough and tumble country.”
The curtain rose and fell behind Father’s head. “You’re right,” she said, hoping her tone didn’t betray the rawness scratching at her throat. “Cavendish has always been my home.”
It dawned on her that this might be the only time—the last time—she would have Father to herself. Was she to live with half-truths for the rest of her life? She needed to know. She hadn’t come so far and endured so much to return home without an answer to this one question. Maud went over to her chest, carefully lifting the quilt and the woolen clothes she had packed away for the summer, and picked up her mother’s Commonplace Book.
“Have you seen this before?” She brought it over and he reached out, slowly and gently taking it from her hand—as if he were holding Bruce.
The curtain suddenly blew round like a balloon.
“I had no idea you had this.” His eyes filled with tears, making Maud’s do the same. She hadn’t seen him cry since Mother’s funeral. “Who gave it to you? I…I thought it had been…lost.”
“Grandma gave it to me before I left.”
“It was how I met her, you see.” He turned the book over in the palm of his hand, as if it would wind them back in time. “We were at a Literary Society meeting in French River. She was visiting her sister—your Aunt Annie—and was having a few people sign it. Mostly enjoying showing off her poetry—”
The curtain sucked against the window.
“She wrote poetry?”
“Not quite like you.” He squeezed Maud’s hand. “She mostly imitated other people’s poems, but she also enjoyed collecting them, having people write down their own favorites. I was back from one of my trips abroad. I knew of her through the Campbells, of course, as they lived across the road from your grandpa. She was such a sweet young thing, your mother. Barely twenty when we met, and so beautiful. She loved hearing about my adventures and I loved telling her about them. I wasn’t planning on staying; I had lined up another job, but—things happened as they do—and I stayed.”
“You fell in love.”
Father was quiet for a while. “Things changed and I had to adjust.” He gave the book back.
“What happened?”
Father tapped his knee. There was something he wasn’t saying. Wouldn’t say. “Your grandparents didn’t approve of me. So we did what we had to.”
The prairie wind puffed the curtain away, revealing low gray clouds caressing the sky.
Mrs. Simpson was right: her parents had eloped.
Maud had so many more questions. Why did they have to marry so quickly? Why didn’t he ever take her with him? Why wouldn’t he fight for her now? But Father quickly stood up and kissed the top of her head. And then he was gone.
But she had gotten her answer, hadn’t she? Sometimes it’s what isn’t said in the story that gives the most answers. Mother must have truly loved Father to marry him against her parents’ wishes.
She was the daughter of people who had taken risks for love and happiness; she could live with that, even if others could not.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The end of August came. Maud had spent a busy few weeks preparing to leave, but she’d also had another writing opportunity. Mr. Maveety had been so impressed by Maud’s essay about Prince Albert, “A Western Eden,” that he agreed to publish one of her poems, “Farewell.” She had written it during one of her “2 a.m. moments” in the middle of July, when it was so hot that she couldn’t sleep. That day, she’d walked with Will and Laura down the river toward Goschen, as was their ritual. While nothing significant had been discussed, there was the mingled pleasure and sadness of a perfect moment combined with the knowledge that at this time next summer, she would be back in Cavendish.
She wrote:
Farewell, dear friends, your kindness,—
I will cherish
Among all memories sweet
Long years may pass ere once again
I’ll greet you,
Yet oft in thought we’ll meet.
She would see them again in memory, but she also knew that in memory things changed, and what she had now would never be the same.
And now here she was, finally packing up the last of her things, preparing to say goodbye to Southview. It had been a good room for her, a refuge from the rest of the house.
She had to say goodbye to Laura. She had to say goodbye to Father and Katie and Bruce. She had to say goodbye to Will. And unlike her parting from Cavendish, where a small part of her always believed she would return, she couldn’t imagine ever coming back to Prince Albert.
During the last week at Bible Study when they all stood up and sang, “God Be with You Till We Meet Again,” Maud almost couldn’t finish for the tears lodged in her throat.
Afterwards, she and Will exchanged their ten-year letters. Maud was tempted to read hers, but she quickly placed it in her trunk, out of view. Some things were better left in the unknown future.
Dr. Stovel gave her Washington Irving’s The Sketch Book and a copy of Emerson’s Essays. “Promise me you’ll keep up the writing,” he said. “I hope to buy one of your books someday.”
But an additional sadness hung over this final morning. Laura had told Maud that Mr. Pritchard had to go to Battleford, leaving Will in charge of Laurel Hill; he didn’t know if he could get away. The last time they’d seen one another was at Bible Study, and they had promised a final goodbye. Maud couldn’t bear the idea of not seeing him one last time. She finished packing slowly, hoping that perhaps if she prolonged the process, he might make it after all.
In the afternoon, Father and Mrs. Montgomery went to visit the McTaggarts, so Maud had some time alone with Laura. Alexena, Annie (who was home from teaching for the summer), and Lottie had also promised to call and say goodbye.
