Moonlight At Mistawis - Chapter 12: Just For Tonight

Welcome to Chapter Twelve of 'Moonlight at Mistawis', my independent, unofficial sequel to L. M. Montgomery's beloved 1926 novel 'The Blue Castle'.

Olive returns once more to Mistawis, sketchbook in hand, just as spring begins to feel like summer. But when a sudden storm sweeps across the lake and makes the journey home impossible, she is faced with an alarming prospect: spending the night on the island...

You do not need to have read or listened to 'The Blue Castle' first. 'Moonlight at Mistawis' can also be enjoyed as a standalone story.

Settle in, get comfortable, and enjoy this gentle literary sleep story, read aloud by the author.

Transcript

Hello there, Thank you so much for joining me for this continued reading of Moonlight at Mystarwis, My unofficial fan-written sequel to celebrate 100 years since the publishing of The Blue Castle. The Blue Castle was published in 1926 by L. M. Montgomery. And there are various celebrations going on around the world this year to mark the centenary, A hundred years of the Blue Castle. And to my knowledge, There has never been a sequel, Although I think many of us have wondered what may have happened to these characters after the end of the Blue Castle. So this book, Moonlight at Mystarwis, Is my attempt at offering a storyline along those lines. I do hope you're enjoying this book if you've been listening along. If you haven't yet heard the preceding parts of this story and you'd like to, You can certainly look for the playlist for Moonlight at Mistawis and you'll find all of the chapters there in order. And you can also look for my playlist for The Blue Castle. Although you don't have to have listened to The Blue Castle in order to be able to enjoy this book, Moonlight at Mastawis. So before we get further into the story here, Let's just take a moment to have a nice, Deep exhale. Letting go of the day. Letting go of whichever baggage we might be bringing along with us into this moment. For right now, There's nowhere else we have to go, Nothing else we have to be doing. So we can just relax, Get ourselves comfortable and enjoy the next installment of Moonlight at Miss Star Wars. Chapter 12 just for tonight. By the last week of May, The days had shifted. Mornings opened early, With birdsong in every key, And warm breezes rustled through new leaves that gleamed like wet paint. Miss Darwis smelled of sun-warmed moss and wind-stirred cedar, With something faintly floral drifting in from the meadows. Wild columbine, Maybe? Or the first of the wild roses. The lake was no longer a glassy mirror, But a dappled sheet of blue-green, Alive with midges hovering just above the surface and the faint, Rapid flicker of mayflies in the sun. Balancy had taken to going barefoot in the afternoons, Though she still carried shoes with her when they wandered into the woods in case of brambles. She'd never known a spring to feel so thoroughly like summer. It was nearly noon when the bell rang again at the dock. Not one single tentative clang like the first time, But three small chimes in quick succession, As if someone had struck them with intentional flair. And then lost her nerve. Valancy, Threading twine through a bundle of early rhubarb, Looked up from the garden and blinked towards the lake. A small figure stood there at the far dock, Hat in hand, Blouse tucked in neatly above her walking skirt. She's back, Said Barney from the doorway of the old toolshed, Where he was wrestling with a crooked curtain rod. The place was beginning to look almost civilised now. The camp cot made up with a clean blanket, A pitcher and basin on the little shelf, And a couple of books stacked by the window. Only the curtain rod remained determinedly uncooperative. Olive stood straighter when she saw Valancy looking as though stealing herself against the ridiculousness of the whole situation. She did not wave. But she did not ring the bell again either. I'll get her, " Barney said. Balancy exhaled and rubbed one hand over her forehead. Well, Olive had come again. By the time Olive reached the porch, Valancy had washed her hands and poured two glasses of cold raspberry cordial. The sun was high and bright, And Olive's cheeks glowed with a flush that had nothing to do with social grace. Just passing through, She said, With posed casualness. Valancy and Barney exchanged a quiet smile at the patent absurdity of this comment. Olive, Unaware, Was already peeling off her gloves, Each finger freed with a little tug. Then the gloves were folded carefully and tucked into her bag, With a sigh that bordered on theatrical. You timed it well, Said Valancy. Best day we've had this week. Warmer than I expected, Olive sat down on the edge of the porch swing and took a sip of cordial. It's almost hot. It is hot, Said