Posted on Tuesday, 31 October 2006
In these woods, a man who is true
May travel without worry or pause
But a man whose heart is faithless
Shall find the night a vengeful cause
The childish rhyme tunelessly echoed in Jane Churchill's mind. She had long be inured of the fear those simple words stirred in listeners' hearts. Indeed, the children in town sang the poem as a bedtime song, not understanding the power that may be invoked by those words. Of course children were incapable of doing harm but a woman, a woman who believed herself betrayed, was another matter altogether.
She wondered how the poem came about. Was it a girl wronged by her sweetheart? Who could not bear to watch him prosper while she withered and darkened? Maybe she had an illegitimate child by her fickle lover and it was the natural child who began the trial?
Jane smiled slightly - her musings were entertaining if also a little foolish. But then she had learned to amuse herself for very few of those who would consider her their social equal found her presence desirable. The fault didn't lay with her for she was well mannered and quite intelligent. No, it was simply because her beauty and demeanor made it uncomfortable for others to treat her like a respected servant. Indeed, she had caused quite a commotion in Highbury society when she was first introduced as a governess-to-be. Some of the women treated her shabbily, but Jane knew it was because of her beauty so she gave no credence to them. Some pitied her, which truthfully was a cause of great aggravation for Jane. And yet she kept her peace. The rest treated her with decency and kindness, something Jane discovered to be a charm amongst the country folk. She wasn't so obtuse that she couldn't appreciate genuinely thoughtful people who would reap no benefit from her acquaintance.
Jane realized she had to light the candles for darkness had settled into the morning room. She knew she should withdraw to a more appropriate place in order to wait for her newly minted husband, but this room afforded her a clear view of the road in front of the house. She peered out into the strengthening darkness, to see if her husband's horse was approaching their new home.
She saw nothing but she didn't fret. Jane trained herself long ago not to fret, though she had lesser luck when it came to bitterness.
Of course Jane believed she should be annoyed and quite rightfully so when it came to Mrs. Elton. Never had she met such a tactless creature as Mr. Elton's wife. More than once she found herself swallowing down words in order to keep the conversation from turning into bitter skirmishes of wit and taste. Jane hoped for the husband's sake that his wife really did have poor health. Otherwise, she saw a long road of Purgatory for the poor man. Not that he was a saintly creature either. Jane had heard the story of his treatment of Miss Woodhouse's poor companion and it made her blush to think what she would've done if she were in Harriet Smith's situation.
Jane's eyes wandered to the unfinished letter meant for her aunt and grandmother. The diet of tedious words starved her wit, but she was too well aware of the happiness they brought to a group of women who had so little to enjoy. Jane promised herself she would finish writing the letter as soon as Frank arrived. Jane had another reason for wanting to finish the task. She knew her aunt's acquaintances were all wondering how she was faring as the wife of Frank Churchill. Jane knew her husband wrote regularly to his father in Highbury, but since his deception of the entire town's population came to light, the people were rightly wondering how much truth lay within Frank Churchill's words.
Jane's lips curved into a slight smile. Poor Frank, she thought with no malice but with small amusement and great pity. However even her pity could not extend itself far, as she herself fell victim to his childish machinations and paid a great price with her health. And though her husband made good on his claims that he was heartily sorry for his shabby treatment of her, Jane still felt her heart slightly bend whenever she thought of those dreadful days.
Is that why she spoke those words?
Jane felt a small shiver and steeled her resolve to crush whatever was the cause. She was determined to let the "Trial" run its course. It was not only the lonely wayfarer in the woods who must suffer a dark night. The woman who waits for that man must, in her own way, stumble through the woods, in the hopes of seeing a lighted beacon pointing towards her salvation.
The sound of hooves drew Jane to the window, but alas it was only her imagination and nothing more. Only then did Jane admit to herself that she was indeed very anxious for her husband's safe return.
And yet she didn't regret speaking those words.
To occupy her time she reread Mrs. Dixon's latest post, once again marveling at her friend's inimitable handwriting. The elegant loops and whorls reminded Jane of her friend's love of painting and once again her mind was gaily occupied. Her great friend was heavy with her first child, and the excitement has sent Mr. Dixon into great fits of gaiety and anxiety. Mrs. Dixon was more prosaic with the happy event for it was she who would suffer for months on end. And yet, her words fully betrayed her joy and excitement.
Jane was startled to feel a cold draught slither around her ankles. She frowned in puzzlement for the night was unseasonably warm and gentle. No cold March winds invaded the neighborhood she called home. Setting aside her friend's letter Jane deftly started a warm fire. Unlike other ladies, she was quite capable of doing minor tasks with ease and indeed treasured the practice that brought her independence where other women of equal stature would find themselves bound to their servants or their husbands to accomplish the same task.
The small fire, encouraged by her diligence, soon brightened the room with merry flames while bringing warmth to the lady positioned in a chair close by. Jane, thus made comfortable, began reading once again. Mrs. Dixon was indeed having a fine time watching her husband go through what seems almost like spasms of rapture and fear: rapture for his unborn child, and fear for his wife's health.
Jane quietly laughed. She had known Mrs. Dixon when she was Miss Campbell and the woman was blessed with good constitution, unlike herself. So, Jane doubted if the birth would be as perilous as Mr. Dixon feared. However, she will pay her due respects to his concern in her letter and do her best to assuage his fears, if only to save her friend's patience from being thinned out. She knew Mr. Dixon was as amiable as a man could be, but he did have a leaning towards the dramatic whenever the situation allowed for such folly. And Mrs. Dixon was not a woman who easily indulged in such behavior.
