Chapter 21

My car was ready at five o'clock just like the man at garage promised and I got lucky. He only charged me 1701.76 for the parts and labor so I had about 100 dollars left to my name when I got back on the Express Way and resumed my journey to Gatehead. Thankfully, the rest of the trip was uneventful and I arrived at my aunt's house at half past eight.

When I pulled into the driveway I noticed that the house looked much smaller and in worse condition than I remembered. The front gardens were over grown like no one had cared for them for at least a year. The walkway to the door was cracked and broken in spots. And the house paint was faded and peeling. It was really shocking to see Mrs. Reed's home deteriorate as it had because she was such a fastidious individual.

Suppressing the overwhelming urge to throw the car in reverse and head back to Thornfield, I took two deep breaths before grabbing my bags from the trunk and walked up to the front door. As I knocked, my heart filled with dread because I felt like that unloved child who was forced to live here so many years ago. For better or for worse, I didn't have to wait long on the porch. As soon as I let my arm rest at my side, the door opened, and I was greeted by an older woman who was dressed in white.

'May I help you?' she asked.

I lost my voice for a moment and could only speak a bit above a whisper.

'I'm Jane Eyre.'

'Who?'

I cleared my throat,

'Jane Eyre. My aunt is expecting me.'

The woman smiled warmly.

'We weren't sure if you were coming. Come in, come in! I'm Bessie, the hospice nurse.' Bessie then ushered me into the front parlor and told me to make myself comfortable. Why start now? I thought to myself as I sat on the faded sofa.

Looking around, I noticed that nothing had changed since the day that I was sent to live with Brocklehurst. The furniture arrangement was still the same. The family portrait that I wasn't allowed to be in still hung over the fireplace and all of Mrs. Reed's nicknacks were still artfully arranged on every surface imaginable. However, they were now covered with many layers of dust.

Getting up, I walked over to the shelves by the fireplace and saw my favorite book, "Stories From Many Lands," tucked away on a high shelf. I smiled because I had just been reunited with an old friend. This book had kept me company all of the times I was shunned by my aunt and cousins. Bringing the book down dislodged many layers of dust, but I didn't care as I brought the worn volume up to my nose and inhaled deeply. The old, musty book smell didn't offend me in the least, but it did bring back memories.

Whenever I was taking the blame for things I didn't do, which was often, I would sneak this book into the hall closet and read it with the help of a flashlight. I could sit happily in a world of my own making and read for hours about a little girl's adventures in India or a courageous young Dutch boy who saved his village. Until one day, when I was discovered by my cousin John.

Now, John Reed wasn't pleasant to look at because he would gorge himself daily on Twinkies, Snickers bars, and Pepsis which contributed to his severe acne problem. And his eyes were small and shifty making him look like he was constantly on the look out for trouble. Trouble should have been his middle name because wherever he was, it soon followed. He was constantly getting into fights and being suspended from school due to his foul mouth and quick temper.

Even though he only had four years on me, John looked much older because he was so big and tall. The football coaches at his school salivated over him because of his physique and strength, but he had no interest in playing sports. And John showed no interest what so ever towards his mother, who doted on him, or his sisters who looked up to him like he was some sort of God. Instead, he took great enjoyment in terrorizing me every second that we were alone together.

As I said before, I was reading my escape book in the hall closet when the door was flung open and I was pulled out by my hair.

'What are you doing, Jane?' John asked in a menacing tone of voice that made my heart race with fear. Closing my eyes, I wished with all of my might that my late uncle, who I loved almost as much as my parents, would come back from the dead to protect me. When I opened my eyes, Uncle Mike was no where to be seen and John was still towering over me. Because I was really scared, I stuttered,

'J.. J.. Just reading my b.. b.. book, J.. John.'

