Page 43 of Fragile Wicked Things
The ride from the train station to the home was long and difficult, the roads winding and bumpy, at certain times, even steep. A tiny lamp illuminated a small portion of the dusty road, and I couldn't see beyond it. I shifted into Edward's arms, too tired from looking into the darkness.
Finally, we came to our new home in the south, a place called Thornfield Hall in New Orleans, renamed after Edward's manse in England. It took years to build, and the previous owner faced bankruptcy. The man had barely moved in by the time the sale was made to Edward for a good sum. He promised I would love it, although he hadn't seen it himself before our arrival except in the details provided to him by an agent.
He nudged me awake as the carriage pulled into a private driveway and whispered in my ear. "We're home, Catherine."
I looked up as we passed under a canopy of giant oak trees, standing at attention now that their master had arrived home. Thornfield was large and beautiful, well kept, unlike now. The previous owner had numerous servants to care for the property, but Edward had reduced the number to the fewest necessary.
The home was not as large as our previous one, but I could tell it would be a happier place. Even in the darkness, I could make out the stark whiteness of the home and columns against the black shutters. The veranda stretched from one side to the other, and Edward reported that it went around the house and that I could do what I liked there.
"Will we stay here long?" I asked.
“Yes, until you've grown into a fine young lady and find yourself a handsome man to marry," he said.
The carriage stopped. Edward stepped down, turned to me and scooped me into his arms, swinging me high into the air and then down to the ground. The large door looked heavy, but he easily opened it. We entered into a well-lit entrance, and I remembered an aroma from the moment I entered the house—a bouquet of cut flowers had been placed on a table, the flowers an array of magnolia and cherry blossoms, Louisiana irises and Angel's Trumpets. Those were my favorite, but they were dumped in the trash once our housekeeper realized they had been brought into the house by accident; they were poisonous if ingested and a threat to a small child such as myself.
These walls became our home, filled with joyful parties and people. Edward hated it all, but he did it for me, to introduce me to society so that I would be accepted. Days were filled with learning French, piano, dance, painting, and literature, but Edward became a little disappointed in me, saying I could do better. Now, I will admit to being a bit lazy as a child, and he was correct in believing I could have done better. Still, I was happy and cared for and loved by my guardian. Thornfield was a happier place back then, but it was all about to change.
Thirteen
By March of 1891, ten was a distant memory and Thornfield Hall played host to a week-long celebration in honor of my eleventh birthday. Each day held an event more spectacular than the last—gifts were delivered daily, friends arrived in party clothes, and musicians played incessantly—culminating in a secretive final event, but Edward refused to give further information, wary not to spoil the surprise. I begged and pleaded, but for once, didn't get my way as I often did with him.
"Will there be other people?" I asked during dinner one evening. He smiled and did not answer.
"Scrumptious sweets?" I asked when he tucked me into bed. He smiled and whispered, "Good night."
"May I have a new dress?" I asked early one morning while we sat in the living room..
The drapery was pulled together, the fabric so thick that sunlight didn't dare come in. In the darkness, I slipped a piece of candy from my pocket into my mouth. It tasted of strawberry, but I must have made some horrific sucking sound because Edward asked if it was appropriate to eat candy for breakfast, and he did so without looking up once from the newspaper he read.
In the dining room, Giovanni rattled some dishes as he set the table for breakfast. A loud crash sounded, followed by a curse word in Italian. I stared at Edward, who hid behind his newspaper. I squinted my eyes at him, burning a hole into the paper, and repeated my question.
"You have plenty of dresses," said Edward.
“Children’s dresses. I’m older now and wiser," I added, remembering a story about a wise, old woman.
Edward put down his paper, and folded it in half, going over the crease a second time. "In what sense are you wiser? Pray, do tell."
"You're mocking me," I said, arms crossed over my chest. I turned away from him and huffed, slumping back in my chair, sure my indignation would teach him a lesson.
"I see it does not mean maturity," he said, pushing his face against mine as he tickled me.
"Stop." The giggles slipped out with ease, which seemed to please my guardian. "St...stop," I pleaded between breaths, spitting out my candy by accident. Edward let go of me once I fell off my chair, falling on the old, musty carpet that, in all likelihood, had been there since the house was first built more than one hundred years before. I had landed with a loud thud.
"Are you hurt, Catherine?" Edward said.
I wasn't, but I pretended to be, holding my elbow in discomfort. He reached underneath me and led me to the sofa, where he sat me down and surrounded me with pillows to comfort me.
"Is there something I can get you to ease the pain?"
I winced at the nonexistent stab of pain, then motioned with my finger for him to come closer, the pain preventing me from speaking in a normal tone.
"A new dress," I mumbled.
"Such an actress! Would it please my Catherine to know I placed an order months ago?"
"Yes, yes, yes," I said. “Did you really?"
"The answer is a wholehearted yes." He shouted the last word so that it resonated in the room, bouncing off the walls. "But first..."