Valancy, Smiling. We've had the windows open since breakfast. Barney strolled by, Casually slipping a biscuit from the tin with a cheeky grin. Almost ready, He said with a wink, Then disappeared again towards the old shed. Olive looked puzzled. Almost ready! For what? Valancy gave a light laugh. And change the subject. Oh, Nothing you need to worry about. Just one of Barney's many mysterious projects. How are your parents? Olive launched into the latest goings-on at home. Her mother's church bake sale, Her father's involvement with the sailing club committee, And Various bits of small-town news, All relayed with dutiful cheer. The conversation ambled on, Easy enough, As their glasses caught the sun, And a little blue butterfly stitched unhurried loops through the warm air. Suddenly, Olive commented, Mother asked me where I'd been last time I was here, You know. I told her I'd gone to visit cousin Eleanor in Port MacAdam. She gave a small, Dry smile. She said Eleanor always talks too much and she hoped I hadn't stayed long. Valancy suppressed a grin. You were there just long enough, I'm sure. I told her I wouldn't be long this time either, Olive said seriously, Tilting her glass and watching the light slant through it. She'll likely be timing me. They lapsed into a momentary hush. The kind that wasn't quite companionable, Yet no longer quite so strained, Either. It's still a mystery, You know. Who's been helping that grey widow? " Olive said after a moment. She's still managing somehow. In that dreadful old fish packing place on South Shore Road. And with six children. Imagine! Mrs. Patterson is quite beside herself over it. Valancy made a non-committal sound, Neither inviting nor discouraging the subject. Apparently, Parcels keep on turning up. Baskets, Sacks of flour, Even fresh fish. All left at the. . . Odd hours. No one's seen a thing! Olive lowered her voice, Half disbelieving. She's convinced it's some lonely bachelor trying to atone for past sins. That startled a laugh from Valancy. Too sudden, Perhaps? Olive gave her a long, Unreadable look. There was a pause. Then, Olive said, I was wondering if. . . Valancy felt herself stiffen. Was this it? Had Olive come to fish for clues? Accused? It would be alright if. . . I. . . Sketched a little. Olive finished hesitatingly. Almost shyly. Just from here, I mean. I wouldn't get in the way. It's just. . . So. . . Pretty here, You know? The trees, The water, The shoreline. Balancy let out a soft breath of relief, So quiet it might have passed for a sigh. Oh, Of course. Olive didn't move at once. She opened her handbag with a small, Almost furtive motion. Then quietly drew out a slim sketchbook and a pencil wrapped in a bit of tissue. There was something rather self-conscious in the way she unwrapped them. Not theatrical, Just Be careful. As if half expecting someone to scold her for indulging in such nonsense. Valancy felt an odd little rush of tenderness. Last time, Olive had tucked the sketchbook away as though caught committing some kind of misdemeanour. This time, At least, It had made it out of the bag? She held the pencil with her usual delicacy. The way she might lift a teacup at a formal luncheon. Then, After a pause, She opened the sketchbook and slowly flipped past a few untouched pages. I know it's silly, Of course, " Olive said lightly, Not quite looking at Valancy. My little doodles. Who would ever want to see them? Mother says it's terribly frivolous of me to waste money on notebooks like this but the view down to the water from here. Really caught my eye last time. And I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I do hope you don't mind. I'll stay out of the way. Valancy smiled. I think it's lovely. You won't be at all in the way. Whatever Olive meant by these visits. Balancy was content to wait and see. Well, I'll leave you to it for now, She said, Rising. I must tend to the lettuces before they bolt in this heat. I'll be looking forward to seeing your sketch over lunch, Olive. Olive reddened a little as Valancy returned to her garden. Checking on pea shoots, Coaxing lettuces and pulling a few weeds with satisfying pops of root and soil. She could hear the faint scratch of Olive's pencil across the page, Back on the porch. Every so often, A gull cried in the distance, Or a fish jumped and landed with a slap on the lake's glassy surface. Lunch was a simple, Satisfying affair. Warm bread, Garden lettuces dressed with a splash of vinegar, A chunk of cold-smoked trout from the storage shed, And preserved peaches. They all ate together at the porch table, Sunlight flickering through the leaves above. After some coaxing, Olive allowed them a glance at her sketch. It's only a rough beginning, She insisted, Half shielding the page with her hand. Just silly lines, Really. But the view of the lake. Soft