Page 4 of Fragile Wicked Things

When the girls ate, I noted each girl would dip their spoons into the porridge and bring it to their lips, wincing as they swallowed.

It tasted horrid! Did the servants know?

Did the teachers know? They must have; otherwise, they'd have also been eating porridge.

Mrs. Temple looked around as the girls ate, leaned into Miss Smith sitting beside her, and spoke.

They both shook their heads in a disapproving manner.

After breakfast, we walked along the main floor corridor to various classrooms, but when the girls scattered into different rooms, I stood there, not knowing whom to follow.

Miss Smith stood at the entranceway of one and beckoned me in.

I obeyed, entering with all eyes on me. Finally, I sat at an empty desk in the front row.

The first lesson of the day began with history, followed by mathematics and literature before lunchtime.

It wasn't much better than breakfast and consisted of bread and cheese.

Although nothing had been burnt, the bread was stale, and the girls dipped it into their water glasses to soften each bite.

French lessons followed, then geography, and music, but without instruments.

We each unraveled a large piece of parchment with piano keys drawn on and had to make do with only thirty keys.

I'm not sure how we were expected to learn, but our teacher occasionally allowed one of the girls to practice on her piano, which sat near the window.

"It's out of tune," the same blond girl from breakfast whispered to me; otherwise, I would not have known.

"I'm Jane," I whispered back.

"Helen."

That began my truest friendship at Lowood.

* * *

The Christmas season had come to Lowood, and even Mr. Brocklehurst's impending visit couldn't thwart the girls' good cheer.

The younger ones fitted popcorn on thread to decorate the tree, but not without first stuffing bits into their mouth.

The older girls sat near the warm blaze of the fire, braiding hair, then adorned it by fashioning ribbons from the Christmas decorations.

The faint smell of pine infiltrated the living room.

Miss Smith smiled and hummed, content in teaching her girls to bake her specialty—a layered cake topped with buttercream icing—and made especially for Mr. Brocklehurst, his wife and boys, who stopped by for afternoon tea on Christmas Day.

The purpose for the visit, I ascertained, was for his family to congratulate Mr. Brocklehurst on his fine Christian act of caring for orphans and troubled girls.

Being the most recent girl, Miss Smith thought I should serve the tea and sweets to show Mr. Brocklehurst how well-behaved I could be.

The prospect didn't appeal to me until Miss Smith promised leftover cake, but I feared there would be none when I looked at the younger Brocklehursts.

The twin boys looked to be my age but heavy; Benjamin had a freckled face that read like a map to some hidden treasure, while Samuel's complexion remained unblemished.

Mrs. Brocklehurst, tall and thin, had wisps of grey hair that framed her face.

She looked rather ordinary, and I imagined I would look like her when I grew up.

Miss Smith asked that I bring the tray of cake, tea, milk, and honey to the boys while she served the Brocklehursts and Mrs. Temple, who had joined them.

At first, I entered the room clumsily, rattling the teacups, but I got my footing and balanced the tray.

Mrs. Temple tensed and didn't relax her shoulders until I placed the tray on a table between where the boys sat. They dived into the slices of cake.

"Manners!" their mother reminded them.

Benjamin looked at the slice on his brother's plate, then back at his own. "Samuel took the larger piece."

"Did not."

"Did so."

"Boys," Mr. Brocklehurst said with no sternness in his voice. I was not accustomed to his casual response. The adults paid no further attention to the boys, but I caught one growl at the other.

"You're the young girl my husband picked up from Wakefield, oh no, from Liberal. Jane, isn't it?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"She had no manners when we first met. You have learned to behave now that you're at Lowood, have you not?" Mr. Brocklehurst said.

I turned to Mrs. Temple, who nodded her head in the affirmative. "Yes, Mr. Brocklehurst," I said.

"Very good," he said.

"Mother, may I have another slice of cake?" Samuel asked.

"Me, too," said Benjamin.

"Yes, dears. Jane?" Mrs. Brocklehurst saw me as nothing more than a servant girl.

"Yes, Ma'am."

In the kitchen, Miss Smith cut two slices so large that only crumbs were left.

Suddenly, I felt angry at their greed. It seemed to me they had done nothing to deserve the first two slices, and now they were to get the rest. Miss Smith licked icing from her fingers, and when I looked down at the slice, I noticed an imprint where she had handled it.

"Go on," she said.

Back in I went, but a ferociousness grew in my empty belly. I passed the Christmas tree with its wrapped presents beneath, each with our names engraved on small cards as a show of pleasantry. Happiness at Lowood was about as real as the empty Christmas boxes under the tree.

