Pensie took a step back and seemed to be looking around for someone. Maud pushed away the feeling that her dearest cousin didn’t want to return her embrace, but then Pensie said, “There’s Mother. She’ll be expecting me. I’ll see you for our walk tomorrow and you can tell me about school.” By the way she said “school,” Maud knew exactly what (or who) Pensie was talking about—the precious secret of who had authored the letter now in Maud’s Bible. Maud expected Pensie to hug her again, but she didn’t. Maybe she was just hot.
Mollie and Maud walked through the cemetery’s grassy path toward Cavendish’s main road. Mollie lived down the hill, near the hollow.
“Thank you for being the messenger,” Maud said.
“He gave it to Jack to give to me,” Mollie said. “Jack said that he was adamant you receive it before school begins.”
“The intrigue,” Maud said, making sure the letter was still safely tucked in her Bible.
Mollie giggled. “I tried to get Jack to at least hint, but he was silent as the morning sunrise.” Mollie liked to talk in metaphors.
They stopped at the edge of the cemetery.
Maud loved it here at the crossroads, where she could see much of Cavendish. The spot overlooked the red road south to the North Shore and the other one east, connecting her home. Down the hill, facing west past the hollow and Mollie’s home, was Laird’s Hill, the Cavendish Hall and Baptist church.
“Sadly, it will have to wait,” Maud said, her gazing floating upon a particular tombstone.
Mollie held Maud’s hand. “Have you visited since you returned?”
Maud nodded. “It was the first thing I did. But you know how I love my little rituals.”
“It is why I adore you.” They hugged, and then Mollie said, “The first day of school promises to be interesting.”
“It certainly does,” Maud murmured, watching Mollie walk down the hill.
CHAPTER TWO
Maud tried walking in quiet reverence to her mother’s tombstone, but her mind kept wandering to the next day at school. While she was thrilled to be back with Mollie and Lu—and, yes, possibly the person who had crafted the letter safely tucked in her Bible—Maud was also quite nervous about how she and the new teacher, Miss Gordon, would get along.
Last year, Maud had been delighted when she heard that the school trustees had chosen Miss Izzie Robinson to be Cavendish’s first lady teacher. Of course, back then not everyone in the community had been. There was much talk about women being unable to handle a classroom as well as a man—particularly with the older boys.
And for Grandfather, it was even more than that. He thought that teaching was a man’s profession—a profession that was certainly beneath a Macneill. When Maud once revealed that she might want to teach, he had pronounced that “no Macneill would lower herself to be little more than a nanny.”
Then, somehow Miss Robinson convinced Grandma to allow her to board with them. It wasn’t unusual: teachers often did. Her grandparents made money from the farm, and running the post office out of their kitchen, but the additional boarding income was also helpful. But Miss Robinson’s sour disposition and Grandfather’s tendency to insult was sure to cause difficulty. And it did.
One evening a month after Miss Robinson had started living with them, Grandfather made some suggestion that Miss Robinson couldn’t keep order in the classroom, which was a half-truth, as Miss Robinson could only keep the boys in check if she threatened a whipping.
“If you were one of my students, Mr. Macneill, I might show you how I deal with impertinence,” she said.
“The impertinence is your unladylike tone,” Grandfather said.
“How about some more peas?” Grandma held the bowl out to her husband.
“I’ll take some,” Maud said. Grandma gave her the bowl and she took an extra helping. “These are delicious!”
“Thank you, Maud.” Grandma nodded over her spectacles approvingly.
“You should come and inspect my class yourself,” Miss Robinson went on. “Maybe you would actually learn something, such as how to be hospitable.”
Grandfather banged the jug of apple cider he had been pouring on the table and some of the juice spilled onto Grandma’s linen tablecloth. Maud flinched.
“Miss Robinson,” Grandma said. “I hear your brother will be coming to visit. You know he also stayed with us last year.”
This had the desired effect, as Miss Robinson loved talking about her brother, and the quarrel was appeased for the present.
But things between Grandfather and Miss Robinson continued to unravel, which meant things got worse for Maud at school. Miss Robinson would pick on Maud any chance she could and, as much as the young girl tried not to cry in front of everyone, somehow her teacher knew exactly what to say. When Maud told Grandma, she was advised to stop crying and listen to her elders.
Everything had escalated last March, when Miss Robinson asked the class to memorize and interpret a poem. Maud had spent much of the week practicing so Miss Robinson wouldn’t be able to find fault.
After Nate had given his excellent recitation and interpretation of Tennyson’s “Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere,” Clemmie fumbled through her passage so badly Miss Robinson took over and interpreted the poem herself.
Maud was barely listening; her turn was next, and she was quite nervous.
“Do you not agree, Maud?” Miss Robinson said.
Maud recoiled. The class went still. Maud desperately tried to think.
“I suppose you think I’m incorrect,” Miss Robinson went on. “You know you have an expressive face that tells us everything you’re thinking.”
Maud stared at her boots. At least her teacher wouldn’t see her face, or the tears.
“Like your grandfather, you think you are all high and mighty and superior. If you know so much, you should be able to do your reading now without any errors.”
It was as if a toad had gone to sleep on Maud’s tongue. She couldn’t remember anything. Miss Robinson smiled triumphantly and told Maud to sit down.
After school, Maud ran upstairs to her room to write the whole ordeal in her journal. Sitting on her bed, Maud wrote as if it burned her to write, but it would scorch her if she didn’t. As the words mingled with the anger, the world around her shifted and Maud moved past Miss Robinson, finding herself on the edge of her dream world. Her bones ached, her eyes burned, her shoulders screamed, but she kept writing until she lost herself and found her way back.
After a very awkward dinner, where Maud couldn’t swallow her meal from nerves, Grandma called Maud into the parlor. Miss Robinson sat proudly on the green sofa, and the soft lamplight highlighted her grandparents’ disappointment. It was considered bad manners to challenge a teacher.
“Did you forget your lessons today?” Grandma said.
“No, ma’am.”
“She lies,” Miss Robinson said. “You stood there gaping like one of your grandfather’s fish.”
“That would be your sour disposition,” Grandfather said. Maud knew better than to think he was standing up for her; this was one of his insults.
“Alexander, please,” Grandma said, and clasped her hands on her lap. “Maud may be flighty and irresponsible, but I’ve never known her to lie, Miss Robinson.”