Category: Disney's Tarzan
Title: Whirlwind in a Yellow Dress
Author: Shooting Starlight
Genre: Romance/Drama
Rating: PG
Warnings: Some violence, mild peril, mild angst
Summary: Adventure, romance, danger. A mysterious jungle man with a curious past. For Jane Porter, it's all just beginning. The Disney film 'Tarzan', seen in Jane's PoV.
Disclaimer: The title of this story is taken from the poem 'Whirlwind in a Yellow Dress' by Katrina, found on the website 'Animated Lust Rated PG'. Characters from Tarzan belong to Edgar Rice Burroughs & Disney. Any other characters and/or descriptions belong to me.
NOTE: The Disney movie 'Tarzan' is set in the 1800's, due to the references made to Darwin and Queen Victoria. Because Edgar Rice Burroughs based his novel in the early 1900's, that is the setting I have taken on in this story. I will therefore leave out such references for the sake of history. However, I am still keeping Jane, Porter and Clayton with their British heritage as shown in the movie, rather than American as in the novel. In short, only the dates and extra characters included from the books will be there, but will be based around the fic so that it ties in with the animated movie.
Chapter 1 – A Grey Painting
The year 1909
I've always wanted an adventure. It seems as if everybody's had one but me. I could take a book of my shelf, any book, and read it to you, and you would know what I mean. Take, for example: Treasure Island, or Through the Looking Glass.
Wuthering Heights. Sherlock Holmes. The list seems to go on, doesn't it? But I suppose that's what makes a story readable in the end: an adventure. It's the cause for all excitement, I say. These characters all have a life that anyone would dream of living...although I'm not saying that they would want to, or that perhaps they're happening to the wrong person...
Oh, gosh – listen to me ramble on so! I'm so sorry. With all of this talk about 'adventures', I've completely forgotten to introduce myself. How rude of me.
I'm Jane Porter, and I live in the middle of London with my father, Archimedes Porter. Perhaps you've heard of him, perhaps not. Either way, he is probably one of the most brilliant men I have ever known, with his experiments and systematic research on the most fascinating subjects. Daddy's a scientist, you see...or, he's at least trying to be. His dream is to one day, create his own theory that will probably award him with a place in the history books.
I say: good luck to him. With what's happened to us over the years, his determination is still rather impressive.
You see, our family fell apart a little when Mother passed away. She was very ill, and it was a great loss. For Daddy, it spun him into a world of countless hours working in his study, trapped in the peace and quiet. Nowadays those hours just seem to grow and grow.
My mother and I used to spend Daddy's working afternoons together, either reading or confiding in one another's feelings. It was comforting, and helped to pass the time. I remember once, asking her about her fondest memory – and her only reply was to walk over to her wardrobe, and take out her wedding dress. I admit that I was rather touched by it all. I mean, she had kept it all those years.
Her strength, wisdom and honesty were what I admired about her the most. She was like my best friend; the only person I could talk to when I needed someone in confidence. She used to make me laugh, by tilting my head, looking into my face and saying: "Only a fool would not fall for your eyes."
She did talk some rubbish, sometimes.
It was no use trying to talk to Daddy about the things we spoke of. He sat in his world of doziness, ignoring everything around him until he finished for the day. Often I found it hard to get his attention. But I'm sure he understands now, and so do I. He's a busy man.
Why, at this minute he had become involved in studying the habitats of gorillas, and was very interested in their profile and manner. Since he was an explorer of nature, it was one animal after the next to find his 'theory', but he had always been coming back to gorillas from the beginning. I think that he found them a little more interesting, in a way.
Personally, they were also one of my favourites – which isn't obvious to see from a first glance at myself, I might add. I'm not exactly what you'd see as a...well, how can I put it? Um... a country girl.
How I dream of it! London is all well-and-good, but seeing the same sights everyday is enough to positively bore someone. Nothing new ever happens.
I sighed down at the busy streets from my bedroom window, my head in my hands. Everywhere looks so grey, I thought, staring up at the threatening sky. Grey, and lonely. Was there no more sunshine left then?
These mornings left me to little option. Since Mother's death, I had discovered new ways to keep myself busy, and this left me retreating back to an old hobby of mine – art. I loved painting as a child, and now kept a sketchbook handy by the bedside. I'm quite fond of drawing, especially when I travel.
Perhaps I could pop out for a while, when Daddy's studying? I wondered. I was longing to get out of the house.
A smile touching my lips, I reached towards the desk and snatched up the book, straightening out my tan skirts in front of the mirror, and brushing my hair straight, which wasn't always easy as it was rather impulsive at times. However, I managed to fasten it on the top of my head after a small struggle, and made my way out into the hall, towards Daddy's study.
