Page 11 of Fragile Wicked Things

"Then a doctor broke the news to them—within months, they'd be blind.

They knew that would leave them dependent, living out the rest of their lives in an institution and the thought of never seeing each other again left them so distraught.

The morning began as many others had: they drank coffee at their table in their bare kitchen, put jam on their dry bread, washed the dishes and tidied up.

They laid out their Sunday best on their beds, and helped each other slip on the clothes, each tying the necktie of the other, straightening their jackets and they went out into the village, past their cobbling business, past the baker where they'd purchase their day-old bread, past the market.

They crossed the bridge halfway, stepped over the railing and, hand in hand, jumped to their deaths into the raging water below. "

My fingers wiped at a tear before it had a chance to run down my cheek, but I could feel my lips quivering. The story left me heavy-hearted, which I supposed had been Rochester's intention. By then, the rain pounded at the windows and the rooftop.

"Ah, so you don't care for all love stories—only those with happy endings. Tell me about Lowood."

His request shook my melancholic state. "There's not much to tell."

"Were you not raised there? How did you end up there?" His questions came at me in rapid succession.

"My mother had died, and my father...took ill. No one could care for me, so I was sent away, remaining there until my arrival here."

"Did your father not love you to see you returned to him when he healed?"

"Edward! Jane, don't take his cruelty personally. He has painful thoughts that harass him."

Rochester scrutinized Catherine, bit his lip, and sat on the edge of the sofa as though ready to pounce if she spoke further on the subject.

"He loved me. I know he did. He died sometime after I arrived at Lowood." My answer seemed to affect Rochester's countenance, his shoulders fell and he retreated back into his seat.

"Orphaned. I do apologize," he whispered. Rochester poured himself another drink, this time filling up his glass even more.

"Despite your tragedy, you've grown into a good lady, Jane. You've been a wonderful companion to me these past weeks. A kind caregiver. I am thankful for her, Edward."

"Don't trouble yourself to give her character," Rochester said. "I shall judge for myself. Are you well-read?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you play?"

"Play at what?"

"Not at what, you silly..." he stopped and glanced at Catherine, then ran his fingers through his hair, tussling it. "Do you play an instrument? Or sing? You must be accomplished at something."

"No."

"You have no accomplishments?"

"No, Mr. Rochester, I don't sing. I don't play any instruments. And I most certainly don't play at embarrassing others."

"Easily offended, then? What are your views on marriage? Would you like to marry Miss Jane E.?" he said.

"Possibly, one day, if..." My voice trailed off as I thought of the possibility of my marrying. Whom would I marry? Other than Rochester and Buddy, I had met no other men here and would consider neither suitable.

"If what, dear?" Catherine said.

"If you were to meet someone who asks you, I suppose you would agree to it," Rochester said.

"No, it wouldn't be that simple. He would have to be the object of such strong affection to make me happy in domestic life and marriage. And, I should hope, he would make me laugh."

"Happiness is what you seek then?"

"Happiness is what we all seek, Mr. Rochester."

"And you're sure you'll find happiness in marriage, serving your husband?"

"No, sir. I'll find happiness in a marriage that will liberate me from servitude. To treat me as...as..."

"An equal," Rochester finished, a smile on his face.

"I didn't say that." I tried to undo what I had said, afraid my views were far too modern for my employers.

"No, it's what you meant, dear. A marriage of equals," Catherine said, looking at Rochester. "That's exactly how I would describe my marriage."

"And have you been introduced to society?" Rochester said.

Peace was not to be had that night as Rochester seemed to have something to prove. Each time I rose above his questioning, each time Catherine pointed out my resolve, he would follow with yet another question meant to humiliate me and define my status.

"No, sir."

"You weren't introduced to society or prepared for marriage. Then what did you do at Lowood?" he said with a hint of unkindness to his voice.

"I attended class and church. Sometimes, I went into town with Mrs. Temple."

"A nun's life, is that it?" he said, glancing over my brown dress, its modesty defining me in his eyes. "Someone who leads a dull life can only be considered dull themselves. You see, Catherine. I have formed my own opinion of your Jane."

"And what opinion has Jane formed of you?" Catherine asked.

