The Misadventures of Maude March Read online

  I had never felt such an appreciation for Aunt Ruthie. I understood now; she didn't smile much, but she never used us either. Whatever we did, she did just as much.

  “Maybe we should get ourselves taken in by someone who doesn't have so much work to do,” I said.

  “And maybe we'll get taken in by someone worse,” Maude said with a dark look on her face. “They could have separated us.”

  So maybe I shouldn't have held it against the Peasleys that they made good use of us. But I did hold it against them.

  I went in to make up the little children's cots one morning and found they had been, without ever saying one word to us, covered over in Aunt Ruthie's quilts. Worse, these were not her everyday quilts, but the ones that had taken blue ribbons at the fair. I finished my chores with my lips atremble.

  When Mrs. Peasley went out for a minute, I brought Maude to have a look. The matter was not lost on her. “She kept those in her cedar chest at the foot of her bed,” she said. “They're going through all her things.”

  “What are we going to say?” I asked her.

  “Nothing,” Maude said.

  It got to the point where Reverend Peasley would smile on me, and I would turn an upside-down smile with lots of teeth back at him. He'd look at me like his eyes couldn't be trusted and make a deliberate smile. “Sallie? You don't look like yourself. Sallie?”

  And I would smile back just as nice as you please.

  I hoped to wreck his mind.

  It surprised all of us, I think, when the Toleridge boy tried calling on Maude. That is, he would call, and she would shut the door in his face, refusing to see him.

  The reverend wondered if Maude felt it was too soon after Aunt Ruthie's death to think about marriage. He cleared his throat, then said, “Not that I would have you rush into anything, Miss Maude. But there is the matter of your house. The Toleridge boy…”

  Had enough money to buy it back from the bank. Or his family did. That's what Reverend Peasley was too particular to say.

  “I don't like the Toleridge boy,” Maude told Reverend Peasley. At this, Mrs. Peasley's mouth pinched up like she was sucking on a lemon drop.

  “He never was nice to dogs or cats or even little children in the schoolyard,” Maude went on saying. “He couldn't be trusted. I would never think of marrying the likes of him.”

  “Maude, I thought you would do anything to get the house back,” I said to her that night. We did most of our talking in the dark, in the few minutes between blowing out our candle and falling asleep.

  “I thought so too,” she said. “But that boy is too big a dose of 'anything' for me.”

  “Do you still want the house back?” I asked her, wondering if there weren't some things she'd still want from it. Maude was sentimental that way.

  “I do,” she whispered. “I want it something terrible. I want Aunt Ruthie too.”

  I think it soured the reverend on us a little when Maude turned away the Toleridge boy. I'm not sure why. I only know he started to take a firm tone with us.

  About that time, Mr. Wilburn took to coming to dinner every Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday evening. At first he brought small gifts to Mrs. Peasley. Then he began bringing them to Maude. An embroidered case for her scissors. A silver thimble. A comb for her hair.

  Mr. Wilburn was a grandfatherly sort of man, and I was still of an age when I thought I might like to have a grandfather. Especially one who brought me his already-been-read-twice dime novels, like Mr. Wilburn did, once he learned I liked them. He spared them out, one each week, which was fine by me; it made a Christmas of every Friday evening.

  It took Maude till October to figure out that Mr. Wilburn was sweet on her. “I could never marry that old man,” Maude said to me. “Why, he could be our grandfather.”

  I was sorry to have to be the one to say it, but Maude didn't have all that many charms. Not the kind men are said to go for. Maude was good, she was honest and true. But she was plain. Wren brown hair, ordinary brown eyes, and stick thin from neck to foot. It wasn't likely many others were going to come calling.

  “Just be nice to him,” I said.

  Meanwhile, the leaves on the trees had turned yellow and orange and began to fall. The Peasleys were getting fewer and fewer pats on the back for having taken us in. The church ladies had begun to be sorry they hadn't taken us in themselves.

  “Those five Peasley children must be a handful for you to look after,” one of them said to me.

