Jane of Lantern Hill (11 page)

Elmer and Min and Polly Garland and Shingle and Jane were all children of the same year and they all liked each other and snubbed each other and offended each other and stood up for each other against the older and younger fry. Jane gave up trying to believe she hadn't always been friends with them. She remembered the woman who had called Gay Street dead. Well, Aunt Matilda Jollie's house wasn't dead. It was alive, every inch of it. Jane's friends swarmed all over it.

“You're so nice you ought to have been born in P. E. Island,” Ding-dong told her.

“I was,” said Jane triumphantly.

One day a blue two-wheeled cart lumbered up the lane and left a big packing-box in the yard.

“A lot of my mother's china and silver are in that, Jane,” said dad. “I thought you might like to have them. You were named after her. They've been packed up ever since…”

Dad suddenly stopped, and the frown that Jane always wanted to smooth out came over his brow.

“They've been packed up for years.”

Jane knew perfectly well that he had started to say, “ever since your mother went away,” or words to that effect. She had a sudden realization of the fact that this was not the first time dad had helped fix up a home…not the first time he had been nicely excited over choosing wallpaper and curtains and rugs. He must have had it all before with mother. Perhaps they had had just as much fun over it as dad and she were having now…more. Mother must have been sweet over fixing up her own home. She never had anything to say over the arrangements at 60 Gay. Jane wondered where the house dad and mother had lived in was…the house where she had been born. There were so many things she would have liked to ask dad if she had dared. But he was so nice. How could mother ever have left him?

It was great fun unpacking Grandmother Stuart's box. There was lovely bits of glass and china in it…Grandmother Stuart's dinner set of white and gold…slender-stemmed glass goblets…quaint pretty dishes of all kinds. And silver! A tea-set, forks, spoons—“Apostle spoons”—salt cellars.

“That silver does need cleaning,” said Jane in rapture. What fun she would have cleaning it and washing up all those dainty and delicate dishes! Polishing up the moon was nothing to this. In fact, the moon life had lost its old charm. Jane had enough to do keeping her house spotless without going on moon sprees. Anyhow, the Island moons never seemed to need polishing.

There were other things in the box…pictures and a delightful old framed motto worked in blue and crimson wool. “May the peace of God abide in this house.” Jane thought this was lovely. She and dad had endless palavers as to where the pictures should go, but eventually they were all hung and made such a difference.

“As soon as you hang a picture on a wall,” said dad, “the wall becomes your friend. A blank wall is hostile.”

They hung the motto in Jane's room and every night when she went to bed and every morning when she got up Jane read it over like a prayer.

The beds blossomed out in wonderful patchwork quilts after that box came home. There were three of them that Grandmother Stuart had pieced…an Irish Chain, a Blazing Star, and a Wild Goose. Jane put the Wild Goose on dad's bed, the blue Irish Chain on her own, and the scarlet Blazing Star on the boot-shelf against the day when they would have a bed for the spare room.

They found a bronze soldier on horseback in the box and a shiny brass dog. The soldier went up on the clock-shelf but dad said the dog must go on his desk to keep his china cat in order. Dad's desk had been brought from Mr. Meade's and was set up in the “study”…an old shining mahogany desk with sliding shelves and secret drawers and pigeonholes. The cat sat on one corner…a white, green-spotted cat with a long snaky neck and gleaming diamond eyes. For some reason Jane could not fathom, dad seemed to prize the thing. He had carried it all the way from Brookview to Lantern Hill in his hand so that it shouldn't get broken.

Jane's own particular booty was a blue plate with a white bird flying across it. She would eat every meal off it after this. And the old hourglass, with its golden sands, on its walnut base was charming.

“Early eighteenth century,” said dad. “My great-grandfather was a U.E. Loyalist and this hourglass was about all he had when he came to Canada…that and an old copper kettle. I wonder…yes, here it is. More polishing for you, Jane. And here's an old bowl of blue and white striped china. Mother mixed her salads in it.”

“I'll mix mine in it,” said Jane.

There was a little box at the very bottom of the big box. Jane pounced on it.

“Dad, what's this?”

Dad took it from her. There was a strange look on his face.

“That? Oh, that's nothing.”

“Dad, it's a Distinguished Service Medal! Miss Colwin had one in her room at St. Agatha's…her brother won it in the Great War. Oh, dad, you…you…”

Jane was breathless with pride over her discovery.

Dad shrugged his shoulders.

