“May I assist you madam?”
“I hope so. I have acquired a property which needs to be furnished and you appear to have some interesting pieces.” She stroked a side table polished to such a smooth gloss the wood felt waxy beneath her fingers. She looked around the vast room in which every inch of floor space was crammed with furnishings, from full-sized canopied beds down through chests of drawers, rugs and pot plant tables to chairs and antimacassars. The whole room smelled of linseed oil, beeswax and the added tang of vinegar.
“I’m confident we can be of assistance, madam. If we don’t have everything you need here, we make items to order at our factory in King Square. Our motto is that we are always the best value in the city.”
“That's most reassuring. Do you have any pattern books of fabrics and wallpapers?” Buying furniture would have to wait until she took possession of the house, but there was no reason she could not select colors and patterns for the rooms.
“Indeed yes, do come this way.” He led her to a large table spread with piles of wallpaper samples, behind which stood shelves crammed with rolls of colorful fabric placed end on end.
“I’ll leave you with these, madam,” he said, then smilingly withdrew.
Left to herself, Grace browsed happily through the rich, colorful designs of William Morris and Arthur Sanderson which she remembered from home. From time to time, her attention was drawn to the delicate beauty of a woman a little older than herself in a plain navy-blue dress which skimmed her slender figure; a narrow sash belt encircled her impossibly tiny waist. Her perfect retroussé nose could have been drawn on by an artist, and her heavily lashed dark eyes, which frequently drew Grace’s gaze, looked sad and inward looking, as if their owner was a spectator of her own life. Grace wondered if she too carried that same look.
Having chosen three Morris designs in various colors, Grace made a rough calculation of what she would need and placed an order with the salesman.
“Excellent choices, ma’am.” He painstakingly transcribed the list into a vast order book. “Those particular designs will arrive in about a month. The fabrics will take a week or so longer.”
“A month!” Grace gaped. “That long?”
“I could order them by express delivery for a small extra charge.” His expression changed to pained regret. “But I doubt anything will be here inside three weeks.”
“Oh, I see. I suppose that will have to do.” Her exuberant mood dissipated. “Kindly let me know when they arrive. I'm staying at Mrs Mahoney's boarding house on King Street.”
“Very good, Mrs MacKinnon.” He saw her to the door. The woman Grace saw earlier was on the street, apparently studying the shop window next door.
Grace paused, deciding which way she would go, when the woman approached her. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said in a slightly breathless voice. “But I overheard you talking to the proprietor.” She nodded to the shop Grace had just left. “Had you not spoken, I would have known by your dismay at being told the wallpaper would take a month to get here. You’re from away aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry?” Grace frowned. Away where?
“It's how an Islander regards someone not born here.” Her smile banished the sadness in her eyes and she thrust out her hand. “I’m Maud Montgomery. Actually, it’s Lucy, but that’s my grandmother’s name, which is far too frivolous for a serious writer. I much prefer Maud. Without an ‘e’.”
“I'm Grace MacKinnon.” Charmed by Maud’s friendliness, Grace returned the handshake with a broad smile. “That's Grace, with an ‘e’.”
“Oh, I Just knew I was going to like you.” Maud hunched her shoulders in a girlish gesture which, strangely, sat well on her. “I love meeting new people, but I’m often too impatient to wait for a formal introduction. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not. I'm delighted to meet you, and as you have already surmised, I'm new to the Island and indeed I was a little disappointed about the wallpaper.” Grace retrieved her hand. “It seemed such a long time to wait. Everything is readily available in London. Did you say you are a writer?” Grace asked, impressed.
“I like to think so. I’ve had some success with short stories, and I held a job as an editor once, although my real ambition is to write a novel. But enough about me.” She gave an airy wave. “Do you really come from London?” At Grace’s nod, she brought a delicate hand to her slender throat. “How wonderful. I've always dreamed of going there. Or anywhere in Europe to be honest. I’ve never been further than Nova Scotia, unless you count Saskatchewan, but I choose not to think about that.” She shivered delicately, as if shrugging off bad memories. “But then I dream about so many things with little hope of achieving them all.” Her eyes sparkled as she talked, her words tumbling over one another. “London must be especially fascinating with all that history and the ghosts of a thousand years behind it.”
