Maud

by Melanie Fishbane

  Maud also made time for fun with her cousins. Sometimes it was joking and telling stories while they all sewed; Maud had finished her crazy quilt and was now working on one for her sister Katie.

  On other nights they would go to the literaries in French River, after which she sometimes allowed Lem McLeod or Edwin Simpson to walk her home. While Edwin seemed to lose interest quickly (which Maud decided to not let bother her too much), she suspected that Lem had more serious notions than she did. She tried to keep it light and friendly, saving a distance between them when they drove home together in his buggy, but she wondered if it only encouraged him more. After all this time, she still didn’t know why she couldn’t be friends with young men. Maybe the only way was through letters?

  But the rhythm of Maud’s time in Park Corner was interrupted when a letter arrived from the last person she would ever have expected: Aunt Emily, inviting her and her cousins to Malpeque for Easter.

  MALPEQUE, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND

  CHAPTER NINE

  When Maud had arrived at Aunt Emily and Uncle John Malcolm Montgomery’s doorstep in Malpeque three years before, after the Miss Robinson incident, the welcome hadn’t been friendly. Clouds had hung low over the two-storey stormy-gray house that stood proudly against the strong winds on a cliff that backed out to the Gulf.

  Now, the way the house loomed over the cliff reminded Maud of the bleak moors in Wuthering Heights. Many things had changed since she’d been there; Maud had taken a lesson from Grandma’s book and had learned to hide her nervousness, so her cousins only saw a laughing girl who was excited to embark on a small adventure through the dreary late-winter afternoon.

  Maud wasn’t sure why Aunt Emily and Uncle John Malcolm had invited her and the cousins up for the weekend. She had not heard from her aunt in months; most of the time, news came through other family members. But after a long talk with her Aunt Annie, she’d agreed to attend. Perhaps this was Aunt Emily’s way of making peace?

  Since her time in Prince Albert, Maud had started writing to her aunt, but was never quite sure where to begin. Was she supposed to apologize for Mother dying and being put in Aunt Emily’s care? What could she possibly say to make it better?

  Now, Aunt Emily and Uncle John Malcolm stood on the porch, the wind whipping her aunt’s dark skirt. Maud gingerly climbed down from the cutter in the midst of her cousins’ excited chatter, trying to ignore the gnarled root twisting in her stomach. She was shocked to see that her aunt had gained considerable weight. And the way she held onto her back reminded Maud of how her stepmother had held herself at the end of her pregnancy.

  In addition to her four children—Charlotte, Annie, John, and Edith—Aunt Emily was expecting another baby. Was this why her aunt had brought her here, as a ruse to repay her by asking her to play nanny to her children? Is this all she was to her family?

  “We were beginning to wonder if you would all make it,” cheerful Uncle John Malcolm said, hugging Maud.

  “Yes, you are at least two hours late,” Aunt Emily said, looking Maud up and down in a way that made her want to go right back to Aunt Annie’s house.

  “We had such a time getting here, Aunt Emily,” George said. “We got lost and went down the wrong road. It was terrible.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Uncle John Malcolm said. “This has been one of the worst Island winters.” He patted George’s shoulder. “Let’s get you all inside.”

  As everyone walked to the house, Maud tried to get Aunt Emily’s attention, but she refused to look directly at her. Why had she invited her if she wasn’t even going to look at her?

  The rest of the afternoon passed quite nicely; Maud had forgotten how funny her uncle was, and he kept everyone light and laughing. After dinner, Uncle John Malcolm went with the boys to tidy up the sleigh for the ride home, and Clara and Stella played with Aunt Emily’s daughters, Charlotte, Annie, and three-year-old Edith, so Maud went into the kitchen. She found her aunt preparing the bread for tomorrow’s breakfast.

  “Thank you for inviting us, Aunt Emily,” Maud said. Why was it that after all she’d been through, Maud felt as if she were still a little girl in her aunt’s kitchen?

  Her aunt placed a light cloth over the bread. “This was your uncle’s idea. He was saying we hadn’t seen you since you’d stayed here several years ago, and it was time we did.”

