Jane of Lantern Hill Read Online Free PDF Page B

secret for its own sake. Secrets must always be wonderful, beautiful things.
    Agnes wrinkled up her fat little nose and looked important.
    â€œOh, I’ll tell you some other time.”
    â€œI don’t want to hear it some other time. I want to hear it now ,” pleaded Jane, her marigold eyes full of eager radiance.
    Agnes’ little elfish face, framed in its straight brown hair, was alive with mischief. She winked one of her green eyes at Jane.
    â€œAll right. Don’t blame me if you don’t like it when you hear it. Listen.”
    Jane listened. The towers of St. Agatha’s listened. The shabby streets beyond listened. It seemed to Jane that the whole world listened. She was one of the chosen…Agnes was going to tell her a secret.
    â€œYour father and mother don’t live together.”
    Jane stared at Agnes. What she had said didn’t make any sense.
    â€œOf course they don’t live together,” she said. “My father is dead.”
    â€œOh, no, he isn’t,” said Agnes. “He’s living down in Prince Edward Island. Your mother left him when you were three years old.”
    Jane felt as if some big cold hand were beginning to squeeze her heart.
    â€œThat…isn’t…true,” she gasped.
    â€œâ€™Tis too. I heard Aunt Dora telling mother all about it. She said your mother married him just after he came back from the war, one summer when your grandmother took her down to the Maritimes. Your grandmother didn’t want her to. Aunt Dora said everybody knew it wouldn’t last long. He was poor. But it was you that made the most trouble. You should never have been born. Neither of them wanted you, Aunt Dora said. They fought like cat and dog after that, and at last your mother just up and left him. Aunt Dora said she would likely have divorced him, only divorces are awful hard to get in Canada, and anyhow all the Kennedys think divorce is a dreadful thing.”
    The hand was gripping Jane’s heart so tightly now that she could hardly breathe.
    â€œI…I don’t believe it,” she said.
    â€œIf that’s how you’re going to talk when I tell you a secret, I’ll never tell you another one, Miss Victoria Stuart,” said Agnes, reddening with rage.
    â€œI don’t want to hear any more,” said Jane.
    She would never forget what she had heard. It couldn’t be true…it couldn’t. Jane thought the afternoon would never end. St. Agatha’s was a nightmare. Frank had never driven so slowly home. The snow had never looked so grimy and dirty along the dingy streets. The wind had never been so gray. The moon, floating high in the sky, was all faded and paper-white but Jane didn’t care if it was never polished again.
    An afternoon tea was in progress at 60 Gay when she arrived there. The big drawing-room, decorated lavishly with pale pink snap-dragons and tulips and maidenhair fern, was full of people. Mother, in orchid chiffon, with loose, trailing lace sleeves, was laughing and chatting. Grandmother, with blue-white diamonds sparkling in her hair, was sitting on her favorite needlepoint chair, looking, so one lady said, “Such an utterly sweet silver-haired thing, just like a Whistler mother.” Aunt Gertrude and Aunt Sylvia were pouring tea at a table covered with Venetian lace, where tall pink tapers were burning.
    Straight through them all Jane marched to mother. She did not care how many people were there…she had one question to ask and it must be answered at once. At once. Jane could not bear her suspense another moment.
    â€œMummy,” she said, “is my father alive?”
    A strange, dreadful hush suddenly fell over the room. A light like a sword flashed into grandmother’s blue eyes. Aunt Sylvia gasped and Aunt Gertrude turned an unbecoming purple. But mother’s face was as if snow had fallen over it.
    â€œ Is he? ” said Jane.
    â€œYes,” said