“I agree, there's nowhere like it,” Grace said when Maud paused to take a breath. “Though where you live is no guarantee of happiness.”
“You're a philosopher?” Maud’s expressive eyes widened. “Then we are surely destined to be friends. My family have quite given up trying to understand me, not that they tried very hard, even when I was young.” She sighed. “I’m sure I often confound my friends too.”
“Do you live in Charlottetown?” Grace asked. Suddenly her day had taken a more interesting turn.
“Unfortunately, no. My home is a village in the north where I look after my widowed grandmother. In fact, some folks would say I'm ‘from away’ myself.” Her musical laugh lit up her lovely face. “It's twenty-three miles but might as well be a thousand. I rarely get into town, so I try to make the most of it when I can. I’m only here today to pick up some supplies for our family gathering on Easter Sunday. It’s a tradition, which is nice, I suppose, but for me it tends to mean more work.” The sadness returned to her expression, only to immediately lift again. “Anyway, what brings you to the Island? Your husband, I presume?”
“Er-no. I'm a widow.” Miss Montgomery’s beautiful eyes darkened, but Grace forestalled her. “Please, there’s no need for condolences. Distance and circumstance have both played their part in changing my life completely. I look to the future now.”
“Distance and circumstance,” Maud mused, a finger held to her lips. “I would like to use that at some time.” In response to Grace's bemused look she giggled. “Don’t mind me. I collect phrases and store them away for future use.” Her brow furrowed slightly. “I’m sure you have an intriguing story, Mrs MacKinnon, and I’m quite determined to root it out. Stories are my passion. May I call you Grace? Oh, please say I can, because I feel we shall be friends. And you must call me Maud.”
“I should be delighted. Though I fear you are bound for disappointment. So far, my life has been less than fascinating.”
“Nonsense, I’m sure I can find at least five interesting things to say about you.”
“The only noteworthy thing I have done since arriving here is to buy a house. I’m not sure that constitutes a story. Not yet anyway.”
“Well of course it does, I could write a thousand words about such an event. And maybe I will.” Maud’s wide smile revealed her even white teeth. “Tell me about it”
“It’s here, in Charlottetown. I plan to turn it into a small hotel.”
“A hotel? There you see, two fascinating things in two minutes. I would love to see this house. Where is it?”
“Not far, but it’s quite neglected. Some of the woodwork needs replacing and the whole building could do with a coat of paint - or three. I’m afraid the garden is a mess too. In fact, when I think about it, the place is altogether unprepossessing.”
“Oh, don't worry about that. I have a wonderful imagination. I have no idea when I can get into town again, so why don’t we go there now?”
“Now? Are you sure?” Grace hesitated, though Maud’s enthusiasm was catching. “I suppose we could. I have the keys. It's quite dusty, I wouldn’t want
your clothes to get dirty.”
“If you're trying to discourage me, you've failed miserably.” Maud tucked her arm through Grace's and surveyed the street. “Now, which way do we go?”
On their short walk to Prince street, Maud kept up a continual stream of questions, many of which she answered herself.
“As a widow, I assume you didn’t come here with your parents? Or is it indiscreet of me to ask?”
“Not at all,” Grace replied, admiring her directness. And no, they aren’t with me. They were killed in a carriage accident when I was twelve.”
“I knew it. We were meant to meet!” Maud halted and turned to face her. “When I woke up this morning, I knew something remarkable would happen today. But how tragic for you to have lost them so young. You’ll think me quite awful, but you’ve given me a premise for another story right there. Were you brought up by some dreadful relative who didn’t like children?”