  Maud swallowed the momentary pang of sadness—and tears. She stayed tall and strong. “Uncle John is a good man.”

  Aunt Emily wiped her hands and sat down. She looked tired and sad.

  “Are you well, Aunt Emily?” Maud said.

  “You need not concern yourself about me. I will always make do.”

  “You are my aunt. Of course I concern myself about you.” She sat down beside her, but Aunt Emily immediately stood up and went over to the sink. Laughter from the parlor crackled through the walls. Maud observed the old kitchen. The dark green paper, the window over the sink with its green pump, and the stove in the corner. What could she possibly say to make it better?

  “Aunt Emily, I played nanny to my brother and sister in Prince Albert.” Her aunt didn’t move from the window. “And while I love them deeply, there were many times I couldn’t be with my friends or even go to school because of my responsibilities at home.” Her aunt half-turned from the sink, her face hidden in shadow. “I don’t pretend to know what you had to give up to take care of me, but I know a little.”

  Maud waited to see if her aunt’s demeanor would change. She imagined Aunt Emily running over, embracing Maud, and apologizing for being so ill-humored. But her aunt didn’t show any sign of forgiveness. Maybe this had always been her style, and Maud had been too young to notice.

  “You’re right, Maud,” her aunt said. “You cannot pretend to know me.” She sat back down heavily at the kitchen table. “But there was no one else to take care of you.” She paused. “My parents asked me to step in while they took care of the arrangements. Lord knows, your father was useless.”

  Feeling defensive, Maud remembered Father’s sadness when they had both looked down at her beautiful mother in her coffin. “He had lost his wife.”

  “I suppose so,” Aunt Emily said. “There were things going on then, Maud. Things you don’t understand. It was my Christian duty to take care of my sister’s child. But I watched my friends get husbands, and I didn’t want to end up alone.”

  “I remember,” Maud said.

  “I’m not you, Maud.” Her hand shook. “I didn’t have any talents to fall back on. And they weren’t too keen on lady teachers then—not that my father would have let me.”

  “His opinion hasn’t changed,” Maud said dryly.

  Aunt Emily leaned against the back of the chair and placed her hands on her stomach. They didn’t speak for a long time, allowing the gaiety next door to carry the silence. Maud didn’t know what more could be said. Her aunt had invited her out of a sense of duty, not because she actually cared about her. Maud did her best to make peace with things that had been, and continued to be, outside her control.

  “We all do the best we can,” Maud said, after a while.

  Her aunt, finally, met her gaze. “Don’t lose heart, Maud. Perhaps Providence will find a way to make your dreams come true. Just as He did mine.” She slowly pushed herself up. “Come, help me with the tea.”

  PARK CORNER, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND JUNE 1892

  CHAPTER TEN

  Back in Park Corner, Maud sat on the Campbells’ porch, facing the field. She was writing in her journal, recalling the past few months there, taking in the fresh beauty of spring. It was June, her favorite month. In a few weeks the lupines would pepper pink and purple petals across the green pastoral fields and the red earth, and (on a good day) with a clear blue sky, turn the Island into a rainbow of color. A warm wind danced across the shining pond. The long winter was finally over, and, after months of teaching organ and preparing for the college examinations, she would be leaving for Cavendish tomorrow. Frede was playing wi
th her dolls in the front yard, talking to herself and making up stories.

  The squeaky front door pulled Maud from her writing, and she smiled up at her aunt in silent greeting.

  “Can I sit with you awhile?”

  Maud nodded and shifted over so her aunt could sit down. Together, they watched Frede pick up a doll with dark hair and go dancing over the grass as if she were a flittering ladybug.

  Aunt Annie leaned back on her palms, and the stance made her appear younger than her years. Until that moment, Maud had never considered how old her aunt actually was.

  “Maud, there is something I’ve been wanting to ask you.” Aunt Annie glanced quickly down at Maud’s hand. “But I wasn’t sure if there was a delicate way of putting it.”

