Still, Christmas was full of fun, with the evening church service and her grandmother’s famous turkey and Christmas cake. Even her Uncle John Franklin was in a good humor when they opened presents on Christmas Day. It was difficult to arrange to see Nate outside of school, so they exchanged letters over the holidays, but Mollie and Pensie came by often to work on their sewing projects.
School started up again the first week of January, and they all settled into the new term while winter bore down on them. Maud loved the way the ice carved its way around the bare apple trees, and how the red roads crept up through the white snow, giving the land a pinkish hue. The evenings were warm and cozy in her grandparents’ house, and Maud found herself enjoying the quiet. Maud worked on her crazy quilt or read, while her grandfather smoked his pipe and read the newspaper, and her grandmother sewed or knitted.
Often, Maud slept over at Mollie’s or Pensie’s house, staying up quite late, the girls huddled together to keep warm. Sometimes, Mollie “helped” Maud write by holding her inkbottle when she wrote in her journal. There were even times when Maud would read parts of it aloud. It was weird and wonderful to relive things that had only just happened, as though her journal had a story and life of its own. She remembered experiencing the events, but reading about them—even a few weeks later—made it feel as though they had happened so long ago, as though she were talking about a different person.
The first week of January also brought a series of prayer meetings that took over Cavendish. Bundled up in their scarves, wraps, and capes, Maud, Mollie, and Pensie marched their way through the crunchy snow to either the Presbyterian or Baptist church. All of the villagers (except Maud’s grandparents, who claimed that it was much too cold and difficult to go) went to these prayer meetings, no matter what church they regularly attended.
Mostly, Pensie sat with Mary or Quill, leaving the Four Musketeers to band together. Maud wished that Pensie would sit with them, but she told them—very loudly—that that she was “too old to sit with children.” The boys laughed her off, but Mollie glowered. Maud swallowed her tears. How was it that Maud was good enough to sleep over at Pensie’s house, but not good enough when she had her school friends with her?
Being in the back pew was fun, and watching Nate and Jack joke together helped distract Maud from whatever Pensie was doing with Mary and Quill. During one of Reverend Archibald’s speeches, Nate and Jack passed the girls notes, writing silly rhymes about those in attendance, which Mollie and Maud read with their heads together, desperately trying to contain their giggles, and ignoring poor George, who sat near them to get Mollie’s attention. It was nearly impossible for Maud to be the proper girl Grandma expected her to be.
The more time Maud spent with Nate, the more she enjoyed it, and she forgot about the issue of their different religious backgrounds. She no longer felt nervous walking home with him, and they always found things to talk about. She didn’t want to think about him going away next year, but there was time enough to worry about that.
But it all changed one night at Maud’s Presbyterian church. Nate and Jack sat behind Mollie and Maud and, as always, tried to distract them by whispering in their ears, making jokes, and pulling on Maud’s shawl, the same one she wore when Nate walked her home. When Maud spun around and told him to stop, Mrs. Simpson turned in her seat in front of Maud and said, “You are carrying on like little devils.”
Maud tried to look apologetic while fighting to hold in laughter.
“Wait until your grandmother hears about this,” Mrs. Simpson said. Maud’s laugh caught in her throat. This was no idle threat. While they certainly weren’t friends, Mrs. Simpson was Grandma’s contemporary, and Maud knew she would definitely make a call—it was her duty, after all—and just in time for tea.
After the prayer meeting, Mrs. Simpson and Mrs. Clark were in line for some hot cider near where Maud and Mollie were helping Miss Gordon.
“It is no wonder that girl behaves the way she does,” Mrs. Simpson said. “Her Grandma worries so.”
“I want to pour cider on her head,” Mollie said in a low voice to Maud.
“After all that trouble last year,” Mrs. Clark said, as they passed. “It’s no wonder.”
“I heard the old teacher was kicked out of the house because of Mr. Macneill’s temper. He’s definitely what drove Clara into the arms of a man who was beneath her, perhaps not in station, but in temperament.”
Maud gasped, and the ladle she was holding slipped back into the glass bowl, sending drops of cider spattering across the table. She couldn’t move. The first part of Mrs. Simpson’s gossip was true. Miss Robinson had left when she’d had enough of Grandfather, but the second…
Is that why no one ever talked about her parents?
The women continued as if they didn’t notice Maud standing there.
“Well, he was much older than her. Imagine eloping in the middle of the night,” Mrs. Simpson said. “And we all know why.”
“He certainly pulled the wool over Clara’s eyes,” Mrs. Clark said. “Poor lamb.” She gave Mrs. Simpson a knowing look. “That man sailed in and sailed out as quickly as he came. If his father were not a senator, there would be no value in him at all.”
Beside her, Mollie picked up the ladle and continued with their duties, making a show of not listening to what was being said. Maud was aware of other people milling around—could they all hear them?
She swallowed hard. They were telling stories about her family, about people who weren’t here to contradict them. Eloped! Grandma had never indicated anything of the kind. And no one had ever hinted at that, not even Aunt Annie or Pensie’s mother. No wonder people thought so little of her. Tears betrayed her and she turned to the wall so no one would see.
Mollie put her hand on her friend’s arm. “Come, let them get their own cider.” Maud sniffed and, grabbing their capes and scarves, the girls abandoned their post and went outside. It had started to snow, covering the old dirty snow with a fresh, light coat.
“It is so frustrating.” Maud dabbed her teary cheeks and shivered. “No one ever talks about Mother. Whenever I asked Father, he smiled and became sad and talked about what a wonderful woman she was.” She stopped herself from saying anything else. Mollie was a dear friend, but would she be able to keep this a secret? “Swear,” Maud said. “Please swear that you’ll not tell a soul.”
“Of course, I will. It isn’t right,” Mollie declared, wrapping her scarf around her neck. “People should mind their own business.”
“Who should mind their own business?”
The girls looked up to see Nate with his coat on, looking concerned. But the last thing Maud needed was for more people to hear about what her parents might have done—especially Nate. Besides, this was a private family matter and not for the ears of the Baptist minister’s stepson.
“Nothing,” Maud said, drying her eyes. “Just the cold.”
“Really,” he said, and his concerned look turned a little chillier. “I thought we were beyond secrets, Miss Montgomery.”