Jane Was Here

by Sarah Kernochan

  Jane

  Dear Lysander,

  Hell itself opens under my feet when I read your words. Indeed, your regret is my despair! I do not understand your turmoil over the matter of a kiss. I cannot believe it is a sin which manifests in such sweetness. Truly I felt the force of God pass through your lips to mine – when I opened my eyes I saw a ray of divine light bathing your head – joy burst in my breast until I feared it might break apart. How could this be other than an expression of God, who is all Love? When you and I were trembling and speechless in the wake of that impulse, how was it different than your Gabrielite meetings, as you describe them, when the faithful tremble and stutter upon encountering the sacred force of the Spirit? When we kissed, I drank from the stream of God’s delight, and to call it a sin would seem an affront to the Almighty.

  And yet you pray it will never happen again! And, more crushing to me, you suggest that we part ways, since you fear you might lose a second struggle with your “carnal nature.” Oh Lysander, if you will but stay my friend I shall be strong enough for both of us, and never submit to the inclinations of the flesh. But may we not kiss, if we do love each other? I will be bold and say so: I love thee. I love thee. I love thee as I love thy faith.

  I have embraced your beliefs as my own. There is nothing I want more than to become as angels are, and I have you before me as a shining portrait of that possibility. I know that angels may not marry on earth, since they do not in heaven, but must they also forfeit affection? To clasp hands, to embrace, yes, even to kiss, as brother and sister, and in the fullness of God’s love? Then I must fail the test, my dearest one, before I have barely begun. For I cannot live without touch.

  In sorrow and farewell,

  Jane

  Dear Lysander,

  I have died every day of our estrangement. When awake I knew not how I moved or ate or spoke – my limbs and speech performed their duties in some other sphere where no God showed. Rebecca told me you did not come out of your room whenever she called on Mrs. S., and I wondered if you suffered, too. One day in the middle of a visit from Mr. Haff, I suddenly fell to weeping. When he became very concerned to know why, I answered that I felt too burdened by his expectation of an answer at the end of next week (is April really here already?) and that I was distracted by worries about my father who has been working long hours of late while assuming full responsibility for the factory. (Mr. Graynier has become seriously ill of a sudden – dying, they say – from a canker in the stomach, and thus I have seen nothing of Ellis either, who must be sobered by the likelihood of losing his father – which humbling event might produce a better character in him – though I doubt anything would commend either the son or the father to God as they are both irredeemably agnostic!) The consequence of my tearful outburst was that Mr. Haff has extended my reprieve and will not ask for my decision until the end of the month. (He is very kind with me, and were I not such a temperamental creature, I could be happily married to such a man.)

  Therefore imagine, if you can, what miracle of joy irradiated my heart when I received your letter. To read of your days and nights of prayer and fasting, to know how you struggled and won, and that Jesus Himself spoke to you, bidding you “go forth and love, in innocence, thy sister soul!” Oh, Lysander, that blessed utterance of our Redeemer relieves me of my guilt, when I thought I had lost you because of my words that, while sincere, were too immodestly expressed. I told myself, “You bared your love to him, and it was not returned.” But now I know that you love me, too, and moreover, that Heaven condones it!

  And our fair weather, if it lasts, affords us new opportunities to meet. Since you have lately cast aside your cane, a walk in the hills would be a healthy enterprise for restoring the strength in your leg. Ask directions to Mr. Quirk’s farm, and an ascending path will take you to his lands, which are bounded on the east by a low rock wall. Follow this wall past a sheep meadow and then a field of winter rye. At the end of Mr. Quirk’s lands, the wall turns left. Instead of following, look a little further on and you shall see a cluster of lofty white pines with low-drooping branches. They will be our curtains, to surround and hide us from view, as we meet to continue our holy work together.

  My father has given me leave to take walks in the fresh air, since I have appeared so pale and dispirited of late. I expect my route will pass by Farmer Quirk’s wall about two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. May the Lord give me angels’ wings!

