Page 27 of Fragile Wicked Things

Thirteen

"Will there be other people?" I asked during dinner one evening. He smiled and did not answer.

"Scrumptious sweets?" I asked when he tucked me into bed. He smiled and whispered, "Good night."

"May I have a new dress?" I asked early one morning while we sat in the living room..

The drapery was pulled together, the fabric so thick that sunlight didn't dare come in.

In the darkness, I slipped a piece of candy from my pocket into my mouth.

It tasted of strawberry, but I must have made some horrific sucking sound because Edward asked if it was appropriate to eat candy for breakfast, and he did so without looking up once from the newspaper he read.

In the dining room, Giovanni rattled some dishes as he set the table for breakfast. A loud crash sounded, followed by a curse word in Italian. I stared at Edward, who hid behind his newspaper. I squinted my eyes at him, burning a hole into the paper, and repeated my question.

"You have plenty of dresses," said Edward.

“Children’s dresses. I’m older now and wiser," I added, remembering a story about a wise, old woman.

Edward put down his paper, and folded it in half, going over the crease a second time. "In what sense are you wiser? Pray, do tell."

"You're mocking me," I said, arms crossed over my chest. I turned away from him and huffed, slumping back in my chair, sure my indignation would teach him a lesson.

"I see it does not mean maturity," he said, pushing his face against mine as he tickled me.

"Stop." The giggles slipped out with ease, which seemed to please my guardian.

"St...stop," I pleaded between breaths, spitting out my candy by accident.

Edward let go of me once I fell off my chair, falling on the old, musty carpet that, in all likelihood, had been there since the house was first built more than one hundred years before. I had landed with a loud thud.

"Are you hurt, Catherine?" Edward said.

I wasn't, but I pretended to be, holding my elbow in discomfort. He reached underneath me and led me to the sofa, where he sat me down and surrounded me with pillows to comfort me.

"Is there something I can get you to ease the pain?"

I winced at the nonexistent stab of pain, then motioned with my finger for him to come closer, the pain preventing me from speaking in a normal tone.

"A new dress," I mumbled.

"Such an actress! Would it please my Catherine to know I placed an order months ago?"

"Yes, yes, yes," I said. “Did you really?"

"The answer is a wholehearted yes." He shouted the last word so that it resonated in the room, bouncing off the walls. "But first..."

"I know. First breakfast, then piano and a boring afternoon just waiting for tonight. Oh, I can't stand it."

"Piano, Catherine. And patience, though I don't know how you can practice any when I give in to your every whim. Spoiled is how I've raised you, much to the sorrow of your future husband."

"I'm staying with you forever."

"Oh no, Catherine, one day you will meet a man and fall in love. Don't scrunch up your nose like that. What I tell you is true. You will join him in matrimony, and he will whisk you away to a foreign land, far away from me."

"You look sad," I said, leaning towards him and placing my hand on his cheek. "I won't leave you. We'll live at Thornfield so that you won't ever be alone."

"Oh, what a pitying look you give me," Edward said.

"I know your secret."

Edward stared; his face aghast as his mouth dropped open. His eyes searched my face for meaning. "What do you know? What have you seen?" he said in rapid staccato.

"I make you happy," I told him.

His shoulders fell from relief.

"When you're by yourself, you're a grumpy old man. A monster," I added, "like in that bedtime story you read to me where the man became a monster because he was unloved as a child."

Edward quieted.

"I'm only teasing. You're not a monster. And I love you from the moment I wake in the morning until the moment my head rests on my pillow."

"And what of the time in between, from pillow to wakefulness?"

I shrugged my shoulders, unable to provide an answer.

He said, "Let's go to breakfast, and then I'll go to bed. I worked all last night and must replenish my energy for tonight."

* * *

My dress was shipped from the most fashionable atelier in Paris, made from the finest silks with an overlay of lace around the shoulders and bodice.

Cream in color, it came with a matching cape in a yellow underlay to be worn in reverse.

Even to this day, I remember the feel of it, the way the tissue crinkled when I took it out of its box, the way it cascaded down to my feet.

The dress fit perfectly, but I remember being disappointed that I didn't get new shoes to go with it.

I gave one final twirl in the mirror before running to hug Edward, skipping down the steps two at a time, but halfway down, Edward stopped me.

"Catherine, stop. You'll slip and fall. Then I'll have to bury you in that dress."

"Mr. Morbid," I said as I greeted him at the bottom of the stairwell, taking the arm he held out to me.

"Shall we go, Miss Cousins?"

Outside the front entrance, Giovanni sat perched high on the driver's bench of Edward's carriage which had been brought over from England several years before.

Everyone in New Orleans recognized Edward's yellow and gold phaeton; it had four large wheels, was light in its construction and fast. In those days, it was a sporty way for a young man of means to travel.

Edward lifted me in, and we set off down the drive.

Dusk had settled in over the landscape. A cold wind blew through my ringlets.

March was frightfully cold, and Edward placed a blanket over me.

He insisted he wasn't cold when I tried to share part with him.

We turned onto the main road in front of Thornfield, heading towards New Orleans, passing trees, farms, a local church and more trees.

We were going at such a slow pace, that I could have counted the leaves on each branch of every tree we passed. I pleaded to go faster.

"Just a little," Edward instructed Giovanni, who shook the reigns.

The flame from the side lanterns flickered, and although the road had emptied of travelers, we still had to be careful since visibility was limited to a few yards ahead.

Still, I pleaded, "Faster. Faster."

"The road ahead is clear, Giovanni," said Edward.

"How can you tell?" I asked him as I couldn't see a thing in the dark.

"Trust me. I would never put you in any danger."

