Moonlight At Mistawis - Chapter 7: The Tin Of Milk

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

Valancy and Barney learn more about Eliza Gray and her six children, and a chance encounter between Barney and eleven-year-old Tom Gray reveals just how difficult life has become for the family. Valancy and Barney are left with plenty to think about.

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 my book, Moonlight at Misdarwis. This is my unofficial fan written sequel to celebrate a hundred years since the publishing of Lucy Maud Montgomery's wonderful 1926 novel, The Blue Castle. I do hope you're enjoying this book if you've been listening along already to the preceding parts. If you haven't heard those and you'd like to, You can certainly look for the playlist for Moonlight at Mistar Wiz. And you can find all of the parts there in order. You can also find my full reading of the Blue Castle on here too. Which is in fact the most popular book that I have read on here. I am a big fan of Lucy Maud Montgomery's work and it was a real joy and pleasure and challenge actually to write this sequel to really think about the different elements that are there in the Blue Castle and what to carry over into this sequel and to think about the characters and what might be going on as their story progresses. So I hope you're enjoying my version of a sequel and before we get further into the story, 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 ongoing story of Moonlight at Miss Starwys. Chapter 7 The Tin of Milk Valancy woke late the next morning and blinked at the familiar ceiling with its sloping rafters and fir knots she'd come to know like constellations. For a long, Warm moment, She simply lay still, Listening. The cabin breathed around her. The gentle creak of beams in the morning chill. The soft rustle of Barney shifting beside her. A blue jay screeched outside, Sharp and merry. It was such a relief to feel glad again, First thing. To feel home again. Valancy set about rearranging the kitchen cupboards. It wasn't out of any sense of duty, More the pleasure of making everything ready now for summer. She sorted tins and jars, Scrubbed the shelves and swept stray pine needles from the corners of the floor. She kept thinking about that notice at the post office. Mrs. Eliza Gray. A widow with six children. No ages listed, No details. Just that they were living in the old fish packing house on South Shore Road. That image stayed with Valancy more than the words. The sagging grey boards, The smell of brine in the wood, Scruffy children's shoes lined up in the cold. Later that morning, Barney pushed open the door of Burns & Co and was met by the familiar mingling of coffee, Lamp oil, Soap and something pickled in a barrel near the back. He had come for tea, Flour, And a few other necessities, But the notice for Lancey had seen was still on his mind too. Before he left, He meant to ask discreetly what the grocer knew about Mrs. Eliza Gray. The grocer, However, Was occupied at the counter with the town constable discussing somebody's missing hens with an importance quite out of proportion to the number of hens involved. Barney collected some provisions and waited. That was when he noticed the boy. He was perhaps 11 or 12, Thin enough that his coat seemed to have been made for somebody else. He had been drifting along the shelves without touching anything, Hands jammed into his pockets, Eyes everywhere except upon the goods. Barney looked away. A moment later, He looked back. The boy had stopped beside a stack of tins. He glanced towards the counter. The grocer was still talking. The constable had his back half turned. The boy picked up a small tin of condensed milk. For a second, He only held it, Then. . . His hand moved towards the inside of his coat. The grosser turned. Here, There you are, Barney said suddenly and sharply. The boy froze. Barney held out his hand. That's the one I wanted. Bring it over then. For one terrible instant, The child merely stared at him. Then he crossed the shop silently and put the tin into Bani's hand. Barney set it down calmly amongst his other purchases. Add that too, Please. The grocer frowned. Didn't know the lad was with you. Saves me reaching for the bottom shelf, Barney said. The constable glanced at the boy. Then turned back to the absorbing matter of the missing hens. Barney paid, Gathered his parcels, And nodded towards the door. The boy followed him. Outside, The spring air struck cool after the closeness of the shop. Barney carried the parcels to his motor car before setting them down. The boy stopped several feet away. I wasn't stealing! Barney looked at him. You were doing a remarkably good imitation