Maud

by Melanie Fishbane

  “Do you?” Mrs. Spurr leaned back in her chair. “Would you perhaps be interested in speaking with him? I shall write him on your behalf.”

  “Oh, that isn’t necessary, Mrs. Spurr.” What if he never wrote back? “I’m sure he is very busy.”

  “Ridiculous. He’s family and will certainly respond if I ask him to.” The gesture was so kind, so genuine. Maud turned to the fire in an effort to stop her eyes prickling. When she composed herself, she said, “I must ask: Why are you being so kind, after—”

  “After things went a bit sour between you and my son?”

  Maud was mortified. Of course Mrs. Spurr would have at least suspected what happened.

  “When Nate’s father died, I didn’t have money of my own. As you know, he was lost at sea.” Mrs. Spurr’s somber expression told Maud how much her old organ teacher had loved Nate’s father. “It was certainly respectable for me to live with my parents, but after Nathaniel’s death, I needed to become more resourceful.”

  “Is that when you started teaching?”

  “I had been teaching before, but needed more work, so I asked Reverend Spurr to recommend me as a teacher for lessons. Little did I know He”—she pointed up—“had other plans.” She poured herself some more tea. “Do you mind if I give you a bit of unsolicited advice?”

  “Of course not,” Maud said.

  “If you reapplied yourself to learning the organ, I think you could be an organ teacher yourself.”

  “Really?” It was something she had never considered.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Spurr said. “You can make a nice living for yourself—as I did—until such time as you find a husband.”

  While the tea tasted bitter at the mention of a husband, Maud knew that, unlike many of the women who had given her advice about marriage, Mrs. Spurr was being both kind and practical.

  “It is a fine idea, Mrs. Spurr.” Maud remembered Grandfather’s thoughts on teaching. “But you know some people don’t hold the same philosophy about women teachers.”

  “Think on it,” Mrs. Spurr said. “Just because people don’t share one’s philosophy doesn’t mean they cannot find some common ground.” She smiled. “Look at you and me.”

  When the tea was done, Maud thanked Mrs. Spurr and took the long way home through Lover’s Lane, pondering what the minister’s wife had said.

  Things were always clearer on Lover’s Lane, where she felt close to the spirit of the woods. Since she had returned to Cavendish, Maud had walked it many times. The woods had cradled her again as she wept for the boy she had left behind, and the disappointments of life in the West. But now, among the embrace of yellow birches and the feathery leafy arches, anything seemed possible.

  Maud walked over to the small pond and sat down on a nearby rock, watching a lone crimson leaf calmly floating on the pond’s mirrored surface. Could she do it? Was it even possible?

  The leaf dipped toward Maud and she picked it up. Its brilliant red color was so bold. Staring at it, Maud knew she had to be as well. If it was a chance to make money, to become independent, then she should take it and not waste this opportunity.

  When Maud arrived home, she went directly to her room and placed the leaf in her scrapbook. She then began sorting through the papers and books Miss Gordon had given her. Yes, she could do this. She would make it work.

  Later, when Maud came downstairs to help with supper, Grandma asked, “How was your visit with Mrs. Spurr?”

  “Very pleasant.” Maud picked up a potato and a knife and started peeling.

  “What did she say?”

  Maud watched Grandma peel the potato skin in one long piece. “She mentioned how well Nate was doing in school.” The peel looped itself into a lovely swirl. “And we discussed other things.”

  “Oh?”

  “We spoke about her life in Halifax and the organ.”

  “Are you thinking of taking lessons again?” Grandma asked. “Because I don’t think I can pay for more.”

  “No.” Her latest decision made Maud feel brave. “Actually.” She put the potato in a wooden bowl and picked up another. “Mrs. Spurr suggested I could do something she did.”

  “Marry a minister?” Had her grandmother actually chuckled? “I don’t think you have the temperament.”

  The notion made Maud burst into laughter and drop the potato, and her grandmother shook her head, but then smiled.

