“I’m sure it is harmless.” Father gulped down the last of his tea. “Besides, he appears to be a nice fellow, if a little awkward.”
An image of Mr. Mustard staring out the window in melancholy all day flashed into Maud’s mind, followed by the memory of him with whip in hand. The violent contrast made her drop her spoon. Its clang against the china plate rattled everyone.
“Please be careful with our dishes, Maud,” her stepmother said. “Or do I have to help feed you as though you were Katie?”
Maud delicately picked up the spoon and mumbled an apology. Father poured himself some more tea and opened the paper. There was an article about the election, reporting on the upcoming debate. Father had been preparing for it all week. Maud couldn’t help but be proud.
“And you could do worse than Mr. Mustard,” her stepmother went on. “A girl your age needs to be considering suitors.”
She was tired of boys—men—all of it. “I have plans to do more than be someone’s wife,” Maud retorted.
Her stepmother stood up, scooped up Katie (who screamed that she was still hungry), and swept upstairs.
“That was uncalled for, Maud,” Father said over his paper.
“I’m sorry.”
Father sighed.
Maud started clearing the plates; Mrs. Montgomery’s departure had left her alone with the chores.
“Did you do anything to encourage him?” Father asked, after a while.
Maud almost dropped the plates she was carrying, but saved them by carefully—shakily—placing them back on the table. She sat down before her legs could collapse under her. “I am his student,” she said, as evenly as she could, although inside she was crying like Katie. Why was she under attack? First Pensie, and now Father: Why was she to blame for a man’s actions? “I treat him the same as any other teacher.”
Father stood up and put his coat on, his beard twitching into a slight smile. “You must have done something. A man doesn’t usually go after a girl unless she’s done something to attract his attention.” He kissed Maud on top of her head.
“But why would he want to spend time after school with a girl of almost-sixteen?” Maud asked.
“You might be almost-sixteen”—Father fixed his collar—“but you are also intelligent, and I suspect an educated man such as Mr. Mustard might be attracted to someone with your interests.”
As Maud cleared breakfast away, she wondered if perhaps Father was right. She needed to be more careful. Maud wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but she had to turn Mr. Mustard off her. She had worked so hard to be a proper lady—the kind Grandma would be proud of—but perhaps that was why Mr. Mustard thought her older than her years. She was going to have to remind him that she was younger than him, practically still a child.
If she showed him her immaturity, by acting out, it would certainly turn his attentions elsewhere. But did she dare? It had certainly been a while since she had done anything of the sort, and she usually had Mollie to help her put any plan into action. This had to be all on her.
Her opportunity came that afternoon when Mr. Mustard was helping Willie MacBeath with his sums—all they ever did was sums—and Annie and Will Pritchard were quietly working beside her. Will had missed a few days helping his father on the family ranch in Laurel Hill, and Maud admitted to herself that she was glad Will was back where she could feel his quiet presence behind her. He was so different from the other boys in school: older and more responsible, not concerning himself with the mischief the others were always getting up to.
Maud didn’t want to tell Annie or Will about her plan. Mr. Mustard might not whip a girl, but he would definitely whip a boy, and the last thing she wanted was to get Will into trouble. Besides, this was her fight and she was going to have to win it—as with most things in her life—on her own.
On a piece of paper, Maud penned a little Island folk song, imagining a lilting fiddle, and began to sing. Annie’s eyes widened in surprise, and Maud tried to hide her smile. The song was about a teacher who had no control over his students and would do silly things to get their attention. It was entirely possible the “thin lad with a thin mustache” was Mr. Mustard, but she would neither confirm nor deny it.
After a few minutes, Annie began drumming a rhythm against her desk with her pencil and picked up the tune, humming in harmony to compliment Maud, and then—to Maud’s utter surprise—Will hit the edge of his desk with his hand, joining in on the lower notes, their volume growing louder and louder, eventually adding in hand gestures and clapping.
Mr. Mustard lost his temper. “Why are you three singing? Stop this immediately!” he bellowed.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Maud said, as Will and Annie kept singing. Will reached over and passed the paper to Douglas, Frank, and Willie M. so they could join in.
“Oh, a thin man with a thin mustache, had a hard time holding his cash,” they screeched.
“Silence, this instant!” As his ears grew redder, Mr. Mustard’s thin mustache seemed to grow even thinner.
The younger boys stopped, as they had seen that expression before and didn’t want to go another round with Mr. Mustard’s whip.
Maud was surprised they had gone on as they had. Annie and Will should stop, as this had nothing to do with them, but she had underestimated their complete lack of respect for the man—and possibly their friendship for her.
“If you don’t stop right now, you three will have to stay after school,” Mr. Mustard shouted above the singing.
“A thin man, oh, he’s a thin man,” the three rebels sang.
“Enough! You three will stay after school and do one hundred sums each before you can go,” Mr. Mustard said.
Maud, we need to stop. Remember practice, Annie chalked on her slate. Maud had forgotten their promise to Mrs. Stovel about helping out with the Christmas dialogue.
Okay, one more round, she wrote back.
The three gave the song one more resounding cry, which was met with grand applause by everyone but the tall, thin man standing at the front of the classroom.
After school, Mr. Mustard forced Maud, Annie, and Will to complete the one hundred sums. Annie and Will did them, but Maud was determined to not pick up her pencil.
“Miss Montgomery, you do realize I’ll keep you here until you have completed your task,” her teacher said.
“I do realize that, yes,” Maud said, lighting a candle she had in her desk and taking out her book of Tennyson’s poems.
“Please put that away,” he said. “You can either do math problems or nothing at all.”
Maud blew out the candle. “Then I’ll do nothing at all.” He could have kept her there until midnight and she wouldn’t have budged.
“I’m done, Mr. Mustard,” Will said, tossing the problems on the teacher’s desk. “I’m expected at the church to help with the Christmas concert.”
“I’m surprised he’s going,” Annie whispered. “I didn’t think his father would let him out for a dialogue. He’s always working his son so hard.”