Soli Deo gloria
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Anne of Green Gables. As usual, a good rereading of the Anne series makes me write fanfiction. And is that such a bad thing? XD
At seven-years-old, Jem had the ability to read a few words and whole sentences if he spent time and work on them, and the great propensity for adventure. Exploring the Fords' living room one visit, as the beachside around them was tossed around by the crash of the surf against the heavy rain shower, he amused himself by reading the titles of books tilting on their bookshelves. Ken was tasked by some unavoidable chore and Persis was a girl, and Jem didn't want to play with a girl. A big man at his age didn't play with girls (unless they were chummy sisters—annoying, but chummy sisters could be an exception).
He ran a finger along the big spines climbing up beyond his reach. He slowly read their titles aloud—"The Wilds of Canada, by Region and Town, A Compilation of All Discovered and Classified Species in the North-Atlantic, The Life-book of Captain Jim—" Jem stopped here and blinked. This last huge volume he dragged from its place. Captain Jim—that was his namesake. Yes, yes, hadn't Mother and Dad talked with Mr. and Mrs. Ford about Captain Jim a lot? Hadn't he seen Mother wipe away tears from her smiling face when she spoke of him? Wasn't he an old sea captain? And a good storyteller?
Mrs. Ford followed Ken into the living room and found Jem sprawled on the carpet, his dirty shoes kicked up in the air, Captain Jim's Life-book spread out on the floor. She stopped short, while Ken good-naturedly joined his friend and said, "What's this book about, Jem? Don't you want to go play with Persis?"
"Mrs. Ford, what's this book about? Wasn't Captain Jim Mother and Dad's friend?" Jem asked curiously, asking questions as recklessly as his mother did as a child.
Mrs. Ford looked like she was looking into the distant past and its memory had struck her happy and dumb and sad all at the same time. "He was my friend, too," she said so softly that neither boy heard her. She tremblingly took a seat and held out a hand for the book. "It's a book of the life of a very good man, a man who did what he knew what was right, even when it was hard."
The book in her hand, Leslie spent the rest of the rainy afternoon reading aloud to those two attentive, wide-eyed boys. Little Persis wandered in and hung onto every word. Her mother's low, sweet voice infused every well-written word with the proper intonation. She cast a spell over those children.
Owen stumbled upon this scene when he arrived home. He generously gave Jem that copy of the book (it didn't matter that Anne and Gilbert had several volumes in their possession, and he and Leslie the same—the boy needed his own copy, James Matthew Blythe) and sent him on his way. Persis and Ken couldn't stop talking as they hurried out-of-doors to breathe in the fresh sea air, now that the rain had stopped and washed the world beautiful and clean. This left Owen to comfort his wife as she cried a little. "Those memories are so good, yet they hurt just a little," she managed to say.
"I know," Owen said softly.
Jem lugged the big book home and shut himself up in his room. Walter and his big eyes peeked over the bed curiously, but Jem refused to share this delight with his brother—at least, not at the moment. How could he live if he had to wait for Walter to start at the beginning and reach the point he'd gotten to? And Walter barely able to read without assistance!
Dinner was called and Jem was wrenched away by an understanding Susan, who nevertheless dragged him away from his chest full of treasure. "Your aunt Mary Maria's itching to say grace and if you don't come down she'll come get you herself, and goodness knows how long her grace will be then, Jem. Come now, be a good lad, for your poor mother and dad's sakes."
Jem sat stonily, not closing his eyes, through Aunt Mary Maria's solemn, slow grace, and then scarfed his delicious dinner down with a ferocity that rivaled any feral dog's.
"Annie, tell young James to chew his supper and stop hurrying. It's bad manners to stuff one's face and leave the dinner table early. I declare, a boy of seven should know that by now," was Aunt Mary Maria's helpful commentary.
"What's the hurry, Jem?" Anne ignored Aunt Mary Maria and smiled at her son across the table.
"I've got a book to read. It's ever so fascinating, Mummy. It's full of ships and big seas and pirates and treasure and far away ports!"
"That sounds like a grand read. What's the name of the book, darling?"
"Anne, you aren't encouraging this, are you? The boy's more of a bear cub than a respectable young man! In my day, this wouldn't be tolerated, but then my word and tradition don't have much say in what happens in this house!"