  “She suggested that I teach organ.”

  Grandma peered over her glasses. “Really?”

  “Yes,” Maud said. “She said one could make a nice living at teaching the organ, until one marries.” This last line Maud added for her grandmother’s benefit, since she still had no intention of marrying anyone.

  “Hmmm. Well, you won’t be doing anything unless we get this dinner on,” Grandma said. “Peel faster.”

  “Yes, Grandma.” Maud knew now when to stop pushing and allow the idea to bud in her grandmother’s mind, so she continued peeling, watching the red skin spin in lovely strips onto the table.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As November grew colder, and her seventeenth birthday approached, Maud continued to study diligently, writing short stories and verse, as well as helping her grandmother organize the daily mail in the post office, practicing organ, and helping Miss Gordon. Maud tried to hold onto the small hope that if she studied hard, she could return to school and prepare for the entrance examination.

  Some things were encouraging. “From Prince Albert to P.E. Island” had been accepted by the editor of the Charlottetown Patriot and then reprinted in the Prince Albert Times. And what was more, the editor at the Patriot had asked her for more pieces! Mrs. Spurr had also written to Pastor Felix, who had sent her a reply requesting some of Maud’s poems. Maud was quite daunted by having to choose which ones to send.

  One evening, Maud returned to writing Laura a letter she had started earlier that day. Writing always helped to clear her mind.

  Tonight I stayed home to write and study; such a change from last year, when I was constantly looking for ways to escape Mrs. Montgomery’s tyrannical gaze. Of course having you and your brother around helped. You saved me, Laura. Have I ever thanked you for that? If not, let me thank you now.

  I wish you could convince your father to continue with art school. You have such a wonderful talent. I remember when Will and I went to see your show at St. Anne’s. That landscape you had painted of Laurel Hill perfectly captured the spirit of your home. What I hope to do in words, you do in art. Just think: we could run off together, and you could paint and I could write! And, yes, Will could come along too and study medicine. All three of us would be free. Free to dream!

  Deepest love,

  Maud

  P. S. Thank Will for the notebook and pencils, and tell him I’ll thank him myself as soon as I’m able.

  Maud put the pencil Will had given her down, willed herself to go to her chest, and picked up one of her old school notebooks. Opening it to the front cover, she traced the poem “The Alpine Path” she had pasted there almost two years earlier with her index finger.

  And she had succeeded, hadn’t she? She’d been published four times now. But if she was going to make her living writing, she would have to learn about the markets she was writing for. Already she’d been studying the Sunday School magazines, such as the Boys’ and Girls’ Companion, and reading the Young Ladies’ Journal to see the stories they were publishing. She wanted to find the right home for a short story she was working on about the blue chest.

  There were a few good pieces. Maybe. Somehow, sending Pastor Felix some of her work felt different than sending it to a magazine or newspaper. He was a published author. If she was going to climb the Alpine Path, she was going to have to take the journey—and herself—seriously. With renewed determination, Maud found “June” and started copying it down to send to him.

  —

  Maud received a letter from Pastor Felix a week before Christmas. She was delighted to learn that he had been
very impressed with her submissions. And he had even offered her some advice on how she could get published in more magazines. Things worked in her favor as, after Christmas, one of the worst winters on record hit the Island. Biting cold and snow set a stranglehold on the roads, and people stayed close to home, only going out when necessary. School was closed so Maud was happy to focus on her studies and stories, without the guilt of having to take time out for social events with her friends.

  Around Valentine’s Day, the weather calmed down and the mail could finally get through. Maud received a parcel from Will, which included a box of the candies she loved, the same ones he had given at the Maiden Lake picnic, and a letter. She avidly read the letter near the fire, enjoying one of the candies as her grandmother sewed. Her grandfather had already gone to bed. Thankfully, Maud got so many letters and parcels from her friends in Prince Albert that her grandparents didn’t question the contents anymore. It had bothered her at first that she didn’t get as many from Father, but he did send her news every now and then.

