Chapter 5

It's my factory , Otis rationalized as he turned his back on the unlawful tenant and walked to the house. He had every right to throw her out.

He could even fetch the police and punish her for living in his building without his permission. And she'd threatened to attack

him—albeit with a tin pail, but still it showed she was out of her head, did it not?

What sort of woman moved into a factory anyway? It was dark, cold, and dusty. She'd be better off somewhere else. Somewhere

with a stove to cook on and a bed to sleep in. Some place with electric lights, a telephone, and other modern niceties. Sending

her off was for the best. Had her proximity not caught him so off guard, he would have sent her away himself right then and

there. He stomped his feet as he walked, fighting the niggle of curiosity that threatened to beset him and his resolve. It

was better to go on believing her mad. Safer. Curiosity, pity—he didn't have time for such feelings. He had Reginald's affairs

to settle and a house to sell.

"Leon!" he shouted the moment the door was open. He shouted again, feeling only a small bit of remorse for waking the man. Leon did not come right away. When he did, he stumbled in. "I have discovered where Wolf has been spending his nights."

"Coons?" Leon said. "Have you gotten me up to tell me that Wolf has been chasing coons?"

"No," Otis said, shaking his head. "That would be expected, but this..." He could hardly believe what he was about to say.

"There is a woman living in the factory."

"Ah, I meant to tell you."

"What?"

"I've seen her from the window. She leaves early in the morning and comes back late in the evening. Poor thing, she's thin

as a rail. I've considered introducing myself, but she's so careful, coming and going when it's dark, always looking around,

so I've just let her be."

"You knew and you haven't sent her off?" He pressed his palm to his forehead. "You have to. I can't have her living there.

She'll tell the entire town I'm back. And I can't sell the factory with a woman living in it. She has to go."

Leon rubbed at the scruff on his chin. "Do you suppose she is more likely to keep quiet if I send her off?"

"The factory is not for living in." His jaw flexed. "It's got broken glass and cobwebs. There isn't even a bed."

"That's good of you to think of her comfort. She must have a reason for being there." Leon scratched his head. "We should

discover that, don't you think, before we clank pans together and drive her to who knows where?"

"Clank pans? That's absurd. It's no great mystery. She's working in town to help her family." The pounding in his head grew

stronger. He had enough worries—he didn't need this one. His chest hurt. He couldn't breathe in this house, not properly.

"She's a grown woman. She will have to sort it out. The factory is not a charity home."

"You sound like Reginald." Leon let his words hover in the air. "I'll go and speak with her in the morning, unless she's gone already. Does she know who you are?"

"No, I don't think so. She made it quite clear that she believed me looking for a lost dog," he said, trying with little success

to ignore Leon's remark about Reginald. Was he like his unruly brother? Like his father? Had he grown not just awkward but

cold?

"She must not be very bright. Everyone is always talking about your family and about you. Perhaps she's lacking in—"

"I don't think she's daft. There were moments when I thought that... well, she looks the part of a squatter, but she's

spry enough."

"You've formed a rather extensive opinion of the girl."

Otis scowled. "She called me Edward Rochester. Perhaps she is daft."

"If she is gone tomorrow, we needn't worry. We will simply hope she's not prone to idle chatter. If she is, you will have

to brace yourself for callers."

He gnawed on his bottom lip. "I can't have her living in a building I aim to sell, nor can I have her spreading word that

I am back. She's put me in an awful predicament." Wolf walked beside him as he continued his mumbling. "I'll think on it.

There's nothing to be done until morning. Come, Wolf."

"Until tomorrow," Leon said before retreating to his room.

From the window of the guest room, Otis could see the factory. He sat for a long time, watching the broken window so he could

see if the uninvited resident snuck out in the night. He could not pry his sleep-heavy eyes away, nor silence the questions

that rumbled like thunder inside him.

Wolf whined every few minutes. "Your fickle loyalties won't earn you a bone. She's a trespasser."

