The Books: Chronicles of Avonlea – ‘Little Joscelyn’ (L.M. Montgomery)

Daily Book Excerpt: YA/Children’s books:

chroniclesavonlea.gifChronicles of Avonlea by L.M. Montgomery. Next story in the collection: “Little Joscelyn”.

Lucy Maud was a big believer in the importance of moments. That one good moment could balance out a hundred bad moments. There’s the beautiful episode in Windy Poplars (excerpt here) about Pauline (I think that’s her name, right??) who is basically trapped taking care of her querulous sickly bossy and, frankly, AWFUL mother. Anne befriends Pauline and learns that a good friend of hers is getting married – and Pauline wants to go. It means she would have to be away from taking care of her mother for one weekend. Her mother says NO. Even though Pauline is in her 40s, for God’s sake. The answer is NO. Pauline is heartbroken – but years of slavery has weakened her will. Anne ends up coming up with a plan. She offers to “take care” of the awful mother for a weekend so Pauline would be free to go. This is what ends up happening. Pauline returns from this one weekend and tells Anne all about it – the heart to heart she had with her dear cousin, the moonlight on the lake, the fact that a man said a sweet thing to her about how nice her hair was … These are GEMS. Pauline goes back to slavery with her mother – it’s not that she throws off her duties – but she says to Anne, “My mother needs me … she’s not all that bad … and at least I got to have my perfect weekend.” There is a certain pathos in this – but also a certain triumph. Pauline will have the memory of her perfect weekend to last her lifetime. And we leave her, thinking: That’s okay. One perfect weekend is nothing to sneeze at.

This is a theme that Lucy Maud visits again and again and again. I think it’s a mistake to read into all of this biographically TOO much (or at least to make a fetish of it) – Mainly because I think that takes away from her artistry and the power of her imagination. Yes, she had a real life, and of course that real life informed her work … but she also, like novelists throughout the ages, just made shit up. She was a storyteller. An amazing one. But this theme – the one shining moment that can last a lifetime theme – comes up again and again – and this is the theme of “Little Joscelyn”.

The story is simple. The Morrisons live on a big rambling farm. There’s a bossy wife, a kind of henpecked husband, a bunch of kids – and then an aged aunt – who is the star of our story. She is old. Old and infirm. And also – you can tell that senility has begun to creep in. She lives in the past. She is desperately unhappy in her present – her hands are crippled by rheumatism, she can no longer move … and she is completely dependent on her relatives – who, frankly, don’t treat her all that well. Or – they take care of her – but they don’t love her. Taking care of her is a duty. She feels this keenly.

But once upon a time – 20 years ago – the family had an orphan girl live with them for a summer – “little Joscelyn”. She was a bright and beautiful young child – and out of all the members of the family she bonded the deepest with Aunty Nan. The two were, in the words of Anne Shirley, kindred spirits. You know how the very young and the very old sometimes understand each other perfectly? Because their spirits are close in age. That’s what happened. It was the happiest summer of poor Aunty Nan’s life. To be loved like that.

And then Joscelyn went away. And gained quite a bit of fame as a singer. She lost touch with Aunty Nan – because she basically had a very unhappy childhood and doesn’t want to remember her lean years. She doesn’t realize what her disappearance has done to Aunty Nan. She barely remembers Aunty Nan. You know … little kids can be selfish, too. They are self-centered. They don’t realize.

So anyway – Aunty Nan hears that Joscelyn is going to be coming back to the hometown for one night only to give a concert. Aunty Nan wants to go. The answer from the relatives is a resounding NO. Aunty Nan cries like a little child in her disappointment. It’s kind of heart-wrenching to read, actually. You wish that you lived right next door and had a buggy – because then YOU would take Aunty Nan to see the concer and see Little Joscelyn after all these years. Aunty Nan sits in her room, crying by herself.

The hired boy – a little scrappy fellow – who loves Aunty Nan – decides that this is ridiculous. She should be able to see Joscelyn. For some reason he gets it. This is actually life or death. Aunty Nan will not live much longer. If she could just see Joscelyn one last time … So he (beautiful little boy) goes into town by himself, goes to the palatial house where Joscelyn is staying, asks to see her – and basically pleads with Joscelyn to come out to the farm – even for just half an hour – to see Aunty Nan again. Joscelyn hems and haws. She only has a limited amount of time, she is in a rush … she, you see, has forgotten. She has forgotten the kindness of this little old woman in her childhood … she had forgotten that this little old woman had loved her. And that she was the only one. But the hired boy, a tough little boy, begs. Joscelyn eventually caves. She goes back to the farm with him.

Aunty Nan has no idea that Joscelyn is coming. That her dream is about to come true. That her “shining moment” has arrived.

Got a lump in my throat here. This shit works, it really does.

Here’s the excerpt.


