The Books: Further Chronicles of Avonlea: ‘Sara’s Way”‘ (L.M. Montgomery)

Daily Book Excerpt: YA/Children’s books:

Further Chronicles of Avonlea – “Sara’s Way” – by L.M. Montgomery

One of the things that is so refreshing, for me, about Lucy Maud’s work is how she doesn’t pathologize her characters. Freud isnt “in” in her world. People’s quirks are just that: quirks. Some people have annoying quirks, some people have evil quirks, some quirks are just lovable. It’s all part of the human tapestry. “Sara’s Way” is a perfect example of this, for me – it’s a story I love. Sara is a girl who only becomes interested in someone (or in animals, as well) when they are down and out. She is a true underdog champion. She couldn’t care less about birds. But let a bird be found on the lawn with a broken wing – and she falls INSTANTLY in love with it. This would be seen, nowadays, as a low level pathology – like maybe something is wrong with Sara, something needs to be fixed. Why doesn’t she love things that are whole and strong? Why does she only love things that are weak? What is WRONG with Sara? Lucy Maud does not take this route. This is just the way Sara is. It is who she has been since she was a little girl and it is who she is now as a woman … and so … what will Sara’s life be like, if we know this quirk of hers? Who will she marry? Will she marry? Nothing is WRONG with Sara, in Lucy Maud’s eyes – even though the ladies in the town, as well as her mother, get frustrated with her because of this quirk. They talk about her behind her back. Sara knows she is talked about, but she doesn’t care, because this is just the way she is. She loves broken things. She loves mothering to weakened animals. Okay – so now: in the course of this story – a man comes into her life. He is interersted in her. He tries to court her. She basically laughs in his face. She is SO not interested. Everyone thinks she is insane to not be interested. He’s a good man, he makes good money, he would be a good provider … Sara is crazy! But Sara just knows her own mind. Lucy Maud doesn’t spell it out too clearly but you do get the jist: what would be in this fellow to FIX? Because without that element – Sara will never be interested. He seems perfectly fine all on his own. Sara could not care less about such creatures. And then – all of a sudden – this same fellow falls into disrepute. I cannot remember the reason but I know it has something to do with making bad investments – and losing a ton of money. Suddenly, this golden boy doesn’t have such a whiff of success around him. He is scorned by the small town – practical people who think that being bad with your money is a sign of deeper more sinful issues. He becomes almost a pariah. Sara sees him out and about, and he looks like a ghost of his former self. He is gaunt, pale, upset, and averts his eyes away from her. I am sure you can guess where this is going. The women in her life – her mother, her neighbors, all say, “Thank goodness you had the presence of mind to stay away from THAT trainwreck, Sara! He’s barely better than a criminal!” Sara, in one fell swoop, knows what she must do. This once-strong man is now the equivalent of the bird with the broken wing. And (like the title of the story says) it is not Sara’s way to ignore that. She now has something to fix. She knows, in her heart of hearts, that her attentions, her love – will make this broken man stand strong again. So she basically goes to him and proposes marriage. He can’t believe it, naturally. Doesn’t she hate him and scorn him? No, she does not. She now loves him. Because he needs her.

I love the straightforward way Lucy Maud tells this moving tale. Sara, for me, comes to life – and I actually would love to have read a full book about her. She’s a good character – someone I would love to see in a variety of different situations. A very unexpected personality, a great female character – for me, Sara is in Lucy Maud’s canon of unforgettable women.

Here’s the opening of the story where this whole dynamic is set up. Notice Lucy Maud’s gift with storytelling. The ladies in the town do all the exposition for her.

Excerpt from Further Chronicles of Avonlea – “Sara’s Way” – by L.M. Montgomery

“How does Sara like teaching at Newbridge?” asked Mrs. Jonas, helping herself a second time to Mrs. Eben’s matchless black fruit cake, and thereby bestowing a subtle compliment which Mrs. Eben did not fail to appreciate.

“Well, I guess she likes it pretty well – better than down at White Sands, anyway,” answered Mrs. Eben. “Yes, I may say it suits her. Of course it’s a long walk there and back. I think it would have been wiser for her to keep on boarding at Morrison’s, as she did all winter, but Sara is bound to be home all she can. And I must say the walk seems to agree with her.”

“I was down to see Jonas’ aunt at Newbridge last night,” said Mrs. Jonas, “and she said she’d heard that Sara had made up her mind to take Lige Baxter at last, and that they were to be married in the fall. She asked me if it was true. I said I didn’t know, but I hoped to mercy it was. Now, is it, Louisa?”

“Not a word of it,” said Mrs. Eben sorrowfully. “Sara hasn’t any more notion of taking Lige than ever she had. I’m sure it’s not my fault. I’ve talked and argued till I’m tired. I declare to you, Amelia, I am terribly disappointed. I’d set my heart on Sara marrying Lige – and now to think she won’t!”

“She is a very foolish girl,” said Mrs. Jonas judicially. “If Lige Baxter isn’t good enough for her, who is?”

“And he’s so well off,” said Mrs. Eben, “and does such a good business, and is well spoken of by everyone. And that lovely new house of his at Newbridge, with bay windows and hardwood floors! I’ve dreamed and dreamed of seeing Sara there as mistress.”

“Maybe you’ll see her there yet,” said Mrs. Jonas, who always took a hopeful view of everything, even of Sara’s contrariness. But she felt discouraged, too. Well, she had done her best.

If Lige Baxter’s broth was spoiled, it was not for lack of cooks. Every Andrews in Avonlea had beent trying for two years to bring about a match between him and Sara, and Mrs. Jonas had borne her part valiantly.

Mrs. Eben’s despondent reply was cut short by the appearance of Sara herself. The girl stood for a moment in the doorway and looked with a faintly amused air at her aunts. She knew quite well that they had been discussing her, for Mrs. Jonas, who carried her conscience in her face, looked guilty, and Mrs. Eben had not been able wholly to banish her aggrieved expression.

Sara put away her books, kissed Mrs. Jonas’ rosy cheek, and sat down at the table. Mrs. Eben brought her some fresh tea, some hot rolls, and a little jelly-pot of the apricot preserves Sara liked, and she cut some more fruit cake for her in moist, plummy slices. She might be out of patience with Sara’s “contrariness”, but she spoiled and petted her for all that, for the girl was the very core of her childless heart.

Sara Andrews was not, strictly speaking, pretty, but there was that about her which made people look at her twice. She was very dark, with a rich, dusky sort of darkness, her deep eyes were velvety brown, and her lips and cheeks were crimson.

She ate her rolls and preserves with a healthy appetite, sharpened by her long walk from Newbridge, and told amusing little stories of her day’s work that made the two older women shake with laughter, and exchange shy glances of pride over her cleverness.

When tea was over she poured the remaining contents of the cream jug into a saucer.

“I must feed my pussy,” she said as she left the room.

“That girl beats me,” said Mrs. Eben with a sigh of perplexity. “You know that black cat we’ve had for two years? Even and I have always made a lot of him, but Sara seemed to have a dislike to him. Never a peaceful nap under the stove could he have when Sara was home – out he must go. Well, a little spell ago he got his leg broke accidentally and we thought he’d have to be killed. But Sara wouldn’t hear of it. She got splints and set his leg just as knacky, and bandaged it up, and she has tended him like a sick baby ever since. He’s just about well now, and he lives in clover, that cat does. It’s just her way. There’s them sick chickens she’s been doctoring for a week, giving them pills and things! And she thinks more of that wretched-looking calf that got poisoned with paris green than of all the other stock on the place.”