“How did you guess? Only he’s a guardian, and thankfully unrelated. He’s also thousands of miles away, so I’m no longer accountable to him.”
“Very wise and I so envy your independence. I've sought it myself in my lifetime, but somehow the Island always drew me back.”
“I can see why. It's a beautiful place. But what about your family?” Grace asked, then regretted her question as a shadow crossed Maud’s features, though it was gone in an instant.
“I never knew my mother. She died of consumption before I was two. My father went west. He remarried and produced a brood of children. I went to live with him in Prince Albert in the North West Territories when I was younger, but I wasn’t happy there. I did not fit in with his new family any more than I ever did here. I returned to my grandparents after a year. I missed the Island too much. I always do when I am away.”
“Do you miss your father?” Although Grace didn’t really know what it was like to miss anyone.
Maud shrugged. “It happened a long time ago. Anyway, he's dead now.” Sudden wistfulness came over her though she didn’t answer Grace’s question. “I run the post office in Cavendish and look after my grandmother since my grandfather died. The advantage being that I can send my stories to magazines without anyone knowing. Nor do my payment cheques ever get lost.” She laughed, a sound so infectious, Grace joined her, attracting curious glances from passers-by.
“Do you also believe destiny sent you to the furniture store this morning?” Maud asked. “I never go there, but for some inexplicable reason I decided to take a look around today.”
“I’m afraid I don’t believe in fate or destiny. I’m more inclined to think we choose our own path in life. The alternative doesn't bear thinking about.”
“How free thinking of you. A young reverend of my acquaintance claims our whole lives are predestined. That we have no power of will to change anything. I must say I too find the concept disconcerting, but he’s quite voluble on the subject. Is this it?” she asked when Grace brought her to a halt beside the sign which now bore a ‘Sold’ banner right across it.
“It will be when all the paperwork is complete.” The facade looked shabbier in direct sunlight, but even the peeling paint and ragged garden couldn’t spoil the thrill at the thought this belonged to her.
“Oh, it’s beautiful.” Maud clasped her hands beneath her pointed chin, her dark eyes shining. “You must be so excited.”
“I am, if apprehensive too. I’ve never owned anything before and there is a lot of work to do.” The gate gave with an ominous creak when Grace pushed on it but did not stick. “I did warn you about the garden, and don’t look at that old sink in the corner. The entire house needs paint both inside and out, and some of the rooms need to be rearranged before I can open for guests.”
“Mere details, Grace, all of which can be changed. It’s so brave of you to embark on a business of your own when I am always being told as a woman, anything other than domesticity and good works is unseemly. I do try to conform, but sometimes I cannot help but have ambitions of my own. I even have to keep my journal secret.”
“Your family disapprove of you keeping a diary?”
“It's a journal, only lonely people write diaries,” she said, diluting the rebuke with a warm smile. “My late grandfather even disapproved of women being teachers. We had a few arguments about my taking a teaching diploma. As to my going to college, well the less said about that. When he was alive, I smuggled candles to my room, so I might continue writing into the night. It's difficult trying to please everyone when I have reached an age when I ought to please only myself.”
“Everyone? Do you have a large family?” Grace experienced a deep sympathy for this young woman, whose only fault appeared to be a longing to simply be herself.
“Large, boisterous and enthusiastic. Aunts, uncles and cousins galore, but no one who is truly my own. I feel as if I have grown up watching a play in which I am a shadow moving in the background but never take the stage.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” Grace smiled in sympathy as she selected the largest key on the bunch given to her by Mr Hill and unlocked the front door.
Maud’s vital and intelligent manner could not disguise the fact she was past the usual marriageable age for such an attractive young woman and yet she had not mentioned a husband or even a beau. Only a young reverend of her acquaintance. Grace wondered about that, but decided it was too early in their friendship to ask such a personal question.
“This is the first time I have shown anyone my new possession, so please be kind.” She pushed open the door and ushered Maud inside.
