JANE DEYRE: A Contemporary Retelling by Nelle L'Amour

Author:Nelle L'Amour [L'Amour, Nelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance
Publisher: Nichols Canyon Press
Published: 2022-04-27T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 34

Jane

This day, which began with tragedy—the crushing death of Adele’s snail Stripe—has ended on a bright note. It may even be one of the best days of my life. I had fun. I felt purposeful. I felt . . . okay, reader, I’ll say it . . . in love.

We ended it with dinner together with Grace in the kitchen, and then Mr. Rochester joined me when I read a bedtime story to Adele. He sat next to me on the bed, the warmth of his body radiating through mine. He then called it a night, saying he had work to do. In a way, I was relieved he didn’t walk me back to the guesthouse. Knowing how easily I would succumb to him if he put a move on me. Adele’s observation was astute. He’s using an approach-avoidance tactic with me. And truth is, I’m doing the same. Though struggling to fight the pull. My attraction.

Armed with my duffle bag, vision board, backpack, and guitar, I traverse the pebbled path as fast as I can. The night is again cool and damp, the heavy fog obliterating the stars and veiling the full moon. The misty air silent except for the crunch of my footsteps. And the chirping crickets. Opening the stubborn gate, the guesthouse comes into view. The lights are oddly on, though once again I’m positive I turned them off after I packed up my things.

When I get to the front door, I turn the knob. A sense of security washes over me. It’s locked. Maybe the locksmith who was here left the lights on. I reach into my jeans pocket and retrieve my new key. The one Ms. Fairfax reluctantly gave to me. Fingers crossed it works. I insert the cold metal into the keyhole. Turn it. It’s a little stiff. With another twist, I hear a click. The door unlocks and I push it open. Letting out a sigh of relief, I drop my duffel bag on the floor and suddenly realize how tired I am. It’s been a long day full of ups and downs. I’m emotionally drained. Leaving my bag behind, I trudge to my bedroom with my vision board, backpack, and guitar. My room looks intact. And the window is closed as I left it. Phew! Convinced no one is in the house, I hang my vision board back on the wall. The hooks that Mr. Rochester hammered in are still there.

I return to the entrance to retrieve my bag and to make sure the door is locked. It is. Carrying the bag, I catch sight of the letter of resignation I typed last night still in the carriage of the old typewriter. With my bag in hand, I pad over to the desk. I don’t want to wake up to it tomorrow morning. I yank it out of the typewriter.

Beneath it is another sheet of paper. On it in red marker caps:

BURN IN HELL, JANE DEYRE!

My hand shakes. My heart thuds.

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