"Please, dear God," she whispered, "make Uncle William say I needn't be sent to him."
Jane had to live in suspense as to what Uncle William would say until the Sunday supper was over. She ate little. She sat looking at Uncle William with fear in her eyes, wondering if God really could have much influence over him. They were all there ... Uncle William and Aunt Minnie, Uncle David and Aunt Sylvia, and Phyllis; and after supper they all went to the library and sat in a stiff circle while Uncle William put on his glasses and read the letter. Jane thought every one must hear the beating of her heart.
Uncle William read the letter ... turned back and read a certain paragraph twice ... pursed his lips ... folded up the letter and fitted it into its envelope ... took off his glasses ... put them into their case and laid it down ... cleared his throat and reflected. Jane felt that she was going to scream.
"I suppose," said Uncle William at last, "that you had better let her go."
There was a good deal more said, though Jane said nothing. Grandmother was very angry.
But Uncle William said, "Andrew Stuart could take her altogether if he had a mind to. And, knowing him for what he is, I think he very likely would if you angered him. I agree with you, mother, that he is only doing this to annoy us, and when he sees that it has not annoyed us and that we are taking it quite calmly he will probably never bother about her again."
Jane went up to her room and stood alone in it. She saw with eyes of despair the great, big, unfriendly place. She saw herself in the big mirror reflected in another dim unfriendly room.
"God," said Jane distinctly and deliberately, "is no good."
Chapter 10
"I think your father and mother might have got on if it hadn't been for you," said Phyllis.
Jane winced. She hadn't known that Phyllis knew about her father. But it seemed that everybody had known except her. She did not want to talk about him but Phyllis was bent on talking.
"I don't see," said Jane miserably, "why I made so much difference to them."
"Mother says your father was jealous because Aunt Robin loved you so much."
This, thought Jane, was a different yarn from the one Agnes Ripley had told. Agnes had said her mother hadn't wanted her. What was the truth? Perhaps neither Phyllis nor Agnes knew it. Anyhow, Jane liked Phyllis's version better than Agnes's. It was dreadful to think you ought never to have been born ... that your mother wasn't glad to have you.
"Mother says," went on Phyllis, finding that Jane had nothing to say, "that if you lived in the States Aunt Robin could get a divorce easy as wink, but it's harder in Canada."
"What is a divorce?" asked Jane, remembering that Agnes Ripley had used the same word.
Phyllis laughed condescendingly.
"Victoria, don't you know anything? A divorce is when two people get unmarried."
"Can people get unmarried?" gasped Jane to whom it was an entirely new idea.
"Of course they can, silly. Mother says your mother ought to go to the States and get a divorce but father says it wouldn't be legal in Canada and anyway the Kennedys don't believe in it. Father says grandmother wouldn't allow it either, for fear Aunt Robin would just go and marry somebody else."
"If ... if mother got a divorce does that mean that he wouldn't be my father any more?" querried Jane hopefully.
Phyllis looked dubious.
"I shouldn't suppose it would make any difference that way. But whoever she married would be your stepfather."
Jane did not want a stepfather any more than she wanted a father. But she said nothing again and Phyllis was annoyed.
"How do you like the idea of going to P. E. Island, Victoria?"
Jane was not going to expose her soul to the patronizing Phyllis.
"I don't know anything about it," she said shortly.
"I do," said Phyllis importantly. "We spent a summer there two years ago. We lived in a big hotel on the north shore. It's quite a pretty place. I daresay you'll like it for a change."
Jane knew she would hate it. She tried to turn the conversation but Phyllis meant to thrash the subject out.
"How do you suppose you'll get along with your father?"
"I don't know."
"He likes clever people, you know, and you're not very clever, are you, Victoria?"
Jane did not like being made feel like a worm. Phyllis always made her feel like that ... when she didn't make her feel like a shadow. And there was not a bit of use in getting mad with her. Phyllis never got mad. Phyllis, everybody said, was such a sweet child ... had such a lovely disposition. She just went on condescending. Jane sometimes thought if they could have just one good fight she would like Phyllis better. Jane knew mother was a bit worried because she didn't make more friends among girls of her own age.
"You know," went on Phyllis, "that was one of the things.... Aunt Robin thought she couldn't talk clever enough for him."
The worm turned.
"I am not going to talk any more about my mother ... or him," said Jane distinctly.
Phyllis sulked a little and the afternoon was a failure. Jane was more thankful than usual when Frank came to take her home.
Little was being said at 60 Gay about Jane's going to the Island. How quickly the days flew by! Jane wished she could hold them back. Once, when she had been very small, she had said to mother, "Isn't there any way we can stop time, mummy?"
Jane remembered that mother had sighed and said, "We can never stop time, darling."
And now time just went stonily on ... tick tock, tick tock ... sunrise, sunset, ever and ever nearer to the day when she would be torn away from mother. It would be early in June ... St Agatha's closed earlier than the other schools. Grandmother took Jane to Marlborough's late in May and got some very nice clothes for her ... much nicer than she had ever had before. Under ordinary circumstances Jane would have loved her blue coat and the smart little blue hat with its tiny scarlet bow ... and a certain lovely frock of white, eyelet-embroidered in red, with a smart red leather belt. Phyllis had nothing nicer than that. But now she had no interest in them.
"I don't suppose she'll have much use for very fine clothes down there," mother had said.
"She shall go fitted out properly," said grandmother. "He shall not need to buy clothes for her, of that I shall make sure. And Irene Fraser shall have no chance to comment. I suppose he has some kind of a hovel to live in or he would not have sent for her. Did any one ever tell you, Victoria, that it is not proper to butter your whole slice of bread at once? And do you think it would be possible, just for a change, to get through a meal without letting your napkin slip off your knee continually?"
Jane dreaded meal-times more than ever. Her preoccupation made her awkward and grandmother pounced on everything. She wished she need never come to the table, but unluckily one cannot live without eating a little. Jane ate very little. She had no appetite and grew noticeably thinner. She could not put any heart into her studies and she barely made the Senior Third while Phyllis passed with honours.
"As was to be expected," said grandmother.
Jody tried to comfort her.
"After all, it won't be so long. Only three months, Jane."
Three months of absence from a beloved mother and three months' presence with a detested father seemed like an eternity to Jane.
"You'll write me, Jane? And I'll write you if I can get any postage stamps. I've got ten cents now ... that Mr Ransome gave me. That will pay for three stamps anyhow."
Then Jane told Jody a heart-breaking thing.
"I'll write you often, Jody. But I can write mother only once a month. And I'm never to mention him."
"Did your mother tell you that?"