Sara's Way

"Sara's Way" by Lucy Maud Montgomery is a poignant tale that follows the journey of Sara, a spirited and imaginative young girl navigating the challenges of growing up. Set against the backdrop of rural Canada, the story delves into themes of identity, independence, and the complexities of family relationships. Through Sara's experiences, Montgomery explores the struggle between societal expectations and personal desires, ultimately celebrating the resilience of the human spirit. With Montgomery's signature lyrical prose, "Sara's Way" captures the beauty and trials of adolescence, making it a timeless coming-of-age narrative.

• Short story

								
The warm June sunshine was coming down through the trees, white
with the virginal bloom of apple-blossoms, and through the
shining panes, making a tremulous mosaic upon Mrs. Eben Andrews'
spotless kitchen floor.  Through the open door, a wind, fragrant
from long wanderings over orchards and clover meadows, drifted
in, and, from the window, Mrs. Eben and her guest could look down
over a long, misty valley sloping to a sparkling sea.

Mrs. Jonas Andrews was spending the afternoon with her
sister-in-law.  She was a big, sonsy woman, with full-blown peony
cheeks and large, dreamy, brown eyes.  When she had been a slim,
pink-and-white girl those eyes had been very romantic.  Now they
were so out of keeping with the rest of her appearance as to be
ludicrous.

Mrs. Eben, sitting at the other end of the small tea-table that
was drawn up against the window, was a thin little woman, with a
very sharp nose and light, faded blue eyes.  She looked like a
woman whose opinions were always very decided and warranted to
wear.

"How does Sara like teaching at Newbridge?" asked Mrs. Jonas,
helping herself a second time to Mrs. Eben's matchless black
fruit cake, and thereby bestowing a subtle compliment which Mrs.
Eben did not fail to appreciate.

"Well, I guess she likes it pretty well--better than down at
White Sands, anyway," answered Mrs. Eben.  "Yes, I may say it
suits her.  Of course it's a long walk there and back.  I think
it would have been wiser for her to keep on boarding at
Morrison's, as she did all winter, but Sara is bound to be home
all she can.  And I must say the walk seems to agree with her."

"I was down to see Jonas' aunt at Newbridge last night," said
Mrs. Jonas, "and she said she'd heard that Sara had made up her
mind to take Lige Baxter at last, and that they were to be
married in the fall.  She asked me if it was true.  I said I
didn't know, but I hoped to mercy it was.  Now, is it, Louisa?"

"Not a word of it," said Mrs. Eben sorrowfully.  "Sara hasn't any
more notion of taking Lige than ever she had.  I'm sure it's not
MY fault.  I've talked and argued till I'm tired.  I declare to
you, Amelia, I am terribly disappointed.  I'd set my heart on
Sara's marrying Lige--and now to think she won't!"

"She is a very foolish girl," said Mrs. Jonas, judicially.  "If
Lige Baxter isn't good enough for her, who is?"

"And he's so well off," said Mrs. Eben, "and does such a good
business, and is well spoken of by every one.  And that lovely
new house of his at Newbridge, with bay windows and hardwood
floors!  I've dreamed and dreamed of seeing Sara there as
mistress."

"Maybe you'll see her there yet," said Mrs. Jonas, who always
took a hopeful view of everything, even of Sara's contrariness.
But she felt discouraged, too.  Well, she had done her best.

If Lige Baxter's broth was spoiled it was not for lack of cooks.
Every Andrews in Avonlea had been trying for two years to bring
about a match between him and Sara, and Mrs. Jonas had borne her
part valiantly.

Mrs. Eben's despondent reply was cut short by the appearance of
Sara herself.  The girl stood for a moment in the doorway and
looked with a faintly amused air at her aunts.  She knew quite
well that they had been discussing her, for Mrs. Jonas, who
carried her conscience in her face, looked guilty, and Mrs. Eben
had not been able wholly to banish her aggrieved expression.

Sara put away her books, kissed Mrs. Jonas' rosy cheek, and sat
down at the table.  Mrs. Eben brought her some fresh tea, some
hot rolls, and a little jelly-pot of the apricot preserves Sara
liked, and she cut some more fruit cake for her in moist plummy
slices.  She might be out of patience with Sara's "contrariness,"
but she spoiled and petted her for all that, for the girl was the
very core of her childless heart.

Sara Andrews was not, strictly speaking, pretty; but there was
that about her which made people look at her twice.  She was very
dark, with a rich, dusky sort of darkness, her deep eyes were
velvety brown, and her lips and cheeks were crimson.

She ate her rolls and preserves with a healthy appetite,
sharpened by her long walk from Newbridge, and told amusing
little stories of her day's work that made the two older women
shake with laughter, and exchange shy glances of pride over her
cleverness.

When tea was over she poured the remaining contents of the cream
jug into a saucer.

"I must feed my pussy," she said as she left the room.

"That girl beats me," said Mrs. Eben with a sigh of perplexity.
"You know that black cat we've had for two years?  Eben and I
have always made a lot of him, but Sara seemed to have a dislike
to him.  Never a peaceful nap under the stove could he have when
Sara was home--out he must go.  Well, a little spell ago he got
his leg broke accidentally and we thought he'd have to be killed.
But Sara wouldn't hear of it.  She got splints and set his leg
just as knacky, and bandaged it up, and she has tended him like a
sick baby ever since.  He's just about well now, and he lives in
clover, that cat does.  It's just her way.  There's them sick
chickens she's been doctoring for a week, giving them pills and
things!

"And she thinks more of that wretched-looking calf that got
poisoned with paris green than of all the other stock on the
place."

As the summer wore away, Mrs. Eben tried to reconcile herself to
the destruction of her air castles.  But she scolded Sara
considerably.

"Sara, why don't you like Lige?  I'm sure he is a model young
man."

"I don't like model young men," answered Sara impatiently.  "And
I really think I hate Lige Baxter.  He has always been held up to
me as such a paragon.  I'm tired of hearing about all his
perfections.  I know them all off by heart.  He doesn't drink, he
doesn't smoke, he doesn't steal, he doesn't tell fibs, he never
loses his temper, he doesn't swear, and he goes to church
regularly.  Such a faultless creature as that would certainly get
on my nerves.  No, no, you'll have to pick out another mistress
for your new house at the Bridge, Aunt Louisa."

When the apple trees, that had been pink and white in June, were
russet and bronze in October, Mrs. Eben had a quilting.  The
quilt was of the "Rising Star" pattern, which was considered in
Avonlea to be very handsome.  Mrs. Eben had intended it for part
of Sara's "setting out," and, while she sewed the red-and-white
diamonds together, she had regaled her fancy by imagining she saw
it spread out on the spare-room bed of the house at Newbridge,
with herself laying her bonnet and shawl on it when she went to
see Sara.  Those bright visions had faded with the apple
blossoms, and Mrs. Eben hardly had the heart to finish the quilt
at all.

The quilting came off on Saturday afternoon, when Sara could be
home from school.  All Mrs. Eben's particular friends were ranged

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