Page 5 of Fragile Wicked Things
The girls began to rustle, pulled back their bedspreads and whispered to one another. No one looked at me except for the straggly-haired one, and I turned away. I walked to a wardrobe beside me that bared my name, Jane E., on a piece of paper held up by tape, pulled out a charcoal uniform too big for my tiny frame, and hid behind the open door to dress. Next, I carried my toiletry bag into the bathroom and waited for a free sink, which took some time. I brushed my teeth and stared into the sink, never looking at the girls around me who still hadn't spoken a word to the invisible girl.
"Hurry girls. Jane, you're late. It's time for breakfast." Mrs. Temple stood at the entrance to the bathroom.
Famished, I ran into the ward, tossed my toiletry bag on my bed and caught up to the other girls. Downstairs, next to the kitchen, we ate in a dark and gloomy room where plastic covered many windows, and I couldn't tell the time of day. There were five communal tables, one table for each ward and another, a little smaller, for the teachers and caretakers. Mrs. Temple hushed some of the older girls. Other women entered. One was short, round and congenial looking, and I would later learn her name, Miss Smith. The second woman, tall with hair dark like a raven, had puffy eyes as though she had been crying all night. That was Miss Miller. Miss Smith stood and led the girls in a hymn I did not know but pretended to mouth the words anyway. My head tilted down so no one would notice.
“Samantha, lead us in prayer." Miss Smith said.
The older girl with the scraggly hair stood. "Bless us, Father, for this food we are about to eat, the beds provided, the clothes we wear, and the shelter over our heads. Amen." Samantha sat down, but when Miss Smith cleared her throat, she stood again. "And for the kindness of Mr. and Mrs. Brocklehurst." The last bit didn't sound sincere to me, and I wondered, since God could tell too, would He still honor the prayer?
Two servants entered carrying trays of toast, eggs, and tea for the teachers. I hoped for buttered bread as it would have been a luxury I didn't have at home, but when the servants were finished with the teachers, they came out with bowls for the girls, placing them at one end of the table for us to pass along.
"The porridge is burnt. Again," said the blond girl sitting opposite me. I remembered her from the night before when the creature in my dream hunched over her.
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 seasonhad 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.
