My Mr. Rochester 1(17)

“Was your father of low rank?” She’d said soldier, not officer.

“Yes, but that wasn’t it. My stepfather sees me as a living reminder that my mother once belonged to another man.”

Belonged to another man. I’d never thought of marriage in that way, perhaps because I didn’t really know any married people. The idea of belonging to a man was repellant, as if you were his property. As if he could do anything he wanted to you. Marriage was forever. What if you married someone who turned out to be like John Reed, someone who’d hit you…and do other things…while you were tied to a chair?

“Miss Scatcherd is hasty.” Burns rescued me from those dark thoughts. “Take care not to offend her.”

“Miss Temple is the best, I think.”

“Miss Temple is good and clever, above the rest in rank and education. She could easily find a more congenial place.”

“Are you happy here?” If Burns could be, it was possible I could be also.

“Now that is a question.” She looked at her book, as if it held the answer.

The infernal bell rang, calling us in from the garden. As we walked back I said, “Is your name really Burns?”

“Helen Burns,” she said.

All at once a cacophony of female chattering spilled into the garden behind us. I whirled around to see the source of the joyous and unexpected noise, but Helen grabbed my arm. “They’ve come out too soon. Don’t look!” She pulled me along. “Come!”

I let her lead me, but I twisted in the sound’s direction, nearly tripping over my own feet, and gasped.

Thirty girls at the very least poured out of the large building across from ours, ranging from my age to about twenty. They babbled and laughed gaily as if they were daughters of rank and privilege on holiday. Most wore flowered dresses, but two were in pants and sweaters. One girl wore a one-piece coverall like a farm hand. Their hair was loose, falling over their shoulders or held back by ribbons. A few had bobbed haircuts, curls barely touching their earlobes.

All were in various stages of pregnancy.

I closed my mouth and let Helen drag me into our building.



Mrs. Reed had employed a series of Licensed Private Instructors, and despite my indifference to scholarship my homeschooling set me well ahead of my age group at Lowood. The history lecture that day on the Great Secession offered nothing new, and I struggled to stay focused on Miss Scatcherd.

I’d learned about the Keystone Rupture, how in the turmoil our New Patriots broke free of the old heathen country and established the righteous society our founding fathers originally intended.

“New Judah started fresh with the Edicts, Decrees and Laws,” Miss Scatcherd said. “We didn’t have to tear out the permissive liberality that ruined the old country. We never gave it root. Our families have full support in the law. Divorce is illegal. Women are venerated. Fathers are their children’s guardians, sons until they’re eighteen and daughters until they marry or reach their majority at twenty-one.”

“Miss Scatcherd?” I stood respectfully to ask a question, as my governesses had taught me. The instructor seemed shocked by the interruption, and the other girls looked at their hands. But there I was, stuck in my error. My pride wouldn’t let me back down. “Why are girls adults at twenty-one but boys are at eighteen?”

None of my governesses ever had a satisfying answer, but Miss Scatcherd was more than a governess. She was a certified instructor. She must know.

“Insolent girl!” she cried. “Hold out your hands, Jane Eyre.”

I did as she asked, unsure what she was about. My fellow students hunched their shoulders and shrank in their seats, and Miss Scatcherd came at me like a hound after a fox. She raised the short crop she carried and brought it down hard on my fingers.

“Ah!” I cried out in pain.

“Silence!” Miss Scatcherd brought the crop down again, this time drawing blood. “Go to the wall, Jane Eyre. Face it and consider your faults.”

I was mortified. No one looked at me but Helen, and she frowned with disapproval. Confused and betrayed, I moved to the wall as ordered.

“Husbands are required to support their wives and children,” Miss Scatcherd resumed her lecture. “And the wives and children of their deceased brothers.”

I was the example of that. If my Uncle Reed had hated me, he was still bound to care for me in the absence of a more suitable guardian. His wife was not, however—hence the solemn vow he’d required of her. The EDLs had saved me from certain poverty.

“Orphans and the poor are cared for as God intended, through private acts of benevolent charity. Lowood Righteous Institution is a prime example of such charitable philanthropy.”