Forgotten Memories
Finishing School
Category: Disney (Tarzan)
Genre: General/Romance
Rating: G
Characters: Tarzan, Jane Porter, Terk, Eleanor, Greenly, Hazel, Beatrice Whitdown (more on her below), some more characters are mentioned but then my list would be too long
Summary: During the nights, Tarzan and Jane recall on stories that no one has ever heard before. Tales of hardship, love and loyalty, are all experienced through each other's hearts.
Disclaimer: Tarzan™ is, and always will be out of my reach ever for ownership. I don't own the characters or anything to do with their relationships, all of those belong to Edgar Rice Burroughs and Disney.
(A/N: OK, my first Tarzan fanfic! Please forgive me, lol. I'm really not sure how this one will end up, how many chapters it has, etc. It all depends on how good it turns out to be. I really need to thank Jungle Spirit...she's my reason for inspiration on this! I also hope she's reading: smile : I would love other's views on this...I promise I will give thanks if I ever wrote a second chapter! Enjoy!)
(P.S. I do not own the Tarzan characters you may recognise in the film, and series. Only new/strange ones I do.)
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It all began with an unexpected question.
"Jane?" Tarzan asked slowly and reluctantly one evening, breaking a silence between the hours, as he had just finished his supper for another night...fruit, such as mangoes...and bananas basically but delicious all the same. Night had descended upon the jungle, leaving the quiet subtlety besides the chirruping crickets to occupy the usage of sound. Archimedes Q. Porter, Terk, Tantor, Kala and the rest of the family had retired to bed a while before, leaving only Tarzan, the ape-man...also leader of the gorilla family and his wife Jane Porter, up alone in their tree house.
Jane dusted her hands down on a rag that hung in the corner busily. "Yes, Tarzan?" she questioned.
He fidgeted in his seat a little, wondering where to begin. "I was just thinking..." he started, his mind completely blank for how he would put this sudden thought down in words. He hesitated for a moment, listening to the jungle calls from outside. "May I ask you something?"
"Why, of course," Jane answered carefully, finally fixing her gaze upon his troubled face, eying him with curiosity. She knew true to herself that it was rare her husband ever asked such a question, unless he was confident to know something that he didn't yet. Often it concerned her, which is why it usually took so long for him to speak of it...this wasn't any different, he wanted to know something about her, Jane could see it from where she stood. "You can ask me anything, you know."
Tarzan sighed to himself as Jane instantly made her way towards him, sitting on an opposite chair. "Go on," she whispered kindly, her blue eyes shining. They showed kindness...sympathy... but above all, trust. He could always feel as if she had no grudge against his discussions.
"Jane? What was your world like before you came to Africa?" he said, after a minute's pause.
Jane pulled her brow together, creating a puzzled expression that lay before the world. Her voice slipped out, soft but bewildered. "I-I don't quite understand what you mean, Tarzan," she muttered quietly, her hand gently resting upon his own as her head swum for responses. "My world? My world before Africa was England. Nothing special seemed to happen there...not until here...not until you."
"But you had so many friends. They all visited here," Tarzan retorted, his voice reasoning.
Jane smiled kindly. "Oh, of course I made friends...everyone does, don't they? I spent my childhood with them. But when you grow up, you somehow... separate in a way. I still see them though...just not as often," she added, her expression slowly becoming distant and...rather day dreamily than usual. There was a look of detachment in her eyes.
"You miss them, don't you?" came Tarzan's deep reply.
"Oh...sometimes," said Jane. "I think back to how it was, and how different it is now."
Tarzan gave her a warm grin. "I think Jane had lots of friends when she was young," he told her, with a sense of prediction within his voice, shifting his gorilla-like fingers from underneath his wife's hand and taking hold of hers in his, with a tender touch. "More than Tarzan did."
"Now, now...you had dozens!" Jane blushed at the contact that he gave her, trying to hide the giggle that had decided to intrude upon her. "Your family has always been much... much larger than mine, so you generally grew up with your companions. I, unfortunately didn't," she let out a small laugh through another smile that she made. "Heaven knows, it would have been a lot easier if I had," she agreed.
"What do you mean?"
Jane let out a tiny, half-thoughtful sigh, casting her eyesight towards the wooden floorboards of the tree house as she thought back to her words. "I found it rather difficult," she admitted quietly. "Everyone never seemed to turn towards me at once, they considered me as boring and dull," she added.
Tarzan felt a slow frown form on his face, his eyes tight with sympathy as her stared at her, wondering how on Earth anyone could have ever thought that. "But you're not," he said.