“You can never deceive your faithful Jane, says she. I won it at Paschendale. Once I was proud of it. It seemed to mean something when…throw it out.”

Dad's voice was oddly savage but Jane was not afraid of it…any more than she was afraid of his quick brief spurts of temper. Just a flash and a snap, like lightning from a summer cloud, then sunshine again. He had never been angry with her, but he and Uncle Tombstone had had a spat or two.

“I won't throw it out. I'm going to keep it, dad.”

Dad shrugged.

“Well, don't let me see it then.”

Jane put it on her bureau and gloated over it every day. But she was so excited over the contents of the box that she put icing sugar instead of salt in the Irish stew she made for dinner and her humiliation robbed her for a time of her high delight in life. Happy liked the stew, though.

“Let's entertain, my Jane. A very old friend of mine, Dr. Arnett, is in Charlottetown. I'd like to invite him out for supper and a night. Can we manage it?”

“Of course. But we must get a bed for the guest room. We've got the chest of drawers and the looking-glass and the wash-stand, but no bed. You know we heard Little Donald's had a bed to sell.”

“I'll see to all that. But about the supper, Jane? Shall we be extravagant? Shall we buy a chicken…two chickens…from Mrs. Jimmy John? If we do, can you cook them?”

“Of course. Oh, let me plan it, dad! We'll have cold chicken and potato salad. I know exactly how Mary made potato salad…I've often helped her peel the potatoes…and hot biscuits…you must get me a can of Flewell's Baking Powder at the Corners, dad…Flewell's, mind…it's the only one you can rely on”…already Jane was an authority on baking powders…and wild strawberries and cream. Min and I found a bed of wild strawberries down the hill yesterday. We ate a lot but we left plenty.”

Unluckily, Aunt Irene came the very afternoon they were expecting Dr. Arnett. She passed them in her car as Jane and her father were carrying an iron bedstead up the lane. Dad had bought it from Little Donald and Little Donald had left it at the end of the lane because he was in too much of a hurry to bring it all the way. It was a windy day, and Jane had her head tied up in an old shawl of Aunt Matilda Jollie's because she had had a slight toothache the night before. Aunt Irene looked quite horrified but kissed them both as they came into the yard.

“So you've bought old Tillie Jollie's house, 'Drew? What a funny little place! Well, I think you might have spoken to me about it first.”

“Jane wanted it kept a secret…Jane loves secrets,” dad explained lightly.

“Oh, Jane's secretive enough,” said Aunt Irene, shaking a finger tenderly at Jane. “I hope it's only ‘secretive'…but I do think you're a little inclined to be sly.”

Aunt Irene was smiling, but there was an edge to her voice. Jane thought she would almost prefer grandmother's venom. You didn't have to look as if you liked that.

“If I had known I would have advised against it strongly, Andrew. I hear you paid four hundred for it. Jimmy John simply cheated you. Four hundred for a little old shack like this! Three would have been enough.”

“But the view, Irene…the view. The extra hundred was for the view.”

“You're so impractical, Andrew,” shaking a laughing finger at him in his turn. At least, you felt the finger laughed. “Jane, you'll have to hold the purse-strings. If you don't, your father will be penniless by the fall.”

“Oh, I think we'll be able to make both ends meet, Irene. If not, we'll pull them as close together as possible. Jane's a famous little manager. She looketh well to the ways of her household and eateth not the bread of idleness.”

“Oh, Jane!” Aunt Irene was kindly amused over Jane. “If you had to have a house, 'Drew, why didn't you get one near town? There's a lovely bungalow out at Keppoch…you could have rented it for the summer. I could have been near you then to help…and advise…”

“We like the north shore best. Jane and I are both owls of the desert and pelicans of the wilderness. But we both like onions so we hit it off together. Why, we've even hung the pictures without quarreling. That's phenomenal, you know.”

“It isn't any joking matter, Andrew.” Aunt Irene was almost plaintive. “How about your food supplies?”

“Jane digs clams,” said dad solemnly.

“Clams! Do you expect to live on clams!”

“Why, Aunt Irene, the fishman calls every week and the butcher from the Corners comes twice a week,” said Jane indignantly.

“Darrrling!” Aunt Irene became patronizing in an instant. She patronized everything…the guest room and the ruffled curtains of yellow net Jane was so proud of… “a dear little closet,” she called it sweetly…She patronized the garden…“such a darling old-fashioned spot, isn't it, Jane?”…She patronized the boot-shelf…“Really, Aunt Matilda Jollie had all the conveniences, hadn't she, lovey?”

