Page 116 of Jane Deyre
One by one, I pry my eyes open. And feel a surge of panic.
“Mr. Rochester, are you really there?” Maybe I’m dreaming. Or hallucinating. Or in a life hereafter. Unsure, I grapple for his face. I feel his stubble, wet velvet, beneath my palms.
I hear his voice again. “I’m here, my darling. You’re going to be all right. The fire department and an ambulance are on their way.”
I blink several times, hoping the fluttering of my eyelids will give me clarity. It doesn’t. All I see is darkness. I feel tears form in my eyes.
“Jane, are you in pain? Is it your leg?”
“Mr. Rochester, I can’t see you.” My voice is raw, my throat sore from inhaling so much smoke. Another wave of panic crashes through me. “I don’t understand. Why can’t I see you?”
“I’m here, Jane. I’m here. Feel my heart beat.”
Frantically, I feel around for his heart until he puts one of my blistered hands under his jacket and presses it against his chest. “Be still, my love. It beats only for you.”
A sob ricochets from my smoke-filled lungs as a terrifying realization burns bright inside me. I croak out two words: “I’m blind!”
Reader, I can’t see!
Tenderly, my hero kisses my eyelids, my lashes wet and singed. With the pads of his thumbs, he brushes away my tears. I can’t see the expression on his face, but I feel his love. Yet, I can’t stop crying knowing I’ve lost my sight.
He strokes my hair again. “Shh, my darling. I have found for the first time someone I truly love—a pure powerful flame within myself that fuses you and me in one. I will be your eyes. The sun, the moon, your guiding star. I will never leave you, never stop loving you. Whether you see me or you don’t. All that matters to me is that I seeyouwhen I wake up every morning for the rest of my life. Be mine forever, my beloved Jane Deyre.”
His lips descend on mine. Entwined and gathered to him, all my pain melts away.
The miracle in the rain.
As he deepens the kiss, with urgency, passion, and conviction, the rain stops.
CHAPTER 59
Jane
Reader, I married him!
But first, let’s backtrack a bit.
Thank goodness I got to the hospital in time before the cyanide did me in. They pumped it out of me and gave me an antidote to counteract it.
My injuries were grave. I suffered second-degree burns, smoke inhalation, and a fractured foot. The worst part was the blindness. It saddened me greatly to no longer be able to see and do the things I took for granted. I especially missed seeing precious little Adele. I wished I could see all the get-well cards she made for me and read to her like I used to. And I so terribly missed seeing my love though I had his face etched on my brain. And his molecules imprinted on my flesh from carrying me everywhere.
While I was resigned to a life of darkness, my doctors said my blindness could be temporary. Something called conversion syndrome. Caused by the trauma of that night. This diagnosis gave me hope. And from what I’d learned from Edwina, my loving, optimistic mother, hope was all I could cling to, the bright light inside me. In my head, I created a mental vision board filled with images of the people I loved, the places I wanted to see, and the things I wanted to accomplish in my life.
Three months to the day after the fire, I woke up in Mr. Rochester’s bed after dreaming in Technicolor about the rainbow Adele and I saw months ago after our game of hide-and-seek. When my eyes blinked open, sunshine flooded them. And I saw his beautiful face! My sight had come back!
My recovery was nonetheless lengthy. My leg required surgery and I was on crutches for several months once I was able to see again. Every painful step was a joyful one into the future. I had Ward, Adele, Edwina, and Grace. I had my vision. And I had hope.
A lot transpired between the time of the fire and our wedding. For one, everyone in the world learned that I was Charlotte Mason, Edwina’s beloved abducted child. We found the maternity report in Alice Fairfax’s office, but just to confirm it and make sure it wasn’t some kind of hoax, we sent DNA samples to another lab. The results came back quickly: there was more than a 99.8 percent chance that Edwina was my biological mother. A 99.9 chance! I can’t put in words the joy Edwina experienced. Tell you how many happy tears were shed. She’d never given up hope that her daughter would come back to her. And she did. I often still think of what she told Alice Fairfax that first morning we first met:
It was meant to be Jane was walking behind me today and saved our lives.
Had I not rescued Pilote that blistering hot summer morning, how different my life would have turned out. Fate can be a bitch. Or she can be Lady Luck. Or she can be God.
With the help of Detective Billings, we put together the missing pieces of the puzzle that was my abduction. The lowlife hustler, who dropped me off in Mexico, is now dead, killed by the Mexican cartel. I learned a little more about the childless Mexican couple that found me at the church and took me in. I’m happy to say they were good people, may they rest in peace.
He also investigated the fire. The remains of the charred bodies of Alice Fairfax and Bertrand Mason were recovered. An autopsy revealed a bullet in the brains of both. Alice shot Bertrand, then she shot herself. Most likely, neither of them suffered much. Two tombstones sit on the blackened grounds where the guesthouse once stood. RIP. For all she did to me, I should hate Ms. Fairfax. Wish for her to be rotting in hell. But I don’t. I feel sorry for her. She was a sick, lonely, vengeful woman. I’m glad she’ll be with Bertrand, wherever their souls are going. We both mutually agreed that we’d never tell Edwina that Alice Fairfax was her half sister. Her health was failing and she simply didn’t need more ugly surprises. I did, however, share Alice’s revelation with a shocked Ward, and he agreed to keep the secret between us.
The fire and the discovery of little Charlotte Mason were headline news. And so was Ward’s memoir,The Queen of Thornhill. The day it was released it became an instant bestseller. Number one on theNew York Timesnon-fiction list. His publisher has asked him to write him a sequel:The Curse of Thornhill.A true crime story focusing on my abduction and all the evil, intrigue, and insanity behind it. A book in which he will also expose his mother’s murder. He received a three-million-dollar advance—a deal negotiated by his new agent, not Blanche, who’s no longer in Ward’s life. Netflix has already optioned it for a six-part limited series, asking me if I want to play myself. As much as I want to be a star, I turned it down. It wasn’t a hard decision. I didn’t want to relive the horror. And truthfully, I have other, better offers on the table. Ones I’ll pursue after our honeymoon.