“I think you’re being mad as hops,” Maud protested, slapping her hand—with much gusto—against her desk. Beside her, Willie M. and Frank snickered.
Will coughed to stifle a laugh, pretending to read—although Maud knew he could not be studying; the class hadn’t cracked a book open all day.
“You and Annie will remain after class,” Mr. Mustard said.
Will raised his hand.
“Yes, Mr. Pritchard.”
“Sir, don’t you think this is kind of daft?”
Mr. Mustard breathed heavily through his nose. “You will also stay after school.”
But when Will went to shut the door after the rest of the class had left, Frank burst through, panting. “Pritchard, you need to come with me now. There’s an emergency,” he said, leaning over to catch his breath. Will didn’t even ask for permission; he just grabbed his things and left.
Mr. Mustard marched over to the door and called after them, “Yes, for emergencies you can leave, Mr. Pritchard.”
Maud wondered what the possible emergency could be and hoped that it wasn’t anything serious, or to do with Laura. But then Annie wrote on her slate that it was all a trick to get Will out of the classroom. She had overheard him ask Frank at recess to come and get him because he had to get to the ranch to help his father, and everyone knew that Mr. Pritchard was a man who hated for anyone to be late—even if that person was his son.
Mr. Mustard began to look haggard. “If you are silent for the next five minutes, I will let you go.”
“Did you hear that, Maud?” Annie said. “He says if we stay quiet for five minutes we can go home. Isn’t that kind of him?”
“Oh, so terribly kind, Annie,” Maud replied. “He is certainly an upstanding pillar of our education system.”
“You know he came from Ontario.”
“Really? I hadn’t heard.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t say.”
“Miss Montgomery! Miss McTaggart! If you don’t desist, I shall insist on keeping you here,” he said.
Maud and Annie continued to talk, and when they couldn’t think of anything else to say, they whispered poetry. Maud was particularly fond of Tennyson.
Finally, when Maud was sure it was almost suppertime, she groaned, “Leave hope behind, all ye who enter here.”
“Misquoting Dante shows me you are more intelligent than your behavior would suggest, Miss Montgomery,” Mr. Mustard said. “I hope we shall see a better performance from you in the future. And from you too, Miss McTaggart.”
As they ran to the church to practice their dialogue, the girls felt that they definitely—although painfully—had won another round.
CHAPTER TEN
By the end of November, Maud wasn’t sure how she was going to manage her responsibilities at home, church, and school. She tried to look forward to her sixteenth birthday on the thirtieth, but she started getting headaches: a low, dull, persistent ache on the back of her head, as though she was being choked from behind. She refused to give in to them, but the struggle drained her energy away.
Mrs. Montgomery was now seven months along and spent much of her time in bed, which meant that Maud had to do even more work around the house. Father was often out working or at the club. This left Maud alone with Katie, who clung to her from the moment she got home, following her all over the house and “helping” where she could. Maud found herself telling Katie the stories her grandparents had once told her, hoping to pass on to her sister the spirit of the stories she herself had loved.
She had also finally submitted “On Cape LeForce” to the Charlottetown Patriot, and was sure that when she opened the next edition she would see it. But as the weeks passed, she began to dread the arrival of the paper; it marked rejection. One more dream unrealized.
But that didn’t stop her. Writing saved her when she woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep. It saved her when Mrs. Montgomery was particularly cruel. It saved her from those moments when homesickness completely overwhelmed her.
Laura and Will saved Maud too. They were living next door for the winter, since it was easier to stay in town than to drive the hour back and forth to Laurel Hill in inclement weather. Maud loved their Aunt Kennedy, who reminded her of Aunt Annie, as she was so kind and patient. She insisted that Maud call her Aunt Kennedy as well. Aunt Kennedy didn’t have any children of her own and so doted on Laura and Will—and Maud too.
As demanding as Mrs. Montgomery was, she didn’t keep Maud locked up at home. She allowed her to go next door, or somewhere close by, “in case she needed her.”
Returning home one evening after shortbread and dark tea at Aunt Kennedy’s, Maud found a number of letters from Cavendish on her bed. Pussy had followed Maud to her room, pouncing upon the pile of letters Father had left and hissing when Maud shooed him off. Maud spread the letters across the bed, touching each one, wondering which to read first.
Pussy jumped back on the bed and made himself comfortable on the edge, his deep purrs singing. She absently scratched behind his ear as she leaned back against the headboard.
There was the weekly letter from Grandma, of course. Maud could read between the lines, though; what Grandma really wanted to know was if her granddaughter had failed to live up to her expectations here. Maud refused to let her know how difficult things were. She would probably blame it on Maud anyway.
Lu’s letter was light and full of fun, giving Maud all of the school and church gossip. Now that Jack Laird was planning on leaving for college, Mollie was rather moody, Lu reported, and Maud felt a stab of sadness for her friend, who would be there on her own.
There was a lovely long letter from Miss Gordon, giving Maud an inspiring list of books and a bit of much-needed encouragement:
I would not be the educator I am without first asking how your studies are going. I only know Mr. Mustard by reputation, and I hear he is quite knowledgeable, so I hope you’ll take advantage of this opportunity. Not a lot of girls have been able to get to high school, myself included…although I am proud of my accomplishments as one of the first women to enter the teaching certificate class at Prince of Wales College.
If Miss Gordon knew the truth about Mr. Mustard, Maud wondered if she would have the same opinion.
Among the pile was an envelope marked with postage from Nova Scotia. She froze. She knew that handwriting all too well. Maud placed the other letters in her chest, leaving the one marked from Acadia College on her bed.
They hadn’t written to each other all fall. She picked up Nate’s letter and, in a rush of sentimentality, gave it a sniff—thinking it might hold a trace of his soap; it smelled only of dust and paper—and then promptly giggled. She had spent so much time sealing thoughts of him away; she simply mustn’t give in to these romantic notions.
Pussy raised his head. “Don’t judge me,” she told him.