Page 12 of Fragile Wicked Things

Six

A few days after the horrific encounter with the redheaded creature on my balcony, and early in the morning, there came a strong pounding on my door. It was Rochester—I felt his vexation in every bang of his fist, an acerbic rhythm of "wake up, stupid girl, wake up."

"Yes," I called out, but it wasn't an invitation to come in. Rochester bounded in any way, unperturbed, as I pulled the blanket up to my chin in great shock and embarrassment.

"Catherine's medication needs to be filled," he said, speaking rapidly. "Here are directions to the pharmacy and the keys to the Cadillac."

"I can't drive," I protested. He looked at me oddly. "I…I don't know how to drive. Can Auntie...?"

"It's not Auntie's job; she doesn't drive either. That's why I hired Buddy."

"You fired him."

"Don't you think I bloody well know that!

Damn it!" Whenever he grew angry, his British accent became pronounced, other times, there appeared to be just a hint of it.

Rochester was peculiar; he had fired his only driver but remained unprepared to be without transport.

Why didn't he fetch the medication himself?

Lis and Katya weren’t expected in, so I couldn’t suggest he wait for them. "Driving wasn't one of the requirements," I offered as an explanation.

"The what?"

"It wasn't one of the requirements for the job otherwise, I would have told..."

He walked out of the room before I could finish, leaving my door wide open, and called for Auntie from the top step. "Is your grandson still at your house?"

"He’s here, Mr. Rochester. I’m making him something to eat," Auntie responded from below.

"Thomas, get up here." It wasn't only me that Rochester was rude to, but when Thomas arrived at the second floor straight away, Rochester's voice simmered down. "Do you drive?"

"I sure do, Mr. Rochester," Thomas said.

"Catherine's medication needs to be refilled. Here are directions to the pharmacy and my keys. Jane!"

"Yes." By then, I hid behind my door, struggling to get my bathrobe on.

"Get dressed. Thomas, take her with you. And teach her to drive afterwards." Rochester returned to Catherine's room.

Thomas stared at me and I wondered if he felt as I did about the way in which Rochester treated us. He jingled the keys at me, a smile on his face. No, he didn't.

I was surprised Rochester gave us the Cadillac, given that he had fired Buddy over it. Then I ascertained he didn’t terminate Buddy over the car. Auntie said he was hard to get along with, but I was unclear if she meant Rochester or Buddy.

Once we returned from the pharmacy and gave Catherine her medicine, it was time for my lesson, and I slid across to the driver's seat.

Thomas had me arrange the side and rearview mirrors to suit my height, then had me adjust the seat so I could reach the brake on the left side and the gas pedal on the right.

I pumped the brake, then the gas, in response to his shouts of "gas-brake-brake-gas-gas," shifting the order to keep me on my toes.

"Gas-brake-check-your-blind-spot-brake-indicate.

" I practiced and practiced, yet still hadn't put the car in motion.

"Think you're ready?" I looked at him, bit my lip and told him no. "Too bad. Mr. Rochester wants you to learn. Let's start her up."

I turned the key, put my foot on the brake, and shifted the gear into drive, but when I lifted my foot, the car lurched forward. I slammed my foot on the brake, sending Thomas crashing into the dash.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about me," he said, rubbing his head. "And don't look at me. Pay attention to what's ahead of you. Now take your foot off the brake and onto the gas pedal. Feel the power of the car under you."

That was the problem—I feared the power under me. Hours later, I learned how much power I could control, amazed by the freedom I felt as my hands grasped the throbbing steering wheel as we flew on a main road.

Thomas spoke as I drove. He grew up in Chicago, as did his mother, Auntie's daughter, whom she had sent up north for her sister to raise.

When I asked him why, Thomas offered a vague explanation that he had no doubt heard from his mother—it was meant to be temporary as Auntie had a new job working long hours for the Rochesters.

No one suspected that "temporary" would turn into decades.

Within the following week, Rochester offered Thomas a permanent position replacing Buddy, then disappeared as he did each month.

He would leave at nightfall and return two or three days later, before sunrise.

I never dared to ask where he went. Besides, his absence meant peace for me at Thornfield Hall and I spent the time with Catherine, Auntie, and sometimes Thomas, who I looked forward to seeing the most. No matter how preoccupied, no matter the situation, he always seemed pleased to see me.

