A Breath of Eyre (18 page)

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Authors: Eve Marie Mont

BOOK: A Breath of Eyre
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But then I came to my senses and realized something was very wrong. The air was hot and charged with static. I shook my head, wondering why everything around me seemed coated in a thin film of gray. As I got closer, I could hear the horses snorting and stomping. And I could hear something else—a low roar, like the sound of wind over the moors. Without thinking, I flew to the double doors and opened them, setting free pillars of black smoke that charged at me like wild horses. Heat as I’d never felt slammed against my body like a living thing, and a magnificent golden light filled the night sky.
The horses reared and neighed wildly, the sound of their panic over the hiss and snarl of fire jolting me to action. “Help!” I called at the top of my voice. “Somebody, help!”
The flames were a fiery wall, a hot tidal wave advancing toward me. I pressed through the heat and the smoke and began unlatching the gates of the pens, ducking my head under my arm to keep myself from choking. Some of the horses bolted right past me as soon as the gates swung open, but others reared back, afraid to move. I didn’t even think about what might happen once they were loose; all I knew was I had to get them out of the burning barn.
Curry was squealing and pawing the ground with nervous hooves. I wished I had Michelle’s ability to calm him because he refused to come out of his pen. Much as I wanted to save him more than the others, I couldn’t stop. I continued through the rows, releasing horse after horse, feeling sickened by the smoke and the acrid smell of burning hay. I threw myself to the ground for a moment to take a deep breath, crouching there and gulping air like a fish starved of water.
When I stood, the flames on the far side of the barn had grown ten feet high and were crawling their way up to the loft. Once the hay there ignited, the loft would collapse, crushing all the remaining horses. I didn’t have much time. I began screaming again, for help, for life. Black smoke poured into the stalls. I moved forward, ramming into that wall of heat again.
When I got to Odin’s pen and released his latch, he shot out like a dart, knocking me backward. My head hit the ground with a thud, and pain sliced through my body. I tried to sit up but I couldn’t move. I could barely see—the smoke felt like acid on my eyes. I could still hear the screaming of the horses, their panicked neighs, and the thunder of their hooves as they ran off in terror. But I couldn’t do anything for the others.
At that moment, I wanted to be anywhere but here. I couldn’t bear waking to the sight of a scorched barn and the charred remains of dead horses. A flood of words came into my head, words I’d memorized but had never spoken aloud. I recited them now, forcing my mind to focus on Thornfield, on Adèle and the study where we’d spent so many days playing and laughing. On Mrs. Fairfax and Pilot and the cozy nights spent in the parlor. On Mr. Rochester.
Father Legba,
I prayed,
open the door for me. Father Legba, open the door to let me pass through. To pass truly, loa, I give thanks to you.
I repeated the refrain until the words stopped making sense, because all my senses had gone dim. A warm wave spread over me, and instead of fighting it, I let it wash through me, giving myself over to the wondrous tide of a deep and drifting sleep. The wave carried me aloft through the doorway of flames and continued its relentless course until it finally slowed, depositing me onto a strange but familiar distant shore.
PART 4
C
HAPTER
18
I
woke to the sounds of horses and the smell of hay. For a moment, I panicked, expecting licks of fire and pillars of smoke all around me. But when I opened my eyes, I knew exactly who and where I was. I was Jane again, and I was back at Thornfield.
It had worked! Papa Legba had let me through. This time, the journey to Jane’s world had not been jarring and terrifying; it had been like slipping into a warm bath—comforting, reassuring. I was so relieved to be back. My brain would not allow me to dwell on the horror I’d just experienced. Lockwood already seemed very far away. All I could think about now was Rochester and how much I’d missed him.
I ran to the barn doors, which opened onto a brilliant day. I had but one path to walk, one lawn to tread, and I might see Rochester again. The fields and gardens looked so different than the last time I’d been here. It was spring now, and the hedges were full of roses. As I glanced up at the façade of the mansion, I caught a glimpse of Grace Poole standing on the battlements where I had once stood. She was peering out with a hand held over her eyes, staring straight at me.
I hurried my pace, approaching the walled garden where Rochester and I had sat to discuss his engagement to Miss Ingram. I was startled to find him there again, sitting on the same bench with a book and a pencil in his hand. Every nerve in my body came unstrung. I hadn’t expected to react so strongly to seeing him again.
Much as I wanted to run to him, I couldn’t speak to him, not yet. I attempted to sneak into the side entrance so I could go upstairs and change out of my dress, but he spotted me as I passed behind him.