“I’m always kind. But I warn you now, I won’t flatter.” Maud followed her into the hallway where all the doors stood open, the spring sunshine throwing rectangles of light across the floorboards.
“I hope to combine the five smaller rooms at the back into an apartment for myself,” Grace said, leading the way. “It will be convenient for the kitchen, so I can keep an eye on my staff.” At Maud’s enquiring eyebrow, she added, “Oh, I shall certainly have staff. No hard labor for me. Someone I once knew always said you should work hard, but it is better to work smart. I shall be the ultimate hostess.” Grace preceded her into the rear room that overlooked the garden. “This will make the main dining room. Over there, instead of a single door I would like three sets of French doors installed along the wall. In the summer they could be thrown open on warm days, giving the guests somewhere to sit outside.”
“What a delightful room and how the light will flood in if you open it out!” Maud turned full circle in the center then ran to open the door to the garden. “The garden might be overgrown, but just think what you could do with it. You’ll need screens to keep the insects out in the warm weather. The blackflies can be a nuisance in May, even in the town, I've heard.”
“I’ll remember that.” Grace knew a little about mosquitoes and no-see-ums from Mrs M, but blackflies were an unknown entity.
“You’ve certainly worked it all out beautifully.” Maud wandered to what looked like a chart cabinet, judging by its thin drawers. “Did you buy this monumental piece of furniture?” She began pulling out the shallow drawers which gave easily on smooth runners.
“No, it was one of the pieces which came with the house. I shall have to have it removed at some stage. It takes up too much space in here, and besides, it doesn’t fit. Perhaps this room was used as an office at some stage?”
“These look interesting.” Maud removed several large pages of thick cartridge paper from the third drawer down and laid them on top of the cabinet.
“What are they?” Grace picked up the first two in the pile. “They look like pictures of flowers.”
“More than that. These are botanical watercolor drawings, perfect in every detail and labelled with the Latin name representing each plant. Aren’t they beautiful? Look at these colors.” Maud ran a finger over each one. “I recognize this pink flower, it’s an orchid called lady’s slipper.”
“I know, we have those in England too, although I’
ve not seen this one before.”
“Wild lily of the valley.” Maud nodded. “They are mostly found in the woodland areas. I don’t know what the yellow one is, though I believe it’s a type of wildflower. In fact, a few of these are wildflowers. That pale mauve one is a valerian.” Maud held one of the drawings at arm's length, her head tilted. “These would look wonderful framed and hung on the walls in here. They could be your signature style and would make a welcome change from seascapes or views of the town squares.”
“I’ll have to buy a horticultural book and find out what they all are,” Grace said. “But I agree they would make a lovely addition to the public rooms. They are lovely, and worth preserving. I wonder if Mr Daly even knows they're here?”
“I doubt they are worth anything, but as you bought the chest along with the house, they are yours now.”
“I agree with your logic, but I feel I ought to at least ask Mr Daly if he wants them,” Grace said. “I don’t like to take possession of family heirlooms he thought had been lost.”
“You are too good. In fact, you humble me because I should have thought of that. If Mr Daly doesn’t want them, I suggest you take them to Haszard Moores photography shop and have them framed. It’s the best place in town.”
“I know you don't come into town often, but you know more than I do about suppliers. Where would I purchase fine wines in Charlottetown? I didn't see a wine merchant anywhere on my walks and I’m sure I have covered most streets.”
“Ah. I’m afraid you have a conundrum there.” Maud rolled the paintings carefully in a discarded sheet of brown paper, twisted the ends and set them to one side.
“What do you mean?” Grace sighed. “Don’t tell me the best wines have to be shipped from Montreal? I suppose I could-” she broke off at the look of pained resignation on Maud’s face. “Surely the local shopkeepers aren’t averse to selling alcohol to women?”
“It's not so simple.” Maud perched on a packing case in the center of the room, her elbow propped on a knee supporting her chin. “The Island is dry.”
Envy the Wind Page 14