Chapter 9

Dear Edward Rochester,

You once wrote, and so I am hopeful you will not find this letter presumptuous. I can sometimes hear you playing the piano.

The sound echoes through the halls, and no matter where I am, I listen. I don't know much about you, yet I know you must feel

deeply. You played a sad song last night, and I felt as though you understood the worry I have for my family and father. It

was as though I had someone to commiserate with. I wonder if you are missing your family and if that loss weighs heavily on

your heart. If so, I am sorry for your pain.

I thank you again for hiring me. I realize my presence makes you uneasy. When our paths cross, you pull your hat down low

on your head and step away from me. If I have done something upsetting, I am willing to make it right.

Jane Squatter

PS: Perhaps we should change my name to Jane Boarder?

She tiptoed through the house, stopping at the guest room she knew he slept in. The hall was dark and silent, nothing but

long shadows and creaking floorboards occupying this end of the house. A shiver raced down her spine. She shouldn't be here,

not when she knew he detested her presence. Looking over her shoulder, she confirmed she was alone, then slid the letter beneath

the door. There was no changing her mind now. Her words were written and delivered, and soon they would be read. They may

widen the chasm between her and her employer, or perhaps, she hoped, they would prove a bridge across the expanse. When a

cool draft sent her skirts dancing around her legs, she rushed from the hall and away from the mansion.

Off to work she raced, grateful to be out of the house when he received her missive. When she was away from the mansion, her

days were predictable. She would say hello to Peter on her way to work, give him any letters she had for him, and accept whatever

news he brought about her family. She would enjoy her moment with him, thankful that his presence felt a bit like home. And

then she would sort feathers and listen to Alta and Sylvia dissect the comings and goings of everyone in Monti.

She was right, everything went as predicted, until the evening. When she arrived home, she found a note under her door.

Dear Jane Squatter (I find Squatter has a more pleasant ring than Boarder),

I have received your letter, and now I have a secret for you.

She smiled, grateful to at last be given a chance to understand the man.

I don't know whether it is proper for us to exchange letters. I am inexperienced in the art of writing, though in many ways

it is easier than speaking, and since this is not the first correspondence between Rochester and Squatter, the damage to our

reputations is likely already done.

What? She paused. That could not be his secret—that he did not know if it was proper to write. She wanted more. She needed

to understand him. She'd never enjoyed mysteries that had no solution, and she aimed to piece together who this man truly

was. Working for a mysterious employer was fascinating in novels, but this was real life, and it felt utterly important to

understand how the man in the shadows and the man on the lips of gossips coexisted.

Still, he'd written, and for a reason she could not quite pinpoint, her stomach danced with anticipation as she read on.

I lived for many years in the country outside of Boston. My circumstances were unusual, leaving me inept socially. My father

told everyone I was making a name for myself with my music, which was not entirely a lie. I have sold and composed a great

deal of music, but that was not my sole purpose for being away. Needless to say, I am not the bachelor Monticello expects,

nor am I grieving my lost family, at least not in the way you suggest.

I will do better in the halls. I'll try to even nod my head and offer a half smile.

E. R.

PS: You look much cleaner now. Mildred must have found you something better than the creek to wash in.

Sadie should have gasped, but instead she laughed. This mannerless man left her bewildered and intrigued. And since Mildred

had requested she befriend Otis, she chose to write again.

Dear Edward,

A nod and a half smile—how blissful. I will look forward to this exchange with eager anticipation, and one day, if I am very

clever, I will find a way to pull a full smile from you.

I don't understand your life. You speak of isolation in the woods of Massachusetts, but why were you there? I have many questions,

but my mother taught me that it is rude to pry. You are a grown man, capable of divulging whatever you wish to share. Know

that I will be a listening ear if you are ever in need of one.

While I await the details of your time away, I will tell you about my family.

