The Garden Under the Mountains

Blair Wang

She stood smiling bashfully under the dark, gray sky of England, shrouded in mist. Her light, elegant dress held up the broad, falling sunset. Her amber eyes shone like halos in the evening air, resolve flowing clearly through them. It was as if the protagonist spoke to me when I finished Jane Eyre and gazed at the painting on the cover. Like a teacher, her persona had instructed on the courage of choice, providing me clarity of mind to lead my life as I wanted, and to see myself fully.

During Jane’s era, most women had to abide by society’s constrictive ethics. They entered early marriages and bore children young. Relatives arranged work, if they had any at all, and many became housewives. However, Jane remained independent, with strong resolve. In my life as well, I saw friends all around me who had to conform to the pressures of our own era. I chose to learn from my friends like Jane learned from her friend, Helen - to accept that each girl had her own way of finding her own path.

One Monday morning, I walked onto my high school’s familiar campus, bracing myself against a strong breeze. My friends were standing anxiously outside of our class.

"So, what subjects did you all choose?” Amy said.

I turned my head to look at my friends who, like Amy, had to make so many trade-offs. They described the numerous math and science courses they were taking, looking at each other with admiration.

Over the past year, we took on so much undue stress from studying these subjects. I still remember the eve of Chinese New Year when we stayed up late solving physics problems in the dormitory. At a point, we stopped and just hugged each other because we were too exhausted to finish. Was my persistence that meaningful?

“I don’t really see why we all need to take the same path forward.” I said, thinking of these tired and unhappy times.

Amy replied, "Just force yourself to bite the bullet for a few years. If boys can make it, we girls can too."

When I felt directionless in these moments, Jane became my comfort. She took my hand and, for a moment, the world's ever-watching eyes and disturbances disappeared, leaving only the sound of our breathing, in-sync.

She started, "When I saw my good friend Helen die, my heart ached. Helen taught me how to shift my attention away from baking bread and cooking potatoes towards the worlds of stories and literature. Leaning over the bed as we read the Bible together, she always warmed me with her soft embrace - the feeling of being pulled from the darkness into the light. She had a pure, bright, full, and fiery soul. Who would have believed that a 14-year-old girl could be so ill-fated?"

I had become flustered and overwhelmed having to choose my future path under so much duress. A desire to break with stereotypical ambition rose up in me. Stemming from a strong passion for humanities, a sobering urge to not follow the path laid out for me took over.

Jane brought me to the Thornfield Mountains, the morning dusk spreading across the peaks. The land felt sacred; so many women before us had strolled peacefully here. We silently walked towards the summit of the ancient peaks, not wanting to wake up everything sleeping.

She murmured, "Time and time again, I experienced different choices, and kept waving goodbye to the past along the way. I often cried alone at Helen's grave, looking at the Latin word resurrectio carved into the stone. Echoing the word’s meaning, I vowed to live as independently and bravely as Helen. We had made a pact with each other to meet any future identity, whether wife or mother, with confidence. We would cherish those choices as we had chosen to cherish each other."

Jane continued faintly, "I often talk about Rochester, but he and Helen are equally important to me. If Helen taught me to be brave, Rochester taught me how to listen to my inner voice. It is true that I have had firm faith in the strength of women, which has made me independent. Because of this, I left him after learning the truth about Thornfield Hall. I departed even though I knew that I would not enjoy the luxurious pleasures of the manor house ever again. But when I knew I would not change myself to appease any man, I felt more determined than I had ever felt before. I had chosen myself."

Jane reminded me of a time when I desperately chased after a certain kind of equality to prove myself. I drove myself to choose what everyone subconsciously thought men were good at just to conform to tradition and cultural standards. I seldom questioned my own heart, or really understood my desires, because I couldn’t choose to look at these directly. 

Jane’s words acted on me like an invisible force, pulling my thoughts away from self-questioning and spreading them across an endless plateau. Her calming presence weakened my worries.

As I refocused my attention, I gazed across this land so deeply connected with Jane, which carried the emotional turmoil of her young self. I caressed the stone path that Jane walked over in her youth, tracing her trajectory to maturity. This mountain was like a huge embrace, and the creek beside it dynamic and meandering. I looked at the intertwined landscapes and I imagined Jane and Helen tenderly embracing.

It was in the afterglow of this embrace that all my thoughts seemed to return to that night before Chinese New Year. I realized that my friends were like Helen. They did not go against the grain, but were brave enough to accept the challenges of life; and my Jane, we were just like each other, with the same forward willingness to pursue what our hearts desired.

Walking now through a thick fog, a serene garden appeared. As the light faded, I felt Jane there beside me. A warm breeze blew, petals swayed, and the fragrance of the earth greeted our noses. The end of the garden, near the hill, still was grey as Jane’s Sheffield. Only hearing my quiet footsteps, I knew Jane had melted into this sky of mine.

The ancient school gate slowly rose and the sound of jubilant laughter cascaded through the air. At the end of the garden was my high school. I stepped casually onto the soft ground, freely weaving through the two ends of the garden. On this new path I took, there could be no stereotypes nor limited options, but only self-understanding and fulfillment. I lifted my skirt to twirl and jump, to let every hair and every inch of skin breathe freely. I envisioned my heart beating in my chest, its rhythm directing me. 

Hearing the children’s laughter more and more clearly now, I walked deeper into the garden, past a fork, towards the wild chrysanthemum patch. Looking at all these flowers blowing harmoniously in the breeze, I thought again of my friends’ paths and my own. We could be roses with thorns, lilies of the valley, or vivacious sunflowers. No matter how the times change, no matter how the stories of history are written, the immortal wisdom of flowers is always glorious. With the sun’s help, they pour their energy into bold and spontaneous growth. They may take different routes and hesitate in growth, but all their paths converge towards beauty and self-fulfillment. I pushed through the campus gate, the scent of these wild flowers behind my every step.  At this same moment, Jane embraced me tightly, motioning me forward.