Envy the Wind

by Anita Davison

  “Sometimes. I had Frederick of course, but he was at school. There were the holidays to look forward to, but I was never allowed to invite school friends back to the house, so they drifted away.”

  “I had my cousins, which was nice, some of the time.” Maud sighed. “But whenever a squabble broke out or something got broken, I was always to blame.”

  “Always?”

  “It felt like that.” She shrugged. “They tried to be kind, but I would see them shake their heads when they thought I wasn’t looking. Not having a mother to defend me against spite or malice made me vulnerable. I went to work in Halifax for a year as an editor on a newspaper, but when I came home, Uncle John said I hadn't changed much in a manner which hinted he was disappointed because I had not.”

  “Why did you not stay there if you were working? Didn’t you like it?”

  “Oh no, I loved it. But Grandfather died so I had to come home and take care of Grandmother.”

  “Couldn’t your Uncle John do that?”

  “No. He had the farm to look after. There was only me.”

  “I think you made a great sacrifice, Maud. I hope they appreciated it.”

  Maud shrugged.

  “I do sympathize. The MacKinnons decided I must be quite wicked; as if the carriage that killed my parents removed any good qualities I might have. I remember when I first went to live with them in Hampstead. I was twelve and it was deepest winter. I woke one morning to a blanket of snow carpeting the garden. I was so excited, I rushed downstairs and burst into the sitting room to tell them, only to find my guardian entertaining the vicar and his wife. They had arrived early to inform him of the death of an ancient aunt of his. Three sombre faces like walnuts turned toward me in absolute horror. MacKinnon was furious, the fact that I was in my nightgown was considered especially heinous. I was given ten bible verses a day to memorise for a whole week.”

  “Only ten?” Maud laughed. “You got off lightly.”

  “It didn't feel like it at the time.”

  “I think those who are loved by many people don’t feel slights and insults the same way we do. Their words linger in our heads like fish hooks, always able to hurt.”

  “That’s true,” Grace gave this some thought. “I brood on the slightest rejection, even when it isn’t cruelly meant.” The hurt she felt when Andrew ignored her at the Queen Hotel returned with all the desolation she experienced then.

  Maud sighed. “We appear to have begun a competition to see whose childhood was the most miserable. The worst of it is, we’re enjoying it.”

  “Then we must vow to talk only of happy things from now on.” Grace joined Maud’s delightful laugh, relaxing properly for the first time since she left the hospital the day before.

  “The moment I summon one happy thing, I shall do exactly that.” Maud ushered her to the table and settled her in a chair. “Let's eat, and then afterwards, we'll take our walk.”

  * * *

  The path through the dune wasn't wide enough for them to walk side by side, so Grace followed behind Maud. The grass on either side grew so high she had only to reach out her hand to run her fingers through it, the fronds soft against her skin.

  “Did you know this lane was called a portage?” Maud turned her head to ask.

  “I’m not familiar with the word.” Grace waved a persistent bee away from her face.

  “I was about to explain. When the Island belonged to the Mi’kmaqs they forged these walkways to carry their canoes from one body of water to another. Another one runs through the Haunted Wood. I could show it to you tomorrow. I find all the mysteries and magic here, with all its silvery sounds.”

  ‘Silvery sounds?” Grace’s buttoned boots caught in a rabbit hole, forcing her to crouch down in the grass to wrench it free. “All I can hear are blackbirds and distant waves, which in their way are magic enough.’ She examined the boot for scuffs but saw none.

  “You have to use your soul to hear them.” Maud paused a little way ahead, waiting for Grace to catch her up.

  “My soul is too battered right now, my head being full of food orders, washing sheets and buying china to replace the ones Tilly has smashed.” She hauled her feet up to the top of the dune where Maud stood, grinning at her.

  “Why are you laughing, I - Oh!”

  Spread below them was an expanse of pristine sand of an unusual pink color, beyond it the deep blue-green sea, the surface glittering with thousands of tiny points of light beneath a crisp azure sky. The wind flowed over her in a warm caress, rippled through the tussocks of grass that clung to the dune and puffed up the sand in between.