  Your adoring

  Jane

  Dear Lysander,

  I write hastily as Letty gathers her few belongings to leave us – she is dismissed – wrongly! – I will explain – we must exchange letters some other way – look for my letter in Farmer Quirk’s wall near our pines – Please give poor Letty whatever money you can spare – we will never see her again – I have lost a great friend

  Jane

  Dear Lysander,

  What a bedlam was yesterday, our small household shattered in pieces. Papa has noticed for some time that money was missing from his desk, a little at a time, and finally he accused Letty of stealing from him! She denied it, but has returned in disgrace to her family in Boston. I thank you for whatever monetary assistance you gave her, for she is now without means, and completely innocent besides. I dare not tell Papa that the thief is Rebecca. She has been surreptitiously taking a few coins at a time from his desk, over many years. She does not know I am aware of her petty theft. She conceals the money in her wedding chest, and only spends a little now and then on fripperies like ribbons. I cannot say what possesses her to steal, when Father has always provided adequately for us, but it is a kind of distemper I believe, and without logical cause. I do not wish to expose her, for the sorrow it would cause Papa. Neither should I desire to see Rebecca humiliated, for I do love my sister, and the amounts she steals are so little. I wish your influence had bestowed in her a reverence for God’s laws and the path of righteousness, but she does not seem to have profited in a deep way from your many meetings.

  Papa will go to the shanties on Thursday morning to find a substitute for Letty (though I cannot expect another such companion ever again!) and thus I am at liberty to take another walk up Rowell Hill. Beloved, will you be there? If your answer be yes, leave open the glass door on Widow Seeley’s porch lantern, for we will be passing by tomorrow on our way to service and I shall subtly note your signal.

  I have recently experienced qualms about deceiving Papa, for while Rebecca disdains the Eighth Commandment of our Lord by stealing, I forsake the Fifth by not honoring my father. Then your words return to me, and I am consoled: that I have but one Father, and He is in Heaven, and it is He who must be obeyed, and it is His Will that we be together in worship. It is strange to find myself turning from all I have been taught, yet I am filled with certainty every time you revise my thinking. Truly one feels what is right and true, in an innermost place of knowing, when it is God that speaks to our ear. How beautiful it is to serve Him.

  Your devoted

  Jane

  Dear Lysander,

  This afternoon I went to our spot, even though we had no assignation. The day was hazy and unusually warm. I removed my bonnet to feel the sun upon my face (despite knowing well that freckles would be my penance!). I lay on the spring grass, on the bosom of God’s earth, and felt the rise and fall of my breath couple with the throb of nature, whose Author I praise and worship with my whole body, and I sensed divinity at my fingertips, so attuned have I become to His presence.

  I spent a pleasant hour thus, in remembering our last meeting. We have covered much ground in our spiritual conference, yet I realize I am far, far from pure. Indeed, the battle against human desire is more difficult than I conceived. I have mused much on the equally natural desire to be good. I suppose it is the Devil’s handiwork that slyly braids the two strands together, to confuse us, so that we incline towards our bodies’ desire as if it is for our good! How important, therefore, to be forever mindful of our innocence, and while our kisses and clasped ha
nds may construe as children’s play, and thus without stain, yet at our feet the vines of lust seek purchase, at first lovingly as tendrils, and then – so quickly – as strangling coils. (How right you were, last Thursday, to end our meeting or we might have been beguiled by happiness to tempt sin. We each shall be vigilant for the other, and when one weakens we know the other will prevail.)

  When I rose from the grass to turn homeward, I paused to admire the scene, which I fancied to be our Garden of Eden, wherein sin does not yet exist, and innocence claims the day, and the Father smiles on our virgin union. The Lord challenges us to protect this Eden – that it may last more than a moment – and extend into precious eternity.

  Tuesday next, in the late afternoon, would suit – or Wednesday if it rains. Use our signal.