Her letter grew long as she described in detail her parents and each sister. She told him that she had always wanted adventure but now felt guilty for ever wishing to leave, and that being away reminded her of how much she truly had. She told him how she loved writing and stories. She told him how she longed to go roller-skating again and how she hoped to one day own a home with a library. She wrote of her father's injury and her mother's worries that he would never walk again. She wrote about the bank and the doctor bills and why she came to Monticello. She told him about Peter, who delivered her mail, and how the letters from her family kept her from crumbling with homesickness. And she told him of her nights in the abandoned factory.

I was cold and alone, but Blue (also known as Wolf) came, and then you chose to let me stay. I thank the Lord for your goodness.

Jane Squatter

Her letter had grown longer than she had planned. It was more vulnerable than she had intended. But it was all true, so she

delivered it.

***

Two days later, key in one pocket and letters folded in the other, Otis sat near the kitchen window, drumming his fingers

on the table. He was hoping that Mildred, who had just left for her evening of quilting, would come back with some bit of

information about children hidden away. Too much time had passed already. He needed something to help him find Elisabeth.

"I'll be very careful what I say," she had said before leaving. "No one will know you are back. Though I wish I could tell

them. I'd love to tell them how much warmer the house is now that you've returned."

"You flatter me. I thought I'd brought a frigid air."

"Nonsense." She looked him in the eyes. "It's good having you back, and I'm not just saying that because every time I turn

around, I find something else you've repaired for me."

"I gained a few skills living on my own. Didn't seem right keeping them to myself."

"If you wish to do your kindness quietly, I'll let you. Sadie is rather clever as well. She knows just the solution for getting

the silver to sparkle. You ought to go and find her and pass the time together. Won't do you any good sitting there, drumming

your fingers on the table. It could be hours before I'm back." She waved her hands in the air. "Go and find her."

"I... perhaps."

She left with an eagerness to her step. He watched her go before sitting at the table and peering through the gap between

the drape and the window frame, unsure if he should take her advice or not.

"Mildred suggested I find you." Sadie's voice startled him. He let go of the drape and did his best to appear at ease. In

reality his heartbeat quickened from a peaceful rhythm to a rapid pound. She stood in the doorway, wearing the same brown

skirt she always wore, her hair loosely braided and hanging over one shoulder. He'd not really looked at her since she moved

in, only sideways glances. In many ways, he knew who she was inside better than who she was on the outside, thanks to her

letters. Now his gaze lingered against his will. She was not a fancy woman, but her long neck and blue eyes were not something

he would soon forget.

"Mildred can be a rather conniving woman," he said, pulling his gaze away.

"I believe she worries about you." She stepped closer, and his impulse to flee surfaced. He flinched, fighting off the natural

urge. This was Jane Squatter. He owed her at least a half smile.

"I suppose we should oblige her." He nearly choked on the words. "If you wish?"

"Oh, I do. Mildred told me to leave the laundry and come find you. You have saved me and my back from the scrubbing board."

"Ah, so my company is better than the wash. I'm flattered."

"I believe it will be better, but the jury is not settled. You could prove incredibly dull, and I may end the night wishing I had spent

it with my hands in scalding water."

He laughed. How absurd his few encounters with Sadie had been. He'd spent years hating everyone in Monticello, but Sadie and

the Dawsons made it difficult to cling to such a notion. "Tell me, what could I do to make your time with me more appealing

than water that nearly burns?"

She pursed her lips. "Will you call my desires frivolous?"

"No."

"If I had skates and a proper dress, I would say that we should go roller-skating or to the dance hall. I would love to write

my sisters and tell them that I had been out enjoying the city."

He frowned. "I can't—"

"I know. You don't want anyone knowing you are here. You want to settle matters here without any commotion. I respect that."

She fiddled with the end of her braid. "We could go to the music room. You could play and I could listen."

"I don't play for an audience." He never had. He'd played for a teacher and for himself but for no one else. His teacher had

handled his commissions and sold his pieces. Others played his notes onstage for huge audiences, but he never did. "Your letter

said you listen in the halls. It's a compliment, but I could never play with you in the room. There must be some other way

to pass the time."