  “The ring?” Maud asked, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

  “Yes. Your ring,” Aunt Annie said. “I wondered if you needed it resized?”

  Maud laughed. Aunt Annie had thought the indelicacy was related to her figure. “No.”

  “You lost it?”

  “Not quite,” Maud said. How could she explain it? If she did, it might sound more inappropriate than any change in her figure. But she didn’t want to lie to her aunt either. “I gave it to a dear friend of mine to remember me by. It was the most precious thing I had. Who knows if we will ever see one another again—” At the thought, Maud choked and almost started to cry, but she held it in.

  Aunt Annie placed her hand over Maud’s. “It was your ring to do with as you wanted. I’m happy it is in a safe place. But, you’re so young.”

  “There’s so much pressure,” Maud said. “All of my friends are looking for husbands.”

  “There were certainly some men in French River who expressed interest,” Aunt Annie said.

  “Yes, Lem and Edwin were vying for my attention at first, but it isn’t…” Maud sighed. “Why can’t we be friends?”

  Aunt Annie laughed. “Men and women are not supposed to be friends; that is the role of the women in your life. And if you find the right ones, they can be your lifelong, dearest companions.”

  Maud thought of Laura, Mollie, and Pensie—even Annie and Edie—and how each were so dear to her, how much, even after all that had transpired between them, she adored them. But they were taking another path; she was climbing something altogether different.

  Maud glanced down at her journal. Had she traveled so far and seen so much to leave the most important question unanswered? She had learned part of the story from Father, but she still had questions, and maybe Aunt Annie would be willing to answer them.

  “Why don’t we ever talk about Mother? There are so many things I want to know. About her. I thought when Grandma finally gave me Mother’s Commonplace Book—”

  “Ah, I wondered what Mother had done with it,” Aunt Annie said. “I’m glad you have it.”

  Maud closed her journal and leaned her head against the post. “That’s what Father said.”

  “Clara was so young.” Annie focused her gaze on Frede playing. “And she died so terribly quickly.” She rubbed her shoulders as if she was hugging herself.

  “Father hinted at an elopement, but he wouldn’t go into much more.” The words had tumbled out, words Maud hadn’t even dared to think out loud.

  Annie pulled her gaze away from Frede and placed her hand on Maud’s knee. “Is this what you thought?” When Maud didn’t respond, Annie embraced her. Then, suddenly, another little hand was on her shoulder.

  “Don’t cry, Maudie,” Frede said. “Mamma can fix it. She can fix anything.”

  Annie and Maud pulled apart and quietly laughed. “I don’t know if I can fix this, dear one,” Aunt Annie said. “But I am happy that you think I can.”

  Frede sat down between the two women.

  “I’m not sure this is a story for young ears,” Annie said, twisting Frede’s braid with her index finger.

  “I’m not young. I’m eight years old.” Frede held up four fingers on each hand.

  Maud hugged her. “You definitely have an old soul, dear Frede.”

  Perhaps because there were young ears present, old soul or not, Annie took her time answering. “They were caught together, alone. He had taken her on a buggy ride, and my brother John Franklin found them driving back. You know how people talk—”

  Maud knew all too well.

  “Being alone with someone—particularly someone my father, your grandfather, didn’t approve of—well, it was decided that they should marry quickly to save your mother’s reputation, and before Father could say anything in protest.”

  “So they did elope.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Two years ago.” Maud caressed Frede’s cheek. “Mollie and I heard Mrs. Simpson say something at one of the prayer meetings.”

  “Gossip in church.” Annie frowned. “But there was talk…and Clara would never confirm to me if she had allowed things to get out of hand.”

  Everything went still. Was it possible? Somehow she knew. If she took a moment and counted back from the month of her birth, November, to the month her parents married, March, it was indeed possible. Mother would have had to have been pregnant almost immediately. Such things were possible, but…

  “Maud,” Aunt Annie said. “It was never clear what happened. Your mother loved your father very much, and they loved you very much.”

  Maud knew Aunt Annie was trying to take back what she hadn’t said, what no one ever said.

