Pussy simply laid his head across an outstretched paw, leaving one eye open.
She carefully chiseled at the letter with the opener. For months she had been wondering what he had been thinking about her. When he hadn’t written, it was easy to imagine he hated her. Now, here was news.
Dear Polly,
It is hard to imagine that a few months ago you and I were picking berries and now I am sitting in my cold dorm room at college and you are halfway across the country. I know I should have written sooner—as I had promised—but I haven’t heard from you, either, and wonder if you really meant it when you asked me to write. But I couldn’t wait any longer; there is so much I want to tell you about the college and my life here.
You would enjoy my history class. The professor’s specialty is British history, and I think he and Miss Gordon would have quite a lot to talk about. While there are many good teachers, she would definitely teach circles around some of the professors here. I think I’m taking the lead in all my courses, naturally. There is a fellow who is vying for the top of the class, but you know I’ll surpass him. And there are some girls, too, but it isn’t as much fun as competing with you.
There was certainly no one vying for the top of the class in Mr. Mustard’s classroom. She would give anything for one of Nate’s notes slipped into her French book. She envied those girls who had been allowed to go to college, who somehow found the financial support they needed to go. How was it that these girls could go to college, but Maud couldn’t even get her father to buy a copy of Evangeline!
Nate went on to discuss the many athletic pursuits and classical studies he had undertaken, including theology. He didn’t want to be a minister, but since Acadia was a Baptist college, all students were required to take it.
Pussy sat up and arched his back, and she absently stroked his fur.
“I am going to write him a long letter and tell him about all of the things I am learning,” she said to Pussy, who hopped off the bed and left her to her correspondence. “I will not be left behind.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
With a renewed sense of ambition, Maud returned to her daily reading and writing schedule, even though it meant less sleep, as she had to get up early in the morning with Katie. She focused on that far-off goal, that alpine path. Her headaches subsided.
If Mrs. Montgomery’s sniping or Mr. Mustard’s attention got too much, Maud would open the old notebook where she had copied the poem in the front and read it. It reminded her that she had come here with expectations, and while she had been disappointed, the only way she was going to succeed was relying on herself. But focusing on education meant getting more serious in the classroom again, and she didn’t want to give Mr. Mustard the wrong idea by suddenly applying herself to her studies. Her sights were definitely not set upon him!
Maud was a little cheered by the fact that she had finally turned sixteen and was able to wear her hair up again. Father had tried to make Maud’s birthday a grand event, inviting the McTaggarts and some people from the church to the house to celebrate, but at the last minute, Mrs. Montgomery decided not to appear, pleading a bad headache. This turned out to be the perfect gift for Maud: celebrating without having to worry about her stepmother’s negativity.
Laura and Will came and gave her a card and some candies from Andrew Agnew’s father’s store. Andrew was a tall man in his twenties with glossy black hair, dark eyes, and serious intelligence—and he was completely smitten with Laura. He had also served during the Riel Rebellion, helping the women and children to the safe house. And he smoked, which Maud thought was completely scandalous, but Laura found intriguing. There were also gifts from Cavendish: lace and gum from Pensie, and a luscious long letter from Mollie. Afterwards, Maud went to Southview and dug out Mother’s Commonplace Book, reading over the pages she had written the night before she left Cavendish.
A week after her birthday, Maud went downstairs for breakfast before church, though she would have preferred to stay in bed, given the damp drafts of December. Mr. Mustard had shown up the previous evening for another visit and she had been forced to entertain him on her own, since Father and Mrs. Montgomery were out.
Maud was exhausted, but it was Sunday, and woe betide the girl who didn’t go to Sunday School.
Mrs. Montgomery was preparing breakfast while Katie was on the floor chasing Pussy. Father came in with the previous night’s mail, carrying a few copies of the Charlottetown Patriot. Over the past few weeks, she had continued to check for her poem, getting more and more disappointed, but with her newfound resolve, Maud had to take the chance. She seized the paper and, with a beating heart and trembling fingers, opened it.
“My goodness, aren’t we anxious?” Mrs. Montgomery said. But Maud ignored her, scanning and crumpling each page.
“Are you all right?” Father asked.
The letters danced dizzily. There it was, in one of the columns. Her poem!
On Cape Le Force.
[A legend of the early days of Prince Edward Island]
Lucy Maud Montgomery
The whole room pulsed with light. After a grueling month of endless rain, perhaps the sun was finally coming out.
Her name in print. She’d never seen such a lovely sight.
“Maud, what is in the paper? You look like Pussy when he’s caught a mouse,” Father said.
Still shaking, Maud handed him the paper. Would he be proud of her? Maud didn’t know what Father thought of women writers. Maybe he would think her too daring.
Father frowned, reading quickly. Slowly he began to smile, and then let out a wild “Hurrah!” He grabbed Maud and swung her around, kissing both cheeks. “Well done, Maudie!” Mrs. Montgomery cleared her throat, looking quite appalled at her husband’s exuberant behavior, but he waved her off. “How incredible! My Maudie—Maud—in the paper.”
Maud laughed, holding back the tears she was sure would come. Her Father was proud of her. “I didn’t want anyone to know in case it wasn’t published,” she managed to say.
“I would say this is a cause for celebration. Don’t you think so, Mary Ann?”
“It is certainly…something,” Mrs. Montgomery said. “But you don’t want to be late for Sunday School, Maud.”
Father rubbed his hand through his hair. “No, that’s true. We’ll celebrate this evening!”
Not even Mrs. Montgomery could ruin this moment for her. Grabbing her Bible and the newspaper, Maud floated to church.