Sneak Peek at the Further Adventures of Jane

Brown, Jane Brown: Chapter One

“Die! You must die!” The silver blade flashed again and again, striking with a thud until Jane’s arms quivered from the effort. Her grip grew slippery on the handle, and sweat began to prickle at her hairline. Still her arm thrust forcefully. “Die, you miserable wretch!”

“Jane!”

“Die, I say!”

“Jane. Jane! Jane, stop it! Stop it, Jane!

“What? Oh, hi Mavis, what are you doing here?”

“Well, it appears I’ve appeared at the scene of the crime just at the right time. You look done in. I’ve brought some of the Saskatoon Berry Mead drinks you like. Can you take a break from this carnage?”

Jane rocked back on her heels and passed the back of her hand across her forehead, leaving a smudge of dirt in its wake. She blew out a long breath that would have lifted up hear her wispy bangs if they were stuck to her sweaty forehead and surveyed the scene with satisfaction. On the lawn beside her was a pile of Creeping Bellflower plants with their deceptively pretty purple flowers and devious white worm-like roots that would take over your whole yard, if you let them. She gently patted down the disturbed soil around the Cosmos plants with the delicate foliage and white and fuchsia blossoms.

“There, there, my pretties,” murmured Jane, “that will hold them off for a while. You just keep on being your beautiful selves.”

Mavis quirked a well-shaped dark eyebrow, “You talk to your outdoor plants as well, Jane?”

“Of course,” said Jane, “They like to be nurtured just like anyone else.”

Mavis gazed around at the profusion of blooms.

“Well, I can’t argue with success.” Tall Hollyhocks were nodding in the light breeze, orange Day Lily blooms rising out of a clump of spear-like leaves, and the multi-coloured blooms of Icelandic Poppies swaying on their delicate stems.

“Just let me get rid of the evidence here,” Jane grunted a little with the effort of rising. At age 56, her joints had a tendency to complain about anything more strenuous than reclining on the couch. She allowed herself to feel a moment of sorrow for the pile of healthy plants she had uprooted. As beautiful as they were, Creeping Bellflowers were the nemesis of many a gardener in Regina, the small prairie city where summers, though beautiful, were all too brief. Jane gathered the pile and dropped it with satisfaction in her green garbage bin, grabbed her silver-bladed trowel, and gestured for Mavis to precede her around the house, where a trio of mature Manitoba Maple trees created a cool and shady haven.

“Jane, Mavis began,” I’ve been thinking…”