“You are such a responsible girl,” he said, kissing her lightly on top of her head.
As Maud washed the dishes, she allowed her mind to drift to Cavendish and what her friends and family would be doing. Grandma continued to write faithfully each week about the farm and grandfather’s health, and Lu had written Maud about a church social. Maud imagined she was there with Mollie and Lu and the boys, Nate smiling up at her while they sang “God Save the Queen.” It was all such a lovely, faraway dream that Maud lost herself there until a knock—and the near-breakage of her stepmother’s favorite serving dish—brought her back to reality.
The knock came again, in full force. She sighed and put the platter down.
“Mamma, someone is at the door,” she shouted.
Silence.
“Mamma!”
Nothing.
Maud dried her hands and went to the front door. Mr. Mustard had returned. Didn’t he have better things to do? She was almost embarrassed for him.
“Is your stepmother home?” Mr. Mustard asked, clearing his throat. “I had hoped to call upon her.”
“He does realize that my stepmother is married,” Maud mumbled to herself.
“Pardon me?” he said.
Maud told him to wait in the parlor while she got her stepmother. She was sure Mrs. Montgomery wasn’t up for company, but since she had left Maud with the dishes, Maud figured she would retaliate by making her spend a few hours with boring Mr. Mustard.
Maud skipped upstairs and knocked noisily three times. No answer. Maud imagined her stepmother, upon hearing Mr. Mustard’s voice, huddling under the covers, clothes and all, pretending to sleep.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Mustard,” Maud said when she returned to the parlor. “My stepmother is not receiving visitors tonight.”
Mr. Mustard clasped and unclasped his hands in front of him but continued to sit where he was—on her favorite spot on the couch.
Grandma would have been horrified to see someone not show such disregard for propriety. But it would be a mark on the Montgomery and Macneill names if Maud didn’t at least offer Mr. Mustard some refreshments and play the good hostess. Perhaps Mrs. Montgomery didn’t think that Maud could do it? Perhaps because she believed Maud had come from—what did her stepmother usually call Cavendish?—“a backwater small town”?
Maud put on her best smile and said, “Do you want some refreshments, Mr. Mustard? Mrs.—Mamma—and I made some delicious mock cherry pie this afternoon. It is quite delicious.”
“No, thank you.” He sniffed. “I don’t believe in eating after seven o’clock, as it doesn’t agree with one’s digestion.” Mr. Mustard spread his hands out so one sat on each leg.
“It is your loss; some say that Mamma’s pie is the best in Prince Albert.”
“High praise indeed,” Mr. Mustard said. Sniff. “Perhaps next time I will come earlier, and then we can share in the delight together.” Sniff. Sniff.
Maud sat at the farthest end of the yellow couch and the two stared at the floor for what felt like hours. In those precious minutes, Maud’s mind spun for something to say, but the incessant sniffling coming from the man across the way was too distracting. She now agreed with her stepmother and wished Father had chosen to stay home. At least she would be free to go upstairs.
“Where’s your father on this cold night?” Mr. Mustard finally asked.
“He’s gone to the Kinistino Lodge to meet with the Sons of Scotland expatriates. I suspect there will be some revelry and possible card playing afterwards.”
She admitted to herself she was egging the poor man on with that final sentence. Knowing Mr. Mustard’s abhorrence of all things fun, Maud was not at all surprised when he said, “I don’t approve of card playing; it is only one step removed from gambling, and gambling is a sin.” Sniff.
“I also enjoy singing in choir,” Maud said, glancing quickly over at the grandfather clock—nine o’clock. He should be leaving soon. “We are to give a recitation in a few weeks.”
Oh, why did she tell him that? He would think she actually wanted to talk with him.
“I think I’m going to request that we move the classroom to the other side of the hallway,” he said, suddenly changing the subject. “It is inappropriate to expose young people to the kind of gallivanting in the hall that goes on in the evenings.” Maud was quite sure that Mr. Mustard would never be accused of gallivanting. “I can truthfully argue that it is a larger room with a better heater. It will be good for everyone.” He leaned over in the direction she was sitting. “Don’t you agree?” Sniff.
Maud elbowed herself more deeply into the couch’s arm. Truth be told, she actually did agree; she didn’t enjoy discovering stray feathers in her notebook when she got home, but she certainly wasn’t going to tell him! So she said, “Oh, I don’t know; I’ve heard those girls have all sorts of laughs.”
This made her teacher turn the shade of Mrs. Montgomery’s mock cherry pie.
The grandfather clock continued to witness the excruciatingly slow evening, and finally showed mercy by bonging at ten o’clock. Maud couldn’t take it any longer and feigned a huge, indelicate yawn, which had the desired effect. Mr. Mustard stood up and announced that he should be going home.
Slamming the door behind him, Maud wondered why her teacher had decided to stay when it was clearly Mrs. Montgomery he had come to see. And for two of the longest hours of her life. She had listened to sermons that were more interesting than poor Mr. Mustard. And what could he possibly have to gain having a conversation with one of his students? Certainly he would prefer conversing with people his own age, wouldn’t he?
Sitting down on the yellow couch, Maud gazed at the clock that had witnessed the evening’s events as if it would solve the mystery. But it had no opinion to offer.
Then she recalled how he’d looked at her when he asked her opinion about the classroom, as though she might have all of the answers. A creepy-crawly feeling trickled down the back of her neck. No. It was ridiculous. Was it possible that the teacher had designs on her? She’d heard about such things, of course, and it wasn’t necessarily frowned upon, as teachers had a valued place in the community. If this was what he was doing, Maud was going to have to stop it. Immediately.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The following morning, Maud was careful to put her hair down the way Mrs. Montgomery liked it. While the family was finishing breakfast, she brought up Mr. Mustard’s odd visit.
Mrs. Montgomery was helping Katie feed herself. “You are being overly dramatic, as usual,” she said, wiping Katie’s chin. “He’s lonely.”
Maud played with her porridge. “But he’s your friend. Not mine.”