Listening to the crunch of leaves under my feet, breathing in the misty air of the forest, I couldn’t help but smile to myself. Enjoying the fairytale-like forest anytime I walked to town was one of the big advantages of being this far out in the country. The gravel road had gotten muddy since the rain yesterday, but it wasn’t too bad. I always wear my boots when I make the journey anyway. Still, I stuck to the leaves rather than risk slipping in the wet gravel.
I was grateful when Mrs. Fairfax asked me to take a package to the post office for her. She seemed to see that I had gotten restless recently. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my new job. It was nice to meet new people and be somewhere different. My life hasn’t been easy, it has been rather sheltered. I spent the last few years teaching at the boarding school I grew up in. I hadn’t loved it there, but it was easy to stay somewhere familiar. After my only friend, Miss Temple, married and moved with her new husband, I felt trapped. I needed to get out, be somewhere else, or at least get a new job. I had applied online to a few things, but after not hearing back, my hopes were low. So I just put up a listing offering to be a nanny/tutor on a website my friend Helen had recommended years ago. Mrs. Fairfax replied quickly because they had been having a hard time finding someone who spoke fluent French and was willing to move to the middle of nowhere.
Everyone has been so nice and welcoming. Mrs. Fairfax is like the grandmother I never had. Adele, my charge, is so sweet, if a little spoiled. Sophie, her nanny who came with her from France, said that the house she grew up in with her mother was a lot of partying and not a lot of discipline. The checks Mr. Rochester sent paid for Sophie’s salary and was supposed to pay for lessons, food, and more. As far as Sophie knew, most of it went to the lavish life Celine imagined she was living. When she passed suddenly, Sophie had been pleasantly surprised that Mr. Rochester had offered to pay her double what she made so that Adele would feel comfortable in her new home in America.
Sophie and I had become fast friends, but we didn’t have much in common other than our age and jobs. I was the only person in the house that spoke French other than her. Adele’s english is better than Sophie’s. She must have been very lonely before I got there. I guess we had that in common as well.
I was brought back into the present when I slipped slightly in a wet clump of leaves on the road but righted myself before I fell. I had slowed down as my mind wandered, and I suddenly realized that may have been a mistake, given that the only light was now the faint glow in the haze as the sun was slipping below the horizon. Frankly, I probably shouldn’t have even left as late as I did, but I had to make these little trips last. I was getting restless at the house, Thorfield Manner. My god, who names a house like that? Only super-rich people with super-rich families. It reminds me of the only people in the world I truly hate. Thorfield Manner, Gateshead Hall, Lowood Institution, gross!
It makes me wonder about the mysterious man who is technically my boss. Sophie won’t say much about him other than her gratitude for what he’s done for her and Adele. Adele loves him but mostly talks about all the cadeau he gives her. Mrs. Fairfax said he’s a good man, a great boss, but could be “changeable,” which was honestly not helpful. It’s hard to imagine having anything in common with a man who has a house so fancy and historical that it has its own name plus can afford to fill that house with round-the-year staff, but in almost never there himself.
Then I think of all the books I found in the library. Not the beautiful leather-bound classics in perfect condition. The books on the self behind his desk. The ones with the warn spines and tabs marking favorite passages. Travel memoirs from people crossing the world throughout time. He has notes in the margins about places he wants to go and his thoughts on the places he’d already been. Personal pondering if the black sand beaches still really look how they are described in a book from the 1800s. Jokes to himself about the outdated racist view of the authors. Highlighted sections from spiritual reflections of more recent travelers.
I want to know that man. I want to see the world he’s seen. See, I am getting so restless I fantasize about how amazing it would be to talk to my boss. I must be losing my mind. I took this job because if I couldn’t afford an adventure, I could work somewhere else. It was fun for those first few months, but restlessness quickly started to morph into stir-crazy.
I don’t even have a car, so the most I can do is pretend I am on a quest when I walk packages into town. I take another deep breath and watch the mist swirl as my exhale disturbs its peaceful path. I can hear the creek that I know is just a few feet off the road, but I can’t see it with how dark it’s gotten and how thick the mist is. Everything has taken on an odd glowing magical quality in the light.
