Jane of Lantern Hill by L. M. Montgomery Page B

grandmothers!
    Jane slipped down the hall to mother’s room at the far end. She was not supposed to do this. It was understood at 60 Gay that mother must not be disturbed in the mornings. But mother, for a wonder, had not been out the night before, and Jane knew she would be awake. Not only was she awake but Mary was just bringing in her breakfast tray. Jane would have loved to do this for mother but she was never allowed.
    Mother was sitting up in bed wearing the daintiest breakfast jacket of tea-rose crêpe de chine edged with cobwebby beige lace. Her cheeks were just the color of her jacket and her eyes were fresh and dewy. Mother, Jane reflected proudly, looked as lovely when she got up in the mornings as she did before she went to bed.
    Mother had chilled melon balls in orange juice instead of cereal, and she shared them with Jane. She offered half of her toast too, but Jane knew she must save some appetite for her own breakfast and refused it. They had a lovely time, laughing and talking beautiful nonsense, very quietly, so as not to be overheard. Not that either of them ever put this into words; but both knew.
    â€œI wish it could be like this every morning,” thought Jane. But she did not say so. She had learned that whenever she said anything like that mother’s eyes darkened with pain, and she would not hurt mother for the world. She could never forget the time she had heard mother crying in the night.
    She had wakened up with toothache and had crept down to mother’s room to see if mother had any toothache drops. And, as she opened the door ever so softly, she heard mother crying in a dreadful, smothered sort of way. Then grandmother had come along the hall with her candle.
    â€œVictoria, what are you doing here?”
    â€œI have toothache,” said Jane.
    â€œCome with me and I will get you some drops,” said grandmother coldly.
    Jane went…but she no longer minded the toothache. Why was mother crying? It couldn’t be possible she was unhappy…pretty, laughing mother. The next morning at breakfast mother looked as if she had never shed a tear in her life. Sometimes Jane wondered if she had dreamed it.
    Jane put the lemon verbena salts into the bath water for mother and got a pair of new stockings, thin as dew gossamers, out of the drawer for her. She loved to do things for mother and there was so little she could do.
    She had breakfast alone with grandmother, Aunt Gertrude having had hers already. It is not pleasant to eat a meal alone with a person you do not like. And Mary had forgotten to put salt in the oatmeal.
    â€œYour shoelace is untied, Victoria.”
    That was the only thing grandmother said during the meal. The house was dark. It was a sulky day that now and then brightened up a little and then turned sulkier than ever. The mail came at ten. Jane was not interested in it. There was never anything for her. Sometimes she thought it would be nice and exciting to get a letter from somebody. Mother always got no end of letters…invitations and advertisements. This morning Jane carried the mail into the library where grandmother and Aunt Gertrude and mother were sitting. Jane noticed among the letters one addressed to her mother in a black, spiky handwriting which Jane was sure she had never seen before. She hadn’t the least idea that that letter was going to change her whole life.
    Grandmother took the letters from her and looked them over as she always did.
    â€œDid you close the vestibule door, Victoria?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYes what?”
    â€œYes, grandmother.”
    â€œYou left it open yesterday. Robin, here is a letter from Mrs. Kirby…likely about that bazaar. Remember it is my wish that you have nothing to do with it. I do not approve of Sarah Kirby. Gertrude, here is one for you from Cousin Mary in Winnipeg. If it is about that silver service she avers my mother left her, tell her I consider the matter closed. Robin, here