He ripped the book from my hand and said,

'Your book? That's not your book, it's our book. You're not one of us, Jane. You came to us with nothing so you are just a worthless freeloader,' as he slammed the book shut and bashed me in the head with it. My head flew back and I stumbled, but didn't fall. When I recovered my balance, I lost control and punched him in the stomach as hard as an eight year old girl could. I knew he was more startled than hurt, but it didn't matter. Smiling an evil looking smile, he called out,

'Mom, Jane punched me in the stomach!'

Aunt Sarah, Georgiana and Eliza all came running down the hall to see what all of the commotion was about. My aunt immediately comforted John who was acting like I had stabbed him with a knife. In retaliation for hurting her precious son, she turned to me and slapped my face hard. I fell back, losing my balance this time, and hit my head against the wall. Aunt Sarah then dragged me by my hair down to the damp, dark cellar and left me there to ruminate on what I had done.

My heart began to race and sweat poured off of my brow as I stood in the parlor. I was beginning to relive the hellish night I slept in the basement when thankfully, Georgiana and Eliza entered the room and said their cold hellos. Not knowing what to expect, I was surprised to see how they both turned out.

Eliza went from being a rough and tumble tomboy who's potty mouth rivaled her brother's to a sedate Christian Fundamentalist who never missed a chance to talk about saving my soul. Her sister, Georgiana, however, hadn't changed in the least. She was still overly concerned with her appearance and looked me over from head to toe. Even though she didn't say anything out loud, I could tell that she wasn't impressed with what she saw. I laughed to myself and realized that if this had been ten years ago, I would have been upset with the way she studied me. But now I could care less. I had more important things to occupy my thoughts.

As I turned to Eliza, the hairs on the back of neck stood up and I got all tense.

'Where is John?'

She looked down,

'Didn't you hear? He was killed by the police when he tried to rob a liquor store.' Her voice caught in her throat and her eyes began to well up. 'He was shot three times in the chest.'

My body relaxed immediately.

'I'm sorry. I didn't know.'

Eliza patted my arm.

'He is missed terribly, but I hope his soul is finally at peace. Mother is taking it quite hard.'

'How is she doing? I was told that she was asking for me.'

She sighed,

'We are taking it one day at a time. I doubt you can see her now. Mother is resting.'

I had come a long way and suffered too much hardship to be told I couldn't see Mrs. Reed, so I brushed past Eliza and went off to find the nurse.

I found her in the kitchen watching a DVD of "Desperate Housewives" and eating a dish of ice cream. When Bessie saw me standing in the doorway she quickly turned off the TV and stood up. I calmly asked her if she would see if my aunt was up for visitors. Bessie soon returned and led me to her room, as if I didn't know the way. Before I opened the door, she warned me that Mrs. Reed was in an abusive mood and that just about anything could come out of her mouth. I snickered to myself when I heard that because my aunt hadn't changed in the least.

Expecting the worst, I entered the bedroom. Bessie followed and then walked passed me to the bed.

'Ms. Reed, Jane Eyre is here.' She turned to me. 'I'll leave you two alone.'

I walked over and looked down at my aunt. For a woman on her death bed she looked pretty darn good. Her hair was all made up in a style that was best left in the mid nineties and her freshly manicured talons held a lit cigarette. She took a drag as she looked up at me.

'What do you want? Who are you?' she coughed.

I pulled up a chair and sat down.

'It's me, Aunt Sarah, Jane Eyre.'

She then put her cigarette down in an ash tray loaded with cigarette butts and said sarcastically in a raspy voice,

'Jane Eyre, I cannot believe you actually came.'

'Well, you did ask for me,' I said as I tried to take her hand.

She pulled her hand away and looked over my shoulder at the wall. I was hurt and angry that my aunt still hated me after all of these years. Instead of leaving the room as I would have liked, I put my feelings aside and stayed with her.

'You've changed,' she snorted as she flicked ash off of her cigarette and took another puff. 'The last time I saw you, you were just a little girl.'

I smiled to myself.

'I'm not a little girl anymore.'

'I guess you are right.' She tried to laugh, but it came out like a cough. 'You were such a little brat you know. Always getting into trouble. Never doing anything right.'