  Take care of yourself, my love. I do adore to stroke your face – it is my prayer of thanks to the One who brought us together. Hallowed be His name!

  Your loving

  Jane

  Dear Lysander,

  Yesterday I climbed to our spot and waited in the rain, even though I knew you would not come in such weather. I paid for my imprudence, and slipped on the way down, nearly sliding the whole rest of the slope in the mud. Fortunately I was able to change my clothes before Papa came home and without Rebecca seeing – she has transferred her bed to the kitchen while she has the whooping cough.

  To my surprise, Ellis Graynier called in the afternoon after the rain ended. He was very respectful and subdued when I sat with him (Papa removed to his study to read the newspaper, he said, but I rather suspect he went into the backyard to smoke his pipe, which I have forbidden him to do on account of his lungs!). Ellis seemed much shaken by his father’s condition, which is very grave. You might say he poured out his heart to me – if he had a heart to tip over. But I am being unchristian, and here was a fellow human in pain, and I made the best I could of such poor material. I urged him to join me in prayer, which I promised would bring him much solace. Then he teased me, wondering who it was that decided God wished us to worship Him on our knees, and what if He had been misunderstood, and we were meant to stand on our heads, and such a mistake would account for why so many of our prayers went ignored. When he saw I did not find this humorous, he apologized. Nonetheless, you see how there is no room for reform in this young man. He cannot be blamed altogether, for his mother died when he was young, and almost immediately afterward his father acquired a Negro slave from Martinique who, it is said, is his concubine as well as his chattel – thus the sins of the father have poisoned and deformed the son’s character!

  My unwanted caller stayed on for more than an hour, seeming eager to prolong our intercourse. But my mind continually wandered. Truly since you and I pledged ourselves, I have felt far away from worldly preoccupations – my mundane life seems so little – I watch with dwindling interest the actions of these small figures upon a stage. No more than a snip of a scissors and I would float free of this tiny drama, just as I did quit my body when I was ill, to fly on wings to thee and the Glory.

  The ground will be drier in a day or two. Let us try again to meet in our Eden – Monday afternoon, God willing, three o’clock. I await your signal as ever.

  Always your

  Jane

  Dear Lysander,

  I could not come because of Mr. Graynier’s funeral. You must have heard the passing-bell toll all yesterday – Papa and Rebecca and I went up to the mansion to pay our respects. We were shocked to see him laid out – so shrunken and withered by the disease – which consumed him very quickly. They say the face shows peace upon the soul’s departure, but that cannot be true for a soul bound for damnation – Mr. Graynier’s lips were twisted as from horror, and there was an atmosphere of doom in the curtained room where he lay.

  His two daughters received everyone in cool silence. I reckon they do not mourn him in their hearts, as he was rumored to be a neglectful father, showing little concern for their academic, moral, or religious education, and thus, although only 15 and 17 years of age, they are bored, enervated creatures. I believe Mr. Graynier bestowed all his affections on Ellis, whom we found sitting by himself in the corner. He had not bothered to don a cravat or jacket for propriety’s sake, and though there were many visitors who wished to pay their sympathies, his manner seemed to warn them away. The Negress housekeeper served refreshments with lowered eyes. Mr. Graynier did not emancipate her before dying, so I suppose her fate is now in the hands of the young master.

  I did not like to see Ellis so morbidly aloof. I approached with hesitation, but when he glanced up I saw that I was welcome. I knelt before him and took his hands, praying that a little of the Spirit that I have received from your dear hands would now pass into Ellis for it would console him. We spoke in low voices, for the others were watching us curiously. I said I was sorry for the loss of his father, yet he could take comfort that Mr. Graynier was finally free from pain.

  “His torment is over,” he agreed with a bitter smile. “But mine is just begun.” When I asked what he meant, he replied almost angrily, “Jane, what shall I do with a factory?”