His eyes reflected an image of myself that I had never seen before, and I liked it.

Not only did Thomas drive, but he cleaned the horses' barn and trimmed the magnolia trees and cherry blossoms. I went out of my way to be where Thomas worked, figuring out ahead of time where he'd be so that I could be there beforehand.

When he broke for lunch, there I sat at the kitchen table.

When he worked outside the barn, there I stood on my balcony, a pretense of surprise on my face when I found him waving at me from below.

It was all very silly really, but I couldn't help myself.

During one of these schemes of mine, I came across Thomas and Auntie in the kitchen.

Peering from a corner, I watched their faces as they listened to a radio broadcast, the host's voice dry, and tired.

"…expecting mounting protests after June's defeat by the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Fifth Circuit. Earlier Judge Wright had delayed the implementation of his desegregation order until November 14 when the Orleans Parish School…"

Thomas clicked off the radio. Auntie's face tensed, and her eyes widened. Although Thomas tried to hide his concern with a smile, I knew Auntie was justified in her fears.

"It isn't safe here for you," Auntie said.

"Granny, I'm not some ignorant Northerner. I know what the South's like. 'Stay away from white men,' well, Mr. Rochester's the only white man here and I don't have to fear him."

"I sent your mama away for a reason. She’s my only baby," Auntie pleaded. "I won't lose you. I won't let everything I work hard for fall apart."

"Nothing's falling apart."

"You don't see. Don't understand what I’m talking about.

" Auntie shook her head and began to cry, inconsolable even with her grandson's arms wrapped around her, nor by his soothing voice.

Thomas rocked her from side to side while she leaned into him, her short frame dwarfed in his.

"I gave my soul to the black-eyed devil. "

* * *

There came the crash of porcelain smashing on the hardwood floor in Catherine's room.

I rushed and found her unconscious beside the remains of a shattered teacup.

I telephoned Dr. Gardner, and then, though it was the middle of the night, Thomas came to help me carry her to her bed.

I covered her frail body with a heavy, woolen blanket and, because I didn't know what else to do, sat on the edge of the bed holding her hand, pressing a cold, wet cloth to her face.

Rochester was away on business and if she died, I would have robbed him of this moment just as Mrs. Reed had done to me when my mother died.

Catherine stirred as the doctor arrived.

After inquiring about what had happened, he told Thomas and me to leave.

I waited in a chair outside Catherine's room while Thomas leaned against the wall, periodically looking at me.

His mouth would open to say something but then close without a word, and we remained silent.

The grandfather clock in the hall ticked loudly, and the house creaked.

There came heavy breathing as Auntie, in her night clothes, rushed up the stairs.

"I saw the doctor's car in the drive," she said between breaths when she reached us. "You should have woken me."

"Don't be rushing about and get all worked up, Granny." Thomas helped her to a chair. "I don't want to worry about you, too."

Auntie nodded, took deep, wheezing breaths and then pulled out a handkerchief, coughing harshly into it. Downstairs, the front door burst open with a bang.

"Catherine!" Rochester shouted. Soon, he sprinted up the stairs, and when he saw us in the corridor, he abruptly stopped.

It was me he stared at with those black eyes, now softened, vulnerable, and his mouth dropped open, then twisted in anguish.

He turned from me, ran past us into Catherine's room, and stopped and leaned heavily against the bedroom doorjamb.

"I saw your car and I..." Rochester said to the doctor.

"She's fine, stubborn, but fine. I'm taking her to the hospital to run some tests, but she refused to leave without first seeing you," the doctor replied.

"Edward, I'm feeling better. It was a little dizzy spell."

We let out a collective breath at the sound of Catherine's voice; then she called for me.

I hastened into her room and there she lay, pale and weak, attempting to convince Rochester of her well-being.

Dr. Gardner told Rochester to take her to his car, then asked me further questions about Catherine's medications—did she take them as prescribed, to which I assured him that I administered the pills myself.

While the doctor spoke, I regarded Rochester with Catherine, the way he caressed her hand and the way they whispered to one another rather intimately when he lifted her, carrying her to the doctor's car.

No one else noticed these little gestures; not the doctor preoccupied with packing up his belongings, not Thomas who was busy carrying Catherine's overnight bag to the car trunk, and not Auntie who cleaned up the mess of the broken teacup.