Heavens, I just hope he remembers that I've told him, I thought, biting my lip. I worry about him sometimes; his memory seems to be failing over the years.
I made my way to his door and knocked, quietly. No answer. Perhaps he's working, I guessed. It was likely; lately he could not be torn away from it.
"Daddy?" I asked quietly, opening the door and peering around the side. Oh dear.
An uneasy view lay before me. Daddy was bent over his desk, which was strewn and covered with documents and loose papers. He had his head resting in the knuckles of his hands; an irritated frown on his brow. He really is busy, I thought, and with a little sympathy. Perhaps it's best not to disturb him too much.
Coughing a little to clear my throat, I spoke up. "Um...Daddy? Excuse me, I'm so sorry to bother you when you're working, but I - "
But instead of a cut-off, as I had expected, all he did was shoo me away with one of his hands, without looking up. "Not now, Jane!" he snapped.
Well, I figured huffily. That's gratitude for you! And I was polite enough to at least make some sort of agreement on the matter! I brushed away the angry thoughts, reminding myself how hard at work he was; probably too tired to hear my girlish rants, either.
I breathed a small, frustrated sigh. "Oh, it's nothing to bother you with," I said quickly. "I just came by to say that I'll be out for a while. Not for long, I promise." My fingers strayed along the frame of the door as I waited patiently...for any response.
"Is that all right with you?" I asked hopefully, after hearing none.
These kinds of talks always went in the same pattern. I would ask something, and then be sent away. But I always waited for a better answer...which didn't come often – and then I had to be demanded away. It became quite tedious.
Daddy made that same motion again with his hand again, like I was a little girl asking to play. "Yes, yes! Whatever!" he said, crossly. "I just want to get on with this! Now, please! I need quiet!"
See what I mean?
I sighed deeply, and said thank you before closing the door behind me. I held it to my back, and stared at the ceiling, one hand trailing over my lips. He's not getting any better, I thought bitterly, brushing my hair out of my eyes and letting my chest fall in one, long breath. Poor Daddy. I just wish I knew what to do about him.
I threw another glance back at the hallway as I went down the staircase, frowning in worry and brushing a lone strand of hair back onto my head. When he was like this, it was impossible to rely on speaking terms between us to solve problems. I secretly thought that his work load was the cause of his memory loss, sometimes.
I lifted my dark purple overcoat from the rack and put it around my shoulders, slipping on my gloves absent-mindedly as my thoughts drifted somewhere else. All of that studying can't be good for his health, I told myself. I should address him properly about it when I come back. He spends far too much time shut away in his room like that.
"Oh gosh, my hat," I mumbled to myself, one hand flying to my head as I was already halfway out of the door.
Picking it up, I couldn't help thinking how flamboyant it was. I mean, orange speaks for itself when presenting boldness, but having it as a six-inch feather sticking out at the side was something different. Oh well, I thought, popping it on my head with a click of the tongue, Daddy seems to want me to seep into the latest fashions nowadays. Besides, no woman in London would ever dare set foot in the street without a hat. The last thing I want is a load of old noses staring down at me.
Sketchbook and pencil in hand, I left.
London was extremely crowded this morning. People in high hats and long dresses came up and down the cobbled streets. Couples holding hands rode in carriages pulled by harnessed horses.
I knew it was annoying, but I couldn't help thinking back to Daddy. His protectiveness had grown when our family had shrunk. Here I was, almost to reach my twentieth year and he still worried constantly about my safety. I sometimes wonder even to this day if he sees me as the age I am, and not just the ten-year old beckoning to hold his hand in a game of 'Ring – Around – the Rosy'.
He only feels safe when I'm in the company of others...and even then he demands so much. And that still doesn't stop him from asking that annoying question: "Are you all right?"
Well, after hearing it minute after minute it gets annoying.
"Why does he have so little faith in me?" I asked aloud, to no one in particular.
A sudden, small tweet caught my attention. I spun around slowly, as not to startle anything...and spotted a tiny bird standing on a railing, looking quite lost. How simply darling! I don't think it's going to fly away – now, be quiet Jane!
"Please don't move," I whispered to the bird softly, opening the sketchbook and placing the pencil to the paper. "Now, this won't take long." What a find! I thought. Strange...this bird almost seems exotic compared to the likes of common city birds. Still...it makes a nice surprise. The bird sat on the pole perch, cocking its head from side to side and trying to figure out what I was doing. I bit my lip as I concentrated on the detailed touches. I'm lost in my own world when I'm drawing. It's silly, really.
It didn't take long to finish the picture. I smiled and playfully showed the creature the drawing, thanking it for sitting so still. All the while I kept thinking: where did it come from? It certainly isn't from around these parts. Perhaps it's migrated from somewhere.
