Chapter Twelve #2
Julia and Maudie were tall for their age (though Maudie was sturdy, and Julia lithe), but even Ruthie was at least two inches taller than the newcomer.
Despite her diminutive stature, bow-shaped mouth, and small nose sprinkled with freckles, Louisa was quite striking.
There was a suggestion of maturity in her face, a placidity in her expression, and eyes that seemed to take everything in.
Anna had told the girls that Louisa had been “very quiet since her mother died,” and that she hoped they would be understanding. She introduced each girl in turn, and Louisa nodded soberly in response.
“Now, girls, Louisa might not wish to speak at present,” Anna reminded them.
Maudie shook her head. “Oh, she doesn’t have to speak,” she said earnestly.
“That’s right, because we talk a lot,” Julia added. “Will you play with us, Louisa? We were kidnapped and got away, but now we’re on a deserted island. You can be Mute Mary, and then you don’t have to say anything at all.”
Louisa paused for an instant, then shrugged.
Julia, never one to test the ground before advancing, simply took Louisa’s hand and led her up from the beach to the clearing, explaining where the game had left off.
Maudie and Ruthie followed in their wake, and Anna and Mr. Lockwood brought up the rear.
As soon as the girls were out of sight, Mr. Lockwood looked at Anna and began to laugh.
Anna smiled. “Did something in particular tickle your funny bone?”
Mr. Lockwood held up his hands, as if helpless. “Where do I begin? The notion that talk is measured collectively and quantitatively?”
Now Anna chuckled, too. “Also that Louisa need not worry, as there is sufficient supply. Which, by the way, is probably true.”
“And ‘Mute Mary’?”
“She left before you could learn the rest of their names. Julia is the Red Rajah, Maudie is Captain Joker, and Ruthie is Selena, the nurse. Selena is also a princess, but she does not know that yet. It is a shame they were kidnapped, as their boat was ‘as staunch and pretty a craft as ever sailed the blue waters.’”
“Eugenia clearly knew her business, bringing Louisa here,” Mr. Lockwood said.
Anna walked him around the clearing, pointing out the various paths that the girls used and explaining where they led.
The tour ended at the lean-to where two willow lawn chairs were stowed.
Duncan had brought them, along with cotton duck cushions his wife, Mary, had sewn, when Anna finally admitted that it was uncomfortable to sit on the ground for hours.
Mr. Lockwood carried the chairs to the elm tree on the edge of the clearing.
While careful not to reveal anything she had adapted for use in Liberty Island, Anna regaled him with stories about Jumaru.
Mr. Lockwood was gratifyingly amused. He had been teaching for two years at Wendover, a boarding school for boys in New Hampshire, and had his own store of anecdotes to offer.
By the time Duncan came to pick them up, Anna felt she had managed things well with Mr. Lockwood. She could enjoy his company, and if they were to be thrown together for all these hours, at least his charm made the time go faster.
On Friday, they heard Louisa’s voice for the first time.
There had been fog that morning—not enough to keep them from going to Jumaru, but damp and brooding enough to inspire Julia to concoct a game of detective. They had been standing around for a while, struggling to come up with a name for the criminal.
“Call him Split Ear,” Louisa said.
Julia, Maudie, and Ruthie had been admirably nonchalant about Louisa’s muteness, and while they looked surprised for an instant that she had finally spoken, they recovered quickly.
“That’s a great name, Louisa,” Julia said. “His ear is split open?”
“A dog bit him when he was trying to rob the grocery store,” Louisa explained.
Though more of a listener than a talker, from that moment on, Louisa did not hesitate to speak when addressed, or if she had something to add to the proceedings.
Her contributions were usually in the form of colorful characters, which it emerged were drawn not from her imagination but from her neighborhood.
To their games, Louisa introduced a policeman known by local lawbreakers as “The Ghost,” for his ability to appear out of nowhere; “Sally Stunner,” a table girl at the corner saloon; and “Smoosh the Peddler,” who sold oranges and knew all the neighborhood gossip.
The next day, when they returned from Jumaru, the girls stopped by the harbormaster’s office to introduce Louisa to Domino.
Mr. Phillips cheerfully let the brute out to play for a while.
When they brought him back, Mr. Phillips, who also handled all the mail for Haven Point, was thumbing through envelopes.
“You know,” he said, peering at the boxes and sliding an envelope into one of them, “they say there’s treasure buried on some of these islands.”
Julia’s eyes flew open. “Really?”
He nodded, still sorting through mail. “Captain Kidd supposedly buried some treasure on Jewell Island, but they’ve never found it. But lots of other pirates roamed these waters, too. Who knows what’s out there?”
In Julia’s fertile imagination, possible treasure on some Casco Bay island quickly became actual treasure on Gunnison Island, and absolute certainty that they would find it. The next day, at Julia’s request, Duncan brought shovels in the boat so the girls could get to digging.
“They think there was a farm on the island once,” Duncan said, as he motored them to the island. Julia was rapt with attention. “The big clearing where you all play was probably the field. You’ve probably seen the smaller clearing just on the other side of the trees.”
Julia nodded.
