A June Sunday

"A June Sunday" by Sarah Orne Jewett is a poignant short story that captures the essence of a tranquil summer day in a coastal New England village. Through the eyes of the protagonist, the narrative explores themes of community, nature, and the subtle connections between people. Jewett's vivid descriptions and rich characterizations highlight the simplicity and beauty of rural life, while also delving into the emotional landscapes of her characters. The story reflects on the moments of introspection that such serene settings inspire, ultimately celebrating the interplay between humans and their environment.

• Short story

								
It was Miss Prince's custom to indulge herself by taking a long Sunday
afternoon nap in summer, though on this occasion she spoke of it to
her niece as only a short rest. She was glad to gain the shelter of
her own room, and as she brushed a little dust from her handsome silk
gown before putting it away she held it at arm's length and shook it
almost indignantly. Then she hesitated a moment and looked around the
comfortable apartment with a fierce disdain. "I wonder what gives me
such a sense of importance," she whispered. "I have been making
mistakes my whole life long, and giving excuses to myself for not
doing my duty. I wish I had made her a proper allowance, to say the
least. Everybody must be laughing at me!" and Miss Prince actually
stamped her foot. It had been difficult to keep up an appearance of
self-respect, but her pride had helped her in that laudable effort,
and as she lay down on the couch she tried to satisfy herself with the
assurance that her niece should have her rights now, and be treated
justly at last.

Miss Fraley had come in to pay a brief visit on her way to
Sunday-school just as they finished dinner, and had asked Nan to tea
the following Wednesday, expressing also a hope that she would come
sooner to call, quite without ceremony. Finding the state of affairs
so pleasant, Miss Eunice ventured to say that Nan's father had been a
favorite of her mother, who was now of uncommon age. Miss Prince
became suddenly stern, but it was only a passing cloud, which
disturbed nobody.

Nan had accepted willingly the offered apologies and gayly wished her
aunt a pleasant dream, but being wide awake she gladly made use of the
quiet time to send a letter home, and to stroll down the garden
afterward. It all seemed so unlike what she had expected, yet her
former thoughts about her aunt were much more difficult to recall as
every hour went by and made the impression of actual things more
distinct. Her fancied duty to a lonely old lady who mourned over a sad
past seemed quite quixotic when she watched this brisk woman come and
go without any hindrance of age, or, now that the first meeting was
over, any appearance of former melancholy. As our friend went down the
garden she told herself that she was glad to have come; it was quite
right, and it was very pleasant, though there was no particular use in
staying there long, and after a few days she would go away. Somehow
her life seemed a great deal larger for this new experience, and she
would try to repeat the visit occasionally. She wished to get Dunport
itself by heart, but she had become so used to giving the best of
herself to her studies, that she was a little shy of the visiting and
the tea-parties and the apparently fruitless society life of which she
had already learned something. "I suppose the doctor would say it is
good for me," said Nan, somewhat grimly, "but I think it is most
satisfactory to be with the persons whose interests and purposes are
the same as one's own." The feeling of a lack of connection with the
people whom she had met made life appear somewhat blank. She had
already gained a certain degree of affection for her aunt; to say the
least she was puzzled to account for such an implacable hostility as
had lasted for years in the breast of a person so apparently friendly
and cordial in her relations with her neighbors. Our heroine was slow
to recognize in her relative the same strength of will and of
determination which made the framework of her own character,--an
iron-like firmness of structure which could not be easily shaken by
the changes or opinions of other people. Miss Prince's acquaintances
called her a very set person, and were shy of intruding into her
secret fastnesses. There were all the traits of character which are
necessary for the groundwork of an enterprising life, but Miss Prince
seemed to have neither inherited nor acquired any high aims or any
especial and fruitful single-heartedness, so her gifts of persistence
and self-confidence had ranked themselves for the defense of a
comparatively unimportant and commonplace existence. As has been said,
she forbade, years before, any mention of her family troubles, and had
lived on before the world as if they could be annihilated, and not
only were not observable, but never had been. In a more thoughtful and
active circle of social life the contrast between her rare capacity
and her unnoticeable career would have been more striking. She stood
as a fine representative of the old school, but it could not be justly
said that she was a forward scholar, since, however sure of some of
her early lessons, she was most dull and reluctant before new ones of
various enlightening and uplifting descriptions.

Nan had observed that her aunt had looked very tired and spent as she
went up-stairs after dinner, and understood better than she had before
that this visit was moving the waters of Miss Prince's soul more
deeply than had been suspected. She gained a new sympathy, and as the
hours of the summer afternoon went by she thought of a great many
things which had not been quite plain to her, and strolled about the
garden until she knew that by heart, and had made friends with the
disorderly company of ladies-delights and periwinkles which had
cropped up everywhere, as if the earth were capable of turning itself
into such small blossoms without anybody's help, after so many years
of unvarying tuition. The cherry-trees and pear-trees had a most
venerable look, and the plum-trees were in dismal mourning of black
knots. There was a damp and shady corner where Nan found a great many
lilies of the valley still lingering, though they had some time ago
gone out of bloom in the more sunshiny garden at Oldfields. She
remembered that there were no flowers in the house and gathered a
great handful at last of one sort and another to carry in.

The dining-room was very dark, and Nan wished at first to throw open
the blinds which had been carefully closed. It seemed too early in the
summer to shut out the sunshine, but it seemed also a little too soon
to interfere with the housekeeping, and so she brought two or three
tall champagne glasses from a high shelf of the closet and filled them
with her posies, and after putting them in their places, went back to
the garden. There was a perfect silence in the house, except for the
sound of the tall clock in the dining-room, and it seemed very lonely.
She had taken another long look at her father's portrait, but as she
shut the rusty-hinged garden gate after her, she smiled at the thought
of her unusual idleness, and wondered if it need last until Tuesday,
which was the day she had fixed upon for her departure. Nan wished
that she dared to go away for a long walk; it was a pity she had not
told her aunt of a wish to see something of the town and of the
harbor-side that afternoon, but it would certainly be a little strange
if she were to disappear, and very likely the long nap would soon come

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