"Beatrice appeared to think so," Jane said suddenly, and quite bitterly as she somehow sounded as if she were forcing back tears. Her voice was quite trapped in her throat, and she still kept her wandering gaze towards the floor, avoiding Tarzan's eyes.
Tarzan was confused. "Who's Beatrice?" he asked carefully, feeling sorry for Jane.
She sniffed back a few tears and held up her head, as if recalling the forgotten memories. "Beatrice Whitdown," she whispered out. "One of my classmates at Finishing School. She absolutely despised me, for some apparent reason. She was constantly strutting around the place, with her elegant posture and expensive skirts, and her nose in the air. She was so... spiteful, she could get her own way whenever she liked." The note in the way she spoke sounded downcast.
There was a silent pause. "She doesn't sound very nice," Tarzan spoke up dumbly.
"No...no, she wasn't," Jane sighed. "Eleanor, Greenly, Hazel and the others kept telling me she was just jealous, though I couldn't see why. She was forever trying to prove how much better she did at everything than I was good at, but never shared a friendly word of gratitude towards my ideas. Her favourite pastime would be to point out all of the bad qualities in myself, judging them towards her own." Her sighs turned into broken gasps, as she gave Tarzan's hand a comforting squeeze.
Tarzan gave her a comforting look, supposing that his wife would soon begin one of her stories...stories that he, Terk and Tantor especially loved to listen to...though he was uncertain that this one would turn out pleasant. "You don't need to tell me any more, if you want."
"Perhaps I should," Jane said, directing her gaze to meet his own. "I don't want to keep any secrets from you, Tarzan. Even if they are distasteful, I feel as though I have to tell somebody. I..." Her voice trailed off, as her expression grew more uncomfortable. She gulped, suddenly feeling silly. "...I never even explained it to Daddy, either."
"You never told your father?"
Jane shook her head. "I'm not sure why, I just...felt as if there were no need to."
"But, Jane..." Tarzan started, the pain in his heart growing especially for her. "...Beatrice...wouldn't that make her a bully, if she kept you from saying anything?" He had never imagined Jane, of all people being bullied and hurt in her past. It had not once, crossed his mind.
"I'd never concerned it before, but she might have been," Jane said miserably. "I always was a little afraid of her, and what she might have been thinking of me. She never really did anything, mind you...it was mainly what she said. But there was one time I sorely remember, most of all, I may never forget it for the rest of my life. It was during an Art class that we took, and we were meant to be drawing on a subject labelled; 'Associated with Nature'. Everyone began planning on drawing leaf arrangements, the woodland area, anything that resembled.
It was going superbly," she continued, "Until the final hour of the class. That is when, I'm afraid...it got very out of hand indeed..."
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"She's glaring at me again, isn't she?"
Young Jane Porter sat at her desk, trying her hardest to complete her flowers. A bunch of collected violets and wildflowers lay in a bundle, a suitable task for her. Only...she was having trouble concentrating.
Beatrice Whitdown sat two tables away, frowning spitefully over at Jane down her nose. A daughter of an extremely rich lord, brought up with manners and courtesy, though she often never used them. She had strawberry-blonde hair that fell down to her shoulders, which she insisted should stay down, no matter what her tutors said, and her light grey-green eyes matched perfectly. She always dressed in the finest clothes, royal outfits of the usual purple or cream. She was a beautiful girl...when she smiled.
Eleanor screwed up her nose. "Come, come Jane!" she scolded. "Just ignore her!"
"She's only trying to pester you, dear," Greenly added, giving Beatrice a rather sour look.
Hazel nodded. "She's just jealous, Jane," she said. "Can't you see it?"
"No, I can't," Jane muttered bitterly, turning back to her work and hoping to wipe the glare out of her mind. She had no reason to see why Beatrice should be jealous. Jane was nothing compared to her, with her rather messy brown hair and blue eyes, which were always counted as an advantage from her friends, though she didn't think so. Her voice was friendly, though Beatrice's was charming, and smooth as velvet.
It was an impossible battle.
Jane found her annoyance growing. "Why does she hate me so much?" she demanded, slamming down her pencil in slight anger.
"Maybe it's because you can draw," piped up Greenly, lifting up Jane's artwork and studying it with fascination. "You always beat me out on masterpieces such as yours here," she said, trying to give her sympathy and encouragement at the same time.
Jane sighed glumly and cupped her head in her hands. "I'm not sure that's it."
"It might be your smile...I know for certain that she doesn't have one."
"Even if she does, she never uses it," added Hazel.
"It could be your laugh - "
"Or your personality!"