He whined again.

"You like her." He patted Wolf's head while keeping his gaze on the factory. "You've been hiding in the woods too long, same

as me. But she's not the sort of woman a Taylor man associates with."

His hand stilled. The words tasted vile in his mouth. He'd been away from the family's pomp and haughtiness for so long, he'd

believed himself rid of it all, but there he was, sounding exactly like his father. His father would have thrown her out and

washed his hands of the matter.

Otis wasn't his father. He'd promised himself that no matter how odd and out of place he became, he would never become callous

and heartless like his father. Stop thinking like him , he rebuked himself, wishing he could spit out the bitter taste.

"What am I to do?" he asked Wolf, who gave him no answer. Otis was left to decide his own course of action.

And decide he did.

In the early morning hours, long before the sun lit the sky, he made a choice, one that had him surprised by himself.

***

Running in the night had crossed Sadie's mind, but where would she go? A different abandoned building? Finding a place in

the dark would be near impossible, so she stayed, prepared to accept whatever fate came at dawn.

A fitful sleep followed, until at last a few rays of light roused her.

No one had come for her—but they may yet be coming. Darkness could no longer be her excuse for staying. It was time to act.

She would leave this rat-infested ruin and try again.

She shoved her spare clothes, hairbrush, soap, and bread into her small carpetbag. She even packed her prickly pillow that smelled heavily of turkey. It took only a minute for her to pack the entirety of her belongings, but the time was long enough for her palms to grow sweaty and her heart to beat frantically.

"Goodbye," she said to no one as she stepped near the window. Then she stuttered to a stop. A folded sheet of paper stuck

to the window frame gave her pause. She looked around, but no one was there. This note was for her—it had to be. A flutter

raced through her. She'd so rarely received mail from anyone other than her sisters. A few brief notes from Marvin over the

last two years had been exciting, though they'd lacked any real heart. But she understood. He was so busy with school he didn't

have time to write lengthy epistles.

She tore the note from the shard of glass and reminded herself that her life was not a novel and this note was not from a

suitor. It was most likely a formal request for her to remove herself from the premises. Go on, be off.

There was no need for a note. She was going anyway—the stranger had won. She almost wadded the paper up and threw it on the

ground, but curiosity got the better of her. How would he send her off? What words would he use? She unfolded the note.

Dear Jane Squatter,

She rolled her eyes. Rude, but clever.

I realize that I do not know your name and so I have given you one. Do you find it fitting? The Jane, in case you wonder,

is for MissJane Eyre, and Squatter, well, that is because you are... a squatter.

I need to speak to you. When you are able, come to the mansion house. Don't be spooked; I have a proposition for you. Until we speak, I ask that you do not discuss our encounter with anyone. It's important, for reasons I will explain later.

Blue-Wolf says hello. He's a traitorous animal and has been whining since our encounter. I fear he misses his trespassing

friend.

No need to bring your pail. I assure you, I mean you no harm.

Edward Rochester

(PS: I find it worth mentioning that I do not have a wife hidden away in the attic.)

She laughed at the letter's absurdity. How unexpected, how intriguing and crafty. Aliases, pails. After so many dreary days

of nothing but labor and judgmental words, her chance meeting with this mysterious man she knew only by alias enlivened her.

Did she dare meet him?

Sadie tucked her bag back into her corner and climbed through the window. She had no idea what his letter meant, but she'd

been in need of a miracle, and if it happened to come in an unusual form, she'd accept it.

For today, she would choose to believe that Edward Rochester had decent motives and that whatever he proposed was worth listening

to. If that was foolhardy, so be it. She had no better solutions.

She stuck her hand into her skirt pocket for the sole purpose of hearing the paper crinkle beneath her touch. How strange that in the two years since Marvin left for school, he had never written a letter that had brought such intrigue. His words were always so serious, a recap of his studies and a wish for her well-being.