  “They're all right,” I said. “They're just little, is all.”

  I overheard another of them saying, “Mrs. Peasley used to pay me a little to bake bread, as well as all those cakes and pies.” I gathered she was feeling the crimp in her coin purse now that Maude was doing the baking.

  “We're working harder here than we did at home, with Aunt Ruthie driving us like sled dogs,” I said to Maude as we cleaned up after a Sunday dinner.

  “What kind of dogs?”

  I'd read about sled dogs in Wild Woolly, Lost in the Yukon. There were several Wild Woolly books, I gathered, but I only had the one where Wild Woolly was lost, possibly to die out there in the blinding snowstorm the book left off with. It occurred to me that Mr. Wilburn might have the means to get the other books from somewhere. I desperately wanted to know what happened to Wild Woolly.

  I remembered Mr. Wilburn had recently brought Maude a box of writing paper with little flowers painted in the corners of the pages. She had no one to write to, but the paper was so pretty Maude got a little misty at the surprise of it. I wondered if maybe she was softening a little in her opinion of him.

  “Unless you get married, we don't have anything to look forward to but working for room and board in this house,” I said.

  “If you like him so much,” Maude said, “you marry him.”

  “I can't marry him, I'm only twelve years old.”

  “You're eleven, and you can't expect me to marry him either.”

  DO YOU REMEMBER UNCLE ARLEN?” I ASKED MAUDE ONE night before we went to sleep.

  “I remember he sang songs. He used to dance with Momma because Daddy couldn't dance at all.” She stopped there, but I only gave her the look of, and what else? So she dredged her memory and came up with a little more.

  “I think he was pretty for a man, but maybe he was only young. I was nine, after all, so I never gave these things much thought.”

  “You must remember more than that.”

  “He put sugar in our milk until Aunt Ruthie put a stop to that. He was around the house quite a bit, but maybe he lived somewhere else.” She thought for a minute, then said, “That's about it. Not much, I know.”

  She was right; it wasn't nearly enough.

  Even so, I said, “Maybe we ought to try to find him.” I fully expected Maude to shoot that idea down. To my surprise, she looked at me like this was the first good idea she'd heard. The next morning, she brought the subject up with Reverend Peasley.

  He laughed right out loud. “I can assure you that your uncle wasn't the kind to survive out west. His nose ran all the time. We gave him quite a hard time about it in the school-yard, as I remember.”

  He seemed to me to remember this very fondly. I had a sudden picture of the Toleridge boy come to mind.

  “Where was he headed? Independence?” Mrs. Peasley said, like she was trying to remember something funny she'd heard. “ 'To ride the tail of the Oregon Trail.' He didn't even have a wagon, did he?”

  “One mule,” Reverend Peasley said in the unmistakable tone of, and good riddance.

  “How far to Independence?” I asked. Independence was beginning to sound real good to me.

  “It must be three hundred miles,” he said, “maybe more.”

  “How long would it take to get there on a mule?” Maude asked.

  “Weeks,” said Reverend Peasley. “Far longer, walking.”

  “I thought you said he had a mule,” I said.

  “The mule carried supplies,” Reverend Peasley said. “
Your uncle walked.”

  “Here, let's stop talking about this,” Mrs. Peasley said suddenly. “Independence is no place for young ladies to set their sights for.”

  “I suppose not,” Maude said, and even Reverend Peasley heard the disappointment in her tone.

  “He never was the kind to listen to good advice either,” the reverend said, beefing up his argument. “He didn't do any planning; just one minute he was doing a little smithing, and the next minute he fancied he could set down his anvil out there in Independence and get to be a rich man. He didn't even leave here with enough food to take him that far.”

  The reverend allowed Maude to chew on this idea for a moment before he added, “I doubt he got ninety miles before he died of something.”

  This information might have bothered some. It appeared to bother Maude. But I liked the sound of Uncle Arlen even more than I had liked the idea of him. He sounded like a man of action. I figured I took after him in that way, although it caused me to be thought of as troublesome.

