The Blue North Room

"The Blue North Room" is a short story by Lucy Maud Montgomery, which explores themes of love, loss, and introspection against the backdrop of a serene and enchanting setting. The narrative follows a young woman named Jane, who grapples with her emotions and the memories of her past as she spends time in a room painted in shades of blue—a place filled with both comfort and melancholy. Through rich imagery and poignant reflections, Montgomery delves into the complexities of human relationships, the passage of time, and the enduring nature of hope and dreams. The story is a testament to Montgomery's ability to capture the beauty and intricacies of life, making it a reflective read for fans of her work.

• Short story

								
"This," said Sara, laying Aunt Josephina's letter down on the kitchen
table with such energy that in anybody but Sara it must have been said
she threw it down, "this is positively the last straw! I have endured
all the rest. I have given up my chance of a musical education, when
Aunt Nan offered it, that I might stay home and help Willard pay the
mortgage off--if it doesn't pay us off first--and I have, which was
much harder, accepted the fact that we can't possibly afford to send
Ray to the Valley Academy, even if I wore the same hat and coat for
four winters. I did not grumble when Uncle Joel came here to live
because he wanted to be 'near his dear nephew's children.' I felt it
my Christian duty to look pleasant when we had to give Cousin Caroline
a home to save her from the poorhouse. But my endurance and
philosophy, and worst of all, my furniture, has reached a limit. I
cannot have Aunt Josephina come here to spend the winter, because I
have no room to put her in."

"Hello, Sally, what's the matter?" asked Ray, coming in with a book.
It would have been hard to catch Ray without a book; he generally took
one even to bed with him. Ray had a headful of brains, and Sara
thought it was a burning shame that there seemed to be no chance for
his going to college. "You look all rumpled up in your conscience,
beloved sis," the boy went on, chaffingly.

"My conscience is all right," said Sara severely. "It's worse than
that. If you please, here's a letter from Aunt Josephina! She writes
that she is very lonesome. Her son has gone to South America, and
won't be back until spring, and she wants to come and spend the winter
with us."

"Well, why not?" asked Ray serenely. Nothing ever bothered Ray. "The
more the merrier."

"Ray Sheldon! Where are we to put her? We have no spare room, as you
well know."

"Can't she room with Cousin Caroline?"

"Cousin Caroline's room is too small for two. It's full to overflowing
with her belongings now, and Aunt Josephina will bring two trunks at
least. Try again, bright boy."

"What's the matter with the blue north room?"

"There is nothing the matter with it--oh, nothing at all! We could put
Aunt Josephina there, but where will she sleep? Where will she wash
her face? Will it not seem slightly inhospitable to invite her to sit
on a bare floor? Have you forgotten that there isn't a stick of
furniture in the blue north room and, worse still, that we haven't a
spare cent to buy any, not even the cheapest kind?"

"I'll give it up," said Ray. "I might have a try at squaring the
circle if you asked me, but the solution of the Aunt Josephina problem
is beyond me."

"The solution is simply that we must write to Aunt Josephina, politely
but firmly, that we can't have her come, owing to lack of
accommodation. You must write the letter, Ray. Make it as polite as
you can, but above all make it firm."

"Oh, but Sally, dear," protested Ray, who didn't relish having to
write such a letter, "isn't this rather hasty, rather inhospitable?
Poor Aunt Josephina must really be rather lonely, and it's only
natural she should want to visit her relations."

"We're not her relations," cried Sara. "We're not a speck of
relation really. She's only the half-sister of Mother's half-brother.
That sounds nice and relationy, doesn't it? And she's fussy and
interfering, and she will fight with Cousin Caroline, everybody fights
with Cousin Caroline--"

"Except Sara," interrupted Ray, but Sara went on with a rush, "And we
won't have a minute's peace all winter. Anyhow, where could we put her
even if we wanted her to come? No, we can't have her!"

"Mother was always very fond of Aunt Josephina," said Ray
reflectively. Sara had her lips open, all ready to answer whatever Ray
might say, but she shut them suddenly and the boy went on. "Aunt
Josephina thought a lot of Mother, too. She used to say she knew
there was always a welcome for her at Maple Hollow. It does seem a
pity, Sally dear, for your mother's daughter to send word to Aunt
Josephina, per my mother's son, that there isn't room for her any
longer at Maple Hollow."

"I shall leave it to Willard," said Sara abruptly. "If he says to let
her come, come she shall, even if Dorothy and I have to camp in the
barn."

"I'm going to have a prowl around the garret," said Ray, apropos of
nothing.

"And I shall get the tea ready," answered Sara briskly. "Dorothy will
be home from school very soon, and I hear Uncle Joel stirring. Willard
won't be back till dark, so there is no use waiting for him."

At twilight Sara decided to walk up the lane and meet Willard. She
always liked to meet him thus when he had been away for a whole day.
Sara thought there was nobody in the world as good and dear as
Willard.

It was a dull grey November twilight; the maples in the hollow were
all leafless, and the hawthorn hedge along the lane was sere and
frosted; a little snow had fallen in the afternoon, and lay in broad
patches on the brown fields. The world looked very dull and
dispirited, and Sara sighed. She could not help thinking of the dark
side of things just then. "Everything is wrong," said poor Sara
dolefully. "Willard has to work like a slave, and yet with all his
efforts he can barely pay the interest on the mortgage. And Ray ought
to go to college. But I don't see how we can ever manage. To be sure,
he won't be ready until next fall, but we won't have the money then
any more than now. It would take every bit of a hundred and fifty
dollars to fit him out with books and clothes, and pay for board and
tuition at the academy. If he could just have a year there he could
teach and earn his own way through college. But we might as well hope
for the moon as one hundred and fifty dollars."

Sara sighed again. She was only eighteen, but she felt very old.
Willard was nineteen, and Willard had never had a chance to be young.
His father had died when he was twelve, and he had run the farm since
then, he and Sara together indeed, for Sara was a capital planner and
manager and worker. The little mother had died two years ago, and the
household cares had all fallen on Sara's shoulders since. Sometimes,
as now, they pressed very heavily, but a talk with Willard always
heartened her up. Willard had his blue spells too, but Sara thought it
a special Providence that their blue turns never came together. When
one got downhearted the other was always ready to do the cheering up.

Sara was glad to hear Willard whistling when he drove into the lane;
it was a sign he was in good spirits. He pulled up, and Sara climbed
into the wagon.

"Things go all right today, Sally?" he asked cheerfully.

"There was a letter from Aunt Josephina," answered Sara, anxious to

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