"We could take Wolf outside. It's warm and pleasant."

Could she suggest something he could accommodate? He could walk the property in the dark of night or stay directly by the

house, but he wasn't ready to venture. He might never be.

"Do you play chess?" he asked when no other ideas came to him.

"I have before, but not often enough to be a skilled player."

"Excellent. I am rusty myself. We will be a fair match."

The first game, she lost nearly immediately. By the third game, she'd improved but was still easy to beat. She smiled, even

when she lost, and he had to remind himself not to stare. But he kept going back to her face, so alive, so bright and cheerful.

Her presence surprised him. It made him want to smile in return. He'd avoided her, aware of his lack of social skills, but

here they sat, and though he was not a skilled conversationalist, he was enjoying himself.

"Might I ask you a question?" she said as they set their pieces up for a fourth game.

"I don't know," he said, stalling. He feared he knew what she would ask, and he did not know how he would answer it. "Might

I ask you one?"

"A question for a question." She grinned, put her elbows on the chess table, and leaned closer. "You first."

His mind went blank. Drat. For days he'd had questions piling up in his mind, but now when he had the chance, they dissipated,

floating just out of reach. He fumbled, then threw out the first words that came to him. "You slide letters under my door.

Is this something you do often?"

"Write letters?"

"To men?"

Her face lost its color. "No, of course not. Well, I have, but... not—"

"I wasn't making an accusation." Where was a rock to hide behind? Of all the questions he could have asked, why had this one

come out? "Blast. I should go back to the woods."

She reached across the table and put her hand on his arm. "No."

He swallowed and fought to steady his breathing, but she was touching him. Heat rushed through all of him, setting him on

fire with her gentle touch.

"I write to my sisters and my parents. I write to a friend who is off at school. And I write to Mr. Rochester, who I hope is becoming a friend."

Wolf, who sat near the hearth, lifted his head, stood, stretched, and moved closer to them. His coat caught the light, and

his hair looked as blue as the moon on a crisp autumn night.

Sadie took her hand back and put it on Wolf. Otis stared at the spot where her hand had been, wishing she would put it back.

When her hand was on his arm, it'd caused him to feel normal, less of an oddity.

In a singsong voice she talked to his dog. "You were my first real friend in Monti."

Wolf wagged his tail and Otis felt a stab of jealousy. Which, of course, was a ridiculous feeling. No grown man should ever

be jealous of a dog, but here he was, wishing the dog would run off so Sadie would give him all her attention.

"Is it my turn to ask a question?" She kept her hand on Wolf's floppy ears.

"You want to know why I wear a hat?" he said, and at last she looked up at him.

"If you're willing to tell me. If not, you must only say so and I will think of a different question for you."

Otis did not answer right away. He feared that by giving her the truth, this new friendship, if he dared call it that, would

be lost before it had truly begun. What was friendship, though, if it was not the sharing of confidences?

"The women at work, they talk of you," she said, leaning closer, and he felt certain she was trying to see deeper into the shadows of his brim. He'd never felt so exposed. If only he were a handsome man, he'd take off his hat and move closer, giving her as much time as she wanted to look at him. "When you decide to tell everyone you've returned, they will want to meet you."

"My father did me no service when he told everyone I was off making a name for myself. He let them believe I was something

I am not. And now I'm the one who will have to see their faces when they realize the truth."

"I don't understand."

Otis stood. He walked to the window and looked out. It was easier, talking in letters or with his back to her. "Tell me, do

your peers at work dream of a wealthy, handsome man?"

"I suppose."

"Would they want a reclusive man? One who intends to live far from the rest of the world?"

"I don't know. I imagine they dream of this house when they think of you, but I can't say for certain."

He grimaced. She would never understand. This friendship was an illusion, one bound to fade away.

Better to face it now. He turned toward her and pulled his hat from his head.