Love Finds You in Prince Edward Island

by Susan Page Davis

  But here, on this island, in this colony, here he believed he could become a man of good standing. He might even someday be able to own a small farm and be his own master, to raise animals and till the soil he loved. This rich, red soil that made such a mess. He smiled to himself. If he were a farmer, he wouldn’t care whether his boots were muddy. He wouldn’t worry about soiling Mrs. Dundas’s fine carpets—only about getting his work done on his own bit of land. If the governor should ride by one day, he’d invite him in for a cool drink and a discussion of crops and livestock.

  And would he think about finding a wife, perhaps? A wholesome young woman of the island like… He quickened his steps and determined not to follow that line of thought. He would only be in the colony a few days, and nothing could come of it. But still, Molly’s intent blue eyes and neat golden bun would not leave his mind.

  Who was Molly, really? Did she speak truthfully about her family? She hadn’t the demeanor of someone trying to impress a visitor. He yearned to know more. A connection with Lord Washburn. The earl’s father had been a known womanizer—that went undisputed in London circles, and Peter suffered no delusions. While the present earl lived a circumspect life so far as Peter knew, perhaps his father had other rejected children that Peter didn’t know about. And perhaps one of them now lived on Prince Edward Island.

  At suppertime, Molly walked home bone-weary. Her mother and Kate had the table set. Her father sat in the most comfortable chair in the kitchen, reading a newspaper with his foot propped up on two pillows atop a footstool.

  “How are you tonight, Papa?” She stooped to kiss his cheek.

  “Not bad.” He let his paper fall across his lap and patted her shoulder. “Dr. Trann came by this afternoon. He said I can begin walking with crutches in a few more days.”

  “Really? Are you sure it’s not too soon?”

  “Soon? I’ve been off my feet more than a month.”

  “Now, David,” Mum said gently as she carried a dish of baked potatoes to the table. “It was a bad break, and you know that.”

  Papa picked up the newspaper. “Have you seen what this week’s Islander says about your place of employment, Molly?”

  Molly eyed him cautiously, not sure she wanted to know. Some of their neighbors seemed to think less of her for taking the job, while others had congratulated her on getting it. The island’s newspapers had fumed and fussed about the preparations for the royal visit. Rival editors seemed to relish criticizing the government. One ran multiple editorials chastising the politicians for not doing enough to get ready for the prince’s welcome, while the other complained in each issue that too much had been spent.

  Her father held up the paper to read from the inside columns. “It says, ‘The Government House has been prepared for a reception of the royal party, and the suites of rooms intended for the use of His Royal Highness—the windows of which command a fine view of the entrance of our harbor and the fertile fields adjoining—”

  “And so they do,” Molly said.

  He smiled and read on, “—are commodious and have been fitted up with every regard to comfort and elegance and do credit to the correct taste of Mrs. Dundas, who has been indefatigable in her endeavors to provide for the comfort of the heir apparent, who in a few days will be her guest.”

  “My, that’s quite a sentence,” Mum said.

  Molly chuckled. “Yes, it is. But the reporter is absolutely right. Mrs. Dundas has done a marvelous job. I’ve never seen anything so tasteful and elegant in my life. The prince’s chambers are magnificent. New carved woodwork and fitted closets…oh, and the wallpaper! The government must be spending a fortune on the decorating bills.”

  “Meaning that we are paying.” Her father folded the paper and laid it aside.

  “Supper all ready?” Grandpa Anson called from the doorway to the dairy.

  “Come in, Da. Are the boys washed?” Mum quickly brought the rest of the food as the family gathered around the table. Nathan helped ease his father’s chair closer to them, and Papa offered the blessing for their meal.

  When he had finished, Molly cleared her throat. “Mum, Papa… Grandpa…” She looked at them in turn. “Today I met the gentleman who came to arrange the events for the prince.”

  “What?” Her mother stared at her with a fork suspended over the dish of baked potatoes.

  “Mr. Stark. That’s his name.”

  “How did you happen to meet this gentleman?” her grandfather asked.