  “Lovely, isn’t it?” Maud sighed. “Sometimes I feel as if I am the only person in in the world when I am up here. At sunset, the cliffs turn a deep, glowing red. It’s an almost spiritual place which makes me think God must have made it entirely for his own pleasure.”

  “Then it’s a shame He spoiled it by putting mankind on it.” Grace brushed sand from her skirt, smiling at Maud’s shocked expression.

  “I’m joking, take no notice of me, the journey here must have tired me more than I realized. And you’re right, this must be one of the most beautiful places on earth.’

  “You’re a long way from home, Grace. I always get homesick when I’m away. Don’t you?”

  “Never." Grace shook her head, wrapped her skirt around her knees and sat on the sandy grass, her face lifted to the sun. "In England, I would have become a drudge without gratitude or thanks.”

  “Like me?” A shadow crossed Maud's delicate features as she joined her, her legs stretched out beneath her skirt.

  “I didn't mean it like that.” Grace's heart sank. “I’m sure your family love and appreciate you.”

  “They need me, which is a different thing entirely. How did you find the courage to escape, Grace?”

  “Through an act of compassion. My husband, Frederick, hid a letter where only I would find it.”

  “A letter declaring his love?”

  Grace snorted a laugh. “Our marriage wasn’t that kind. No, it was addressed to me from a solicitor with details of my inheritance which my guardian kept from me.”

  “Why didn't he give it to you so both of you could have benefitted?”

  “I'm not sure. Maybe because he was already ill. It doesn't matter now, but I shall be forever grateful to him.”

  “You’re so fortunate, because without money, it's impossible for women to forge their own lives. Men, even impoverished ones, assume the right to tell us what to do. You were given the chance to carve your own path, Grace. That course isn't open to me.”

  “I had to be widowed first. And forgive me if I wish ill of your relatives, but your grandmother won't live forever.”

  “True. But can one ever forget the dark years? Don’t they color everything you do?”

  “I have to forget, in order to forgive, or the injustice will always have the power to hurt me.”

  “I so envy your ability to cast off the bad things. Did you ever lose faith that life would improve?”

  “Many times. And don’t envy me, Maud. You may as well envy the wind. It moves wherever it wills and will either carry you to adventure or leave you behind.”

  “Envy the wind,” Maud whispered. “I could use that phrase. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not.” Grace smiled, she could almost see Maud turning the words over in her head. “Words don't belong to anyone.”

  “Have you managed to read Elizabeth and her German Garden?”

  “I have, and now I know why you wanted me to read it. Because Elizabeth wants to be her own person, as we do.”

  Maud delved into her bag from which she withdrew the white cloth covered book identical to Grace’s own copy, but hers was more dog-eared, with tiny slips of paper inserted into the pages at intervals. “I like the part where she refers to a woman’s tongue as a deadly weapon, and the most difficult thing in the world to keep in order?”

  “I can imagine her saying something o
utrageous to one of those callers she finds so unwelcome, then remembers it with embarrassment long after the guest has left.”

  “That has happened to me on occasion. I’ve had to learn not to say the first thing which comes into my head. Anne, however, suffers no such inhibition.”

  “Elizabeth also refers to her husband as ‘The Man of Wrath’,” Grace said. “Do you suppose that’s the author’s real husband or her imagined one?”

  “Oh, her real one, most definitely. She's too strident on the subject to have conjured him in her imagination.” Maud closed the book and placed it on the grass beside her. She folded her arms over her bent knees and fixed Grace with a penetrating stare. “I’ve waited all afternoon for you to tell me what is troubling you. Now I have no option but to ask you outright.”

  “What makes you think anything is wrong?” The breeze shook strands of hair from Grace’s bun and swept them across her face. Impatient, she brushed them back.

  “Because like me, you hide your misery beneath sarcasm and denials but it’s clear something has made you unhappy.”

