Moonlight At Mistawis - Chapter 24: The Silver Road

Welcome to Chapter Twenty-Four of 'Moonlight at Mistawis', my independent, unofficial sequel to L. M. Montgomery's beloved 1926 novel 'The Blue Castle'.
September has come to Mistawis and Olive’s time on the island is drawing to a close. Before leaving for Toronto, she must say goodbye to Deerwood, to Windward and to the strange little island that has quietly and unexpectedly become one of the most important places in her life...
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. This is my unofficial, Independent, Fan-written sequel to The Blue Castle. Which was published exactly 100 years ago this year, Back in 1926. Here we are in 2026 and I for one was wondering what happened to Barney and Valancy after the Blue Castle. So this is my kind of answer to that question. I do hope you've been enjoying this book if you've been listening along already. You can also find Moonlight at Mastawis as a paperback and an e-book if you'd like to read in that way. If you haven't yet heard the preceding parts of this book and you'd like to, You can look for the playlist for Moonlight at Mastawis. You can also find my playlist for The Blue Castle on here if you want to listen to that or perhaps re-listen as a refresher. So for now. . . 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 Mystawis. Chapter 24, The Silver Road. The air had sharpened. Not with frost, Not yet, But with that unmistakable edge that said September had now thoroughly stepped across the threshold. Mastawis wore its lateness openly. Gold flickered in the birches, The water darkened with deeper blues, And the mornings carried a chill that even Barney admitted was brisk. It was the kind of air that made every breath taste clearer, Like the summer's haze had been swept away overnight. Olive felt it most of all. She had stayed longer than she had ever meant to. And though her heart still tugged at her to remain, The season itself was closing the circle. She began by saying goodbye to Dearwood. The town was small enough that one farewell walk would cover all its corners, Though to her it also felt so vast in memory. She walked slowly along the main road, Her hat pulled low against the breeze, Skirts brushing dust. The familiar buildings seemed both shrunken and enlarged, Had been playing tricks on them in her absence. There was the church, White paint a little more peeled than when she had last passed its steps. She didn't go in. Once, Olive Wood had ducked inside, Adjusting her gloves, Bowing her head, Offering herself up to be noticed for her reverence. Now, She only looked at the steeple, At the cross gleaming faintly in the autumn sun. And let the sight rest in her without need for gesture. The post office was much the same, The wide porch with its gossiping rails, The dusty windows that reflected the passers-by. She remembered how much she used to care about being seen there. Who noticed her dress, Who asked after Cecil, Who whispered about her prospects. Now, She simply passed by. She made the loop by the general store, Then the schoolhouse. The voices of children carried faintly from the yard, Shrill and urgent, The way they always had. I'll leave paused a moment. A memory arose. Herself. At their age. Ribbons tight in her hair. Determined. To be cleverer and neater than all the other girls. She almost smiled at the absurd earnestness of it. Then she walked on. By the time she reached her parents' house. She had grown quiet inside. She had already said what was necessary to her mother. But it had seemed impossible to leave for Toronto without coming once more. There were a few things she had overlooked in her first packing. Her warmest shawl, Some heavier winter things. One or two small keepsakes. And besides. One said goodbye to one's parents before going away. Olive had been too well brought up to imagine otherwise. Of course, The Wellington home had not changed in her absence. Not in walls, Paint, Furniture or smells. But the people inside seemed different somehow. Or perhaps it was only she who had shifted. Her arrival set the household in motion like a rock thrown into a pond. Her mother fluttered from room to room, Torn between outrage and concern. To have a daughter staying on a remote island all summer, Running wild with Valancy of all people. Was scandal enough to have her return with scratches down her face. As if brambles had claimed her for their own. Was beyond comprehension. You've been letting them mistreat you! Her mother exclaimed, Eyes wide with wounded righteousness. Olive! What on earth have they done to you? Olive. Love. Truly, Laugh! At the irony. That they could look at the marks left by her adventure in the thicket and imagine cruelty from Barney and Valancy. It was almost too rich. If you only knew, She said, Touching the faint scabs that remained on her cheek, Perhaps you'd see these as blessings, Not insults. Her mother stared at her. It was for Lancy and Barney who were helping Mrs Grey all along, You know, " Olive added. The food and clothes, The new cottage, All of it. I even helped them move in. You? " said her mother. Yes, Said Olive. Me! Her father? Harumph! Her mother looked as though this only confirmed everything she had feared about Miss Darwiz. Through it all. Olive felt better. Curiously untouched. As if their disapproval