  “In the hall. He came in from his ride with Governor Dundas, and he was carrying his filthy boots. It was very unexpected. Meeting him like that, I mean. I told him I’d take the boots down to be cleaned.”

  “And?” her mother asked gently.

  “And he hemmed and hawed and said he didn’t like to be a bother, that sort of thing. And he asked me my name.”

  Silence hung over the table.

  “That’s not good,” her father said at last.

  “Why not?” Kate asked.

  Mum shot her a troubled glance and looked back at Molly. “It draws attention to our Molly, that’s why.”

  “What did you say?” Nathan asked.

  “I told him my name was Molly, and I ended the conversation as quickly as I could, but…”

  “Did you say ‘Orland’?” her grandfather asked.

  “No, I don’t think I did.”

  Grandpa exhaled. “And did you think he was eyeing you in an unseemly fashion?”

  “Da!” Mum frowned at him.

  “No, I honestly didn’t.” Molly reached for the bowl of turnips and put a spoonful on her plate. She wished her face wouldn’t go crimson and betray her. Whenever she thought of Peter Stark, her heart galloped. She drew a measured breath. “He’s very nice and not pretentious. He told me his name, as if I wouldn’t know who he was.”

  “Everyone in Charlottetown knows who he is, I’m guessing,” Nathan muttered.

  Molly scrunched up her face at him. “He asked me if I was anxious to see the prince. And then—” She stopped, feeling wary and excited at the same time as she remembered the next part.

  “And then?” Mum prompted.

  “I said I’d rather meet the Earl of Washburn.”

  “Oh, Molly.” Her mother shook her head. “What must he have thought—to prefer to meet an earl over the prince?”

  Molly looked down at her plate.

  “Why on earth did you say that?” Grandpa asked.

  “I—I don’t know. Because we’ve talked about it so much, I guess. I’m sorry.” A lump of lead settled in her chest, and she knew she’d have trouble choking down any dinner. “Grandpa, I didn’t mean to say anything wrong. After that, he said that Lord Washburn was his employer and if there was something I wanted to petition him for, he could help.”

  “Did he, now?” Grandpa Anson’s eyes narrowed.

  “Yes.” Molly shot a glance at her father. “And I—I said I had no petitions, but—oh, Papa, I’m sorry. Was it wrong of me? I said I was connected to the earl.”

  Grandpa sucked in a breath, but her father shrugged.

  “I doubt anything will come of it.”

  “I don’t know why I said it,” Molly hurried on. “I could have bitten my tongue afterward.”

  “Well, now,” said Grandpa.

  “David?” Mum said anxiously. “What does all this mean for us?”

  “Nothing, most likely. Unless Mr. Stark should tell someone at Government House what she said.”

  Grandpa looked around at them with a defiant set to his chin. “And if he does tell someone, what of it? She only spoke the truth.”

  Nathan’s eyebrows drew together as he considered his grandfather’s words. “Do you think they’d discharge Molly?”

  Grandpa hesitated. “Perhaps, if they thought she was claiming a relationship to an aristocrat.”

  “But—”

  Papa waved his hand. “Enough. What’s done is done. Your grandfather and I have tickets to the levee. If Washburn is th
ere, Da will have a chance to meet him face-to-face and speak to him in person.”

  “You won’t try to go, will you, Papa?” Molly hadn’t considered that he would make the attempt. His injury had kept him in bed for weeks.

  “I don’t think so. I’ll ride into town along with Da if I’m feeling up to it, but I shall probably wait outside.”

  “It’s not until Friday,” Grandpa said. “If you begin practicing tomorrow with the crutches, you might be able to work up to where you can go in and be presented.”

  “I doubt I shall wish to stand in line for a half hour by then, even for the chance to bow to the Prince of Wales.” Papa turned in his chair and stretched out his left leg, rubbing his thigh thoughtfully. “Well, we shall see how this old leg is doing by Friday.”

  Mum’s eyes darted from her husband to her father-in-law and back again. “David, you mustn’t. The doctor didn’t say—”

  “Joe can go for him tomorrow. It’s time I was on my feet again.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Grandpa smiled and gave a firm nod. “If Trann allows it, you can hobble about with the best of the islanders and go in with me.”