and spare in pencil. Was unmistakable. Lovely. Barney gave an appreciative grunt, And Valancy leaned in closer. You've really caught the. . . Hush, She said simply. Olive flushed and turned the page. By mid-afternoon, The air turned sluggish and damp. The sky lost some of its dazzle and took on a milky sheen. Valancy caught Barney glancing upward from the edge of the trees, His brow slightly furrowed. She stepped back onto the porch where Olive was still seated, Sketching the curve of the shoreline and the stand of birches with admirable focus. Storm coming, Valancy said gently. Olive didn't look up. Doesn't feel like it. Give it ten minutes, Said Valancy. The first drops spattered the porch roof now, Like tossed pebbles. Then came the wind, Not wild, But assertive, Nudging the leaves, Lifting the corners of Olive's sketchbook pages, And sending a stack of Barney's folded maps fluttering from a windowsill. Barney, Hurrying over from the shed, Retrieved his papers with a grunt and glanced once more towards the lake. Where the sky had gone from milky to pewter. Whoa. You're not going to make it back before it breaks. Olive. Looked up then. Oh, I thought it would pass, She said faintly, Though her eyes were wide now. Maybe by midnight, Said Barney, But I can't stay, " Olive flustered. I wasn't planning- I haven't brought a single thing for overnight and mother. . . You'll be fine, Said Valancy, Calm but firm. You're with us. We've got everything you need. Just let's get inside before we get pelted. Inside, Valancy reached for the kettle and moved to stoke the stove as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, To shelter Olive Sterling from a sudden thunderstorm. The rain thickened. Rattling through the birches and streaming in silvery threads from the porch roof. A distant rumble sounded. Not sharp, Not close, But enough to make Olive flinch. She glanced out at the shifting curtain of weather, With a look halfway between helpless and affronted. Valancy caught her expression and said gently, Don't worry. You won't have to sleep in here, We've actually something set up. A little cabin at the edge of the trees for you. It's dry, Warm. Quite snug. Barney's been working on it bit by bit. Olive blinked. Cabin? Only small, " said Barney, Folding his arms. We thought it might be nice. For guests. If they happen to stay over. Olive gave a short laugh. Too bright. Well. . . How very Rustic. But the thing is, I really should get back tonight. Mother wasn't expecting. . . She doesn't like it when I. . . She may not like it, Said Valancy, Not unkindly, But there's no sense risking the lake tonight. We'll get you home as soon as it settles. Olive didn't answer. A little wild-eyed, She stepped out just far enough onto the porch to see the full sweep of sky and trees. Rain misted her skirt and darkened one sleeve. She stared across the lake towards the invisible mainland. They left her to herself for a moment. Valancy returned to her mending, Though she kept one eye on the kettle. Barney settled back with his book, Saying nothing. After a minute or two, Olive came back inside and shut the door firmly behind her. The cabin creaked again. A low, Shifting groan as the wind shouldered past it, And Olive flinched. Another burst of rain pelted the windows, And found Olive gripping the edge of her chair, Her foot jiggling restlessly beneath the table. She tried to make light remarks, Something about the quaintness of the island in this sort of weather, But her voice was tight, Too high. Her fingers trembled slightly when she reached for her glass. Valancy caught Barney's eye. Without speaking, She rose and fetched the tin of dried chamomile, Measuring a spoonful into a pot and letting the steam rise. I always find this helps in a storm, She said gently as she poured. It won't stop the wind, But it might make the thunder seem a little farther away. Olive accepted the cup with a murmured thanks, Though she didn't meet Valancy's eyes. She wrapped both hands around it and sipped. The thunder rolled again, Long and low. Barney turned a page without comment, Then began to whistle softly under his breath an old folk tune, Half-recognisable and oddly soothing. The lamp on the sideboard flickered slightly, Then steadied. By the time Olive set the cup down, Her foot had stopped jiggling beneath the table. Supper was a quiet affair. Hot soup from the stove, Slices of barley bread, And the last of the pickled beans from a cloudy old jar. Olive picked at hers, Glancing now and then towards the rain-streaked windows. Barney broke the silence with a story about a fox he'd seen circling near the far end of the island. Valanci followed it with a remark about the pea shoots which were growing faster than expected. Barney buttered another slice of bread and nodded towards the windows, Where