Many girls, already smitten, went home only to die: some died at the school, and were buried quietly and quickly, the nature of the malady forbidding delay.
Chapter One
August 1835
“How much farther?” Emily asked. Her long body pressed into the corner of the carriage seat, as if she were trying to propel herself back home toward Haworth.
“A mile less than the last time you asked,” Charlotte said between gritted teeth. She sat primly in the corner, her feet barely touching the floor. Charlotte tried to make up for her lack of inches with perfect posture. A notebook and pen were at hand, but Charlotte hadn’t written a single word. Emily had proved to be a distraction as a traveling companion.
“You didn’t tell me this school was so far away,” Emily said, staring out the dirty window. “I never would have agreed to go.”
“You didn’t agree,” Charlotte pointed out. “Father insisted.”
“Because you badgered him without respite.”
“Badger?” Charlotte’s hand went to her bodice. “I’m sorry if planning for the future is bothersome to you and Father.”
Emily glared at her sister with raised eyebrows. Suddenly she tugged the window open and stuck her head out.
“Em, close the window. Ladies don’t thrust their heads out into the road. It’s common.”
“I don’t care what anyone thinks.” Emily shoved her body farther out the window. She recognized the landscape—they were near the great bog of Crow Hill. Charlotte had lied when she said they were making progress; they were barely ten miles from home. The landscape was still familiar. The great green hills were just starting to turn purple with the heather. In September, these hills would be heavy with the scent of the flowers and their vibrant color would swamp the eyes. But Emily wouldn’t be there to see it.
On the horizon, beneath a row of fir trees stunted by the constant wind on the moors, Emily noticed a figure on horseback galloping across the top of a hill, the perfect symbol of the liberty she was giving up. Emily wanted to fix the memory of that rider in her mind. When she was locked up at school this anonymous figure would be her talisman; a promise that someday Emily would roam the moors again.
Suddenly, her shoulder was gripped by a small hand and Emily was hauled inside. Charlotte, stumbling against the motion of the carriage, slammed the window shut. “The moors will still be there when you get home.” She sat back down and crossed her arms.
“But how long will that be?” Emily said. “When you went to school, you stayed for two entire years.”
“I came home for holidays.” She patted Emily’s leg. “And you will, too. You’ll be home for Christmas.”
“Four months!” Emily’s voice was high and anxious. “How will I stand it?”
“I’ve told you time and time again—school is not a punishment. Father is a fine teacher, but at Roe Head School I learned things I never could have at the parsonage.”
Emily’s expression spoke eloquently of her doubts.
“Don’t scowl at me like that, Emily. I’ve learned languages and geography and grammar. Your education has been too eccentric. If you’re to earn a living, you must know the academic subjects as well as music, deportment, and the rest.” Charlotte’s words slipped glibly off her tongue from long repetition.