Jumping at a twig snapping under my feet, I realize I am letting my imagination get the best of me. The wind even seems to be haunted. Picking up my pace, it shouldn’t take me too long to get back now. I can’t be far from the house, right? The trees have started to all look the same, and with the mist, I don’t know any of my normal landmarks. Have I passed the big rock, which means I only have half a mile left, or is that still ahead? The wind seems louder, gusting through the trees and sending a shiver down my spine.
Something else is out there too. Almost a growling noise. Like a very large cat purring or some sort of monster. I try to convince myself that too is my imagination, but it’s getting closer. My heart is racing. A part of me wants to take off at a run, but what good would that do? I can fall in the mud and actually get lost. I just need to stay on the road, and one way or another, I’ll be back. It’s probably more scared of me than I am of it, right?
The road curves again, but the noise keeps getting closer. Whatever it is keeps getting bigger and bigger in my mind. I can see the headline now: “Local girl dies in animal attack in the woods. She is remembered for nothing by no one”. Fun!
A tingling awareness crawls up my spine, and I turn around before I can stop myself. There is something on the road behind me. It’s large and back, maybe a coyote? No, that’s too big. It’s also moving too fast. Gytrash, my brain supplies unhelpfully. Yes, that’s it. A mystical beast from old English fairytales has come for you. I take a step to the side of the road, bracing myself for whatever is coming and readying my muscles to run or hide if it is, in fact, some beast coming to lead me astray.
Then a mortal man dressed in an all-black leather suit flies past on a motorcycle. Nice, Jane, big scary bike. I am about to laugh at my own wild imaginings when I see the bike suddenly spin out and fall over, sending the rider one way and the bike another.
Without thinking, I ran forward, praying that I didn’t just watch someone die. Luckily even before I get there, the man sits up, pulling off his helmet. He’s ok enough to sware like a sailor. He certainly has a way with curse words. Using them in a combination I have never heard before. It might even be funny if I wasn’t so worried he was hurt.
“Sir, are you ok?”
The man turns towards me, hissing in pain at the sudden movement.
“Yup, I am great. Totally fine. Never been better. Please keep walking and pretend you never saw this.”
Yes, so definitely a man.
“I am afraid I can’t do that until I know if you’re alright. I could call someone for you,” reaching into my pocket, I realize my phone is dead. “Why didn’t you have your light on? That’s so dangerous. Oh! Or I could run up the road and get help. I live just up the road. Do you know Thorfield?”
He gives me a strange look then, “It wasn’t this dark when I left, and I did notice, wait- How do you know Thorfield?”
“I work there, Sir. I am the new tutor.”
“Tutor! Of course, that makes sense. So not a spirit haunting the woods to punish me for my misdeeds.”
“Not that I am aware of, but have you committed many misdeeds that require punishing?”
He huffed out a laugh at that, and I took a couple of steps closer. He seemed ok enough, but he still hadn’t gotten up.
“So help. What do you need?” I say, looking around like something has magically changed while I was staring at the man on the road. I might have even been flirting with him. I don’t have much, or really any, experience with men. I went to an all-girls school and a very religious one at that. Even after I graduated and returned to teach, it’s not like I had anyone to go out with. What was I going to do, ask Miss Temple, my old English teacher, if she wanted to go to the club with me? At least this guy wasn’t hot. Then I honestly don’t think I would be able to talk around him.
He tries to stand up but hisses again. Seeming to consider his options, he sighs, “Could you bring my bike over here?” It’s only a few feet down the road.
“Sure,” I say with more confidence than I feel. That thing looked huge, and I’d never really seen a motorcycle up close before. If he thought I could move it the few feet over to him, how hard could it be?
The bike is at a weird angle on the ground a weirdly turned off. I managed to get it up, so it was right side up, but I couldn’t get to roll forward.
“You need to turn it on or at least put it in neutral.”
“What?” I look up at him helplessly, feeling like an idiot. I have never driven a car, let alone a motorcycle. Never had anyone to teach me.
“The tip-over sensor triggered, so it turned it off. It’s a lot easier to move if you turn it on.”