The twins grabbed for their slices. Benjamin hesitated as he examined his cake and then looked at me. He pursed his lips together. "She had some of my cake. I saw how she looked at it before. She dipped her dirty little finger in my icing and ate it."

All looked at me.

"Jane, did you?" Mrs. Temple asked.

"No...no…I didn't," I stammered, but to Mr. Brocklehurst this meant a clear indication of my guilt.

"I'm sure it was an accident," their mother said.

"That's not the point, is it? When asked a direct question, this young girl lied," Mr. Brocklehurst said.

Immediately, Mrs. Brocklehurst looked down to her lap. A blush sprang to her face, and she spoke no further. I defended myself and said a few words, but they came out as a mumble.

"Speak up, girl!"

"I didn't lie," I repeated louder.

"I'm sure it's as Mrs. Brocklehurst suggested. An accident occurred, and Jane didn't realize..."

"Mrs. Temple, I find your intrusion in this matter troublesome. Lowood is a place for girls to be groomed into clever and good ladies, just as my mother foresaw when she started this home."

"Yes, Mr. Brocklehurst."

"Yet you insist on defending her character."

"She's just a child."

"A child, yes, who must learn respect and obedience." Mr. Brocklehurst put down his teacup and glared at Mrs. Temple, the wolf rearing its true self. "Respect and obedience, I suppose, are not things that can be taught by you."

I was no longer the subject of his attack. Mr. Brocklehurst grew darker, his voice louder, and as he pushed himself forward in his chair, the button on his jacket strained. In comparison, Mrs. Temple seemed to shrink in size, her spirit breaking as she stared at the floor.

When she did finally speak, her voice cracked. "I'm not sure..."

"Are we running a home for the girls to live in a life of luxury and indulgence, governed by their whims and wants?

We sent Ike to clean house in Washington, and now I'm afraid my own house is out of order with these.

..these..." Mr. Brocklehurst was at a loss until he sputtered out, "communist ways. "

Mrs. Temple's mouth fell open at the great offense. "If anything, I bring order to this house with good Christian values."

Silencing the conversation, Mr. Brocklehurst waved his hand in Mrs. Temple's general direction to dismiss her. Mrs. Temple had bested him. I smiled at her victory, which led to my downfall as his eyes fell on me.

"I see that you feed their bodies but starve their immortal souls. Are you amused by this, Jane?"

If I answered no, it would be a lie, and I never told lies, but if I spoke the truth, it would lead to consequences. "Yes, sir."

Mr. Brocklehurst looked to Mrs. Temple at once, then stood over me and pointed his finger in my face. So infuriated was he that he spat out his words. "This is why there are rules in this house, Mrs. Temple. So that we don't have disagreeable ladies at Lowood."

He grabbed me, his large hand around my small arm where he could touch index finger to thumb, and pulled me out of the room.

Mrs. Temple and Mrs. Brocklehurst gasped and followed as he dragged me up the stairs, down the corridor, and into my ward.

Some girls sat around the communal table, their textbooks and notebooks opened.

All looked at me, relief on their faces that it wasn't them.

Mrs. Temple entered the room, but Mrs. Brocklehurst held herself back in the doorway.

"Bring me that stool," he told an older girl. When she returned with it, he said, "Stand on it."

At first, I thought he had spoken to the older girl, then realized he had addressed me.

I did as I was instructed, but a darkness grew inside me.

I struggled for control, taking measured breaths.

Mr. Brocklehurst stared at me; his grey eyes colorless against his reddened face.

I had to look away, and my eyes rested on Helen, who stared at me, eyes wide.

Then she smiled as if to pass me some of her courage.

I knew then that I would endure whatever cruelty Mr. Brockleworst had in store for me and remain stoic.

"This girl is a liar—a girl of weak character.

The Reeds warned me of a darkness well inside her, and you should all take my warning.

Watch her closely for she will lie, cheat, and bring dishonor to Lowood.

She will contaminate the pure and on such a Holy day, I will not allow her to.

She is to stand here until after the girls have eaten their Christmas dinners. "

"She's a child. It's much too harsh a punishment," Mrs. Temple said.

"She will do as I say, and you will see to it. Is that understood, Mrs. Temple?"

Silence followed, and she looked down for a few seconds before whispering, "Yes." This seemed to satisfy Mr. Brockleworst , who looked straight at me. He let out a "humph" and walked out of the room.

I remained on the stool while the girls looked on, believing me a liar, a cheater, and an impure person. My character had been attacked, and I did nothing to defend myself. I endured that lie at Lowood and hoped it did not represent the world outside and that justice reigned.