The only thing she didn't patronize was the Apostle spoons. There was something acid in her sweetness when she spoke of them.

“I always think mother intended
I
should have them, 'Drew.”

“She gave them to Robin,” said 'Drew quietly.

Jane felt a tingle go over her. This was the first time she had heard dad mention mother's name.

“But when she left…”

“We won't discuss it, Irene, if you please.”

“Of course not, dear one.
I
understand. Forgive me. And now, Jane lovey, I'll borrow an apron and help you get ready for Dr. Arnett. Bless her little heart, trying to get ready for company all by herself.”

Aunt Irene was
amused
at her…Aunt Irene was laughing at her. Jane was furious and helpless. Aunt Irene took smiling charge. The chickens were already cooked and the salad was already made but she insisted on making the biscuits and slicing the chickens and she would not hear to Jane going for wild strawberries.

“Luckily I brought a pie with me. I knew Andrew would like it. Men like something substantial, you know, lovey.”

This maddened Jane. She vowed in her heart that she would learn pie-making in a week's time. Meanwhile she could only submit. When Dr. Arnett came, Aunt Irene, a smiling and gracious hostess, made him welcome. Aunt Irene, still more smiling and gracious, sat at the head of the table and poured the tea and was charmed because Dr. Arnett took a second helping of potato salad. Both men enjoyed the pie. Dad told Aunt Irene she was the best pie-maker in Canada.

“Eating is not such bad fun after all,” said dad, with a faint air of surprise, as if he had just discovered the fact, thanks to the pie. Bitterness overflowed the heart of Jane. At that moment she could cheerfully have torn everybody in pieces.

Aunt Irene helped Jane wash the dishes before she went away. Jane thanked her stars that she and Min had walked to Lantern Corners three days before and bought towels. What would Aunt Irene have said if she had had to wipe dishes with an undervest?

“I have to go now, lovey…I want to get home before dark. I do wish you were nearer me…but I'll come out as often as I can. I don't know what your mother would have done without me many a time, poor child. 'Drew and Dr. Arnett are off to the shore…I daresay they'll argue and shout at each other there most of the night. Andrew shouldn't leave you here alone like this. But men are like that…so thoughtless.”

And Jane adored being left alone. It was so lovely to have a chance to talk to yourself.

“I don't mind it, Aunt Irene. And I
love
Lantern Hill.”

“You're easily pleased”…as if she were a dear little fool to be so easily pleased. Somehow Aunt Irene had the most extraordinary knack of making you feel that what you liked or thought or did was of small account. And how Jane did resent her airs of authority in dad's house! Had she acted that way when mother was with dad? If she had…

“I've brought you a cushion for your living room, lovey…”

“It's a kitchen,” said Jane.

“…And I'll bring my old chintz chair the next time I come—for the spare room.”

Jane, remembering the “dear little closet,” permitted herself one satisfaction.

“I think there'll hardly be room for it,” she said.

She eyed the cushion malevolently when Aunt Irene had gone. It was so new and gorgeous it made everything look faded and countrified.

“I think I'll stow it away on the boot-shelf,” said Jane with a relish.

It was a sultry night and Jane went out and up and sat on the hill…“to get back into herself” as she expressed it. She had really been out of herself ever since the morning, more or less, because she had burned the toast for breakfast and walked in the humiliation of it all day. Cooking the chickens had been a bit of a strain…the wood-stove oven was not like that of Mary's electric range…and making up the guest-room bed under Aunt Irene's amused eyes…“fancy this baby having a spare-room,” they seemed to say…had been worse. But now she was blessedly alone again and there was nothing to prevent her sitting on the hill in the cool velvet night as long as she wanted to. The wind was blowing from the southwest and brought with it the scent of Big Donald's clover field. All the Jimmy Johns' dogs were barking together. The great dune that they called the Watch Tower was scalloping up against the empty north sky. Beyond it sounded the long, low thunder of the surf. A silver moth of dusk flew by, almost brushing her face. Happy had gone with dad and Dr. Arnett but the Peters came skittering up the hill and played about her. She held their purring silken flanks against her face and let them bite her cheeks delicately. It was all like a fairy-tale come true.

When she went back into the house Jane was her own woman again. Who cared for smooth, smiling Aunt Irene? She, Jane Stuart, was mistress at Lantern Hill; and she would learn to make pie crust, that she would, by the three wise monkeys, as dad was so fond of saying.