Yeah. I don’t see that happening. My fear must have shown on my face because he chuckled again (nice to be laughed at by a man sitting in mud).
“It might be easier to bring me to the bike. See the metal sticking out by your right foot? That’s the kickstand, just set the bike up, and then you can come to help me to it”.
That does sound easier. I manage to get the kickstand down and make my way back to the man in the dirt. I offered him a hand, and he hesitated to take it.
“You don’t have an umbrella or a big stick I can use, do you?”
“Where would I be keeping an umbrella that could support your weight? I could probably go traipsing around in the dark, muddy woods to find you a stick if that’s really what you want. Or I could just help you myself. I promise I don’t bite.”
“That’s exactly what an angry spirit or fairy would say if they were planning on biting me,” he replies but finally takes the hands I am offering him.
He moved oddly as he got up. It’s clear that his left leg is hurt. I couldn’t see blood, which feels like a miracle after watching him come flying off that bike. Once he’s up, he tries just to support himself with his hand, but that didn’t work well with how much he hobbled. I’m not dramatically short or anything, slightly below average, thank you very much. But he towered over me. We make almost no progress, so I take his hand and put his arm around my shoulders.
“Here, this might work better,” for sure, not thinking about how warm he felt in the cool, damp evening air. I will not be snuggling into a stranger on the road!
He gave me a strange look that could be angry but honestly almost looked more confused before finally putting his weight on my shoulders. “Sorry about this.”
“It’s no problem,” we make it to the bike, and he manages to swing his good leg over it.
“I guess it is the least you can do after you worked your magic on my bike, causing me to lose control,” turns his head, but I could have sworn I saw a little smile on the corner of his mouth.
“Excused me?” but my words are lost over the sound of his engine coming to life.
“You better hurry getting home. It’s not safe to be walking on the road after dark.”
Before I could respond that it was perfectly safe until madmen on motorcycles came flying down the road without their lights on, he flipped the kickstand with a grimace and took off into the dark.
What a strange man. Honestly kind of a dick. You're welcome for the help! I feel like yelling. But for some reason, I can't stop thinking about him for the rest of my walk back to the house. It’s like he took over my mind. I didn’t even get his name. I’ll probably never see him again. Something about that makes me sad as I open the gate next to the driveway and walk toward Thornfield.
I was grateful when Mrs. Fairfax asked me to take a package to the post office for her. She seemed to see that I had gotten restless recently. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my new job. It was nice to meet new people and be somewhere different. My life hasn’t been easy, it has been rather sheltered. I spent the last few years teaching at the boarding school I grew up in. I hadn’t loved it there, but it was easy to stay somewhere familiar. After my only friend, Miss Temple, married and moved with her new husband, I felt trapped. I needed to get out, be somewhere else, or at least get a new job. I had applied online to a few things, but after not hearing back, my hopes were low. So I just put up a listing offering to be a nanny/tutor on a website my friend Helen had recommended years ago. Mrs. Fairfax replied quickly because they had been having a hard time finding someone who spoke fluent French and was willing to move to the middle of nowhere.
Everyone has been so nice and welcoming. Mrs. Fairfax is like the grandmother I never had. Adele, my charge, is so sweet, if a little spoiled. Sophie, her nanny who came with her from France, said that the house she grew up in with her mother was a lot of partying and not a lot of discipline. The checks Mr. Rochester sent paid for Sophie’s salary and was supposed to pay for lessons, food, and more. As far as Sophie knew, most of it went to the lavish life Celine imagined she was living. When she passed suddenly, Sophie had been pleasantly surprised that Mr. Rochester had offered to pay her double what she made so that Adele would feel comfortable in her new home in America.
Sophie and I had become fast friends, but we didn’t have much in common other than our age and jobs. I was the only person in the house that spoke French other than her. Adele’s english is better than Sophie’s. She must have been very lonely before I got there. I guess we had that in common as well.
