Maud

by Melanie Fishbane

  “We are astonished, Maud,” Grandfather said.

  “Alexander—” Her grandmother’s sharp tone made the back of Maud’s neck prickle.

  “What do you mean?”

  “While I believe it is proper for a girl to keep a diary”—her grandmother’s hand shook as she picked it up and held it out to Maud—“I never considered you would write about us in such a fashion.”

  Maud didn’t move. If she did, then it would be true. Could her grandparents have actually read her journal?

  “If you think I’m going to send you to college after reading this.” Grandfather pointed. “A writer and a teacher.” He scoffed. “Where did you get such notions?”

  “What if someone other than me had discovered it?” Grandma said. She still held the journal out to Maud, and for one desperate moment, Maud wondered if Grandma had read the most recent entries about Nate, but the line of questioning seemed to be going in a different direction.

  “You went through my things?” Maud whispered.

  Grandma’s dark collar accentuated her frown. “I would never go through your things. I was bringing up the linens and saw it open on your bed.”

  Maud remembered leaving it open on her bed and Pensie coming. This was all her fault. She had forgotten to put it away.

  Maud felt as if her grandparents had stepped on her heart. Shaking, tears running down her cheeks, she stood, waiting for one of them to apologize for betraying her. But no apology came. The only sound was the silence of disapproval.

  Her hand trembling, she reached out to take the journal. “What are you going to do?”

  “We don’t know,” Grandma said. “But we do think, given this new information and how much trouble you’ve had this past year, it is clear we aren’t equipped to handle you anymore.” She paused. “Please! Go to your room.”

  As if watching herself from above, Maud left the kitchen, her beloved journal a heavy stone in her hands.

  —

  A few hours later, Maud stared out into the dark night and then at the picture of her jovial father and her angelic mother. What did Mother think of her now?

  The crescent moon had risen past Maud’s window. She waited until she heard her grandparents go to sleep downstairs.

  It wasn’t fair! Why did she have to suffer because Mother had died? Maud had never asked for this. Maybe she was so horrible even her own father didn’t want her.

  Maud traced the frayed edges of her journal’s pages. Since she was nine years old it had been a constant companion on those tear-streaked nights of loneliness.

  And now with one careless act, it was stained. Tarnished.

  Under the low kerosene-lamp light, Maud crept downstairs to the kitchen and walked over to the wood-burning oven. Turning and lifting the stove’s element cover, she was glad to see the low embers of fire were still glowing. She threw in another log, and it caught quickly. The flames crackled and hissed.

  The journal contained mostly nonsense anyway, trivial passages about the weather. Sure there were some overly romantic notions of stolen moments with Nate, and the dream of going to college, and the sad story of a girl banished to live with her aunt and uncle for six lonely months while an outsider lived in her home. But if she was ever going to show her grandparents and Father that she could be a proper lady, she was going to have to start a new story, create a new version of herself.

  Without looking at the journal again, Maud stuffed the whole thing into the fire. It tumbled into a raging dance, twisting and twirling, pages curling and bending onto themselves. And, as the last page disappeared, burning to black cinders, she whispered, “Now no one will know the true secret of my heart.”

  —

  In the dawn’s light, Maud didn’t regret her dramatic action. The only thing she did regret was carelessly leaving the journal on her bed. It was a bitter lesson, but she would never do it again.

  She hadn’t slept well. Her in-between dreams were haunted by images of her journal, burning. It wasn’t just the pages that burned, but a part of her soul too. It was probably wicked to even think of such a notion—burning souls—but for once, she enjoyed the idea that she could be wicked.

  Maud slowly slid out of bed and reached for her chemise, but her body grew numb. She wasn’t ready to see her grandparents yet. She knew she would have to suffer through their disapproval and silence. But not this morning, maybe not even today.

  She felt raw and red, like scraped earth. She couldn’t go to school today. Besides, didn’t Grandfather say he wouldn’t pay for school? If he didn’t even care to send her off to college, then he probably wouldn’t care if she didn’t go to school today.

