Page 45 of Fragile Wicked Things
"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."
