Jane of Air

by Jessica Penot

  When I was done unpacking, I sat on the bed beside Helen. The door opened and a young woman popped her head in and announced dinner. She said she would wait for me in the hall to show me down. I thanked her and turned back to Helen. I couldn’t suppress my smile. I was so happy to be there.

  Helen shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not going to eat in Creepsville. The food here is probably poisoned.”

  “Creepsville? If you hate it here so much, why don’t you leave?” I matched her stance and crossed my own arms over my chest. “This was your idea. You pushed me to take this job. Why did you bring me here?”

  “I didn’t know it would be like this. How could I have known? Jane, I can see things you can’t. We should leave.”

  “I can’t leave,” I whispered. “I have no place to go and even if I did, there is something special about this place.”

  Helen huffed and stood up. “Girl, you’ve read waaaaay too many romance novels.”

  “So what if I have?” I said, flinging my arms wide. “So what if I have big dreams and want something good in my life for a change.”

  Helen grabbed my hand, her expression desperate. “We’ve been through a lot in our lives, you and I.” She touched my face. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I made a mistake with this.”

  “How can a house hurt me?” I said, shaking my head. “I’m sorry Helen, but this time, you are over-reacting. I need this job. I need a place to live. And I need to get through the next four years so I can finally live my life the way I want to live it.”

  Helen shook her head. Her lips had thinned in an angry line. “Look, I can’t stay here. If you don’t want to come with me, then fine. You’re on your own then. But I’m outta here.”

  “Fine!” I said, feeling hurt and mad at the same time.

  “Fine!” she replied, and grabbing her bag, she left.

  I quickly put the rest of my things away and used the bathroom. Sometimes Helen made me want to scream, she was so stubborn… But I wasn’t going to budge. No way. Thornfield was the best thing that had ever happened to me, I could feel it. I blew out a deep breath, left my room, and smiled at the maid who was waiting patiently for me in the hall.

  I followed the young woman down the long hall, back downstairs, through the formal dining room, into the huge gourmet kitchen, and finally to a cozy area off the kitchen with a round table set for six people. The scent of thyme and rosemary drifted through the air and my stomach growled in response to the lovely aromas. Food had been a scarce commodity in the Blankenship home. Even though I’d started working from the age of eight as a babysitter, as well as mowing lawns in the summer, before I was old enough to get a job at a local bookstore, most of my earnings had gone to clothes, and school supplies, and books. My food staples consisted of ramen noodles, mac and cheese, and bananas because I needed some nutrients in my diet. I took a stack of plates from a young man and helped set the table.

  There were three staff members present. Mrs. Fairfax sat at the head of the table. Jenna was the girl who had announced dinner and she was also the cook. She was older than she looked. She had started talking as she entered the kitchen and seemed unable to stop. She had three children she supported on her own and she cooked and served the meals and then went home. She was tall and heavy set, with a face that could have been almost any age. She had curly dark hair and pretty dark-blue eyes. James was the other staff member. He took care of the horses and helped with minor repairs, as necessary. He looked like he was about twenty-five and he smiled too much for my comfort. He had short blonde hair and big brown eyes that I imagined got him plenty of dates. He was good looking in that boy-next-door kind of way.

  Mrs. Fairfax stood up and smiled. “Before dinner is served, I would like to introduce you to Jane Marsh. I hope you will both make her feel at home here. During the day Jane will be attending class at Huntington, but at night she will be Miss Adele’s companion. Her duty is to watch over Miss Adele to make sure she is all right.”

  James stared at me in a way that made me want to crawl under the table and hide. “I would be happy to show you around so you won’t get lost… It’s easy to get lost in a big place like this with so many dark places…”

  “No need,” I said bluntly. “Mrs. Fairfax already gave me a tour and I have no problem finding my way around.” I returned his creepy leer with a scowl.

  Undaunted, he continued staring. “You look something… Are you Mexican or something?”

  I hated that question. I wanted to pull my shirt up over my head. “Yes,” I lied. “I’m Mexican.”

  Jenna hit James on the shoulder. They were obviously friends. “That is rude,” Jenna commented.

  “I had a friend in high school from Mexico City. His name was Garcia. Do you know him?” James continued. He may have been flirting, but I was inexperienced and he was doing it terribly if he was doing it, so I couldn’t be sure. I just knew I wanted him to shut up.

  “Yes,” I said coldly, going into nerd-brain mode, which was how I usually dealt with ignorant people. “Just by being born with dark skin and a Mexican phenotype gives me access to knowing every single person of Mexican heritage in this nation.” That shut James up, but it didn’t stop him from staring.

  Jenna returned to her chit-chat. She talked about Thornfield and babbled on about her personal life. I listened politely and avoided James’s eyes.

  The door to the kitchen opened and a plump woman in kitten scrubs entered the dining hall guiding an elderly woman who looked like she might have been a century old. Everybody stood up when they entered.

  “How are you doing this evening, Miss Adele?” Mrs. Fairfax asked the old woman.

  “Fine,” Miss Adele smiled. “Beverly has been reading me poetry. That always makes the day better.”

