“Oh, Laura!” Maud grabbed her arm. “I had no way of refusing him. For once my parents were home, so I had no excuse.”
“You could refuse,” Laura said.
Maud supposed Laura was right, but she had no idea how, not when Mr. Mustard was apparently oblivious to ordinary social decorum.
“He came by and asked if we could go for a walk. And, Laura, he had flowers! As though he was trying to be a romantic hero.”
“Flowers.” Laura laughed. “Oh, dear. That does sound serious.”
“There was no way I wanted anyone to see us, but we bumped into Aunt Kennedy and Mrs. Stovel, who nodded to me as if she knew of Mr. Mustard’s intentions. You know how she does that. Laura, don’t laugh. It was terrible. You would think that my spending the whole walk ripping one flower petal after the other would offend him, but it hasn’t deterred him in the slightest.”
“Maud, for such a dreadful situation, you do have a talent for finding the humor in it,” Laura said, laughing. “I’m sorry, my darling, but it is true. You are quite funny.”
Later that night, Maud was thinking about what Laura had said as she reread some of her writing and passages in her journal. There were indeed some amusing moments and anecdotes, particularly when the pathetic Mr. Mustard was involved. It had been fun writing him as a fool; Maud felt that it gave him less power over her. She remembered something Miss Gordon had said about humor when they’d been writing their compositions, about how certain writers used satire as a way for us to laugh at ourselves, but also to show the truth.
Perhaps Laura was right. The power lay in the laugh itself. If she could use humor to persuade the Prince Albert Times’s readers to laugh at how they believed things to be, at their own preconceived notions, perhaps she could at least show some of the hidden truths.
—
Maud worked hard on the piece for the next few days, grateful to have something to distract her from thinking about how much she missed Will. When he returned home the following week, he accompanied Maud to the convent school to see Laura’s art show. Maud had seen Laura’s art before, but viewing it hanging on the wall among her classmates’ work, she understood how good her friend really was. When Maud suggested that Laura continue her artistic studies, she reached up and touched the edge of her painting and said that her father had decided it was time for her to stay home and help her mother.
“It was never a real choice for me,” Laura dropped her head to the side as if to surrender. “I will probably marry Andrew, or someone similar. I’ll have children and be content. I don’t have the same ambition as you, Maud.”
Maud was deeply disappointed that her friend wouldn’t fight for her art, but she also understood. She remembered Miss Gordon’s words about the difficult road that lay ahead for any woman who wanted a career. It took a special kind of determination, one that she knew she had.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
On July 1, Dominion Day, Maud watched men lay down the cornerstone of the new Presbyterian Church and wondered if a person could be homesick for the future. It was odd to think that she wouldn’t be here to see the church completed. It was warm, but not too humid, with a lovely breeze floating off the river. Everyone stood around in a semicircle, the sky was clear blue, and the world glowed green. There was a ceremony marking the laying of the first stone of the new church in the morning, and in the afternoon, there would be Dominion Day activities at the fairgrounds up the hill nearby that included horse racing.
Grandma had finally replied to her letter the week before, giving Maud permission to come home. Maud scarcely dared to dream about seeing her dear friends and Cavendish again. Maybe even returning to school. But the idea that she might never see Laura and Will again, and having to leave Father, made her feel cold. When she told Laura and Will about Grandma’s letter, Laura made her promise to ask Father for permission to go to Laurel Hill—as there was no time to lose.
The question now was when would she leave Prince Albert. Grandpa Montgomery wasn’t sure when he could leave Ottawa; Prime Minister Macdonald had just died, throwing the Parliament into chaos. It was strange to think how Maud had been traveling with him less than a year ago and now he was dead.
Maud pushed these thoughts away and focused on the present. The stone was laid, and now the townspeople all stood together, as Mr. Maveety had hired a photographer to commemorate the event. Maud stood between Laura and Alexena, with all of the townspeople around them. She was here, among these good people, to see something begin, and she thought how strange that there was joy and sadness in beginnings, as with endings.
After the stone ceremony, Maud waited until Father was alone to ask him if she could go to Laurel Hill for a few days. Father placed his hand on her arm and kissed her forehead, whispering, “I think we can spare you. We’re going to have to soon enough.”
She knew Father wasn’t trying to be harsh, but the words still burned. Why could they spare her? Why couldn’t they need her more? Why couldn’t they love her?
—
When Maud returned home after the day’s festivities, Mrs. Montgomery and Father departed quickly, as they were meeting the McTaggarts at the lodge, leaving her behind with the babies—and also, as she learned later, with her fate.
There was a knock at the door, and Maud knew exactly who it was. She hadn’t seen him at the fairgrounds; he was probably too proper for such frivolities. As she had been trained, Maud brought the man into her parlor and offered him tea—which he, as usual, declined.
Maud sat down on the farthest corner of the yellow couch, rocking a snoozing Bruce and focusing on his perfect eyelashes. Mr. Mustard perched himself at attention on the other end. A tiny piece of yellow yarn from a booty Maud had been knitting had fallen on the carpet. She stared at it, noting the way it twisted in on itself.
Save for Mr. Mustard’s sniffing, the silence between them was awkward, giving Maud a familiar creepy-crawly feeling.
Mr. Mustard cleared his throat and sniffed. “Miss Montgomery, I have”—sniff—“immeasurably enjoyed our time together.” Sniff, sniff. “Do you think, Miss Montgomery, that our acquaintance could ever become something”—sniff—“deeper?”
That creepy-crawly feeling fluttered across the back of her neck and she shivered. He had finally mustered the courage. She had to give him that.
Staring at the twisted yellow string, Maud said in the most normal voice she could manage, “Mr. Mustard, you flatter me with your attentions, but I really don’t see what else can develop.”
“You don’t?” He actually appeared surprised. Sad.
Just then the front gate banged, and Mrs. McTaggart rushed in, searching for Maud’s parents.
“They were supposed to go with us to the river. Have they left yet?” she asked.