Hadn’t she done that? She had based the queen’s description on her dead mother. No, Maud had never been poisoned, but she had seen what happens when an animal is poisoned; the poor cat she had found one day in the barn had taught her that. Is that what Miss Gordon had meant?
It was hard to concentrate. Maud felt as if she had disappointed her teacher and let herself down. How could she even think about writing like Alcott if she couldn’t even manage to write an epic piece of verse? She couldn’t look at Miss Gordon for the rest of the day.
Mollie tried to make Maud feel better by writing funny things on her slate, which she appreciated, but it didn’t help. It also didn’t help that Nate wasn’t there, and she didn’t know why. He had seemed fine on Saturday night at the lecture. But she wasn’t sure if she wanted to tell him about Miss Gordon’s remarks, so maybe it was just as well.
—
The next day, Nate returned. While walking down the aisle to give his assignment to Miss Gordon, he dropped his French text on Maud’s desk—with a slip of paper sticking out. Maud pulled it out, tucking it underneath her reader, and then carefully opened her reader, placing the folded note inside.
Dear Polly,
Please forgive my ungentlemanly behavior. Being ill forced me to delay the delivery of this message.
I truly enjoyed our walk last Saturday evening, particularly that moment when we stopped and looked up at the stars and I held your hand.
Shall we try it again? May Jack and I walk you and Molly home after the literary next week?
Your pal,
Snip
Miss Gordon had asked Maud and Mollie if they would perform in November’s Literary Society gathering on Saturday. Maud had been very honored, since only a few girls were asked. The literary promised to be a wonderful night of entertainment that included short dialogues (or sketches), dramatic readings, and music. Miss Gordon had suggested that Maud perform “The Child Martyr,” one of the poems in her Royal Reader, because it was quite dramatic and a favorite with audiences. Maud had spent most of the month practicing, but after getting back Miss Gordon’s comments on her writing, she wasn’t sure if she could bring herself to do it.
Maud stared at Nate’s note. It would be a fun way to end the evening, and if she was a little honest with herself, she wanted to “try it again.” And if she had that to look forward to, then she could surely perform in the literary.
On his way back to his seat, Nate casually picked up his book and sat down to read.
Maud showed the note to Mollie, who eagerly agreed. Maud glanced to where the boys were sitting. Nate gave her a big smile, exaggerating his dimples. Maud found herself smiling back, then turned to her desk to write a response.
After thinking about it for some time, she wrote:
Mollie and I have conferred and agree to try it again.
As Maud finished her note, she heard Miss Gordon clear her throat. Maud pretended to read, while discreetly tucking her response inside.
The perfect moment came when Miss Gordon paired them into groups to work on their English assignment. Maud slipped him the note. In front of them, Clemmie, Nellie, and Annie were huddled together. “They must be friends again,” Mollie muttered.
“I can hardly wait,” Nate said after reading Maud’s letter.
“Writing love notes,” Clemmie said. Nellie and Annie laughed.
“I think you’re jealous, Clemmie, because Maud and Nate actually find interesting things to talk about,” Mollie said.
“Upper levels, you should be setting an example,” Miss Gordon said.
The students quickly went back to work.
Later that day, Miss Gordon, sensing Maud wasn’t her normal attentive self, asked her to read a poem, “The Fringed Gentian.” Maud stood up and started reading:
Then whisper, blossom, in thy sleep
How I may upward climb
The Alpine path, so hard, so steep,
That leads to heights sublime;
How I may reach that far-off goal
Of true and honoured fame,
And write upon its shining scroll
A woman’s humble name.
As she read the poem, it felt as though she was standing on the Gulf’s shore, staring past the Hole in the Wall. There were no mountains on the Island, but she could see it in the distance. Her name upon a shining scroll. That could be her.
“You read very well, Maud,” Miss Gordon said as Maud sat down. “I look forward to seeing how you do at the literary next weekend.”
“Thank you,” Maud said. She thought about Miss Gordon’s suggestion to “write what she knew.” Maud knew of the Island and the stories her grandfather told. Perhaps she would start there? She would try harder and show Miss Gordon—and herself—that she could climb to great heights and achieve her dream. To be a published author.
Her flirtations with Nate were fun, but this poem—the image of that shining scroll with her name, Lucy Maud Montgomery, scribbled upon it in gold leaf—that was her true calling.
It would have to be a secret for now. She would study and work hard, proving to her family that she could do it.
It wasn’t as though her grandparents or anyone in her family could truly know anything about it. Grandfather often boasted that his cousin Hector Macneill was in Lord Byron’s English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers. Maud knew that if she ever expressed such a desire to Grandfather, he would most probably tell her to concentrate on finding a husband.
After school, Maud stayed behind to talk with Miss Gordon about the assignment. If she was going to be a writer, she needed to courageously take criticism.
“Excuse me, Miss Gordon.”
Her teacher lifted her head from the papers she was marking and smiled. “How can I help you, Maud?”
“Can we talk about ‘The Queen’s Betrayal’?”
Miss Gordon put down her pencil and motioned her over. “I thought you might be upset by it.”
“I was,” Maud said, sitting down. “You see, a teacher had complimented me on my writing. And I thought”—she took a breath—“I had thought you admired my writing.”
“My comments don’t preclude that, Maud,” her teacher said. “You certainly do have a talent. But the story should have been connected to you, come from you.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
Miss Gordon took the paper and pointed to a place she had starred. “See this description of the queen, all pale and beautiful. This seemed to reflect you, how you see the world.”
The back of Maud’s neck prickled. “It did! It is from the memory of Mother’s funeral.”
Miss Gordon smiled softly. “Exactly.” She handed the paper back. “Is there another piece you have been working on?”
Maud thought for a moment. “I have been experimenting with one of my grandfather’s stories about Cape LeForce. It’s about some pirates who landed on our shores about a hundred years ago. The pirates conspired to take all of the gold from the crew, but in the final moment one betrays the other.” Something stirred within her heart when she thought about writing this story.