Page 21 of Fragile Wicked Things
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 camethe 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.
As we stood by the car in the drive, early morning sunlight peeked through the tips of the oak trees, casting a hazy, blue cloud. Rochester's announcement that he wouldn't go to the hospital and would instead send me was surprising. His eyes turned up to the approaching sunrise, and he disappeared into the house.
The smell of disinfectant was rampant; the stark white walls and ripped upholstered waiting room chairs were familiar; the sick and the dying were comforting. I spent the remainder of the day at the hospital until the doctor sent me home, keeping Catherine for further tests.
By the time I returned to Thornfield, night had fallen and I hadn't eaten all day, which left me lethargic. It was in this state that Rochester found me in the front hall when I had entered. He began to say something then stopped and looked down. I understood he thought something terrible had happened to Catherine, and I assured him she was fine. She had to remain at the hospital for a short time.
"I'm going to her," he said, stepping past me in haste. He stopped and turned to me, his posture not in its usual proud stance; his shoulders sank, and he spoke softly. "Jane, you won’t always feel so self-conscious in my presence. I know how I make you feel. I'm not a fool."
"I never thought you a fool, Mr. Rochester." The words spoken were only somewhat truthful, but my face betrayed me, and he caught a passing expression.
"Bad-tempered then? Unfriendly?"
"And arrogant." The words escaped my mouth.
He smiled then, and his eyes weren't the black abyss I had known before. They captivated me.