Laura and Maud washed up the tea dishes—for even in Maud’s final moments, Mrs. Montgomery found a way to get her to do chores—and then went to the garden and picked bouquets of mignonette, petunias, and sweet peas. They were quiet as they did this. A solemn vow of friendship was made as Laura placed her bouquet in Maud’s arms and kissed her on either cheek. Then, Maud did the same.
“You have changed me, Laura Pritchard,” Maud said. “I will never have a friend like you again.”
They hugged each other tightly, careful not to crush their precious bouquets. The comfort of Laura’s arms around her made her feel not so afraid of what lay ahead, but she desperately didn’t want to leave her dear friend behind. Maud caressed Laura’s tear-stained cheek with her thumb and kissed her softly on the lips for the last time.
In the evening, when the sun had set so it was only a faint red glow over the prairie, they sat out on Eglintoune Villa’s porch. “This will be my last prairie sunset,” she said, adding silently: I won’t get to share it with Will.
As if reading her thoughts, Laura said, “I have a letter from him. I’m supposed to give it to you in case he couldn’t come.”
Maud’s chin trembled and she swallowed. She was about to allow herself to cry when she saw him coming around the corner with a determined stride.
Maud leaped up. “Is that him?” She held herself steady.
“Do you want me to keep the letter?” Laura asked when Will breathlessly sat
down beside them.
“No,” he said, taking it back. “But I don’t have much time.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s in it?” Maud said. She couldn’t believe that this would be the last time she would see him. She needed more time to say a proper farewell.
Will opened his mouth, but just then, Reverend and Mrs. Rochester came through the gate. “Hello!” the reverend said. “We wanted to make sure that we gave you a proper goodbye.”
Maud hugged them both. “It was good of you to come.”
“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Rochester said. “You were such a wonderful addition to the Bible Study. Be sure to continue your studies in Cavendish.”
“I promise,” Maud said, as she caught Will checking the angle of the sun.
But as they left, Alexena and Lottie came with Frank. She would never forget how Frank and Mr. Mustard had come to blows. They all tried to stay positive, teasing Maud about going back to the quiet of Prince Edward Island after life as a pioneer. Will tapped his fingers impatiently against his worn brown pants. The sun had almost disappeared. He would have to leave soon.
Finally, everyone but Laura—who stood an appropriate distance away—left.
Will pulled out the letter.
“I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it, what with Father away—”
“Laura told me.”
He pressed the letter into her hand. “Something to entertain you on the train.”
Maud traced the ring on his finger. Her ring.
“Maud.”
“Don’t say any more. Not now,” she said.
And his lips were on hers. She grabbed his auburn hair and caressed his back, memorizing the way his strong but gentle fingers felt against her neck, the way his kisses tasted like home.
After a while, he reluctantly pulled back. “I have to go,” he said, kissing her forehead.
She took his hand.
Laura emerged from the dark and the three walked silently to the gate. On the other side, they let go of each other’s hands.
Laura said goodbye, as she had promised her aunt she would help with dinner, telling Maud she would see her later that evening at the train station.
Maud stopped at the corner where Eglintoune Villa stood. The stars were just starting to shine in the clear August sky. She wanted to memorize everything she loved about Prince Albert in this moment. The way the prairie wind touched her cheek. The sloping hills and the sparkling river. She wanted to stand there with Will forever.
“Well,” Will said, his voice shaking. “Goodbye.” He held out his hand, and she took it. “Don’t…forget…me—us.”
How well their hands intertwined, the poet and the farmer, with her gold ring always connecting them. She was glad to be leaving it behind, with him.
“I’ll never forget you,” she said.
One last kiss. Couldn’t she? Dare she?
“Goodbye,” she said.
Their hands fell apart.
“Goodbye, Maud,” he said.
Will Pritchard walked away.
Maud was numb, her mind silent. Her heart screamed to run after him, call his name. Something.
But she stood there instead, watching him disappear up the hill.
BOOK THREE
Maud of the Island
1891–1892
…our long journey is over at last and our destination reached. And as our feet press the dear red soil once more we exclaim, with heart-felt delight:-
‘This is my own, my native land.’
—L.M. Montgomery, “From Prince Albert to P.E. Island”
KENSINGTON STATION, KENSINGTON, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND SEPTEMBER 1891
CHAPTER ONE
Maud’s thumb rubbed against her naked index finger as she waited, her back pressed firmly against the wall of Kensington Station. She was oddly grateful that the bustle had gone out of fashion again so she could sit with ease.
Grandpa Montgomery hadn’t specified who was coming to get her; she had assumed it would be one of her uncles. But she’d been sitting at the station for two hours now, and no one had arrived or sent a message, and she was beginning to wonder if anyone was coming.
Her new dark mauve travel suit, purchased at Andrew’s store (while Laura flirted with him), was dusty from the long trip, and the adventurous spirit Maud had tried invoking when she left Prince Albert had completely abandoned her.
Maud had believed she understood loss, even what it meant to have one’s heart disappointed in love. But as she sat in Kensington Station, the cool afternoon air brushing against her skin and the sun splitting shadows in the red earth, Maud realized she had not known true pain until now.
