Mary shook her head.
"It's too late for her. She's been under the old lady's thumb too long. Never went against her in her life except for one thing and lived to repent that, so they say. And anyhow she's a cat of a different breed from Miss Victoria."
One November evening mother went again to Lakeside Gardens to see her friend and took Jane with her. Jane welcomed the chance to see her house again. Would it be sold? Unbelievably it wasn't. Jane's heart gave a bound of relief. She was so afraid it would be. She couldn't understand how it wasn't, it seemed so entirely desirable to her. She did not know that the builder had decided that he had made a mistake when he built a little house in Lakeside Gardens. People who could live in Lakeside Gardens wanted bigger houses.
Though Jane was glad to her toes that her house hadn't been sold, she was inconsistently resentful that it was unlighted and unwarmed. She hated the oncoming winter because of the house. Its heart must ache with the cold then. She sat on the steps and watched the lights blooming out along the Gardens and wished there was one in her house. How the dead brown leaves still clinging to the oaks rustled in the windy night! How the lights along the lake shore twinkled through the trees of the ravine! And how she hated, yes, positively hated, the man who would buy this house!
"It just isn't fair," said Jane. "Nobody will ever love it as I do. It really belongs to me."
The week before Christmas Jane bought the materials for a fruit- cake out of the money dad had given her and compounded it in the kitchen. Then she expressed it to dad. She did not ask any one's permission for all this ... just went ahead and did it. Mary held her tongue and grandmother knew nothing about it. But Jane would have sent it just the same if she had.
One thing made Christmas Day memorable for Jane that year. Just after breakfast Frank came in to say that long distance was calling Miss Victoria. Jane went to the hall with a puzzled look ... who on earth could be calling her on long distance? She lifted the receiver to her ear.
"Lantern Hill calling Superior Jane! Merry Christmas and thanks for that cake," said dad's voice as distinctly as if he were in the same room.
"Dad!" Jane gasped. "Where are you?"
"Here at Lantern Hill. This is my Christmas present to you, Janelet. Three minutes over a thousand miles."
Probably no two people ever crammed more into three minutes. When Jane went back to the dining-room, her cheeks were crimson and her eyes glowed like jewels.
"Who was calling you, Victoria?" asked grandmother.
"Dad," said Jane.
Mother gave a little choked cry. Grandmother wheeled on her furiously.
"Perhaps," she said icily, "you think he should have called you."
"He should," said Jane.
Chapter 40
At the end of a blue and silver day in March, Jane was doing her lessons in her room and feeling reasonably happy. She had had a rapturous letter from Jody that morning ... all Jody's letters were rapturous ... giving her lots of interesting news from Queen's Shore ... she had had a birthday the week before and was now in her leggy teens ... and two bits of luck had come her way that afternoon. Aunt Sylvia had taken her and Phyllis with her on a shopping expedition, and Jane had picked up two delightful things for Lantern Hill ... a lovely old copper bowl and a comical brass knocker for the glass-paned door. It was the head of a dog with his tongue hanging waggishly out and a real dog-laugh in his eyes.
The door opened and mother came in, ready dressed for a restaurant dinner party. She wore the most wonderful sheath dress of ivory taffeta, with a sapphire velvet bow at the back and a little blue velvet jacket over her lovely shoulders. Her slippers were blue, with slender golden heels and she had her hair done in a new way ... a sleek flat top to her head and a row of tricksy little curls around her neck.
"Oh, mums, you are perfectly lovely," said Jane, looking at her with adoring eyes. And then she added something she had never intended to say ... something that seemed to rush to her lips and say itself:
"I do wish dad could see you now."
Jane pulled herself up in dire dismay. She had been told never to mention dad to mother ... and yet she had done it. And mother was looking as if she had been struck in the face.
"I do not suppose," said mother bitterly, "that he would be at all interested in the sight."
Jane said nothing. There seemed to be nothing she could say. How did she know whether dad would be interested or not? And yet ... and yet ... she was sure he still loved mother.
Mother sat down on one of the chintz chairs and looked at Jane.
"Jane," she said, "I am going to tell you something about my marriage. I don't know what you have heard about the other side of it ... there was another side, of course ... but I want you to hear my side. It is better you should know. I should have told you before ... but ... it hurt me so."
"Don't tell it now, if it hurts you, darling," said Jane earnestly. (Thinking--I know more about it than you suppose already.)
"I must. There are some things I want you to understand ... I don't want you to blame me too much...."
"I don't blame you at all, mother."
"Oh, I was to blame a great deal ... I see that now when it is too late. I was so young and foolish ... just a careless, happy little bride. I ... I ... ran away to be married to your father, Jane."
Jane nodded.
"How much do you know, Jane?"
"Just that you ran away and were very happy at first."
"Happy? Oh, Jane Victoria, I was ... I was ... so happy. But it really was ... a very unfortunate marriage, dearest."
(That sounds like something grandmother said.)
"I shouldn't have treated mother so ... I was all she had left after my father died. But she forgave me...."
(And set herself to work to make trouble between you and dad.)
"But we were happy that first year, Jane Victoria. I worshipped Andrew ... that smile of his ... you know his smile...."
(Do I know it?)
"We had such fun together ... reading poetry by driftwood fires down at the harbour ... we always made a rite of lighting those fires ... life was wonderful. I used to welcome the days then as much as I shrink from them now. We had only one quarrel that first year ... I forget what it was about ... something silly ... I kissed the frown on his forehead and all was well again. I knew there was no woman in the world so happy as I was. If it could have lasted!"
"Why didn't it last, mother?"
"I ... I hardly know. Of course I wasn't much of a housekeeper but I don't think it was that. I couldn't cook, but our maid didn't do so badly and Little Aunt Em used to come in and help. She was a darling. And I couldn't keep accounts straight ever ... I would add up a column eight times and get a different answer every time. But Andrew just laughed over that. Then you were born...."
"And that made all the trouble," cried Jane, in whom that bitter thought had persisted in rankling.
"Not at first ... oh, Jane Victoria darling, not at first. But Andrew never seemed the same after...."
(I wonder if it wasn't you who had changed, mother.)
"He was jealous of my love for you ... he was, Jane Victoria...."
(Not jealous ... no, not jealous. A little hurt ... he didn't like to be second with you after he had been first ... he thought he came second then.)
"He used to say 'your child' ... 'your daughter,' as if you weren't his. Why, he used to make fun of you. Once he said you had a face like a monkey."
(And no Kennedy can take a joke.)
"You hadn't ... you were the cutest little thing. Why, Jane Victoria darling, you were just a daily miracle. It was such fun to tuck you in at night ... to watch you when you were asleep."
(And you were just a darling big baby yourself, mother.)