"It's called something so scary and exciting, it raises the hair on your neck, Mummy! It gives you such a chill!"
Anne understood that. Hadn't she several exciting 'thrills' as a child?
"It's called The Life-book of Captain Jim. Say, Mummy, wasn't he the man I was named after? If so, that's so bully! He's had the best life, and I ain't even done with the book yet!"
The cacophony of cutlery against pewter plates dimmed a little as Anne, Gilbert, and Susan stopped eating and all exchanged very significant looks. The Dr. and Mrs. Dr. Dear had, of course, told Jem of his namesake, Captain James Boyd, and a few details of his life, such as his friendship with the schoolmaster and his wife and that he went to sea, and of course of the First Mate and the old lighthouse and Lost Margaret. Telling any of his stories, though, would've done such an injustice to Captain Jim's storytelling skills and also make Anne so sad in his memory that that was all that was told the boy. Until now. Well, today was as good a day as any for him to be introduced to the true, long history of a remarkable man, on the sea and on the land the same.
"Yes, dearest, he is the man you were named for. Well, one of them. The other's Matthew Cuthbert."
"Oh, I know all about ol' Matthew. He worked on Green Gables his whole life. Captain Jim's so adventurous, though! He's off to far away lands, fighting pirates and mutineers and doing all sorts of gloriously exciting things!"
"I wouldn't called fighting pirates and mutineers 'gloriously exciting', but gruesome, and unwholesome for the consumption of young boys. Can you think this suitable reading material for such a young boy of Jem's age, Annie? I can't think you can!" was Aunt Mary Maria's two cents on Anne's reckless child-rearing.
Jem threw Aunt Mary Maria a mutinous glare that earned him his father's warning by way of a cleared throat; Anne rescued the situation by saying calmly, uninfluenced by the perturbed moods of these three opinionated Blythes, "I've read the book before, Aunt Mary Maria, and find it an adventurous tale full of wholesome truths and a good, courageous spirit. Jem, I hope you enjoy it."
Jem smiled especially at his understanding mother and bounded away even before Susan could bring out his favorite dessert to escape to his book, leaving behind a smiling mother and a muttering Aunt Mary Maria.
For hours he lay upon his stomach on his ruffled covers, feet in the air, as he became lost to the world around him and became submerged in the warm white sands of tropical beaches, the exotic taste of coconuts and breadfruits, the wonders of the traditions of different cultures and peoples, and the enchantment of the sea. Though he'd often gone down to the sand and rock shores with his dad or the Fords, Jem had never discovered the delicious wonder of the sea until now. Owen Ford's writing combined with the spell spun by Captain Jim's honest words and winsome style stole him away into the wide-eyed discovery of that beautiful wonder.
The sea became a character unto itself. Jem understood its siren's call of foam-topped waves of uncompromising water, sometimes dark blue, sometimes pale green, sometimes the color of an ale. He met the creatures that lurked beneath its mysterious depths; he stood next to Captain Jim on the schooner when he personally met a friendly dolphin. He felt the quake in his soul as Captain Jim found himself stuck in a low-lying, wind-dead inlet with no oars and the heart-striking fins of hungry, patient sharks circling the canoe.
He swam through the warm waters of the Gulf Stream, warm as a bath, and through the icy waters off Greenland. He saw the magnificent sunsets and woke up to welcome the new morning with a sunset painted by God. He saw a thousand lighthouses welcoming him home from months-long voyages. He stood up on dry land and wobbled and even for weeks after, felt his heart point to the sea as a compass always points north.
He, little Jem Blythe, at seven-years-old, felt this all keenly, for he too was of the race of Joseph.
The entire book was consumed within five days. It would've been done in four, but Susan Baker, bless her, had confiscated it when on her rounds around to her children found him reading it an hour past his bedtime, curled up to read it word by word in the moonlight streaming in from his window.
"You're going to ruin your eyes, strainin' 'em like that, Jem, come now," Susan said. Jem had fought her fiercely, pleading like a beggar for it back. But Susan showed her backbone, though it broke her heart to deprive her little lamb of his joy.
"You'll get it back in the morning. It'll keep. 'Sides, poor Walter won't catch a wink if you don't." This was a reference to the wide-eyed little brother who stared at Jem with that book, as wide-awake as could be.