This brought a sly smile to Rochester's face and he let out a derisive huff. "Don't hold back," he told me, but there was no way the anger inside me could be held back. Outside, thunder rumbled.

"I've lived a sheltered life, and I suppose to a man in your position, with your travel and riches, you would find it dull.

Don't confuse my misfortune with a lack of character, Mr. Rochester.

Most definitely not you, when you have displayed yourself to be a bully, and I find your very nature to be ungentlemanly and intolerable.

It is your character that displeases me most."

A breath escaped me. I turned from him to get away from his stares and took a gulp from my drink, shutting my eyes tight as the liquid burned inside me.

Not able to remain there any longer, I stood up, but when I arrived at the door, found myself halted by the sound of clapping. I knew it was Rochester.

"She's done well, Edward," Catherine said.

"Your little protégé," he answered. To him, I was no longer in the room. "Still, I believe she follows convention."

"No, she defies convention. She has a rebellious nature to her, one you will witness as she matures. Know this, Edward, she will affect you."

"She will not."

When I turned back to look at Catherine, she smiled at me. "He doth protest too much, methinks."

I stood there, dumbfounded. What began as a wonderful night had ended unpleasant, but I could expect nothing else from Rochester who had despised me from the moment we met, for reasons unknown.

There we were at a standstill, both Catherine and Rochester acting as though they'd each won at some game they were playing, with rules I didn't understand.

I was merely a pawn of small stature and lesser value.

The doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," I said in a hurry to escape.

The hour was late, and the weather was too dangerous to travel in.

I was quite surprised to open the door to a Black man carrying a satchel.

He looked to be a few years older than me, and he wore a rusty brown jacket with a turned-up collar and a hat on his head to protect against the rain.

"Excuse me for the late hour, Miss, but the bus was behind schedule. My name is Thomas Fairfax. Is my grandmother here? I checked at her house at the end of the road, but there was no answer."

"Auntie? She's your grandmother?"

"Yeah, that's what people call her." He stood there, staring at me and I at him. He had Auntie's eyes, but the rest of his face belonged to someone else.

"I'm sorry, yes, of course. She must be working late tonight. Come in."

Thomas stepped inside, looked up at the crystal chandelier hanging over the entranceway, then at the painting of two women strolling arm in arm through a garden, and let out a whistle as he put down his bag.

"Who is it, Jane?" Catherine called from the drawing room.

"Someone's here to see Auntie, Mrs. Cous...Catherine. I'll take him into the kitchen."

Auntie had heard the doorbell and wandered over, wringing a tea towel.

When she saw Thomas, her mouth fell open, her eyes widened, and she opened her arms to him.

Other than Mrs. Temple, I doubted anyone would be as happy to see me should I show up unannounced.

Then Auntie's expression changed from happiness to fear as she grasped his face between her hands, inspected it, and knitted her eyebrows.

"Is something wrong?" said Auntie.

"No, Granny. I only came to surprise you."

Rochester appeared in the doorway then and looked Thomas over. "Who did you say is here, Jane?"

Auntie moved forward, stepping in front of her grandson and looked at Rochester with a hint of anxiety. "It's my gran baby, Mr. Rochester. He’s staying over, but he’ll be leaving at first light."

"Don't be silly, Auntie. He can stay for as long as he wants," Rochester said, but his tone made it seem less hospitable and more a demand. "Does that suit you...?"

"Thomas, sir. And yeah, it suits me just fine."

"Well, you must be starved. I know I am. Auntie, why don't you take him into the kitchen and fix him something to eat."

Auntie stared at Rochester, breathing deeply. "Yes, sir. Follow me," she told Thomas, but as she started to walk away, she looked back hard at Rochester.

Back in my room, I paced about, thinking over what had transpired earlier, pieces of conversation repeated in my head.

Things came to me then of what I should have said, wanted to say, and hadn't.

As I tried to sleep, these thoughts lingered in my mind, marred by a fitful slumber full of nightmares broken by the storm raging outside.

Rochester was suffocating me in this house, and sometimes I thought it worse than Lowood.

I awoke panting, mouth gasping for air, my body sweating, my gown wet with perspiration.

