My Mr. Rochester 1(3)

Yet bound to me she was. Mrs. Reed was a cruel woman. (She never allowed me to call her aunt.) She had countless faults. But she was a pious woman. With meanness of spirit and undaunted bitter resentment, Mrs. Reed kept to the letter of her oath.

She had never promised to love me.

We all at the same time noticed Bessie standing in the doorway. “Madam, a package has come for Miss Jane.”

The room went silent but for the crackle of an ember on the fire. Everyone stared dumbly at the housekeeper as if some alien language had just danced on her tongue. John Reed and his mother glared at me in indignation. How dare I presume to receive a gift!

Bessie held, as announced, a package wrapped in maroon paper and tied with a gray jute string. What could it be?

More mysterious, who could have sent it?





« Chapter 2 »

Madam Mope


I hesitated and glanced at Mrs. Reed. Had the vicar not been present, John Reed would have already laid into the package and torn away the wrapping. He’d be taunting me with whatever was inside, holding it over my head or threatening to toss the thing into the fire.

But the vicar was present, and we all stared at each other.

“Well, Jane?” Mrs. Reed finally said. “Don’t dawdle. See what it is.”

Too much to hope she’d let me escape to open it in private.

Bessie brought the package to the side table near me. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. I felt she was happy for me to have received any kind of present while the others were consternated and more than a little angry.

“Bessie, go to the kitchen and fetch more hot water for the tea,” said Mrs. Reed. “And send someone in with another log for the fire.”

Inside the paper was a dark gray cardboard box with a white oval on the top. Within the oval, gray letters read Harvard Book Store Since 1932, and beneath the oval in white letters, 1256 Massachusetts Avenue Cambridge Harvard Square.

I felt a smile curl my lips as I ran my fingers over the words. What would the inside of a hundred-fifty-year-old bookstore be like? I’d always heard they read with technology in the United States, on little flat slabs where the words changed automatically and there were no pages to turn. But of course a university would have real books.

“Well, Jane? What is it?” Mrs. Reed said. “Who is it from?”

“It’s a book.” I could have said more. Of course I knew who it was from, though I was baffled as to why Georgiana would send me anything. I opened the cover and found a loose sheet of paper lying inside.

“Read us the note, Jane,” Mr. Fleming said. “There’s a good girl.”

I obeyed.

“Jane. I know you’ll be gobsmacked to receive this package from me, but let me tell you what it is. A brilliant insight struck me this morning as I browsed the campus book store. Jane Eyre shall become a teacher! The idea must have come from your guardian angel, Jane; otherwise I can’t explain why I thought of you at all. Let this Atlas of the World mark the beginning of your career. Say hello to my brother and sister, and give Mama my love. –Georgie.”

Mrs. Reed paled. “Georgie!” She forgot to be flummoxed that Georgiana would send me a present, let alone such an expensive one. “Did you hear that, vicar? Georgie. Oh, dear. Why did we let our sweet girl go to that heathen land?”

“There, there, madam. All young people go through phases.” Mr. Fleming touched Mrs. Reed’s hand, which she didn’t withdraw. “It’s nothing, I’m sure.”

“May I be excused?” I hugged the precious gift to my chest.

“Yes, go. Leave me to my distress, selfish creature.” Mrs. Reed waved me on.

I felt rather than saw John Reed rise to follow, but his mother came to my inadvertent rescue. “Oh, John,” she cried. “Come hug me. I’m so glad you’ve stayed home this year.”

I closed the door behind me and skipped away with my present, punching the air in victory.

On her return to the morning room, Bessie caught me thusly dancing. Her mouth fell open, and I thought sure she’d report my behavior. I jerked my finger to my lips and shook my head, silently pleading with her to say nothing.

Sweet Bessie nodded and waved me on with a grin.

I rushed to the library and climbed into the window seat and closed its curtains. As was my ritual in that cold space, I stuffed one of the pillows behind my back, tucked my feet under my skirt, and pulled the coverlet over my lap.

I was free and safe, with John Reed detained in the morning room for as long as the vicar stayed.

Sitting cross-legged in my hideaway, I opened my new treasure. In one section, maps of North America before and after the Great Secession faced each other. I traced the outlines of New Judah and found New Bellefleur in Idaho, the state farthest northwest. The United States bordered our country in larger masses than I’d imagined, especially in the east.