  January 29, 1892

  Dearest Maud,

  Happy Valentine’s Day!

  We miss you. If you were here, I would take you for a long drive with Plato under warm blankets and then return to my Aunt Kennedy’s for hot chocolate. Too cold for a picnic right now but there would be candies. (Hopefully these will make up for it.)

  As part of your Valentine’s gift, I am finally fulfilling a promise I made to you last summer. I saved up enough to get my photograph done. It was taken this past Christmas in Goschen. When you look at it, know that I was thinking of you. Laura came with and we put on our “Sunday Best” and paraded into the photographer’s studio. What do you think? I’m not sure it looks like me. As you know I’m much more comfortable in my work clothes. But, I can’t have you remembering me in dirty trousers and a cowboy hat—or perhaps you’d prefer that?

  This is in exchange for the photograph you took when you were last in Charlottetown. I’ve placed it near my bedside table, inches away from a certain carving.

  I keep thinking of ways to come and visit you. I thought of getting extra work in town, but when I broached the idea with Father, he said if I had enough time to work for others, then I must have more hours in the day to work for him. So he’s put me in charge of breaking in two new colts. They are pretty wild things, but as you know, I like to keep a little of their nature intact—respecting their nature is how to win their hearts.

  All my love,

  Will

  P. S. Note, not one mistake this time. Laura has been helping me and my hands aren’t so shaky anymore. They just miss touching you.

  While it was pleasant sitting by the fire reading his letter and munching on candies, she would have preferred the writer more than his gifts. She pressed the photo close to her chest and closed her eyes, remembering how good it felt to be held and kissed by him that day near Maiden Lake. She was still haunted by their final painful farewell…but this picture made it seem almost as if he were with her. She had been given a frame for Christmas and had been waiting for the perfect picture to put inside. She also knew where she would put it: on her bookshelf next to her bureau so he would be close by when she worked.

  “Are you in one of your dream worlds, Maud? I’ve called your name three times now,” her grandmother said.

  Maud placed the photo safely back in the letter. “Sorry, Grandma, what is it?”

  “I have already spoken with your grandfather about this. I am planning a short trip to Park Corner while the weather holds.”

  Maud hadn’t seen Aunt Annie since she had stayed at Park Corner last fall. “Oh, how lovely. May I come?”

  Grandma put down her embroidery and shook her head. “I need you here to take care of your grandfather. He shouldn’t be here on his own.”

  “But he hates the way I do things.”

  “He’s particular, true,” Grandma said, and started stitching again. “But I’ve spoken to him, and I’ll be sure to talk with him again before I leave. He’ll agree.”

  Maud was sure that no manner of talking would change Grandfather’s attitude, but she promised her grandmother she would do her best.

  —

  “So, I have some interesting news,” Grandma said to Grandfather three nights after her return from Park Corner. “Annie and I had a long talk about the girls. You know Stella and Clara are getting older, only a couple of years younger than Maud, and they haven’t had much in the way of a musical education.” She took a sip of water. “They need a music teacher, and I suggested Maud would do nicely.”

  Maud almost choked on her chicken pie. She’d thought that her grandmother had completely forgotten their conversation in November.

  “Isn’t that what Mrs. Spurr had said to you?” She turned to Maud. “That you had sufficient schooling to teach?”

  “You know how I feel about women teaching—” Grandfather began.

  “Yes, I am well acquainted with your feelings.” Grandma scooped up some peas and put them on his plate. “But this isn’t regular teaching in a school. Maud could go and stay with her cousins for a few months and show them what she knows.”

  Grandfather forked some peas into his mouth.

  “Maud will be paid a small sum,” Grandma went on. “We paid Mrs. Spurr fourteen dollars per one term of lessons and so, given this is your first time, Annie suggested ten dollars. This would include your room and board.”

  Maud was stunned into silence.

