Maud

by Melanie Fishbane

  Standing up, Maud headed across the street to call a coach. She was going to have to finish this trip—on her own.

  ON THE ROAD TO PARK CORNER, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND SEPTEMBER 1891

  CHAPTER TWO

  By the time the carriage stopped in front of the Campbells’ house in Park Corner, it was late in the afternoon, and Maud had spun herself into such a fit that she worried she would be turned away. While she had called often when she stayed at Grandpa’s house across the road, Maud had never shown up at her aunt’s house tired, worn, and with her entire life packed in her dear old trunk. Would Aunt Annie notice the ring was missing and ask if she’d lost it?

  Maud was grateful it was her eight-year-old cousin Frede who opened the door. “Mamma! Cousin Maudie is here!” She grinned her impish grin.

  And with those words, Maud felt some of her nervous shakes begin to ebb away. It had been so long since anyone had called her Maudie without fear of retribution. The Campbell cousins all ran down to the kitchen and clung to her, chattering all at once. It was almost too much to be the reason for so much excitement.

  “I hardly recognize you,” Aunt Annie said, once Maud’s cousins had been detached from her. “You’ve grown up.”

  “No longer the girl we saw drive away last year!” Uncle John joked.

  Frede grasped Maud’s hand and whispered, “Promise me you will never leave us again.”

  “One should not make a promise one cannot keep, Frede,” Aunt Annie said, and gave Maud a sympathetic smile. “But we are so glad to have you home.”

  “How did you get here?” Uncle John asked. He had a mustache that was as jovial as his manner, but there was a serious undertone to his question.

  “I took a cab from the Commercial House in Kensington,” Maud said.

  “Didn’t anyone pick you up?” fourteen-year-old Clara said, turning to her mother. “Mamma, didn’t you say a woman must never travel alone?”

  Aunt Annie and Uncle John exchanged a quick look.

  “There must have been a mix-up,” Maud said, trying to cover up the awkwardness. “Grandpa is so busy with things in Parliament since Prime Minister Macdonald’s passing, perhaps he thought he had already sent word to my uncles.”

  “Come,” Aunt Annie quickly said. “You must be hungry.” Maud gratefully nodded. “Let’s get you fed.” She put her arm around Maud’s shoulders and squeezed. The kind gesture almost made Maud cry, but she had much practice now at hiding her emotions.

  After a rousing dinner—where her cousins Frede, Stella, George, and Clara did much of the talking—Maud followed them upstairs, smiling at the screw stuck in the wall where she used to measure herself when she was young, and got ready for bed in her old room at top of the stairs where she had stayed two summers ago. Her cousins fought about who was going to sleep with her, and it was decided that because she was the oldest, tonight would be Clara’s turn.

  “Is Saskatchewan really like the Wild West?” Clara asked, when they had said good night to the others and gotten into bed.

  “It certainly isn’t as lush as the Island, but the town is growing, with a new church being built across the street from Father.” Maud kept her voice steady, swallowing the lump in her throat when she spoke his name.

  Sensing it anyway, Clara squeezed Maud’s hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll have such fun while you’re here. Mamma says that you, Stella, and I can go over to French River this Wednesday. They’re having literaries there practically every night.”

  Maud kissed her cousin on the forehead. “Mollie and I performed in those concerts back in Cavendish—they were so much fun.”

  “I don’t know if I could do that.” She picked at the covers. “I think I’m too shy.”

  Maud laughed. “Clara, you’re anything but shy. But it does take a certain amount of confidence and practice to stand up in front of others and recite. They’re teaching that in school, aren’t they?”

  They talked for a little while longer, until Clara fell asleep, but Maud could not, despite the fact that she was so fatigued from her journey. She stared out the window at the half moon, wondering what was to come next. It was confusing to feel both lonesome for Laura, Father, her siblings, and, yes, Will, but to be so grateful to be in her cousins’ loving embrace. The small clock beside the bed said 11 p.m. Normally, she would have gotten up and gone over to the window of her room to write, but with Clara sleeping, Maud quietly slipped out of bed, brought her pen, ink, and journal down to kitchen, and proceeded to make herself some warm milk.