I was brought back into the present when I slipped slightly in a wet clump of leaves on the road but righted myself before I fell. I had slowed down as my mind wandered, and I suddenly realized that may have been a mistake, given that the only light was now the faint glow in the haze as the sun was slipping below the horizon. Frankly, I probably shouldn’t have even left as late as I did, but I had to make these little trips last. I was getting restless at the house, Thorfield Manner. My god, who names a house like that? Only super-rich people with super-rich families. It reminds me of the only people in the world I truly hate. Thorfield Manner, Gateshead Hall, Lowood Institution, gross!
It makes me wonder about the mysterious man who is technically my boss. Sophie won’t say much about him other than her gratitude for what he’s done for her and Adele. Adele loves him but mostly talks about all the cadeau he gives her. Mrs. Fairfax said he’s a good man, a great boss, but could be “changeable,” which was honestly not helpful. It’s hard to imagine having anything in common with a man who has a house so fancy and historical that it has its own name plus can afford to fill that house with round-the-year staff, but in almost never there himself.
Then I think of all the books I found in the library. Not the beautiful leather-bound classics in perfect condition. The books on the self behind his desk. The ones with the warn spines and tabs marking favorite passages. Travel memoirs from people crossing the world throughout time. He has notes in the margins about places he wants to go and his thoughts on the places he’d already been. Personal pondering if the black sand beaches still really look how they are described in a book from the 1800s. Jokes to himself about the outdated racist view of the authors. Highlighted sections from spiritual reflections of more recent travelers.
I want to know that man. I want to see the world he’s seen. See, I am getting so restless I fantasize about how amazing it would be to talk to my boss. I must be losing my mind. I took this job because if I couldn’t afford an adventure, I could work somewhere else. It was fun for those first few months, but restlessness quickly started to morph into stir-crazy.
I don’t even have a car, so the most I can do is pretend I am on a quest when I walk packages into town. I take another deep breath and watch the mist swirl as my exhale disturbs its peaceful path. I can hear the creek that I know is just a few feet off the road, but I can’t see it with how dark it’s gotten and how thick the mist is. Everything has taken on an odd glowing magical quality in the light.
Jumping at a twig snapping under my feet, I realize I am letting my imagination get the best of me. The wind even seems to be haunted. Picking up my pace, it shouldn’t take me too long to get back now. I can’t be far from the house, right? The trees have started to all look the same, and with the mist, I don’t know any of my normal landmarks. Have I passed the big rock, which means I only have half a mile left, or is that still ahead? The wind seems louder, gusting through the trees and sending a shiver down my spine.
Something else is out there too. Almost a growling noise. Like a very large cat purring or some sort of monster. I try to convince myself that too is my imagination, but it’s getting closer. My heart is racing. A part of me wants to take off at a run, but what good would that do? I can fall in the mud and actually get lost. I just need to stay on the road, and one way or another, I’ll be back. It’s probably more scared of me than I am of it, right?
The road curves again, but the noise keeps getting closer. Whatever it is keeps getting bigger and bigger in my mind. I can see the headline now: “Local girl dies in animal attack in the woods. She is remembered for nothing by no one”. Fun!
A tingling awareness crawls up my spine, and I turn around before I can stop myself. There is something on the road behind me. It’s large and back, maybe a coyote? No, that’s too big. It’s also moving too fast. Gytrash, my brain supplies unhelpfully. Yes, that’s it. A mystical beast from old English fairytales has come for you. I take a step to the side of the road, bracing myself for whatever is coming and readying my muscles to run or hide if it is, in fact, some beast coming to lead me astray.
Then a mortal man dressed in an all-black leather suit flies past on a motorcycle. Nice, Jane, big scary bike. I am about to laugh at my own wild imaginings when I see the bike suddenly spin out and fall over, sending the rider one way and the bike another.
Without thinking, I ran forward, praying that I didn’t just watch someone die. Luckily even before I get there, the man sits up, pulling off his helmet. He’s ok enough to sware like a sailor. He certainly has a way with curse words. Using them in a combination I have never heard before. It might even be funny if I wasn’t so worried he was hurt.
“Sir, are you ok?”
The man turns towards me, hissing in pain at the sudden movement.
“Yup, I am great. Totally fine. Never been better. Please keep walking and pretend you never saw this.”
Yes, so definitely a man.