  “Talking about it will make it real, and I’m not ready to face the hopelessness of truth.” Grace rested her cheek on her knees, her gaze following the gentle lapping of waves on the sand; not a soul in sight but the two of them.

  Maud waited, her dark eyes soft with understanding. “It's a man isn't it?”

  “Oh yes, it’s a man.” Grace sighed. “All right, I’ll tell you. His name is Andrew Jardine.”

  As the setting sun turned the horizon to a blaze of orange, crimson and yellow, Grace talked about the first time she had seen Andrew Jardine on the SS Parisian. She went on to describe every moment she spent in his company up to and including the night at the hospital when they were unified in their fears for Isla.

  “I've tried to stop thinking about him, but I know how useless it is. Yet, I also feel that should I give him the slightest encouragement, he would tell me he felt the same way. I see it in his eyes each time I look at him. Every touch of his hand, and the way he becomes awkward in my company.”

  “You don't think your own desires are exaggerating his reactions?”

  “I’ve told myself the same thing, but there’s something there, Maud, I know it. He fights it as hard as I do. But nothing can come of it. Of us. There’s Mary and Isla which makes things so much worse as I like them both. Isla is the most delightful child and Mary a gentle, charming young woman with no pride or pretensions.” Maud's raised eyebrow made Grace laugh. “I know. I have my own and maybe a few pretensions. But she's so lovely, Maud. What kind of woman would I be if I came between them?”

  “A dreadful one, whom I couldn't possibly regard as my friend for another moment.” Her expression belied her words. “Though I know you, Grace, you’re fundamentally too good a person to act dishonorably.”

  “Is that what I am? Honorable? What a sombre word. But it's so tempting at times to forget everything else and be close to him.” And it could be so easy. Too easy.

  Maud rolled onto her back, a hand braced behind her neck. “On the whole, I’ve found men to be something of a disappointment. They’re either too arrogant or childish, or so manly, that they appear cold. I was engaged once, to a clergyman.”

  “Really?” Grace propped herself up on one elbow. “Why have you not mentioned him before?”

  “There was never an occasion to. His name was Edwin Simpson. I had such high hopes of him, but he did not stir my heart. Then I met Herman, who gave me an insight into what real love between a man and a woman could be. You could say he spoiled me for Edwin.”

  “You’ve not mentioned Herman to me either.”

  “Have I not? Ah well, he’s dead now so it’s not relevant.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “I met him during the year I taught school at Lower Bedeque. I boarded with the Leard family across the road from the school house. Being with him was a wonderful interlude, but we had little to sustain us for a lifetime. When we are young, we treat everything lightly, assuming better things await us farther on. Then nothing does come along, and the chance has already slipped away.”

  A comfortable silence stretched as each of them were occupied with their own thoughts, broken only by the gentle swish of waves on the sand. Grace’s thoughts turned to Frederick, as they often did these days. Would their marriage have grown? Or would their affection have withered to resentment and finally contempt as the years passed?

  Maud rolled over onto her stomach and propped her chin in her hands. “Would you accompany me to Sunday service tomorrow, Grace? I want you to meet someone.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “A young man who preaches at our church. I should like your opinion of him.”

  “If he's your friend, why would my opinion matter?”

  “Perhaps it doesn't, but I would still like to show him off.”

  “I warn you that I, too, was raised Presbyterian. I find clerics sanctimonious and judgemental while claiming to preach forgiveness. They twist everyone’s motives into a penchant for evil, then claim they are purely altruistic when the opposite is true.”

  “I’m sure you’ll change your mind when you meet him. And your opinion means a lot to me.”

  “Then of course I shall. Is he the same reverend you told me about when we first met? The one who believes we are all destined before birth to be saved or lost, no matter what kind of lives we lead?” Grace didn’t like to point out that she regarded this particular Calvinist doctrine represented the dark side of Presbyterianism.

  “It is. He says to aim for perfection is to invite failure, because our lives are not truly our own.”

