Hello there.
Thank you so much for joining me for this continued reading of Moonlight at Mistarwis.
This is my unofficial,
Independent,
Fan-written sequel.
To follow After the Blue Castle,
The beloved book from 1926 that was published by Canadian author Lucy Maud Montgomery and is celebrating its centenary this year and never had an official sequel.
So I wrote my own version and I'm so delighted to be sharing it here on Insight Timer.
I do hope you're enjoying if you're listening along.
Moonlight at Mystawis is also available as a paperback and ebook if you're interested in reading along in that way.
If you haven't yet heard the preceding parts of this book and you'd like to,
You can certainly look for the playlist for Moonlight at Ms.
Darwiz.
You can also find my playlist for The Blue Castle and listen along to that book if you'd like to.
So before we go further 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 Mistawis.
Chapter 23 Bramble Baptism.
Olive appeared at the porch with a basket looped over her arm,
The handle already lined with a folded cloth,
As though she meant business.
I'm going after blackberries,
She announced,
A note of satisfaction in her voice.
There are thickets just past the ridge,
Heavy with fruit.
I thought I might try my hand at a celebration pie.
Something worth the trouble of baking in this heat.
Barney,
Lounging with his legs stretched out,
Glanced up from the knife he was whittling with,
Well,
Stick to the path if you head that way.
The brambles are fierce.
And they don't let go easy.
I can manage brambles.
Olive returned lightly.
He raised an eyebrow.
Half in amusement.
Suit yourself.
I mean to come back victorious,
She said,
Tightening her shawl with an almost regal little gesture.
The woods were hushed that early September afternoon,
Touched with the edges of autumn.
Leaves trembled with a whisper of change,
And shadows lengthened purple between the trunks.
Olive picked her way confidently at first.
Then,
More cautiously,
As the path narrowed,
Ferns brushed her skirts,
And the earth underfoot was springy with moss.
She pressed onward,
Scanning for the opening she had marked in memory.
She had been certain,
She remembered the way,
But.
.
.
Everything had grown in so much since she had last come this far.
Bracken and young saplings blurred the edges of the path and Every little opening began to look like the one she wanted.
There,
She murmured triumphantly,
Spotting a gap where tangled undergrowth thinned to reveal a deer track.
She plunged in,
Clutching her basket like a talisman.
It.
Was not long before the path dissolved into confusion.
Branches snagged her sleeves,
Briars clawed her ankles,
And she felt her tidy plans unravel.
Still,
She pressed forward,
Determined not to admit defeat.
I am not lost,
She told herself aloud,
As if the words alone might keep the truth at bay.
It will come out just ahead.
But the brambles.
Thickened.
Lashing at her arms,
Seizing the folds of her dress.
She struggled free,
Once,
Twice,
Then caught her foot in a hidden root and stumbled to her knees.
Mud streaked her palms.
Her hat flew sideways,
Skewered by a thorn.
Drat!
She cried,
With unladylike vehemence.
Wrenching herself upright.
Pushed forward again.
Hair tumbling loose,
Her hem now torn.
Each new snare of thorns seemed more vicious than the last,
As though the forest had joined forces to dismantle her pride.
At last,
She burst into a thicket so dense she could not go farther.
She stood there,
Scratched,
Breathless.
Mud-spattered,
Heart racing,
Her skirts in tatters,
Her hair wild.
For a moment.
She was.
FURIOUS outraged at the indignity.
On the verge of stamping her foot like a thwarted child.
Quite suddenly.
The absurdity of it all.
Overwhelmed her.
Here.
Was Olive Sterling.
The one-time undisputed princess of Deerwood Drawing Rooms reduced to a dishevelled scarecrow.
Caught up in a vicious BlackBerry patch.
She could not stop laughing.
It bubbled up helplessly,
Convulsing her whole body until she collapsed onto the moss with tears of mirth mingling with the scratches on her cheeks.
Basket tossed aside in defeat.
She wiped at her eyes with a thorn-snagged sleeve,
Still hiccuping with the remnants of her mirth.
Well,
This won't do at all,
She scolded the brambles aloud as if they were unruly children.
A fine notion I had of a Blackberry celebration pie.
Clearly,
The Berries had other plans very well.
I shall contrive something else,
Perhaps a tart without its crown.
Or perhaps no tart at all.
Dear me.
Olive Sterling defeated by berries.
Half an hour later,
Olive came stumbling back through the fringe of birches with her empty basket,
Swinging forlornly at her side.
Her hair.
Was a wild disarray.
Her dress snagged in half a dozen places,
And her face bore the pink tracery of scratches that looked at once tragic and comic.
Well,
Lancy sprang up from the cabin steps the instant she caught sight of her.
Oh!
Leave.
What on earth?
Oh,
You poor thing,
What happened?
Olive tried to speak with dignity.
But another ripple of laughter escaped her.
The brambles one,
I'm afraid.
There will be no celebration Blackberry Pie tonight.
I've been thoroughly humbled.