"I'll be back soon. I intend to do my schooling in two years rather than three," Marvin had said as he took her hand the last

time she saw him while they walked through the back pasture. She'd felt ready to burst with happiness. "When I do, I hope

you'll still be here."

She squeezed her fingers around his and waited, knowing he would follow his sentiments with a promise. For years she'd known

she would wait forever for Marvin Bennett, and in that instant, she felt certain her long-dreamed-of moment was coming. Waiting

for him to finish his schooling would be so much easier with a promise between them. And oh, how she longed to tell the world

of their commitment to each other. To shout it to anyone who would listen. Her happy ending was there beside her. Someday

she would be Mrs.Marvin Bennett, wife to a striking man who had always been well dressed, well mannered, and everything she

ever wanted.

"I'll be here," she whispered, her voice laced with emotion. "I will always be here."

"It's nice thinking that things back here will be the same, even when so much is different for me. Well, I'd better be off,"

he said as he let go of her hand, leaving an emptiness where his touch had been. He was off, but where was his promise? "I

catch a train first thing tomorrow. I'm so eager, I can hardly wait. All I ever think about is going off to school and coming

back with a law degree."

"Two years," she murmured. Two years was fast for such a degree but an eternity to wait with no promise.

"Think of all the people I'll meet and what I'll learn." He paused and looked at her, his gaze holding hers for a long moment. Earthy-brown eyes framed with perfect brows bore into her soul. "Someday I'll buy a big house and have my own office."

She opened her mouth to speak, but in the end, she only nodded and blinked, trying to hold back her disappointed tears.

He left then, his gait and the swing of his arms exactly as they had always been. Where she felt a great loss coming, he seemed

unaffected. One more wave, a smile, and then he mounted his horse and rode away. No promise, no kisses or talk of their future.

At first she'd been hurt, but with time she'd come to see his departure as an act of good faith. He was off having adventures

of his own, and rather than strap her down, he'd given her freedom, knowing that their love was strong enough to endure. How

many characters in novels waited patiently for their love to return? Surely their feelings were stronger than those of a fictional

couple.

It'd been nearly two years. Marvin and all her dreams could wait—they'd waited this long already. And someday they'd have

tales to tell. What mattered now was ensuring that the man behind the note did not lose his temper and tell the police she'd

been living in the old building.

Jane Squatter , she mused and laughed aloud. Edward Rochester had not written her a romantic letter, but his words left her curious and a

little hopeful. She stopped, pivoted, and hurried back to the jagged glass. On a whim, she wrote a note and left it on the

broken windowpane.

Dear Edward,

Is it all right if I call you Edward? Mr. Rochester seems far too formal. After all, we already share the loyalty of a dog. I've heard dogs are very good judges of character, and he seems to find us both tolerable—even, dare I say, good company.

As for your request, I will come to the mansion after I finish work. I'll consider whatever it is you are proposing, and for

the time being I will keep quiet. If it eases your mind, know that I have very few connections in Monticello, and though I

listen to a great deal of gossip, I rarely have anything to add.

Besides, if I were to tell everyone that I was acquainted with Mr.Edward Rochester, they may think me mad, at least if they

are well read.

Until this evening,

Jane Squatter

PS: Jane is fitting enough, but Squatter? I would have expected more creativity from you. A man who names his dog Wolfgang

surely has some imagination.

She grinned as she walked away, knowing it was a risky endeavor to correspond with a stranger, but her spirits were soaring.

The police had not arrested her, and the monotony of her days had been rattled. Even if there was no good gossip at the factory

today, she had plenty to think about, and that alone was reason to smile.

Outside the general store she met Peter and his young daughter, Bessy.

"You look happy this morning," he said, making no mention of her filthy appearance. He was tall and thin as a rail, with a

wide smile that she'd known for years. Peter and his wife were the Wests' nearest neighbors and dear friends. Just seeing

him was a taste of home.

"I woke up feeling grateful this morning," she said and then smiled at Bessy. "Did you get up early so you could go for a ride with your papa?"

