Page 41 of Jane Deyre
“You know, my dear, though I’ve known you for a very short time, I have a strong feeling about you. As if I have a string somewhere under my ribs tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string in you. A cord of communion that connects us. A heartstring.”
I strangely feel a similar connection with her though I can’t articulate it with poetic justice. Perhaps it’s as simple as “it’s meant to be.”
Outside, I hear an ominous clap of thunder.
Edwina is as much of an enigma as her godson.
What other secrets is she hiding?
CHAPTER 22
Jane
“Jane, that dress is so pretty!” Adele beams as I enter her room.
I flash a bright smile and feel myself blush. I’m not used to getting so many compliments.
“Thanks. Your godmother gave it to me.”
Sitting cross-legged on her bed, she cocks her head. “My godmother?”
“Yes. The woman you call auntie.” I join her on the bed. She’s all dressed, clad in adorable overalls and a long-sleeved hooded top. “She’s actually your great-godmother.” I’m not sure if that’s possible, but since there are great-grandmothers, it makes sense there ought to be great-godmothers. “She was your daddy’s godmother first.”
Adele looks perplexed. “But godmothers have wings and wands and magical powers. You know, like Cinderella’s. Bippity-boppity-boo!”
I can’t help but laugh. “Those arefairy godmothers and they’re make-believe. Real-life godmothers, like your auntie, are here to love you and make you feel special. And give you presents.”
“Does everyone have a godmother?”
I shake my head. “No, not everyone.”
“Is my auntie your godmother because she gave you that pretty dress?” She looks down at my feet. “And those pretty shoes?”
Wishful thinking. “No. She’s just very kind to me.”
“Do you have your own godmother?”
A stab of sadness jabs me. “No, honey, I don’t.” I don’t even have a mother to look up to, let alone a godmother.
I change the subject before I grow misty eyed. “Did you hear all the rain and thunder last night?”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t even wake up from a bad dream.”
I’m happy to hear that. Progress.
“What are we going to do today, Jane?”
“I don’t know. It’s still raining cats and dogs.”
She gives me a puzzled look. “Auntie’s cat Pilote is falling from the sky?”
The beauty of children. Their innocence. The way they can take things literally, at face value, or use their imagination. I, too, had an imagination when I was little. Expressed on my vision board. Of a better life. Of being a princess swept away by a handsome prince. Fairy tales offered hope to me. And hope was my sustenance.
I give her a playful noogie. “It’s an expression. It means it’s raining really hard outside. And that means we’re going to have to stay indoors.”
Worry falls over her angelic face. “Jane, what about the snails? Do you think they’re okay?”
“Totally.” I happen to know a lot about snails. When I was in tenth-grade biology, I wrote a research paper about them. Snails survive on moisture. Their bodies dry out very quickly without it and they die. They actually grow active when it rains and love when you water your garden.