THE STORY CLUB REDUX
Jennie MacDonald
My dearest darling Anne Cordelia,
I am tucking this into your trunk with a little cake to surprise you when you unpack. Although I never went away to school myself, many of my friends did, including your namesake, Mrs. Anne (Shirley) Blythe. Like you, Anne was terribly anxious about going so far from home. Stories from home especially cheered her, she always said. So I am sending a story from home along with you, to cheer you during those anxious moments.
This is a genuine story that I wrote when Anne, our friends Jane Andrews and Ruby Gillis, and I formed The Story Club. Every week we each would write a story and read it to the others. We all had pen names, and mine was Angelina Truelove. Your Great-Aunt Josephine (who, sadly, died before you were born) loved our stories. They always made her laugh and laugh, she said. At the time, this was quite a bewildering response to us because all of the stories were very dramatic and tragical, as we used to say then. As Anne pointed out, it was wonderful that Aunt Josephine enjoyed them so well. You may see from my enclosed story why our endeavors amused Aunt Josephine so much. I’m still not clear on that, myself. But I thought this story the very best of my tales. Anne was always so good at helping me to mark up my stories, which is why you’ll see her crossings-out and comments and corrections in brackets here and there.
“̶S̶t̶o̶r̶y̶ ̶T̶i̶t̶l̶e̶ ̶H̶e̶r̶e̶”̶
[Diana, you simply must start giving some thought to your story titles. After I finish reading this, I will propose a perfectly elegant title for you to use. And also, as usual, my comments are just suggestions based on my response as a reader. Just keep the ones that resonate with you. This is your story, after all!]
By
Angelina Truelove
Sir Henry Lowestoft’s birthday party was the talk of the whole county. Not everyone was invited, of course, and as the invitations trickled out, people wondered at the seemingly random selection of the recipients.
D̶o̶r̶i̶s̶ ̶L̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ [Claudine Ellesmere is a much more dramatic name, don’t you think?], the mistress of letters at the post office, was the first to s̶o̶l̶v̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ [propose a solution to this] mystery. “Everyone invited so far has the letters ‘ve’ in their names.”
That was three weeks before the [auspicious] event.
The next week all of the invitees had the letters “ne” in their names.
And the week after that [add “—the week before the party—” to increase the anticipation] all of the invitees had the letters “ger” in their names.
People put their heads together, whispering [knowingly] that as a group the letters spelled “veneger.” This, they s̶a̶i̶d̶ [declared], was a clever reference to the source of Sir Lowestoft’s m̶o̶n̶e̶y̶ [enormous fortune], his family’s vinegar production company.
“But that’s not how you spell ‘vinegar,’” M̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶L̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ [Mistress Ellesmere] s̶a̶i̶d̶ [pointed out]. But as she had not been invited no one paid any attention. They were all too busy congratulating themselves for getting in on the joke.
On the day of the party, [golden] carriages c̶a̶m̶e̶ [descended] from Sir Lowestoft’s [grand] mansion [of many towers] to p̶i̶c̶k̶ ̶u̶p̶ [collect] the guests. They wore all their finest clothes, silks and satins, tall hats and glittering jewelry [honestly, Diana, I will compose two pages of description for the clothing], which was too bad given what happened to them all. [n.b. Unfortunately, Anne Cordelia, these pages were lost when Anne fell in the stream during the Lily Maid incident, and I never had the chance to read them.]
At the drawbridge to the mansion, the first two carriages carrying all of the people whose names had “ve” and “ne” were carried across [Diana, this might be too many “carriages” and “carry” usages. I’m not sure. But just how big are these carriages? How populous is the county? Are we talking more than a dozen in each carriage? And, in fact, how many people in total were invited? I get the impression it’s a lot.]. But the people in the third carriage, whose names had “ger,” were made to get out and walk. Unfortunately, at the very moment when they reached the middle of the drawbridge, it collapsed, and they were all thrown into the moat. This was [especially] unfortunate because the alligators from the zoo had escaped just that afternoon and were swimming in the moat. It was [also especially] unfortunate because these were the last guests to receive their invitations and the first ones to meet their doom. They thus had the shortest time of all to enjoy the fact that they had been invited to the party. [Do you see how I increased the drama by increasingly emphasizing “unfortunate”?]