Jane's smile faltered as she remembered what her husband had done to the Dixons. The thought whitened her already pale complexion and the gray eyes turned cloudy with shame. When she heard Frank had surreptitiously matched her name to Mr. Dixon in a romantic cause, and spoke such an outright lie to Miss Woodhouse, Jane felt her dignity and her love for Frank diminish. She was uncomfortable with his practicing such great deception regarding their secret engagement. However, that feeling of outrage was nothing when compared to the duplicity that could have very well harmed, if not destroyed, her friend's happy marriage.
Jane's grasp on the letter faltered as she gazed out the window. Still nothing.
It was only due to Miss Woodhouse's discretion that the sordid tale traveled no further than her ears. And, if Jane would be true with herself, it all but destroyed her enjoyment of the pianoforté Frank had bought for her in secret. In secret because he made such an expensive purchase before their engagement was made public, and he very well knew she was of such cautious temperament that such a munificent gift could not be judged favorably in her heart.
And there was still the painful truth that he had deliberately besmirched Mr. Dixon's name in order to draw suspicions away from himself. It was true Mr. Dixon had saved her from an unceremonious swim in a lake, but it was hardly a proper reason for formulating such lies. Jane, realizing the emotional peril she was in, attempted to turn away from the painful memory.
How could he? Her mind rallied around the unresolved injustice. How could he do such a thing?
She clearly remembered her horror when she first heard of Frank's deception; deception practiced not only on his acquaintances and family, but also on herself. She remembered the light of empathy in Miss Woodhouse's eyes when they met after Anna was born. Frank thought everything he had done was necessary if also in jest, but Miss Woodhouse was obviously ashamed of her part in his manipulations, and quietly sided with her when Jane fell into a playful discord with her fiancé. With a weary sigh Jane tried to finish reading Mrs. Dixon's letter, but she couldn't deceive herself so easily as her memories played out their tawdry scenes. She remembered too clearly when she realized Frank possessed a moral center that was both inadequate and weak. Jane also recalled how her husband called her his superior, and she forced herself to admit his exuberance regarding their attachment was indeed quite genuine. So with warmer thoughts Jane began re-reading.
But the Dixons...
Jane gave a small cry of frustration and marched to the window. There was nothing but darkness, which did nothing but feed her sense of fear that she missed something vital during the mind-spinning days when Frank, with his usual unpredictability, confessed all to his relations.
Why can I not forgive him? She asked herself. No doubt it was a great transgression but I was more than willing to let it pass unremarked when he returned to me!
Then Jane remembered Frank had already received his uncle's blessing when he made the hasty trip to visit his father. And should Mrs. Churchill have been still living, the engagement might have continued in secret though Frank had declared that by her accepting a position as a governess with Mrs. Smallridge, his hands were forced. Jane shook her head in wonder. She had never met a man whose fortunes were facilitated to such ease like her dear Frank. And whose blatant improprieties were not only overlooked but also forgiven by a group of people whom Jane truly respected and liked.
It does not befit a wife to envy her husband. Jane censured herself, but the grave moment was ruined by her smile. Jane couldn't help it. Her thoughts were tiring her to the point she had become a fool. And yet Jane continued to wonder if Frank indeed would have come forth and told the truth if Mrs. Churchill were alive. Would he have risked it all to stop her from descending into an acceptable form of slavery?
Then Jane remembered everything Frank had done, he had done with her consent. She was not happy with his deception but she may never claim to have been an innocent bystander while the farce was played out. Indeed, she was only to well aware of her husband's propensity towards gaiety and playful disposition but didn't think they could cause harm. It was only later she discovered how grievous an error she committed in forming that supposition. But as light-heartedness triumphed in her husband's nature, caution ruled in hers. And perhaps that was why they had fallen so quickly in love, for within each other they had discovered what they themselves seriously lacked.
But would he have been so truthful if his aunt were alive? Is that why she invoked those words? To see if he would have revealed their attachment no matter what the consequence? And why she felt no regret even now with Frank in those ancient woods?
Jane first heard the children speak of the "The Trial in the Woods" and thought it somewhat grim fairytale. Only later and after great perseverance did she discover the full nature of what the children carelessly spoke of. Nobody knew the full details of the story so she had to discover it piecemeal. At first she dismissed it as only interesting Scottish folklore. Only later, when she realized that only the women knew of the "Trial" did she give some credence to legend.
Trial, Jane mulled over the word. She guessed its roots were long entwined in history, denoting a severe test of one's character, with the person more often failing than not. And yet the word "Trial" did not share the same unpleasantness as "Crucible" or even "Ordeal". Jane did her best to discover what "The Trial in the Woods" entailed but no one could give a full explanation as to what it was, only that is was suppose to be invoked by a woman to test the man who laid claim to her heart.
"But what kind of woman would do such a thing?" Jane whispered, finally confronting the one question she sought to elude from.
A woman like herself. A woman who was put through a "Trial" of her own, by the same man who declared himself her champion, but only after she had succeeded. A woman who was misused and made unhappy, not because she was duped into playing the part of a fool, but because she had willingly placed herself in the miserable situation with the hopes of great improvement soon thereafter.
A woman who cannot help but wonder if the price of her suffering was too cheaply valued by her love, and later sought to inflict the same treatment with the only manner left open to her.
Jane saw the flames dim in the fireplace but did nothing to combat the growing darkness. Even when she heard horse's hooves, the horse that surely must belong to Frank, she failed to stir from her chair. She did not need to look for she already knew how Frank must have fared in those eldritch and pitiless woods.