“That’s where the little house stood. There’s one more, though, you might not have gotten to yet, because I don’t think any paths lead in that direction. Suspect it was where they had some little cellar or some such. If I were a pirate, that’s where I would have hidden treasure.”
When the girls began chatting excitedly, Anna gave Duncan a reproachful look.
“Oh, it won’t do them any harm,” he said.
“All right,” Anna said with a sigh. They certainly would not find anything, and who knew how much they could even dig in this rocky soil? Duncan was right, however, that it would do no harm. Julia swung from disappointments like a weather vane in a brisk breeze.
By the time Mr. Lockwood arrived with Louisa that afternoon, the girls had found the spot, but Anna had been strictly forbidden from seeing it.
She gave Louisa a general idea of where it was, told her they had a shovel waiting, and suggested that she call out when she got close and follow the girls’ voices in.
“I am afraid we must resign ourselves to the fact that we will have no share in the booty,” Anna said to Mr. Lockwood when Louisa had run off. “Though I’m not sure they realize that we can hear every word from here.”
“Not to mention the clinking of shovels on rock,” he said with a laugh.
A few hours later, Duncan returned them all to Haven Point, the girls covered in dirt and undeterred by their lack of success. Unfortunately, William and Owen Graham were on the dock when they arrived.
William looked at Julia, disgusted. “What did you do to get so filthy?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Julia said, lifting her dirt-smudged chin. Then an idea seemed to come to her. She turned back to Duncan. “Oh, Mr. Douglas! I forgot my shovel.”
Julia had a gift for inspiring even the most honest adults to abet her schemes. Duncan feigned a look of confusion, and then began looking around, as if he did not know exactly where the shovels were, or that they were supposed to stay in the boat.
“So you did! Here it is.”
Julia took the proffered shovel, put it over her shoulder, and marched down the dock like a railroad worker, followed by Maudie, Ruthie, and Louisa, wearing similarly haughty expressions.
“What is she on about?” William scowled. He was doing his best to sound disdainful, but Anna heard a hint of reluctant interest in his tone, which worried her.
“Leave her be, William.” Anna sighed.
Even if Anna wished to tell William, Julia had sworn her to secrecy. “He’ll go dig it up himself, if he knows it’s there,” she’d said.
Last summer, the boys had accepted with complacence what Nora told them about the girls’ activities on the island.
They were convinced that the girls spent their time sketching, listening to stories, and learning to cook outdoors.
They liked having their sisters out of the way, and probably appreciated the sympathy implicit in their mothers having removed them.
William’s newfound curiosity had the potential to be very unhelpful.
The next morning, they awakened to dark clouds, and the air was heavy with the possibility of rain. Jumaru was out of the question for the day, so Anna had a leisurely breakfast. Elizabeth lingered at the table, too, reading her letters, while Anna looked over the paper.
Elizabeth opened a large envelope. “I suppose I should give you this,” she said, handing over Judith Fairchild’s latest dispatch.
Anna glanced at it and felt a twinge of anxiety, but Elizabeth certainly did not expect her to read it on the spot (if at all).
Anna smiled, set it aside, waited for her sister to leave the table, then picked it up again.
Anna had been prepared for Liberty Island to appear on the “Books to Avoid” list, and since it was selling well and “Miss Crane” was a new author, she knew Judith might mention it in the letter that always appeared on the first page of Our Daughters’ Reading.
She was dismayed, however, to see just how much attention Mrs. Fairchild had given it.
Dear Christian Mothers,
I take great comfort in the pains so many of you are taking to choose reading materials that teach your girls to be noble, gentle, and self-sacrificing.
My regular book recommendations and warnings appear on the back pages, but I would like to highlight one book from the latter category: “Liberty Island,” by a new author, Miss Crane, which is a pernicious example of all the damaging trends in girls’ fiction.
The four girls in this book deceive their guardian in order to spend weeks on an island, unchaperoned. Far from using their deceit as a foundation for a moral lesson, the author celebrates it!
Rather than helping girls joyfully anticipate the day when they reign as moral guardians of their own homes, this is the sort of book that makes that great privilege seem like a punishment.
In addition, the pacing is unhealthily stimulating and will exploit girls’ temperaments, which tend toward the ardent.
I fear many girls will be clamoring for a copy, but I urge my readers in the strongest possible terms to ensure that “Liberty Island” does not get into their daughters’ hands.
Though Anna knew this would please her publisher, it made her feel acutely uncomfortable. That was nothing, however, next to how she felt when she turned the page and read the closing paragraph.
“Liberty Island” is published by Fanning and Scott, which has published my sister-in-law’s books for decades.
Mrs. Howland is so revolted by “Liberty Island,” she has informed them that they will no longer have that privilege.
If nothing else will persuade mothers to keep this book away from their daughters, surely the actions of this good Christian woman will!
Anna’s mind reeled. Mrs. Howland is Judith’s sister-in-law?
She must be the late Mr. Fairchild’s sister.
But then Anna recalled Lillian’s birthday lunch two years ago, when Serena asked about books for Ruthie.
And when she’s a bit older, I naturally recommend Mrs. Howland’s books …
Anna had found it odd at the time—“Naturally”? —but it made perfect sense now.
She could only pray that Mrs. Howland was not overly curious about the identity of Miss Crane.