Page 46 of Fragile Wicked Things
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.
Fourteen
After that terrible night, Edward sent me away. I was devastated to be abandoned as I was, but he said I was better off at a boarding school in upstate New York than to remain there. He promised it would be for a short time, but months turned into years. I spent every Christmas and summer at Thornfield, but the emotional distance between us seemed greater than the physical one. I worried he regretted being my guardian and grew tired of my spoiled ways. I wrote often, but he responded with one letter for every three of mine. Still, I couldn’t wait for school to end so that I could return home.
And return, I did. With my studies now completed, I returned to Thornfield Hall as a young woman, and despite the years away, it was still home.
An orange hue rose in the distance, over the hills and treetops where Thornfield's property ended and the farm next door began. The clouds, white most times, absorbed the orange color, dark at first and then brightening as each moment passed. Birds chirped to signal they were waking up too, and little squirrels shook tree branches, running from one oak tree to the next, leaves swaying as they passed. The air grew cold on that particular late spring morning. Sunlight peeked between the leaves, spotting the tree trunks with brilliance. I noticed all these details as I waited, anxious for Edward's return, who had gone away on business the three nights prior, as he always did—three nights once a month, Edward disappeared.
For years, this was Edward's pattern, and when I was little, it worried me, fearing that he would never return. Return he always did. Growing up, I became used to his ways and never gave them much consideration, except on that morning. Not only was it the day of the Grand Ball, an affair I had anticipated for many years, but I had been home for good for three days. Surely, he could have changed his business trip to welcome me home, but his absence worried me. Now that I was eighteen with school behind me, was my life with Edward over?
Hooves pounded the drive at full force, speeding along the narrow path between the oak trees, racing towards the main house. Edward arrived home. I flew away from my window, down the steps, and threw open the front door. The carriage stopped close to the door, and Edward rushed in, holding his coat over his head and pushing me out of his way. He banged the door shut, leaning his shoulder against it.
"You're late. I was afraid you had forgotten," I said.
Edward looked down at me with a look of surprise that I had been standing there at all. He straightened, his arm limp at his side, the coat touching the floor. "Welcome home. I would never forget tonight of all nights," he said.
His response was rather perfunctory and made me wonder if indeed I was welcomed, but I kept my concerns to myself. It had been so long since we last spoke and last saw one another that I expected more of a homecoming.
"Come, sit in the drawing room with me so you can rest up. You're agitated running in as you did."
I led him into the darkened room. He sat by the unlit fire and threw his winter coat, which was too heavy for the weather, on a nearby chair. Picking up the blue coat, I fingered a small hole where it had been seared, and poked my finger through to show him. "Oh, Edward, please tell me you weren't smoking."
"Indeed, I was. Awful habit."
"Yet you persist." I ran my hands along the rest of the coat, flipping it inside out and inspecting the lining. "Look, there are several more holes in your coat, and large ones, too. Now that I’m home to stay, I can take care of you."
"Forget about my coat and put it down. Sit near me."
I sat on the floor by his feet like I used to as a child. He was unusually quiet and didn't even look at me, staring at the fireplace clean and emptied of ashes.
"Is there something wrong? What kept you?" I said.
He remained silent at first, stroked my hair absentmindedly and mumbled an answer. "I'm tired, Catherine. Let me sleep."
Edward's hand stopped mid-stroke, his finger twisting a few strands of my hair. When I looked up at him, I found his eyes closed. That would not do, I had decided. Not only was there no homecoming for me which left me sorely disappointed, but I worried about the Grand Ball. He couldn't fall asleep in that uncomfortable chair; otherwise, he'd complain of aches and pains when he awoke and be at risk of not attending the ball. And I couldn’t go without Edward as my presenter. Oh, how I prayed that he wouldn't let me down.
"Edward," I whispered. "Mr. Rochester," I said louder. "You shouldn't sleep here."
Nudging him became futile. He was exhausted, so I leapt to my feet, went to the window, and threw open the heavy drapery to let the sun in. Edward cried out and threw himself onto the floor, crawling about to his coat which he threw over himself.
"Close it!" The barbarous sound in his voice shook me; its savagery was notably different from the Edward I knew. Pulling the curtains closed, I peered into the darkness at Edward, motionless on the floor. My breath came out in spasms. I crept towards him and threw my miserable self into his arms, crying, apologizing for my shameful behavior. However, I didn't understand at the time what I had done wrong.
* * *
A young womanstared back at me, her hair shiny, cheeks rosy, lips stained with a touch of red. I sucked in a breath, and my hand flung to my stomach where the butterflies wouldn't give me one moment of peace. More lipstick. No, any more and people would mistake me for a harlot. Shoes. I had nearly forgotten to put on my shoes. What a sight I would have been at the ball when they called my name and I trotted out in bare feet! Excitement mounted at the idea of being introduced to society where I would join the likes of Patti Lacroix, who came out the previous year and was already engaged. I obsessed over meeting a handsome gentlemen caller or several who would keep my dance card full, entertain me with stories of their travels and talk incessantly about themselves. I would remain polite, nod when required, smile when initiated and accept every offer to swoop along the dance floor.
The heels of my shoes were low so as not to embarrass any of the shorter gentlemen callers; my escort, for instance, stood only two inches taller and with my hair swirled on top of my head, I feared appearing like a giant. My escort was the son of a friend of Edward's from the club, a nondescript young man, Charlie, whom I'd met once or twice. He didn't speak much to me on those earlier occasions, and it would have suited me just fine if he remained quiet at the ball.
The white gloves were difficult to put over my sweaty hands. I wiped them on my bedspread and wiggled my fingers into the gloves. My skirt rustled as I walked down the corridor toward the top of the stairs.
"Ready, Edward," I called down to the drawing room where he waited.
"Excellent," he said, venturing out of the room and into the entrance hall. "The sooner we arrive, the sooner we may leave." His top hat and coat had been thrown over a chair by the front door, and he busied himself with them, not once looking at me as I descended the stairs one at a time, careful not to step on the bottom of my dress and trip. My hands were as white as the gloves that covered them, clenched so tight to the railing! When I reached near the bottom, Edward turned to me with an expression I had never seen before. He had fallen silent, his face flushed, his mouth dropped open, and he wouldn't stop staring. I brought a gloved hand to my face in horror.
"Is there something on my face? A pimple?" I asked, horrified.