of it then. Colour flooded the boy's face. I was going to put it back. Perhaps. You don't know. No. The boy looked furious now, Which Bunny thought preferable to frightened. Why'd you do that? The boy sputtered out. Because there was a constable six feet away. And you didn't appear to have thought much beyond the next five seconds. The boy kicked at a stone. Barney glanced at the parcels. What did you want the milk for? The boy's face reddened at once. Nothing. You were willing to risk the constable for nothing. No answer. Barney waited. At last, The boy muttered, The baby, She's angry. Something in the bluntness of it wiped the last trace of amusement from Barney's face. And there's nothing at home. The boy scuffed his boot against the curb. Not much. Barney looked at him for a moment. Then reached into one of the parcels and drew out the tin of condensed milk. The boy's eyes went straight to it. I don't want charity, He said quickly. Excellent, Said Barney. Neither do I. The boy frowned at him. Barney glanced down the street. You know George at the boatyard? Everyone knows George. Then, You can earn this and something besides. Suspicion sharpened the boy's face. Doing what? Barney pulled an old envelope from his pocket, Scribbled a few lines across the back and folded it. Take this down to him, Wait for an answer, And bring it back. You could go yourself, Said the boy, Nodding towards the shining vehicle. I could do most things myself. It would make for a very dull world. Besides, I have more errands to run here, " replied Barney. How much for running the message? Barney named a modest sum. All right. He took the note. And don't lose it. I won't. The boy ran off. 20 minutes later, The boy returned, Breathless but triumphant, A folded paper clutched in one hand. He said, To give you this. Barney took it. Good work. He handed him the promised coins and the tin of condensed milk. The boy took the money first, Then. . . After the smallest hesitation. The tin. He counted the coins carefully. Right? Barney asked. Right. He shoved them into his pocket, Then tucked the milk securely away. Barney tucked George's reply into his coat without opening it. What's your name anyway, Boy? Tom. Tom what? A pause. Grey. Barney looked at him. Grey? The boy's expression closed a little. My Ma's Mrs. Eliza Gray. For perhaps two seconds, Arnie said nothing. Then, Heoni nodded. I see. Tom shifted uneasily. You aren't gonna tell Ma? About the tin? Tom looked at the ground. The boy's head came up. Provided, " Barney added, "'you don't make a liar of me. '" Tom nodded quickly. Barney opened the car door and started to climb in. Off you go then. Tom took several steps then turned. Thank you, Mr. Redfern. The boy stared. Yes, That one. Tom gave a short laugh and ran off down the street. Barney shook his head. Only then did he unfold George's note. Mrs Eliza Gray, Husband drowned in February. Six children, Staying at old packing house. Eldest, Tom, Is 11. Youngest is a baby. Barney's eyes stopped on the name, Tom. 11. He looked down the empty street where the boy had just vanished. Then he read the rest. A golden hush had settled over Mystawis by late morning. Valancy peeled the last of the winter onions on the porch steps, Ready to tuck them into a savoury pie. Her fingers worked quickly, Instinctively. A rhythm half-remembered from years of quiet service at sterling dinners. But her mind was elsewhere. She didn't want to rush in to help Eliza Gray with noisy charity. Especially not from a sterling. And certainly not in Deerwood, Where gossip moved quicker than a kingfisher skimming the lake. Butts. There must be some way to offer help that felt like Neighbouring, Not meddling? She remembered how her mother and aunts used to perform their piety, The dramatics, The knowing glances. The little head tilts as if to say, See how good we are. It had never felt. Real. Never felt actually generous. For Lance, He wanted none of it. Whatever she did now, She would do quietly and with care. Thought of the Stirlings brought Olive's face back to her. The tired eyes, The guarded smile, The fleeting look that had crossed her face when Valancy invited her to Mestawis. Would she come? Valanci! Hoped so. But there was nothing more she could do about Olive just now. The invitation had been made, The rest belonged to her. Eliza Gray was different. Widowed. Six children. Living in that dreadful old packing house. Those were troubles one could at least begin to do something about. The sound of the motorboat reached her across the water. Valancy looked up. A few minutes later, Barney came up from the landing, Carrying the morning's provisions. He set the parcels down on the porch and drew George's