Two Mothers
"--all fires die out at last." The woman who was Jane Rochester for almost twenty years leaned over the railing of the ship. This is where she spent the most of the days on her journey from Southampton to Jamaica--leaning on the railing of the ship and staring into the Atlantic ocean. The greenish deep water swirled and hypnotized her. Just lean a little more and...but that was a crime against God. And, Jane would obey His laws, no matter what.
For now Jane Rochester was no more but was reborn as The Mrs. Reverend St. John Rivers, wife to the man who was going to take over the mission church in Spanish Town, Jamaica. St. John had been successful in India. On the subcontinent, schools had been founded, hospitals maintained and churches overflowed with his converts. Great and good works were the result of St. John's tireless activities and iron will.
Fifteen years after Reverend Rivers arrived in Delhi, the malarial fevers that had been latent finally made the formidable St. John Rivers take to his bed. He was very ill, so very ill that in his deliriums he saw himself as Pilgrim walking to the Celestial City. With his last strength, St. John penned long letters to his sisters Diana and Mary--and to his cousin Jane Rochester. The three women grieved and prepared for the end.
But, St. John did not die. The mission counsel, in their deep concern, shipped him back to England. Haggard, graying with his alabaster complexion now a curious yellow under the tanned skin, St. John arrived in his old home in the north of England.
For, it was not St. John who perished but the hated Edward Rochester, husband of his cousin Jane. When St. John arrived at his old home of Moor House, Jane was also there, taking refuge with her cousins. She was sitting in the parlor wearing her black widow weeds, staring at the wall, her face a mask of grief and confusion under a veil. St. John's sister Mary would whisper to him that Jane rarely took food, never talked and simply sat, catatonic. Mary also whispered that the fatal collapse happened when Edward received the letter telling them that their older son James had ruined himself and was being sent down from Cambridge in disgrace.
St. John, in the role of the male relative, swooped into Thornfield to salvage something for his cousin Jane. It was while St. John was going through the finances and the contents of the safe in the study when he discovered that Edward had been hiding the true state of Thornfield from Jane.
When Edward Rochester was made Baron Rochester and then was sitting in parliament, he purchased a London house. It was necessary to maintain the Town residence. In spite of the the declining revenues, Edward returned to his careless ways with money and the London house was kept in great opulence. Edward had a French chef, a French valet, marbles from Italy laid in the floor and fireplaces, expensive wines, and soon became well known for his lavish open handed entertaining
St. John found elder son James Rochester to be a dissolute womanizing scoundrel. Young James was well on his way to becoming a drunkard, too. The second son, Richard was circumspect in his habits. He graduated from Cambridge summa cum laude and already had Ferndean manor running efficiently, an amazing feat for one so young. There was something uncomfortable, something calculating about Richard Rochester. Maybe St. John disliked the second son because he saw a little of himself in the confident but cold young man. The third child, Helen, was a beauty who had been thoroughly spoiled by Edward. Any of Jane's misgivings about the character of the little girl was a way to generate a dispute with her husband that ended in shouting and accusations. She was attending a boarding school that, in St. John's eyes, did little more than teach the girls to snare rich husbands, and spend their money on couturier shops and jewelry. The curriculum had little that was rigorous in academics and the religious instruction was minimal.
Going to Thornfield, confronting the ledgers, chastising the Rochester children revived St. John. Why, was it not like Christ cleansing the temple? St. John scourged the family. James Rochester had his allowance cut. Richard Rochester retreated to his ivory tower of Ferndean and made more improvements on the farm. Helen Rochester was broght home. She was told to disassociate herself from the other society girls that also attended the boarding school, dress modestly and deport herself as a future Christian wife and help meet, worthy of her long suffering and sainted mother.
St. John met with bankers, paid bills, took away the thoroughbred horses, James' valet, and Helen's French lady's maid, reduced the servants and sold the wine cellar. The London house was sold to pay off it's expenses and the mortgage Edward had put on some of Thornfield's holdings. St. John even arranged to have a house in Minorca sold to pay off James Rochester's gambling debts.
