Hello there.
Thank you so much for joining me for this continued reading of Moonlight at Mistawis.
This is my unofficial fan fiction sequel celebrating 100 years since the publishing of The Blue Castle by Lucy Maud Montgomery back in 1926.
If you have read or listened to The Blue Castle before,
Perhaps you,
Like me,
We're wondering what happens next to these characters.
Lucy Maud Montgomery never wrote a sequel and I decided to try to make my own version.
I do hope you're enjoying the story if you're listening along.
If you haven't yet heard the previous parts of this story,
You can look for the playlist for Moonlight at Mistawis and you'll find all the parts of the book there in order.
Similarly,
If you haven't previously heard the Blue Castle and you'd like to hear that,
You can also look for the playlist for that and listen to the whole of that story.
Although it's not necessary to listen to that before listening to this book,
Moonlight at Misdarwis,
Because this was written to be a standalone novel too.
So for now,
Let's just take a moment here 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 Misdarwis.
Chapter 6 A door opens.
Just before five,
Valancy paused outside the Dearwood post office.
A notice board was pinned with the usual collection of faded announcements and curling sail flyers.
And one caught her eye.
A short,
Plainly typed note,
Tacked up with a rusted pin.
Clothing,
Supplies or employment needed for Mrs Eliza Gray.
A widow with six children,
Presently living in the old fish-packing house on South Shore Road.
Kindly leave donations with Reverend Morrison or the grocer at Burns & Co.
Valancy stood there for a moment.
Something catching in her chest.
She didn't know Mrs Grey.
Not yet.
But she remembered that building.
Cold,
Even in summer,
With a roofline like a hunched back.
She had walked past it often enough as a child.
The wind tugged at the edge of the paper.
Valancy smoothed it flat again.
Then stepped back.
Then came the sound of a familiar motor,
And her heart quickened.
Barney was pulling up beside the curb.
He leaned across the seat to grin at her.
Need a lift,
Lady?
But Lancey stepped forward,
Her eyes bright despite the long day.
Only if it's heading home.
Barney was already out of the car,
Rounding it in a few easy strides.
He bent and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
A simple,
Wordless welcome.
I missed Miss Darwis more than I thought I would,
She said as he opened the door for her with a little flourish.
Then let's not dawdle,
He replied.
She gathered her skirts and settled into the dark green motor car.
Glancing once more at the post office notice board behind her as Barney climbed in and pulled away.
The town slipped past them in a quiet hush of evening.
Brick shop fronts shuttered for the day,
A boy on a bicycle weaving slowly along the pavement,
The faint smell of coal smoke curling in the air.
The drive was mostly quiet.
Not awkward,
Just comfortably companionable.
Balancy leaned her head against the seat.
Watching the trees.
Blur past,
Feeling the tension of deerwood,
Give way to the slow unwinding of space and sky.
The lake was still when they returned.
A hush had settled over Mystawis,
Broken only by the occasional plop of a fish or the soft creak of the dock as Valancy stepped into the boat.
The golden evening light slanted through the trees,
Filtering through the canopy in soft,
Shifting ribbons that danced across the forest.
Floor.
The boat crossing was smooth and quiet,
The lake barely shifting beneath them.
As Valancy stepped ashore,
Beneath the low boughs,
Pine needles brushed against her skirt,
Home.
Now,
Inside the cabin,
Everything was just as she had left it.
Which was both a relief and a peculiar sort of surprise.
A shawl still hung crookedly over the back of her favourite chair.
The book she'd been halfway through,
Something with Greek ruins and sunburned philosophers,
Lay face down by the window seat.
Good luck was asleep in a coil on the kitchen step while Nip and Tuck muttered their crow conspiracies to each other from the woods.
She took off her hat and coat and stood for a moment in the centre of the room.
Not quite ready to sit,
Not quite able to move.
Her conversation with Olive buzzed faintly in her ears,
Like the memory of a bell still vibrating long after it's been struck.
I suppose you're wondering how it went,
" Valancy said lightly as Barney lit the lamp.
He adjusted the wick,
His face calm in the rising glow.
Only if you care to tell me,
She smiled faintly and sat at the table.
It was.
.
.
Not what I expected.
She wasn't.
Awful.
Just.
.
.
Olive.
Barney nodded gently as he poured water into the kettle.
That still covers a lot of ground.
Valancy traced a knot in the tabletop with one finger.
She didn't mention Cecil.
I didn't mention Cecil.
The air between us was still full of ghosts.