Barney,
Lounging against the rail with a stub of pencil in his hand,
Let out a low whistle.
Wow.
It looks as though the berries won.
Valancy reached for Olive's basket,
Peered inside and shook her head.
Not a single berry!
Not one that survived my grand assault.
Olive admitted ruefully,
Brushing at her torn sleeve.
The vines took their due.
And I retreated.
Dear me.
I never knew fruit could be so.
.
.
Ferocious!
They coaxed Olive towards the main cabin,
As if she were some wounded heroine returned from battle.
Barney held the door wide,
Mock solemn,
While Valancy fussed over her and settled her onto the cushioned bench by the fireless hearth.
Valancy disappeared to fetch her remedies and Barney stood over Olive with an exaggerated air of inspection,
Arms folded.
Well,
He declared,
I always suspected drawing room ladies weren't cut out for the wilds.
This proves it.
Brambles one.
Olive Sterling No.
Olive,
Dabbing at a scratch on her arm,
Said,
You may laugh,
But I dare say they were the most vicious berries I've ever met.
I'd sooner face a flock of Toronto debutantes than another thicket like that.
Ah,
Yes,
Said Barney,
Eyes twinkling.
But I'm sure those debutantes bite even harder.
The lancy returned with a little tin of salve,
Its lid worn bright from much handling.
She perched beside Olive,
Hands deft and gentle.
Hold still.
It's only spruce gum and sweet oil.
Smells like the forest in a box.
Sissy swore by it for scratches.
She touched a fingertip of the balm to Olive's cheek,
Where a thorn had left a deep,
Fine red line.
Olive wrinkled her nose.
Nose at the resinous tang.
I smell like a lumberyard.
You'll thank me in the morning,
Said Valancy firmly.
She worked over Olive's hands and arms,
Then turned to her skirt,
Plucking thorns that clung like trophies of defeat.
Each tug released a faint snap,
And Olive alternately winced and chuckled as she helped dislodge the briars.
When Belancy lifted a particularly jagged bit from the hem,
Barney gave another low whistle.
That one's a souvenir.
You ought to mount that in a frame,
Olive.
Title it Olive vs Wilderness.
Or why there will be no blackberry pie tonight.
Olive said with mock tragedy.
All my efforts came to nothing.
I ought to have gone with you said valency Never mind the pie,
Though.
We've plenty of food without it.
Supper's nearly ready.
Barney had set out fresh-caught trout,
Crisp and golden,
While Valancy had piled garden greens beside a loaf,
Still warm from baking,
And a pot of stew.
Olive ate with unaccustomed appetite,
Scratches forgotten,
Laughter warming her face.
Barney kept up a stream of teasing commentary,
How he'd best fetch her a suit of armour for berry picking next time.
Or perhaps hire a bodyguard to ward off hostile shrubbery.
Olive,
Surprisingly,
Took it all with good humour.
Tossing back quips of her own.
Valancy,
Meanwhile,
Moved quietly about the kitchen,
Tidying plates into a neat stack.
She was glad to let their banter roll without her for a moment.
A wave of weariness had crept over her as the day slipped towards evening.
Even the savoury vegetable stew had sat uneasily with her.
Though the plain bread and butter had felt more manageable,
She pressed her hand lightly against her middle.
The thought of what might be happening there still filled her with quiet wonder.
Even as her body urged her towards rest.
When the plates were cleared,
They carried a pot of tea and a small dish of stewed rhubarb out onto the veranda.
The lake lay wide and serene,
The sinking sun laying a path of molten copper across its ripples.
A pair of loons called from the far side,
Their cries haunting and beautiful.
They all sat in companionable silence while the sky deepened through shades of apricot and rose into dusky violet.
Fireflies winked at the edge of the clearing.
Barney leaned back,
Pipe in hand.
Looking as content as a man could be.
Valancy's face glowed next to him with quiet happiness.
I'll miss this,
You know,
" Olive said at last.
You too.
The lake.
The evenings.
Like this.
I can hardly believe.
I'll be gone so soon.
One more week here at Mystawis and then art school.
A whole new world.
Valancy smiled.
We'll miss you too.
Olive looked down at their joined hands.
That still seems rather unlikely.
What does?
You missing me.
Valanci considered.
It does rather,
Doesn't it?
Olive gave her an affronted look.
But there it is,
Valancy added.
You'll come back.
Balansi said.
Olive looked out across the darkening lake.
Yes.
She said,
I think I will.
When at last she rose to head to her cabin,
Olive's movements were unhurried,
As if she wished to stretch the evening just a little longer.
Well,
I suppose I'll survive my bramble baptism,
She said softly.
Though I don't know that I've really passed the true test of Miss Darwis.
Barney,
Smoke curling from his pipe,
Gave her a sidelong glance.
The Star Wars isn't fussy.
It only asks that you come back sometime.
Malansi gave a small nod of agreement.
Olive smiled,
A small tender smile that lingered.
Even as the twilight gathered and she bathed them.
Good night.