The guests in the first two carriages were unaware of the fate of the others and [joyfully] passed through the gates into the courtyard. There, the passengers of the first carriage were escorted into the entrance hall.
The second carriage’s passengers, the people whose names had “ne” were told to wait in the courtyard in the shadows of the [many] towers. Unfortunately, just as they had assembled in the right places, there was an explosion. This was [especially] unfortunate because the towers collapsed, and the guests were all buried in a cloud of rubble [I’m not sure “rubble” can be a “cloud,” but I can see where you’re going with this]. It was [even more] unfortunate because these were the guests who had received gold-bordered invitations and they had been looking forward to lording it over their fellow guests because they had presumed this meant they were the most special.
The first carriage’s passengers were led from the entrance hall into the great hall, where a stupendous dinner was laid across the table [I’d love to see you describe this “stupendous dinner”!]. There were place cards for each of them, written in gold ink with the letters “ve” spelled in diamonds. Before each place card was a piece of cake on a plate. [Just a “piece of cake”? Really? What kind? Color? How is it decorated?]
But where was Sir Lowestoft?
And where were the other guests?
And why had the cake been served first?
And what made it smell so delicious? Like almonds. [I like how you’re building these short questions that the reader won’t know to ask. But not sure about the almond smell. Doesn’t this give it away?]
They tried to wait for Sir Lowestoft [add “they really did” to increase emphasis/drama]. But the luscious cake was too much for them. They seated themselves, snatched up their forks, took a bite, swallowed.
And died. [Ooh, this is great! Pithy, dramatic, and final.]
For the cake was poisoned with cyanide. [I’m not sure you need this. See note on “almonds” above. Maybe keep one or the other but not both.]
The next day, after the news had gone around the town, M̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶L̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ [Mistress Ellesmere] discovered a note addressed to her as she was sorting the mail.
My dear M̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶L̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ [Mistress Ellesmere],
You of all people will [perhaps] understand why I have done these terrible t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ [deeds]. All of these e̶v̶i̶l̶ [“evil” is good, Diana, but “execrable”! I just learned it and it’s perfect for your purposes here] people were so m̶e̶a̶n̶ [cruel] to my bride and refused to welcome her to the county. They closed their doors to her, would not speak to her in the street, and would not reply to her invitations. Just because she came from across the water. [Oh, Diana, this just made me weep in sympathy with the lovely, lonely, Lady Lowestoft. Because I, too, came from across the water—what a lovely phrase you use here—and you’ve made me sympathize with this unseen, unknown character by creating a connection between us with one deft stroke of your pencil!]. You alone came to have tea with her before she died of a broken heart in this land far from her home. A̶n̶d̶ ̶s̶o̶ [For this reason], I am leaving you a pile of gold and also leaving the county.
S̶i̶n̶c̶e̶r̶e̶l̶y̶ [Yours most devotedly],
Sir [Robert—I think it’s important to use one’s full title in a signature, and a good place for you to provide the reader with his first name, and isn’t “Robert” a dashing name?] Lowestoft
M̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶L̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ [Mistress Ellesmere] was touched by Sir Lowestoft’s t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ [remembrance—we’re almost at the end, so it’s good to use fewer words]. The shock of the murders soon wore off as the [surviving] county residents talked amongst themselves, remembering how m̶e̶a̶n̶ [cruel] the others had been not only to Sir Lowestoft’s beautiful bride but to everyone else, too.
M̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶L̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ [Mistress Ellesmere] was the one who f̶i̶g̶u̶r̶e̶d̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶o̶u̶t̶ [“figured it out” really has to do with math and numbers, and what you’re really talking about is spelling—but I’m not sure what to suggest here] in the end. She was mistress of letters, after all [Nice pun!]. The letters that spelled “veneger” also spelled “revenge.” And that is exactly what Sir Lowestoft got.
Over time, the mansion, which had already been ruined by the explosion and which everyone avoided because of the alligators, became a complete wreck, haunted by the ghosts of the murdered guests.
Children used to dare each other to go there, but when they did, they always ran home, chased by alligators and by ghostly figures saying one word over and over.
“Cake.”
The End
[Diana, your stories just get better and better. I love this. And I did say I would come up with a title after reading it. Well, your title just has to be “The Truly Tragical Tale of Lady Carolina Lowestoft and What Happened After.” Or “What Happened After the Truly Tragical Tale of Lady Carolina Lowestoft.” Or “Be Kind to the Stranger in Your Midst from Tragical Circumstances Across the Water.” Or “The Kindness of Mistress Claudine Ellesmere in a Tragical Situation.” As long as it has the word “Tragical” in it, you’ll be fine.]
[n.b. Goodness, Diana, you do put an awful lot of murders in your stories. I’m wondering: Why?]
I am tucking this into your trunk with a little cake to surprise you when you unpack. Although I never went away to school myself, many of my friends did, including your namesake, Mrs. Anne (Shirley) Blythe. Like you, Anne was terribly anxious about going so far from home. Stories from home especially cheered her, she always said. So I am sending a story from home along with you, to cheer you during those anxious moments.
This is a genuine story that I wrote when Anne, our friends Jane Andrews and Ruby Gillis, and I formed The Story Club. Every week we each would write a story and read it to the others. We all had pen names, and mine was Angelina Truelove. Your Great-Aunt Josephine (who, sadly, died before you were born) loved our stories. They always made her laugh and laugh, she said. At the time, this was quite a bewildering response to us because all of the stories were very dramatic and tragical, as we used to say then. As Anne pointed out, it was wonderful that Aunt Josephine enjoyed them so well. You may see from my enclosed story why our endeavors amused Aunt Josephine so much. I’m still not clear on that, myself. But I thought this story the very best of my tales. Anne was always so good at helping me to mark up my stories, which is why you’ll see her crossings-out and comments and corrections in brackets here and there.
“̶S̶t̶o̶r̶y̶ ̶T̶i̶t̶l̶e̶ ̶H̶e̶r̶e̶”̶
[Diana, you simply must start giving some thought to your story titles. After I finish reading this, I will propose a perfectly elegant title for you to use. And also, as usual, my comments are just suggestions based on my response as a reader. Just keep the ones that resonate with you. This is your story, after all!]
By
Angelina Truelove
Sir Henry Lowestoft’s birthday party was the talk of the whole county. Not everyone was invited, of course, and as the invitations trickled out, people wondered at the seemingly random selection of the recipients.
D̶o̶r̶i̶s̶ ̶L̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ [Claudine Ellesmere is a much more dramatic name, don’t you think?], the mistress of letters at the post office, was the first to s̶o̶l̶v̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ [propose a solution to this] mystery. “Everyone invited so far has the letters ‘ve’ in their names.”
That was three weeks before the [auspicious] event.
The next week all of the invitees had the letters “ne” in their names.
And the week after that [add “—the week before the party—” to increase the anticipation] all of the invitees had the letters “ger” in their names.
People put their heads together, whispering [knowingly] that as a group the letters spelled “veneger.” This, they s̶a̶i̶d̶ [declared], was a clever reference to the source of Sir Lowestoft’s m̶o̶n̶e̶y̶ [enormous fortune], his family’s vinegar production company.
“But that’s not how you spell ‘vinegar,’” M̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶L̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ [Mistress Ellesmere] s̶a̶i̶d̶ [pointed out]. But as she had not been invited no one paid any attention. They were all too busy congratulating themselves for getting in on the joke.