the rain still streamed in silver ribbons down the glass. This isn't much of a storm yet, He observed. We saw one in the Mediterranean that had waves taller than a house. Poor little fishing boat beside us vanished completely every few seconds. I spent half the night wondering whether we'd wake up in Italy or Africa. Or at the bottom of the sea, Said Valancy, Grimacing. Barney grinned. That too. Oh Barney, Said Valancy, Laughing. Must you tell stories like that? While poor Olive's already wondering if Miss Darwis is about to float away. Olive looked up in surprise. I'm not wondering any such thing. Well, You're wondering something, Said Barney mildly. Perhaps, Said Olive. Barney reached for the teapot. May I ask you something? Of course. Would you mind terribly if I stopped calling you Miss Stirling and simply called you Olive? Olive hesitated for only a moment. No, I don't think I'd mind, " Barney nodded. Very good. Olive. He seemed to try the name out, Like a craftsman testing a newly sharpened tool. In that case, Would you care to hear about the worst storm Miss Starwist has ever thrown at me? Olive raised an eyebrow. I'm suddenly rather uncertain. Sensibly so, Said Barney. It began with three days of rain and ended with half a pine tree trying to come through my roof. Balancy laughed, Barney! That's quite enough. I've scarcely begun. Exactly why I'm stopping you. Poor Olive's probably already wondering whether she'll leave this island alive. I confess the thought has crossed my mind. There, Said Valancy, Shaking her head at Barney in mock vexation, See what you've done. After the dishes were stacked and the lamplight mellowed, The storm had finally eased into a steady rhythm. Not gone, But at least quieter. The wind had dropped. Only the rain lingered, Gentler now, Whispering through the trees and pattering on the porch roof. Barney stood. I'll show you where you can sleep. Olive stiffened. Now he raised an eyebrow. Unless you prefer the porch swing? She hesitated, Then gathered herself with a little huff. Very well. But only for tonight. And I'm not promising that I'll sleep at all. Valancy handed her a lantern and a folded shawl. It's only a short walk. I'll come with you. They all stepped into the softened, Damp, Dark together. Olive clutching the lantern high and stepping carefully over the rain-slicked stones. A lingering breeze lifted her hair and stirred the low-hanging branches. The storm hadn't left a chill, Only a fragrant dampness. Pine needles soaked bark, Faint sweetness of wet earth. The path curved past the garden and into the edge of the trees. There, Tucked into a little clearing, Stood the cabin. It was small, To be sure. Barely more than a box with a roof. But Barney had patched the boards, Replaced the hinges, And even set a small paned window into the front. A shelf inside held a pitcher and basin, A book or two, A little tin dish with wildflowers. The bed was narrow, Neatly made with a woolen blanket and a flat, Clean pillow. Olive paused at the doorway. Uncertain. I replaced the floorboards and insulated it a bit, Said Barney. Stay dry in the rain, You'll be comfortable enough. Valancy added, You'll have a little room to yourself this way, And we're just up the path if you need anything. Olive looked at them both, Then back into the little room. Rain dripped from the eaves and darkened the toes of her shoes. I'm not accustomed to sleeping alone in places like this, " she said. You're hardly alone, Said Valancy softly. We're right here, Up the path. Just as if we were in different rooms of a house. We'll check on you first thing. And you'll hear us not far off, The stove clanking, Barney's off-key whistling. Barney gave a non-committal grunt. Olive gave a wavering nod. All right, Just for tonight. She stepped inside and turned the lantern higher, Then looked back. First light, You'll come? Of course, Said Flancy. Sleep well. But Olive only sniffed, Muttering, I doubt I'll sleep at all, And shut the door a little too firmly. Dawn came, Slow and silver. A haze still clung to the lake, Though the storm had passed. Valancy slipped out along the damp path towards the little cabin, A shawl pulled around her shoulders. She tapped softly at the door. No answer. She waited. Than knocked once more. From somewhere inside came the faintest little snore. Balancy smiled. And went quietly back up the path. When Olive finally emerged, Just after eight, She looked rumpled and slightly mortified. I must have drifted off, She said, As if the idea shocked her. I wasn't going to. But it was. . . So quiet and. . . The rain, And, Well. . . Valancy handed her a cup of tea. There is certainly no shame in good rest. Olive took it and sipped. Then, In a lower voice, She said, It wasn't awful. Said Valancy. It wasn't. And you survived. Olive gave her a look.