Daily Book Excerpt: YA/Children’s books:
At the Altar 
Lucy Maud wrote a really good dominating female character. Sometimes she was benign, even though she bosses everybody around – like Judith in ‘The Miracle at Carmody‘ – she’s a dominant boss-type lady but you love her anyway. And sometimes she is malignant – like Emmeline in ‘The Courting of Prissy Strong’. I wrote about this a bit here. She’s a type that comes up again and again in Lucy Maud’s work – taking on different forms, attitudes – but she obviously was very interested in (and understood) rigid stubbornness and pride. (Think of the gravestone in Emily: “Here I stay”.) Pride is a sin. Lucy Maud understood it well. I think she writes about pride-ful characters almost better than anyone.
So this particular story ‘The Wooing of Bessy’ features one of those not-so-benign dominant boss-ladies. It’s a creepy story – at least psychologically. It has elements of ‘The Son of His Mother‘ in it – the mother who cannot let go of her son – who is even willing to destroy her son’s chance at happiness – to keep him with her. Ew. It’s creepy. But you can tell – at least in ‘Son of His Mother’ – that Lucy Maud has some sympathy for these female characters who hold on so tight to things, and can’t let go. You love Thyra. You’re glad she’s not YOUR mother, but you love her.
In ‘The Wooing of Bessy’ – Mrs. Eastman, mother of Lawrence Eastman – a young man – not even a teenager – he’s 20 – but Mrs. Eastman hovers. Hovers. There is no father in the picture – I believe he is dead. Lawrence has started to see a girl named Bessy Houghton. She’s 25 years old, and unmarried – which makes her an old maid in the town’s eyes. Also, she always had a kind of mature older personality. Her parents are both dead – she inherited their huge farm – and she runs it, a capable businesswoman. And Lawrence takes a fancy to her, is falling in love with her, you can tell. But something in him knows he shouldn’t tell his mother. He isn’t openly devious – he just keeps his heart private (which is not an easy thing with such an intrusive mother). Mrs. Eastman gets wind of the romance at a quilting circle – she has never liked Bessy Houghton, thought she “put on airs” – and she is convinced that she is just toying with her son. Also she’s 25!! First of all, that’s ancient. Second of all, she’s 5 years older than Lawrence and everyone knows that the MAN should be older! Oh no no, this must stop.
So Mrs. Eastman goes home and proceeds to stir up trouble.
You know, it occurs to me: reading Lucy Maud’s journals – the ones where she has her 2 sons, and they’re growing up – sometimes I want to reach in and say to her: Maud, you have to back off. You have to let go. If Chester fails an exam, he fails an exam – there’s no need for you to literally take to your bed with a sick stomach over how much you’re worrying. It’s nuts!
She OBSESSES over them. Every quiz they take – her own ego and pride of them is on the line. Poor lady.
But she really understands that type of thing – this story was written in 1906 – long before she had children – but she understood that type of woman intimately.
Excerpt from At the Altar
Lawrence was brushing his pet mare’s coat until it shone like satin, and whistling “Annie Laurie” until the rafters rang. Bessy had sung it for him the night before. He could see her plainly still as she had looked then, in her gown of vivid red – a colour peculiarly becoming to her – with her favourite laces at wrist and throat and a white rose in her hair, which was dressed in the high, becoming knot she had alwars worn since the night he had shyly told her he liked it so.
She had played and sung many of the sweet old Scotch ballads for him, and when she had gone to the door with him he had taken both her hands in his and, emboldened by the look in her brown eyes, he had stooped and kissed her. Then he had stepped back, filled with dismay at his own audacity. But Bessy had said no word of rebuke, and only blushed hotly crmson. Sge must care for him, h e thought happily, or else she would have been angry.
When his mother came in at the stable door her face was hard and uncompromising.
“Lawrie,” she said sharply, “where are you going again tonight? You were out last night.”
“Well, Mother, I promise you I wasn’t in any bad company. Come now, don’t quiz a fellow too close.”
“You are going to dangle after Bessy Houghton again. It’s time you were told what a fool you were making of yourself. She’s old enough to be your mother. The whole settlement is laughing at you.”
Lawrence looked as if his mother had struck him a blow in the face. A dull, purplish flush crept over his brow.
“This is some of George’s work,” he broke out fiercely. “He’s been setting you on me, has he? Yes, he’s jealous – he wanted Bessy himself, but she would not look at him. He thinks nobody knows it, but I do. Bessy marry him? It’s very likely!”
“Lawrie Eastman, you are daft. George hasn’t said anything to me. You surely don’t imagine Bessy Houghton would marry you. And if she would, she is too old for you. Now, don’t you hang around her any longer.”
“I will,” said Lawrence flatly. “I don’t care what anybody says. You needn’t worry over me. I can take care of myself.”
Mrs. Eastman looked blankly at her son. He had never defied or disobeyed her in his life before. She had supposed her word would be law. Rebellion was something she had not dreamed of. Her lips tightened ominously and her eyes narrowed.
“You’re a bigger fool than I took you for,” she said in a voice that trembled with anger. “Bessy Houghton laughs at you everywhere. She knows you’re just after her money, and she makes fun–”
“Prove it,” interrupted Lawrence undauntedly. “I’m not going to put any faith in Lynnfield gossip. Provie it if you can.”
“I can prove it. Maggie Hatfield told me what Bessy Houghton said to her about you. She said you were a lovesick fool, and she only went with you for a little amusement, and that if you thought you had nothing to do but marry her and hang up your hat there you’d find yourself vastly mistaken.”
Possibly in her calmer moments Mrs. Eastman might have shrunk from such a deliberate falsehood, although it was said of her in Lynnfield that she was not one to stick at a lie when the truth would not serve her purpose. Moreover, she felt quite sure that Lawrence would never ask Maggie Hatfield anything about it.
Lawrence turned white to the lips. “Is that true, Mother?” he asked huskily.
“I’ve warned you,” replied his mother, not choosing to repeat her statement. “If you go after Bessy any more you can take the consequences.”
She drew her shawl about her pale, malicious face and left him with a parting glance of contempt.
“I guess that’ll settle him,” she thought grimly. “Bessy Houghton turned up her nose at George, but she shan’t make a fool of Lawrence too.”
Alone in the stable Lawrence stood staring out at the dull red ball of the winter sun with unseeing eyes. He had implicit faith in his mother, and the stab had gone straight to his heart. Bessy Houghton listened in vain that night for his well-known footfall on the verandah.
The next night Lawrence went home with Milly Fiske from prayer meeting, taking her out from a crowd of other girls under Bessy Houghton’s very eyes as she came down the steps of the little church.
Bessy walked home alone. The light burned low in her sitting-room and in the mirror over the mantel she saw her own pale face, with its tragic, pain-stricken eyes. Annie Hillis, her “help”, was out. She was alone in the big house with her misery and despair.
