AN - This was inspired by a piece I read here a long time ago. It's a short little piece that deals with how Scout feels about not knowing her mother.
ooo
Lavender and honeysuckle always made her think of her mother. Jem had told her a long time ago that Jean had always smelled like lavender and honeysuckle, so when Miss Maudie's flowers came out in bloom each year Scout always found she thought of her mother.
Jean Finch. The woman was a mysterious phantom to her daughter, and it frustrated her. Jean's arms had cradled and coddled her, but she couldn't remember their warmth. Jean's voice had sung her to sleep, but she couldn't remember its melody. Jean's eyes had gazed down lovingly upon her, but she couldn't remember their shape or colour. No matter how hard Scout tried to remember, her mother remained nothing more than a question mark, and no one would give her any answers.
"Such a lovely woman," Uncle Jack always said, the same sadness in his voice that everyone had when they talked about Jean Finch. "Ladies like your mother were rare to find." He had said, his gaze lingering on the wedding photo of Jean and Atticus on the living room mantle.
"Your mother was a proper lady," Aunty had said when Scout found the courage to ask her. "She would turn in her grave if she could see the way you were turning out, Jean Louise." She had then sniffed, looking down her nose and making her niece feel two feet tall.
"Scout, I tell you about Mama all the time! Leave me be, will ya?" Jem always said sharply, taking himself off behind the car house as usual when she tried to talk about Jean.
She didn't dare ask Atticus about her mother, so she was left with just her imagination to conjure up versions of the woman. On days when Jem would grow bored of her company and banish her from his room, she would sneak into Atticus' bedroom, retrieve the photo of her mother that sat on his bedside cabinet, and sneak out into the backyard. There she would spend hours thinking about Jean, giving her a personality to go with the smiling woman in the photo.
Scout's favourite version of her mother was the woman who would run with her through the daisies in Deers Pasture, her long brown hair flowing behind her as she laughed and reached for her daughter's hand. Hand in hand, they would run to the little river and fall down on the grass, her mother not caring an inch about getting dirt on her dress. Scout imagined Jean taking off her shoes and stockings, taking off her daughter's shoes and they would wade into the river, both of them squealing and laughing as the cold water hit them. Her mother would hold her hand and point out the few fish that would swim around their feet, she would playfully dunk her daughter's head under the water as they recreated a baptism, and they would lie in the sun on the riverbank to dry off and talk about what adventure they would have tomorrow.
Her mother would have been her best friend.
While she didn't miss the woman, she did feel a sense of longing whenever she thought about her. Scout had no idea what a mother was, and she longed for the warmth and softness hers would have provided.
Jean had been a warm woman, that she was certain of. She had been warm and soft and accepting, and she had been nothing like Aunty. Scout absolutely refused to believe that her mother would have been anything like Aunt Alexandra, refused to believe it so much that she sought confirmation from Miss Maudie, the only person who would talk to her freely about Jean.
Scout had come to realise at age seven that Miss Maudie was the only person she could go to for real answers about her mother. While Jem was good for recalling moments and incidents with their mother, it was Miss Maudie who answered the myriad of questions that Scout began to ask as she grew. It was Miss Maudie who told her how Atticus had met her mother.
"I was wondering when that was going to come up, Miss Jean Louise." Maudie had said, a smile forming at her question. "Your father met your mama in Montgomery, in a bookstore she worked in, I believe."
"Did they love each other right away?" Scout had asked eagerly, practically bouncing on her seat.
Maudie had laughed at her. "No, honey, it never works like that. Why, I think your mama actually found him boring at first." Her eyes twinkled over her glasses.
"Well, he is a little boring, Miss Maudie."
"Someday you'll see what your father is really made of, my dear." The older woman had winked at her. "Now, be quiet and let me think. Your father's a mighty deep reader, so he was a regular customer at that little store. My guess is he developed a liking for the little brunette girl behind the counter, because four years later she came home with him as his wife. I don't think I've ever seen your father happier," she said more to herself.
"Did they love each other?"
"Miss Jean Louise, I'm positive there wasn't a night where I looked out of my living room window and didn't see your daddy and your mama curled up on that porch swing of yours. Yes, honey, they loved each other. They sure did love each other."
It was Miss Maudie who also told her how her mother had died, though it had taken Scout a little while to convince her to do it.
"A heart attack, honey. She had a heart attack when you were two years old." Maudie had said, setting down her rolling pin.
"Why didn't Atticus call the doctor? He could have saved her!" Scout had replied, naively believing their was nothing Dr Reynolds couldn't fix.
Maudie had looked at her sadly, almost pityingly. "Your father was too late," she had answered quietly. "She was lyin' on the porch when he came home from work. Your brother was in the back yard, and you were in your bassinet beside her crying your eyes out, almost like you knew somethin' wasn't right."
"I was there?" Scout had asked, never having known she had been with her mother when she died.
"You were." Maudie nodded. "Your mama never went anywhere without you, even if she was just sitting on the front porch. You were your mama's little girl." She had reached out and ran a hand down her hair.
"What did Atticus do?"
"He called for the doctor." Maudie sighed. "Though I think he knew there was nothin' to be done. I don't think he's ever forgiven himself for not being there. You go easy on your father. He's hurting a lot more than you know."
While Maudie her best source for any and all information regarding her mother, no one came close to how she easily put Scout's mind at ease about Jean's personality. It was summer again and Maudie's lavender and honeysuckle were in full bloom, their fragrance never failing to pull Jean Finch into the mind of her nine year old daughter.
"Miss Maudie, what was Mama like?" Scout was asking one summer's afternoon, her trowel in hand as she helped Maudie plant a some new rose bushes. After years of having Aunty tell her how Jean would be ashamed of her, she was desperate to have Maudie's affirmations that she would have been an asset to her.
"Your mother was a real lady, Jean Louise." Maudie answered, her attention never once diverting from the hole she was digging.
"Oh." Scout felt her stomach plummet. That hadn't been the answer she had wanted to here. Almost instantaneously the image of her mother running with her through Deers Pasture went up in a puff of smoke. Jean had been one of those ladies, the type that sat at home and sewed and baked all day.
"A real lady when she needed to be." Maudie added, a smirk on her face as she brushed the soil from her gloves. "Your mother could swear like a sailor, and she could drink your uncle Jack under the table. Don't you go believing all that Alexandra tells you, miss, your mother was a little minx. In fact, when you're older, I'll tell you some stories that'll make you never look at your father the same way." She winked, making Scout wonder what on earth she was talking about.
"Did Mama wear dresses all the time?" Scout asked, thinking of all the times Aunty had told her she couldn't hope to be a lady if she wore overalls.
"Most of the time," Maudie answered honestly. "Though I do remember seeing her running down the street to your daddy in an old pair of trousers. Your mama didn't care what anyone thought of her, honey. You remind me a lot of her in that way."
Scout found she suddenly felt warm inside. Jean had even exceeded her expectations! Her mother had been more like her than she ever imagined, and she felt content knowing that her mother would have loved her exactly the way she was. Nothing Aunty could ever say again would make her feel horrible for disappointing her mother. Jean was exactly the woman that she imagined, running through the daisies and not afraid to get dirt on her clothes.
"Miss Maudie, sometimes I imagine that Mama is running with me to the river and we do a baptism like Jem and Dill and me did in Miss Rachel's fishpond. Then we lie on the grass and she watches the clouds with me. Sometimes it's like she's really there!" Scout found herself telling Maudie about her active imagination, not missing how the woman looked as though she might cry.
"Jean Louise, I'm certain your mama is running with you all the time."
The smell of lavender and honeysuckle was more powerful than ever.