Jane Lavinia Page #2

"Jane Lavinia" is a short story by Lucy Maud Montgomery, featuring a young girl named Jane Lavinia Parker, who grapples with the challenges of growing up in a small community. The narrative explores themes of identity, self-acceptance, and the complexities of familial relationships as Jane navigates her social environment and her own aspirations. Her journey reflects Montgomery's signature blend of introspection and charm, capturing the trials and triumphs of adolescence with a gentle yet poignant touch.

• Short story

								

grew thickly and the grass was beset with tiny blue-eyes like purple
stars. The air was moist and sweet. At the top of the lane a wild plum
tree hung out its branches of feathery bloom against the crimson sky.
Jane Lavinia lingered, in spite of Aunt Rebecca's hurry, to look at
it. It satisfied her artistic instinct and made her glad to be alive
in the world where wild plums blossomed against springtime skies. The
pleasure of it went with her through the pasture and back to the
milking yard; and stayed with her while she helped Aunt Rebecca milk
the cows.

When the milk was strained into the creamers down at the spring, and
the pails washed and set in a shining row on their bench, Jane Lavinia
tried to summon up her courage to speak to Aunt Rebecca. They were out
on the back verandah; the spring twilight was purpling down over the
woods and fields; down in the swamp the frogs were singing a silvery,
haunting chorus; a little baby moon was floating in the clear sky
above the white-blossoming orchard on the slope.

Jane Lavinia tried to speak and couldn't. For a wonder, Aunt Rebecca
spared her the trouble.

"Well, what did Mr. Stephens think of your pictures?" she asked
shortly.

"Oh!" Everything that Jane Lavinia wanted to say came rushing at once
and together to her tongue's end. "Oh, Aunt Rebecca, he was delighted
with them! And he said I had remarkable talent, and he wants me to go
to New York and study in an art school there. He says Mrs. Stephens
finds it hard to get good help, and if I'd be willing to work for her
in the mornings, I could live with them and have my afternoons off. So
it won't cost much. And he said he would help me--and, oh, Aunt
Rebecca, can't I go?"

Jane Lavinia's breath gave out with a gasp of suspense.

Aunt Rebecca was silent for so long a space that Jane Lavinia had time
to pass through the phases of hope and fear and despair and
resignation before she said, more grimly than ever, "If your mind is
set on going, go you will, I suppose. It doesn't seem to me that I
have anything to say in the matter, Jane Lavinia."

"But, oh, Aunt Rebecca," said Jane Lavinia tremulously. "I can't go
unless you'll help me. I'll have to pay for my lessons at the art
school, you know."

"So that's it, is it? And do you expect me to give you the money to
pay for them, Jane Lavinia?"

"Not give--exactly," stammered Jane Lavinia. "I'll pay it back some
time, Aunt Rebecca. Oh, indeed, I will--when I'm able to earn money by
my pictures!"

"The security is hardly satisfactory," said Aunt Rebecca immovably.
"You know well enough I haven't much money, Jane Lavinia. I thought
when I was coaxed into giving you two quarters' lessons with Miss
Claxton that it was as much as you could expect me to do for you. I
didn't suppose the next thing would be that you'd be for betaking
yourself to New York and expecting me to pay your bills there."

Aunt Rebecca turned and went into the house. Jane Lavinia, feeling
sore and bruised in spirit; fled to her own room and cried herself to
sleep.

Her eyes were swollen the next morning, but she was not sulky. Jane
Lavinia never sulked. She did her morning's work faithfully, although
there was no spring in her step. That afternoon, when she was out in
the orchard trying to patch up her tattered dreams, Aunt Rebecca came
down the blossomy avenue, a tall, gaunt figure, with an uncompromising
face.

"You'd better go down to the store and get ten yards of white cotton,
Jane Lavinia," she said. "If you're going to New York, you'll have to
get a supply of underclothing made."

Jane Lavinia opened her eyes.

"Oh, Aunt Rebecca, am I going?"

"You can go if you want to. I'll give you all the money I can spare.
It ain't much, but perhaps it'll be enough for a start."

"Oh, Aunt Rebecca, thank you!" exclaimed Jane Lavinia, crimson with
conflicting feelings. "But perhaps I oughtn't to take it--perhaps I
oughtn't to leave you alone--"

If Aunt Rebecca had shown any regret at the thought of Jane Lavinia's
departure, Jane Lavinia would have foregone New York on the spot. But
Aunt Rebecca only said coldly, "I guess you needn't worry over that. I
can get along well enough."

And with that it was settled. Jane Lavinia lived in a whirl of delight
for the next week. She felt few regrets at leaving Chestercote. Aunt
Rebecca would not miss her; Jane Lavinia thought that Aunt Rebecca
regarded her as a nuisance--a foolish girl who wasted her time making
pictures instead of doing something useful. Jane Lavinia had never
thought that Aunt Rebecca had any affection for her. She had been a
very little girl when her parents had died, and Aunt Rebecca had taken
her to bring up. Accordingly she had been "brought up," and she was
grateful to Aunt Rebecca, but there was no closer bond between them.
Jane Lavinia would have given love for love unstintedly, but she never
supposed that Aunt Rebecca loved her.

On the morning of departure Jane Lavinia was up and ready early. Her
trunk had been taken over to Mr. Whittaker's the night before, and she
was to walk over in the morning and go with Mr. and Mrs. Stephens to
the station. She put on her chiffon hat to travel in, and Aunt Rebecca
did not say a word of protest. Jane Lavinia cried when she said
good-by, but Aunt Rebecca did not cry. She shook hands and said
stiffly, "Write when you get to New York. You needn't let Mrs.
Stephens work you to death either."

Jane Lavinia went slowly over the bridge and up the lane. If only Aunt
Rebecca had been a little sorry! But the morning was perfect and the
air clear as crystal, and she was going to New York, and fame and
fortune were to be hers for the working. Jane Lavinia's spirits rose
and bubbled over in a little trill of song. Then she stopped in
dismay. She had forgotten her watch--her mother's little gold watch;
she had left it on her dressing table.

Jane Lavinia hurried down the lane and back to the house. In the open
kitchen doorway she paused, standing on a mosaic of gold and shadow
where the sunshine fell through the morning-glory vines. Nobody was in
the kitchen, but Aunt Rebecca was in the little bedroom that opened
off it, crying bitterly and talking aloud between her sobs, "Oh, she's
gone and left me all alone--my girl has gone! Oh, what shall I do? And
she didn't care--she was glad to go--glad to get away. Well, it ain't
any wonder. I've always been too cranky with her. But I loved her so
much all the time, and I was so proud of her! I liked her
picture-making real well, even if I did complain of her wasting her
time. Oh, I don't know how I'm ever going to keep on living now she's
gone!"

Jane Lavinia listened with a face from which all the sparkle and
excitement had gone. Yet amid all the wreck and ruin of her tumbling
castles in air, a glad little thrill made itself felt. Aunt Rebecca
was sorry--Aunt Rebecca did love her after all!

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