  “And what do you think?” Grace wasn’t sure she would like this man but would reserve judgement for Maud’s sake.

  “That there is no Hell, Grace. At least not one that has not been invented by men’s evil hearts.”

  “Perhaps you aren’t the only one to think that? Have you voiced your belief to other members of the congregation?”

  “Certainly not.” Maud gaped at her, genuinely shocked. “Like most of what is in my head, this must be hidden from the good people of Cavendish. To criticize church doctrine is - unthinkable.”

  “You do make me laugh, Maud. But I relish the idea that our thoughts are so aligned. Are we doomed, do you think?”

  “Only if you think men know everything. And I do not,” Maud said.

  “Even your young reverend?”

  “I do believe you're trying to vex me, Grace.” Maud lifted her chin, but only pretended to be affronted as her lips twitched.

  “Is he handsome?” Grace asked, changing the subject.

  “He is, yes, and yet I’ve found the more interesting men tend to possess homely looks. Isn't it a pity we can't have two husbands? One to look at and one to talk to.”

  “Husband?” Grace stared at her.

  Maud flushed and looked away. “Oh dear. I wasn't supposed to reveal that, which proves one's dearest wishes always find a way to express themselves. Don't look at me like that, Grace. You must have had some idea.”

  “How could I? You’ve never mentioned a beau in your letters.”

  “Beau’s aren’t for old maids like me. Have you forgotten I’m thirty-one?”

  “Hardly reason enough to pledge your life to a man. Are you in love with him?”

  “I'm not sure what love is.” Maud stared off towards the horizon, her brow furrowed beneath her hat. “With the beaus of my youth there was always something missing; either they kept their true hearts from me, or I from them. I admire Ewan. He's handsome and respectable.”

  “Is a country minister your last, best hope for marriage?” Grace found the very idea of the man depressing, but perhaps he had some redeeming qualities.

  “Why not? My life hasn't turned out the way I hoped. If it weren't for my imagination it would be pure agony.”

  “Few people achieve the life they dream of, Maud, but agony?”

  �
�Perhaps I exaggerate.” She shrugged. “But then I often do. Like my Anne. I live inside my head most of the time. Don’t look so worried for me.” She nudged Grace playfully. “I’m not sad all the time.” She smiled, but the truth lay in her eyes. “I have days of complete perfection when my writing goes well, or I sell one of my stories. Anne is my other half; introspective but unfailingly optimistic. Life has given her so little, she believes things can only get better. She weaves scenarios around simple events with a happy ending for all. She can even see magic in tragedy.”

  “She sounds destined to be misunderstood and doomed to disappointment.”

  “Not at all. She simply sees the possibilities in every situation.”

  “As I said. Doomed to disappointment.”

  “I didn't take you for a pessimist, Grace.”

  “I prefer pragmatic.” She recalled having said much the same thing to Mr Jardine and he had been equally sceptical. “That way, life doesn't hit me so hard and I can take pleasure from small things.”

  “I prefer Anne's philosophy, to see a thing of beauty in a wildflower, not a weed to be crushed underfoot.”

  “What about your young man?” Grace asked. “Is he a wildflower or a weed?”

  “A little of both, I think.” Maud plucked a blade of grass and inserted it between her teeth. “You're younger than I am, Grace. When you too are past thirty, you will realize compromises need to be made about everything.”

  “Marriage might not be what you imagine. Not all marriages are happy. Living contentedly within one is not always easy.”

  “If I try hard enough I can achieve whatever I want.”

  “That sounds like Anne talking, not you. And incidentally, what is this paragon's name?”

  “He’s the Reverend Ewan Macdonald.”

  Chapter 23

  The church service with all its familiar hymns, prayers and responses was reminiscent of those Grace sat through in the past. The only difference were her surroundings; a wooden building with light flooding through the end window as opposed to the chill of a stone church. Alone in the front pew, she exchanged frequent conspiratorial looks with Maud who was seated at the church organ.