It wasn't until the bird took flight and a drop of water landed on the corner of the page, that I realised it was raining. Oh, dear, I found myself thinking, and me without my umbrella! I shrugged away the sudden breeze and folded the collar of my coat up and around my neck, one hand on my hat.
I knew that the bird probably wasn't enjoying itself if it had migrated here. What mysterious and outlandish lands it must have travelled from! Gosh, what I wouldn't give right now to fly away to somewhere new. Just to take off and go whenever I wanted to. But, as I told myself everyday: life wasn't always that easy.
The streets became a dreary grey painting as the rain poured down. I dashed along the cobblestones, looking to take shelter in the courtyard cemetery up ahead. There were plenty of trees that would blanket the weather from me. Blast this rain! I cursed in my head. Today, of all days that I would forget that umbrella! I'm surprised I didn't see these rain clouds before I –
Oh.
Stepping inside that cemetery gate always left me with a chill afterwards. It was strange...almost like the wind blew down the back of your neck for a purpose. Everything always felt surreal when I was inside this place. It was a day like today when Mother's funeral took place, too. Raining, and miserable. I remember. It took me over half an hour to move Daddy away from the gravestone, I recalled. I would keep tugging at his hand, but he never moved.
"Soon, Jane dear," he would say. "We'll go home soon."
Oh, Daddy...I never wanted to go home! I just wanted to show you I was there. I just wanted us to hold each other, and for us to tell the other everything would be all right. I...I still want that.
At least, when we talk about Mother I do. Otherwise, he seems perfectly fine...most days, anyway. Poor Daddy...
I sighed again, brushing the drops out of my eyes, and let my feet find the way to Mother's spot, lying underneath a gathering of cedar trees. Her favourite flowers were laced like a chain around the cold marble: jonquils, hollyhocks and her famous Indian-cane. Some colour, I smiled to myself. She enjoyed lots of colour, being the artist she was.
I wrapped my arms around myself as I stared blindly at the words engraved there.
Here lies the body of
JANE CARTER LEE PORTER
Aged 65 years
LOVING WIFE, DEVOTED MOTHER
(1841 – 1906)
"Peace, perfect peace"
I was named after her, you see. Daddy thought it was something of a tradition, really...he often said if a son had been born into the family, he would have been another Archimedes. Three years she had been dead now...three years.
Daddy felt as if I had changed in some way, accusing me of becoming cold. I had felt distant in a way, but never cold. Still, I was only grieving, like everyone else. It just took some time for our small family to adapt to the change, I reminded myself.
Oh, if she had never become ill...things would be different now.
"You were so beautiful," I whispered. "You didn't do anything wrong – you never would. We loved you so much. It's just not right. It's unkind, that's all."
Talking to Mother comforted me a little. It always did. I wrapped my arms tightly around the sketchbook, watching the raindrops slowly drip off the jonquil petals.
"Daddy's taking good care of me," I mumbled, my voice shaking all of a sudden. "And I'm...I'm doing the same." Oh...oh, what am I saying? I thought in despair. I haven't been helping Daddy at all! I mean, I've tried...but I've never done anything serious about it. He just won't let me in. His studies always seem to come first.
That broke the ice. Two tears rolled out of my eyes and trickled down my cheeks. I couldn't even bring myself to look at the scratchy poem I had written for her on the day of the funeral, when I was only sixteen years old.
Side by side, we will love one another for eternity. Both names, two Janes. One family.
It all felt like a memory now. I worried so much about that day, unconfident that I was. I wanted everything to be just right for her. Just right.
"Oh, forget the rain," I said to myself, watching it fall steadily past the tree branches and hitting the many gravestones, making slow slapping noises. Brushing the last of my tears away, I picked up my skirts to keep them out of the mud, and went for home. Rain seemed rather pointless to worry about anymore.
I wondered if the scene would have changed since I'd left. I doubted it, Daddy was so involved in the gorilla study that he barely moved around much anymore. But, I told myself, I support him whole-heartedly in that. It's something that he can put all of his energy into. I just...
I couldn't finish. I had probably already said it before. Silly old Jane.
It didn't take long to reach my front door. Stepping into the warmth of the hallway made me exhale aloud in comforted relief, and I shook my clothes free of the water, hanging them up dry. Well, I can't say much for that orange feather now, I giggled, blowing on it gently. What a sorry sight!
It was then that I heard Daddy's voice, drifting down from the upstairs office.
"Is that you, Jane?" he called out, uneasily, but in a cheerful way.
Who else would it be? I thought to myself with a snicker. I finally pulled the soggy gloves off of my palms and placed them on the sideboard, inside out due to their condition. Oh, well. They will dry. In good time...in good time.
"Yes, Daddy!" I replied back, loudly up the staircase. "I'm here."