  There was a rustle in the doorway. It was her aunt, dressed in her white nightgown with a single long braid down her back. “Can’t sleep?”

  “Too much excitement, I suspect,” Maud said, stirring the milk on the stove. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Sit,” she said, removing Maud’s hand from the spoon and starting to stir. “With all these children in the house, a mother always sleeps lightly.”

  Maud sat down at the table. She loved this warm kitchen with its yellow wallpaper, raftered ceilings used to hang hams and cured meats, and the blue chest against the wall containing its own mysteries. When her cousin Eliza Montgomery had been left at the altar twenty years before in Park Corner, she put all of her things in it, commanding that it be locked up before she went to live in Montreal. Maud thought it had the makings of a wonderful story.

  Aunt Annie poured the milk, putting two teaspoons of honey in each cup, and placed them on the table. They sat in silence. The honeyed drink and her aunt’s warm presence were the magic elixir she needed. She desperately wished she could stay, but she knew her grandparents were expecting her.

  “It’s so good to see you again, Maud,” Aunt Annie said with a kind smile. And at those kind words, Maud’s eyes filled with tears; this time, she didn’t bother to hide them. Aunt Annie placed her hand over Maud’s. “You know, I’m a fine listener.” She went to the counter and took out an old tin. “Also, there’s nothing a little shortbread can’t fix.”

  Maud laughed lightly through her tears. “I’ve missed your shortbread,” she said. “There’s no one who makes it better.”

  “Don’t tell Mother.” Annie bit into one, chewed, and swallowed. “I’d never hear the end of it.”

  When she was ready, Maud told her aunt the whole story: from the moment she had arrived in Prince Albert and Mrs. Montgomery’s terrible treatment of her, to the unruly boys in school, and on through Mr. Mustard’s tortuous courtship. She talked about Will and Laura, hoping she wouldn’t show her true feelings, but her aunt smiled in a way that told Maud she hadn’t been successful in hiding her emotions for one particular Pritchard sibling.

  When Maud described her trip home, Aunt Annie gasped. “Maud!” she said. “Don’t let my mother hear this story; she’ll never forgive your father for letting you travel on your own.”

  “I wasn’t on my own the whole time, only from Toronto to Ottawa—although as I’ve said, the companion he left with me wasn’t much of one.”

  Maud then told her what had happened in Ottawa.

  “So you’re saying that your grandpa got too busy and forgot to get someone to pick you up?” Aunt Annie said. “And then he did the same thing here?”

  Maud shrugged. She knew how much Grandpa loved her; it was inconceivable that he would have completely forgotten about her.

  “Grandpa complimented me on the essay I wrote for the Prince Albert Times,” she said, as a way to defend him. “He talked to a friend of his who writes for the Charlottetown Patriot, and he said that a piece on my travels from Prince Albert to Prince Edward Island would be just the thing the paper wanted.”

  “We were quite impressed by the essay in the paper,” Aunt Annie said. “You described Saskatchewan so well, I feel as though I’ve been there. And it was funny.”

  Maud beamed. It was wonderful to be complimented about her writing. “I took notes in my travel journal on my way back,” she continued. “Strangely enough, I was inspired by the geography book we
read in Prince Albert. I’m going to write it as if I am taking the reader on a journey.”

  Maud sipped her milk. It had gone cold, but was still delicious. She realized she was truly excited about this new project.

  Aunt Annie was quiet for a few minutes and then said, “You will always have a home here at Park Corner. You can stay here as long as you need.” She put her hand on Maud’s arm. “But I know my parents are expecting you in Cavendish.”

  “A few days, then?”

  “Yes. I’ll send a letter tomorrow so that Mother and Father won’t worry. And then your Uncle John will drive you home.” She squeezed Maud’s hand lightly. “Now, finish up your milk and then it’s time for bed.”