Listening to her friend's suggestions didn't seem to help. Jane couldn't see anything wrong with any of those things, and she was sure that they weren't the reasons why Beatrice happened to choose one day, to try and trip her, or dunk her under the water during swimming lessons, or glare horribly at her in Art class, or compare differences between them every waking day.
Or listen to her gabble and proclaim; "Pish, posh!" like she's the Queen of England. Jane thought.
She was just adding the finishing touches to her flowers when she heard Hazel exclaim; "Oh, for goodness sakes! She's coming over!" with a light edginess to her tone.
Jane glowered and concentrated ever harder on her work, ready to ignore anything that was thrown.
"Well, well...how are we all doing?" came Beatrice's sly comment, her voice silky and soft.
"Nothing you would be particularly interested in," snapped Eleanor.
"If you don't mind, we're trying to work," Greenly added coldly.
Hazel huffed. "So could you leave us alone?"
"Please?" Jane finished quietly, not even turning around but with her head bent over the table.
They all heard Beatrice's usual scoff. "Oh, pish posh! I'm not doing anything to harm you! I just wanted to investigate on your work. It looks rather interesting where I'm sitting, especially yours Jane," she said, her words with the sweetness of fresh poison.
"Don't you have your own work to do?" Eleanor blurted harshly, defending Jane. "There's no need for you to come over her with your stuff and nonsense, disturbing us! Please leave!" Her light blue eyes blazed at the cunning smile across Beatrice's lips.
"I've already finished," she sang, her hands behind her back. "And I must say, Jane...your mere pencil sketch of ordinary plant life is very subtle. Is it your rough copy? Because you know, we only have another hour for completion hand in, and yours isn't quite ready, is it? Now I, on the other hand, have painted a beautiful portrait, absolutely beautiful. I suppose you may be able to compete against it, if you ever sped up your act." She frowned down at Jane's ignorance.
"Why do you do your hair up, when it's so filthy disarranged?" she asked, sounding disgusted.
"Because, I do," Jane said, not wanting to cause an argument.
Beatrice scoffed. "Well, you shouldn't. Should I tell you what would be the best cure for that hair? A decent comb every now and again. It wouldn't hurt, trust me. My hair is always brushed to perfection, Father says so. That's why he...oh!" She put on a face of mock surprise. "You haven't heard, have you?"
"Heard what?" Hazel questioned.
Beatrice straightened up, as if appearing dignified. "Father has signed a contract for me to be betrothed."
Jane sat up bolt, hardly daring to believe it. "He hasn't!" she said aghast, still facing away from her. There had been rumours, probably spread by Beatrice herself, that she had been promised a worthy husband, by the name of Charles Kaymore, one of the most handsome men in London. Jane never cared much for Charles, with his conceited smile and matching spiteful humour. She couldn't bear the thought.
Beatrice frowned again. "He has! I think I would know more about what happens in my family than you would ever, Jane. Father has put together a contract, and has signed Charles and I down already, for us to be married next Spring."
"But you're barely twenty years old!" Eleanor spat.
"And still in school!" Greenly added chirpily.
Beatrice tossed her hair behind her shoulders. "Oh, pish posh! Nobody in my family minds, not even Mother. Father says it's an honour for young ladies to be wed as quickly as possible. Though I wouldn't be in the least bit surprised why you sound so stunned. I could never expect any of you to be married before me, could I?" She poked Jane in the shoulder.
Jane spun around on her chair to meet her grey-green eyes. "Stop it! You're making this marriage business sound like some sort of contest! We don't have to be wed exactly when you tell us to! We'll deal with it when the time is right, and when we meet someone special, if you don't mind." She got back to her drawing, missing Beatrice's scowl.
"That's all you know!" she shot back. "I bet you couldn't find someone in all of England, Jane! You must be the clumsiest person I've ever seen in my life, and that's comparing it against your wondrous friends! Even they have some taste, though not much!"
"Yes, well at least I'm patient for the suitable type!" Jane argued back heatedly.
"Charles is suitable!"
"You're crazy! Have you ever heard the things he says? And the way he treats people?"
"I find him very attractive, if not handsome! And he dresses accordingly!"
"You're only seeing the outside of him," Jane quoted calmly, suddenly realising that she and Beatrice had almost got the entire class's attention by shouting. "You can only see skin deep, as far as I'm concerned." She completely turned away, placing her burning cheeks from the others.
Eleanor, Greenly and Hazel stared, completely horrified with their blue eyes.
"Oh, but Jane...you're wrong!" Beatrice snarled, a sly smile curling at the corners of her mouth. "This is what is meant by skin deep!" Finally taking her hands away from behind her back, she held out her jar of painting water she had been using, and before anyone could stop her, had tipped the whole contents over the top of Jane's head.