  I drew back, for I could smell strong spirits on his breath, and I thought it likely that he was not in a rational state. I told him that he must make acquaintance with his own strength – as his father had been strong, this must be his true inheritance – and then he could meet the task with conviction. This made him laugh outright. He said when I looked at him thus prettily, and spoke such a pile of nonsense, he couldn’t help believing it, and he would rather be my fool than remain a cynic, because then he might be capable of the manly exploits I imagined for him. I felt, once again, that any effort I might apply to Ellis’ reformation would have no positive issue. I think God has no preferment: He may abandon a beggar to the misery of shantytown, and also abandon a rich man to a dark and soulless existence, and it is all Justice, for I think the rich man’s is the greater poverty.

  Today will be the royal procession and burial, and you will see the whole of Graynier done up properly for public grieving. However, I believe most will be thinking not of the deceased nor of the disposition of his soul but rather of what lies ahead for Graynier Glass with the young master in charge. There you may see praying in earnest! For everyone’s fortune is bound to the factory, whether for good or ill.

  For myself, I muse on the vanity of life and the powerlessness of that powerful man before the great Tribunal beyond; and how rare, how beautiful, is the path you and I are called to follow.

  My mind is clear and certain now. After the funeral I shall tell Uli that I will not be his wife.

  You must, for your part, most delicately but without equivocation, make Rebecca understand that you are not looking to wed any woman. My fervent hope is that Uli will next ask for her hand, and she will accept him because you have made plain your preference for a life of chastity.

  They will marry, and Papa will be relieved, and soon perhaps I may tell him of our sacred pact, and procure his blessing. Dearest, we say we strive for purity, yet there is nothing pure about our deceit. I long for the day when we no longer hide or dissemble, but instead live by our truth openly. When I looked upon Mr. Graynier’s face in his coffin yesterday, I felt I knew death’s most urgent instruction: to live in truth, from this time on, even if only a minute of life remains.

  Your loving

  Jane

  Dear Lysander,

  Forgive me for not coming to Eden this morning. Rebecca has been very dispirited and dependent on my company since you asked her not to visit anymore. Papa was quick to condemn you but in private he told me that she is proud and disingenuous and will stubbornly fancy a connexion where none exists, for which her lot must always be disappointment. I do believe she was more in love with you than we knew. (Adding to her woe was the news that Uli Haff was accepted by her friend Mabel – they are to be married in a month’s time.)

  I have been distracting Rebecca with gossip, for every village maiden is in a fever of conjecture,
wondering when – and whom!

  Ellis Graynier will marry, now that he has taken command of the factory and will doubtless want to present a more mature appearance to the community. I do think that the gossipers presume a haste that he does not himself feel, and that it will be a year – or many! – before he considers matrimony. But I suppose the girls of Graynier need a topic to match their high spirits in this lovely warm weather: thus rumors flower most pungently with the lilacs. Rebecca has allowed this topic to revive her natural energy, and by tomorrow I warrant she will be back to visiting friends and showing off her new hat on the avenue in case Ellis should drive by. He will probably not – he is working long hours with my father and Mr. Haff to learn the business of glass.

  Papa does not speak to me much since I refused Mr. Haff. I can tell he is not angry so much as embarrassed, and worried on my account. The rest of the village, of course, believes me either insane or conceited or both. It is true that I hold myself high, though to my mind I am justified, having been surrounded by ignorance and prejudice for twenty years. I blush to realize how ignorant I myself was, for all my airs and learning, before you came to Graynier, my love.

  I shall be there to greet you in the Garden of Eden at half past three!

  Your constant

  Jane

  Beloved,

  I can no longer come to Eden – all eyes follow me – everywhere – daily streams of visitors to congratulate me – must trust Widow S. to bring this note – hoping she is ever our friend – have asked her to call again tomorrow for a longer letter – no matter what you hear about me, presume nothing, do nothing, until I write next –

  Dear Lysander,

  I pray my emotions, which are very turbulent, do not prevent me from writing with clarity, for there is nothing I dread more than your misunderstanding me, which might destroy your faith in me and in our mission together.