  PARK CORNER, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND SEPTEMBER 1891

  CHAPTER THREE

  Maud had been in Park Corner for almost a week before she allowed herself to read Will’s letter. She would be returning to Cavendish the next day, and something in her knew she had to let this final piece of Prince Albert go before she could begin again.

  Sitting on the bank, she gazed out onto the pond’s shining waters. Breathing deeply, she finally opened his letter.

  Wednesday, August 26, 1891

  Dear Maud,

  My hand is shaking so badly I can hardly hold this pen. You know I have more talent with horses than I do with words so I’m taking the same loving but firm approach with myself. Still I’ll defer to you the poet and beg you don’t judge this letter too harshly…

  I don’t know if I’ll see you today so I’m writing this letter and trusted it with my sister (as with all things) to bring it to you. I’m doing everything in my power to make sure we get one last goodbye at least for now. And as you know Maud, I always keep my promises. But Father’s law comes first even before the Almighty if he had his way and so I have to tend to Laurel Hill while he goes to Battleford on business. It is good that he trusts me enough to tend to things but I wished wish it wasn’t on our final day together.

  I have always been honest with you. Knowing you the past few months has been extraordinary. Had things been different, I think know we could would have had many more good times years together. Perhaps you’re laughing now, but you know we had have something special, something I’ve never had with any girl and I don’t think I ever will again.

  I shall wear your ring, and one day will put it back on your finger. Until then, we I will be contented with carvings on a windowpane and a poplar tree.

  I need to show you the depth of my feelings for you and the true extent of how much I adore you. But I think these words fail me.

  Love,

  Will

  P. S. p Please forgive the mistakes. I wish you were standing here. I am always better speaking, but will strive to become better as it is our only way of correspondence…for now.

  Maud folded up Will’s letter. For now. The image of him walking up the hill still haunted her. It was lovely to dream that one day they might be together, but right now they were nearly three thousand miles apart. It appeared impossible for them to ever be together again.

  Maud lingered near on her Lake of Shining Waters. Next to Lover’s Lane, this was one of her favorite places on the Island. The more time she spent at Park Corner, the more she felt the fragile parts of herself mending. She was relieved to be back in a place where she could have a bit of anonymity, and if Aunt Annie had noticed a certain ring was missing, she never said. What’s more, Maud had no idea what awaited her in Cavendish.

  Maud loved the bedroom she slept in at the top of the stairs. There was a lovely desk on the far wall where she would spend her evenings writing, and a double bed on the east side with a direct view of the window. The lush forest trees were like dark ghosts dancing with each other.

  Clara, Stella, George, and Frede were always so full of joy that it was easy to get caught up in their adventures. After the first two nights, Maud went with Stella and Clara to French River for a Literary Society evening, where people debated the latest political theories, discussed literature, sang, or—as Maud herself had done in Cavendish and Prince Albert—performed poetry or a dialogue. There she was reintroduced to Lu’s shy cousin, Lem McLeod, and one of the Simpsons, Edwin, who had an air of appearing as if he would be above Queen Victoria herself if she entered the room.

  Maud adored being among the loving Campbell family. Clara and Stella, who were only a few years younger than Maud, often peppered her with questions about boys and fashion. She wasn’t used to this. One evening, while they were all in bed, Clara asked Maud when she could wear her hair up. It reminded Maud of how she used to look up to Pensie, and she vowed that her cousins would always be dear to her.

  “Are you writing one of your stories, Maudie?” A voice interrupted her daydreams, and Maud shielded her eyes with her hands to look up at her young cousin.

  “No, just thinking, Frede.” She patted the earth. “Come, sit by me.”

  Frede was wearing a blue printed calico dress and seemed to have lost her shoes; one of her braids had come loose. “I wanted to tell you about this beautiful butterfly that I found, but it flew away.” She frowned.

  “That is what butterflies are supposed to do.” Maud put her arm around her cousin. “But you can tell me about it now.”