Thus the book was saved until morning, and Jem ate it up like a starved man. When he at last closed the book, he was startled by Walter standing right before him. "Walter! What do you want? You made me jump!"
"I can't read very well, and Mummy and Dad are busy. Can you tell me the stories?" Walter asked hopefully.
Jem'd earned a streak from his mother—he, like his namesake, loved telling stories. To tell Walter the stories he'd loved with his heart and felt deep in his soul was all he wanted to do. He felt a little empty, poor Jem, with no more book to read, and shouting out all the most exciting bits to a wide-eyed audience kept the stories going for quite a while longer.
Thus went the summer—Captain James Blythe led a ship armed with several crewmembers who were the small boys of many Harbor Mouth families. He'd made a little ship of his own in Rainbow Valley, and everyday he'd sail the brook into any of the Seven Seas, his loyal crew at his side. He stood at the bow with a captain's hat fashioned with some imagination and a few pins from an old formal hat of Dad's. He waved a saber, which was really an old cracked broomstick. He led his crew to foreign lands, shouting at the top of his lungs—they followed his every command, except when sometimes he made them walk the plank or when they needed a good mutiny to shake up the usual routine of discovering hidden treasure on a mysterious tropical island.
"Bertie, you have to walk the plank! That is an official order from your captain!" Jem said firmly one such boring day.
"Oh, shucks! I don't have to listen to you, Jem Blythe! Who made you captain, anyway? I want to be captain!"
"I'm the one named after the real captain, so I am the captain!" Jem shouted back.
Bertie Shakespeare Drew didn't care one wit about Jem's namesake and hit him with his broom. A saber fight ensued, with much shouting and cheering from the rest of the crew as they took different sides. Walter immediately dropped his own play saber and ran and got Susan Baker, who brought her own broom and did a little sword-play herself. "Come now, break it off! Behave like gentlemen, calm yourselves! You'll poke an eye out!" This led to her dragging Jem home with Walter walking quietly behind her of his own accord, and her sending for a piece of ice from the ice house for the black eye Bertie Shakespeare Drew had somehow slipped in on Jem during the scuffle. "Nearly did, too, Jem. Come now," was all Susan Baker could say as she tried to catch her breath.
This incursion earned the young captain a strong talking-to from Dad, a quiet talk with Mother, and a bully black eye for the next two weeks at school. This didn't lessen the friendship between Jem Blythe and Bertie Shakespeare Drew, however: Jem had laid on a heavy hit on Bertie, and he too sported a heavy bruise on his jaw. They shook hands and continued as captain and first mate of their beloved ship.
One time Mrs. Ford let Ken and Jem go out onto the rock shore. She'd fond memories with Mrs. Blythe down there. But when it was past seven o'clock and none of the young boys had returned for supper, she put on a jacket and left Persis with Owen and went in hurried search after them. Her heart was relieved to not see them drowned but on the edge of the surf, Ken yelling at Jem to come home to supper. Jem had a keen look in his eyes as he looked out over the cream-colored sky, full of the sunset playing against the soft white of the low-lying clouds, and shouted back as often as Ken lay the entreaty after him, "I'm going to sea, Ken! Supper can wait!"
Mrs. Ford dragged them back and after feeding them walked Jem home and spent an hour talking with Anne in the back doorway of Ingleside. Leslie turned back home and Anne went upstairs to sit on the edge of Jem's bed with him. Moonlight spilled through the open curtains and illuminated his soft child's face. Anne smiled and leaned him against her shoulder, her patient hand rubbing his arm with a maternal affection.
"You remind me of myself as a child. My imagination could transport me out of real life and carry me far away. I could do anything. I expect that your imagination had led you with that book onto the open waters of the Atlantic, haven't they, darling?"
"I want to go to sea! I feel it inside me, Mummy! It hurts!"
"I know, darling. It's an ache all sea-going men have." Anne certainly hoped her son hadn't been gripped with the yearning for sea that many young men had. Once the idea overtook them, they could never be rid of the irresistible pull to the salty sea air and the mist upon their face. "But you must remember not to let it get out of hand. When I was young, I once let my imagination run completely wild, and it wasn't good of me." Anne told him the tale of the Haunted Wood. "It's good to have an imagination, but you must rule it, not it you." She patted his hand, but had a look in her eyes that said she didn't think he'd heard her. His eyes looking out the window towards the surf told her that.