Whenever St. John was on furlow from the mission in India, the Rochesters would visit Moor House. Edward's sight had been restored and, (in St. John's eyes) the arrogance was restored with the vision. Oh how the man could beguile women! Both Mary and Diana were almost as besotted with him as cousin Jane. And Jane? St. John shuddered remembering how Jane and Edward would hold hands during the table prayers, whisper together and shamelessly giggle at double entendres about going upstairs to "check the luggage". Disgusting.
Edward let his wife do as she pleased. She would spend the day painting. Jane eschewed corsets and bonnets. The last time St. John saw her, Jane was as brown as the women in India and her face was covered with freckles. Every winter, the Rochesters would pack themselves off to their home on the island of Minorca and Jane would paint her wild oils of the Mediterranean Sea. Edward even allowed Jane to have a showing in a Paris gallery under a androgynous pseudonym.
But now Jane was subdued--eating little, wearing black and silent. Once again she was the waif who collapsed half dead at Moor House all those years ago. Then, as now, Jane had been sundered forever from the evil influence of Edward Rochester. The only difference in the present time was that death had made that separation permanent.
St. John knew that Jane needed purpose--that she liked to have constructive activity and that she to please. He knew that he had great power and influence over Jane. St. John believed that God had returned Jane into his care because it was God's plan to at last have them become man and wife and serve Him.
The Rochester children were aghast. It wasn't enough that the hated righteous cousin St. John interfered with the life at Thornfield-- But now, he was also taking their mother away!
Jane passively allowed St. John to alter Thornfield. She let him make all decisions. Why not? Jane had nothing left. Her love was dead, Minorca sold, her children were distant. The box of colored pencils, watercolors, oils and charcoals were untouched. How could she think of colors when her life was so undefined and grey? One day was like another as Jane moved through the months as someone sleepwalking. The upheaval at Thornfield she could only faintly discern beyond the fog bank of her consciousness. It was an effort to even sit in the parlor and listen to the lawyers and bankers. Jane only smiled, nodded wearily and returned to a land inside her head where she was walking on the beach with Edward. He was wearing a white suit and smoking a cigar...
What was marriage to St. John for Jane? A life away from the hall, becoming the dowager Lady Jane, the debts and worry about James dissolute life. She could leave the silks and satins in the wardrobe, put on simple grey cottons or black stuff dresses and become Jane Eyre again. God fearing, doing His work...and St. John would take her away from the pain of memory of Edward. St. John could still compel her to sacrifice. Edward, Thornfield and the pain of loss was put in a box in the far corner of her mind, locked and shut away. But, in marrying St. John, renouncing being the lady of the manor and becoming a humble handmaiden for the Lord and a Doer of Good Works, Jane also shut away a part of herself.
So, they married. Jane was to serve God to expiate the life with Edward Rochester. One night after they arrived in Southampton was a night when St. John succumbed to his animal nature...then they became almost strangers. Parallel lives planning the mission school curriculum, Jane playing the hymns for the church service after the sermon, Jane supervising the cleaning and restoring the hospital, learning the Spanish and the Yoruba of the island. Always polite, meals together and everything was correct, straight and good in the Eyes of the Lord.
But, the women of Jamaica were looking at one another knowingly long before the bulge around Jane's middle became noticeable. Something about how pale she was and the far away look in the eyes...
Jane was qualmish and pale through the whole journey to Jamaica. She tried to dismiss it as sea sickness, but her inner voice kept telling her the truth. After bearing six children to Edward Rochester, Jane knew the signs and that her one and only night with St. John was giving her a seventh child.
--
Mrs. Celestine Awe, society matron of New York City found herself standing in a ballroom in a smart London townhouse. The party was sponsored by some upper class socialite through the Awe's connection in the American Ambassador's circle. As impressive as these glittering receptions were, Celestine knew that her wealthy husband's wallet was the true invitation, nothing else. Celestine and Dwight heard the whispered "More Americans? God help us" as they dropped their calling cards into the silver tray in the foyer and handed their wraps to the butler. They looked at one another, shrugged and became deaf to the sotto voce comments. However, their only child, daughter Caroline colored and gasped. She looked close to tears.