folded note from his pocket. From George, He said, Handing it to her. Valancy wiped her hands on her apron and opened it. Mrs Eliza Gray, Husband drowned in February. Six children staying at Old Packing House. Eldest Tom is 11, Youngest is a baby. Burns & Co or Reverend Morrison can pass things along. She read it through, Sighed deeply. And looked up. What do you think we can actually do for Eliza Gray? Well, I think we may need to do more than we were planning. Something in his voice made Valancy look at him squarely. What happened? Barney pulled out one of the porch chairs and sat down, Fishing his pipe from his pocket. He struck a match, Got it going, And drew on it deeply before speaking. I met the eldest at Burns's. Tom? Well, I didn't know it was Tom then. I didn't know who he was at all. But Lancey slowly lowered the note. He'd just slipped a tin of condensed milk. Inside his coat. Barney said, With the constable only a few feet away. Oh. Barney? I covered for him, Told Burns I'd sent him for it, But Lancey was silent for a moment. Gorge. What did he want condensed milk for? The baby. Said she was hungry. Valancy went very still. Barney rubbed a hand over his jaw. Who said he wouldn't take charity, So. . . I found him an errand instead, Sent him down to George with a note and paid him when he came back. The milk went with the wages. And that's when he found out who he was. Barney nodded afterwards. I asked his name just before he left. Tom Gray. Tom Gray. Valancy looked down at George's note again. For a little while, Neither of them spoke. Eleven, Bonnie said at last. She looked up. I was 11 when Dad sent me away to school. But Lance's expression changed. She knew that story. Barney stared out through the trees. Dad was a millionaire by the time I was 10. At Tom's age, I had more things than I knew what to do with. A room full of toys, Clothes, Everything money could buy. And I thought. . . I was the most miserable boy alive. You were miserable. Yes. He rubbed his thumb slowly along the stem of his pipe. And Tom. . . Hasn't a decent coat to his name. And he's stealing milk because the baby's hungry. But Lancey was quiet. I don't mean he's better off, " Barney added. Good lord, No. Only. . . He frowned, Searching for it. Eleven's too young. To feel as though the whole world rests on your shoulders. Yes balancy said softly and that poor boy must feel exactly that oldest of six his father gone he must think it's his job now to look after all of them. Barney's face tightened slightly. That's what bothers me. He ought to be killed. Getting into mischief and tearing holes in his trousers, Not wondering whether there's enough milk for the baby. He's trying to take his father's place. At eleven. They were both silent for a moment. He wouldn't take charity. Barney said at last. But he'd work. Valancy looked at him. So give him work. Barney glanced back at her. That, He said, Was what I was thinking. The lancy nodded slowly. Then release. That's one thing settled, But we ought to think about the rest of them too. Barney nodded. Rubbing the back of his neck. I'll make another run into Port Lawrence this week. Pick up some clothes for the children, Soap, Maybe a good pair of shoes if I can guess the sizes. And something for the baby, " Valancy added. Not just necessities. Something kind, A little dress or a toy. She trailed off, Staring out across the lake. Mist still hovered low over the water. Somewhere, A gull cried. It's not enough though, She said quietly. She needs a roof that doesn't leak. A way to feed them next month, Not just this one. A way to manage without having to depend on charity. Bonnie was quiet. Maybe, But Lancey said slowly. We could think of something more. . . Lasting. A way for her to make her own way. I don't know how yet. Barney nodded. Will. Figure it out. And I could write to Cousin Georgiana, Balancy added. She'd know which older ladies knit all winter. If anyone has extra blankets or shawls. She hesitated, Then added, And maybe Mrs. Hawthorne. She has her ear to the ground in town. She might know if there's a decent place to rent. Or someone looking for help with housekeeping. A wind had begun to rise through the evergreens, Rattling the dry needles like a whisper. Balancy looked once more at George's note, Then folded it carefully. The onion still waited beside her, Half peeled, And the pie had yet to be made. But for the moment, Neither of them moved. That night, Belancy wrote Eliza Gray's name on the back of an envelope and began a list. She'd do it properly. Not just food, But suitable clothes, Soap, Books for the boys, Maybe, If she could find some in town. The parcel could say it was from a friend. A neighbour or