Before the week was out, Jane visited Mrs. Kane. The young widow was delighted to see her, and insisted on showing Jane all around her lovely home, describing all the changes she had made since last spring. Jane was properly admiring, though secretly she thought that it couldn't quite match to her home, and then the two of them settled in for a nice cup of tea and some of Mrs. Kane's delectable shortbread cookies at the big table in the sunny, inviting kitchen.
"There's something so chummy about sitting in the kitchen, isn't there?" Mrs. Kane said, waving her hand expressively in the air. "A dining room is so formal … a parlor stifles heartfelt conversation … but a kitchen just invites conversation and confidences."
"And that way you can keep an eye on anything you have cooking," added practical Jane.
Mrs. Kane laughed girlishly. "Exactly so," she agreed merrily.
The kitchen was a delightful room … large, simple, with sunlight pouring in the windows and dancing on the tiled floor, a huge old-fashioned wood cookstove at one end, and the table in the middle, perfectly situated for fetching anything one needed without having to take more than a couple steps in any direction.
But then, everything about Mrs. Kane's home was delightful. She had named it Elysium, saying it was a paradisiacal resting place for her, and it truly was soothing and peaceful. The rooms were large and furnished with simplicity and ease, the colors complementary and harmonious, the few knick-knacks and pictures beautiful and interesting. Jane thought, if she couldn't live at Lantern Hill or her own dear Lakeside Gardens home (for which she was still trying to think of an appropriate name), she would like to live at Elysium. It was a house that welcomed you … a home that made you forget any troubles for a little while … a place that cared nothing for the outside world.
In that, it was a reflection of its mistress. Mrs. Kane herself was the most restful person Jane knew. She never seemed rushed or disturbed by anything, never flurried or flustered. She had a sly wit and sparkling vivacity, though few ever saw it. Although most people who knew her felt bad for the blows life had dealt her, she scorned pity, and preferred to avoid society altogether, rather than face its assumption that anyone who had lived through what she had must be miserable.
"They tend to resent the fact that I can still be happy," she confided to Jane. "And I resent their pity, so everyone is much happier overall if I just refuse invitations to parties and dinners, and stay here in Elysium. Perhaps they think I'm rude by never hosting any affairs myself, but really, I can't be bothered with what they think!"
Today, she wanted to hear all about Jane's summer. She laughed until tears entered her eyes at the account of the circus, applauded the picnic with the Yankees, and delighted in all the summer activities … swimming, fishing, working in the garden or helping in the fields, berrying with Min and Jody, taking long walks in the woods … all of it sounded heavenly to the city-bound widow.
"Not that my summer was dreadful, by any stretch of the imagination," she assured Jane. "I've discovered a fondness for art, so most pleasant days I would take my sketchbook and pencils and go down to the Humber to draw the boats. Some days I just wandered around the ravines and drew whatever I could find. Shall I show you?"
"Yes, please," said Jane, keenly interested. She set her teacup down to look closer at the sketchbook Mrs. Kane laid before her.
Rough sketches though they were, every one had a graceful and clean line to it. Most were typical scenes any amateur artist would attempt … a young couple punting down the river, a little bunch of wild columbine, a bee hovering over a rose, lilies and rushes by the water's edge … but one in particular stood out.
It was of a man standing on the opposite side of the riverbank, fishing. His line was cast out high above the water, he was in the river up to his knees, his hat was pushed back on his head, and sheer joy was captured on his face. Mrs. Kane had drawn it so that everything else was muted and soft, while the man's figure stood out boldly, with strong lines and angles.
"I like this very much," Jane said, setting it aside.
To her surprise, Mrs. Kane blushed. "Oh … that one," she said. "That one's not very good … I was just letting my mind wander, saw him, and the next thing I knew, there was the sketch. Here, look at this one … it's much better."
Jane obediently took up the indicated sketch, a sweet portrait of little Edwin Westin, but the thought remained in the back of her mind that the fisherman in the former picture had looked remarkably like Mr. Kendall.
The two ladies enjoyed their tea and chat very much, and by the time Jane left Elysium, dusk was starting to wrap her gentle arms around Lakeside Gardens, cloaking the street in a mantle of grey mist.
Jane loved this time of day … the in-between time, when anything and everything seemed possible, and magic and mystery were waiting just around the corner.
She was tingling with the delight of it when she heard a deep, rough voice.
"Well, and you have returned, Jane Stuart!"
She turned to see Mr. Kendall leaning on his front gate, smoking a pipe and scowling at the sky.
"Yes, I have," Jane acknowledged. "How was your summer, Mr. Kendall?"