  Maud dropped her chemise to the floor and crawled back into bed, crying until she could push the singed memory far, far down, and fell into sleep.

  Later, she shifted awake as she felt someone sit down beside her on the bed. She lay still, hardly daring to breathe. “You are so much like your mother,” Grandma whispered.

  —

  The weight around her heart threatened to drag Maud into the red clayed earth. What her grandmother said didn’t make any sense. Mother was a good woman who died too young. Maud was not good, she always seemed to be getting into trouble. What did Grandma mean?

  —

  Maud kept these questions to herself when she returned to school the following day. She also didn’t tell her friends what had happened. Still, they could all see she wasn’t in good humor. Mollie tried to make her feel better with letters, and even Nate sent her a note during French class asking if she was ill. A part of Maud had burned away with her journal and there was nothing anyone could do to bring her home to herself.

  Instead of allowing her to go to Pensie’s that weekend, her grandparents decided that Maud should return to her Campbell cousins’ home in Park Corner for a few days to “get some distance.” Normally, Maud looked forward to visiting her Grandpa “Big Donald” Montgomery—a staunch Tory in the Senate who was home whenever Parliament wasn’t in session—her father’s brothers; her mother’s older sister, Aunt Annie; and the rest of the Campbell cousins. Grandpa Montgomery never made her feel as if she was a burden. She admired the two porcelain dogs, Gog and Magog, who regally sat on the mantel in his dining room; they were the first thing she’d visit when she arrived.

  But this time, not even the two dogs could lift her spirits. So Maud decided to visit Aunt Annie, who always made Maud feel comfortable and safe. Aunt Annie encouraged Maud’s “scribbling,” and her cousins, Stella, Clara, George, and Fredericka (whom everyone called Frede), always made her feel as though she was one of them. It was a place she carried in her heart.

  As usual, Aunt Annie knew exactly what Maud needed to do. She believed in keeping busy. “Idle hands is an idle mind,” she often said, and suggested starting a crazy quilt to get “her mind off her troubles.” Maud didn’t know if it would help, but she did enjoy sewing. Focusing on finding the various pieces to sew together did relieve the dull ache for a moment. And while sometimes Maud’s mind wandered, it felt good to create something when her heart was so heavy.

  But when she returned to Cavendish the following Monday, seeing her grandparents brought that horrid night back. She needed to start over, but how?

  After school, Maud acquired some old letter bills from the post office and sewed together a new notebook using some string and a scrap of red leather she found in the barn. Then, she took a long walk through Lover’s Lane. The light shimmered along the path, beckoning Maud to keep walking. She came to her favorite tree, with the entwined trunk, resembling two people in love. Maud called it the Tree Lovers, which inspired the path’s name. It was a truly romantic spot, with a broken-down fence nearby and a little creek where fireflies danced, whispering secrets to the fir trees and maple groves.

  Sitting down underneath the Tree Lovers, Maud waited for the spark of inspiration to come. And when, like a flash of inner light, it came, Maud pulled out the new notebook and began writing about a new kind of
diary, one that wouldn’t be silly musings about the weather.

  And this one, she wrote, I will keep locked up.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  That Friday evening, Grandma gave Maud permission to stay at Pensie’s. Maud was surprised. The whole week, the only time her grandparents spoke to her was to criticize: her table manners were abominable, she slouched, and her stitching wasn’t fine enough.

  But after school on Friday, Pensie met Maud on the way home from school. “I begged Mother to appeal on our behalf and she did this morning, saying that you hadn’t visited overnight in so long and how much I missed you.”

  “I missed you too!” Maud hugged Pensie, who returned her affection with a tight squeeze. It was probably so her grandparents didn’t have to worry themselves about her, Maud reasoned, but she wasn’t going to question it. Another weekend without their constant judgment was just what she needed.

  Now, sitting in the MacNeills’ parlor, Maud, Pensie, and Mrs. MacNeill worked on their sewing. Maud laid her crazy quilt on her lap and gazed out the window. The sun was setting, making the red shore against the Gulf glow violet.