Celestine grabbed Caroline by the arm and whispered, "Lift up your chin and smile.That's power, my girl. Show 'em that you are the daughter of Celestine and Dwight, people who pulled themselves up with smarts and grit, not with an old snobby name. Your father and I are proud of our Caro. You got into that fancy school with yer own head and yer own smarts, not because your father was Lord Hoity Toity High and Mighty." Caroline looked at her mother with a little fear and respect. Say what you would, Caroline's mother was not afraid of anything. A new glint of steel appeared in Caroline's large blue eyes
For, she was not always Celestine Awe. She did not always have gowns designed by Worth, matched sets of chestnut carriage horses, satin sheets, doors opened as if by magic at luxury hotels or having as her most trying task deciding which set of Spode china to serve the afternoon tea.
This formidable New York society matron was born Selena Sarby of Northern New York State. Her parents came from the tiny hardscrabble dairy farms so characteristic of the area. Generations of trying to coax crops out of soil that was half gravel and half worn out dirt took its toll. Selena's father moved to the small town of Knopfen Falls, to where there was a small tannery and glass works factory. The hours were long and the wages were scanty. What her father did earn was squandered at the neighboring saloon. He would return to the two room shack they called home and begin to beat their mother. By that time, Selena had already hidden her brothers and sister under the bed and was motioning them to be quiet
Celestine grew up grateful for a piece of cornbread, although she would often give her share to her hungry younger brothers and sisters. Shoes made from Morocco leather, how about having any shoes to wear in the brutal upstate New York winters? It did not even matter that they fit. Which house for the summer--Long Island or the island off of Massachusetts? Well, what about begging to sleep in the Presbyterian church because papa drank away the rent money?
Blatantly sending a daughter out to snare an English aristocratic title with her wiles and money? How about the day that Celestine saw that Mama had no more food, not even an apple. There were three little ones, younger than Celestine with empty stomachs. Celestine pinned up her hair, brushed off her only good dress and went to the local hotel to sell herself.
The man from New York City paid Celestine with a real silver dollar. Her mother had a wonderful gooseberry tart from the kitchen of the hotel. The brothers and sister had milk, white bread, butter, cheese and even their fill of apples.
One Spring morning, Selena handed over half of her savings to her mother's landlord. This would be the assurance that the little ones had a roof over their heads for several months. Selena also intimated to the landlord that her family had best not be put out on the road or there would be Hell to pay.
Selena kicked the dust off her feet and made her way to Saratoga Springs. She had a mission. Never again would she be hungry or beholden to another for her welfare. And, she was going to be able to put her feet up at night and her shoes under her bed and sleep soundly.
Young David Issur Auer was visiting a new business associate at the Saratoga Springs spa hotel. He also had a goal. It was simple--he was going to be rich and he was going to be a gentleman. In America, to become a gentleman, all you had to do was become rich. Problem to solution. Life was simple. Where he was born in Memel Lithuania, it was not simple.
David met the young Selena. It did not matter that she earned her money on her back accommodating the male guests of the hotel. David recognized in the smart red haired girl someone who was also hungry for more than food. He understood that there were people who survived.
At the Saratoga Springs Municipal Marriage Registry, Selena Sarby of Knopfen Falls and David Auer of Memel Lithuania died. Out of the ashes rose Mr. and Mrs. Dwight and Celestine Awe were born. They were partners. And, in five years, they were rich.
From across the room, a youngish man noticed the Awe family enter the room. He was nattily dressed in white tie. Upon closer inspection, one would notice that his linen shirt, though once expensive, was a little threadbare and that a small burn spot was covered by clever arrangement of his cravat. He gave the impression of that insouciant confidence that was from a life of priviledge and luxury. Closer inspection would show that he was of smallish height with mousy brown hair. His face was small, almost elfish. In a woman, it would never be beautiful, but lit with a personality it could be piquant. However, in this young man it betrayed a weakness of character. The black eyes were large and fine. Tonight they were clear, not bloodshot and bleary with drink. He pasted a charming smile, threw back his shoulders. He advanced to the Americans, bowed and asked the sign his name on Caroline Awe's dance card. With a flourish, the name "James Eyre Rochester" was written on the top of the card.