  Aunt Annie breathed deeply. She was in her own story now. “When Clara died, your grandmother became quite ill. A complication because of influenza. It almost killed her.”

  Maud had a hard time imagining her strong, stoic grandma ill.

  “One night she actually lost consciousness, and we believed she had died.”

  “Why haven’t I heard this before?”

  “It’s hard to talk about these things, Maud. The past is the past.”

  “But our family is always telling stories of the past. It is what we do.”

  “True.” Annie laughed. “But there are stories of the past everyone wishes to bury, or allow to fade away like the edges of the Island.”

  Like what had happened with her parents.

  “How did she get better?”

  “I don’t quite know. I suspect that one day she decided to. Emily was perhaps eighteen or nineteen and she was taking care of you. Maybe a part of my mother knew she had things to do.”

  “I don’t think Grandma loves me.” Maud thought of what Aunt Emily had said. “I’m only a duty to her.”

  “Lucy Maud Montgomery, don’t you ever speak such nonsense again!” Aunt Annie said, tearing up. “My mother…” She took a deep breath. “My mother loves you. It is hard for her to see Clara’s eyes staring back at her—”

  “I have my father’s eyes,” Maud interrupted.

  “You might have your father’s shape, but the coloring is all hers, your complexion. I know it is hard for you to imagine, but you are so similar—all romantic and emotional. Clara enjoyed poetry too. I don’t think Grandma even knows this consciously, but I truly believe you are the reason she decided to get better. That is how much she loves you.”

  Cradled by her aunt, with Frede snuggled in between them, Maud wept for all the lies she had believed, and the truths she had never known.

  CAVENDISH, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND JUNE 1892

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “I am a part of all that I have met,” Maud read Tennyson’s “Ulysses” aloud. On this beautiful June day, with the soft wind mingling with the sea air and the lupines in full bloom, cradling the Island in a rainbow of color, it was easy to feel a part of the land. Back in Cavendish, Maud was minding the post office for her grandparents, who had gone next door to conduct some business with Uncle John Franklin.

  Truthfully, as much as Maud loved the laughter and lightness of Park Corner, she was happy to be home. Cavendish called to her, across miles of prairie, arboreal hills, and vast oceans. It was as much a part of h
er as her family’s history and her favorite books.

  After a few days back, Maud had found her rhythm. She was happy to reunite with her friends. She knew that their friendship would never again be as it was when they were young, but she was grateful that they could still do things together. Pensie had told Maud that she’d finally given Quill her answer and—to Maud’s surprise—had refused him. She said she wanted someone who could know his own mind, whose self-doubts didn’t make him petty. One day she would find someone, and only then would she cross that threshold.

  Other things were changing too. When Maud had gone by the schoolhouse on her first day back, Miss Gordon told her she would be leaving Cavendish at the end of the summer to move to Oregon with family. The idea of it was almost too much to bear. No one had ever supported and cared about her ambitions more than Miss Gordon.

  Maud’s grandparents were also giving her more responsibility in the post office. This meant that Maud could keep watch for rejection letters—and, sadly, there were ever so many. The short story based on the blue chest had been rejected, but she would keep going. It was her calling.

  Letters from Prince Albert continued to arrive every few weeks. She even heard from Father, who included a picture Katie had drawn for her. She wished that Katie could read; then Maud would write her sister her own special letter, without having to worry about others reading it. Maud could send it to Father, but she wasn’t sure if Mrs. Montgomery would see it. Father wrote that he and Mrs. Montgomery were now working as wardens in the local jails—and that she had another brother. “You’ll have to come and meet him,” he wrote. But Maud knew that it would be years—if ever—until they met.

  Maud ached with such a primal, deep urge to see Laura and Will. But the only way would be to marry Will or live with Father, and neither felt right. Marrying him would have made things so easy, but she wanted more.

  Maud was turning the page when she heard the familiar whistle—like an old, half-forgotten song. She couldn’t control the involuntary feeling of warmth that washed over her, from the back of her neck all the way down her spine. Slowly, she lifted her head and watched as he walked toward the door with the same swagger he’d always had.