  Mum eyed her husband with troubled eyes. “But if you fall…”

  “Hush now, Liza. No talk of me falling. It’s time, that’s all.” Papa glanced around at the children. He seemed to have changed his mind, and Molly wasn’t sure why. His gaze landed last on his father, and she thought she had an answer. Something in his eyes implied that he didn’t want his father to be alone when he met the earl.

  Grandpa raised his cup of tea to his lips. “Yes, I believe it is time, son. Oh, we’ll let the doctor tell you that for certain. But if he declares you’re fit, we’ll go together to meet the aristocrats.” He sipped the strong brew.

  After a moment’s silence, Mum speared a plump potato and dropped it onto her plate. “I don’t know where we’ll ever find proper suits for the both of you.”

  “Our Sunday attire should do,” Grandpa said.

  “To meet the prince?” Mum seemed to be scandalized at the thought.

  Molly swallowed hard. “Papa, what if they won’t let you in? What if Mr. Stark tells the earl what I said and they won’t let you and Grandpa go to the levee?”

  “If they slam the door in our faces, so be it.”

  Grandpa shook his head. “I’ve waited a long time for this, and I’ve abided by the terms of my sentence. I believe the Lord brought the earl here for a reason and that I will have a chance to speak to him.”

  “You say you didn’t give him your surname?” Papa eyed Molly keenly.

  “N–no. I only said Molly. I should have included Orland, I suppose, but Mrs. Bolton and Mr. Reynold call us all by our Christian names.”

  “There, you see?” Grandpa’s jaw stuck out as he looked at David. “The earl has no idea he’ll come face-to-face with me on Friday.”

  Papa frowned. “And should he? Da, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea for you to confront this man.”

  “Confront? I’ll do no confronting. Now, if it were his father coming to visit our fair island, that might be different. But the present earl? No, there’s no point in that. I hold nothing against him. I shall merely make myself known to him.”

  “To what purpose, Da?”

  “You know why. It’s not right for us all to be forbidden to set foot in England. Look at the children. They’ve done nothing to deserve exile.”

  Mum said gently, “This is their home, Anson. It’s the only home we know.”

  Papa grimaced. “You’re right, Liza. None of us plans to visit England, and I doubt this pageantry will make a whit of difference in our lives. What Molly said to the gentleman probably won’t matter, either. But Da is right too. He ought to have his chance to speak with Washburn. I’m not saying I like it or that I approve. If it were me…”

  “It’s not you,” said his father.

  Papa bowed his head. “I love you, Da. If I were not forbidden to go to England to plead your cause, I’d have done it years ago.”

  “I know, lad. And now we have this chance. When will we ever have a better opportunity to right an old wrong?”

  Papa said nothing but shook his head. Grandpa reached over and laid his hand on his shoulder.

  “I would not have wanted you to spend the time and money on such a journey, David, though it warms my heart to hear you say you would do that for me. God has preserved me forty-five years since I last encountered Lord Washburn—that being the sire of this present earl. The life I’ve had in Prince Edward Island hasn’t been so bad, now has it?” He looked around at the family expectantly.

  “You’re right, Da. We’ve been blessed,” Mum said.

  Papa smiled at her. “Yes, we have been.”

  Molly gathered her courage and spoke. “I’d still like to see things set right for you, Grandpa, and have the ban lifted even if you never wish to return to England.”

  Grandpa raised his shoulders. “Bless you, child. I’ll never go back now. I’d like to have better news of my family there, you know, but this family here is my delight. And I do not plan to do anything that will shame you when I meet His Lordship.”

  Molly wondered if Grandpa would be able to keep his word on that score. Sometimes his mouth ran away with him and things came out that were better left unsaid. There was no use thinking about it, though. She had no control over him—none of them did.

  “This levee.” Mum frowned as she passed the plate of biscuits to Joe. “Finding suitable attire for the two of you will be the difficult part. I’m not sure they’ll admit you if you look like—”

  “Like farmers?” said Grandpa.