  “Uncle Arlen sounds like Joe Harden, as true a hero as I have ever heard of,” I said, much to the enjoyment of the Peasley boys. Grins spread over their faces, and there was a great deal of jostling, at least until Maude gave one of them a swift kick.

  She knew better than to kick hard, but she put a stop to the fooling around. On the whole, the Peasleys tended to be in favor of letting Maude handle their boys.

  Mrs. Peasley said, “It would be an imposition on the man even if you did find him. He certainly couldn't know a thing about raising girls.”

  Maude said, “I don't need raising anymore, and I can take care of what raising my sister needs.”

  This was as outspoken as they had ever heard her to be. I was proud of her. But I saw, too, that it unsettled the Peasleys. It had never occurred to Reverend Peasley that Maude might have some backbone.

  The very next evening, at Friday night supper, Mr. Wilburn made his move. “I've bought a wedding gift,” he said, “for the gal I'm going to ask to be my bride.” With those words, he pulled a sheaf of papers, tied with a ribbon, from the inside pocket of his coat.

  I'd noticed the thickness there, but I thought he carried a dime novel for me. There was a new issue of Joe Harden, Frontier Fighter due to come out. I wanted to know what kind of exploits had gotten Aunt Ruthie killed.

  Mr. Wilburn showed us the papers he'd signed for the purchase of our house. The reverend and his wife looked so surprised, I knew they had nothing to do with it. I only hoped Maude wouldn't think I had put him up to it.

  In fact, Maude said nothing at first. She panted a little, like a dog. She didn't touch the papers when he held them out to her.

  It must've occurred to Mr. Wilburn that his gift might not be enough. Possibly he'd come prepared with the speech he made: “I know you come from a long line of kin who die young, and I'm right sorry for that. But I figger we're a good match, 'cause I ain't going to last forever neither.”

  Maude's face was writ with regret and sorrow and gratefulness; I saw all that and I reckon everybody else at the table did too. But she couldn't say a word. It was like the breath had been snatched from her chest and she was fighting to get it back.

  “You'd like to be mistress of your own house, now, wouldn't you?” Mr. Wilburn asked.

  The pressure was on.

  Maude still hadn't said a word. She only stared at the pages he held in front of her, her face all flushed and sweaty.

  Mrs. Peasley laughed nervously and said, “This is more than she could have hoped for.” The reverend chimed in with, “She's been struck dumb with the joy of it.”

  “Maudie?” Mr. Wilburn said.

  She begged me with a look to say something, to say the right thing. I didn't open my mouth, though, because I couldn't trust myself to say the right thing for Maude. I shook my head.

  Mr. Wilburn touched the papers to her hand. Maude seemed to give up on me then. Something behind her eyes broke away, making me wish I had spoken up. But still I couldn't, because what was right for me was wrong, so wrong for Maude, I saw that now.

  “My house,” she whispered, and two fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

  I knew then why she had gone all around the house touching things she couldn't take with her. She loved it. She had known our parents, and unlike me, she could remember them there.

  Mr. Wilburn had bought Maude's only home, and now he was asking her if she wanted him to sell it to her.

  Maude herself was the asking price.

  YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE RUN OFF FROM THE TABLE, Maude,” I told her when I found her buried under the covers in our bed. “You never told him a proper no.”

  “What are you saying?” she asked, lifting the pillow off her head.

  “That he thinks you'll marry him.”

  “No!”

  “That's what you should have said at the table.”

  “I know it,” Maude said. “What did the Peasleys tell him?” “That it was too much all at once: the house and the marriage proposal. To come back tomorrow, when the joy of it all will have worn off some and you'll be able to speak for yourself.”

  “Why do they want me to marry him?” Maude said. “Don't they like me? Don't I work hard enough?”

  “They can't have the church ladies wondering if, between the two of us giving her a hand, Mrs. Peasley has to do anything at all.”

  Light dawned in Maude's eyes.