Since dad was out, Jane sat down at his desk and wrote a page or two of her letter to mother. At first she hadn't known how she could live if she could write to mother only once a month. Then it occurred to her that though she could mail a letter only once a month, she could write a little of it every day.

We had company for supper,

wrote Jane. Being forbidden to mention dad she got around it by adopting the style royal.

Dr. Arnett and Aunt Irene. Did you like Aunt Irene, mummy? Did she make you feel stupid? I cooked the chickens but Aunt Irene thought pie was better than strawberries. Don't you think wild strawberries would be more
elegant
than pie, mummy? I never tasted wild strawberries before. They are delicious. Min and I know where there is a bed of them. I'm going to get up early tomorrow morning and pick some for breakfast. Min's ma says if I can pick enough of them she will show me how to make them up into jam. I like Min's ma. Min likes her too. Min only weighed three and a half pounds when she was born. Nobody thought she'd live. Min's ma has a pig she is feeding for their winter pork. She let me feed it yesterday. I like feeding things, mummy. It makes you
important
to feed things. Pigs have great appetites. So have I. There's something in the Island air, I guess.

Miranda Jimmy John can't bear to be joked about being fat. Miranda milks four of the cows every night. The Jimmy Johns have fifteen cows. I haven't got acquainted with them yet. I don't know whether I'll like cows or not. I think they have an unfriendly look.

The Jimmy Johns have big hooks in the kitchen rafters to hang hams on.

The Jimmy John baby is so funny and solemn. It has never laughed yet although it is nine months old. They are worried about it. It has long, curly, black eyelashes. I didn't know babies were so sweet, mummy.

Shingle Snowbeam and I have found a robin's nest in one of the little spruce trees behind the house. There are four blue eggs in it. Shingle says we must keep it a secret from Penny and Young John or they would blow the eggs. Some secrets are nice things.

I like Shingle now. Her real name is Marilyn Florence Isabel. Mrs. Snowbeam says the only thing she could give her children was real fancy names.

Shingle's hair is almost white but her eyes are just the right kind of blue, something like yours, mummy. But nobody could have quite such nice eyes as you.

Shingle is ambishus. She is the only one of the Snowbeams that has any ambishun. She says she is going to make a lady of herself or die in the attempt. I told her if she wanted to be a lady she must never ask personal questions and she is not going to do it anymore. But Caraway isn't particular whether she is a lady or not so she asks them and Shingle hears the answers. I don't like Young John Snowbeam much. He makes snoots. But he can pick up sticks with his toes.

I like the sound of the wind here at night, mummy. I like to lie awake just to listen to it.

I made a plum pudding one day last week. It would have been very successful if it had succeeded. Mrs. Jimmy John says I should have steamed it, not boiled it. I don't mind Mrs. Johnny John knowing about my mistakes. She has such sweet eyes.

It's such fun to boil potatoes in a three-legged iron pot, mummy.

The Jimmy Johns have four dogs. Three who go everywhere with them and one who stays home. We have one dog. Dogs are very nice, mummy.

Step-a-yard is the name of the Jimmy Johns' hired man. Not his real name of course. Miranda says he has been in love all his life with Miss Justina Titus and knows it's quite hopeless because Miss Justina is faithful to the memory of Alec Jacks who was killed in the Great War. She still wears her hair pompadour, Miranda says, because that is how she wore it when she said good-bye to Alec. I think that is touching, mummy.

Mummy darling, I love to think you'll read this letter and hold it in your hands.

It did not give Jane so much pleasure to reflect that grandmother would read it too. Jane could just see grandmother's thin-lipped smile over parts of it. “Well, like takes to like, you know, Robin. Your daughter has always had the knack of making friends with the wrong people. Snoots!”

“How nice it would be,” thought Jane, as she took a flying leap into bed for the fun of it, “if mummy was down there with dad instead of Dr. Arnett and they would be coming back to me soon. It
must
have been that way once.”

It was in the wee sma's that Andrew Stuart showed his guest to the neat guest room where Jane had set Grandmother Stuart's blue and white bowl full of crimson peonies on the little table. Then he tiptoed into Jane's room. Jane was sound asleep. He bent over her with such love radiating from him that Jane felt it and smiled in her sleep. He touched one tumbled lock of russet-brown hair.

“It is well with the child,” said Andrew Stuart.