  Despite my usual reserved nature, I found myself blurting out, “What poems were you reading?”

  Miss Adele’s gaze turned toward me, but it was clear that she couldn’t see me very well. “Who’s this?” she asked.

  “I’m Jane, Ma’am,” I answered. “I’m new here. I’ll be staying with you at night.”

  Miss Adele arched an eyebrow and sat down in her chair. She was so thin a strong wind might snap her in two. Her crepe-paper skin gathered around her skeletal form. Her large, blue eyes peered out into the distance but clearly couldn’t make out everything in her environment. She wore a blue track suit and sneakers, and there was a diamond brooch on her lapel. Her hair was a perfect cap of white wavy-curls; the signature style of many an old lady.

  Jenna stood up and began serving dinner once Miss Adele was seated. The food was delicious and for a minute, I forgot my manners and dove into the meal like a starving child in a bad depiction of Annie. Suddenly, I remembered myself, sat up straight, and dabbed the napkin at the corners of my mouth, trying not to act like I hadn’t just inhaled half a chicken breast.

  “So,” Miss Adele said in between small bites of chicken, “do you like poetry, Jane?”

  “I love poetry,” I said. “I love to read.”

  “That is such a rare gift in these modern youths,” Miss Adele said. Her hand shook and she dropped her fork. Beverly, the nurse, picked up Miss Adele’s fork and helped her eat.

  “There is no place for magic. For magic there is no hope,” Miss Adele muttered as she chewed.

  I finished her sentence. “Books are its last remembrance. For nowhere else can it cope.”

  Miss Adele smiled. “It will be nice to have a young person like you in the house. The nights here are so long and dark.”

  Beverly laughed and spooned another morsel of food into Miss Adele’s mouth. “Don’t be silly, Miss Adele. You sleep through the night like a log. You’re forgetting things again.”

  Miss Adele was silenced by this and she finished her food quietly. I ate and watched the old woman with curiosity. How could the n
urse know if Miss Adele slept through the night if she wasn’t with her?

  After dinner, Beverly helped Miss Adele back to her room, and there was a bustle of activity as everyone worked together to clear the table. After the kitchen was clean, Jenna scampered off with containers of leftovers. She waved goodbye happily and disappeared. After spending a few extra moments leering at me, James left, too.

  Mrs. Fairfax sighed. It was 6:00 p.m.

  “We eat dinner early because Miss Adele hates eating alone,” Mrs. Fairfax said with a shrug. “Eat with her when you can.”

  “I’m fine with that,” I said.

  “The night nurse leaves at eight. The day nurse arrives at five-thirty a.m.”

  “What should I do if Miss Adele wakes up in the middle of the night?” I asked.

  “That won’t happen,” Mrs. Fairfax answered.

  “How do you know that?” I asked. “Shouldn’t there be some kind of plan? I mean, you never know what could happen, and I am not a trained nurse.”

  Mrs. Fairfax placed a bottle of pills in my hand. The bottle was clearly labeled valium.

  “Thank you,” I said politely.

  Mrs. Fairfax smiled. “I hope you believe me when I say it won’t be an issue. I understand that you are concerned, but Miss Adele always sleeps through the night. Also, Miss Adele is a sweet woman and will quickly go back to bed if she wakes up. All you have to do is stay in your room at night next door so that Miss Adele knows someone is there.”

  I nodded. I was happy to let the conversation go. Mrs. Fairfax walked me to the stairs and told me Nurse Beverly would set the security alarm when she finished her shift. Mrs. Fairfax told me she’d finish going through the rest of the household details tomorrow and wished me goodnight. I thanked her and, armed with the bottle of valium, I made my way back upstairs to my bedroom. There was an uncanny quiet about the place once everyone had left. Every small creak was magnified. Every groan in the floorboards sounded like thunder.

  Helen was waiting for me in my room. I had no idea when she’d returned, but I was very glad she was back. She sat quietly, cross-legged on the bed, flipping through the pages of a magazine like nothing had happened. “Did the rest of the staff look like The Addam’s Family?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “They looked more like the family from The Texas Chain Saw Massacre.”

  Helen nodded. “So, they will probably sacrifice you to something evil in the house and eat you?”

  “I’m okay with that,” I answered calmly. “But you clearly never saw The Texas Chain Saw Massacre if that is what you think happens in that movie.”

  Helen laughed. “You know I love you and I only want what’s best for you, right?”

  I hugged Helen. “Of course I know that!”

  She and I settled down on the bed and attempted to make the archaic television work. Sadly, it only got five channels and Helen and I finally resigned ourselves to going to bed early rather than listen to the moaning of the old house.

  Helen and I crawled into the enormous bed, pulled the covers up over us, and watched the shadows dance on the ceiling. Sleep seemed impossible. The wind outside the window howled and every noise echoed through the empty halls.

  “I’m sorry,” Helen said.

  “It’s okay. I’m sorry we fought, too.”

  “I shouldn’t have gotten you mixed up in this weirdness. I wish I could do this for you.”

  I looked over at Helen. In the moonlight, she was even prettier. Her skin looked like porcelain and her face had the kind of beauty that romantic poets write about. Helen walked in beauty like the night.