Greenly screamed as water splashed all over the table, catching everyone's attention.
Jane released a horrified gasp, raising her arms from the table as if she were ready to shield herself. She coughed a little as she wiped dirty water from her eyes, her hair now practically loose and dripping. Her pale blue dress was soaked, sticking to her skin. Shaking the excess from her gloves, she suddenly heard Beatrice's spiteful laugh.
"Oh, pish posh! Look what I've done!"
Jane simply could not help the tears, welling up steadily in her eyes. This was too much. "You beast!" she wailed in despair, staring down at her wet dress. It was stained here and there with assorted paint markings, which she knew would have to be washed out. Jane couldn't stand laundry more than she could stand talking to Beatrice, and she had a funny feeling that the dress would take her at least two hours for it to be cleaned and dried.
Beatrice gave the tearful Jane another scowl. "I said I was sorry!"
"No, you didn't!" Jane wept, standing to her feet and holding out her ruined skirts. "You couldn't care less!" Covering her embarrassed and damp face with her hands, she took off on her heels and fled from the class, discarding her drawing and crying into her palms. She could almost hear her friends trying to call her back, but she didn't stop. Beatrice was so unkind to her.
Why does she hate me so much? Jane thought miserably, as she made for the courtyard gardens, to sit out in the sun, and dry off most of the damage, though she knew what her chore would be tonight. She couldn't imagine Beatrice doing the dress for her, she had done enough already.
Jane lowered her dripping head, and cried tears into the lawn.
She sniffed as she wiped water from her brown fringe. Maybe Beatrice was right...her hair had always been messy compared to that of her friends. Maybe her hair was what was keeping her from finding someone. Ridiculous thoughts ploughed their way through Jane's head, each one worse than the last. She imagined herself a few years into the future, watching her friends fall in love and be married one by one. And all the while, she hung at the back, waiting for her turn.
But it never came.
Sighing sadly, Jane lifted up her stained skirts. She wondered what was going on back in the class now that she was gone. She suspected that Beatrice was gloating over the whole thing. She dreaded going back with a sticky, wet dress and soaked, dishevelled hair, knowing that she would only be teased.
Why can't they see people for who they are? she thought to herself unhappily.
Jane wondered if she ever would fall in love. She wondered if she ever would be married. She even wondered how anyone could love someone so pathetic and clumsy as her. But...no, these were the things that Beatrice wanted her to think. She was making her think of herself as this, she wanted her to feel vulnerable and subdued.
Her heart rose. Beatrice didn't know what was held before the next person. Nobody did, not even herself. What did it matter if she had already been promised to someone before she had left Finishing School? It wasn't to someone who was worthy enough to give your life away, anyway. Beatrice was just boasting, wanting to be the success.
Jane didn't want to look for the future, or face the past another time. She just wanted to wait, and see what approached her without reasoning. Was that so hard for her to do? Oh, of course it was...it was one of the hardest things she would have to do during her life.
But it was her only choice for happiness.
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Jane found her eyes brimming with the same tears as she finished the story. It all seemed so real again. So fresh and new, as if it were repeating again another time.
"She was always so much graceful than I was," she muttered sadly. "You should have seen her dance."
Now feeling terrible, Tarzan raised his hand and placed it supportively on her cheek. "I think you dance well, Jane," he told her kindly. "And I love you anyway, just the way you are."
Jane sniffed back a few more tears and stared into her husband's eyes. "You do?"
He nodded. "Beatrice was wrong. And horrible. If you ask me, I think she was jealous. I mean, I can't picture anyone more lovely than you, Jane. No one will ever replace that." He cupped her cheek in his hand, giving her a handsome smile.
Tears flowing from her eyes, Jane fell forward into Tarzan's arms and embraced him, snuggling into his chest. "Oh, Tarzan. I love you so very much," she whispered, feeling his strong hands begin to stroke her hair comfortingly. She already felt so much better.
"I love you too, Jane," Tarzan said, holding her in his arms.
It was true. In Tarzan's eyes, no one would ever replace Jane. Even if she were clumsy, or had messy hair, or hated laundry, or suffered from hurtful comments because of what she thought, he would always love her, because of all that. Because of who she was.
His wife. His jungle flower. His Jane.
To be continued
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(A/N: So, what did you think? This was an old story idea I wrote when I was about twenty, and drew some pictures for it too, which now I can't find! Oh, well. I'd love any reviews I got for this story, and please let me know if you want another chapter or not. I promise to give thanks for every review I get! Thanks again: smile :)