  But before I could tell her the worst of it, that the Peasleys wanted her married off but planned to keep me there—“You don't need to worry, Sallie, dear,” Mrs. Peasley had said to me before I was excused from the table. “I could never part with both of you”—the Peasleys knocked on the bedroom door and came on in.

  “You've embarrassed us in front of a guest, Maude,” the reverend said. His very tone was so grave as to make me feel like we'd had another death in the family.

  Mrs. Peasley's mouth was drawn up like a drawstring purse, but she loosened it just enough to say, “Mr. Wilburn will be joining us after services tomorrow. You will tell him you are honored to be his wife.”

  “Oh, no,” Maude cried, “I could never—”

  “We can put off the wedding for perhaps six months,” Mrs. Peasley said, like she was doing Maude a kindness, “even a year. To give you time to get used to the idea.”

  Unless I missed my guess, bread-baking lessons were in my near future. “I'm going to live with Maude after she's married,” I told them.

  “Oh, now that is just a poor idea,” Mrs. Peasley said to me.

  “That's what we do in our family,” I said.

  “You're part of our family now,” Mrs. Peasley said more firmly. “I can't allow it, Sallie, dear. It's hard enough to get a marriage off on the right foot without a live-in relative to muddy the waters.”

  I wanted to tell them I'd show them some muddy water, but I decided to do like Maude, who had gone very still. Everything was out in the open now, clear as a sheet of glass, and the facts were indeed ugly enough to take the breath away.

  We sat quiet for a good five minutes once the Peasleys went back downstairs. Even though Mrs. Peasley did mention she could use a hand in the kitchen now that supper was done with.

  Maude knew as well as I did, Mrs. Peasley wouldn't lift a hand to do the dishes. She'd taken to having a tiny bit of something in a glass after dinner, sitting in the parlor with the reverend. They looked like they were playing king and queen.

  I hatched several plans for revenge. Those Peasleys would rue the day they asked me to wax the pews. Or bake a pie. Or bathe their children. I knew I couldn't bring myself to drown one, but a little soap in the eyes never killed anybody. Mrs. Peasley tended to be real anxious about soap in the eyes.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked when it came clear that Maude must have hatched a few plans of her own. She was up and moving about the room.

  “I'm running off,” she said.

  “Maude!” She had never been so daring. “When?”

&nbs
p; “Tonight,” she said like I'd grown stupid. “Didn't you hear them? They want me to tell that man I'll marry him.”

  “They won't marry you off tomorrow,” I said.

  “I can't tell him I'll marry him and then run off,” Maude said. “If he really cares for me, that would be cruel.”

  “Are you telling me you want to leave tonight to spare Mr. Wilburn's feelings?”

  “However much they can be spared,” Maude said, “yes. If I leave tonight, I'll look ungrateful. But if I lie to the man to buy myself a few more nights of sleeping in a warm bed, he looks like a fool. I can't do that to him, Sallie, even if for no better reason than he was kind enough to bring my little sister a handful of dime novels.”

  If she was hoping to make me ashamed of myself, she was barking up the wrong tree. I didn't twist Mr. Wilburn's arm to bring me those books. He'd only done it to soften up Maude. Aunt Ruthie wouldn't have apologized for me, and neither would I.

  “Just put him off for a little while,” I said. “We have to make plans.” This was true; we'd starve or freeze to death if we didn't make preparations. Anyone who read Wild Woolly knew that.

  Apart from that, I admit to wanting mostly to ruin at least one batch of bread, to burn some pies, to oil those pews so heavily no one could sit on them for a month of Sundays. I said, “Maybe we could pretend you have a little fever to buy ourselves some time.”

  “I can't take you with me, Sallie.”

  IT ISN'T SAFE FOR GIRLS OUT WEST,” SHE SAID. “IT'S NOT kindly even to men. And winter's coming on…”

  Like a picture flew from her mind to mine, I saw her sitting frozen to her horse in the middle of the plains. I said, “I can't take it, Maude, never knowing what happens to you. I'd rather die frozen to my horse.”

  “You don't have a horse,” she said, getting mad, “and neither do I.”