'If you say so.'

'Now John, he was a good boy. Why couldn't you be more like him? I wish they killed you instead of him.' She started to cry. 'Why did they have to kill him?'

'Because he tried to rob a liquor store.'

Aunt Sarah stopped crying and shot me a dirty look.

'There you go again, Jane. You always did have a bad attitude. That is just one of the reasons why I hated you so much. You always thought you were better than us! You were always reading your books and talking about all of the places you were going to visit when you were older. It made me sick. Why couldn't you just be content where you were? Why did you always have to wish for more?' she asked as she gasped for air. Aunt Sarah was very upset and it looked like she was having trouble breathing. I called for Bessie and she gave my aunt a sedative to calm her down.

'I think you'd better go. Ms. Reed needs her rest,' she said while patting my hand.

Since I had no where to go and my cousins didn't live at the house anymore, I moved into a spare bedroom and tried to make myself comfortable.

The next morning finally arrived after a long night of tossing and turning. I wanted to talk to my aunt again, but she didn't want to see me. Bessie thought it best that I give her some time. Aunt Sarah continued pushing me away, so I kept myself busy by reading books and cleaning the house. When my cousins visited, Georgiana couldn't be bothered helping and just lay about flipping through magazines, but Eliza helped with the dusting and such. It was through these encounters with Eliza that I was told that my aunt had lung cancer and was given six months to live. Because I was laboring under the assumption that she was going to die sooner than later, I stopped what I was doing and barged into her room, wanting to get this visit over with.

Aunt Sarah was sitting in bed, smoking as usual. I must have shot her a dirty look because she replied,

'What! They are already killing me.'

I sighed and resumed my post next to the bed.

'Why do you hate me so?'

She laughed before taking a long drag on her cigarette.

'Because you remind me of your mother.'

I was shocked and fingered my locket.

'My mother? What did she ever do to you?'

'Nothing. But she didn't care what other people thought of her and she was too independent for her own good. She went against her family and married your penniless father for love and was extremely happy. I married her brother for money and was miserable,' she said as she ground out her cigarette.

'So, you hate me because you were jealous of my mother?'

'When you put it that way, yes. She had nothing and I had everything money could buy yet. . .'

I couldn't believe what I was hearing and wanted to get up and shake some sense into her, but I didn't. I just sat there and thought about all of the years that she spent not accepting me as her family was not because I was unlovable, but because she was jealous that I was just like my mother.

After a few deep breaths, I sat back in the chair and waited for her to continue. Aunt Sarah just lit another cigarette and looked at me. Finally she blurted out,

'Let me have it. I deserve it.'

When I didn't say anything, her eyes widened.

'Where is that passionate little girl who told me she hated me and never wanted to see me again when I sent you to live with the Reverend Brocklehurst?'

I shook my head.

'She has grown up and forgiven you,' I said as I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

She bristled under my kiss.

'Wait, there's more.' Aunt Sarah then directed me to the desk in the hall. She told me to open the second drawer and take out a yellow folder and bring it to her. I did as she asked and she spread its contents out on the bed. 'This stock portfolio is for you. Your parents bought some what is now ExxonMobil stock right before they died with the intention of adding more shares every year so you could use the money for college. The value has grown significantly over time and now that you are eighteen, you can do with it as you wish.'

I took the paper she held up. It was a current statement telling me that I had a little over twenty thousand dollars! Now I know that doesn't sound like a lot, but for someone who has a little more than 100 dollars to her name, that amount was a fortune.

'But why didn't I know about this money sooner?'

My aunt inhaled her cigarette deeply.

'I didn't want you to know about it because I hated you and I didn't want to do anything to help you, especially after the way you treated me on our last day together. But my lawyers said I needed to tell you about the money. So I am.'

I was astonished that she still couldn't bring herself to stop hating me, but that was her problem, not mine. I thanked her for giving me the stock information and left the room.