On the day of the party, [golden] carriages c̶a̶m̶e̶ [descended] from Sir Lowestoft’s [grand] mansion [of many towers] to p̶i̶c̶k̶ ̶u̶p̶ [collect] the guests. They wore all their finest clothes, silks and satins, tall hats and glittering jewelry [honestly, Diana, I will compose two pages of description for the clothing], which was too bad given what happened to them all. [n.b. Unfortunately, Anne Cordelia, these pages were lost when Anne fell in the stream during the Lily Maid incident, and I never had the chance to read them.]
At the drawbridge to the mansion, the first two carriages carrying all of the people whose names had “ve” and “ne” were carried across [Diana, this might be too many “carriages” and “carry” usages. I’m not sure. But just how big are these carriages? How populous is the county? Are we talking more than a dozen in each carriage? And, in fact, how many people in total were invited? I get the impression it’s a lot.]. But the people in the third carriage, whose names had “ger,” were made to get out and walk. Unfortunately, at the very moment when they reached the middle of the drawbridge, it collapsed, and they were all thrown into the moat. This was [especially] unfortunate because the alligators from the zoo had escaped just that afternoon and were swimming in the moat. It was [also especially] unfortunate because these were the last guests to receive their invitations and the first ones to meet their doom. They thus had the shortest time of all to enjoy the fact that they had been invited to the party. [Do you see how I increased the drama by increasingly emphasizing “unfortunate”?]
The guests in the first two carriages were unaware of the fate of the others and [joyfully] passed through the gates into the courtyard. There, the passengers of the first carriage were escorted into the entrance hall.
The second carriage’s passengers, the people whose names had “ne” were told to wait in the courtyard in the shadows of the [many] towers. Unfortunately, just as they had assembled in the right places, there was an explosion. This was [especially] unfortunate because the towers collapsed, and the guests were all buried in a cloud of rubble [I’m not sure “rubble” can be a “cloud,” but I can see where you’re going with this]. It was [even more] unfortunate because these were the guests who had received gold-bordered invitations and they had been looking forward to lording it over their fellow guests because they had presumed this meant they were the most special.
The first carriage’s passengers were led from the entrance hall into the great hall, where a stupendous dinner was laid across the table [I’d love to see you describe this “stupendous dinner”!]. There were place cards for each of them, written in gold ink with the letters “ve” spelled in diamonds. Before each place card was a piece of cake on a plate. [Just a “piece of cake”? Really? What kind? Color? How is it decorated?]
But where was Sir Lowestoft?
And where were the other guests?
And why had the cake been served first?
And what made it smell so delicious? Like almonds. [I like how you’re building these short questions that the reader won’t know to ask. But not sure about the almond smell. Doesn’t this give it away?]
They tried to wait for Sir Lowestoft [add “they really did” to increase emphasis/drama]. But the luscious cake was too much for them. They seated themselves, snatched up their forks, took a bite, swallowed.
And died. [Ooh, this is great! Pithy, dramatic, and final.]
For the cake was poisoned with cyanide. [I’m not sure you need this. See note on “almonds” above. Maybe keep one or the other but not both.]
The next day, after the news had gone around the town, M̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶L̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ [Mistress Ellesmere] discovered a note addressed to her as she was sorting the mail.
My dear M̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶L̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ [Mistress Ellesmere],
You of all people will [perhaps] understand why I have done these terrible t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ [deeds]. All of these e̶v̶i̶l̶ [“evil” is good, Diana, but “execrable”! I just learned it and it’s perfect for your purposes here] people were so m̶e̶a̶n̶ [cruel] to my bride and refused to welcome her to the county. They closed their doors to her, would not speak to her in the street, and would not reply to her invitations. Just because she came from across the water. [Oh, Diana, this just made me weep in sympathy with the lovely, lonely, Lady Lowestoft. Because I, too, came from across the water—what a lovely phrase you use here—and you’ve made me sympathize with this unseen, unknown character by creating a connection between us with one deft stroke of your pencil!]. You alone came to have tea with her before she died of a broken heart in this land far from her home. A̶n̶d̶ ̶s̶o̶ [For this reason], I am leaving you a pile of gold and also leaving the county.