surrounded her, But. . . Did not enter. Olive moved about, Gathering the last of her belongings, Thoughtfully. While her mother followed her from room to room, Offering increasingly gloomy predictions about Toronto weather. Unsuitable acquaintances and what would happen if Olive neglected to eat properly? Her father appeared in the hall as Olive tucked the final parcel beneath her arm. Well, He said with a portentous clearing of his throat. I suppose you are determined upon this? Yes, Father. You'll find Toronto very different from playing at artists on an island. I expect I shall. Aunt Wellington's eyes travelled once more to the scratches on Olive's cheek. At least try not to arrive looking as though you have been dragged through a hedge backwards. I'll do my best, Mother. There was a small silence. You will write said her mother. Olive looked at her. Then she stepped back into the sharper outside air with her parcels tucked under her arm. Almost giddy with relief. The road back towards Mastawis seemed both longer and lighter that evening. She had taken her leave of Dearwood. And though she carried pieces of it in her bundle, It seemed that the place itself no longer had any claim on her. Miss Starwyce received her return with the gentleness of an old friend. The island seemed to sense that she was drawing near the end of her season there, And it offered up its beauty in quieter ways. The riot of midsummer blossoms had softened into russet and gold, Ferns leaned heavy with seed, The lake lapped slower against the rocks, And the loons called more sparingly, As if conserving their voices. Olive breathed it all in. She had come to know these paths and stones with a familiarity she had never thought possible. When she first arrived, She had noticed only the inconveniences. Mosquitoes, Damp earth, Rough wood. Now every curve of shoreline every crooked tree felt etched into her very bones On her last walk around the cabins, She trailed her fingers along the rough log walls, Pausing at the windows to look in on the corners that had become familiar. The little shelf where Valancy stacked empty jars. The chair where Barney so often sat with his notebook. The cluster of feathers and stones she herself had collected down by the shore. She touched the doorway of her bedroom. Her own cabin. Feeling how her hand rested there as though it now belonged. When Olive came into the main cabin that evening. She found the table laid for supper and ate. A blackberry pie! Cooling beside the stove. She stopped. Blackberry. We thought you ought to have one at least before you left. Offered for Lancey. Olive looked at Barney. You went back into those brambles? We found a less murderous patch, He said. Olive laughed and sat down. Wow. I suppose I can allow Miss Star Wisp one last victory. They ate together slowly. Lingering over the meal. Because none of them seemed quite willing to admit how little time was left. That evening, The three of them sat comfortably by the fire. Barney poked at the logs. While Valancy curled herself into the deep chair. A hand resting lightly on her stomach. Olive saw the gesture. And for the first time, With a private jolt, Thought, Perhaps she understood it. Perhaps Valancy was carrying something more than summer dreams forwards? Could it be? A quiet expectancy glowed in her face. Olive's eyes widened. But she looked away and didn't speak of it aloud. Some things were too tender to be named before they were ready. Instead, She returned her gaze to her sketchbook. By the firelight she drew. Not careful portraits, Not stiffly arranged compositions, But quick living lines of what she saw and felt. The slope of the roofline, Valancy small and dark against the deep chair, Barney's profile outlined by sparks. She had grown looser, Braver. Almost reckless in her drawing this summer. She was no longer trying to impress anyone, Only to capture what breathed her. Before. At one point. She looked up and caught Valancy watching. Their eyes held. For a long moment. Than Olive said. Almost under her breath. I think. I am beginning to. . . Like. Person I'm becoming. The words seem to surprise even her. But once spoken, They rang true. Valancy leaned across and squeezed her hand without comment. It was enough. Later, As the night deepened, Barney and Valancy slipped outside to listen to the loons calling across the dark lake. Olive stayed by the fire, Her pencil still busy. She felt no loneliness in their absence. Only a fullness that came from belonging. Even if only for a little while, To something kind. And larger than herself. She worked steadily until at last she was satisfied. From her satchel, She drew a simple wooden frame that she had carried back from Deerwood, Polished and ready. She slid her drawing inside. The little cottage on Miss Darwis. Stooped against the pines, But radiant in its lines, She had meant it as a gift from the beginning, And now she set it carefully on the mantle, Where the flames lit it with a golden glow. When Barney and Valancy came in, They stopped short at the site. Barney exhaled softly. Wow. That looks as though it's been here forever the lancy's eyes shone You'll leave a piece of yourself with us then. We'll see you here. Every day, Olive felt warmth rise through her. She had never given such a gift without expectation before. There was no wish