“Hello!” he cried, putting down his book and his pencil and rising to greet me. “There you are! Come over here, you wicked sprite!” I approached him shyly, as if we were meeting for the first time. “Jane Eyre? You look like a dream to me. What the deuce have you done with yourself this last month?”
I was back from somewhere. But where had I been? Slowly I recalled this part of the story—Jane’s Aunt Reed had taken ill, and Jane had gone back home to tend to the woman who had tormented her as a child. I was supposed to be returning from her funeral. But I was still wearing Michelle’s red dress—hardly funeral attire. I drew my coat closed and buttoned it full to the top.
“I have been with my aunt, who is dead.”
“A true Janian reply! I am sorry for your loss, but did you forget all about me in your absence?” His words seemed to imply he had missed me. “You must see the carriage, Jane, and tell me if you don’t think it will suit Mrs. Rochester exactly.”
And then all of my illusions shattered on the spot. Mr. Rochester’s smile warmed me slightly but did not take away the sting that he was still planning on marrying Blanche Ingram. “Jane, go up and stay your weary feet. You must be tired.”
His look was so sincere, his comment so kindhearted that something hard inside me crumbled, and I said, “Thank you, Mr. Rochester, for your great kindness. I am strangely glad to be back. Wherever you are is my home—my only home.” I hastily walked away so he couldn’t see the tears in my eyes.
Little Adèle was wild with delight when she saw me, and Mrs. Fairfax received me with her usual friendliness. We had a pleasant reunion, sipping tea and catching up, and the day waned cheerfully. That evening I shut my eyes against the future and stopped my ears against the voice that kept warning me of near separation and grief.
Over the next few days, nothing else was said about Rochester’s marriage. There were no trips back and forth to Ingram Park, and no preparation seemed to be taking place for such an event. I began to hold out hope that the match was broken, that rumors of marriage had been mistaken, or that Rochester had changed his mind. Never had he called me more frequently to his presence, never had he been kinder to me, and never had I loved him so much.
The next day dawned sunny and clear. The fields around Thornfield were shorn, the roads white and baked, the trees in their prime. After a full day of collecting strawberries, Adèle went to bed early, and I took advantage of my momentary freedom to stroll the gardens outside. To my surprise, Rochester was out there as well with his head bent low amid the flowers, staring at something that had caught his interest.
I wasn’t sure if he’d registered my presence, but then he called to me without turning, “Jane, come and look at this fellow. Look at his wings. He reminds me rather of a West Indian insect.” I stood behind him and examined the insect, startled to find it was a blue and green dragonfly, its colors more brilliant than anything I’d seen. “One does not often see so large a dragonfly in England. There! He is flown.” The insect flew away, and I felt stirred by the moment, like a spark inside me had been lit. I clutched my dragonfly pendant and felt a rush of emotion.
“Come,” he said. “Walk with me.” Automatically, I began to follow him down the path, trying to drown out the voice inside my head that was telling me to run. “Jane,” he said as we walked in the direction of the giant chestnut tree, “Thornfield is a pleasant place, is it not?”
“It is.”
“You must be somewhat attached to the house.”
“Yes, I am.”
“And though I don’t comprehend how it is, I perceive you have acquired a degree of regard for that foolish little child, Adèle, too, and even for that simple dame Fairfax.” I nodded and laughed. “You would be quite sorry to part with them?”
“Of course.”
“Pity,” he said, sighing. “No sooner have you got settled in a pleasant resting place than a voice calls out to you to rise and move on.”
“Must I move on?” I asked. “Must I leave Thornfield?”
“I believe you must, Jane. I am sorry, but indeed you must.”
“Then you are going to be married?”
“Exactly. Precisely. You have hit the nail straight on the head. In about a month I hope to be a bridegroom,” he said. “And I have already found a new situation for you. You’ll like Ireland, I think. They are such warmhearted people there.”
“Ireland?” I felt crushed and betrayed. “But it is such a long way off from—”
“From what, Jane?”
“From England and from Thornfield and—”
“Yes?”
“From you.” I said this almost involuntarily, and despite wanting to remain strong, tears gushed out. “It’s a long way,” I said again, wiping my eyes.
“It is, to be sure, and when you get to Ireland, I shall never see you again, Jane.” He stood behind me, his hands hovering above my shoulders as if he wanted to comfort me. “We have been good friends, Jane. Have we not?” he said, his hands finally coming to rest on my shoulders.
“Yes,” I muttered, trying to stem more tears from falling.