Excerpt from Chronicles of Avonlea by L.M. Montgomery- “Little Joscelyn”.

It was sunset when they reached Gull Point Farm. An arc of warm gold was over the spruces behind the house. Mrs. William was out in the barn-yard milking, and the house was deserted, save for the sleeping baby in the kitchen and the little old woman with the watchful eyes in the upstairs room.

“This way, ma’am,” said Jordan, inwardly congratulating himself that the coast was clar. “I’ll take you up to her room.”

Upstairs, Joscelyn tapped at the half-open door and went in. Before it closed behind her, Jordan heard Aunty Nan say, “Joscelyn! Little Joscelyn!” in a tone that made him choke again. He stumbled thankfully downstairs, to be pounced upon by Mrs. William in the kitchen.

“Jordan Sloane, who was that stylish woman you drove into the yard with? And what have you done with her?”

“That was Miss Joscelyn Burnett,” said Jordan, expanding himself. This was his hour of triumph over Mrs. William. “I went to Kensington and brung her out to see Aunty Nan. She’s up with her now.”

“Dear me,” said Mrs. William helplessly. “And me in my milking rig! Jordan, for pity’s sake, hold the baby while I go and put on my black silk. You might have given a body some warning. I declare I don’t know which is the greatest idiot, you or Aunty Nan!”

As Mrs. William flounced out of the kitchen, Jordan took his satisfaction in a quiet laugh.

Upstairs in the little room was a great glory of sunset and gladness in human hearts. Joscelyn was kneeling by the bed, with her arms about Aunty Nan, and Aunty Nan, with her face all irradiated, was stroking Joscelyn’s hair fondly.

“O little Joscelyn,” she murmured, “it seems too good to be true. It seems like a beautiful dream. I knew you th eminute you opened the door, my dearie. You haven’t changed a bit. And you’re a famous singer now, little Joscelyn! I always knew you would be. Oh, I want you to sing a piece for me – just one, won’t you, dearie? Sing that piece people like to hear you sing best. I forget the name, but I’ve read about it in the papers. Sing it for me, little Joscelyn.”

And Joscelyn, standing by Aunty Nan’s bed, in the sunset light, sang the song she had sung to many a brilliant audience on many a noted concert platform – sang it as even she had never sung before, while Aunty Nan lay and listened beatifically, and downstairs even Mrs. William held her breath, entranced by the exquisite melody that floated through the old farmhouse.

“O little Joscelyn!” breathed Aunty Nan in rapture, when the song ended.

Joscelyn knelt by her again and they had a long talk of old days. One by one they recalled the memories of that vanished summer. The past gave up its tears and its laughter. Heart and fancy alike went roaming through the ways of the long ago. Aunty Nan was perfectly happy. And then Joscelyn told her all the story of her struggles and triumphs since they had parted.

When the moonlight began to creep in through the low window, Aunty Nan put out her hand and touched Joscelyn’s bowed head.

“Little Joscelyn,” she whispered, “if it ain’t asking too much, I want you to sing just one other piece. Do you remember when you were here how we sung hymns in the parlour every Sunday n ight, and my favourite always was ‘The Sands of Time are Sinking’? I ain’t never forgot how you used to sing that, and I want to hear it just once again, dearie. Sing it for me, little Joscelyn.”

Joscelyn rose and went to the window. Lifting back the curtain, she stood in the splendour of the moonlight and sang the grand old hymn. At first Aunty Nan beat time to it feebly on the counterpane, but when Joscelyn came to the verse, “With mercy and with judgment,” she folded her hands over her breast and smiled.

When the hymn ended, Joscelyn came over to the bed.

“I am afraid I must say good-bye now, Aunty Nan,” she said.

Then she saw that Aunty Nan had fallen asleep. She would not waken her, but she took from her breast the cluster of crimson roses she wore and slipped them gently between the toil-worn fingers.

“Good-bye, dear, sweet mother-heart,” she murmured.

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4 Responses to The Books: Chronicles of Avonlea – ‘Little Joscelyn’ (L.M. Montgomery)

  1. Harriet says:

    Oh, my. These bookshelf excerpts you’re doing really are a wonderful gift. Thank you. I’ve been introduced to all sorts of books I now want to read, and I’m reminded of wonderful moments in books I already love. It’s been ages since I read Chronicles of Avonlea, and I couldn’t tell you anything about it, but whenever you post about a story I remember it.

  2. red says:

    It’s been ages since I read this collection, too – it has been so fun reacquainting myself with all these stories!

  3. melissa says:

    I hadn’t read the short stories since…high school? Jr. High? A very long time ago, by any means. My Amazon box came today with Chronicles and Further Chronicles.

  4. red says:

    Yay!!!! It’s like we’re having a little Book Club here – I’m so excited!

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