“I am afraid I can’t do that until I know if you’re alright. I could call someone for you,” reaching into my pocket, I realize my phone is dead. “Why didn’t you have your light on? That’s so dangerous. Oh! Or I could run up the road and get help. I live just up the road. Do you know Thorfield?”
He gives me a strange look then, “It wasn’t this dark when I left, and I did notice, wait- How do you know Thorfield?”
“I work there, Sir. I am the new tutor.”
“Tutor! Of course, that makes sense. So not a spirit haunting the woods to punish me for my misdeeds.”
“Not that I am aware of, but have you committed many misdeeds that require punishing?”
He huffed out a laugh at that, and I took a couple of steps closer. He seemed ok enough, but he still hadn’t gotten up.
“So help. What do you need?” I say, looking around like something has magically changed while I was staring at the man on the road. I might have even been flirting with him. I don’t have much, or really any, experience with men. I went to an all-girls school and a very religious one at that. Even after I graduated and returned to teach, it’s not like I had anyone to go out with. What was I going to do, ask Miss Temple, my old English teacher, if she wanted to go to the club with me? At least this guy wasn’t hot. Then I honestly don’t think I would be able to talk around him.
He tries to stand up but hisses again. Seeming to consider his options, he sighs, “Could you bring my bike over here?” It’s only a few feet down the road.
“Sure,” I say with more confidence than I feel. That thing looked huge, and I’d never really seen a motorcycle up close before. If he thought I could move it the few feet over to him, how hard could it be?
The bike is at a weird angle on the ground a weirdly turned off. I managed to get it up, so it was right side up, but I couldn’t get to roll forward.
“You need to turn it on or at least put it in neutral.”
“What?” I look up at him helplessly, feeling like an idiot. I have never driven a car, let alone a motorcycle. Never had anyone to teach me.
“The tip-over sensor triggered, so it turned it off. It’s a lot easier to move if you turn it on.”
Yeah. I don’t see that happening. My fear must have shown on my face because he chuckled again (nice to be laughed at by a man sitting in mud).
“It might be easier to bring me to the bike. See the metal sticking out by your right foot? That’s the kickstand, just set the bike up, and then you can come to help me to it”.
That does sound easier. I manage to get the kickstand down and make my way back to the man in the dirt. I offered him a hand, and he hesitated to take it.
“You don’t have an umbrella or a big stick I can use, do you?”
“Where would I be keeping an umbrella that could support your weight? I could probably go traipsing around in the dark, muddy woods to find you a stick if that’s really what you want. Or I could just help you myself. I promise I don’t bite.”
“That’s exactly what an angry spirit or fairy would say if they were planning on biting me,” he replies but finally takes the hands I am offering him.
He moved oddly as he got up. It’s clear that his left leg is hurt. I couldn’t see blood, which feels like a miracle after watching him come flying off that bike. Once he’s up, he tries just to support himself with his hand, but that didn’t work well with how much he hobbled. I’m not dramatically short or anything, slightly below average, thank you very much. But he towered over me. We make almost no progress, so I take his hand and put his arm around my shoulders.
“Here, this might work better,” for sure, not thinking about how warm he felt in the cool, damp evening air. I will not be snuggling into a stranger on the road!
He gave me a strange look that could be angry but honestly almost looked more confused before finally putting his weight on my shoulders. “Sorry about this.”
“It’s no problem,” we make it to the bike, and he manages to swing his good leg over it.
“I guess it is the least you can do after you worked your magic on my bike, causing me to lose control,” turns his head, but I could have sworn I saw a little smile on the corner of his mouth.
“Excused me?” but my words are lost over the sound of his engine coming to life.
“You better hurry getting home. It’s not safe to be walking on the road after dark.”
Before I could respond that it was perfectly safe until madmen on motorcycles came flying down the road without their lights on, he flipped the kickstand with a grimace and took off into the dark.
What a strange man. Honestly kind of a dick. You're welcome for the help! I feel like yelling. But for some reason, I can't stop thinking about him for the rest of my walk back to the house. It’s like he took over my mind. I didn’t even get his name. I’ll probably never see him again. Something about that makes me sad as I open the gate next to the driveway and walk toward Thornfield.