Bessy nodded her head and grinned up at Peter. "I said, ‘Please, please, please!'"

"Who could say no to that?" She grinned. "The weather is beautiful. It was a good day for you to go for a ride."

"Papa said we could go in the store."

Peter shrugged his narrow shoulders. The man shamelessly adored his daughter. "She said please three times—I couldn't say

no. I might even buy her a piece of penny candy if she says four pleases."

Bessy laughed. "I'll say ten pleases and give you a hug."

"I remember coming into town with my papa. Sometimes he'd buy me penny candy, and once he even let me go skating."

"Really?" Bessy's eyes lit up. "What's that?"

"When you're a bit bigger, I'll take you," Peter said. "I've got a lot of deliveries to make today. I best get going."

"Before you do, how did my pa look?"

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, he's managing to keep his spirits up, but the doctor's worried he might not walk

again. They said something about the surgery not going well and the bones not being set right. The doctor says rest is the

best medicine for now. Your pa is real thankful for you. They all are."

"I always dreamed of leaving the farm and having an adventure. But I didn't ever imagine it being quite like this." Sadie

gave Peter her letter and smiled again at Bessy. "Be sure and say a lot of pleases. Maybe your papa will buy you two pieces

of penny candy."

Bessy grinned at her father as Sadie walked away, quickening her step so as not to be late to the factory. The bell was just

ringing as she hung her thin coat on a hook.

"Mr. Hoag was looking for you," Alta said shortly after she arrived. "He needs someone to help remove the pith today. Francis isn't coming because of a bicycle accident. We suggested you."

Sadie glanced heavenward. The assignment was a godsend. She had dreaded spending the day beside Alta and Sylvia, afraid they

would sense how distracted she was and pry secrets from her.

"I don't mind working on the pith," she said, already moving deeper into the factory toward the back corner where three stools

stood beside a large square table.

Turkey tail feathers could be a foot long, and inside the shaft, they contained a soft, spongy fill known as the pith. To

make a proper duster, the pith was removed—a tedious but necessary job. It wasn't a task employees coveted, and she herself

had often dreaded it, but today she didn't mind being nominated by her fellow sorters.

Her companions for the day were two older men who preferred to work in silence. They made no remarks about her faded dress

or lack of hygiene and spoke only when there was something worth saying.

Sadie's hands moved mechanically, one feather after another. Her mind was not as rhythmic. Safe at the factory, with no gossip

to distract her, her questions grew louder. Who was Edward? A salesman? A friend of the caretakers? Someone passing through?

Midway through the day, the obvious answer, the one so close she almost missed it, shouted at her. Every story, every whisper

about the famed Taylor family came rushing back at her. Gone ten years but expected back someday... older couple managed his house. Could it be? What a fool she was not to guess his identity sooner. She bit her lip. To think she'd almost hit the man! And she'd told him he had no right to the factory—she could die of shame. Though, she rationalized, it might not be him. If it was, the whole town would know, wouldn't they?

"Do you know the Taylor family?" Sadie sliced the feather in front of her with a quivering hand and did her best to appear

only halfway interested in the response.

"'Course, everyone does. We all thought they'd be running the town for years to come, but they've mostly died off."

"But not all of them," she prodded, hoping they'd tell her everything. This time the gossip mattered. She needed details.

Like an investigator in one of the many novels she'd read, she needed a clue to put the pieces together.

"The old factory and mansion house are waiting for Otis to return. Word is he made a name for himself playing his music."

The old man shrugged and went right on cutting the feathers. "They're a high-nosed lot. Always a rung above the rest of us.

I suspect Otis is the same as his father and brother were. Probably thinks he's too big for his britches and little old Monti."

She wanted to know more, but it seemed that Otis Taylor and his whereabouts were not known, and her questions were bound to

be answered only with speculation. Edward Rochester could very well be the elusive Otis Taylor, and today she had an appointment

with him.