“And when friends are on the eve of separation they like to spend the little time that remains to them close to each other. Come, we will sit here tonight, though we should never more be destined to sit here together.” He sat down and took my hand, bidding me to sit next to him. “It is a long way to Ireland, and I am sorry to send my little friend on such travels. I sometimes feel as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in some quarter of your little frame. And if two hundred miles or so of land comes between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapped. And then I’ve a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly. As for you—you’d forget me.”
“I wouldn’t,” I blurted out. I couldn’t repress what I felt.
“You cry, Jane, because you are sorry to leave Thornfield?”
“I am sad to leave Thornfield,” I said. “I love Thornfield. But I love it because I have known you here, Mr. Rochester, and I don’t want to leave you.”
“Why must you?”
“As you’ve said, because you are marrying Miss Ingram. Because of your bride.”
“My bride! What bride? I have no bride!”
“But you will have,” I said.
“Yes, I will. I will.” He ground his teeth.
“Then I must go. You have said it yourself.”
“No, you must stay!”
I was confused, and my heart was full. Emotions swirled in a torrent. “I tell you I must go!” I said. “Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you? Do you think because I am poor and plain, I have no heart? I have as much heart as you! And if God had given me some beauty and wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me as it is for me to leave you.”
“It is as hard!” said Mr. Rochester, grabbing me in his arms and pressing his lips to mine. Momentarily, I gave into the kiss, soft and tender at first, then more insistent.
I wrangled away, angry with myself for indulging my feelings, for indulging his, which could not be trusted. “You don’t love me,” I said.
“I do. I offer you my hand, my heart, and a share of all my possessions.”
“You’re playing a game with me.”
He shook his head violently. “No! I’m asking you to pass through life at my side—to be my second self, and best earthly companion. Jane, will you marry me?” he said.
Joy and disbelief swept through me like a wave. “I can’t! You have Miss Ingram.”
He scoffed and took both my hands in his, like we were making a joint prayer. “What love have I for Miss Ingram? None, and that you know. What love has she for me? None, except that which she has for my wealth and property. I would not—I could not—marry Miss Ingram. You, you strange bird, I love as my own flesh. You, Jane. I must have you for my own. Jane, accept me quickly. Say, Edward—say my name—Edward, I will marry you.”
“Yes, Edward,” I heard my voice say. “I will marry you.”
He drew me to him again and kissed me deeply, and for a moment, I forgot all sense, felt nothing but sensation through every nerve of my body. A violent gust of wind tore through us, almost separating us by force. The chestnut tree under which we sat groaned.
“We should go in,” I said. “It’s beginning to rain.”
A vivid spark of lightning streaked above, and I sprang from the bench and began running toward the house. The rain rushed down, and Rochester followed behind. We were soaked as we entered the foyer, and the clock struck three times. I thought of Cinderella, recalling how the termination of the magical spell had left only a poor girl in rags. My hand reached for my necklace, and at that moment, it was as if a silent alarm tripped inside me. Rochester tried to kiss me again, but I tore myself away.
“What is it, Jane?” he said.
I couldn’t speak. Finally I said, “This is wrong. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.”
He laughed and drew me to him. “This is exactly as it’s supposed to happen. Jane, be still. Don’t struggle so like a wild, frantic bird.”
I tried to recall where I had heard these words before. And then I remembered. Those were the words Rochester spoke to Jane in the book after proposing to her. And in the book, the moment had been magical, transcendent. The only problem was, I wasn’t Jane.
Didn’t I have words of my own? My heart was a turbulent riot, torn between surrendering to Rochester and remembering something it had buried deep within itself. When Rochester tried to kiss me once more, I pushed him off and fled to my room. There, I threw off my wet garments and collapsed onto the bed in turmoil.
Wasn’t this what I had wanted all along? To have someone love me unconditionally? To know I belonged to someone, heart and soul?
Yet there was a part of me that was fleeing the idea. Did I love this man, or did I simply love the idea of being swept up in a passionate romance? I had said yes to him, recklessly, but now every part of me was rebelling against that choice. Could I really marry Rochester and live at Thornfield for the rest of my life? Or did I have my own story to finish? A story that was only just beginning?
The wind blew all night and thunder crashed, fierce and frequent as the lightning that flickered outside. Mr. Rochester came to my door three times during the storm to ask if I was safe, but I couldn’t answer him. I couldn’t face him. That night as I lay trying to sleep, I listened to the wind wail across the battlements and the storm assail itself against the house. At one point, I rose and moved to the window just in time to see lightning strike the great chestnut at the foot of the orchard. It was split right in two.

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