  “Mother, isn’t Maud’s quilt looking quite good?” Pensie said, after a long while.

  Maud wasn’t convinced her best friend was telling the truth. It was her first big sewing project, and she was sure she was making a mess of it.

  When Pensie’s mother leaned over, Maud noted how much her best friend looked like her mother. “Yes. Lovely color scheme. That mauve is beautiful. You know”—she stood up—“I have a piece in my scrap bag that would be perfect. I’ll go and get it and be right back.”

  “What’s wrong, Maudie?” Pensie asked once her mother had gone.

  Maud picked up her quilt and started sewing again. She would rather Pensie focus on something other than her.

  “You used to confide in me,” Pensie said.

  “In letters,” Maud said, pulling up a thread.

  “I still have all of mine,” Pensie said.

  Pensie still kept her letters! “I hope they are in a secret place,” Maud joked.

  “Of course!” Pensie laughed. “We wouldn’t want anyone to learn our secrets, would we?” Pensie stood up and peeked around the corner to make sure her mother wasn’t coming, and then sat back down. “I think I know what’s wrong.” She leaned over the chair. “You have quarreled with Nate Lockhart, haven’t you?”

  Maud felt her cheeks warm. Between her grandparents and her journal, she had practically forgotten about Undine and Nate Lockhart. “No,” Maud said. “Why?” She put the quilt square on her lap.

  “I asked Mother to tell me again about what caused some of the family to break away and join the Baptist church.”

  “Really?” Maud had to wonder why Pensie was so curious.

  “Yes,” Pensie said. “You deny it, Maudie, but if Nate Lockhart’s intentions are honorable, then you’ll have to decide if you’ll follow him to that other church.”

  “Pensie MacNeill, even if I do find Reverend Archibald’s sermons a bit long, I’m a devout Presbyterian.”

  Pensie held her hand up. “I knew you would say that, but perhaps Nate isn’t as devout. Perhaps he might be willing to cross over?”

  “The Baptist minister’s stepson?” Maud guffawed. “Pensie, I think you’ve drunk too much currant wine.”

  Pensie laughed. “All right. All right. Shall I tell you what Mother told me?”

  Maud was pretty sure she’d heard the story before. Everyone in Cavendish knew it. But she let her friend go on anyway.

  “Mother said that the break in the family came when our cousins—oh, I cannot remember their names—one was David, I think—married those two Dockendorff women who were Baptist. Everyone was concerned that these women would force their husbands to become Baptist, but they promised they wouldn’t. But Mother said they worked their wiles on our cousins to leave Presbyterianism and create their own church.”

  “People are always blaming those women for leading the men away, as if they couldn’t think about it on their own,” Maud said.

  “Most men need to be led,” Pensie said. “Look at Quill. He wants me to tell him where we’re going in the evenings. If it were up to him, we’d just sit in Mother’s parlor.”

  “I don’t think Nate wants me to tell him what to do,” Maud said.

  “All I’m saying, Maudie, is be careful. And, remember, he’s also from away, after all.”

  “Yes, Nate is from Nova Scotia. And that means he has nothing to do with what happened all of those years ago,” Maud said. “Neither do we.”

  “It might as well have happened yesterday,” Pensie said. “People have long memories.”

  “Selective ones,” Maud said, picking up her sewing, which she hoped would signal the end of the conversation. Where was Mrs. MacNeill with that piece of fabric? She needed to change the subject. “How are things with Quill?”

  Now it was Pensie’s turn to blush. “Well, actually…Mary Woodside and I have been talking about it at great length.”

  Mary Woodside! Since when was Pensie confiding in that girl? She should be “talking about it at great length” with her! But Maud didn’t want to ruin her time with Pensie, so she said, in what she hoped was the most natural tone, “What happened?”

  “Quill has asked to take me to the monthly lecture at Cavendish Hall. Next month’s is Reverend Mr. Carruthers’s lecture.”

