Maud did lose herself in Grandfather’s retelling of “Cape LeForce,” which he often did during family gatherings. He might be a bit gruff, but Grandfather could spin a story so well that he transported everyone to the old shores of the Island a century ago, when the murderous French pirates brawled over their prized gold. She planned to try her own version of the old Island tale one day.
Maud had written about all of this in her journal during her morning writing ritual, before she started her letter to Nate. Similar to Jo March in Little Women, Maud imagined herself writing sweeping epics and articles for newspapers, or traveling to the great cities of the world, and making something of herself. She would be independent, no longer relying upon her family—people such as her Uncle John Franklin—and having to worry about what they thought of her.
Sometimes Maud would write about the weather, practicing the various ways one could describe the wind. Other times she confided certain feelings, feelings she dared not share with anyone. Feelings about being sent away, or how angry she got sometimes at her grandparents.
They didn’t understand that she needed to become independent, and that that meant getting a good education. Unless you wanted to be in service, the only respectable option for young women was to teach. While Maud’s grandparents believed in education, the only person in the family who was sent to college was her mother’s oldest brother, Uncle Leander George, now a minister in New Brunswick. It was clear in her family; higher education was for boys only. Maud was sure there was no expectation she would go to college. Her “scribbling” was barely tolerated.
And, after the Izzie Robinson catastrophe six months ago, it was easier to dream than to convince Grandfather it was worthwhile educating girls. Maybe if she was good in school and showed him what she could do he would change his mind.
“Maud.” Grandma opened the old wooden door, wearing her starched, drab-gray dress and crisp white apron. Maud put her pencil down. “You were scribbling again, weren’t you?” She sighed. “You’re going to be late.”
“I was just finishing,” Maud said. Grandma shut the door. Closing her journal, Maud stood up and straightened her new green dress, trying to ignore how small the bustle was. When Maud had returned from her Campbell cousins’ home last week, Grandma inspected Maud’s old calico dress—which had almost reached her knees—and declared there was no way a granddaughter of hers would be wearing a dress that looked like something you wore on dusting day. They had spent the last few days making clothes “practical,” meaning only a slight bustle no one could even detect.
Hugging her journal to her chest, Maud walked over to the oak bedside table and safely tucked it underneath a pile of linens in the drawer, locking it shut. Her parents’ photos sat on top. Mother was wearing a beautiful lace bodice, her light brown hair piled high in a luscious braid. Maud wondered what her Mother had been thinking then. She would have understood Maud’s desire for a dress with a grand bustle.
She read over the note she had written that morning:
Dear Snip,
I can only imagine the sort of trouble you mean, but I shall endeavor to stay out of it.
Sincerely,
Pollie
As Maud placed it inside her copy of Little Women and put the book in her school satchel, she had a daring idea. Maybe she would inspire Nate to read her favorite novel with her note!
Surveying herself in the mirror one last time, she finished by putting on the gold ring Aunt Annie had given to her on her twelfth birthday and went to join her grandmother in the kitchen.
CHAPTER FOUR
Maud and Lu met Mollie at the bottom of the lane, which was across the road from Maud’s grandparents’ farm. Maud was sorry Lu was there because she really wanted to tell Mollie about her conversation with Nate at the cemetery, the contents of his letter—and her rather daring response.
“I’m so glad you’re home.” Mollie wrapped her arms around Maud and gave her a hug so tight she had to keep her hat from falling. “It was like this summer had no sun with you gone.”
“There were so many nights where I wished you were with me.” Maud sighed.
“I had to sit with Mamie,” Mollie said. “And that meant having to contend with Clemmie Macneill. And she and Mamie are tight as ever.”
Clemmie and Maud had been friends once. While Maud was cautious of the girl’s friendship at first, Clemmie seemed interested in Maud’s poems and stories, and Maud appreciated anyone who showed interest in her writing. But after Nate and Maud discovered their mutual love of literature, and Jack and Mollie joined in to make a foursome, Clemmie stopped talking to her. And when she did talk to Maud, she was cruel. Maud refused to admit the betrayal still smarted.
“How dreadful,” Maud said. “I wonder if she is speaking to Annie or if they are having one of their fights.” Annie was Clemmie’s best friend and—depending upon the weather—her rival.
“They were speaking when I last saw them, but with those two you never know. They’re as fickle as my brother, Hammie, when choosing fishing bait.” Sometimes Mollie’s metaphors made sense, sometimes they didn’t.
“It would be easier if you were all friendly,” Lu said, stumbling over some red stones while trying to catch up with them.
“Why do you care?” Mollie asked.
Lu sniffed. “I don’t want any more trouble. For you, I mean, Maud.”
Maud didn’t either, but she also didn’t need her cousin reminding her of what had happened.
“If we’re any later, we’re going to miss all of the news,” Mollie said.
“And we can’t have that.” Maud laughed. Mollie prided herself on always knowing the latest gossip. When Maud was away, Mollie had sent her fat letters detailing “all the news” so Maud wouldn’t miss a thing.
The new one-room schoolhouse—built within the last five years—stood on the edge of the road, arched by trees. The sun shone through the leaves, giving the school a halo glow and warming Maud’s itchy nerves.
“Yes,” Mollie said, pointing to three schoolmates all made up with frills and curls. “Those three are as tight as Mother’s quilting stitches.”
Maud ignored the small pang when she saw Clemmie—whose mother certainly didn’t subscribe to Grandma’s philosophy of a discreet bustle—Mamie, and a spoiled, puffed, frilly-sleeved thing named Annie.
“Oh, look, there’s Snip and Snap!” Mollie said, pointing to Nate and Jack. Finally, the Four Musketeers were reunited.
“I’ll see you later, Maud,” Lu said, walking on ahead to some girls her own age playing in the clearing.
“What do you think, Pollie?” Mollie whispered. “Do you think Nate will be your nine stars?”