Jane loved her new home in Lakeside Gardens. She couldn't love it quite as much as Lantern Hill, but she was more than happy to give it second-best affections. Everything about it was darling…the breakfast nook in pale yellow, that was warm and inviting even on gloomy days…the diamond-paned windows giving it the appearance of winking in a friendly fashion at all the passerby…the built-in china closets…the rock garden and stone terraces…the two guest bedrooms upstairs that were aching to be furnished…Dad's study, in dark green and mahogany, with his green-spotted cat and brass dog sitting on opposite corners of his desk…Mother's sitting room done in blue and gold, looking as dainty and delicate as Mother herself…the sun-room where Jane sat to write her letters on warm days…everything. There was not one thing about the home that Jane didn't love. Just as 60 Gay had always seemed dead, this home was alive from the moment they took possession of it. It laughed with them…welcomed them…took them in and loved them.
Jane wasted no time in making friends there, either. By the end of the first week, she had met all the neighbors and befriended most of them, from sad little Mrs. Kane, the war-bride whose husband had been killed in France, to the Westins, whose six children kept their house overflowing with laughter and life, to stern Mr. Kendall, the author. He lived all alone in a big, empty house, without even a cat or dog to keep him company. The Westin children were all afraid of him, but Jane rather liked his stormy, mysterious eyes and scowling mouth. He had a reputation as a hater of children and women, but even he stood no chance against Jane. From the first time she smiled cheerfully at him, he long afterward averred, he was "hooked." He smiled back…Jane was to learn later how rare Mr. Kendall's smiles were…and spoke.
"Well, and who do you belong to?"
"Myself," Jane answered triumphantly. She had been exploring the development all day, and was just now going home in the twilight. The setting sun reflected off her russet hair with a warm glow, and her square chin and generous mouth spoke of satisfaction and contentment.
"To be sure," Mr. Kendall responded, his dark eyes lightening just a tad. "And did you spring from the woods out back, in the ravine? You look rather as though you could be a dryad…not of a birch tree or beech, certainly…nothing so insubstantial…but perhaps from the red maple, or even the elm." He pursed his lips and studied her critically. "Yes, definitely the maple. You look the very spirit of our national tree."
Jane decided that she liked the way he spoke. Her fancy was captured at the idea of being a dryad…living in the woods, friends with all the plants and creatures, dancing to wild, unearthly music on moonlit night…it almost eclipsed her old moon dreams.
"It would be fun to be a dryad," she said consideringly. "But even a forest couldn't be a better place to live than here, or at Lantern Hill."
Mr. Kendall raised one thick eyebrow…Jane decided it was those thick, bushy brows that really frightened the Westin children. They could look rather intimidating when drawn together. "And where, O Spirit, is Lantern Hill?"
Thus invited, Jane sat down on his porch steps and told him all about Lantern Hill and the Jimmy Johns and Snowbeams and Min and everyone. He listened with flattering interest, smiling a little at some of her descriptions, but not interrupting once.
"I'm surprised you could bear to leave there," he finally said once she had finished.
"I didn't think I could, the first year I came back," Jane admitted. "But there are things I like about here, too. I like my school, and now Mother, Dad and I have our own darling home here, I am quite satisfied."
"Blessed girl!" he said, standing up. "To be perfectly satisfied is a rare gift…cherish it well."
In the twilight, he didn't look frightening at all…only sad and weary. Jane felt suddenly that she would like to make him laugh…to chase away that haunted look in his eyes.
"I am tired, Jane Stuart," he said abruptly. "And your family will worry if you are out too late. I think you'd best be on your way now."
Jane got up to go, a little hurt at the brusque dismissal. Perhaps Mr. Kendall saw that, for he smiled again at her, crinkling his eyes up in the corners like Dad always did.
"Come again and talk to me sometime, blithe spirit," he said. "You make me feel almost young again…and that does not happen often. Don't mind if I am sometimes a cross bear. I've been living alone for many years, and I think I've forgotten how to get on with people."
Jane's hurt feelings vanished at once. She determined right then and there that she would help Mr. Kendall become happy again…somehow. She smiled radiantly at him.
"I will. Good night!"
She danced off in the gathering dusk, unaware that his eyes followed her until she was out of sight, a tender look lurking in their sorrowful depths.
Despite his occasional moody spells, Jane liked Mr. Kendall, and she liked Mrs. Kane as well, for her cheerful endurance and bravery.
Mrs. Kane had been only eighteen years old when she got married to her sweetheart right before he left to go fight overseas. He had been killed six months later, leaving her a widow while still a bride.
She never railed against fate or wallowed in self-pity, but went on cheerfully and courageously, moving in with his ailing mother and looking after her for the next eighteen years. Old Mrs. Kane exhibited all the bitterness her daughter-in-law didn't over the death of the boy they both loved, and as time went by, grew only crankier and angrier, eventually coming to resent this quiet, calm woman who had…in her mind…stolen her son's love. The last five years of her life had been miserable for all concerned, but she had died just this past winter, and Mrs. Kane was free.
She sold the old Kane home in Forest Hill and moved to Lakeside Gardens for, she told Jane, a chance to start her life anew. She was only thirty-six, she laughed, still young enough to enjoy life.
Jane both liked and admired her. She wasn't very pretty, with mouse-brown hair and soft, irregular features, but she had a vivacity that shone through her brown eyes and all her years of drudgery hadn't stolen away her spirit or her laughter.
She was an excellent cook, and she and Jane could spend hours comparing recipes and exchanging tips. The Westin children seemed to have some sort of sixth sense when the two of them got together, and always showed up just in time for cookies or candies.
The Westins were nowhere near as interesting as Jane's two adult friends, but Jane liked them just the same. There were six of them, from seventeen-year-old Abbie, who was fascinated by screen stars and their glamorous lives, to little Edwin, the baby of the family at three.
In between were Colby, the oldest son at fifteen, Eden, the thirteen-year-old daughter—just Jane's age, Tracy, the middle boy, age ten, and Marilyn, a petite fairy of a girl at age six.
They were all loud and excited, and Jane always felt dazed after a visit to their house, and ready to go home to peace and quiet. But they were also fun and adventurous, and in awe over her many exploits on the Island. They took her fishing on the Humber and Lake Ontario, and promised they'd go swimming with her if she was ever there when it was warm enough. With them, she explored the ravine behind her home, learning its ins and outs thoroughly.
Every day was an adventure to the Westins…Jane loved that way of looking at life, as though each day was a gift, bringing endless possibilities. That was the way life was at Lantern Hill…but she hadn't expected to find it anywhere else.