Walter was always to be found at Jem's side outside of school. He was transfixed by the look in Jem's eyes, and often he begged Jem to recite quotations from the book. "'It seems to me, Mate, that the surge of the surf is like the tossing and turning of the soul, ain't it?'" Jem said in a solemn tone, as if he was fifty-years-old and had thirty-some-odd years of experience on the untamed waters.
Jem took ink and applied his own pen to paper, much to the disgust of Bertie Shakespeare Drew, who wanted him outside. "Leave them things alone and come play! Who cares about reading? Come play!"
"I want to write my own Captain Jim adventures," Jem said impatiently.
"We can go make our own! Don't those Fords have a small boat for the sea? What say we go float it?"
Bertie Shakespeare Drew's mischief combined with Jem's heart's desire resulted in the two running down to the shore and finding the Ford boat. The Fords being out, they couldn't ask permission for it. Well, it wouldn't hurt just to sit in it, would it? And the oars could be tried out without any trouble, right? And just getting out of the shore didn't mean they were going very far, now did it?
Suddenly Jem dropped his oar: he'd been too busy gazing at the horizon, and forgot about his hands. "Aren't there any more oars?" Jem asked hurriedly. He thought about how his parents would miss him, and Susan would be calling for him, and they'd search for him, and what if they never found him, and he'd be like little Lost Margaret in the Life-book, lost at sea?
"We've got this oar. Let's see what we can do," Bertie said calmly, but he soon exploded into whimpers when the one oar only pulled them into very dinky circles. Jem stood up on the wobbly boat and began to call for help. Captain Jim Boyd had done this once, when his schooner had hit an iceberg trying to look ahead of his ship. Maybe someone would hear them. They'd heard Captain Jim.
Indeed Susan had missed him for supper, but neither she or the Blythes worried much, as they knew the first place outside of Ingleside to look for him—the Fords'. Gilbert, being of longer legs, had run ahead of poor Anne and panting Susan, and arrived just in time to see Bertie shrieking at Jem as he lost his footing and fell overboard. Gilbert hurried into the water and quickly reached Jem, who'd bobbed up, gasping. Anne and Susan arrived to see Gilbert dragging the small boat back with one dry boy and one shivering boy in tow.
Both boys were soon before the Ingleside fire with blankets and warm drinks courtesy of Susan Baker, hired girl and ready nurse. Dr. and Mrs. Blythe stood before them with very serious faces. Not much word of discipline was said, for the moment. Dr. Blythe ran Bertie down to the Drews' and Susan shooed the rest of the children to bed. Walter quickly, in his little nightie, stood in the doorway with his pale face and wide eyes, and only said softly, "Did you see any sirens in the water, Jem?"
When Gilbert returned, he and Anne sat on either side of Jem, and they talked to him. Susan gone, no Aunt Mary Maria, they talked to him quietly and seriously. What he'd done that evening was irresponsible and he could've died. It wasn't a good thing, and if he was going to let his obsession with the sea and the Life-book take control of his life, he would be banned from going to the shore by himself, banned from the Fords until he could, and could no longer read the Life-book or play on his ship in Rainbow Valley. He was not acting like reliable Captain James Boyd at all. He was acting like a young, reckless James Matthew Blythe.
Jem grated against their parental advice, but his conscience berated him within an inch of his life. You knew you were being naughty and you took the Fords' boat anyway! You don't play anything else besides Sea. You don't do your homework well. You don't help Susan. You don't play with Walter or Nan or Di. You only care about an old sea that just sits there!
"Do you understand why we're so worried, Jem?" Anne asked him.
He nodded and hid the guilty tears in his eyes by hiding his face in his mother's shoulder. Anne looked at Gilbert soberly, and he nodded. The little boy had incurred enough punishment on himself without any talk of any other.
Jem still held a deep admiration for the sea, full of horizons and old memories of Captain Jim, now all encompassed in the medium of words in a book. He soon grew to have other interests, as little boys oft do, and while he was busy with these new interests for years and ongoing years, he still felt a particularly warm 'thrill' whenever he looked out on the sea.
Thanks for reading! Review?