I threw the sheets off, rested momentarily and then walked to the balcony door.

The handle was cold to the touch, more frigid than usual for this late October night, and the moment I opened it, lightning flashed—and there she stood, illuminated—a red-haired woman with long, curly hair.

Her skin appeared porcelain, her eyes a magnificent blue and her lips ruby red. She was beautiful.

Her appearance startled me at first. I hadn’t been told of any other guest at Thornfield, and when I was about to ask her name, she pounced on me and thrust me back against the balcony door.

She snapped my head back with such vicious force that the glass pane behind me cracked, and I tasted blood in my mouth.

I had bitten my tongue. My breath came in heavy pants, and my eyes stung with tears.

With her body pressed firmly against mine, I was paralyzed beneath her hold. Overcome with fear, I could not scream. A whimper escaped me. I felt dampness in the back of my head where it stung with pain.

Her fiery hair tickled my face while her tongue reached out to lick my neck, moving in tiny circles, delicately making her way to my breasts.

She inhaled me and let out little moans in between her gentle kisses.

Tears blurred my vision. A laugh escaped her, yet it sounded so far away, projected out as though coming from the grounds below.

Her lips pressed hard against mine, and her tongue darted in, licking up the blood from inside my mouth.

She pulled back from me, and when she opened her mouth, I saw her teeth were jagged and sharp.

Finally, I screamed. This time, it was I who startled her, and she jumped over the wrought iron railing to the ground below and scurried off like an animal, losing herself among the oak trees.

Terrified, I ran back into my room, locked the balcony door, and turned to find Rochester standing in my room. Shaken, I nearly screamed again.

"What is it?" he said.

"There's someone out there. A red-haired woman. She jumped down and went into the woods."

Rochester didn’t move. His nose wrinkled. "You’re bleeding."

I reached out to pat the back of my head and pulled my hand away, blood smeared on my fingers. How did he know?

"Stay with Catherine," he said. "Lock the doors. I'll take a look outside."

In Catherine's room, I locked the door behind me, searched for a weapon and found that the poker would do.

"What is it, Jane?" Catherine sat up in bed, startled by the commotion I had caused.

“Someone was on my balcony." One door in Catherine's room led to her bathroom, another to her closet, and the third to an unknown location. "Where does that door lead to?"

"The attic." Although I knew the woman had run into the woods, I could not assume she was alone, and it was possible that a threat lay behind that door.

"Where's Edward?" said Catherine.

"He went into the woods after her."

"Her?"

"Yes, a red-haired woman with sharp teeth and when I screamed, she scampered away like an animal."

Catherine fell silent and looked down at her hands, turning them over.

I wasn’t sure what I had come across. The red-haired woman looked no different from the creatures in my childhood nightmares, except they hadn’t been real, and I always awoke, albeit with the gut-wrenching belief that their existence was undeniable.

This time, I had been wide awake. Still, I wanted to reassure Catherine.

"Don't be afraid. I'm sure she's long gone. "

"I thought I dreamt her all those years ago."

I stared at Catherine, worried this would traumatize her.

"Edward. Edward," she whispered.

Someone was at the door, twisting the doorknob and pushing against it. I held my breath, hands tightening around the metal in my hands.

"Open the door." It was Rochester. When I let him in, he spoke and kept his gaze on me. "There was no one there, Jane. It must have been a nightmare at this late hour."

"I was awake. I had awoken from a...."

"Nightmare?" Rochester lifted an eyebrow and looked at me as though I had made his point for him.

"No, the nightmare woke me up, and when I went onto the balcony, I found something horrible outside my room." I thrust my bloody palm at him. "Look, she hurt me."

He flinched at the sight of my blood and turned away.

I could tell Rochester didn't believe me; I knew it sounded outrageous and easier to accept that I had dreamt the whole thing, and I even began to question myself, believing that my nightmares followed me from Lowood.

Did I bang my head against my headboard, causing injury to myself?

"I'm sorry," I mumbled as I left Catherine's room, but before the door closed behind me, I overheard her.

"I remember a red-haired woman when I was a child. She frightened me."

"Blanche is gone. You're safe now, Catherine."

"Is Jane safe?"