Jane Austen’s First Love Read Free Page A

in consequence of catching cold? There is not a disorder in the world except the smallpox which does not spring from it!”
    “Mamma,” said Cassandra gently, “you are very right to be concerned, but I do not think there is any danger of the frost melting away today. The fields are still quite frozen.”
    “We have walked for
miles
over fields far frostier than this,” added I. “We have been stuck inside such a long time this winter. I am dying to get out.”
    My mother stood, and said, “Well, I can see there is no point trying to talk sense into either of
you
. If you catch cold, it will not be
my
fault. But see to it that you put on your boots, change your shoes the minute you get back home, and then it is back to sewing for the three of us.”
    Cassandra and I donned all the essential accoutrements, and as we were about to leave the house, my mother cried, “Jane! That shawl will never be warm enough! Take it off and fetch your cloak! Why cannot you be more sensible, like your sister?”
    Exasperated, I ran back upstairs and did as bidden.
    As we stepped outside, I savoured the taste of the crisp, winter air and the refreshing bite of the breeze against my cheeks. “Is not it
glorious
to be outside? It is cold, but not too cold. Sunny, but not too bright.”
    Cassandra agreed. “It is the perfect day in every way.”
    “Yes—well—
nearly
perfect.” As we struck out along our usual shortcut—the well-travelled path carved across the half-frozen field in the direction of Deane Gate Inn, where the mail was delivered—I could not help but sigh. “Cassandra: why is Mamma so harsh where I am concerned? She is ever so sweet to you, yet constantly finds imperfection in me.”
    “I think it is because she admires you more, Jane.”
    “Admires me more? That makes no sense!”
    “It does. You are ever so much brighter than I am, Jane.”
    “That is not true.”
    “The point cannot be argued. It is not in
my
nature to invent clever and witty stories, and relate them aloud in such a manner as to have the entire family laughing into stitches. Mamma perceives how very clever you are; so naturally, she expects more from you.”
    “That is kind of you to say, but I fear it is not so. I know you all indulge me only because you love me. Mamma insists that my writing is not important. It is expert needlework, she said, which is to be the hallmark of my future.”
    “Every woman needs to be skilled at needlework, Jane; but regardless of what Mamma
says,
she knows you are
capable
of far more than that; I feel certain of it.”
    “If that is true—what do you think she expects of me?”
    “I do not know,” replied she, troubled. “It is possible that even
she
does not know.”
    “How confusing this is! How I wish I could oblige her! How I wish I
could
do
more
, Cassandra; more than darning stockings and making shirts and writing nonsense for no ears other than our own. Nothing of interest ever happens to me. I should dearly love to be useful somehow, to do something which might make a difference in the lives of others—but what that might be is a mystery to me.”
    “You will discover it in time, Jane. You are still young.”
    “Young! How that term exasperates me!” My footsteps crunched noisily against the hard, frosty ground. “I am not so very young, Cassandra. And what does age matter, in any case? How often have you said that you consider me your equal in every way? Oh! If only I were seventeen and out like you!”
    “Do not wish your life away, Jane.”
    “I am not wishing it away; I only wish to be
out
. Do you have any idea how hard it is to sit home while you go off to the assembly rooms without me?”
    “I understand how you feel, my dearest; and I am sorry for it.”
    “There are so few real amusements in the world. Dancing is such a glorious activity! It exercises both the body and the mind, all while moving with spirit and elegance to lively music.” Holding out my arm as if to an