  I sighed. “This isn’t that weird and why would you be better at this than me?”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t know the real world. You’re soft and sweet and that is what I love about you. You’re so smart, but you live in your books and weird movies. You wouldn’t know what to do if this was some kind of creepy con or hustle.”

  “I don’t know what to say about that really. It’s not like you are tough as iron.”

  Helen’s face stiffened in the darkness. “I know how hard the world can be,” Helen said in a bitter voice. “There is nothing in this weird house that could hurt me.”

  “It isn’t that weird,” I said again.

  “The fact that you don’t think this house is weird only emphasizes how naïve you are.”

  “There is no way Mrs. Fairfax could be involved in anything unethical. She’s a sweet lady and Miss Adele is delightful.”

  Helen rolled her eyes. “Really? Adele is delightful?” Sarcasm dripped from Helen’s tongue. “Are you even from this planet? Nobody who was born after 1950 talks like that.”

  “I’m not that naïve,” I said.

  The shadows above me twisted and turned as the branches of the massive tree outside my window danced in the wind.

  “Just be careful and call me if you need anything at all.”

  I put my hand on my friend’s arm and smiled. She was being kind. She liked to watch out for me.

  The wind had lulled me into a kind of trance and sleep began to tug at my eyes. Helen curled up next to me with her hand on mine. Her breath was sweet. Slowly, we drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 5

  All life is only a set of pictures in the brain, among which there is no difference betwixt those born of real things and those born of inward dreamings, and no cause to value the one above the other.

  ~ H.P. Lovecraft

  DREAMS FOLLOWED ME THAT NIGHT. They caught me in their twisted embrace and carried me back to all the things from my childhood that haunted me. I dreamt of the day my second foster mother, Mrs. Reed, kicked me out of her home. I was seven when she threw me out. I had been wild then.

  My foster brother, John, had been chasing me all day. I was never sure if he just liked tormenting people or if he had a hatred for me, but torturing me seemed to be his favorite past time. Most of the time he just called me names. Sometimes he would steal my toys or pull my hair. One time, he took my only doll, tore her head off, and used it as a soccer ball in the backyard. That day, I was hiding behind the curtains in the living room. I still remember the book I was reading. A Wrinkle in Time. I think I was born being able to read. From the age of five, I was reading the kinds of books that most people read in high school or university. I was so lost in the book that I forgot to listen for John. I forgot that I should be afraid. He pulled back the curtains and snatched my book.

  “Where’d you get this?” he taunted. “Did you steal it?”

  “I got it from the library,” I said with my chin held high in defiance. “If you knew how to read, you’d know about libraries.” I knew I was going to regret it the moment I’d said it.

  “What did you say, you terrible little mooch?” John’s face was red with rage.

  “I said, if you knew how to read, you’d know about libraries.”

  John hit me. He hit me so hard I went spinning to the floor. I saw stars and my head buzzed. While I lay on the ground, he kicked me in the stomach. All I could hear was his laughter. He laughed and he tore the pages from my book. I don’t remember deciding to act. I just remember anger. Anger washed over me like a tsunami. I lunged at him and knocked him off his feet. He fell backward and I pounded him with my fists. He began to scream and cry.

  Mrs. Reed came in and pulled me off her son. Her face twisted in rage. Her hot pink lips pursed together in disgust. John was her real son, but she’d taken in three foster kids, me and two other girls. The other girls were six and eight and had straight blonde hair and blue eyes. My hair was “wild” according to Mrs. Reed. She had such a hard time with it she took me to the hairdresser one day and told them to chop it all off. She said it was “too kinky” and matted. But Lydia and Kitty had baby-fine hair that Mrs. Reed could easily braid or put into barrettes. The two girls could have been b
lood sisters, they looked so much alike. They spent most of their time having pretend tea parties and playing with their dolls. They never misbehaved. “Why don’t you act more like Lydia and Kitty?” Mrs. Reed would scold me. “They know how to get adopted.” That’s what Mrs. Reed always told me.

  But on that day, Mrs. Reed was beyond scolding. She was so mad her face had turned purple. I had harmed her precious son.

  “You are a despicable little girl,” she hissed. “I should have never taken you in. You are nothing but a freak. What kind of child has tattoos? I bet your parents were Satanists and the Devil lives inside you. You are a nothing but a little porch monkey with parents who probably practiced Voodoo. I should have never taken in a black girl. “

  She grabbed me by my ear and dragged me to the back room. It was a dusty place that her real son said was haunted by the ghost of a woman who had killed herself. I had never believed them, but when I heard Mrs. Reed lock the door, every story he’d told me swirled through my mind. My fevered, childish imagination overflowed with those horrible images. I could hear laughing in the darkness. It was wicked laughter. It was laughter filled with evil and I banged my fists against the splintered wood of the door. I screamed out and begged for help, but the door remained locked. It wasn’t a ghost that came for me in that room. It was a man with horns. His skin was dark and his eyes glowed yellow in the darkness. The devil came and as his cackle filled the room, I sat on the floor with my hands over my ears rocking back and forth…