The long, dreadful farewell. The memory of Will fading away up that hill.
Why hadn’t she called after him?
It had been so different from the other warm, tearful farewells she had experienced upon leaving Prince Albert.
Thankfully, Mrs. Montgomery had decided to stay behind at Eglintoune Villa. Maud had nothing more to say, and couldn’t even feign sorrow at parting. Purely for Father’s sake, Maud went to the kitchen to say goodbye. Mrs. Montgomery was having tea, blankly staring out the window into the yard.
Maud cleared her throat. “I’m leaving now,” she said. She knew her grandmother would have expected her to show gratitude for the room and board, but Maud couldn’t will the words. Mrs. Montgomery sipped her tea and said nothing. She didn’t even turn around. Without another word, Maud left that woman behind.
Maud then went upstairs to kiss a sleeping Bruce good night; she wondered if he would remember his big sister. Katie, however, had refused to go to bed, and made such a fuss Father brought her to the train station where all of Maud’s friends had come for one final goodbye.
When it was time to go, Maud picked up Katie, who was getting a bit too big for such things, and brought her over to one of the benches.
“It’s going to be all right, Katie,” she said, lying to them both. “We’ll see each other again.”
“Promise.”
Maud didn’t promise, as she knew the importance of not making vows one couldn’t keep, but she kissed her sister’s forehead and promised that she would write soon.
After the ordeal, she said goodbye to Father, who hugged her tightly. There was regret in his tone as he wished her “a safe journey.”
And although she knew better, Maud couldn’t help but keep looking for Will. Laura, knowing, as she always did, gave Maud a sympathetic hug and kiss that was “from both of them.” A last-minute miracle was not to be. Will’s father needed him, and the patriarch’s word was law.
—
Maud might as well have been traveling on her own. When she and Eddie arrived in Fort William, Ontario, five excruciatingly long days later, and were forced to wait overnight, Maud had asked Eddie what they should do, but he simply stood there, saying nothing.
Maud refused to, as Mollie would say, “stand around like cattle waiting to be wrangled,” and took control. She had already met another Islander onboard, Mr. Porter, and so she asked him if there was anywhere she could stay for the night. With an apologetic smile, he suggested that the Avenue Hotel was the least dreadful option.
The least dreadful option. If the Avenue Hotel was the most decent place to stay, then Fort William had much work to do. Although with the mountains and groves it was rather pretty, the town was still developing. The streets were littered with tree stumps, and Maud came upon more than a few pigs. However, sometimes one had to make sacrifices, so Maud thanked Mr. Porter, and she and Eddie went to the Avenue Hotel.
Maud almost wept when she saw it. The place was dark, dilapidated, and overcrowded.
“We have a room at the top of the stairs, Miss Montgomery,” said a worn-out woman who desperately needed a bath. “And, you, Sir, can share with one of the men.”
If Eddie had an issue with this, he didn’t say, as it would require speaking, but Maud resolved to make the best of it and took the room. It was wretche
d, the size of Aunt Annie’s pantry. There was nothing in it but a bed, a cracked basin, and a pitcher for washing. The floor needed washing as much as the woman who had served her did.
After an uncomfortable night, Maud was more than relieved to be back on the train to Toronto, where she said good riddance to Eddie three days later. The train to Ottawa wasn’t due to leave until 8:30 p.m., so she went with Eddie to visit with his cousins and then was dropped off at the station that evening.
There was some confusion in Ottawa. Grandpa had forgotten her arrival time, so she took a cab on her own to the Windsor Hotel, where she knew he was staying. When he finally arrived, he apologized and tried to make up for it by showing her the Parliament buildings and the library. The joyful reunion was short-lived; Grandpa informed her that he would not be traveling with her back to the Island. Instead, he had arranged for a young couple from Charlottetown, the Hoopers, to be her chaperones.
Maud was thoroughly disappointed. She had enjoyed traveling with Grandpa and didn’t know the Hoopers at all! Mrs. Hooper was nice enough, but Mr. Hooper was never satisfied with the service, the food, or the weather. It had been a relief to leave them behind in Kensington Station…where she now found herself wondering what she was going to do.
She wasn’t ready to go to Cavendish. Her grandparents would be so disappointed in her; they would blame her for everything. Could she have done more? Been better? Grandma would certainly say that when they reunited, and then Grandfather would undoubtedly remark cruelly about Father. No. Not yet.
Maud assumed Grandpa had sent a telegram to one of her uncles in Park Corner, but he had been forgetful lately…
It was now 4 p.m.; she couldn’t stay at the station all night. She was like an orphan, a stranger in a strange land she had once known but where she was now no longer sure she belonged.
Much of the trip home had seen her taking control and managing on her own. Hadn’t she been the one to find that wretched room in Fort William? Hadn’t she navigated around two cities that were much larger than Charlottetown or Prince Albert? There was only one place where she knew she would be accepted as she was right now: with her Campbell cousins.
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