  Papa laughed. “Indeed. There are only so many top hats on this island.”

  Chapter Seven

  Wednesday, August 8

  The next day, Molly and Rosaleen were allowed to go out and pick flowers for the bouquets to be placed in all the guest rooms. To Molly’s delight, Allison received permission to join them in the task for an hour after finishing the breakfast dishes.

  As they carried armloads of lilies, flags, and roses toward the back entrance to the kitchen, the lieutenant governor rounded the house, accompanied by Peter Stark.

  “Good morning, ladies,” Dundas said cheerfully. “Don’t those flowers look lovely!”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Rosaleen said with a curtsy. “I believe Mrs. Dundas will arrange them herself.”

  “Yes, it’s one of her favorite pastimes.”

  Molly was surprised that Mr. Dundas addressed the maids so cheerfully and casually.

  “Hello, Molly.”

  When Mr. Stark spoke directly to her, she nearly jumped out of her skin. She caught her breath and gave him a quick nod.

  “Thank you again for taking care of my boots yesterday,” he said. “Oh, you’re welcome, sir.” She looked anywhere but at him, blushing to her hairline. She edged toward the house. “Excuse us, please. Come, Allison.”

  Inside the kitchen, Allison hissed, “Why did you cut him short? He wanted to converse with you!”

  Molly glared at her. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “I don’t think so.” Allison turned to enlist Rosaleen’s support. “What do you think? I mean, what girl wouldn’t want to talk to such a handsome, polite gentleman?”

  Molly didn’t wait for Rosaleen to answer. “I want to keep my job.”

  “It will only last a few more days,” Allison pointed out.

  Rosaleen smiled and shook her head. “Come on, girls, let’s get these into some water. One of you go and tell Mrs. Dundas that we have a nice selection for her to arrange.”

  “Here, you Allison girl,” the cook called across the room. “It’s time for Mrs. Bolton’s tea. Take her tray to her rooms.”

  Allison threw Molly a glance of regret and hurried to do as she’d been told.

  Molly was relieved that Cook hadn’t scolded them for engaging in idle chatter. She carefully laid her bundle of cut flowers on the worktable. “I’ll
go and tell Mrs. Dundas.”

  She hurried upstairs to the lady’s sitting room, still thinking about Mr. Stark’s brilliant smile and cheerful manner, not to mention the stubborn wisp of hair that had stuck out off the crown of his head. She’d wanted to smooth it down. Had she been rude to him? She certainly hoped not, but with the governor standing right there, not to mention the other two maids, overfriendliness might have cost her dearly. She knocked on the mistress’s door.

  “Enter,” came Mrs. Dundas’s lilting voice.

  Molly stepped inside and curtsied. Mrs. Dundas sat at her secretary, writing on a sheet of snowy white paper. In her blue silk morning dress, with her dark hair beautifully arranged, she appeared to Molly as the model lady of the house.

  “The flowers for the guest chambers are ready to be arranged, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Molly.” As she stood, Mrs. Dundas looked her over and smiled.

  Molly felt as though she should scurry away, but her instructions said that, unless she was dismissed first, she should wait for Mrs. Dundas to pass her and then follow discreetly, disappearing as quickly as possible into the back stairway. She lowered her gaze and stood still against the wall as her mistress rose.

  To her surprise, the lady paused beside her.

  “You look very presentable, Molly. We need to replace one of the serving maids. Would you be able to do that job?”

  Molly’s mouth went dry. She’d never expected to be noticed by the mistress or given a higher position. “Serving, ma’am? At table?”

  “Yes. With a little special training, could you handle that task?”

  Her lungs felt squeezed. “I…I believe so, ma’am.”

  “Very good. I’ll speak to Mrs. Bolton about it.”

  Molly’s heart raced as she watched Mrs. Dundas walk toward the grand staircase with her hoopskirt swaying gracefully. Did this mean she would be serving meals to the lieutenant governor and his wife? And to the royal party? And…to Mr. Stark?