"Dull," the author said briefly. "But then, every season is dull to me now."
This was rank heresy to Jane. "Dull!" she cried. "Why, there's always something interesting happening, all around. You just have to know how to look for it."
"Ah, that's the trick," said Mr. Kendall, knitting his fierce eyebrows. "I stopped looking a long time ago, when I wanted to forget everything."
Jane shook her head severely. "What did you want to forget?" she inquired.
"Everything," Mr. Kendall said, almost savagely. "Beauty … and youth … and love." He smiled wearily. "And now it's too late. Even if I wanted any of them back, I've forgotten how to look."
Jane executed a half-turn, waving her arm before her. "Just see that," she demanded.
Mr. Kendall followed her motion with his eyes. The dark pines stood out in relief against the twilit sky; the oaks and maples were just starting to turn, their colors gleaming dully in the last light of the day; in the near distance, Lake Ontario beckoned alluringly.
Then, as if Jane had conjured it, he saw the new moon gleaming behind the willows, silvery golden against the grey evening sky. The nearby houses turned from respectable homes to fairy dwellings of light as the darkness slowly covered their details and only left their warm glow to show.
He drew a deep breath. "Yes," he murmured. "Yes … that is beauty. I'd almost forgotten." He fixed Jane with a piercing eye. "How do you do that, girl? I haven't seen the beauty of a rising moon for years. With one sweep of your arm, you made it come alive for me."
Jane positively glowed with satisfaction. "I don't know how I did it," she admitted.
"Ah, but I have a suspicion," Mr. Kendall said, his eyes crinkling in his rare smile. "You take such joy in living yourself … you see beauty and interest in everything, even those abominably ordinary children the Westins … that it exudes out of you and touches all those you come into contact with."
"Do I do that?" Jane asked in wonder. She'd never thought of herself in that way before.
"You are a joy-giver, Jane Stuart," Mr. Kendall declared. "There are precious few of you in the world … don't ever let it go. We need people like you, to counteract the sour curmudgeons like me."
Jane flashed him a saucy smile. "But even sour curmudgeons can be interesting … if you take the time to look."
He laughed dryly. "You are a cheeky thing, girl. Get on with you now, before I remember my reputation as a child-hater and chase you off."
Jane winked audaciously at him and started on her way again. She only went a few steps before remembering something.
"Mr. Kendall," she called.
He was still at his gate, watching her go. "Yes, Joyful Spirit?"
"Do you fish?"
He wrinkled his brow. "Now what on earth … yes, I fish. It's one of the few pleasures left to me. But why do you ask?"
Jane shrugged and ran off, laughing as she went.
"I wonder why Mr. Kendall is so sad," she wondered that evening as she was cleaning up after supper. "What happened to him when he was young that made him want to forget everything? It must have been something dreadful."
Her active young imagination pondered the matter for the next few days, coming up with all sort of amusing and unlikely scenarios, including wrongful imprisonment for murder, being estranged from his family, and living with an unloving and cruel grandmother.
Eden eventually cleared things up. The two girls were walking down the street from Jane's house to Riveredge, the Westins' home, discussing plans for the upcoming Hallow'een party. They passed Mr. Kendall sitting on his front porch, scribbling furiously in a bound book. Jane waved cheerily at him, and he took the time from his writing to wave back.
Eden shuddered. "I don't know how you can be so friendly with him. He scares the dickens out of me!"
"He's not scary," Jane protested. "He's sad. I wish I knew what happened to make him that way."
"Oh, everyone knows that," Eden said with the superiority of one who has lived in a place for two full years and knows everything about everybody. "He was engaged to be married to the most beautiful girl in Toronto when he was a young man. He was very handsome then, and everyone said they were a perfect match. But the day before they were supposed to be married, he found out that she had run away with his best friend. He went mad with grief, and cleared out of town that night, never to be seen again until he moved here to Lakeside Gardens a few years ago."
"What happened to his fiancée and friend?" Jane asked breathlessly.
Eden looked around mysteriously. "Well," she said, lowering her voice importantly. "They were both found dead the morning after they ran away together. Some people say that Mr. Kendall killed them, and ran away to escape justice, but I prefer to give him the benefit of the doubt."
Jane dwelt on this surprising revelation for a little while. She knew that Eden had a tendency toward exaggeration, and a love for the dramatic, but even if there was only a kernel of truth in the tale, it was still tragic … and it certainly went a long way toward explaining Mr. Kendall's gloomy outlook on life.
She sighed. It was all very complicated … at the moment she couldn't see a way to help him. And for someone like Jane, that was torture indeed!
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