Along the road towards New Orleans, we sped passed farm after farm, creeks, barns and farther along, fishing huts, but when we came upon a general store, Edward had Giovanni slow down.

"That will have to do for now," Edward said.

After the excitement was over, I settled into the carriage.

It had been some time since we had last been to the city.

Some of the roadways were wide enough that small trees lined the middle.

We traveled along the tracks that carried horse-drawn trolleys.

Along the way, I read signs—McGhee's Shoe Store, Finn's Inn, Milo's Tavern—and up ahead lay the way to the cemetery.

We passed a new, three-story building constructed in white marble.

"Does someone live in that fancy house?" I asked.

Edward laughed. "It's a clubhouse."

"I want to join."

"Gentlemen only, I'm afraid."

"Does Giovanni belong to it?"

"No, there's a hefty price to pay to be part of this clubhouse."

"Are you allowed?"

"Yes."

"What happens there?" I asked.

"We play cards, hold business meetings, dine with city councilors. All matters that would bore your pretty little head." He shook my head about a little so that my curls danced. I was about to tell him I'd enjoy the dining part when the carriage turned a corner and came to a sudden stop.

"Giovanni, what's the matter?" Edward said.

"Up ahead, sir. A mob."

Edward stood in the carriage for a better view, then sat back down, placed an arm around me, and held me closer.

I leaned to the side to see for myself. In the darkness, I made out the crowd waving firearms and lit torches.

The smell of burning timber wafted to my nose, the firelight illuminated the mob, and there, on the lampposts, I could see the figures of people.

At first, I wondered how they had climbed to that odd place and what they were standing on, but soon, I noticed the figures swing.

They were dead. The cheers from the crowd were deafening. Edward's hand shot up to cover my eyes.

"Turn around. Do it now!" Edward said.

Giovanni turned the horses around, back the way we came and sped down the roadway, escaping the danger.

Edward removed his hand, but his body remained tense even though we were safe from the deafening crowd.

From behind us came the sound of running horses, hooves pounding the road faster than our carriage could travel.

Two men on horses chased us, forcing us to a complete stop, but it wasn't until then that I noticed their police uniforms.

"What's the meaning of this?" Edward demanded.

"Mr. Rochester, I thought I had recognized your carriage, sir," said one of them. "A mob broke out this morning near the Parish jail; we haven't yet contained it. Try Peter Street and clear out. It's far too dangerous for the little one."

The policemen spun their horses around, the animals digging in their hooves, fighting to avoid returning to the crowd. Their wide-eyed look of fear pleaded with me for help, but their riders only dug their spurs into them. They ran off in the direction of the mob.

"Do as they said, Giovanni," said Edward.

We turned into a street, a few people scattered about, running towards the safety of houses, others peered from their windows high above, I'm sure just as frightened as we were, wondering when the mob would turn down their street, bringing with them death and destruction.

We traveled farther along, heard doors slam shut, the whimpering of people cowering in the dark and then, after some distance, a few came out from the shadows of doorways and lined the roadway, sauntering over to the middle as we passed by, staring.

"Don't stop, Giovanni," Edward said.

Our pace quickened, but more men emerged from the darkness, surrounding the carriage and frightening our horses. We were forced to slow down. As we continued forward, one man appeared and headed towards us, staring at Giovanni.

"Dagoes!" he said. His yell beckoned others to come.

Giovanni struggled with the reins, keeping the horses at a steady but quick pace.

Soon, one horse was up on its hind legs; the other turned sideways, and the carriage halted.

A man leapt at me from below, and I let out a scream.

Another man argued to let us go, that I was merely a child, but the gathering mob wouldn't listen to reason.

Edward swiped at the man who had frightened me with such ferocity and precision that his throat ripped open, and blood poured from it.

The man fell back into the crowd. For a moment, the other men froze and looked at their friend writhing in the street, holding his neck, but then they, too, jumped onto the carriage, and they, too, fell back into the crowd, bloody and torn apart.

I saw a darkness in Edward's eyes as he fought off the men, protecting me from the danger.

I couldn't stop screaming and hid under the blanket.

If I couldn't see them, they couldn't see me.

Edward was no longer next to me. When I looked up from under the blanket, I saw him jump onto the driver's seat next to Giovanni, grab the reins from him, overpower the horses, and guide us away from the mob.

Outside the city limits, Edward stopped and returned to the seat beside me, where I lay crying.

He nestled me under the blanket and into his arms, promised me that we were safe, out of the reaches of that dangerous mob and that no harm would come to me with him near.

Still, I cried the rest of the way home.

Edward slept in my room that night in a chair by my bed.

At times, sleep would overcome me, but that night, instead of dreaming about candy and cake, I had nightmares.

The lynch mob with torches melded into images of my mother's murderers.

Each time I awoke screaming, Edward was there, wiping away the sweat from my forehead, whispering that I was safe.

When I awoke the following day, Edward was still by me reading from a Louisiana paper.

When I asked him for details about what had happened, he put the paper down and looked at me.

He was silent at first, but then his voice softened.

"I've sheltered you for too long, Catherine.

It's time you learn what the world is like. "

Edward returned to the newspaper and read aloud an article about the lynching of eleven men of Italian descent who had been acquitted of murdering the New Orleans Police Chief.

The acquittal came amidst allegations of jury tampering, which eventually proved unfounded.

The newspaper condoned the mob-led lynching because the "swarthy criminals" had escaped justice, and now justice had been meted out.

That's how people saw it at the time. Even now, some folks don't understand.

Death, which began my life with Edward, followed us from London to New Orleans, and I could no longer look at life there with the same innocent eyes.

I knew better, although I wanted to shout to Edward that I preferred to remain in the dark, to be isolated and ignorant, not to know what I had learned—that the world was full of monsters in human form.