to. Impress anyone now, Only sincere. Gratitude. And love of a kind that she could scarcely dare name. That last night together settled over Mystawis with a stillness that seemed to hold the three of them in a shared circle. The fire burned low, A steady orange glow against the dark, While outside the crickets played their thin fiddles. No one spoke much after the picture had found its place above the mantle. Words felt too small. Barney stretched himself out on the rug, Hands behind his head, Staring up at the rafters as if they held the stars themselves. Valancy remained in her chair. While Olive sat with her sketchbook closed on her knees, Unwilling to break the spell now with the scratching of a pencil. She thought of the woman she had been when she'd first set foot here back in April. Brittle. Quick to wound. Carrying herself like armour. That woman had expected to be bored. Or superior. Or, At best, Politely civil. Instead, She had found herself weeping on starlit nights, Laughing until she gasped, Sketching until her fingers cramped, And finally, Scraped raw in those blessed brambles. She had been. Undone. And holy. Remade. At one point, Barney rose and went outside to check the night sky, His boots thudded softly on the porch. Valancy leaned closer to Olive and whispered, You've been good for us, You know. Better than you realize. Olive shook her head in surprise, Though her throat tightened. Me? Oh no. It's you two. Who have been so. . . Good. To me. So very good, Valancy. You gave me a place to start again. And I will never forget it. When Barney returned. Carrying in the coolness of the lake with him. Olive found herself. Laughing. Not at anything particular. Only at the sheer oddity of it all. The she. Olive Sterling should end her summer on a half-wild island in the company of Valancy. And Barney Redfern? And be glad of it. So. Very glad of it. If the respectable women of Dearwood could see her now. They would not know whether to pity or envy her. Perhaps both. That thought somehow made her grin now. Barney cocked an eyebrow at her mirth. Well, I don't know what you're laughing about. Did Valancy finally confess to you that Windward is, In fact, The old toolshed? Valancy gave a helpless squeal. Pressing her hands over her mouth as her shoulders shook. It's true, She admitted through her laughter. For a moment, Olive only stared. Then the image broke over her. Olive Sterling of all people. Had spent the summer in an old tool shed. And it had been the time of her life. She laughed until her sides ached. Doubled over in a release of pure hilarity. For a long while, Their laughter rippled through the cabin, Until it left them breathless, Cheeks flushed, Eyes watering. Slowly, The merriment ebbed, Leaving behind a quiet warmth, As if the three of them had been bound even more tightly together by the absurdity of it all. Olive leaned back in her chair, Still catching her breath. In the hush that followed, She spoke with an earnestness that surprised even herself. Thank you, Though, For everything. I don't know if I should ever have found my way without you. Oh. Olive, Said Valancy. I mean it. Olive looked down at their joined hands. I don't know. What would have happened. If I hadn't come here. You'd probably have driven Aunt Wellington distracted eventually. Barney said from his chair. I have great faith in you. Olive gave a watery laugh. Oh Barney, Well, Look what you've accomplished already. He has a point, Said Valancy. Olive looked from one to the other. There were. A dozen things she wanted to say suddenly. And. . . No possible way of saying any of them without making a fool of herself. Oh. Miss you. She said instead. For Lancey's fingers tightened around hers. We'll miss you too. Barney poked at the fire. Windward will be inconsolable. I imagine Windward will be delighted to have its spiders back. Ungrateful woman. After all that, Shed is done for you. Olive laughed again. And this time. The tears came with it. She wiped them away, Impatiently. Nobody pretended not to notice. As the fire sank to embers, Olive excused herself and went outside. She walked down to the water's edge. The moon had laid a long, Silver road across the lake. And the island murmured softly around her. The sigh of the pines, The small stirrings in the underbrush, A loon calling somewhere beyond the point. Olive stood there for a long time. Tomorrow. She would head. To Toronto trains and streets and strangers and Rooms she had never seen. The thought still made her stomach turn over. She looked back towards the cabin. Lamp light glowed warmly through the windows. Valancy's laugh floated out into the night. Followed by the low murmur of Barney's voice. Olive smiled. Goodbye. Miss Star Whiz. She whispered. The loon called again. Don't be absurd, She told herself, Wiping quickly at her cheek and turning up the path towards Windward. The little cabin stood dark beneath the trees. Olive paused at the door and laid one hand against the rough wooden frame, Letting her fingers rest there for a moment. Old toolshed, She murmured, Smiling. Inside, She climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. Moonlight fell through the little window. And made a pale square on the floor. Tomorrow. Olive, Lay awake. For a long time. Listening to the pines outside her window. Before She finally. . . Slept.