S̶i̶n̶c̶e̶r̶e̶l̶y̶ [Yours most devotedly],
Sir [Robert—I think it’s important to use one’s full title in a signature, and a good place for you to provide the reader with his first name, and isn’t “Robert” a dashing name?] Lowestoft
M̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶L̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ [Mistress Ellesmere] was touched by Sir Lowestoft’s t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ [remembrance—we’re almost at the end, so it’s good to use fewer words]. The shock of the murders soon wore off as the [surviving] county residents talked amongst themselves, remembering how m̶e̶a̶n̶ [cruel] the others had been not only to Sir Lowestoft’s beautiful bride but to everyone else, too.
M̶i̶s̶s̶ ̶L̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ [Mistress Ellesmere] was the one who f̶i̶g̶u̶r̶e̶d̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶o̶u̶t̶ [“figured it out” really has to do with math and numbers, and what you’re really talking about is spelling—but I’m not sure what to suggest here] in the end. She was mistress of letters, after all [Nice pun!]. The letters that spelled “veneger” also spelled “revenge.” And that is exactly what Sir Lowestoft got.
Over time, the mansion, which had already been ruined by the explosion and which everyone avoided because of the alligators, became a complete wreck, haunted by the ghosts of the murdered guests.
Children used to dare each other to go there, but when they did, they always ran home, chased by alligators and by ghostly figures saying one word over and over.
“Cake.”
The End
[Diana, your stories just get better and better. I love this. And I did say I would come up with a title after reading it. Well, your title just has to be “The Truly Tragical Tale of Lady Carolina Lowestoft and What Happened After.” Or “What Happened After the Truly Tragical Tale of Lady Carolina Lowestoft.” Or “Be Kind to the Stranger in Your Midst from Tragical Circumstances Across the Water.” Or “The Kindness of Mistress Claudine Ellesmere in a Tragical Situation.” As long as it has the word “Tragical” in it, you’ll be fine.]
[n.b. Goodness, Diana, you do put an awful lot of murders in your stories. I’m wondering: Why?]
Award-winning author Jennie MacDonald, PhD, has published in a wide range of genres, including poetry, short stories, and articles concerning 18th and 19th century Gothic literature, theatre, and visual and material culture. Her flash fiction tribute to the Anne books titled "On Reflection" was published in NonBinary Review's Issue 11, the Anne of Green Gables issue. Her essay, ''I just love pretty clothes: Considering the Sartorial in Anne of Green Gables" was published in the collection Anne Around the World: L.M. Montgomery and Her Classic.
Author's statement: When I was fifteen, my mother took my sister and me to Prince Edward Island--not on an author quest but for a summer stay at a horse farm. I didn't know anything about Anne of Green Gables. But during that visit we did see the musical of the book in Charlottetown, and I was completely enchanted. During our drive home to Colorado, I found a 1930s edition at an antique shop in Nebraska. A used bookstore in Denver had the rest of that complete set. Anne's adventures and dreams transported me to a world where imagination could be talked about and explored and contributed to my writing aspirations. Reading the Anne books and subsequently the Emily books profoundly impacted my reading and writing, and my life.
Author's statement: When I was fifteen, my mother took my sister and me to Prince Edward Island--not on an author quest but for a summer stay at a horse farm. I didn't know anything about Anne of Green Gables. But during that visit we did see the musical of the book in Charlottetown, and I was completely enchanted. During our drive home to Colorado, I found a 1930s edition at an antique shop in Nebraska. A used bookstore in Denver had the rest of that complete set. Anne's adventures and dreams transported me to a world where imagination could be talked about and explored and contributed to my writing aspirations. Reading the Anne books and subsequently the Emily books profoundly impacted my reading and writing, and my life.