a friend. It didn't matter. The only important thing was that it arrived. The lake outside was already silvering in the twilight, And the trees along the far shore stood like centuries. There was soup on the stove and bread rising on the hearth. Banjo stretched luxuriously across the braided rug and yawned, Blinking up at her with slitted golden eyes. Valancy picked up her pen again, Drew a slow breath. And kept writing. Six children to manage all alone. Six. And here she was. A woman with a snug home. A kind husband, A warm stove, And not even one child. Sometimes it struck her. As simply unfair. Not in a jealous way, Exactly. Not bitter. Just. . . Baffled. She had no idea why it hadn't happened yet. Three years of marriage come July. And not so much as a whisper of a delicate condition. She hadn't spoken to a doctor. Hadn't even spoken to Barney about it in so many words. Part of her didn't want to know. What if something was wrong with her? And what if? Wasn't. She had thought once that she might feel ashamed if this happened. But now? She wasn't sure. Oddly enough, There was some comfort in not knowing. She could leave the question unanswered a little longer. She dipped her pen again and returned to her list. A black lace collar maybe? Or a fine shawl. Something soft. Something that doesn't feel like me. Punishment. After a few more lines, She set the pen down and reached absently for the writing box on the bookshelf behind her. Old cedar one with the brass latch and the faint scent of lemon oil. It had travelled with her from Dearwood to the island, Holding old letters and half-finished drafts, Odds and ends she couldn't quite let go of. She hadn't opened it in years, But now a half-formed thought tugged at her. Something about an address scribbled in the corner of an envelope or tucked into a letter from long ago. One of those kind older women from the Order of the Sisters of Mercy, Perhaps, Who sent knitted socks to poorhouse children and parcels to remote mission towns. Someone who might know how to get useful things to a widow in desperate need. Inside the box, Bundled by faded ribbon, Were letters Valancy had received, And others she'd written and never sent, Little relics of thought from days when everything had felt mundane. Some were meant for relatives. Some she wasn't sure who they were for. Some perhaps had only been for herself. She picked through them slowly. Until her fingers landed on the neatest bundle. The letters from Olive. Dozens of them, All folded precisely, Tied with a ribbon striped in pale blue. Olive always did love a finishing touch. Lancy hesitated, Then untied the ribbon. The first letter began, As so many of Olive's did, With praise that felt like hollow performance. A compliment on Valancy's sewing, Quickly followed by a remark about how Olive had adjusted the hem for someone with a better figure. Another had a clipped note about Valancy's appearance at a cousin's wedding, Saying how refreshing it was that Valancy didn't seem to mind how dowdy that dress was, Considering Further down the pile was one that Valancy had forgotten, Or perhaps chosen not to remember. The postmark dated it just a week or so after she'd married Barney, Back before anyone had guessed at the truth of his background. Olive had written, Well, If nothing else, I suppose you've secured a place in local legend. No one quite knows what to make of it. Running off with a stranger to live in the woods. It all sounds very. . . Bohemian. But of course, You've always been different. Is it true that he built the place himself? I can't imagine it's exactly comfortable. But I suppose there are worse things than having one's own island. I do hope you're safe and not regretting anything too terribly. Mother says it's likely a phase. Valancy snorted and put the letter down, Muttering to herself. Likely a phase. Her shoulders had tensed without her noticing. She sat still for a moment. Pressing her palms flat against the table. The old fear fluttered faintly in her chest. The one that used to make her shrink. Apologise. Retreat. She could feel it there, Like a phantom limb. She gathered the letters back into their ribbon, Slower this time. She set them back in the bottom of the box. Then she took up her pen once more, Dipped it in the ink. The wind had picked up outside. It sang gently along the eaves. She didn't need to look through more old letters tonight. Still, She let herself sit there a moment longer, Letting the hush settle around her. Then she folded the list for Eliza Gray and laid it on the table, Ready for tomorrow. Banjo had curled into a comma of comfort by the stove, And the soup's soft bubbling filled the cottage with its own kind of promise.