  “I cannot believe you went behind my back and arranged this without consulting me,” Grandfather said.

  Maud couldn’t either. But it would pay for a term at Prince of Wales College. And if she sold a story or two…Maybe…

  But how could her cousins afford it with such a large family?

  “Calm down. I certainly didn’t agree to anything yet. If you don’t agree, I’ll write Annie this evening and tell her to find another teacher.”

  “Mrs. Spurr is the Baptist minister’s wife, and she’s still a respectable woman.” Grandfather was speaking more to himself now than to them.

  Grandma continued to eat.

  “It would certainly mean all of that money spent on Maud’s lessons wouldn’t have gone to waste,” Grandfather mused.

  Maud’s hand was shaking so badly that it made eating her peas difficult. She put her fork down. The idea was interesting. How would she work college preparation into this scheme? Maybe this was Grandma’s way of refocusing her attention away from school? If Grandfather agreed, they were going to ship her off no matter how she felt about it. Unless Grandfather said no—but from the way he was talking, it was as good as done. At least it was Park Corner and not with Aunt Emily in Malpeque.

  “Very well,” Grandfather finally said. “Better Annie pay Maud than some stranger.”

  “Wonderful,” Grandma said. “I’m glad you agree.” She turned to Maud. “I’ll send word to Annie that you will come within the next two weeks.”

  “What about my work with Miss Gordon?” Maud said.

  “School has been closed because of the weather,” Grandma said. “Besides, she wouldn’t want to stand in the way of this opportunity.”

  “No,” Maud said. “I suspect she wouldn’t.” And she picked up her fork and finished her chicken pie.

  PARK CORNER, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND MARCH 1892

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Maud arrived at Park Corner on a snowy Saturday afternoon in March. At first, she hadn’t been sure where to begin. Mrs. Spurr had given Maud some books and tips, but she knew that whatever followed would involve improvisation. As they continued, Maud discovered that Frede actually showed quite an affinity for music; the hours she spent teaching her cousin were some of the most pleasurable she had spent in a long time.

  Being across the street from Grandpa Montgomery’s house also provided opportunities for Maud to get to know her Montgomery relatives better, and it was as if she was learning about them for the first time. She was older now, and they began to
tell her many more family stories.

  Maud was also in a flurry of creative activity, spending many evenings in her bedroom writing and studying. She was doing something that Pastor Felix called “spade work,” outlining stories and characters. Sometimes her characters emerged fully formed; other times, she didn’t know where they belonged. She had long abandoned the stories about dying queens and had turned to ones based on her own experiences.

  After “From Prince Albert to P.E. Island” was published, things had become clearer for Maud. Upon rereading it, she recognized how pieces of her memory were woven into it. She had been so focused on writing a good essay that she hadn’t noticed how some of the descriptions, such as “to kiss the dew from the grasses and coquette with the waters of the blue Saskatchewan,” reminded her strongly of Will’s kisses. The way she described the rhythm of the train as they passed the “ripe Manitoban wheat fields and snug farmhouses” and the word snug reminded Maud of those nights cozying up with Laura on Laurel Hill.

  It had made her somewhat embarrassed. Writing a piece of non-fiction was one thing, but to display one’s soul on the page for the world to see was something Maud had never considered. As a sort of test, she asked in her next letters to Will and Laura what they thought about the essay, but neither one spotted what she had unwittingly done.

  It is high time you are recognized for your gift, Will had written, and Laura sent along some bluebells as a memento, which Maud later pasted into her scrapbook. Maud was relieved. It would require a crack team of Sherlock Holmes-esque investigators to ferret out the truth hidden among the flowery lines of prose.

  Throughout the early spring, Maud continued to observe what magazines were publishing, and started a rough version of her short story about the sealed blue chest in Aunt Annie’s kitchen. If she was going to make a living from her words, she was going to have to understand how to do it—but once she did, nothing would stop her from taking that next step along the path.