  They heard Mrs. MacNeill’s skirt rustling and quickly resumed their sewing. “I shall ask Mother while you are here so she is more amicable,” Pensie said.

  “Of course, darling.” Maud didn’t tell Pensie that she wasn’t keen on Quill. He didn’t have any intellect and was dreadfully dull. Not her style at all.

  When Mrs. MacNeill returned and gave Maud the piece of pink gingham, it did look perfect against the mauve in the quilt. They sewed for a time, and then Pensie found the right moment to ask her mother, who was open to the idea of discussing the matter with Father. It was all but settled; Pensie would go to the lecture with Quill.

  Later, while they were cuddling in bed, Pensie joked that maybe she wouldn’t be the only one getting asked to the lecture. And Maud made a secret wish: that Pensie could go to the lecture not with Quill, but with her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  After her weekend with Pensie, Maud returned to school with renewed determination, inspired to speak with Miss Gordon about her epic piece of verse, “The Queen’s Betrayal.” But Maud never got the chance. When she arrived, Clemmie and Nellie were sitting on the fallen birch tree, which she had to pass in order to get to the school. Clemmie’s hair was tied up in a half bun that accentuated her strong forehead, and she was dressed in a pink floral printed skirt. She appeared to be ready for a Sunday picnic, not school.

  The two girls hadn’t tried to sit on, in Mollie’s words, “their territory” since the first day of school. Perhaps this was their way of getting Maud’s attention. Although Maud didn’t want to admit it, it was working. Perhaps if she ignored their trespasses, the two girls would leave her alone. Maud would display the behavior Grandma expected of her, but there was only so much a person could do when faced with girls like Clemmie and Nellie.

  Maud desperately wished her best friend were there. Mollie was so much better at these things and could come up with the perfect insult, but she had sent word last night she would be late as she was helping her mother with her sick father.

  “Aren’t you going to say good morning, Lucy?”

  Maud stopped. Clemmie knew she hated being called by her first name.

  “Yes, aren’t you going to say good morning, Lucy?” Nellie parroted.

  Maud was comforted by the thought that Nellie Clark would never have an original idea of her own.

  “She’s so rude, isn’t she, Nellie? It’s clear that living with her old grandparents and wherever she was this past year—probably some asylum in Charlottetown because she’s indeed mad—has corrupted her manners.”

  Maud turned o
n her heel and faced them. The girls had stretched their legs out in front of them in a most unladylike fashion.

  “Unlike your mother, who has blessed you with her unique talent for pettiness,” Maud said, “my grandmother instilled in me the lesson of turning the other cheek. And so while I see you two sitting on what you know is not your place, I’ve decided to take the higher moral ground and ignore it. And therefore ignore you.”

  Maud hadn’t realized that she was going to say all that, but she also had the sudden realization that she was no longer afraid of them, or the possibility of what they would do to her.

  Clemmie pushed herself up off the birch and took two steps toward Maud. She wore a thin-lipped smile that gave Maud a creepy-crawly feeling. Nellie followed—standing an inch behind Clemmie—but her smile didn’t have the same effect.

  “Lucy,” Clemmie said.

  “Lucy is my cousin’s name,” Maud said, already regretting her actions. She and Clemmie were almost the same height, but her nemesis showed no indication of fear, whereas Maud was sure they could hear her heart beating. Just because she was no longer afraid of them didn’t mean she enjoyed confrontation.

  “Maud.” Clemmie extended her hand, and the curled lips transformed into a welcoming smile. “I came here this morning as a token of friendship.”

  “Really?”

  Nellie looked as bewildered as Maud felt.

  Maud took a deep breath. “Clemmie, you haven’t shown me true friendship of any kind since you had your very quick change of heart last year.”

  Clemmie dropped her hand. “Fine, I was going to warn you about your new boyfriend, Nathan Spurr—”

  “It’s Lockhart. My goodness, Clemmie, for such an intelligent girl you really can get it all wrong.”