Barney didn't answer immediately.
The flames crackled.
Somewhere outside,
An owl called across the lake.
She looked tired,
Valancy said,
Not in the way that comes from lack of sleep.
Though perhaps that too,
But tired in her bones.
Tired in the places no powder or smile can reach.
Barney crossed the room and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
It rested there a moment,
Warm,
Wordless,
Reassuring.
I.
.
.
Invited her.
Balanci added.
Her voice almost inaudible.
To visit.
Barney lifted his crooked eyebrow.
You did?
I did.
I hadn't planned to.
I almost stopped myself.
I thought,
Barney should be consulted first.
But then.
.
.
I thought,
If she did say yes,
You wouldn't mind.
I don't.
It's not that I expect her to come.
But I wanted to offer it.
For my own reasons.
Barney nodded.
Then I'm glad you did.
The kettle began to hum.
Balancy stood and fetched the teapot,
Added the leaves,
Let the scent of bergamot and mint swirl up.
Like a memory from some old summer.
She might come,
You know,
She said after a moment.
And if she does.
.
.
It won't be easy.
For either of us.
Barney smiled and reached for the cups.
We'll manage.
They ate by lamplight,
Soup and fresh bread and apple slices arranged between them on the table like a quiet celebration.
Outside the frogs had started their twilight chorus and the lake caught the faintest gleam of moonlight.
Bani spoke little,
But he watched her with a softness that needed no translation.
Balanci.
Didn't mind the silence.
Not here.
Not with him.
They had their own rhythm now.
After the dishes were washed and set to dry,
She perched on the wide windowsill and looked out at the darkening woods.
Barney came to lean beside her,
Shoulder brushing hers.
For a while,
They just watched,
Side by side,
The shadows gathering under the trees.
I used to be frightened of this hour,
Valancy said softly,
As a child,
When the world tipped into night and all the corners seemed to shift shape.
I thought the trees whispered about me.
They probably did,
Said Barney.
But only the good bits.
She smiled.
There was always something about the dark that made me feel alive.
Watched.
As though somebody might discover I'd done something wrong without my even knowing what it was.
Barney took her hand.
It isn't like that here,
" she said.
Miss Starwiss has never seemed interested in whether I'm behaving properly.
I've always considered that one of its better qualities.
" Balancy laughed softly and rested her head against his shoulder.
The funny thing is.
.
.
I still hear them sometimes.
The trees?
The Stirlings.
The whole Stirling choir.
She counted them off on her fingers.
Mother and Cousin Stickles.
Aunt and Uncle Wellington.
Uncle James,
Uncle Benjamin,
All of them.
They're quieter now,
But.
.
.
Every so often,
One of them still speaks up in my head.
To object to my hair,
Or my laugh,
Or the shocking angle of my hat.
What do you do?
Shock them further when possible?
Barney gave a soft huff of appreciation.
Valancy was quiet for a moment.
I wonder if Olive hears them too.
Barney glanced down at her.
I always thought of her.
As one of them.
The lands he went on.
And perhaps she still is.
But today?
I wondered.
Whether she's been plagued by that same wretched choir all along.
Probably.
Only she learned to sing the proper,
Respectable part.
The thought seemed to settle between them.
Outside,
Something rustled among the pines and was still,
But Lancey watched the darkness for another moment,
Then straightened.
Barney.
You know the old fish packing house down on South Shore Road?
Barney raised an eyebrow.
That miserable old shed?
I thought it collapsed two winters ago.
It's still standing and someone's living there now.
A Mrs.
Eliza Gray and her six children.
She's a widow.
There was a notice at the post office asking for supplies or employment.
Barney frowned slightly.
That's grim.
Balanci nodded.
I want to help.
Quietly.
Not just a basket of bread and jam left on the doorstep.
Though that's a start.
I want to find a way to make things easier for them.
Without drawing attention.
Barney considered this.
Than nodded.
All right.
Discreet and determined.
I like it.
She looked out at the lake again.
The moon now rising in earnest,
A sliver of silver caught between the pines.
I feel.
As though a door has opened again,
She said quietly.
Just a crack.
Perhaps there's.
.
.
Something to be done now,
Instead of only thinking about what's past.
Barney squeezed her hand.
Well,
You've certainly found enough to keep us busy.
Valancy leaned into him again and let out a long breath.
The night air was cool and smelled of cedar and wood smoke.
I think I'm tired,
" she murmured.
Barney pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Come on then,
Let's get to bed.
