Chapter VII - Blackfield
Once I had arrived back in Blackfield, I told Amelia about the recent news I had received from Mrs Grateley. I explained to her how it had turned out my mother was in fact alive and had attempted to contact me over the course of a decade. How's that for a shocker? This piece of news was life-changing to say the least and made me wonder what would have happened in a parallel universe, one in which Mrs Grateley was not such a spiteful person, one where she had handed over my mother's letters willingly and had not taken a possible future with my mother by my side away from me. How could someone go to such lengths only to cause one helpless little girl, who had never intended a single soul any harm, such pain? If I had received my mother's letters, I know it would have simplified my life. They would have provided me with comfort during a time I hardly knew how to survive. Perhaps I could have visited her in France or she could have come back to us; but those are all hypotheticals and, sadly, I cannot change the past. There is one aspect, though, that I just can't wrap my head around. How on Earth did my mother find out our new address at Ravenshead Manor? She had left my father in the dark as to where she was headed, so he couldn't have told her; and even if he had kept in touch with her, he would surely not have deprived me of a relationship with her, would he? Granted, he did tell me that she was no longer with us, but I assumed it was because he thought she would never return. My mother had apparently simply up and left one morning, never to be heard of again, at least that was how she had described it to me in her letters, but it is puzzling to me how she could possibly have known where we had moved to. In another uncanny coincidence, her letters had begun around the time my father and I had first moved to Ravenshead, as if she had somehow sensed I was in desperate need. All very strange.
I was hoping to find out more on the matter when I spoke to my mother personally, should that day ever come. To start with, however, I needed to formulate a letter in response to my mother's last one. That was really the least I could do. I needed to let her know that I had finally received her letters and explain to her why it had taken me so long to respond. I decided to sit on our little patio in the back garden. Today is one of those rare days when the weather is humid, the sky has just cleared up from the rain and the sun has come out, shining so brightly it was almost blinding. I must admit that although I despise the cold, I love the rain, especially in the summer and now that it has passed away, the world looks as if it has been renewed, like it has been splashed with a fresh coat of paint. The colours are brighter and the air is fresher. It was not a lot of land, but it was picturesque, a place I could retreat to and in which I could calm my nerves. I would often sit in the garden to read "Jane Eyre" and I have recently begun again.
Armed with pen and paper, I headed outside and positioned myself facing our little green haven, but how can you start a letter when there is so much to say? Where to begin when writing to a long-lost mother? This was a first for me. I stared at the blank page before me, which I had fastened to a clipboard, so I would have a hard surface to write on.
This will only be one attempt of many, I thought to myself. It made it easier to think I would write several drafts, so I could let the right words come in due time, instead of trying to force them out of me. I began writing. After I had filled a page, I went back inside to fetch my tattered version of "Jane Eyre". I needed inspiration. With the midday sun warm on my back, I opened my beloved book and continued reading where I had left off the last time:
Why was I always suffering, always browbeaten, always accused, for ever condemned? Why could I never please? Why was it useless to try to win any one's favour? [...] I dared commit no fault: I strove to fulfil every duty; and I was termed naughty and tiresome, sullen and sneaking, from morning to noon, and from noon to night [...]
What a ferocious temper! What fire simmered within Jane, how strong her need was to call out her tormentors and how deeply implemented her sense of justice was. When would her punishment finally end for sins never committed, when would she finally find her little piece of freedom and happiness? I had often felt the same way, growing up at Ravenshead. Back then, Jane's suffering seemed to mirror my own.
While I was reading those lines, I felt like I was there, with Jane. I felt like I could see her, almost touch her. I lifted my eyes from the page and stared into the distance at the large laurel hedge, which framed our garden. My vision had grown blurry, the leaves turning into one single dark-green blob of mush. I blinked away the haziness and began reading aloud.
"Unjust! — unjust!" said my reason, forced by the agonising stimulus into precocious though transitory power: and Resolve, equally wrought up, instigated some strange expedient to achieve escape from insupportable oppression — as running away, or, if that could not be effected, never eating or drinking more, and letting myself die.
I, too, was shaped by the incidents from my past, but when I had my chance of escape, I took it -and it had come sooner than expected. A new beginning, no matter how rough it had been, had helped me distance myself from the toxic home environment that I had grown up in after my father had passed away. Being sent away from Ravenshead was my chance of freedom. If I hadn't been sent to Littlewood, I wouldn't have received a scholarship, funding my studies of Modern Languages at Highcliffe University. So, in a way, being sent to Littlewood was the best thing that could have happened to me. In any case, I found my way back home in the end.
Now that I have finished my university education and received my degree, I'm at a bit of a loss of what to do with the rest of my life, even though I work part-time at the local library here in Backfield and my goal to become self-sufficient has almost been achieved. However, I do not want to settle for less. I need to find an occupation that I am passionate about, but even applying for internships is wrought with difficulties. I feel like I do not really have a purpose in life at the moment, but I have Amelia by my side and that is certainly a wonderful prospect.
As I continued reading, I felt my eyelids grow heavy. After several attempts at blinking my fatigue away, I gave in and slowly shut my eyes. What a heavenly feeling giving in can be...