  Frede described it for her and, after sitting quietly for a few moments she asked, eventually, a question: “What happens when you go and I have things to tell you?”

  “Why don’t you write me a letter?” Maud said. “I’m actually a very good letter writer, and I love having faithful correspondents.”

  Frede cuddled up beside her. “You’re my favorite cousin, Maudie.”

  Maud kissed the top of her cousin’s head. “You’re mine too. But that will be our secret, Frede.”

  CAVENDISH, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND SEPTEMBER 1891

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Maud had been back in Cavendish a little over a week, and it was now almost the end of September. School had already started and it would be impossible for her to catch up, or so she told herself. Everything was different.

  At first, it felt as though she’d never left. When Uncle John Campbell had dropped Maud off at the homestead, both of her grandparents were there to greet her. Grandma had hugged her stiffly and told her that they had left things in her room as they were, while Grandfather reported that they’d a good apple crop.

  And after Maud had climbed the familiar stairs to her old room, she saw that Grandma was right. The pictures Maud had pasted on the wall the previous year were still there, and a fresh, clean summer quilt had been laid out for her. “The nights are getting cool now; you’ll need that,” Grandma said.

  After Maud had unpacked, she went down to call on Pensie, but then wasn’t sure what to do when she saw Quill on the porch. Pensie, however, stood up, ran over and embraced Maud for a few minutes. She looked exactly the same, but her auburn hair done up in a tight bun accentuated her thin chin, making her seem more severe. Afterwards, the two friends stared at each other for a full awkward minute before Pensie spoke. “So you’ve returned at last. You must find Cavendish simply provincial after your travels.”

  “There’s no place like Cavendish,” Maud said. “You know that.”

  Pensie laughed in a high-pitched way that made Maud wonder if it was more for Quill’s benefit than hers. “So you say,” she said.

  The rest of the conversation was similarly awkward, and Maud left soon after, hoping that her reunion with Mollie would be better. They had exchanged so many letters while she’d been away, and Mollie had written to say she couldn’t wait to see Maud again.

  But when Mollie came over for the mail, she was quieter than usual. And when Maud asked her what was wrong, Mollie actually snapped at her. Mollie had never snapped at her before.

  To cover up the hurt, Maud asked if her friend had heard from Jack or Nate; Maud hadn’t heard from Nate all summer. This had the desired effect, as Mollie always enjoyed talking about things other people didn’t know.

  “Nate
was here in the summer,” she said, sitting down at the kitchen table. “You just missed him! And Jack took me to a bonfire Clemmie Macneill was having. I know what you’re going to say, but she was actually quite delightful.” Mollie tucked a stray curl back underneath her hat and sat up a bit straighter. “We had fun, but I think Jack and I are only going to be good friends.”

  Maud suddenly understood why Mollie was so sad and snappish. “I’m so sorry, Mollie.”

  “I’m fine, Maudie,” she said, looking out the window.

  “No, you aren’t fine,” Maud said. “I know that expression all too well. Out with it.”

  Mollie sighed and tapped the letter she was holding on the table. “Well, I heard Jack ask Nate if things were really over between the two of you and…and if he would mind if Jack gave it a go.”

  Maud shivered, and it wasn’t from the early fall breeze. Why did boys have to ruin everything! “Maybe you misheard?” Maud said. “It is ridiculous. We have all only been friends.” Maud searched her memory for any moment when she might have made Jack think they were anything other than friends.

  “There’s nothing ridiculous about it,” Mollie said. “You are genuinely more beautiful and intelligent than I am. A published author. Why wouldn’t he want you?”

  Maud reached across the table and held her friend’s cool hand. “He’s ridiculous to not see what a fine person you are. You are joyful, Mollie. I hope you’ll keep that throughout your life. It is a gift.”

  “Perhaps.” Mollie pulled her hand away. “But I want to marry for love.”

  Maud wanted to take Mollie’s hand again, comfort her and tell her how they were still young, that things would work out for both of them, but it was clear that nothing she could say was going to help.